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Chandrila


Tarrian Skywalker

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Raphanel held up a hand to prevent any further outburst from any of the Knights, especially the more military minded who were quick to jump into combat, or his fellow family members who were notorious for needlessly duelling the night away at the slightest provocation. It was not fast enough to stop an additional provocation from Edsbryder. But that was the expectation when such a family was involved. They were hard fighters, and had earned a reputation for honour in the face of evil, as they dragged themselves from centuries of decline. 

 

“Enough.” 

 

His hand dropped and he looked to the two men that were now very close and very much on the brink of a fight. His voice sounded as tired as he felt. 

 

“Sir Malczewski, you will be provided with weapons and armour from my family's personal armoury. And though rudimentary, you will also receive training in the few days journey it takes to bring us to Falleen.” He looked to Adrenne who nodded her head in response. “A brightblade and shield if you may be so kind, dear sister.” She smiled warmly and strode off towards the distant doors at the end of the great hall. She would know how best to provide for the young man, as though she was not a Knight herself, she had received many years of personal combat training. As all those of the Contispex line did. 

 

“Let us all return to our meals, and share good company together. There is no need for harsh words or violence. A mission lies ahead where we will all need to stand for each other without hesitation or remorse.” 

 

He picked up a glass of deep wine and tipped it in silent salute. He took a drought and smiled. 

 

“And here she is, returning so quickly.” 

 

Adrienne came carrying a bundle under each arm. Handing each in turn to the young Heir of the Malczewski house. First, the gold etched latticework of a hand held energy shield. Originally the work of Naboo artisans, it had been carried by one of the force users of his household who had fallen during the stark hyperspace war. A Brightblade followed. One of the many mass produced lightsabers of the clone wars, whose kyber crystal was vat grown synthetic. With a crossguard of steel and cortosis filigree. Light armour in the Contispex style. Gold and well polished.

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Lord Commander Raphenel Karlovci Contispex- Imperial Warden

 

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The Exorcist stared hard at the Edling of the Malczewski house ignored her proffered drink and addressed everyone but her. It was a surprisingly commonplace thing for her to be ignored, so she shrugged and sat back to mull her a new glass of sweetwine. She absently stirred it with a scarred finger, watching the emerald liquid turn within the glass. She barely saw the flung knife but the rise of tensions were palpable and stirred her mind to wakefulness.

 

The Edsbryder was a fighter by the looks, and a competent one. He was half a decade her senior, his face hardset and calculating. She stared at the man while the Lord Commander talked and leaned forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. She brought her head close to his, her probiscis shimmering like razorwire in the feasthall light. The Bladedancer’s face glittered with sparks of white flame. From this close, The Inquisitor smelled of spice-sweetened muja and dasengi leaves. Her words were but a whisper

 

“Tell me, Inquisitor, now that you’ve instructed my shield-kin in proper manners like a good kath-pup, what Sith do you expect we will find on Falleen?”

 

A broad smile formed on her face, the songs of war within her mind causing her flames to spark and dance.

 

“Will we cross blades once more with Ar-Pharazon the Golden? Dagon? Perhaps Quietus?”

 

She let her head back and stared at the ceiling, the shadows reflecting the dance above, her mind and body filled with anticipation and a whirling excitement. 

 

“Who of our old enemies yet stand?”

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At the Lord Commander's request, Tygo stopped immediately, backing away from the boy with a gesture that let him know that he would be watching him. 

 

A far more interesting conversation had presented itself anyway. Kyrie was well known to House Edsbryder as a constant hunter of darkness who had overcome her own demons, and it took a great deal of Tygo's practiced composure to not turn into a swooning teenager meeting a celebrity idol. Her soft features belied her experience and grit, and it was evidence of the cruelty of the galaxy that she had faced so many dark horrors so early in life. She was a legendary champion, and here she was smiling at him. He gently placed his fingers on her chin to tilt her head and put her ear close to his lips, that subtle dance of intimacy and flirtation playing out and putting a broad smile her face. Her openness was a sweet relief compared to the guarded and mercurial wants and whimsies of courtly ladies. 

 

"The Sith have a tendency to burn out and fade away after hitting some nadir of ability, at least when it comes to the more powerful ones. Psychologically I don't think that former Dark Lords can handle serving under a new master after having once been the apex predator. Of the old major players, Sheog is the only likely piece still on the board. The Spider kept his cards close to his chest, but his successor was abnormal in terms of the usual patterns. Challengers to the throne tend to wait until all of the pieces of whatever plans they have are in place, but this last one seemed reactionary, out of sorts. Obviously this could be bait for a trap, but it seems like the Sith are reacting to an unorthodox regime change. But this era will have its own arch-devils in time, the names change but the wickedness takes root in wounded hearts all of the same.

 

Most of the post Nar Shadaa Sith activity has been mopping up dark side cults, pale imitations of masters that have long since departed. But the hope is that if we hit enough cults and temples a Sith will fly to its aid. Most of the time Sith do not care for their slaves, but they are creatures of passion, and passion is caution's demise. Be it pride, or wrath, or lust, if there are any Sith remaining, they will be stirred to rise by our provocations, and then cut down."

 

 

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The man’s visage was pale, and yet his soul seemed in such contrast to the pallor of his skin. Vibrant and empathetic. A song of life behind a lifetime of horror. His fingers were cool, but not unpleasant. Touch was such an intimate thing, especially for an Exorcist. She breathed in a slow, shallow breathe, the Anzanti probiscis quivering. She attuned herself to his song, but she did not intrude as was natural to consume sin and darkness as was her nature. Respect held her back.

 

Emerald eyes met violet ones, and behind the white fire that alit her gaze, he would see the shadow of a predator. An unnatural thing, a strange, discordant beat in her song. A dragon moved within her mind, its serpentine form coiling as it stirred by his touch. A snake within the garden. Her eyes flicked away to the party about them as he spoke.

 

They all hate you. Innoble. Inhumane.

 

She swallowed. Probiscis twitched and swayed. Eyes, noble disappointment and disapproval stared at her.

 

Did you think you belonged in their courts? Amongst the martial nobility?

 

She swallowed again, shifting her mind away from the vipers and their poison the words of the Edsbryder prince. There was comfort there that she was not used to. A soul closer in tune with her own than any Jedi.

 

Lowborn.

 

The Exorcist winced. Her stomach plummeted, seeming to dive and twist into nausea. She paused glancing to him again as he finished his words. He had a way with them, no stutter like her.

 

“Sheog, that foul worm remains. I should have guessed his House of Madness yet stands. Their song is of insanity and gluttony. The Song of the Revel.”

 

The bladedancer stared into his eyes. Into their depths. Within her own she beheld the hundred battles against rage and blood, lust and despair. Each a stain of ash upon her soul.

 

“Other than the pitiful cults of Falleen, do we have any other actionable intelligence?”

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Piotr took a deep breath as he stared at the steak knife in the chair. Any words of retort were quickly shut down by the Lord Commander's words, and likely for the better. He bowed his head in humility as he was offered equipment from Lord Raphanel's own house. This was a chance to repair some of the damage that had been done, and he would take it.

 

"Your generosity humbles me, Lord Commander. I will make sure to find my own in time so that I may return these to your House, where they belong."

 

He pulled the steak knife from his chair, tilting his head to the Inquisitor as he did so. This wouldn't be the last time they would clash, he was sure. But then, had he expected any less? The man had a vested interest in protecting his order from charlatans and traitors, and his own reputation wasn't exactly stellar. Whether the inquisitor knew the specifics of why he was here or not, it was bound to cause conflict. Still, there were more pressing matters at hand it seemed. He let his smile return as he lifted his glass.

 

"And I would be honored to learn under a master such as yourself, Master Kyrie. I'm sure that even in the limited time we have before going to Falleen, I will be able to learn much from you."

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It seemed the boy needed training in personal space and reading context clues as well.  Tygo suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and levitated a napkin between the squire and the semi-entwined pair, creating a makeshift privacy curtain.

 

"With the Sith going quiet, the vacuum is filling with with paranoia, suspicion, and the barbs of hidden agendas, and that makes sorting through all of the data to verify truth a slow and frustrating process. Every fool with a grudge is suddenly and conveniently remembering that they saw their enemy at a Sith dinner party. Compassion and skepticism are just as important in inquisitorial work as commitment and tenacity, lest the galaxy burn for fear and hidden grudges. For the moment, we are mostly stamping out cult activity and rooting out the enemy's ability to lay any groundwork for future plans.

 

At least, this is the case for my section. You would probably be more privy to intel on major Sith movements than I would, being my better. Each inquisitor only gains access to part of the big picture in order to contain leaks and better identify their sources. As befits your station you would have more access to the grand scheme of things than I would."

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Kyrie turned her eyes to Piotr, giving him another warm and confident smile, despite the cacophony of doubts the voices tore into her mind. Silver flame cracked in her eyes as she spoke, softly and gently to the boy. She would make him strong, before he tried something to gain strength himself. She had lost too many to the dark in the pursuit of power.

 

“We will be leaving soon, Piotr. By the time we get there I expect you will at least know how to drive a sword into a Sith. The Shield-Wall will protect you, the war-dance will bring you strength.”

 

The Exorcist smiled at the Edsbryder heir, taking in his words as she considered them carefully. Her fingers drummed away on her thigh, her mind turning across the faces and names of the Sith she had pursued since leaving Tython’s embrace. The galaxy seemed to claim the Sith were gone, that they had been eradicated in strength at Nar Shaddaa. She could not believe all she had known had fallen.

 

“Cults alone?”

 

She placed a hand on the Prince’s chest, a move of comfort which stopped the drumming of her fingers immediately. The textures of his clothing brought a strange, warm, relief to her spinning mind

 

They are never gone. You haven’t destroyed them. They will be back.

 

The Exorcist winced. Her fingers tugged on the cloth, feeling the tight knitting upon the calluses and scar tissue that danced in patterns on her hand.

 

“There are but whispers on the wind, but I doubt the destruction of Sullust spelled the end of Sith plans, or the destruction of their weakest on Nar Shaddaa. A culling of the flock at most. At the height of their power they faded back, but the cells of the Helvault are not filled with the strongest, nor have their bodies burned in redemptive flame.”

 

Fiery eyes stared at the Lord Commander, begging him to set them in motion. To get them underway.

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A distant note in the force, a chord of dissonance played in the back of his mind. There was no further use of this meal and meeting. And the look of the Master of Exorcists confirmed it. It was time to go. No longer could they tarry away from the call of justice. It would be a tricky thing, but with the blessing of his family, they could frame the invasion of a sovereign planet correctly. The Contispex, on another one of their damned crusades. This time for true justice. 

 

With a sweep of his gloved hand he pushed his chair back from the table and looked to the head of the table. Where his mother and Father sat, staring directly at him. Silence fell with the sound of the scraping chair and the guests and family members dropped their conversations to see what he would say. 

 

“Mother a blessing for us on our journey.” He turned his eyes to meet his fathers and made a stiff bow. It was returned with a nod of his regal head. 

 

“You have our blessing Raphanel. Falleen will come under the protection of the Contispex. We will stretch out our hand and lift them from dirt and darkness. You have the assets of our dynasty at your disposal. Do not disappoint us.”

 

Raphanel bowed again and looked from side to side at his companions. It was time to go. There was a distant rumble. A hundred engines igniting as starfighters and the Contispex Victory class star destroyer prepared themselves for departure. Some many thousands of soldiers and warriors of the Chandrilian house would partake in this outreach to Falleen. Starfighters, troop shuttles, and at the very heart a new model Victory Class Star Destroyer Oriflamme. Perhaps not enough to fight a legion of Sith, but it would be enough to topple a fading pawn of a government. It was enough to prove the might and political ambition of their house.

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Lord Commander Raphenel Karlovci Contispex- Imperial Warden

 

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