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Chandrila


Tarrian Skywalker

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It felt good, after what felt like an eternity, to be in the cockpit of an X-wing again. Sure, the luxury of the Viper’s Rest had its appeal, but there was something truly freeing about piloting a ship without crew or guests. At any moment, the vagabond spirit could exert its influence and he could be in another system with none the wiser, another mote of cosmic dust blown by the winds of whimsy and libertine pursuits. Today, however, was not a day for idle deviancy and carousing. 

 

Traversato cut through idyllic clouds just as they were beginning to adopt tinges of sunset colors, with the sky’s dominant blue yielding ever so slightly to a restful golden orange. Beneath him stretched pastoral fields that spoke of Chandrila’s continued preservation of the balance between civilization and nature. It was a far cry from what Tygo was used to, and on some levels disconcerting. What sort of devil’s bargain did it take to have such preserved innocence in a galaxy so consumed by war? Would the masters of such a place flinch in the midnight hours of what was to come when the bravado faded and the costs became all too real?

 

Tygo’s family knew all about costs, both from sin and more recently virtue, though many only commented on the former. When he was hunting crazed cultists and lunatic sorcerers, the dark stains of his family’s past had their uses, but in the eyes of lords and ladies who lived safely in pristine towers and manses overlooking verdant greenery, it was a vulnerability to be needled at and leveraged for their idle sadism. The sneers and comments weren’t even particularly biting anymore, instead the banality of every single noble and courtier thinking that their particular jab was nuanced and original turned many events into trudging through a slurry of tired comments and tepid insults.

 

He landed at the estate’s private hangar, cycling the ship through the shutdown process before hauling himself over the rim of the opened cockpit. He was extremely nimble, but several hours in a tight enclosed space would make anyone stiff until they could stretch out. Of course, he could have called upon the Force, but the prince had found that keeping an awareness of the physical allowed him to be better connected to the spiritual, while also avoiding over reliance. He paused his stride for a moment to limber up as an attache moved from the edge of the hangar to greet him. The usual formalities cascaded forward in rote performance, a necessary but boring dance. 

 

It wasn’t long before he was being presented to another room of his peers and their assorted hangers on, and while the faces were largely unknown to him, the reactions were all too familiar. Primarily disdain, even from those who were largely beneath him in standing, a few curious glances from the sorts of people who wanted to upset mommy and daddy, and knowing nods from the veterans who knew what the scarlet scarf he wore meant. One of those veterans was the venerable Lord Commander Constipex, a man whose eyes seemed to have wandered far from his home, iron and haunted in contrast to the peaceful elegance of the estate. 

 

He moved with mercurial grace towards Raphanel, sidestepping a would be heckler and producing a datapad directly for the Lord Commander’s eyes. It showed the butchers’ work that had concluded his last assignment, an outer rim cult that had a penchant for sacrificing youths to some deranged fairy tale demon. It was the conclusion of several months of investigative work, looking into the disappearances, staking out the cult’s procurer’s, and verifying the information before launching a surgical strike. The cult leader had tried to scream his idea of an esoteric ill omen at him, they always try to project this aura of occult fatalism, just before going limp as their cries die into gurgling silence. 

 

“Apologies for my tardiness, Lord Commander. The Wardens always like to be thorough after anything cult related to make sure that we don’t get any dark ritual on our boots and go spreading it everywhere.”

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Their esteemed company was joined by another, the legendary hunter of Sith Kyrie. Tygo had never met the woman until now, but her prowess was often spoken of in hushed and reverent tones amongst the Redcloaks. She wasn't highborn, but her talents in slaying Sith spoke on their own, and it would be an honor to draw steel by her side. A lesser noble whose dress suggested Caridan nobility spoke out of turn, but the Lord Commander dismissed the poorly crafted jeer offhandedly. Acting out as such was a great way to end up on the vanguard in times when lives needed to be spent for the good of the galaxy.

 

"The Falleen are an aristocratic and rational people, they will be both well suited allies and an example that we are not beholden to any xenophobic beliefs of the old empire. We'd best move with haste though, the purity and virginal innocence of the Jedi is at risk, and if we let dust gather they are in great danger of actually having fun."

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"It is strange to me that a house nested on Carida would not offer its youth to the Redcloaks as part and parcel of proving maturity and responsibility. A term of service is a mandatory for us as part of earning full title and privilege. Given that this is a military operation I am sure that your needs for equipment will be seen to. Or you could renounce your station and titles, and remit your obligations to live in quietude as a farmer or factory worker. The wealth and privilege afforded to you comes from the obligation of our esteemed peerage to step up when the common people need a steady and qualified hand to guide and protect them. If you desire training, let this be the first lesson, everything you have carries with it a debt that must be repaid in surety, self sacrifice, and noble character."

 

For any major house to produce an heir that so openly balked at the thought of partaking in that most ancient of necessities, vexed Tygo. Power was entrusted to the nobility to deliver the people from darkness and peril, and idle nobility wasted that trust on self serving pursuits and whimsies. It was in the absence of obeisance to a higher purpose that evil thrived, the heirs of his house knew that intimately well on account of their own dark history. If the might of lords was not brought to bear against the Sith and others that served them, the galaxy would remain consumed in chaos. 

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Tygo picked up a steak knife from his place setting with the flourish typical of a Falcon.

 

"This here is the sharp end, you put this in the Sith until they stop moving."

 

The prince moved with liquid grace from his chair, extending two fingers into a sweeping gesture that slid Piotr's chair out from the table and put the lad facing him. With another flourish the knife came down between in the space between Piotr's thighs, Tygo's face now inches away from the manchild's.

 

"There, you now have a weapon and the instruction to use it. I suggest that you rapidly come to terms with the reality that combat is unavoidable, and should you survive Falleen, seek to remedy your reluctance to learn any means of self defense. You are a Malczewski, things are expected of you, and if you fail to respect the gravity of the situation, you have siblings to replace you. Survival is nobody's birthright, especially in times of war, we all must wrest it from the talons of an uncaring galaxy."

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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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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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