#Duserra

[dragonheart-swtor]

with all the feeling in my gay little heart: fuck making reference sheets

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Alivar, my Mirialan Smuggler, started going barefoot around the ship not long after adopting Reykal, my Togruta Bounty Hunter. He read somewhere that it’s a thing in a lot of Togruta cultures to go barefoot whenever possible, so he started making a habit of it to make her more comfortable. I don’t think she ever consciously noticed it, at least not until she was much, much older, but it did help.

Duserra, my Sith Inquisitor, carries around Lord Kallig’s mask in her bag all the time because he’s bound to it directly in my canon, so he can appear to her whenever he wants that way. When she finally settles into her new home in the Alliance HQ, she finally makes a proper Zabrak ancestor shrine for him with the mask as its centerpiece, with his guidance and help since she knows almost nothing about her own heritage.

Zavi, my Sith Warrior, has a betrothed/wife (depending which point in the timeline we’re talking about) waiting for xir back home that I never talk about! Her name is Shuyun and she is trans, ready to throw hands, and much chiller than her betrothed (though that’s a fairly low bar). Zavi low-key ran out on her to grab the opportunity to be Baras’s apprentice, and as a result their wedding has been delayed for quite a while. Shuyun’s parents are furious about this; Shuyun herself mostly finds it hilarious.

And also about Zavi: xe pretends to like Sith opera because it’s The Proper Thing™️ for a Sith pureblood lord to like, but in reality most of it bores xir to death and xe'd much rather be at home reading historical fiction or watching the much less ostentatious movie versions of the old traditional stories a lot of Sith operas are based on anyway. Xe's especially fond of modernized versions of them (think West Side Story but if it were using Beowulf as a base instead of Romeo & Juliet), which would absolutely scandalize xir family if they knew.

Anyone wanna throw Some of their OC fun facts at me? I’d love to chat about OCs/OC interactions!

[jensons-buttons]

Shubh Duserra to everyone celebrating 💕

[gabrielgrossi]

E amanhã vai rolar esse encontro mais que especial com os irmãos @alessandro_kramer1 @danielsantiagomusic @sergiocoelhotrombone @cassius_theperson @albertocontinentino . O lugar é paradisíaco e a vibe a melhor possível. Borá!! #vidalinda #viverdemusica #emmovimento #amizade @duserra

[theamericanbazaar]

New Jersey includes 19 Hindu festivals to religious holiday list for school students

New Jersey includes 19 Hindu festivals to religious holiday list for school students

Navratri itself is listed for a whopping 10 days. (more…)

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Oh shit, I hadn’t thought of that, but you’re completely right. I’ve been so focused on how my girl Duserra perceived it that I didn’t even think about the fact that it’s definitely weird how okay Zash seems with giving you her old lightsaber. That would explain it, though.

(How mad must she be after the temple incident when she realizes she’s not getting it back after all, though?) 

finished up korriban with my boy ikhar today and was a bit suspicious that zash seemed so chill about giving away her old lightsaber (since baras and kallig are so keen on getting theirs back) - and came to the startling realization that she had no problem giving it away because she knew/assumed it would be hers again anyways

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Tumblr’s letting me post images again! Have a sad.

Duserra decided to hand me some new backstory information; nothing that hadn’t been implied already, but it’s still upsetting to have the specifics confirmed.

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Thanks to @shabre-legacy and their post about Sith parties: have Duserra in a suit. She hates Fancy Sith Parties, but she also looks damn good when attending them. In theory there’s a second piece I also intend to finish, but given how much effort this one was and it’s not even shaded, who knows how long that’ll take me. Stay tuned for that.

(I am Actually Begging You to click this one open and zoom in on the details. I spent an ungodly amount of time on the damn vest pattern and gold tailcoat embroidery. The gold detailing is all on a separate layer so it could be made Shiny easily; the vest pattern is one I hand-drew and then copy-pasted and manipulated to turn into a pattern. The texturing on her tailcoat is the flower brush that I believe comes with FireAplaca, for anyone who’s curious.)

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*incoherent yelling*

I did it! I finished it! I spent all morning drawing the thumbnail so I could put it on YouTube! aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

This isn't the first animatic/lyricstuck I've drawn, but it is the first one I've actually figured out how to put to music! More details on what’s going on/the background for this story are in the description of the video.

forty-two panels. forty-two.

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In which Garen is exposed to snow and immediately becomes a horrible goose

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Old Wounds

Summary: In which Erisine reacts understandably poorly to learning Vaylin is under a kind of mind control very similar to what she was once subjected to and forbids Garen from using it, and a disapproving Valkorion has no meaningful sense of boundaries and no qualms about outing Eris’s trauma to Garen without her consent to try and convince Garen she’s being irrational and making a mistake.

Tags: No Archive warnings apply, mind control aftermath/recovery, implied/referenced mind control, hurt/comfort but it’s pretty light this time, KOTET spoilers

Find me on AO3 at Dragonheart37!

-----

Reactions to Garen describing the events aboard the Gravestone and the news about Vaylin's keyword varied.

Nox recoiled, eyes wide and brow furrowed as if she wasn't sure how she felt about this revelation, only that it wasn't a good feeling. Zashiil startled almost as much, glancing across at the rest of the council like she was looking for reactions too. Theron swore under his breath and pushed himself away from the table to pace across the back wall, shaking his head. Lana rubbed a hand over her face, thoughts flickering behind her eyes too fast to read.

The Commander, whose opinion on this development mattered most of all, did not startle, or pace. A split second of shock flickered across her face, and she went very, very still, lowering her gaze to stare at the holotable. Her fingers might have been a fraction tighter on its edge than they had been a moment ago, but Garen had been watching her face, not her hands, so she couldn't be sure.

Lana was the first to speak. “We could use that to stop Vaylin. If we can just get close to her – we can stop her.”

“I don't like it,” Zashiil muttered. “Taking someone's free will from them. Separating them from the Force. It's wrong.”

“So is massacring a hundred thousand people to catch three fugitives, but Vaylin hasn't had any problems doing that,” Lana countered.

“Zashiil's right,” Theron said, turning back to the table and running a hand through his hair. “We can't justify everything with what our enemies are willing to do, or we're no better than them.”

“Lana might be right about this one,” Koth added, though he didn't sound certain. “Vaylin has to be stopped somehow. She's a monster.”

Zashiil glanced at Nox, as if expecting support, but Nox was staring at the table, fingers clenched around her own biceps as she crossed her arms, silent. The Barsen'thor hissed between her teeth. “I hate Vaylin as much as anyone, but it's not right. You know that.”

“Enough,” said the Commander. The word wasn't loud, but it drew the whole room's attention back to her somehow. She was still staring at the holotable, face carefully neutral, but her voice was sure when she spoke. “This isn't an argument worth having. It's not an option.”

The collective shock at the decisiveness of that rippled through the Force. Lana blinked, clearly taken aback. “Commander?”

She looked up now, green eyes hard as chips of jade. “I'm not arguing about this, Lana. I'm taking it off the table. Zashiil and Theron are right.”

Koth made a shocked noise in the back of his throat. “Commander, you can't just – this is Vaylin we're talking about. I don't like it either, but we need every edge we can get.”

“You will not use Vaylin's programming against her,” the Commander said, turning to look Garen square in the face. It was so small Garen could have imagined it, but she thought she heard a tremor in the Commander's voice. “That's an order, Master Garen'ishta.”

Garen recoiled a little despite herself, startled. An order – the Commander so rarely gave those, or at least rarely said it so bluntly, to her councilors. Lana leaned forward. “Commander, I understand your hesitation, but -”

“But nothing,” the Commander snapped, then paused to take a breath. When she went on, she sounded calm again. “I understand the risks and prices. But I won't allow it. There are depths even I won't stoop to. Let whatever price we may pay be on my head.”

Lana didn't get a chance to respond to that before the scene froze, colors fading.

Valkorion's voice interrupted. “Commander Ganne. Such a brilliant woman. And yet so foolish sometimes.” He circled around behind the Commander, shaking his head. “Such an obvious mistake, and she's walking right into it.”

“She's right,” Garen retorted. “It's wrong to – to manipulate Vaylin like that. Even Vaylin.”

“Vaylin is a danger to herself and everyone else,” Valkorion said, eyes narrow. “Your Commander would agree, were it not for her past. She allows her fear to get the better of her.”

Garen hesitated. “Her – her past? What are you talking about?”

Valkorion smiled grimly. “Vaylin is far from her first experience with such programming. She served my Sith Empire. She knows what it's like to have a leash.” He tilted his head, examining Erisine's frozen face. “She was dangerous, too. In a different way. She killed a Dark Councilor; she could have killed more, perhaps. So she was brought under control.”

Garen's brow furrowed as she turned that over in her mind. She hadn't known this; the Commander had never spoken of it. Which no doubt meant she wasn't supposed to know. “None of this matters.”

“Oh, but it does,” Valkorion disagreed. “She's making a critical mistake, one that might cost thousands of lives, all because she's letting her emotions override the logic that tells her she should know better. She sympathizes with Vaylin because she's been Vaylin. That doesn't mean my reasons for controlling my daughter weren't sound.”

Garen gritted her teeth. “Why are you telling me this? You can't expect it to change my mind.”

“Perhaps not. But I hope it will, and that you won't let the Commander's irrational emotions dictate your actions.”

“You're wrong,” she insisted.

“So be it, then.”

The world came back into focus as Valkorion's presence receded. Garen spoke, aloud this time. “I'm not planning to use Vaylin's keyword, Commander. You have my word.”

The Commander's shoulders relaxed slightly, a little of the tension going out of her, as if she'd been braced for Garen to fight her on this. “Good. Now that that's settled, we should talk about Arcann and how to handle him.”

For a moment, Lana looked like she might still protest, but the tone the Commander spoke in brooked no argument, and after a beat of hesitation Lana sighed. “Very well. If you're sure about this.”

-----

Garen found the Commander standing on the edge of the balcony, leaning against the railing with one foot propped behind the other, staring out over the forests of Odessen. She hesitated a few meters away, not wanting to interrupt the Commander's thoughts.

The Commander nodded slightly without turning around. “Garen.”

Garen blinked, then moved up to the railing next to her. “How did you know it was me?”

Erisine smiled dryly, still looking out toward the horizon. “Footsteps. Yours are the lightest out of anyone on the council. And no one outside the inner circle ever comes to find me out here.” She snorted. “Well. No one who isn't Kaliyo, anyway. But she wouldn't have hesitated to bother me.”

Garen shook her head. “You never cease to amaze me.”

“I have to keep some tricks up my sleeves.”

They stood quietly for a moment, while Garen tried to formulate a way to broach the subject she wanted to gracefully. “So, uh,” she started, hesitantly, ignoring Valkorion's disapproval seeping through the back of her mind. “You seemed... pretty upset about Vaylin.”

Erisine turned to look at her, long enough for Garen to start getting uncomfortable before she spoke. “He's told you something you're not supposed to know about me, hasn't he?”

Garen winced. “I'm sorry. I didn't... I can't always shut him out.”

“Don't apologize. It's not your fault.” Her fingers tightened on the railing. “What did he tell you?”

She could feel him projecting himself standing behind her; she ignored him as best she could. “He said you know what it's like to have a leash. You sympathize with Vaylin because you've been Vaylin. That...” She pulled one lek over her shoulder to fidget with it uncomfortably. “That you're letting your emotions override logic, even though you know we should use Vaylin's programming against her. You – you get the idea.”

The Commander's lips tightened a fraction. “I see.” She looked back out toward the horizon again. “I have to ask you to keep this to yourself, Garen. It's true I know Vaylin's... situation better than almost anyone. But I assure you, it's no longer relevant.” She took a beat to swallow, and Garen tried to pretend she hadn't felt the echoes of old hurt in the Force, too strong to block out completely. “I undid my programming a long time ago. It's not a security threat.”

“I know,” Garen said softly. “You wouldn't let something like that compromise the Alliance.”

Before she could say more, she felt Valkorion step further into the front of her mind. “She's wrong,” he said, circling around into view behind Erisine. “She may no longer be under control of a keyword, but her past is a threat to you. She sympathizes with Vaylin.”

Garen frowned. “I wouldn't use Vaylin's programming against her even if the Commander hadn't ordered me not to,” she replied silently. “It's wrong. No matter how much of a threat Vaylin is.”

“And when innocents die preventable deaths because you wouldn't do what was necessary to stop her?” he challenged, arching one eyebrow. “What will you say then?”

That made her falter. What would she? What could she possibly say?

No. Don't let him break you. He was just looking for weaknesses – things he could exploit to manipulate her. She'd come this far and done this much good without needing to justify horrors; she couldn't start now.

He'd felt the hesitation, though, and Garen felt his satisfaction seep into her mind. She focused for a moment, pushing him back into the background again. Time caught up with her – she hadn't even realized it had stopped this time – and the Commander was looking at her, half a question in her eyes. Before Garen could say anything, Erisine said, “He was talking to you.” Garen nodded. “You get this – look on your face. Like you stop registering everything else for just a second.”

Garen sighed. “Valkorion has this trick he likes to do sometimes where he slows down my perception of time so he can talk without being interrupted. That's probably the look.”

Erisine shook her head. “I'll never understand the Force.” She smiled dryly. “He say anything I should know about?”

Garen flicked a lek dismissively, though even that was half-hearted. “Badgering me about agreeing with you. About Vaylin, I mean. Nothing important.”

Erisine mmed understanding. After a beat of silence, she asked, sounding hesitant, “Does he do that often?”

“Badger me?” Garen shrugged wearily. “Not usually like this. He's always listening, and he likes to give annoying commentary. We disagree on a lot of stuff.”

Erisine laughed. “I can imagine.” She sobered again, then said quietly, “I am sorry you got stuck with this. I don't really understand how it all works, but I've had a voice in my head, even if it wasn't a ghost of the Force or whatever. It's not easy.”

“You've had a voice in your head?”

She waved a hand. “Weird – brain stuff. Side effect of the programming. Turns out the human brain doesn't respond very well to external control being forced on it.” She huffed a half-hearted laugh and added dryly, “Can't imagine how that might apply to Vaylin.”

A vague sense of disapproval from Valkorion floated through Garen's mind. She ignored it, again. “I do wonder how much it was his... choking control on her that turned her into this,” Garen admitted softly. “I wouldn't blame her for rebelling, against that. Even if she's taken it much too far.”

Erisine pursed her lips. “No. I can't blame her for that much either.” She looked down, staring blindly over the railing for a long stretch of silence. “Garen, I don't want you to feel like I don't care that I'm putting you at risk. If I didn't think you could beat her...”

Garen reached out to touch Erisine's elbow lightly, just a brush of fingertips. “I know,” she assured her. “I wouldn't use it even if you'd told me to. It's not right.”

Erisine snorted. “Telling your superior you'd disobey a direct order? Brave.”

Garen let a smile crinkle her face. “A Jedi never lies.”

“I think the Barsen'thor would disagree,” Erisine replied, smiling back. She shrugged her arm away from Garen slightly, and Garen took her cue to withdraw her hand from where it still lay against Erisine's elbow. “It's good, I think. To have people willing to push back against me and tell me when I'm wrong. That's one thing the Empire was never good at. Perhaps the Alliance can do better.”

Garen looked out again over Odessen, over the dock below. “We'll pull it off,” she promised. “We'll beat Vaylin. And we'll set things right. All of us, together.”

Erisine nodded. “I hope you're right.”

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Have the thumbnail for that animatic I just posted this morning! Backgrounds are hard, focus on the nice edge lighting on Duserra instead. (Yes, this is a panel from the animatic itself turned into full color, for the record.)

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OC Song Analysis: You Should See Me In A Crown (by Billie Eilish) & Duserra

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Plof0N0163o

"Bite my tongue, bide my time,"

Welcome to years of slavery where speaking out would get you beaten or killed

"Wearing a warning sign,"

For those who really watched, the warning signs of her Force-sensitivity were probably there. Just because it didn't fully manifest until adulthood didn't mean it wasn't present.

"Wait 'til the world is mine."

She is capable of patience, even if she sometimes doesn't act like it.

"Visions I vandalize, Cold in my kingdom size, Fell for these ocean eyes."

Fuck the Sith's traditions and standards and expectations. She's an alien, she's an ex-slave, she's never been what's expected of a Sith, tearing apart the idealistic visions of others with her very existence.

"You should see me in a crown. I'm gonna run this nothing town. Watch me make 'em bow - One by one by one One by one by - You should see me in a crown. Your silence is my favorite sound. Watch me make 'em bow - One by one by one One by one by one."

Yeah I don't think I have to analyze that much, honestly. Duserra seized power with an iron grip and never let go or tolerated insubordination - it was the only way she knew how to keep power, and she feared losing that newfound authority more than anything. (And if she took pleasure in rending obedience from those who tried to stand against her, what of it?)

"Count my cards, watch them fall"

I mean the whole Quizzy storyline is just "wow shit really hit the fan here, didn't it"

"Blood on a marble wall, I like the way they all scream."

...yeah she does go a little large bit homicidal

"Tell me which one is worse: Living or dying first, Sleeping inside a hearse."

She's kind of living on borrowed time for a while, especially when she's on the run from Thanaton and then, you know, low-key dying of Ate Too Many Ghosts Disease. But what's worse, really? Living or dying? Living in fear and agony and confusion, or dying in pain and losing it all?

"(I don't dream.)"

A flat-out lie. Her dreams are haunted by the ghost of her ancestor, Lord Kallig, long dead and long disgraced among Sith.

"You say, "Come over, baby I think you're pretty""

~nonhuman discrimination and "exotic woman" stereotypes~

"I'm okay, I'm not your baby. If you think I'm pretty..."

Duserra plays along just long enough to draw out the confusion-understanding-shock-terror when she reveals the truth and tears the creeps, the predators, and the bigots to pieces.

"You should see me in a crown. I'm gonna run this nothing town. Watch me make 'em bow - One by one by one One by one by - You should see me in a crown. Your silence is my favorite sound. Watch me make 'em bow - One by one by one One by one by one."

Same themes throughout - clawing her way up the power structure, reveling in the new power she’s won, refusing to feel guilty about any of it.

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Some more centaur AU doodles - Duserra in her slave days (ft “I did more research for this one drawing than every other piece of art I’ve done this week combined”), a centaur!Eidorrah design (ft “hey if centaurs did wear fancy clothes on their lower bodies, because if anyone’s going to it’s a Sith trying very hard to look like a Sith, what would those look like”), and the half-blood twins as taurs as well, which basically ended up being horses with weird tails and a few dermal plates because my Sith ‘taurs are already pretty close to Human ‘taurs (purposefully).

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I love writing fanfic sometimes

“What does the peanut gallery think?”

thank you Duserra for confirming that you refer to the collection of ghosts you keep in your brain as "the peanut gallery"

"I don't know how successful it will be, but you've come this far without knowing that.”

thank you Kallig for summarizing the Sith Inquisitor storyline just in general

[dragonheart-swtor]

Of Blood and Ghosts

Summary: Zashiil asks her estranged sister to help Garen'ishta deal with Valkorion's presence in her mind, and after an argument Duserra agrees. An awkward conversation and a somewhat challenging Sith ritual ensue. Set fairly early on during KOTFE, though the exact point in time is left purposely vague because I can't be bothered to think about plot points. :P

Tags: No Archive warnings apply, self-harm but not really? purposeful self-injury but not for the purpose of self-harm use your own discretion on that one, Force rituals, Force-ghosts, the author goes a little ham describing the Force from different characters’ perspectives

Find me on AO3 at Dragonheart37!

-----

In meditation, stretching her senses out through the Force, Duserra felt her approaching from down the hall – a tangle of thorns, driving back any attempt to examine her thoughts with sharp rebuke. More so than usual, even. Worried about something, then.

Coming this way, and the echoes of Duserra's own desert-heat Force signature tinging the edges of those thorns said she wasn't going to be passing by.

Great.

Duserra withdrew her attention from the Force, back into her own body. She sat staring blankly at the candles set out in front of her until the door chimed.

No point putting it off, I suppose. She reached out without moving and tripped the opening mechanism. “What?”

“Hello to you, too,” Zashiil grumbled. Duserra brushed herself off and stood to face the Jedi, who was standing just inside her door with arms crossed already.

“Hello. I was meditating. What do you want?”

Zashiil's jaw clenched, irritated heat spiking off her in the Force, but she kept her voice even when she spoke. “I need to ask a favor of you.”

Duserra – Nox – arched her eyebrows. “Do you, now?”

“Can you let me get out more than a sentence without snarking at me?” Zashiil snapped. Nox almost actually fell for that before thinking better of it and closing her mouth again. “Thank you.” Zashiil sighed. “Look. Garen is struggling to deal with Valkorion. She doesn't want to admit it, because she doesn't think anyone can help her, but it's obvious that dealing with him is taking a toll on her.”

Nox shifted her weight onto one foot, considering Zashiil. Her arms were crossed, body language closed and irritated. Funny, for someone coming to ask for help. “What exactly do you think I can do about it?”

The look Zashiil shot her could have wilted a cactus flower on impact. “Don't give me that. I may not have all the details about how you became a darth, but I know you've worked with ghosts.”

“'Worked with' is generous,” Kalatosh muttered in the back of her head.

“You know more about them than practically anyone else,” Zashiil continued, oblivious to his commentary. “You can help her.”

Nox arched an eyebrow. “She won't want my help, Barsen'thor. Not if she's as good a Jedi as she acts like.”

“Have you met the woman?” Zashiil asked. “She'll take any help she can get. Duserra, you're -”

“That's not my name,” Nox snapped, interrupting her.

Zashiil recoiled, then scoffed. “What, I'm not even allowed to call you by your real name anymore?”

“My name is Nox,” she growled. “I earned that name, Barsen'thor.”

“I told you to stop calling me that,” Zashiil ground out. “You know my name. I know yours. Why pretend otherwise?”

Because every time you call me my other name, it hurts, and I can't let people see that kind of weakness. Aloud, she only said, “We're not friends, Jedi.”

Zashiil openly snarled this time, baring sharp teeth in frustration. “You're impossible.”

Nox turned away from her dismissively, waving a hand as carelessly as she could manage. “If you're done talking, then you can leave. I didn't ask to be disrespected in my own quarters.”

There was a moment of smoldering silence, then. “Dus -” Zashiil started, then cut herself off and sighed. “...Nox.”

And the name was laid between them like a peace offering. (Ironic, considering how it was earned.)

Nox turned her head slightly – not enough to face Zashiil, not yet, just enough to make it clear she was listening. The Force had cooled somewhat between them in that moment, as if Zashiil were forcing herself to be calm – or admitting defeat. Curious.

“I know – you have no love for me,” Zashiil said, and two – seven – years ago, when she first became a Sith, Duserra might not have been able to stop the instinctive flinch like Nox did. “So let me rephrase this. If Garen loses this fight with Valkorion – and there will be a fight – it becomes very likely that we're all going to die. Including you. So if you won't do it for my sake, or for Garen's, or for the kriffin' galaxy's – maybe you'll do it for your own.” Her voice dropped to growl half to herself as she turned back toward the door, “Seems to be the only thing you care about these days anyway.”

Nox turned to watch the door slide shut behind the Barsen'thor as she left. Silence filled the room, though Duserra felt the cold presence of a ghost long before Lord Kallig spoke.

“Flesh of my flesh.”

She sighed bitterly and turned away, waving him off. “I don't want to talk about it, Gramps.”

“You should heed your sister.”

Duserra bared her teeth at him. “She's not my sister anymore.”

“She is also flesh of my flesh,” he reminded her, unmoved by her posturing. “Blood of your blood. Blood is not meaningless. Your sister has not forgotten that.”

“How do you figure?” Duserra snapped. “She didn't seem to care that much about blood when she refused to leave the Jedi for me. And it's not exactly like she's been reaching out even since we've been here.”

“Perhaps not,” Kallig murmured, staring her down from behind his inscrutable mask. “But when she needs help, she comes to you.”

Duserra scoffed. “She came to me because she needs something from me. Something only I can give. No one else knows about ghosts. She couldn't have asked anyone else.”

“But she could have asked someone else to talk to you for her,” he pointed out. Duserra hesitated. “Do you know why she came to you herself?”

“Why do I get the feeling you're going to tell me?”

“She came to you herself because she didn't want anyone else to know she needed help,” he said, ignoring her sarcasm. “She trusted you, and only you, with that knowledge. Your sister struggles to be vulnerable almost as much as you do. But she let you see her asking for help. You should not take that lightly, granddaughter.”

Duserra crossed her arms, hating that she couldn't come up with an adequate rebuff to that. Instead she took a beat to refocus herself, pausing to find the strings that bound her and the ghosts together and pull until they came more into focus. “What does the peanut gallery think?”

Figures shimmered into view before her, around Kallig's more solid form, watery and transparent but still present. Kalatosh folded his arms in much the same way she had, immediately making her regret the choice of gesture. “The Jedi had a point. If Valkorion rises again, you and much of the rest of the galaxy will die. That serves no one, not even us.”

“We would be freed,” Mar-Da pointed out. “No longer bound to this young Sith.”

“Freed to be bound to a tomb in solitude and silence for eternity,” Hordak-Mul mused. “No. Kalatosh is right.”

Andru narrowed his eyes. “The rituals our little snake has learned are dark-sided in nature. The Jedi may not even be able to use them properly, much less willing.”

“So we turn her to the dark side,” Kalatosh said, looking Duserra dead in the eyes again. “She's done it before. She can do it again.”

“Still sore about that, aren't you?” Duserra muttered. “I kept Ashara alive, didn't I?”

“And where is she now?”

“Irrelevant,” Ergast interrupted. “If you wish to teach Garen'ishta how to control Valkorion, you will have help from at least some of us.”

“Good to know.” Duserra sighed, glancing sidelong at Kallig. “Aside from criticizing how I handle my relationship with the Barsen'thor, what do you think of all this?”

He hummed thoughtfully. “It won't do any harm. I don't know how successful it will be, but you've come this far without knowing that.”

“I suppose that's true.” She sighed again, waving a hand in the air. “Fine, fine. I'll send Garen a message and see if she'll meet with us. Gramps, can I expect you to be around?”

“I'll be watching. But I would prefer to remain uninvolved for the time being. Valkorion may yet be unaware of my presence; he knows you have ghosts bound to you, but their presence may mask mine. I would prefer to keep him ignorant for now.”

“I can get behind that; keeping the spooky ex-Emperor ignorant sounds good to me.”

Garen was sprawled across her bed reading when a message notification interrupted her. She sighed and tabbed over to the message, then sat up to reread it.

Master Garen'ishta

Meet me on the hilltop above the base at 1500. I want to discuss something with you.

Nox

Nox? Garen frowned, rereading the two short sentences as if there might be something more to glean from them. “What does she want?” she murmured aloud to herself, tapping nervous fingers against her thigh. Darth Nox had been... coolly indifferent to Garen for the most part. She seemed to prefer not interacting with people whenever possible, and vacillated between stony silence and blunt comments during meetings. Not to mention the way she loomed over almost everyone else. (Garen still wasn't sure how the Commander, who was even shorter than she and Force-blind to boot, managed to stand up to Darth Nox without even flinching.)

And now she wanted to talk about... something. Not an anxiety-inducing message at all.

Garen glanced at the chrono. Only about half an hour until 1500, so not much time to think about it, which was probably for the better.

Garen crested the hill and found Nox sitting cross-legged with her back turned to the path, looking out over the landscape below – or, not, probably, since she looked like she was meditating. Garen paused a short distance behind her, trying to ignore the way the shadowy Force swirling around the former Dark Councilor gave her chills. “You, uh – you wanted to talk with me?” she asked hesitantly.

The Force stilled around Nox again, settling into a more natural rhythm, and she gestured for Garen to come around in front of her. Garen stepped carefully around the ring of candles on plates Nox had set up and settled cross-legged across from the Zabrak, mirroring her posture. Nox regarded her with those eerie golden eyes for a long moment before speaking. “The Barsen'thor asked me to speak with you about your situation with Valkorion.”

Garen's lekku twisted together behind her uncomfortably. “Oh.”

“Do you know anything about Force-ghosts?”

She bit the inside of her cheek lightly. “A little. My master, Orgus Din, came back as a Force-ghost to speak with me after he died.”

Nox tilted her head slightly. “A Jedi Force-ghost? Interesting. I didn't know Jedi could become ghosts.” She paused for a moment, flexing her thumbs where her hands were folded in her lap. “I don't know how much you know about me, but I have experience with ghosts where very few others do. The Barsen'thor thinks I can help you with Valkorion.”

Garen felt him stir at that, coming further to the forefront of her mind. “The Barsen'thor overestimates her understanding of our... 'situation,'” he murmured.

Garen ignored him and instead said carefully, “You... say that like you don't agree.”

Nox hmmed under her breath. “Frankly, Master Jedi, I don't know. Valkorion bound himself to you. I was the one who bound my ghosts. I can try to teach you some of the things I've learned. Not all of them will work, no doubt.” She examined Garen, and Garen instinctively tightened her mental shields, getting the sense that Nox was looking at the Force as well as her face. “But that really depends on whether you're willing to learn.”

Garen hesitated. “Why wouldn't I be?” she asked slowly. “I don't exactly like having him stuck in my head. If you can help -”

“I didn't say I could get rid of him, first of all,” Nox interrupted. “If I knew how to do that, believe me, I wouldn't be giving you the option of saying no.” Worrying. “But I might be able to help you control him at least a little. Show you how better to manage sharing a headspace with a ghost. If.” She raised a finger. “If you're willing to learn from a Sith.”

Garen couldn't help but glance over at where Valkorion was projecting himself, standing off to her right. Nox's eyes followed the look, but returned to Garen's face when she evidently realized what Garen was looking at. “What a fascinating choice,” Valkorion mused. “Allow your most hated enemy to continue existing in your mind, or allow yourself to be 'tainted' by the dark side's teachings.”

Garen forced her lekku to stay down instead of arching back and betraying her irritation. She looked back at Nox, uncertainty settling into determination. “Whatever you can teach me, I'm willing to at least give it a try.”

Nox blinked at that, looking genuinely surprised. She recovered quickly, reaching into her robes – she'd abandoned her armor for the time being, it seemed – and retrieving a small, curved knife. “Very well. Then we might as well start now.”

Garen's pulse undeniably jumped at the sight of the blade, though she tried to suppress that. “Wh- what's the knife for?” she stammered.

Nox arched an eyebrow, golden eyes shining. She sighed and set the blade down on her knee. “I was going to explain, you know.”

“Um – sorry.”

“Ghosts are fickle things,” Nox explained, folding her hands in her lap again. “In their natural state, they can appear to anyone, at least in theory. It's easier for Force-sensitives to see them, and easiest of all for blood relations. But their range is limited unless they're appearing in dreams. Most ghosts are bound to the place they died or the place they were buried. Valkorion, and my ghosts, are bound to people instead. That means they can't normally appear to anyone but the person they're bound to – their life force is tied to our own.” She picked up the knife again to show it to Garen – a small, highly polished metal blade with a wicked curve to it. “The first thing is to be able to make them visible to other living people. It will make teaching you easier, for one thing; for another, sometimes it's nice to have them be involved in a conversation without having to relay everything they say yourself.” She paused. “On the other hand, sometimes it's a pain in the ass. So use it wisely, I guess.”

Garen nodded slowly. “I guess that makes sense. And the knife?”

“They're tied to our life force,” Nox repeated. “The easiest way to let the ghosts touch the physical world again temporarily is to let a little of your life force do the same.” She smiled dryly. “In other words, cut yourself and let a little blood fall.”

Garen resisted the urge to pull a lek over her shoulder to fidget with, though she couldn't stop them from twisting together nervously behind her. “Oh,” she said in a small voice. “I... I've never done a ritual quite like this.”

Nox narrowed her eyes. “I did ask if you would be willing to learn from a Sith. We don't do anything in half measures, that's probably the first thing you should know.”

“No! I'm willing. Sorry. It's just – new to me, that's all.”

Nox examined her for a moment, then nodded, seemingly satisfied. “All right. In that case.” She closed her eyes and drew the blade across the belly of her forearm, bringing it away red. “Make the cut. Don't cut too deep or too long, you only need a little blood.” She flicked the blade down toward the ground, spattering dark red droplets onto the grass, then clenched and unclenched her fist until blood trickled from the cut on her forearm and dripped onto the ground as well. If the pain affected her, she didn't show it – or maybe she'd just done this often enough not to care anymore. “Reach for the bonds that tie you to the ghost as you let the blood fall. Pull them forward with it; let the bond follow your veins down your arm and out into the world.”

Garen felt the pull now – a tidal tug deep in her gut, the Force whispering in her earcones, agitated and restless as Nox bent it to her will.

Nox opened her eyes again, blazing gold. Blue light seeped from the cut on her forearm, a sharp contrast to red blood and red skin, falling slowly toward the ground before curling back around behind the Sith.

And all at once, they were not alone.

In a flash of blue light, an entire row of figures took form behind Nox – three, four, five humanoid shapes in transparent blue, somehow colder and harsher than the blue Master Orgus's spirit had taken on. They stood in a row behind Nox, eyes fixed on Garen just as Nox's were, utterly still for a moment.

Then, as if breaking a spell over all of them, Nox slumped forward slightly and reached into her robes again, withdrawing a roll of bandages this time. She offered Garen the knife handle-first, shaking it at her insistently when she didn't immediately take it. “Take it so I can bandage my arm up already, I'm bleeding out here.”

Garen took it, fumbling and numb, unable to stop staring at the ghosts now visible standing behind Nox. “I – I didn't realize – when you said ghosts, I didn't realize there were so many.”

Nox snorted, still wrapping bandage material around her arm. “Yeah. Master Jedi, meet the peanut gallery.” She gestured at each ghost in turn. “Kalatosh Zavros, Horak-mul, Ergast, Darth Andru, and Mar-Da. They know who you are already.”

“Jedi Master Garen'ishta,” the Togruta on the far left – Zavros – mused, crossing his arms over his lekku. “The Hero of Tython.”

“Host to the Sith Emperor,” the hooded man – Andru? She was already forgetting which was which, blast it – added. “I'm surprised you agreed to this, little Twi'lek. Sith blood rituals already? How far the Jedi have fallen, that our little snake can turn you so easily.”

Garen undeniably bristled at being called little Twi'lek, and at his accusation. “I'm not turning to the dark side,” she said firmly.

Nox snorted again at her indignance. “Don't get all worked up. He makes a habit of insulting everyone we meet, it's not personal.”

“No, I think he has a point,” the Sith pureblood – Horvak? Horak? Damn – mused, stroking one of the tendrils hanging on either side of his mouth thoughtfully. “In my day a Jedi would have taken a lot more convincing than that.”

“Your day was almost two thousand years ago,” Nox drawled. “Hush up, anyway, we've got more work to do.” She gestured at the knife Garen was still holding. “Your turn. May want to have a quick chat with Valky first, make sure he's going to cooperate.” She shrugged. “You can force it, or at least I can, but it's easier if they come out to play willingly.”

Garen gnawed her lip. “I – right. Yeah. That makes sense.” She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to focus.

His presence was always there to some degree, echoing cold and heavy in the back of her skull. Usually she tried to ignore it; intentionally focusing on him made him... uncomfortably present, tugging at her like a windstorm on all sides. For once she tried to push a thought at him, instead of letting it happen naturally or trying to hide it. Valkorion?

Silence, but – attentive silence. He was listening, he just wasn't talking. (Of course. The one time she wanted him to talk, he stayed silent.) Valkorion, I know you're listening, she thought again, pushing the words at him harder. Can you – come out? Let Nox see you?

“This is a pointless exercise,” he said at last. “Nox overestimates her power and understanding both. What I have done, what I am, is beyond her ken.”

So the ritual won't work?

A pause. “I did not say that.”

So?

“You are persistent, Jedi, for someone who complains about me inserting myself into her conversations.”

You're deflecting, she challenged. What are you afraid of?

From the ripple of anger that passed through her consciousness, Garen half expected Valkorion to growl. “I am not afraid of anything, Jedi.”

Then what do you have to lose?

Another pause, then a soft chuckle, echoing through her mind and making her skin crawl despite herself. “Very well, Jedi. You win this time. Perform your silly Sith ritual.”

Nox was watching her, one eyebrow raised slightly. Garen swallowed and nodded. “Okay. He's – yeah. He'll talk.”

“Good. Nice to have someone cooperative along for a change,” Nox grumbled. The Sith pureblood ghost muttered something in a language Garen didn't know – Sith, probably – but Nox ignored him. “Make the cut. Reach for the bonds. Pull them down your arm and out into the world with the blood.”

“Right,” Garen murmured. “Not weird at all.” She hesitated as she raised the knife, still stained with Nox's blood. “Um – do you have a clean rag, or something?”

Nox looked at her like she was an idiot. With a curl of her fingers, the remaining blood separated itself from the steel in an arc of crimson and fell to the grass after hovering for a moment, leaving the blade shining clean again. Garen blinked. “Oh. Okay.” Probably not the time to bring up Inappropriate Use Of The Force. She swallowed hard, then laid the edge of the blade against her skin, squeezed her eyes shut, and made the cut.

Undeniably her concentration was immediately damaged by the pain, but she forced herself to ignore it. Reach for the bond.

Again, not something she usually did intentionally. Valkorion was cold and carried so much power with him that at first she wasn't sure how to get a grasp on him. Her thoughts slid off of his like fingers scrabbling at a stone slick with ice, far too large to wrap around and lift just like that. She grimaced and dove deeper, letting her awareness of the physical fade somewhat in favor of focusing on the flow of the Force through her own thoughts and his.

So she couldn't just  latch onto him and pull. But she was letting him determine the shape of himself in the Force – those things were subjective, perhaps if she changed the shape of things?

Not a boulder, then. Something else.

Unfortunately, the next most natural shape for his presence to take in her mind was that of a beast – a coiling mass of leathery black, flanks towering upward and claws rasping against her thoughts as his deep chuckle echoed through the space they shared -

Nope, that's not better. She withdrew again, shivering away the feeling and considering him from something more of a distance – at least, as much of a distance as she could manage, given the circumstances. He didn't make any effort to close with her again, merely watching her battle against the problem, amusement curling around him in glittering wisps.

Dimly, she was aware of warmth trickling slowly down her forearm, but the pain was dulled by her focus on the Force, at least. So I can't grab onto him directly. So... what now. She turned over what Nox had said in her mind. Reach for the bond. The bond.

If she couldn't grab him directly...

She reached out again – not for Valkorion, this time, but for the space between them, the weight she couldn't break however hard she tried, tying them together.

That weight swirled, formless for a moment, then settled into a shape in her mind's eye. Chains of shadow, cold and heavy with Valkorion's power, extending from him to her –

Shackled around her wrists, binding her just as well as they bound him.

Garen took a deep breath to settle herself. Very well, then. She'd known she was just as trapped as Valkorion already. She intended to make it as difficult as possible for him to use that against her.

So she twisted her wrists, wrapping the chains twice around her hands and gripping them as firmly as she could manage, and pulled.

He was still heavy – impossibly heavy, the weight of a starship somehow held within her skull – but she'd lifted heavy things before. Now that she had a place to start, heavy was something she could manage.

Distantly, she heard Nox's voice, murmuring approval. “That's it.”

Valkorion's voice overpowered the younger Sith's, a surprised laugh. “Interesting. Very interesting, young Jedi.”

Garen ignored them both and did something she was good at – put her head down, dug her heels in, and worked. She dragged Valkorion closer inch by inch, looping the chains around her arms now and then to take up the slack. She hesitated then, unsure of how to move forward.

“Down your arm,” Nox murmured. “The blood.”

Right. She had to let go of the metaphor for that, the visualization, and she almost lost her grip on Valkorion's bonds with it – clung to them through sheer determination. Now the chains, the beast, the boulder, the mindscape were all gone, leaving just a point of cold weight in the base of her skull, one she could push down her neck and shoulder and arm with agonizing slowness. Pain throbbed in her forearm as her awareness of her body returned, another thing she had to ignore and push through. At least that she had experience with.

Garen opened her eyes in time to see blue light seep from the cut, casting her green skin with an eerie pallor as it drifted slowly toward the ground.

And then there was a flash of light, and she felt Valkorion anchor himself in the physical behind her. Only Nox's eyes flickering above and behind Garen to where he no doubt stood told her it wasn't the same kind of projection he always did. Garen slumped forward slightly, unable to help herself, breathing harder than she should have been considering. Nox offered her the roll of bandages, though her eyes didn't leave Valkorion. “Dark Lord,” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Nice to see you've joined the party.”

“That is a title I left behind long ago, Darth Nox,” Valkorion said, smooth and unaffected as usual. Garen swallowed, mouth dry suddenly, and set herself to wrapping her arm. “But it doesn't surprise me you still cling to it.”

Nox's lower lip curled, baring pronounced lower canines, and she turned back to Garen without another word. “Not bad for a first try, Master Jedi. How do you feel?”

“Like I got clipped by a speeder,” she replied, before she could think better of it.

Nox snorted. “Yeah, I kind of felt the same way the first time I tried it.”

“She almost passed out from the strain,” the Togruta ghost said helpfully.

“And failed to draw us out anyway,” the hooded Human – Darth Andru; his name had stuck with her for some reason – added.

Nox's face flushed. “What did I say about you being able to talk to other people being a pain in the ass?” she muttered, crossing her arms. “I had three ghosts to draw out. She has one.”

“One far more powerful than any of us,” the Voss ghost observed.

Garen felt Valkorion's amusement at Nox's defensive embarrassment – strangely muffled, now, like a voice heard from underwater – and bit the inside of her cheek as she handed back the roll of bandages. “Thank you for showing me,” she said, putting as much sincerity as she could into her voice. Nox's brows drew together, just for a split second, before she took back the roll. “I don't think I ever would have figured it out on my own.”

Nox cleared her throat. “Right. Well. Don't look too far into it. I just want a little security he's not going to kick you out of your own body, that's all.”

Several of the ghosts behind her looked amused at that, but none of them spoke. Garen forced a laugh, trying to make it not sound forced. “Yeah, I – I could live with that too.” She pulled a lek over her shoulder to fidget with it. “Well... what now?”

“The ritual won't last long,” Nox said, shaking off the momentary uncertainty. “Ten minutes, fifteen tops, without further ritual stacked on top to maintain it. Which we're not going to do today.”

Valkorion arched an eyebrow. “Not keen on keeping this conversation up for long?”

Nox bared her teeth again. “The last time I saw you, you had me in shock cuffs. You'll forgive me for not being particularly fond of you.”

He tsked softly at her. “Now, is that any way to speak to your Emperor?”

Nox's claws dug into her thigh. The Togruta ghost murmured something too quiet for Garen to catch, and Nox gritted her teeth. “I do not bend the knee to you,” she growled, “and you should count yourself lucky that it's her you're bound to and not me.” Her golden eyes fell to Garen again. “In any case. In theory, it's possible to build further off this ritual. Making it last longer is just a matter of feeding a continual stream of energy into it. Even with this way of making a bound ghost visible to others, the same rules apply as with an unbound ghost – it's easier for Force-sensitives to see ghosts than Force-blind people, and easiest for blood relatives. He's a little shaky for me, but it's your first time doing this. With a little practice, you'll be able to make him visible to just about anyone. I imagine the Commander would appreciate not having to rely on a go-between once in a while, for one.”

Garen nodded. “And within the... mindscape, or whatever it's called?”

“Mindscape, headspace, inner world.” Nox shrugged. “If this worked, that's a pretty good sign I can show you how to manipulate that a little more intentionally. From there you can hopefully get some control over him – at least be able to hide your thoughts from him better and quit hearing him for a while when you don't want to.”

Garen looked down, still playing with the end of her lek to keep her hands busy. “That... sounds nice, honestly.”

Valkorion hummed thoughtfully. “Do you not worry I might be able to use the same techniques against you, Jedi?”

Hadn't thought of that. Garen looked up at Nox for confirmation. Nox tilted her head, then shook it. “Somehow I don't think so. I think if you could do that, Valky -” he frowned at the nickname - “you wouldn't need me to teach you.”

“And you wouldn't have brought it up if you actually thought you could,” Garen realized, folding her arms. “You just want to scare me off.”

He arched an eyebrow, looking unimpressed. “You talk of binding and silencing me, and try to take the moral high ground,” he mused. “Interesting.”

“Don't fuckin' give me that,” Nox snapped. “You ate an entire damn world. You've solidly surrendered the moral high ground.”

The Voss ghost tapped his fingers together in front of him, thinking. “He seeks to unbalance you, outsider,” he said, eyes fixed on Garen. “You would be wise not to let him.”

“For once, Mar-Da has a point,” the Sith pureblood muttered. “Our Emperor is old and canny. Keep your wits about you, Jedi, whatever path you take.”

Valkorion huffed a half-laugh, folding his hands behind his back. “Very well. Since you seem determined to take this path no matter what I say.”

Garen shivered as a wave of cold swept over her – and Nox startled, eyes scanning the area for a moment. “...Good to know he can do that,” she muttered.

Garen glanced behind her – Valkorion's apparition was gone. “Can your...” She gestured to the figures still standing around Nox. “Can you all not?”

Nox shook her head. “No. They can't end the ritual early. But it may just be a power thing.” She shrugged and stood. “Who knows?”

Garen stood as well, and found her legs a little shaky. She reached out to touch Nox's elbow as the Sith turned away, withdrew at how quickly Nox wheeled to face her again. “Um – sorry. I just – thank you. Again. For offering to teach me. I appreciate it.”

Nox frowned at her for a moment, then nodded, somewhat jerkily. “...Yes. You're. Welcome. It's nothing.” She paused. “Are you free this time tomorrow?”

Garen nodded. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Tomorrow it is, then.”

And she turned away again and was gone just like that, without a goodbye, ghosts trailing after her to chatter as soon as they were out of earshot. Garen ran a hand over one lek, not sure what to make of all this. Valkorion at least seemed satisfied to let her mull over the strange Sith's reticence and her bizarre inability to react to a simple thanks in peace. She shook off the thoughts after a moment and sighed, settling down to meditate for a bit herself. It would be good for her to clear her head, after all that.