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𝕾𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖘 𝖙𝖔 𝕬𝖓𝖘𝖜𝖊𝖗

 

With dark cloaks swirling behind her, Qaela marched rapidly to the bridge of the Herløv with new orders. She cursed beneath her breath at the suddenness of the orders, but when the Emperor spoke, it was best to heed. She would have preferred more time to repair the mighty destroyer, but would have to make due with what she had.

 

"Recall all crew and run final launch checks!" she barked once she entered the bridge. "Any crew who is not on this ship within an hour will be reported to the Imperial Ministry of War for disciplinary action. Take whatever supplies our people can grab from the shipyards and depots: I don't care if they were slated for us or not, if you can get them on board this ship within an hour, take them. Colonel Gorten, you make sure you have every fighter and bomber that will fit in the hanger along with qualified crews even if you steal them straight from the planetary defense garrison. Give anyone who questions you my clearance ID." Only the largest fool would question a Master of the Sith over something like supply requisitions. Anyone with enough power to dare would be easy to deal with when she informed them they could complain to the Dark Lord about her need for the supplies.

 

Thrusting her hand out at the viewscreens showing the hull outside, she added, "Lieutenant Commander Natolu, get those repair cranes off my ship! Anything not off it will be joining us until further notice and anything inhibiting our combat readiness will be blasted off." The ship was spaceworthy, so leaving at this point wasn't going to threaten her, but some of the replacement armor hadn't been attached yet. She didn't like that one bit, but the Empire called and she would answer. Hopefully, there would be some down time on Onderon for her to get further work done before they were deployed.

 

Her words elicited only a moment of hesitation as the crew waited to see if there was anything else before they bolted into action. She marked one hour on her chrono, then stood on the bridge watching the flurry of activity as shuttles zipped back and forth between the Herløv and the Kuati repair yards. Fighters were towed into the hangar and crew transports began disgorging their compliments as those who had been on shore leave returned. Larger supply, munitions, and equipment transports docked as well while the quartermaster oversaw their stowing.

 

A few people had the gumption to call her comms and demand an answer for why she was taking supplies and personnel meant for other ships. Those that she entertained were left fortunate that she didn't report them to the Imperial Council as inhibiting the nearly sacred word of the Emperor himself. She understood everything had a purpose and order was crucial, but she also despised when the bureaucracy got in the way of necessity.

 

Qaela hated working her crew like this, but the summons were made and would be answered. Discipline was good, but overworking the crew did nobody any good. She would find a way to make it up to the crew with some down time once they were in hyperspace, but for now, each being here would do their duty to the Empire.

 

After exactly one hour, she ordered the ship's engines to power up and the mighty warship began to move forward. A few last second shuttles docked or departed, but as soon as the ship was out of the defense rings and had clearance from Kuati Command, it jumped into hyperspace.

Qaela Sig

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Her shadow danced the recurring walls as she powerfully paced the endless corridors of steel and blinking lights. Her tattered and burnt cloak flowed in the current of recycled air she left behind her. A storm brewed in her mind, never able to pinpoint a single thought. The faceless, meaningless blobs of flesh and uniform never drawing her eye from the toes of her melted rubbered boots. The thudding of her heels echoing in her mind to the beat of her footsteps thundered in her ears. And she paced.
 

There was a single thought that clung relentlessly. The Dark Lord himself granted this single warship his presence, and her Teacher, her Master, stood almost a wall against him. The thought of the politics dizzied her head, again losing herself in thought after thought.

 

What is he Doing?! Her mind echoed. All this time she would follow him blindly, trusting in his judgement, but what abys was he leading her into now? She knew so little of his vision, but what other path could she follow?

 

She fell into her bed nearly unknowing that she'd made it to her quarters. Once triumphed, Once fallen she engraved into the Kashyyyk wood that held her first duel's prize. As she stared deep into the every grain of the Glaive she'd claimed, she felt Mordecai's presence building. There was no knock, only his voice. Her ears twitched as he addressed her through the door.

 

"Kahla, report to the bridge immediately. Bring the saber."

 

A deep breath filled her chest, and calmly she let loose the air. She adorned new robes, the feeling of the silken cloth against her skin seemed to dry her throat. Swallowing hard she pulled the saber to her hand. She stalked the halls, flashing meaningless glares to all she passed on her way to the bridge. The door hissed open, and lining the bridge, the war council and officers of the Krayt's Fury.

 

One last great humiliation, to be sure; her chin dipped, her eyes locked to Mordecai's.

 

Kahla pressed on, unflinching and more resilient than she'd ever strode before.

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Mordecai stood waiting, his face hard to read. He was stoic in this moment, watching his apprentice as she approached. His eyes wandered, taking in her posture, her stride. She expected punishment. She would instead receive an earned reward. When she neared him, he held up a hand, signaling her to stop as he stepped forward. He was silent for a while, letting her anticipation build. When he finally spoke, it was but one word.

 

"Kneel."

 

When she did, he continued his approach, and when he reached her, he slowed, moving to the side as he circled her. He noted the fresh robes, the saber that his former master had gifted her. He reached out, grasping the weapon with the force and pulling it to him. When it impacted his hand, he took a moment to inspect the weapon. It was an adequate saber, but nothing elegant. It was a tool of destruction that didn't belong her.

 

"Kahla Zendrin, you never earned this saber. It was gifted to you by another Sith for the mere accomplishment of landing on the sands of Korriban. This is not your weapon. It never was, and it shall never be." he said.

 

Without warning, he tossed the saber into the air, igniting his own saber with a sharp hiss as the plasma ignited, and as he swung, he cut the weapon in half, the two pieces clattering against the ground as steam and smoke rose from the ruined weapon. He let the silence build before speaking again.

 

"It is a shame that your deeds and your victories were not acquired with your own blade." he said, his volume rising as he reached into the satchel at his waist. "For a Sith Warrior such as you or I, our weapon is more than a tool. It is an extension of our body, the means through which we enact our wills."

 

He withdrew his hand from the pouch, revealing a pair of pitch black sabers, which he held out to Kahla.

 

"It is with pride that I rectify this situation. Under my wing you have grown from an Imperial mongrel to a true Sith. I hereby declare you a Sith Lord. Rise, and you shall no longer be Kahla Zendrin, an Imperial traitor. You shall be Darth Tyra, a warrior for the Sith and an instrument of destruction to be wielded against any who would defy the Sith Empire. You fleet is yours to command, though you will always have a place here, amongst my forces. Go forth and wage war in the name of the Sith Empire."

mord_sig.png

 

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Kahla continued her stride, her eyes unshifting and her emotions held back by a great iron curtain of resolve. At his command, she halted, freezing at attention as she'd been trained day in and day out.

 

"Kneel" His voice called, steely and unfeeling. Although a slight hesitation locked her knees, she did as he commanded, her heart raced as she bowed her head, awaiting the blood red light to echo off the walls of the bridge. His footsteps drowned out in the rush of blood rushing through her ears. He circled her before pulling her saber away, likely to examine it.
 

"Kahla Zendrin, you never earned this saber. It was gifted to you by another Sith for the mere accomplishment of landing on the sands of Korriban. This is not your weapon. It never was, and it shall never be."

 

Kahla visibly flinched when she heard Mordecai's blade ignite and swish in one fluid movement. The metallic clinking caught her off guard, and as she looked to the fuming corpse of her Lightsaber's hilt a dread came over her.

 

"It is a shame that your deeds and your victories were not acquired with your own blade." As he spoke, his voice raised, much like his many great speeches. She looked up to him, a strong look of confusion stricken on her face as she watched him reach for a seemingly out of place satchel he carried.

 

"For a Sith Warrior such as you or I, our weapon is more than a tool. It is an extension of our body, the means through which we enact our wills." Her eyes widened, her jaw fell as he retrieved the ebony hilts from the bag, Short, stubbed pummels with gilded engraving wrapping its way to the chamber, with its glowing red crystal visible between the rounded switch and the edge like, pointed emitter. She examined them long as she took them into her hands, Mordecai continuing.

"It is with pride that I rectify this situation. Under my wing you have grown from an Imperial mongrel to a true Sith. I hereby declare you a Sith Lord. Rise, and you shall no longer be Kahla Zendrin, an Imperial traitor. You shall be Darth Tyra, a warrior for the Sith and an instrument of destruction to be wielded against any who would defy the Sith Empire. Your fleet is yours to command, though you will always have a place here, amongst my forces. Go forth and wage war in the name of the Sith Empire."

 

Kahla- Darth Tyra, rose stoically, her shoulders rolled as she lifted her chin. "I look forward to serving along side you as an equal, Darth Mavanger." The wave of excitement began to hit her like a ton of bricks, a grin slowly stretched across her face, and this time she'd let it. No longer was this the first steps of her journey, but now, the full stride of her own life long campaign.

 

Some time had passed since the ceremony, though the pride she strode with hadn't left her. Kahla had taken the time to move her personal effects to the Phantom's Spear, the ship's suite set aside for herself. She couldn't stand the thought of staying at Kuat any longer, and so as she reached the bridge of her own flag ship, giving a long nod to Captain Harris, she hailed the Krayt's Fury and hastily requested their next destination.

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