Carida

[Montjoy]

 The crowded alleyways held their own fetid mysteries, the dark reflection of the nobility of the families that lived far above the plagued and beggarly. Even in the places like this, where the odor of the unwashed stung the Imperial Knight’s nose, light trickled down from the ivory towers of Carida in the form of charitable credits that her own Watchcircle distributed in the forms of rations and medical supplies. Many of the Harlequin Falcons, the somewhat disparaged name for those of the servant classes who had been excepted into the noble orders, still made these hovels and shelters their place of meditation through charitable work.

 

All blessed by the Emperess. Rest her soul.

 

Brenna’s fists clenched and she was forced to shake away the facial twitches that came to her in sorrow. The unfortunate side effect of her lowly station, born addicted to spice before her first breath on the rusting world of Nar Shaddaa. It had stunted her growth, dotting her reddish skin with black-patch freckles, and setting within her a deep hunger of the soul. It had expressed itself through a lust for adrenaline, to thievery and racketeering, but with the fall of the planet to Imperial Forces, their Knight Commander found her talents far more useful to the charity of the Order than in the mines of Kessel.

 

Flicking a few switches on her citidatapad, Montjoy summoned one of the large freight elevators, which were often used for the purposes of both cargo and transporting thieves into the backdoors of the fat and rich. As she waited for the transporter, she stared at the dossier of who would be her first apprentice. A nobelman’s son, the usual scamp ruining the family name needing to be taught a lesson. It was always the Falcons that took them in, as they worked so close with CoreWorld Nobility, but it was seldom a Harlequin like herself that was their introduction. Thus were the ways of the Force, in their great mystery.

 

With a grating rush, the freight elevator yawned open and the girl stepped over a sleeping Ranat, and settled herself onto one of the cargo pallets for the short haul to the upper cityscape. This one smelled of Belleruvian and Muja Wine, no doubt headed to restock the larder of one of the hundreds of nobles. She rested her braided head onto the unforgiving wooden crating, watching as the sky seemed to grow above her.

 

The air grew fresher swiftly and with a swipe of one of her cloned access cards, Brenna redirected the cargobarge to House Malczewski. And before she knew it, the barge was settling amongst a very confused staff of cooks and servants, and an even more confused Ranat. The servants gasped at her unkempt robes and the smell of the undercity that crawled about her. She looked far less a Knight than a spice-addled vagabond.

 

Stepping off from amongst the haul of food supplies, the Imperial Knight stooped behind a rather obese cook and wandered towards the main chambers, stopping only to grab a few freshly made Cannala-Pastries from an overly etched tray. The smell of them was simply intoxicating, and the first bite hit her pallet with a dozen intertwining tastes, centered around a heavily spiced morsel of tender meat. She shivered with joy, biting into a second, flakey pastry as she slipped through another ornate door just in time to observe the final interactions between a disappointed father and an irate son.

 

The Imperial Knight took the time to finish the delicate pastry before straightening her robes and tunic. There was no flash of armor like that worn by the others of the Imperial Knights, but simple robes meant more for flexibility and speed. Hers were dirty, boots unpolished, hair braided in the simplistic fashion of the servant classes. Barely noticeable in a crowd, nothing more than the lowest caste, those that cleaned the washrooms and scrubbers of refreshers. And yet her small mouth betrayed a warm smile, her voice small but welcoming and whole as she stepped from the shadows.

 

“I hear great things of House Malczewski.”

 

The light caught on her freckle-mottled features and the black spots where horngrowths had never come. Her teeth were sharp and immaculately clean despite her humble adornments, and the warmth her lips portrayed was kindly and reflected in her hazel eyes. She reclined her head, dual braids draping from her shoulders like tassels of ebon string

 

“My name is Brenna Montjoy, Imperial Knights.”

[Montjoy]

Hazel eyes turned to the elder of the nobles, measuring the totality of the man to his fullest. A forked beard with hints of grey, hands that seemed to tremble imperceptibly, the cold gaze of an experienced bureaucrat. She had seen many come and go over her brief years on Carida. Some had even passed to their beyond at the hands of her team, silenced of their Sith corruption at the whispered orders of the Empress, even as her soul rested in its eternity. Her youth and that well-worn mask of warm, underprivileged simplicity cracked for a moment and her eyes turned as cold of wyrmsteel. Those of a Harlequin.

 

But only for a moment. The warmth crept back readily as his words spun about her. The Imperial Knight spread her hands open before her, palms to the ceiling and fell into a curtsey of truly unnatural grace. Her words shifted, spinning in the dark shadows that played across the study.

 

“I have studied many of the great houses that served the Empire, yours has done exceptionally well in its efforts.”

 

Her warm eyes slid to those of Piotr, a man that carried himself, even in a moment of perceived betrayal, with the poise of greatness. She smiled at him, a man older than herself, and one that was used to the control and stature of nobility. The Imperial Knight took the offered hand with her own, observing the whiteness of his clash with the redness of hers. Her flesh was a few degrees warmer than his, the simple effects of her biology and metabolism. There were calluses, although slight upon the ridges of his fingers and across the depth of his palm. The man had some experience with weaponry. That or a garden rake.

 

“The pleasure is mine, Piotr.”

 

She released his hand and extended the other, holding a letter of mark, emblazoned with signet seal of Grandmaster Eleison. Beside it was the symbol of the Imperial Falcons in blood-red, wrapped in an ouroboros. His master would be of The Order of Harlequins. 

 

“I believe I have come to recruit you to Imperial Service”

[Montjoy]

The Imperial Knight returned his fiery stare with a warm smile, her reddened skin blushing into a magenta as her fang-like teeth flashed in the firelight. She had always been given difficult assignments by the nobility, and whelping one of their pups into the greater rankings of the Order was going to be one she was unfamilier with. This one would be able to spread his noble wings high soon enough, but for now he would walk amongst the undeserving commoners.

 

“We head first to Yselia, where we will no doubt receive offered assignments or contracts to assist the Jedi and their Rebellion.”

 

She looked to the man’s father, her own eyes flashing for a moment with white fire. The man knew the Knights were a different path to greatness, and a son coming back as an honored general would do his house great honor. Montjoy let a small sigh escape her still smiling lips, passing the frustration into the winds before it could corrupt her fire.

 

“Come along then Piotr, we will be catching the closest freighter, Kaz Ampercat, to the Shag Pabol.”

 

She stared again at the man’s father, judging his reaction to his son’s first assignment being in the heart of Hutt Space. To the man’s credit, only his eyes reacted for a fraction of a second and he nodded to dismiss them. Brenna grabbed Piotr by the wrist and warmly brought him through the servants exit, by the trash compactors with the ranats. They stepped into the stale cold smell of morning, the streetlamps overhead dying as the day before them dawned into starstreaks of pale gold. A new day was dawning.