#and thanaton gets to feel all of it

[tempestswing]

Ranking the Dark Council:

hi! I was writing some notes for a piece of SWTOR fiction I am working on, and decided to create this list as a fun way to share that information.

Dark Council Pre-Shadow of Revan:

12. Darth Aruk - we know nothing about this character, other than that they were head of the Sphere of Sith Philosophy. According to the Wiki, rooting out Revanites was supposed to be their job. What a failure, hopefully they still have a job after Shadow of Revan?

11. Darth Rictus - Also kind of a mystery, which is ironic since he was head of the Sphere of Mysteries. Rictus does appear in a novel called 'Annihilation', but that book is mostly about Theron Shan. All we really know about Rictus is that he's (A) old, (B) dislikes aliens, unless they're murderous enough, and (C) founded the Dread Executioners to take down the Dread Masters. Not enough information to rank any higher.

10. Darth Acharon - at least this guy appears in the game. He's kind of a nothing character though. He defended the imperial occupation of Corellia unsuccessfully. He was head of the Sphere of Biotics. Since he died on Corellia, he would presumably have been replaced by Shadow of Revan, but we don't know who by.

9. Darth Arkous - hate this guy, but he's still technically head of the Sphere of Military Offense after the Hutt Cartel plotline. God, what a bag of dicks he is though. The one good thing about this character is that he's technically Lana Beniko's master? Although she's an advisor rather than an apprentice, so he gets no credit for the existence of awesome Sith wife.

8. Darth Decimus - Also found in game on Corellia! Decimus is actually present in the imperial quests, so you get a lot more interaction with him than Acharon. Canonically, he also trained Krovos! Krovos is really cool, so decimus should get a few points by association. Not enough to bump him up the list though. For the head of Military Strategy, he's not a very good commander.

7. Darth Ravage - You can meet Ravage at the end of the Inquisitor and Warrior storylines, and for all imperials he is present during the cutscenes preceding the Emperor Malgus flashpoints (although does nothing to help?). The main reason I'm putting Ravage so low is that he's a little bit inconsistently written. He'll gladly say "good riddance" to Darth Thanaton's death in the inquisitor plotline, but if you kill Baras in the Warrior plotline, he'll show up at Nathema and be all offended that you claimed power by murdering your master... does he know what a Sith is?

6. Darth Mortis - I have a bit of a soft spot for Mortis. He's got a no-nonsense demeanour which is rare amongst Sith, and he's clearly serious enough about their philosophy to join a secret conspiracy against the alliance if you "squander" the power of the Eternal Throne - a petty move, this man is a bitch after my own heart. He also is the one who snaps Darth Thanaton's silly little neck, which definitely earns him a few points in my eyes. As a point, he's involved in the Macrobinocular missions, which I did not enjoy, but he was a highlight of the questline.

5. Darth Acina - WOMEN IN POWER!!! Empress Acina is better than Emperor Vitiate. Unfortunately Acina is kind of bland, I really don't feel strongly about her either way. I've killed her on Iokath in most of my playthroughs, even if I don't intend to defect to the republic later. I might be lesbian but I just don't like her that much. Her reforms to the Empire are interesting though, I do have to give her credit for making the Empire slightly less racist and Sith dominated.

4. Darth Vowrawn - Silly guy!! This man is genuinely quite funny. He's a blast to spend time with at the end of the Warrior story, after dealing with Baras' grumpy ass for close to fifty levels. His choice to help the Wrath with the Hand on Rishi says... something. He's genuinely an interesting character to me, especially since he maintains that joviality when he becomes Emperor. It's tempered, to be sure, but I think it does show it wasn't entirely an act. Vowrawn could be a genuine friend to the Wrath.

3. Darth Jadus - Sue me, I like unapologetically evil characters. Jadus is not just an evil clown, he's an evil circus. Schemer to the core and melodramatic as fuck. I chose to serve him without a second thought in my agent playthrough. I appreciated the name drop on Iokath and I have 1% chance 99% cope that he will return at some point in the story.

2. Darth Occlus/Nox/Imperius - OCs are fun. No further notes. I should probably drop the lore for my verison of this character, huh... maybe in another post.

Darth Marr - Everyone's favourite tired Dad just trying to keep his society from collapsing as his colleagues bicker about inane bullshit. I reckon he drinks coffee straight outta the pot in the Dark Council's break room. I really wish he hadn't died, but his force ghost shenanigans were neat and I liked seeing him find a measure of redemption. Again, I am on a high dose of copium but if Malgus can return after being killed and abandonded on an exploding space station why can't someone scrape Marr off the floor of Zakuul and rebuild him. I do also low-key ship Marr with Satele Shan?

anyway, that's my totally subjective ranking of Dark Council members.

[larena]

Wanted to try ranking SWTOR class stories in order of "importance" - how relevant they are to the games overarching ongoing storyline, based on factors like how often aspects of them come up in other class stories, or elsewhere in the story, how easily they flow into the expansions, how important their companions end up being later, etc.

Jedi Knight: This one's undeniable, I think. It's basically the main plot class. Knight kills Vitiate first, deals with a lot of the more important problems on most of the planets they go to. And Kira, Scourge, and T7 all get main character status in the expansions regardless of your class.

Imperial Agent: This one is a tossup with Sith Warrior for me. I can see arguments for either, but Agent wins out imo just because of how far-reaching the Star Cabal is, and, maybe somewhat paradoxically, how relevant *other* class stories are to its story. Kaliyo and especially SCORPIO also end up being pretty important in the expansions, as well as a few other Agent companions and NPCs.

Sith Warrior: You are literally the Emperor's Wrath. The class with the closest direct connection to the Emperor, besides maybe Knight. Again its a tossup for me whether Warrior or Agent are the "A" plot for the Empire storyline, but the Wrath almost single handedly reignites the war for Darth Baras. As well as being a fairly close acquaintance of one of Vitiate's potential successors, Vowrawn. Vette also ends up being fairly important in the expansions, though not as much since Eternal Throne.

Jedi Consular: The Children of the Emperor have only recently become very, very relevant again, and we don't fully know where that plot is going, but I think thats still a compelling argument to put Consular relatively high. None of their companions have been super relevant post-class story besides Nadia on Ossus, but the Rift Alliance does end up feeling like a precursor to the Eternal Alliance, to me.

Sith Inquisitor: This may feel low for Inquisitor, given they become a Dark Council Member but honestly they don't do that much. They're somewhat responsible for the Dark Temple being Like That in the other class stories, and the Silencer Fleet is somewhat important, as well as Moff Pyron. But none of their companions are relevant anywhere else and I don't think the events of their class story are referenced anywhere except some passing name drops of Darth Thanaton. I could realistically rank them lower, but again, they ARE on the Dark Council.

Bounty Hunter: Honestly the remaining three tech classes are hard to rank. But I think BH gets a lot of credit for technically allowing Saresh to rise to power. And not for nothing, a lot of their companions have been relevant in expansions, especially Torian recently. You only get a *lot* of the earlier Mando stuff through BH, which I think also counts for something.

Trooper: I think Trooper mainly gets points for Jorgan being a main character in Fallen Empire. They do a lot of stuff that *feels* important, and General Garza, Rakton, and the Bastion come up elsewhere, but it never feels like there's much impact from the Trooper story overall.

Smuggler: I mean what can I say. I love the Smuggler storyline, and Nok Drayen *is* a member of the Star Cabal, but none of this shit mattered lol. Which is totally thematically appropriate imo, it's at least meant to be a pretty personal story with personal stakes. At least everyone can meet Akaavi and Guss in the expansions.

[parjiljehavey]

Judgement Day

A retelling of Sith Inquisitor Act III from the point of view of Darth Ravage. It's basically me following a little plot bunny that came from this line of Thanaton's during the Voss missions: "I love you like my own child. But you are a blight upon the Sith Order and must be purged." Content warnings: Canon typical violence, Torture, Implied dysfunctional family dynamics ------------ Pick up your rope, Lord, sling it to me If we are to battle, I must not be weak

“Thanaton will likely plead for our aid, and Kallig is pursuing Thanaton,” Decimus concluded in his recounting of the duel on Corellia as they all gathered inside the council chambers on Korriban. 

Darth Baras had called for a special session, and Darth Decimus saw fit to inform the rest of the council on what they had missed of the Kaggath between Darth Thanaton and Lord Kallig while they waited for Darth Vowrawn, Darth Thanaton, and Darth Baras to arrive. Darth Zhorrid had not dared show her face since they had disciplined her for her insolence three years ago and more are the better for it; Zhorrid was an insipid child who had demanded their respect when she had not earned it. Darth Marr in particular had been harsh.

Darth Decimus was open in his support of Lord Kallig, at first purely out of spite to Thanaton who had he had always held in little regard, and then out of recognition for Kallig’s service during the Battle of Corellia, calling her the Conqueror of Corellia and the first among a new generation of Imperial heroes. From what Ravage had seen, she had the support of the Imperial military, allying herself with Moffs like Pyron. Darth Mekhis had designed the Silencer, but Kallig had seen the project to completion and it had proven to be a devastating weapon against the Republic. 

“I met Kallig as my forces were landing. She is quite powerful for one so young,” Darth Hadra chimed in.

Decimus grinned viciously, “She is like an akk dog with a bone. She keeps her brutality on a tight leash, but it is there. She’ll carve a path of destruction through all of us to get to Thanaton.”

Ravage scoffed, dismissing the idea that a lord could take on the entire Dark Council outright. In Ravage's eyes, Kallig may be able to defeat Thanaton, but that was because Thanaton had always been weak. It was not as if Thanaton was someone like Darth Baras, with deep connections and webs even into the Republic, or like Vowrawn, who had been the orchestrator of many a downfall, or Marr, whose martial prowess was unmatched. 

He held that opinion until Kallig entered the council chambers during Thanaton’s petition after Baras’s corpse had been removed. 

“My lords, her master was corrupt! She is corrupt! Without Sith tradition, we are nothing!” Thanaton’s pleas were passionate but reeked of desperation. 

Ravage heard the chamber door open and saw from the corner of his eye Darth Vowrawn turn to look, as the one sitting closest. He could feel Vowrawn’s amusement increase. 

“And what are you suggesting that we do about it?” Darth Marr demanded. He had received the news of the Kaggath with the same disdain and contempt as he did with all Sith infighting and he likely viewed this as Thanaton trying to use the council in his scheme to crush a rival.

Thanaton continued, believing he was making headway. They all knew that if Thanaton could convince Darth Marr to aid him, Vowrawn and Rictus would follow. “We all know what the situation requires. Order must be preserved and punishment meted out. If we are to conquer our enemies, Zash’s former apprentice must die!”

“Well, well. I am truly flattered that you talk about me to all your friends, Darth Thanaton. You shouldn’t have.” Lord Kallig cooed words honey-sweet and laced with poison. Kallig cocked her head, stance changing ever so slightly as she stalked her prey. An akk dog with a bone indeed. The mask gave a skeletal impression, and the black armor scoured by battle lent a fearsome appearance to one so small.

Thanaton spun on his and was spitting mad when he saw her. “Our talk concerns the future of the Sith Order! A future, without you!”

“Yes, yes. I am a plague upon the Sith. Blah, blah, blah, blah.” She clicked her tongue, the sound sharp through the vocoder, “Your crony outside said the same thing. My sympathies, by the by, he is dead now.”

Thanaton was furious, stumbling over his words. Ravage rolled his eyes. “Then why haven’t you killed her yet?” 

Lord Kallig did not bother to mask her emotions or hide them. She was amused, like a nexu playing with its food. Thanaton turned to Ravage with the same fury he had Kallig. “You know as well as I do that these matters require proper rites.” 

Ravage growled at Thanaton’s righteous tone. Lord Kallig interrupted them, “You have had your chance to plead your case, Thanaton, now it is mine.” She addressed the council directly. “Darth Thanaton abandoned the arena for the Kaggath when he abandoned Corellia. By his own rules and rites, his life is forfeit. It was forfeited long before he left Corellia. It was forfeit when he stalled the Imperial offensive to cripple me, which is also against the rules of Kaggath.” 

Decimus nodded, “Kallig speaks true.” 

“We are well aware of the rules of Kaggath,” Mortis said.

That did not, however, change Ravage’s own opinion regarding Kaggath. “The Kaggath is a playground game. Murder has no rules.” 

“The Kaggath is an honored Sith tradition!” Thanaton was outraged, as he was with all things that went against the traditions he so loved. “Tulak Hord competed! Marka Ragnos! Ludo Kressh!” 

Ignoring Thanaton, Kallig plowed ahead. “His charges against me are false. Zash was corrupt, I shall not deny that. When she tried to kill me, I defended myself, as Thanaton himself encouraged me to do, and as is my right per both the law and tradition .” She hissed the last word, looking at Thanaton as she did. “When I tried to serve Thanaton, he attempted to kill me and has continued to do so since. Once more, I am well within my rights to defend myself.”

Ravage looked to Mortis, who was impressed if his smile was anything to go by. Darth Gravus was Mortis’s ally, and he supported Lord Kallig. By Kallig showing she knew the laws, she had just won Darth Mortis over. With Darth Decimus already supporting her, she now had two councilors on her side of the matter. Darth Mortis would uphold all Sith and Imperial laws. Thanaton had signed his death warrant no matter how this session concluded. Ravage looked around the room to gauge them. 

Darth Vowrawn would side with whomever he deemed the most interesting, as was his way. Darth Hadra would likely choose Kallig. Darth Marr would only go the way of what was best for the Empire, as he did in all matters. Acharon would choose who he deemed the most competent. Darth Aruk and Darth Rictus were the only true mysteries. Ravage would most likely choose Kallig if he were to be completely honest, if only to thumb his nose at Thanaton.

Darth Marr looked to Thanaton, “The question remains: why has this apprentice, this child, proven impossible for you to kill?” 

“Quite simple, really,” Kallig said. “I beat him at his own game.”

“Do not mock me!” Thanaton hissed.

Ravage had had enough, turning to Mortis. “I swear, if you don’t silence Thanaton, I will!” 

Kallig harrumphed. She removed her helm, revealing blonde hair bound in braids wrapped around her head. The angle of her nose and jaw tickled Ravage’s brain as familiar. Her accent was Low Ziostian without the obscurity of a vocoder. “It is not considered mockery if it is true.” 

Thanaton seethed at the council, “I will not be betrayed. I will not die. Once I have killed this slave, you will all answer for it.” Thanaton ignited his lightsaber, turning to face his rival. 

Lord Kallig was pacing as ice-cold power and rage seethed from her, twirling her dualsaber around. It was an older make, with a dark purple crystal at the center and two sharp metal blades at each end. 

“I have long forgiven your childish behavior and your shortcomings,” Kallig’s words were bitter and piqued Ravage’s interest. There was a history there, beyond what was happening now. Kallig continued, “You may very well kill me, Thanaton.” She spat out his name like it was poison. “But should you survive, you won’t forget me and I will haunt you for the rest of your days.”

Kallig disappeared in a dark cloud, reappearing moments later with a burst of black energy and purple lightning crackling across her violet blade as she struck, releasing a ball of lightning into Thanaton’s face before dipping low and using the Force to spin rapidly, lightning coming down and striking Thanaton, hitting his barrier. 

Thanaton released a wave, throwing Kallig away from him only for her to disappear and reappear again behind him. He turned and unleashed a blast of lightning at her, leaving Kallig no other option but to roll away from him. She landed on a knee, reigniting her dual saber behind her. Thanaton did not give her a moment to breathe, unleashing a storm and forcing her to move. Kallig twisted and turned, weaving in and out of the strikes Thanaton called down onto her. Her left hand moved as she summoned something, speaking in a low tone. She used the Force to run past Ravage and Mortis, and Ravage heard the Old Sith tongue. She was casting a spell. 

A spell that she unleashed, coming to a halt and casting it at Thanaton when he tried to heal himself. Thanaton shouted, grasping his head and Ravage could hear something being crushed as he was forced to stop casting. Kallig disappeared again in a shroud of energy. Ravage reached out to sense her, only grasping a trace before it disappeared again. She was hiding herself, waiting for a moment to strike. He glanced over to Rictus, who commanded numerous assassin-trained Sith and he was grinning. 

Thanaton dispelled whatever Kallig had cast on him, raising his head to reveal bloodshot eyes and a bleeding nose. He looked around rapidly, turning as he searched for his rival. A shimmer of purple to his right caught the attention of the room and Thanaton as well. Thanaton prepared to meet her, only for Kallig to appear at his left and Thanaton barely had time to ignite his blade to block her attack. Rictus cackled as she struck, violet locking against red. They stood in a standoff of might, pushing back against the other physically and when neither would move, they both resorted to trying to push the other with the Force turning it into a battle of wills. The chamber creaked, metal scraping together harshly. They would bring the room down upon them all, Ravage thought, looking up as the ceiling shuddered. 

They both ended up pushing the other away, Thanaton falling to the ground and Kallig managing to catch herself, spinning in a rapid movement to do so. Kallig stared down her opponent, teeth bared. She was whispering in the Old Tongue again, her left-hand contorting. Ravage was close enough to see her skin turn corpse-pale and her eyes burn red. 

 Thanaton was gasping, struggling for air as he floundered on the floor. Thanaton struggled to stand, pulling himself to his feet only to be met by Kallig casting another spell on him. A death field tore away his strength, dropping him back to a knee and Kallig rose to her feet, reinvigorated by what she had taken from Thanaton. He had lost. Ravage sat back, waiting for the killing blow to be struck. Kallig seemed to have some honor, allowing Thanaton to get to his feet. 

“No, I won’t be defeated. I can’t be.” Thanaton was in denial. Kallig stood, awaiting his surrender which Thanaton would not give. The fool did not know when he was beaten. 

Thanaton tried to attack her with force lightning, only for Kallig to redirect it above their heads as she advanced on him. The ceiling groaned, a corner popping loose. Thanaton then summoned a storm, unleashing it upon Kallig forcing her to stop as she was engulfed in a maelstrom of dark energy and lightning that Thanaton continued to throw at her. It generated a violent current of air in the chamber, swirling around Kallig in blinding light. Thanaton stopped his assault, shifting as he waited with hope in his heart. 

Only for that hope to be vanquished when with a thunderous rumble that shook the Academy itself, the maelstrom was absorbed by Kallig, who emerged with flashing purple eyes and cloaked in dark side energy. Behind her, four pale forms appeared, stunning the council who all leaned forward as if their eyes deceived them. Lightning still jumped across her and with a shake of her hand, it was gone entirely as were the ghosts.

Kallig was a Force Walker, Ravage thought, having believed it to only be a myth up until the proof of the ability was right in front of him. A feeling of elation came from Darth Rictus. Thanaton oozed desperation and no small amount of fear. Rightfully so, Ravage felt, thinking about the spectral forms that had appeared behind Kallig when she survived Thanaton’s last attack. Force Walking was rare, and for her to have learned it and bound multiple ghosts, Thanaton had been right to beg for aid. Only the entirety of the Dark Council could truly stop her with that kind of power at her fingertips. Unfortunately for Thanaton, he had chosen a Kaggath and rendered any outside aid expressly forbidden. Even if he should somehow kill Kallig, he would be slain for breaking the rules of the rite, and Darth Mortis would insist upon it as a matter of Sith law.

Thanaton began to summon another storm only for Kallig, eyes still glowing, to throw him across the chamber and into a wall. A boom resounded, shaking the Academy’s foundations. Ravage could feel the fear seeping up from the lower levels. She dropped him after a moment. Thanaton staggered to his feet, breathing heavily as panic took him.

Disappointment roiled from Marr as Thanaton in a desperate ploy, ignited his lightsaber and charged Kallig who stood with crossed arms at the center of the chamber. The blade was a breath away from removing her head when she stopped him, the chamber shaking as she held him still. Ravage leaned forward when Thanaton’s hand burst with a spray of blood and bone as she forced him down to a knee, his lightsaber falling to the floor as Thanaton was forced into supplication. 

Lord Kallig spoke to Thanaton in a tone so low that it could not be heard except for perhaps Marr’s audio sensors but her palpable fury could be felt. The last of her words were loud enough to be heard and she burned with vengeance. 

“You will not die until you say our names.” 

Vowrawn looked intrigued, sitting up and watching. Ravage himself was curious. Thanaton made the mistake of gathering the Force to himself and was met by a storm focused entirely on him as Kallig unleashed the full extent of her fury and her brutality. The power that radiated from Kallig was oppressive as she attacked Thanaton, drawing on dark healing when he neared death only to strike again in a thunderous blast, casting afflictions that made Thanaton’s skin bubble with pestilence and breaking his bones, only for the breaks to heal and break again. Thanaton was helpless to do anything with the hold Kallig had over him. 

Again and again and again she attacked, until at last, Thanaton broke screaming. “Elenei! Alysanne! ELENEI! ALYSANNE!” 

Those names were important to Kallig, Ravage realized at the triumphant and vicious feeling of satisfied vindication that swept over Kallig. He filed the information away for later. 

She relented and released her hold upon him, allowing him to drag himself away from her, coughing and whimpering. She slowly followed him as they all rose from their seats. The victor of the duel was clear. Kallig stopped as they approached, maintaining a respectful distance while her eyes never left Thanaton’s broken body. Thanaton grasped Marr’s boot with his left hand and tried to reach for Mortis in a final plea for aid with the gruesome remainder of his right. 

“I am sorry, Thanaton,” Mortis said before he snapped Thanaton’s neck, a mercy no doubt, for Ravage was sure Kallig would have let him suffer a slower death. 

“Good riddance.” Ravage spat, sneering at the corpse. 

Darth Marr rebuked him immediately, “He was a better Sith than you give him credit for, Ravage.”

“Let us hope that his successor is as worthy.” Mortis declared, approaching Kallig and ushering her to Thanaton’s former seat beside Darth Marr. “My lord, your seat.” 

Kallig was stunned, completely bewildered. “I-I. My lords, I do not know what to say.” Her shock was sincere. 

Vowrawn spoke, amusement laced into his tone. “You have killed a Dark Councilor in fair combat, what else were you expecting?”

“I openly defied Thanaton and challenged him, amassing power far too quickly for any sane Sith to be comfortable with. The Dark Council is well within its rights to execute me for it.” She was smart, Ravage would give her credit but it did not change the fact that she was merely a lord and a lord could not hold a seat on the Dark Council. Vowrawn was impressed by her honesty, his eyes gleaming. 

Rictus grinned, speaking for the first time since the session had convened. “Ordinarily, yes. We would. However, with the circumstances, you have proven yourself.” 

Kallig paused, thinking on her answer, and then she nodded. “Very well.”

“She is only a lord!” Ravage protested vehemently. He was not one for tradition, but this was one he would adhere to. “You cannot place a lord on the Dark Council!” 

Darth Marr rounded on him immediately, snarling viciously. “Quiet, Ravage! She has earned her place!” 

Ravage reluctantly stood beside Marr with the others as he beckoned Lord Kallig to approach. She took a knee and bowed her head. “By order of the Dark Council, and in light of your reputation in serving the Empire, you are now Darth Imperius. Rise.”

The newly christened Darth Imperius rose smoothly. “You are head of the pyramid of ancient knowledge. You are charged with keeping the mystical knowledge of the Sith and guarding the secrets of our order. With us, you are the ruler of all Sith, answerable only to the Emperor himself.” 

Imperius nodded solemnly. “I will do my best to live up to my new position.” 

Ravage scoffed, not trusting her words or sincerity. “Never trust the humble ones.” Darth Imperius looked at him with a raised brow but said nothing. 

“What shall be done with Darth Thanaton?” Vowrawn questioned. 

“As the winner of the Kaggath, it is Darth Imperius’s decision,” Mortis said. Ever the upholder of laws, Ravage snorted. 

“Destroying Thanaton’s properties and executing his forces will only serve to weaken the Empire. As such, I shall absorb them.” Imperius paused, thinking for a moment. “Thanaton shall be given the proper funerary rites as befits his position as my predecessor to this council, and his name and records shall remain intact.” 

A brief flickering of grief and then it was as a candle snuffed out in the wind. Ravage narrowed his eyes in suspicion. She was hiding something. While Ravage pondered what she could be hiding, the council concluded the session. 

Darth Mortis and Darth Vowrawn were walking with Imperius out of the chamber. Mortis was speaking to her. “We will summon you the next time the Dark Council congregates. I suggest going to Dromund Kaas and consolidating your power base.” 

Imperius nodded, and Vowrawn clapped his hands together in a delighted manner. “Ah, wonderful! While you are on Dromund Kaas, Imperius, I must invite you to tea! Oh, and do not be overly worried about logistics and accounting. It is quite common during a power transition-” 

Ravage rolled his eyes. Darth Vowrawn was gauging whether or not Imperius would be a potential rival, a potential ally, someone entertaining, or someone entirely boring. Vowrawn had done the same when Ravage had obtained his seat before the Treaty. Ravage elected to remain behind until Thanaton’s corpse was collected. His suspicions of Imperius circled through his mind and when the corpse was collected for burial, Ravage made a trip down to the Archives.

Every Sith that had survived the Academy had a genealogy test done, it was mandatory; whether their line was New or Old. The genealogy testing made it easier to arrange marriages and alliances; old blood marrying old blood, new to new, and new to old. At times, a Sith would marry a force-blind. Cousins marrying cousins was common. When a line diminished down to only one or two surviving members, there were examples of aunts and uncles marrying nieces and nephews to preserve it.

Ravage had been the product of one such union; his mother and father had been uncle and niece, the last of their bloodline. Of their five children, only Ravage had survived the last war. His brothers and sisters had all been idiots, either killing each other as the eldest two had done to be the heir or dying in battle as the rest had. Ravage was the last of his line and while he had sired three children, one had been force-blind, one did not survive the trials, and another who he had made his apprentice had been killed because the fool had been caught by another lord seeking revenge for his murdered apprentice. A pity, the boy, Essor, had shown promise, only for his arrogance to make him disregard the ‘No Unsanctioned Murders’ rule of the Academy, the only rule Ravage himself would follow, and to leave a terrified and weak-willed acolyte as a witness. 

He poured over the archives, searching for anything noteworthy of Kallig. He found several. Some were entries written by Tulak Hord himself, describing Aloysious Kallig as one of his greatest generals and the greatest amongst his rivals. Another was the genealogy of Aloysious Kallig, detailing his descendents. He had had four children; three daughters and a son. Two of the three daughters were killed and of the son, there was no further record. 

The third daughter, Alysanne, was where the line continued. All daughters, interestingly enough. It continued down until a century and a half ago when Lord Andrasa’s downfall resulted in her children being sold into slavery. All records after that listed were slave records, leading down to Elenei, recently deceased, and her daughter, Alysanne. The newly christened Darth Imperius was a descendant of the Old Blood. He was shocked to learn that she was only twenty-one. The last Sith to rise so high and obtain a seat on the Dark Council so young had been Darth Marr forty years prior. 

Her father drew Ravage’s interest. That had been censored and censored recently. Ravage used his authority to override the censor and was stunned by what was revealed. 

It was tradition for a Sith parent to take an interest in their force-sensitive child’s upbringing, no matter if the child was born from wedlock or was illegitimate. It was tradition for a child’s first lessons in the Force and the Sith Order to come from their Sith parent. Darth Ravage laughed. No wonder Darth Thanaton was so desperate to kill her; for a man who prided himself on traditions and upholding them, she was living proof of Thanaton’s hypocrisy. And no wonder, Darth Imperius had chosen to keep his name intact. Striking it from history would mean removing part of her lineage.

Alysanne Kallig, Darth Imperius, was Darth Thanaton’s natural daughter.

[chaoticspacefam]

11, 15, 27 and 30 for Ahaszaai twins (questions for extraordinary muses)? (sorry if late)

From [Questions for 'Extraordinary' Muses]

(if you either want the list or wanna send in some more. Ik I rb'd this a while ago but after this & the blorbo bingo one(s) are answered the askbox is gonna be empty again so open to taking more if y'all want! 💪)

Thank you for the ask @a-master-procrastinator !! I had fun with this one hehe

Some notes:

Gonna take the stance of "ability" being the Force ability that they're most well-known for rather than just the Force as a whole because. That's not "extraordinary" in and of itself in the SWTOR universe xP Click the ability name for the Wookieepedia page in case you're not familiar with the Force ability itself and want a refresher/explanation! :3 For Saarai, it's psychometry and for Ni'kasi it's Force-walking

Also feel like it'd be more fun to answer these in-character for a change so that's what we're gonna do! 😊

Alrighty now that we're on the same page, onto the questions!! :'DD Under a cut bc it's a long post, no specific warnings needed other than spoilers for the Sith Inquisitor storyline if you haven't done it, some swearing, and some mild implied angst <3

11. Have you ever had an embarrassing moment while using your ability?

Saarai huffs softly, her jaw spurs rattling in embarrassment as she ducks her head and mutters. "Lana and Koth promised not to tell anyone!" she whines, staring at her own shoes for a moment, before begrudgingly looking up to answer. "...Yeah, okay. Fine. I'll admit it." the Pureblood shuffles her weight from one foot to another, arms crossing over her broad chest. "Sometimes I forget to wear my gloves, so it can be pretty embarrassing when I pick something up or touch something and all of a sudden I'm bitch-slapped with a torrent of Force visions about all the blood and death and shit that the thing was connected to. Usually I'm er...I'm better at planting my feet and pushing through it but...." a distant look enters her sulfur-yellow eyes, and she trails off for a long moment as if Saarai were somewhere else entirely. If you're observant, you'll notice a shudder of discomfort work its way through the Pureblood's normally-sturdy frame. "But Nathema...that was a whole different beast. I didn't think- Gods, I never wanted to cry like that in front of Lana or Koth but it all hit me at once and I just couldn't help it." It might be best not to press her for more details, whatever she saw in those visions, it clearly was upsetting for Saarai.

Ni'kasi, however, remains quiet at first. Her eyes scrutinise you closely, as if she's trying to decide whether she can get away with giving away information that might make her 'vulnerable'. A soft breath huffs from her nostrils, and she shakes her shoulders out before admitting, her face blank and unreadable of any sort of humiliation or sheepishness that might give away how she really feels about the story she's telling. "....I suppose, the first time I tried to use it. The first time I fought Thanaton. That's what I get for trusting Zash at her word, it never happened again, and it never will. I got cocky, and figured I could handle far more power than I was prepared to." more quietly, she mutters. "Mother was right, as usual. Should've listened to her." her impassive mask of an expression does crack, then, as she flashes a sharp-toothed grin. "Fucker's deader than the ghosts in my head, now so...tell someone about Darth Occulus' greatest fuck up, or don't. Nobody's going to believe you if you do."

15. Would you ever choose to trade your ability for another?

Again, Saarai goes quiet. For a moment you wonder if she's heard your question at all, but when she speaks up it's clear she had, it was just something she genuinely had to put a lot of thought into for a moment. "....You know what? I don't think so." she shrugs, letting out a mirthful laugh and seeming to shake off the melancholy that had taken hold of her moments before. "Listen, as much as not being able to touch shit without gloves on can suck sometimes it's...it's something that's always been there, y'know? It's a part of me, just like the Force is. I think I'd feel like I wasn't whole if I woke up tomorrow and the psychometry was gone."

Ni'kasi doesn't even hesitate before she shakes her head. "No. Not for anything in the galaxy. It was a difficult ability to master, but it...gave me a connection to my family, my mother in particular, that I'm not sure I would've had without it." she smirks, thinking of Thanaton, though her lips settle into a smile that's far more fond as she carries on talking. "I could've found a way to kill that bastard without it, but...having mother there to talk to, even now, is nice. Makes me miss her a lot less than I did before I learned to Force-walk."

27. If you could give your abilities to one person for a day, who would it be?

Saarai's answer this time is far more immediate, and her voice raises perhaps a little more than she means it to in her vigor to convey her point. "NO ONE!" seeming to realize that such a loud outburst might have startled you, she coughs, spurs trembling again, and when she speaks again her tone returns to its normal register. "Look, I'm not even sure if this is something that you can just learn or...or give to someone else. I was born with it, as far as I know. But even if it was possible, trust me, I wouldn't want anyone else rushing into this. It seems cool on paper, and as much as I'm used to it now and wouldn't get "rid" of it, seriously...it gets old real fast. When it's helpful, it's helpful but when it sucks? It really sucks. The constant fear that some weapon or object you pick up is gonna be a metaphorical brick to the face, the nightmares in your sleep...You don't want this."

Lady Occulus folds her arms behind her back, raises her chin and stares down at you, hard. "Why?" she asks at length, trying to parse out why you're prying into that particular question. "Who wants to know?"

(Author intervention (for the actual answer since Kas isn't gonna give it 🤣) : She might entertain teaching an apprentice she trusts, buuuuuttt she'd have to be certain they wouldn't turn on her and use it against her. I mean, that's basically what she did to Zash and Thanaton and she's not stupid enough to open herself up to that same achilles' heel 😉)

30. Name one skill you haven’t yet perfected that you want to master.

Saarai smiles again, a big, toothy grin this time. Unlike her twin, she's not the least bit shy about admitting her shortcomings and even laughs as she does so. "I wouldn't mind learning how to be better with Force lightning. It's not something I was ever good at, I can do a little but...Kas and Lana are way better at it than I am." she gestures at her posture, all bulk and hard muscle. "Doesn't lend itself so well to the artistry and the fine hand movements, does it? Nah, I'm more like...the battering ram that kicks the door in while they do the finicky lightning work. Still, it might be handy to be better at it, bet it comes in handy for short-circuiting those droids, or consoles and stuff."

Ni'kasi sniffs, seeming almost offended that you're still trying to poke into her weak points. When Rai gets more animated discussing hers, however, she seems to consider an answer of her own that isn't too damning to her reputation. A soft chuckle escapes the Pureblood, her eyes shining with an undeniable fondness and admiration for her sister, if you're looking closely enough to notice that is. "...I'm not good with people. Not like Rai is. Bossing people around and telling them what to do? That I can do. But making friends, making people like me? She makes it look so fucking easy and sometimes I wish I could be more like her..."

[a-master-procrastinator]

OC Tag Game

Tagged by @raven-of-domain-kwaad, thank you! I'll be keeping it within SWTOR characters since I just focus on them here.

No pressure tag (if you feel like it): @vespertine-legacy, @astrifer-bound, @mmigrainee, @chaoticspacefam, @spitzobsessed

Favorite OC - Jett

Not surprising. As much as I love my other characters (Auletta don't kill me), Jett just gotta be my favorite. Bounty hunter storyline being one of my favorites definitely affects this, but there is much more to this. She is this 'tough on the outside, softie on the inside' type of character that I just adore, I love her personal arcs about trauma, meaningful connections and leadership. And of course strong badass Mando women are just cool and get an instant liking from me :) I can go on for hours on this, but let's move on.

More under the cut.

Newest OC - Beirya and Zin

I had more ideas for new characters after I made Rya and Zin, but they are not yet actual characters that I plan to develop. So these two are my newest at the moment.

Oldest OC - Auletta

Technically, the first character I ever rolled in SWTOR was smuggler, but I didn't keep her in any way, so it's Auletta. Although she looked slightly different and was assassin instead of sorcerer in the game (which doesn't fit her background), the core of her character remained the same.

Meanest OC - Jaria

It's a tough spot between some of my characters, but when others can be polite or maybe it's not their nature to be rude (they just do it for others reasons), Jaria is unapologetically mean to people almost all the time (only shutting up if it saves her skin or gives an advantage).

Softest OC - Shailla and Lorri

(there are actually two more but I wanted to keep it short)

They are just so kind and gentle, striving to do more good in this imperfect galaxy. I mean, there is a reason why Lorri is often considered the heart of her little found family.

Most aloof/standoffish OC - Xaele and Jaria

Xaele in general is pretty distant from the world and even her own actions, which fit well for agent's life. And Jaria is, honestly, pretty mistrusting, and after being separated from her sister, probably the only person she gave a Hutt about, Jaria couldn't form meaningful connections with other people, so she's a loner. Plus she's mostly interested in self-gain and money, and she doesn't care how she gets it.

Dumbest (affectionate) OC - Vintu

Well, there may be others, but no one radiates chaotic dumbass energy like Vintu (yeah, not even smugglers, though they are close). Just look at his dumb face.

Smartest OC - Auletta and Elixess

I would betray Auletta by not including her here. She is a quick learner, a schemer, always hungry for knowledge and information. She's very good at using all available knowledge and information to get the best out of her situation, whatever it might be (back in slavery, in Sith Academy, Dark Council, you name it). The only period when Auletta made kinda dumb decisions was around chapters 1 and 2 of Inquisitor storyline, mostly bc she was drunk on power and freedom, testing how far she can go. But when she failed to kill Thanaton for the second time, Auletta adapted and got the best out of it.

Elixess is similar in many ways, except she doesn't have the same malicious intent as Auletta and maybe not as nerdy. She is a quick thinker, which helps her talk her way out of most trouble and see possibilities for profit. Also, I just thought having a smuggler as one of the smartest characters is funny.

(actually, there are more characters who are on the same level, but I wanted to mention these two)

Horniest OC - Vintu and Jaria

Jaria just likes to flirt around and have one-night stands almost every time she visits a new place (Mako got tired of it real quick). Shame that bounty hunters don't have a lot of flirt options with NPCs other than companions. And Vintu... well, for my own sanity we have an agreement - he doesn't tell much about his private life, and I don't get to know much about it. Let's just say that when he's with Jaesa they are very active, and even after he's done with her, Vintu still hits on a lot of people.

OC you'd bang - none

I'm way too asexual for that.

OC you'd be best friends with - Raen and Alaine

Both of them are great friend material. Raen shares some of my interests (that weren't a bit of self-insert to begin with, no no), so she can tolerate a bit of infodumping about special interests from me. She's generally fun to be around, except for maybe when she's being chased by law enforcement or when she's sleeping. Plus we might have 'introvert adopted by an extrovert' dynamiс in a good way.

Alaine is someone I could trust to discuss a lot of complicated topics without being judged harshly. And she's a good person and a reliable friend in general, so great to have her as a friend. Alaine is more of "calls me out on my shit" friend, and Raen is more of "tags along with my shit" friend, and I definitely need both these types of friends.

[shabre-legacy]

Well in that case, Elazari and Leshlaa fight a lot. There was too much debate between which of the two was the best suited, so Lana and Theron just named them Co-Commanders (Commander Imperium and Commander Republica as they later end up being called for a time) and call it a day. Elazari thrives. She's been wanting to Overthrow Valkorian and take over as Empress since she realized that taking out Thanaton would put her on the Dark Council. So she loves being in charge. Having the field missions gives her a chance for unchecked violence as well, which helps her keep her ghosts happy. Leshlaa, is not a fan of working so closely with a Sith. But someone has to temper her for the sake of the galaxy and ensuring the continued existence of the Order. But she'd really just like to go back to her council days, or even just being Barsen'thor and fulfilling those responsibilities. Tama loves access to all the money and power and fights and being able to tell Hylo what to do. However, she does not like the responsibility or the fact that people get mad at her whenever she tries to just take off on a whim. She likes being Queen of the Underworld. Legitimate political power is just too difficult to maintain. Qozak has no clue why anyone wants a spy in a public facing position. But he gets to look for Jadus with less people trying to tell him not to. So he manages with only occasional breakdowns from the weight of all those lives depending on him for things like food, and saving the galaxy from an emperor who made Jadus hide. Tisna hates everything about the alliance at first. Sure she acknowledges it's usefullness and the necessity. But it's getting in the way of the things she feels like she really needs to be doing. And even after the initial things settle and she's able to adjust and get used to being in command. There's still some resentment that she has to be doing this instead of the other things that she feels she should be doing. Ireri probably reacts the worst. She knows how to fake it. She's been faking competence and composer since she was 11. Let's be real, when a 14 year old, a literal child, ended up on Dark Council, well she had to learn to fake it even more than she already had. This is just that, but times 10. And she cries in secret, a lot, and ends up spending a lot of time with Sana-Rae trying to keep her ghosts from using the pressure to drive her crazy. She kind of gets to a point where she becomes almost fragile as soon as she's 'off duty' and there's a bit of an intervention and reorganization when it gets discovered. Also Lana and Theron always have to stay on guard when she says weird shit, cause is that her ghosts saying weird shit, the barely adult that they put in charge being her age, or is Valkorian influencing her again. After all, she has parent issues, a nice, big weakness to exploit.

The sisters find a dark humor in it. The Empire and the Republic, the Jedi and the Sith and everyone in between coming together. It feels like a representation of them. So if it were just being the co-commanders, they would be fine. The problem comes with Valkorian being around. Because being stuck in one's head means being stuck in both. And that is a weapon he can use against them. Was this what the prophecy had meant? Perhaps Nohyni handles it alright. At least once she gets Aric back at her side. She's been in charge of armies before. This is just a bigger one. With bigger responsibilities. But same mission. Save the galaxy, maintain stability until peace is achieved. She's done that before, she's got a solid team. She can handle it with only occasional breakdowns from stress and the personal effects of everything and having that STUPID KRIFFING ENEMY OF HER ENTIRE LIFE STUCK IN HER HEAD! And yes, like on an individual level, the mandos aren't so bad. BUT does she really have to work with Mandalorians... After everything... Her grandmother would skin the fur from her back for that if she were still alive.

smushing every class into the Commander role isn't the best decision storywise but asking how your particular character adapts to the role - whether they're unfitting or not - is always very good for the creative cogs

[raven-of-domain-kwaad]

The hate is definitely flowing through them.

[reliciron]

You ever think about the files the SIS must have on the Imperial characters? I mean really, look me in the eyes and tell me they don’t have extensive files on all four of them.

-

The SW is probably the first one to be noticed purely because they’re the apprentice of Darth Baras and any apprentice of his needs to be constantly monitored. The SW is very much a blunt instrument (Baras himself calls them his enforcer), so even though the SIS probably doesn’t know WHY they’re on a particular planet, the destruction they leave in their wake makes them easy to track. And if they’re a light side SW, there’s going to be a whole lot of discussion about some of their more confusing actions.

They were actually? Honorable? With that Republic squad they enlisted on Nar Shaddaa?

The jedi master on Tatooine was left alive? And the SW actually respected the sand demon ritual?

And the jedi on Alderaan and the ones sent to intercept you at Jaesa’s meet-up were still in one piece? Hell, the SW actually shamed the later and exposed the darker side of one of them.

The ensuing quarrel between the SW and Darth Baras was probably a little less interesting, sith fight over power all the time, but it definitely caught their attention that the SW actually came out on top and ended up the Emperor’s Wrath.

-

The SI starts more subtly. Zash is clearly powerful, but not as influential as Baras. To the SIS, they’d just seem to be a no-name apprentice to an average lord. Something to keep tabs on, sure, but not as much as the SW. The first chapter is pretty much a scavenger hunt, and without knowing about the bigger picture, it probably looks like normal artifact hording (though making the cult on Nar Shaddaa probably turned a few heads). With the exception of attacking the jedi enclave on Taris, the second chapter is fairly uninteresting to Republic intelligence too. Just another sith squabble.

But then this lowly sith lord just… doesn’t die. They keep challenging Thanaton and he seems unable to put them down. Then they get the goddamn Silencer and THAT is when they go from ‘eh’ to ‘fuck I need someone monitoring them at all times’.

-

The BH is surprisingly more illusive than the SW and SI, mostly because a no-name mercenary can easily move around unnoticed. It probably take a lot more for a hunter to get noticed by the SIS than it does for someone who’s part of the Imperial military or sith. Clearly though, the destruction of the Aurora and Kellian Jarro catches their attention. Of course after that their file probably gets filled with the lies Jun Serros spun. I’m sure there were some agents there that saw some things didn’t add up but who’s going to question the jedi battlemaster? Others probably also noted that the BH only started working for Darth Tormen AFTER being driven into his arms.

Of course all their assumptions about the BH get thrown out the window if they’re revealed to be innocent and turn on Tormen. Taking down a Darth Council member probably makes them one of the most interesting mercenaries in the galaxy outside of Mandalore and titans like Shae Vizla, and they’re probably tagged as ‘might be willing to work with the Republic in the future’.

-

I can’t decide if the Agent had a file started before they even set foot on Hutta, or if it took until chapter 2. It probably depends on how good the SIS is, how they get their info, and how good the Agent and Imperial Intelligence are at keeping their identity secret. They’re probably aware of the damage the Agent has left behind, but they might not know it was all done by the same person and they might not have identified them specifically. After that, it’s all up to Kothe as to how much the SIS is kept in the loop (though I get the feeling that he left a lot out, especially the conditioning), and at the conclusion of chapter 3 the state of their file varies based on your choice of ending.

If the Agent wiped their existence from the holonet though, the SIS better hope they have hard copies of their files, or some sort of independent system for their records.

-

It certainly raises some interesting possibilities for Imperial characters who romance Theron. If he wasn’t already up to speed about them well before they ever met on Manaan, then he sure as hell read up on them the second he realized who he was working with. Hell, maybe he’s been following their career for a while now.

[dragonheart-swtor]

Sith Inquisitor Storyline: Drunk History Version

Y’all, and by y’all I mean one person (@sith-shenanigans thank you very much), asked for it, and I live to repeat this over and over for others’ amusement, so here it is. Have my summary of the pinball machine that is the Sith Inquisitor storyline, from memory, originally drafted a while back in DMs with a friend who’s never played SWTOR. Spoilers for the Sith Inquisitor storyline, obviously.

Without further ado: Let us begin.

- So your story begins as a recently sort-of-freed slave walking off a ship and onto Hell: The Planet. (The nonhuman Inquisitor immediately experiences 2483947 microaggressions.)

- You have to compete with a bunch of other people! Only one of you is not going to die and the overseer has already picked his favorite, seemingly purely because he happens to have red skin. They will both (the overseer and Teacher’s Pet) proceed to be as annoying as possible for the rest of the Korriban story.

- multiple people try to kill you, but you’re the protagonist, so fuck them

- “Teacher’s Pet, you go to the library and translate these texts. Protagonist, you go to this ancient tomb and figure out how to retrieve an artifact from a lock that no one has been able to open in ten thousand years.” “Libraries are boring anyway. Yawn.”

- You finally get to smackdown with Teacher’s Pet, which is satisfying as hell. Unfortunately the overseer gets pissy about it. Fortunately, the Sith you’ve been competing to be the apprentice of decided she liked you early on and has also been playing favorites, so you don’t die immediately.

- your master is great! much more into positive reinforcement than most Sith.

- at some point you semi-accidentally steal someone else's cult on Nar Shaddaa and now they worship you as a nigh-on god. whoops. you just kind of... leave and let them run their own business. you pay them visits later in the storyline.

- you also become part bug so you can go skinny dipping in radioactive waste. it’s fine, we promise.

- your master is trying to steal your body because turns out she's actually really old and kind of dying so she plans on kicking you out of your body, transplanting her own soul in your place, killing her old body, and assuming your identity after "you" "killed" "your master"! that's not great, better not let her do that.

-  you successfully didn't let her do that! wait, now she's sharing a body with one of your companions, an ancient monster who you kind of forced into submission and who serves you rather unwillingly now. there is apparently nothing that can be done about this so sometimes your eight-foot-tall monster not-friend talks in a high, unnervingly smooth feminine voice and tries to convince you she's on your side now that she's forced by this new body to not harm you. this is also not great but what are you gonna do. he is also Not Pleased about this by the way, and really who can blame him.

- some darth on the dark council named Thanaton decides to get pissy with you for reasons I don't remember and now he's trying to kill you. what the fuck.

-  he actually almost does kill you but your old master's other apprentices, who are now your apprentices, save you from the brink of death.

- (the apprentices, by the way, are very sweet and I love them. they’re murdered by thanaton almost immediately.)

-  your solution to "I need more power, fast", for some godforsaken reason, is "I'm going to learn to walk the line between life and death and EAT GHOSTS" and I wish I were exaggerating this

- you go out and eat a bunch of ghosts of old Sith on various planets

- subpoint to this: on one of these planets, you accomplish this by coercing the ghost's descendant, a Jedi padawan named Ashara, to get the ghost to appear so you can eat him. You end up murdering her masters in the process because one way or another they find out about your plan. She is understandably horrified by this turn of events and, feeling she has no chance of returning to the Jedi, reluctantly joins your crew and either (Light Side Quizzy) learns to balance light and dark sides of the Force and becomes ultimately stronger for it, or (Dark Side Quizzy) lives in abject terror of you for the rest of the storyline. I love her dearly as well. fortunately she is not murdered by thanaton.

- congrats! you ate enough ghosts to have enough power to beat thanaton up!

- unfortunately, you have Ate Too Many Ghosts Disease now and need immediate medical attention.

- your mind kind of just Shatters and you may or may not have hallucinations for a while iirc. either way you need help or you're just gonna disintegrate slowly until the ghosts overwhelm you and take over. you go to Voss and participate in some wild Force ritual they've got to take care of that. it's a fun time

- your body is also having a bad time and that also needs fixing; I don't remember where you go for this (Belsavis, I think?) but you end up checking out a machine made by a long-dead alien civilization and the machine turns out to a) be sentient and b) be responsible for CREATING A GOOD PORTION OF THE GALAXY'S NEAR-HUMAN SPECIES, IF NOT ALL OF THEM, AND DISSEMINATING THEM TO THE GALAXY AS PART OF THE RAKATA'S EXPERIMENTS ON CREATING FORCE-SENSITIVE LIFEFORMS IN HOPES OF KEEPING THEIR OWN SPECIES FROM DYING OUT BECAUSE THEY WERE SUPER RACIST AND EVENTUALLY THAT RACISM KICKED THEM IN THE ASS IN THE FORM OF A MASS REVOLUTION THAT WIPED THEM OUT COMPLETELY BUT THE MACHINE IS STILL HERE

- all right I’m calm sorry I derailed for a moment

- I have a lot of thoughts about things

-  anyway the machine bUILDS YOU A NEW FUCKING BODY and you're good to go now

-  (by the way, depending what species you're playing, it's entirely possible you learn at this point that your entire species only exists because of this machine!)

- (anyway.)

- okay, mind fixed, body fixed, ghosts consumed, we're good to go! time to murder a dark councilor!

- "we do that"

- except you don't because you're on corellia and this dipshit challenges you to a kaggath without really ever explaining in detail what a kaggath is or what the rules (if any) are, we just know it seems to be the ancient and very formal Sith way of saying "meet me in the denny's parking lot at 3am if you want an ass-kicking", and then hE RUNS OFF TO DROMUND KAAS WHICH DEPENDING ON WHAT GALAXY MAP YOU BELIEVE IS UP TO FIVE DAYS' TRAVEL AWAY

- YOU'RE CANONICALLY JUST CHASING THIS LITTLE BITCH THROUGH SPACE FOR FIVE DAYS AFTER HE CHALLENGED YOU

-  he then goes to the Dark Council to try to convince them to help him kill you and you literally have to just go to the Dark Council chambers too and kick in the door and go "HEARD YOU WERE TALKIN SHIT" in front of everyone

- (which to be fair is basically Sith philosophy in a nutshell)

-  Ravage and Marr spend this entire council meeting just exchanging tired glances and going "no, fuck you, why can't you kill them, they're your problem. fight for our entertainment now. fuck you"

- (Darth Baras did this exact same shit earlier the same day, by the way, with the Sith Warrior. and by “earlier the same day” I mean “like fifteen minutes prior to this.”)

- you fight Thanaton. to no one's surprise, because you're the protagonist and because he's being a little bitch about it, you kick his ass and slaughter him in front of everyone

- half the Council stands up and you just kind of go "oh shit I'm gonna die"

- but no

- you're being promoted

- congration you done it you're a dark councilor now

- someone complains because wait, they're not even a darth, you can't be a dark councilor if you're not even a darth

- first person responds with "well fuck you then, we'll make them a darth. hey you. your name is Darth Nox (dark side)/Imperius (light side)/Occulus (neutral) now. take a seat"

- "but - what?"

- "take a fuckin seat, babe"

- "o- okay" 

- "you run the entire Ancient Knowledge sector now, by the way, despite the fact that you may or may not be illiterate due to having been raised a slave, because that was what Thanaton ran and we only have the one job opening since the Warrior just killed Baras"

- (the Warrior, freshly coined the Emperor's Wrath officially, waves from their corner where they're cleaning Baras's blood off their boots)

- "I - okay, I guess"

and that’s the Sith Inquisitor storyline. That’s a wrap, folks, roll credits. if this gets enough notes and/or if literally anyone says they’d like to see it I may also post the Imperial Agent and/or do other class stories, I enjoy these way too much

[azems-familiar]

There’s a faint sneer on Darth Thanaton’s face as he regards her, the Sith tattoo curled blood-red down his face twisting in a mockery of its original design as his golden eyes rake over her and, as they always do, find her wanting. Oh, he never says it, of course; to her face, to everyone else’s faces, on paper and on holo and out in the galaxy she’s his favored apprentice, his eventual successor. Her family is nothing but proud of her, she’ll be head of a sphere some day, she has power and status and all the influence she could ever need - it should be enough. It should be enough.

It’s not enough.

Maybe it’s a proper Sith’s ambition; maybe it’s just the desire to be treated as something more than an inhibition. Ktis doesn’t quite know, and she’s not sure she wants to, not sure she wants to confront the increasingly difficult to put off realization that’s been creeping up on her for some time now. It’s easier to push away the burn in her chest (closer to shame than anger, if she looks at it - so she doesn’t) as hatred for her master, and that’s normal, that’s Sith - it is in the nature of Sith for them to hate their master. Hatred gives them strength, after all.

If she hates Thanaton, that’s only to be expected - though given his power and position, most expect her to wait until he’s made his move to make her own, or at least to wait until she’s named a Darth. There’s far more leeway for Darths to make moves on each other, far more freedom to do so openly, instead of having to hide their scheming and find a way to at least superficially pin it all on someone else. Lords really don’t have the political support (or, frequently, the sheer power and knowledge) to move against anyone other than their peers, which means that most of Ktis’ fellow lords are currently engaged in petty power plays that will ultimately never achieve their real goals, in lieu of being able to actually act. It frustrates her, if she lets it, with something close to disgust.

At least she isn’t afraid to break that rarely-spoken taboo and move on someone the rest of her order would consider beyond her reach.

Thanaton’s eyes sharpen on her and Ktis hastily tightens her shields, although she’s sure there’s no way he could’ve known what she’s thinking; he’s a seer, not an exceptional telepath, and she’s always been able to feel him in her thoughts before. No, it’s more likely that she’s been standing here watching him too long without the proper obsequiences, and he has something to say to her, but won’t until she acknowledges him. She bites back a sigh, bows exactly the proper amount from a lord to a Dark Lord her direct superior and no further, and when she rises, she keeps her gaze on the twisting tattoo on his cheek instead of his eyes (he gets touchy about eye contact from his subordinates, unless he’s the one who initiated it). Sometimes, when his face shifts just right, she thinks she can see the edges of something hidden beneath the crimson ink, warped from age and exposure - something rough and scarred that looks uncomfortably similar to the scars burned into her own family’s slaves. She’s never dared to mention it, or even to research it or him; some things aren’t worth the price of knowing, even when you’re all but third in line for Ancient Knowledge.

“My lord Thanaton,” she says, voice smooth and low, feeling the heavy weight of her braid swing against her back as she straightens fully. His face never changes - there’s not even a hint of pleasure that she hasn’t embarrassed him by messing up the propriety, just the same disinterested blankness and carefully-concealed derision. His aura in the Force is all twisted with thorns, digging into him, constricting him so tightly it’s no wonder he’s regarded as one of the most uptight and traditional Sith in the Empire, and Ktis thinks, not for the first time, that he hates her. “You summoned me?”

“I did,” Thanaton says, inclining his head to her in the closest thing to a measure of respect he’ll ever grant her. He’s only doing it because it’s proper, because it’s traditional (and she’s not sure there’s ever been a word she’s hated more), and when she was younger, when she was new to his service, she’d clung to those crumbs he’d thrown her like she could fashion a relationship out of them, as though that would fix the way he’d watched her with ice in his eyes when he thought she wasn’t looking, the way he pushed her into fights and politics she was nowhere near ready for with nothing other than a command to succeed or die - and death was not and has never been an option so she succeeded, time and time again, only for it to bring down further derision on her. Nothing she has ever done or could ever do will make him happy, not even if she brought him Coruscant perfectly contained, or every secret the Emperor has ever hidden away, or the heads of the entire Dark Council and the throne of the Empire ready for the taking. “I wished to speak with you about Darth Arctis.”

Arctis has held the sphere for quite a long time, though he’s rarely seen in public anymore, preferring to spend most of his time sequestered away with whatever it is he’s been studying (something Rakata, she suspects - the remnants of their Infinite Empire always seem to be where the strongest Sith inevitably end up). It isn’t surprising that Thanaton’s called her here to speak about him; she knows her master has been making plans for at least two years now, more than likely for as long as he’s been running the sphere’s day-to-day and holoing in for Dark Council meetings on Arctis’ behest. But if he’s finally preparing to make those plans a reality…

When she’d been a child, Ktis had wanted nothing more than to sit on the Dark Council one day. The greatest position any Sith can aspire to - controlling a good portion of the Empire - what pureblood child doesn’t see the Darths who sit those seats and want to be them? Setting foot on Korriban at sixteen, after two years preliminary education at the academy on Dromund Kaas, had been the closest thing to a spiritual experience she’s ever felt. The red sands, the wind, the sun-scorched sky and towering crags and cliffs, the statues that touch the clouds - it’d felt like coming home for the first time, like finally knowing what it truly means to be Sith in more than just religion. A great honor, her acolyte group had said, when she’d found out she was due to transfer there, to train in the ancient tombs that are the closest thing the Sith have to holy places.

It should’ve been a right.

“Of course, my lord,” she murmurs, pushes the complicated tangle of feelings thinking of Korriban always evokes back to the back of her mind. If she’s lucky, Thanaton will allow her to visit his stronghold on the planet itself again soon - and he’s implied she should be considering taking an apprentice, which would also necessitate a trip to the Sith homeworld - and yet even that thought burns something in her chest. It shouldn’t be his decision whether or not she can see the birthplace of her people. “Has he finally emerged from seclusion?”

“Not yet, no.” Thanaton’s sharply-edged tone smooths out as he shifts into speaking about his plans, his ambitions - as always, he reserves his derision for those he views below him, and for her. Arctis may be his master and his enemy, but the current head of the sphere is neither a fool nor inferior, and of course he isn’t Thanaton’s supposedly-favored but always-despised apprentice; he’s earned her master’s respect (in the way she’s never been able to). Thanaton will face him and fight him as an equal, even if he’s hardly straightforward about how he does it. “I believe it’s time he does, however, don’t you?”

[jjjwhovian]

World Building Wednesday: Zinkaea Kallig

(Note: Just like with previous one, photo is subject to change.)

General:

Name: Zinkaea Kallig

Class: Sith Inquisitor > Sith Sorcerer > Madness Discipline

Gender: Male (He/Him)

Species: Human

Sexuality: Pansexual

Family: He was born into slavery, his parents were both overworked to death by their owners

Birthplace: Begeren

Occupation: Alliance Commander of Ancient Research, formally Dark Council member

Fears: Losing everything he’s worked for

Guilty Pleasures: Aside from the usual Sith stuff of torture and Sith Archeology there’s reading and enjoying a nice cup of tea

Morals:

Alignment: Mostly Dark Side/Neutral EvilChaotic Good

Virtues: chastity/charity/diligence/humility/kindness/patience/justice

Sins: lust/greed/gluttony/sloth/pride/envy/wrath

This or That:

Introverted/Extroverted: Zinkaea is super out there and definitely the sort to draw attention to himself.

Organised/Disorganised: Everything has to be perfect in his eyes, doesn’t matter what he’s doing

Close-minded/Open-minded: Zinkaea used to be pretty close-minded on some things, such as Jedi and Sith working together, but ever since joining the Alliance he’s eased off a little.

Calm/Anxious: Zinkaea is a very volatile person, capable of snapping one moment and being calm and collected the next

Agreeable/Disagreeable: He usually tries to get his way by anyways necessary but later on in life he’ll learn to bite his cheek and do things another way

Cautious/Reckless: This motherfucker ate up four Force Ghosts to make himself stronger before they started messing with his mind and ate up a fifth DURING the process of trying to heal himself cause “why the hell not”. He’s insane.

Patient/Impatient: Despite the previous entry he’s very capable of being the schemer and biding his time.

Outspoken/Reserved: Zinkaea is not afraid of being up front with what he’s thinking and is willing to be hostile with people, even the Commander.

Leader/Follower: Zinkaea feels he needs to be in control and likes being the leader of his own little groups, which is why he challenge Adyllus to a duel to decide who the Commander of the Alliance should be. Have a guess who won.

Empathetic/Unempathetic: Zinkaea is aware of other peoples feelings and is willing to act out on that like with Vette but usually there’ll be zero fucks given.

Optimistic/Pessimistic: At the start Zinkaea is very confident of rising to the top of the Sith food chain and gaining more power before his optimism changed in a better way post-KOTET.

Traditional/Modern: Zinkaea was a former slave so naturally “traditions” can die in a hole. That’ probably why he was so against Thanaton.

Hardworking/Lazy: He’ll do anything in his power to achieve his goals. ANYTHING that the Alliance will allow him to do.

Relationships:

OTP: Lana Beniko; the love of his life, definitely felt a connection with her the instant he met her during all the Revanite stuff was about to kick off and he only felt their bond grow stronger ever since KOTFE.

OT3: Lana Beniko/Rylee Dray; impossible since the latter is dead before the former even met him but he would be lying if he said he didn’t fantasise about it.

BrOTP: Talos Drellik; they are literally best buddies, Zinkaea could be torturing someone one moment and then the next having a delightful discussion about an artefact either of them found.

NOTP: Vanzeth; these two despise each other, ever since meeting as Acolytes as Korriban and their intense rivalry only grew every time they meet. Also with Vette, a slave he mistreats, in his crew Zinkaea’s hate for the Pureblood grew.

[swtorpadawan]

Fun

(For Chapter One of this series, Monsters and Masks, please click here. ) Author’s Notes: I am not conforming to the norms of Chiss aging in my head-canons. For the record, Ashara is 21, here, while Ozibaumnu is 22. “My lord… may I ask you a personal question?” Ashara Zavros, Jedi Padawan, spoke even as she continued to trudge a few steps behind her ostensible master, Lord Kallig, across the icy plains of Hoth. The two were heading back to their shuttle at Dorn Base after successfully seeking out the Force ghost of the ancient Sith Lord Horak-Mul and persuading him to allow himself to be bound to Kallig. All this with the ultimate goal of challenging Darth Thanaton, who had been hounding Kallig, Ashara, and their crew for as long as Ashara had been with them. 

Hoth was barely habitable; it was essentially a freezing orb of snow and ice floating in space. Fortunately, both Ashara and Kallig were well-dressed for the frosty climate, wearing heavy cloaks over their normal robes and thermal garments beneath. Kallig – with the customary generosity she’d come to expect from him – had even provided her with thermal sleeves for her lekku and montrals. She couldn’t imagine where he had come by the garments that seemed to fit her perfectly and were clearly designed for a Togruta like herself. (Perhaps he had met a synthweaver in all his travels?) Regardless she was grateful for the protection and touched by his attentiveness. 

The cold had proven to be too much for their speeders, so they’d ultimately been forced to park them a few kilometers short of the base and were now heading the rest of the way on foot. 

(Tauntauns would have been more practical, Ashara knew. But the smelly, hairy beasts bothered her and even Lord Kallig hadn’t been keen on them.) Kallig paused in his step and turned towards Ashara. He was still wearing his black and silver skull-mask, one Ashara now knew was the legacy of the infamous Kallig bloodline. The mask gave him a foreboding look, an appearance that he’d carefully cultivated, he’d later confided to Ashara. Allies and enemies alike responded more promptly – and more predictably – to the mask than to the Sith Lord’s actual face. Most who encountered him knew him only by his growing reputation; the man beneath – a relatively young Chiss – was ‘unimportant’ in the grand scheme of things, he’d claimed.

(This was especially important, Ashara noted, considering Chiss serving in the Sith Empire often faced considerable prejudices, even those among the Sith.) Ashara, personally, much preferred him without the mask. “Only if you promise to remember that you don’t have to call me ‘my lord’ when we’re in private, Ashara.” Kallig’s tone was gently teasing, and she could almost feel his slight smile behind it. “Call me Ozibaumnu, or you could even follow Andronikus’ lead and call me ‘Ozi’, if you like. Its only in front of others that we need to worry about titles and formality.” He gave her a casual shrug. “Such things are quite important among the Sith and Imperials.” She was touched by his consideration, but she didn’t fail to observe that although he nominally served the Sith Empire and was a Sith himself, he didn’t personally identify himself as an Imperial. That is an important distinction. Ashara observed, filing that nugget of information away for later. “Okay. Ozibaumnu.” she gave him a hopeful smile. “I was just wondering… what does a Sith Lord who isn’t committed to the dark side do for fun?” He’d turned towards her fully now, his head tilting to the side. He had shown her a great deal of patience thus far, arguably far more than her old Jedi masters had. Ashara couldn’t imagine asking that kind of question to Master Ryen or Master Ocera. Indeed, it wouldn’t have ever occurred to her to do so. But Lord Kallig was different. Different than the Jedi. Different than Elios Maliss, that Sith acolyte on Taris, and different from ever other Sith she’d met since then. Different than how she ever imagined a Sith Lord ever could be. Different from anyone who Ashara had ever met, really. “Fun, hmm?” he queried. “Yeah. Fun. You know. For recreation. For enjoyment. Just… you know… fun.” She emphasized. How could she explain the concept of fun to someone who she was starting to suspect had never experienced it? Lord Kallig seemed to be chewing something over. He finally reached up and undid the clasp on his mask, pulling it up and over his head. Ashara had seen only two examples of Chiss in person before she’d met Ozibaumnu, and both had been allied with the Imperial military, seen from a distance. After she’d joined the Sith’s crew, she recalled finding his red eyes unnerving at first, but she had become much more comfortable with them over time. The stark contrast of the red against his dark blue skin was rather exotic. His face was heavily scarred; Ashara knew the marks were from his years as a slave but had never pressed him on the details. (She imagined the stories must have been horrifying.) Still, she privately admitted to herself that his high cheek bones and raven widow’s peak hair were not unattractive. When she’d first met him, of course, he had been wearing his Kallig mask and from the way he talked, she’d imagined him being … well, much older than he was. Later, when he’d revealed his actual face back on his ship, it was only then she realized first that he was Chiss and second that he was only a year or two older than she was. Ozibaumnu often seemed a completely different man to Ashara in private. Or without the mask. Or when she thought of him as ‘Ozibaumnu’ and not ‘Lord Kallig’. She was only now starting to understand that he needed to put on the show of being a ‘dark and imperious’ figure to discourage other Sith and Imperials from targeting him or his crew. This was the culture of the Sith Empire as it existed, and it was a culture that Ashara hoped Kallig would someday overturn. Now free of the mask, the Sith Lord exhaled slowly into the cold, icy air, his breath visible in a small puffy cloud. Ashara recalled that Chiss were naturally adapted to colder climates. Indeed, they’d seen dozens of Imperial-aligned Chiss on Hoth during their time here. Far more than she’d ever seen before. She’d privately wondered why he hadn’t revealed himself as one of them. Shouldn’t he welcome the presence of his own species, after spending so long in the Empire? “Well, I don’t really know.” He finally said. “I have vague memories of… playing with my elder sister when I was very little.” His voice grew wistful for the briefest of moments, and Ashara, feeling charmed at the thought of Ozibaumnu as a small child, started to smile. “I suppose that must have been fun.” The feeling wouldn’t last. “When we were separated, however, well, that’s when the Sarnovas bought me.” She could hear the sting of bitterness and pain in his voice. “I had… duties and lessons. I suppose I may have enjoyed some of those more than others. I read extensively in their library when I could find time. And I found great relief with the biochemistry lab, but that was primarily to manage Lady Sarnova’s gardens. I’ve kept that up, as you’ve seen on the ship. I’m even proficient enough now to produce custom stim-packs, and I do find the challenge relaxing.” He paused. “But I don’t think I would call it ‘fun’, exactly. It’s just something engaging I do to keep myself mentally sharp.”   Ashara felt her heart start to break hearing about the life that Ozibaumnu had led. It was entirely unfair and put the difficulties of her own life into context. The young Sith Lord had turned away from her now, looking off into the distance at one of Hoth’s moons. Though there was still daylight out, night would be falling quite soon. Still, she was hesitant to interrupt him, enjoying this level of openness. There was time. “It couldn’t have been so different for you, could it?” the Sith Lord asked, turning his head towards her slightly. “The Jedi aren’t exactly known for providing their padawans with a spirited and carefree upbringing.” Ashara bit her lip at that. She had enjoyed her time as a Jedi, no matter how frustrated she’d grown when she felt like her Masters had been holding her back.    “Well, we were given some free time each day.” She finally said. “To learn or relax however we chose. A few of us watched holovids. Some of the others meditated or studied records on loan from the Jedi Archives. I liked sparring with the others, but none of them could really keep up with me so I usually went exploring outside the enclave where I might run into rakghouls or bogstalkers or some other local predator. I didn’t seek conflict with any of them, but I didn’t back down when they attacked, either.” Her lips twisted into a guilty smile. “None of them could stop me.” She knew her pride was a weakness, but she couldn’t quite help it. “I guess… I guess it was fun. For me, anyway.” Ozibaumnu chuckled. “I believe you. I’ve seen your power and skills first-hand.” He gave her a grin. “You’re a remarkably talented warrior.” Ashara blushed in embarrassment at the compliment, looking away self-consciously. “Uhm. Thank you.” She offered lamely. Why did it bother her so much, him seeing her flustered? Seeming to sense the sudden awkwardness, Ozibaumnu turned away again. Ashara liked that about him. He respected her boundaries and didn’t push when she was uncomfortable with something. He seemed to ‘get’ her in a way other people didn’t. “Anyway, after I… ‘left’ the Sarnovas’ service, I began my Sith training. I knew full well I was already well behind the other students, and that my Chiss heritage would make me a target for a great many of the acolytes and overseers. I had to work twice as hard and to watch my back. The others took enjoyment from tormenting others or in the failures of one of our fellows. That’s… not something that interested me. So I suppose I didn’t really get to do anything for its own satisfaction.” He paused and Ashara could have sworn she could feel his mind sort through its memories. “Since then, well, first I was performing missions for Zash and then since her… transformation, I’ve had to deal with Thanaton. My companions – prior to meeting you, that is – have been a Dashade shadow-killer whose hobbies include ruthlessly devouring Force-users, and Andronikus, who enjoys acts of piracy and games of pazaak. And I can only play so much pazaak. It’s a reasonably engaging pastime, but not something I enjoy in and of itself.” Ashara had been listening to him talk about his life when inspiration struck her. Noting that his back was still turned to her, she crouched down and put her plan in motion. “But I’m afraid I’m not very experienced with the concept of ‘fun’. Not in a long time, anyway.”     He seemed to ponder that reality for a long moment. “Oh, Ozibaumnu?” Ashara finally asked innocently. “Yes, Ashara?” he attentively turned back in her direction. The snowball struck Ozibaumnu square in the chest, crumbling on impact, but nevertheless leaving the Sith Lord covered in a good amount of snow as his startled eyes widened. Ashara covered her mouth with her hands to smother her laughter, eyes wide with mirth as the Chiss blinked and looked down at himself. “I’m so sorry!” she cried out, still desperately trying to stifle her giggles, and out of breath. “It’s just… you didn’t know what ‘fun’ was and you were just standing there… and I wanted to show you… I’m sorry!” She closed her eyes, trying to recompose herself with her Jedi training and utterly failing. Honestly, she was still a little shocked by her own conduct. She’d never in a million years have even thought about throwing a snowball at any of her old Jedi Masters. Plus, she genuinely liked and respected Ozibaumnu. He was intelligent and knowledgeable treated her with respect and kindness and offered her as much freedom as he could. He’d let her express herself and her abilities in ways she’d never been able to before, and as a result she felt she was becoming more proficient at lightsaber dueling with every encounter and was growing far more refined with the Force overall. And what was more he spoke with her, not at her. About the Force, the Empire, the Republic, the Jedi, the Sith… everything. She’d enjoyed it, more than she’d like to admit. It felt like no one was holding her back anymore. Instead, Ozibaumnu was helping her move forward. She really should be kinder towards him for all he’d done for her. More respectful. She lowered her hands from her face and sighed, trying to prepare a more sincere – and heartfelt – apology.     And that was the moment Ashara felt the snowball hitting her in the face. The Togruta sputtered as her hands brushed away the snow, looking up in disbelief at her assailant.   Ozibaumnu, the Lord Kallig, Heir to Tulak Hord and the Great Dragon of the Cult of the Screaming Blade, was grinning mischievously at her in an expression Ashara had never seen on his face before. His hand was extended outward, palm-side down. A few inches beneath it she saw a new snowball being formed in mid-air, just out of the reach of his hand, and immediately realized that while she’d been distracted trying to smother her laughter, he’d sculpted the first snowball and had flung it at her just by using the Force. Now he was plainly getting ready to send another her way. It was so playful it was almost charming. She was so startled and then entranced at the sight that she barely had time to duck her head from the second snowball as it flung itself towards her, letting out an ‘eek’ as it narrowly sailed over her montrals.   She glanced back at him. Ozibaumnu continued grinning and promptly reached out and started forming a third snowball. Ashara felt a surge of adrenaline as her natural competitive instincts took over. If he was going to throw snowballs at her, she’d defend herself in kind. She kicked out at the still-forming snowball, then reached down towards the snow to form her own. Ashara knew she couldn’t match Ozibaumnu’s telekinesis or other outstanding Force powers, but she didn’t think he was her equal in physical prowess. She found herself smirking as she hurled her half-made snowball back at him. The Sith Lord deftly dodged the projectile by deftly turning his body, in an elegant display of an economy of motion. The minimal amount of effort had been expended. Then with a widening grin and a gesture of his hand, the snow all around them started to rise from the ground. Realizing the danger, Ashara took off, calling upon her Force speed to embark on a dead run away from him almost faster than the eye could follow. She’d realized immediately what Lord Kallig – Ozibaumnu, she reminded herself – was trying to do. She’d just have to be fast enough to overcome it. As she pushed herself, the ground behind her rose in a veritable tidal wave of snow, getting larger and larger as it pursued. Just when it threatened to overtake her, she adjusted her trajectory, evading its path. The Jedi padawan had been the best combatant in her class on Taris. Maybe one of the best in all the Jedi order. She knew that as powerful as she was, she couldn’t face Ozibaumnu directly like this. But even as the wave of snow turned and pursued her, she had a plan. Ashara continued to alter her direction, ever so slightly. Ozibaumnu was incredibly powerful and intelligent, but if she timed it perfectly, it was just possible she could find the angle to take him unawares. She risked a glance over her shoulder at him and was rewarded with the sight of a still grinning Sith Lord, reaching out with his hands as he guided the ever-growing wave of snow. By now, it was nearly ten meters high and twice as wide. Despite the cold and the speed she was running at, Ashara could feel the perspiration start to build on her brow as she continued to run, still adjusting her angle. She had never run so fast in her life, but at the same time, it was so exciting. The shape centered on the Chiss Sith Lord was nearly complete; Ashara was like the free tip of a compass while the wave behind her was drawing the circle. Just before she reached her starting point – and perhaps seconds away from being overtaken by the wave of snow – she turned her route completely towards him at a hard ninety degree angle and leapt, launching herself towards him with the strength of the Force in a remarkable display of athleticism. He'd turned towards her, his red, pupil-less eyes wide as they caught hers. She’d have missed the reaction without her Force sensitivity focused so acutely on him. For a fraction of a second, she was certain that her plan had failed, and he would respond with a Force Wave, throwing her back and into a nearby snowbank. Or perhaps he might even lash out with his Force Lightning, which Ashara was certain she could not resist or defend against. Not at this point.  

But the expression on Ozibaumnu’s face was not a grin any longer. Nor was it anger or even shock. His eyes wide as he looked at her with the most serene expression. He looked at peace, with his lips slightly parted as he watched the oncoming Togruta soaring towards him. This observation registered in Ashara’s mind at the very instant she collided with him, sending both Force users tumbling to the ground in a heap. The Force wave of snow, no longer under the guidance of its master, simply collapsed just short of them, sending up a flurry of flakes. When the dust settled, Ashara, still breathing heavily, sat up and looked down at Ozibaumnu. He was laying on his back while Ashara was effectively straddling him. The wind had obviously been knocked out at him, but his eyes were still open, and looking up at her. Ashara swallowed, catching her breath as the feeling of awkwardness set in. “Uhm. You okay?” He blinked but didn’t turn away. Instead, he just nodded up at her, his eyes still wide and strangely focused.   Ashara smiled, relived. Then realizing she’d succeeded in her plan, the smile widened into a grin. “I got you.” she beamed in triumph. It had been the first time she’d bested him in any kind of training. Ozibaumnu’s didn’t react in the slightest, nor did he move free himself or to push her off of him. In fact, he was only barely breathing as he continued to gaze up at her. “You’re beautiful.” The words startled Ashara, as her jaw dropped and her cheeks flushed. He’d always been friendly to her, and they’d even bantered a handful of times. But he’d never said anything to her like that before. These past several weeks had been a whirlwind for the young Togruta. She’d seen her old masters slain, then had allied with the Sith who’d killed them. She’s left Taris behind, and since then had seen how the growing war between the Republic and the Empire was impacting worlds like Quesh and Hoth. She’d made friends – or at least acquaintances – wish a Sith Lord, a pirate, and a Dashade shadow-killer who was sometimes possessed by a Sith. She had learned new things about herself, experiencing things she’d never imagined and she suspected that her journey of self-discovery was only just beginning. That there were many more lessons ahead. And as she looked down at his handsome face and felt butterflies in her belly, she wondered if this were one of them.   The Chiss was still looking up at her, entranced, breathing heavily with his mouth agape. Ashara found herself starting to lean down towards his lips, getting closer and closer… It was at that point the silence was shattered by a voice that could be heard calling out in the distance. “My lord!” Alarmed, Ashara turned towards the sudden intrusion, her hands reflexively going for the lightsabers she kept clipped to her belt. Rapidly approaching the two from about fifty meters away was a squad of Imperial soldiers, clad in the Empire’s finest cold-weather gear. They were led by an eager man wearing sergeant stripes on his armor, his eyes wide in alarm. Suddenly very self-conscious of the fact that she was effectively straddling the Sith Lord to whom she owed her allegiance in the middle of a plain of snow, Ashara scrambled to her feet, hastily brushing the snow off her robes. She turned away as her cheeks burned in embarrassment, looking down at her feet. She could only imagine how ridiculous she looked at this moment.     The soldiers came to a stop a few meters away, the sergeant suddenly uncertain. Each of the squadmates appeared to be surveying the lay of the land.   “Forgive me, my lord. Dorn Base had a report of a sudden snowstorm… phenomena in this zone. We were concerned you’d been stranded.”   Ashara remembered that Captain Yudrass of the Chiss Expansionary Defense Force now commanded Dorn Base, largely on Lord Kallig’s recommendation. Perhaps these men were here at Yudrass’ request? Ozibaumnu had, by now, risen to his feet, his back to the soldiers. Ashara watched as the Sith Lord carefully refastened his skull-mask around his head before finally turning to face the sergeant. “Not at all, sergeant.” Lord Kallig said, his voice once again slightly distorted by the mask. Nevertheless, his tone was clear, firm and commanding. “My apprentice and I were simply enjoying an impromptu training session. But I am most grateful for your concern.” “Ah.” The sergeant blinked, glancing at Ashara with a nervous look in his eyes and then back to Kallig before swallowing. “Of course, my lord. My apologies. My men and I will return to our patrols.” Kallig gave a slight nod, effectively dismissing the soldiers. The sergeant gave the order and the men turned westward, back in the general direction of Dorn base. Finally alone again, Kallig turned to Ashara, his face once again unreadable beneath his mask.     “That was fun.” He said simply. Ashara bit her lip at that, and she realized only then that she’d been holding her breath in the presence of the soldiers who had ‘caught’ them. She exhaled, finally smiling softly at him. “Yes, it was.” She answered quietly. He gave a nod of his head and she found herself hoping he was smiling beneath the mask. “Well then. We should get back to it.” Without another word, the Sith Lord began trekking through the snow, once more headed towards the base. Ashara watched him for a second, her smile turning into a grin. Then she followed, eager to catch up. Author’s Notes: Some of my younger readers may not be entirely familiar with how people used to draw precise circles. Now you know.  The Ashara Zavros romance in the SI story can be troubling if not approached from the correct direction. One of my goals with this particular character to explore that romance while avoiding the pitfalls.   I love the idea of the Sith Inquisitor or the Sith Warrior going through most of the game interacting with Sith and Imperials who are unaware you are not human or Pureblood. Its like they can pull the mask off at any time and say “What did you say about Mirialans again?” Ozi is not a big fan of the Chiss Ascendancy. They sent his family into exile and to the Empire, and then did nothing after his mother was killed and he and his sister were enslaved. So he’s not a creature of sentiment with respect to his own species. But he was more accommodating with Yudrass, an NPC on Hoth who I found memorable. Honestly, he was one of the few Imperials he saw on Hoth who seemed worth his time. This might be the beginning of a reconciliation. Frankly, its too soon to say. Finally – I was originally going to name this piece ‘Snowballs’ but opted to change it to avoid any entendre issues. (Some of y’all have dirty minds.) Tagging people who liked my WIP teasers - @actualanxiousswampwitch , @sleepswithvillains​ , @elaphaemourra​ , @starstrucknerdbatkid​ , @lyrishadow​ , @sarpndodoesrp , @introversiontherapy , @faith71504 , @cinlat , @a-master-procrastinator , @a-muirehen , @imperialparagons , @blueburds and @greyias ! Thank you all for the encouragement! Also for @starknstarwars - who a VERY long time ago did some Winter prompts, the result of which being this WIP i had almost abandoned for over a year. The lesson here is, save your work. You can always come back to it later. Also - @swtorshipping​ - For your approval. Comments are always welcome!

[keldae]

New Beginnings

Sorand had known for most of his life that he had never completely been a child of the Empire. Sure, he'd been born as a citizen in Imperial Space, along with his brother, and he'd known his father was also Imperial by birth. But his mother, the Corellian Jedi who had hidden her Jedi training and come to Imperial Space with her husband… she had never become a citizen herself, a secret she’d held until her death. And he knew now that his parents' plan had been to take their sons and escape to the Core Worlds before Sith Academy recruiters came snooping for young prospects.

And then his mother had been murdered only days before their planned flight, and life had gone to hell, and Sorand still wound up on Korriban after all. He had still looked for a way to escape to the Republic once he was free of a slave's chains -- first as an apprentice under Darth Zash, and then as a Lord while trying to survive Darth Thanaton’s schemes. But with a Dashade constantly looming nearby, and Imperial eyes always watching, and both Zash and Thanaton tracking him too closely for him to slip away… besides, would the Jedi have believed his claim to be the son of one of their own, even if he had been able to defect? Ashara's first masters on Taris certainly hadn't been willing to talk to him. Honestly, until he had met his sister, Ashara had been the only Jedi willing to hear him out, seeing beyond the black robes and red lightsaber.

And then the odds of a Dark Councillor being able to defect after he’d been abruptly elevated by Darth Marr… less said about that, the better. But at least by then he'd found his father, and the Empire was more bearable with Reanden there. Knowing that his brother and sister were both safely in Republic territory helped, even if he was envious of his siblings for being free of the Empire.

When he had slipped away from Dromund Kaas to join the fledgling rebellion against the Eternal Throne, he hadn't been thinking of any possible citizenships, or really, anything beyond a desperate attempt to rid the galaxy of Zakuul. He hadn't been surprised to hear that Acina had been furious enough to rescind his Imperial citizenship and his title as a Darth. But he had a place in the Mandalorian clans with Shara, and then a purpose in helping free his sister and backing up her efforts to fight Arcann and Vaylin. After Valkorion's destruction, he had joined the rest of the members of the Alliance in asking "Now what?" 

Of course, he hadn't had time to think about that, between the uprisings across the galaxy and the Iokath debacle. At least being Xaja's stand-in to run the Alliance while she had been first pregnant, and then too distraught by Theron’s dumbassery to function, had kept him busy, even if he had started finding a worrying amount of grey strands in his dark hair after Umbara happened and Theron staged that (stupid, idiotic, dumbass, shittily-planned, plain moronic) betrayal. 

Ossus was the first time that he had properly been able to work with Republic forces. Tau Idair had given him some serious side-eye when she heard the Imperial accent that still lingered in his voice, and Nadia Grell had eyed him with no small amount of caution; but Doc had remembered him from the Revanite incident and greeted him as a friend, and Master Gnost-Dural had cautiously accepted him after Xaja vouched for him. From the looks the other Jedi and the colonists gave him, he figured he wasn’t going to be accepted readily, despite being the Hero of Tython’s brother, and quietly resigned himself to the suspicious stares and mutters. At least one good thing had come out of his duel with Darth Malgus in the ancient library: despite getting his ass handed to him and nearly being killed by the Sith, he seemed to have earned the respect of other Jedi and the colonists for standing with Gnost-Dural.

But even after that, and with the resurgence of the conflict over Onderon and Mek-Sha, he had never dared to let himself hope that he would be permanently free of the Empire. Now that he was in the heart of the Republic fleet, surrounded by other members of the Odessen crew and Republic personnel, the new (and perfectly legitimate) identicard that labeled him a Republic citizen still didn't seem real. He subtly pinched his arm, just to confirm this wasn't a dream.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Reanden offered his youngest son a smirk, leaning back against a table in Carrick Station's cantina with a tumbler of Corellian whiskey, looking as comfortable as if he had always been a Republic citizen, not an Imperial one. While Sorand knew his father had been a deep cover SIS operative for longer than he or his siblings had been alive, he was pretty sure this was the first time Cipher Nine had been able to openly relax in Republic Space.

"I never thought it would actually happen," Sorand murmured, still staring at the identicard. A former member of the Dark Council, one who was still known as Darth Imperius to more than a few Imperial soldiers and citizens, holding proof of his new Republic citizenship… Darth Zash and Darth Thanaton would both be turning in their graves at his new status. That thought pleased him almost as much as what his mother's reaction would have been. He looked at his father and gave him a small, melancholic smile. "Mum would be so thrilled if she could see this."

Reanden's dark eyes softened for a moment. "This was the endgame she and I had planned, getting the lot of us back home where we'd wanted you to be. Took the long route getting there, but we got here eventually." For a moment, his contentment vanished behind a scowl. "And just in time for me to be informed that I'm being retired from active field work and getting put to work in training cadets. In case you ever meet him -- the Director’s a dick."

"Aww, I'm sure there's plenty of miscreant cadet spies who need to get whipped into shape. Besides, knowing you, you’ll get bored enough to make him send you back out on missions." Sorand grinned and nudged his father's arm, earning an incoherent mutter and an eyeroll over the whiskey. He then looked at Shara on his other side, contemplatively sipping on an ale. "How are you feeling about this, cyar'ika?"

"It still hasn’t sunk in yet. Never thought I’d be offered Republic citizenship -- I almost wonder if that old Chancellor might’a put in a good word for me or somethin’." Shara shrugged and offered a small half-smile. "Never woulda thought Mandalore would be takin’ up with the Republic either. Weird how life works out -- but I think it’ll all turn out fine." She glanced at a small cluster of station personnel, all eyeing the former Imperials cautiously. "Once that lot all gets over hearin' Mando'a an' Kaasian accents, anyway. Odessen used to be almost half ex-Imp, so there’ll be lotsa Imp accents kickin’ around for a while."

"Trying to change accents is a pain in the ass,” Sorand said with a short laugh, with a passable accent that wouldn’t have been out of place in Hutt Space. Force knew he’d had years of practice in listening to and mimicking Hutt Space accents as a youth. "It’s a work in progre-- oh, hello, Master." He inclined his head to Gnost-Dural, who was just making his way up to the group. 

"Ah, just the former Sith I was looking for." Gnost-Dural nodded. It was hard to tell with the mask, but if the warmth in the Force was any indication, Sorand was pretty sure the old Jedi was smiling. "I was hoping I could steal you for a moment, Impe-- Sorand."

"Of course." Slipping his precious new identicard back in his pocket, Sorand followed the Kel Dor a few paces away to a quiet alcove. The flickerings in the Force gave him no indication of what the Jedi was thinking. "What can I do for you?"

"Less a favour, more a proposition for you. One that your sister might have asked of you if--"

They both heard the muffled shriek of "Kira!" from the upper ring around the cantina, and Sorand could feel a burst of relieved joy from Xaja, accompanied by hurried footsteps as she ran to greet her former protégé, dignity be damned by the sounds of it.

"... If her former Padawan and the former Wrath hadn't just walked up." Gnost-Dural chuckled. "She'll be occupied for a while."

Sorand grinned, glancing up in the direction of Xaja's bright Force-signature, then back to Gnost-Dural. "And she's already the happiest I've seen her in years. Being back in the Republic is good for her."

"The Republic is fortunate to have her back," Gnost-Dural agreed. "But how are you feeling with this change? It's certainly not the Empire."

"Definitely not," Sorand nodded. He hesitated for a moment. "Force knows I wish I’d been able to leave the Empire far sooner. If I had had my way, I would have defected on my own years ago. Being a Sith was… a survival mechanism, and by the time I was elevated to a Darth…" He shrugged. "I honestly figured the Republic would have no place for a former Dark Council member, if they didn’t just shoot me on sight."

"You are far from the first high-ranking Sith to turn their back on the Empire," Gnost-Dural assured him. "Your sister had the Wrath leave with her, after all."

"Yes, but Scourge never really swore himself to the Republic," Sorand pointed out. "He was more focused on taking down Vitiate than in helping defeat the Empire entirely."

"Not untrue. But you…" Gnost-Dural seemed to be looking him up and down. "Every dossier I ever found about you showed you trying to change the Empire from within, or trying to aid Republic operatives when the opportunity presented itself. It is a pity we couldn't open a path for you to come to us before now." He sighed. "But, this is one positive that came about from the changes we've endured over the last few years, ever since the Zakuulan invasion. It's been easier for people like you to slip away in the chaos, whether to the Republic or to the Alliance."

Sorand nodded his agreement, his hand brushing over the pocket of his nondescript jacket where his identicard rested. "After everything that's happened, it feels surreal that this is finally happening. I still feel like I'm going to wake up any moment now."

Gnost-Dural chuckled, then seemed to grow more serious. "What are your plans, now that Odessen is a member world of the Republic?"

"My wife and I haven't discussed it much yet," Sorand admitted. "With Mandalore signing on with the Republic as well, Shara's thinking of contracting out her hunting skills. There were a lot of families that were split up during Zakuul's invasion, and the SIS can't find everyone."

Gnost-Dural nodded. "And yourself?"

"I'm not sure." Sorand shrugged. "I'm pretty sure Xaja will still want me around as her deputy, at least until Odessen has a finalized government beyond being a military outpost." He frowned slightly. "Although I dearly hope she's not planning on asking me to be the Senate representative."

That got a chuckle from the old Jedi. "You really are like your sister. She has never been fond of politics either." He paused for a moment. "I may have a proposition for you, one that should hopefully give you an 'out' from being a Senator."

"What is that?"

Gnost-Dural shifted to cross his hands behind his back, comfortably at ease. "The Jedi Order has a long road back to recovery, as you know. Your sister accepted a role on the newly reforming Jedi Council, but we do need all the help we can get. You would be a great asset. I would like to formally offer you a place in the reforming Jedi Order."

Sorand had spent years learning to hide his emotions, masking his reactions and thoughts to everyone around him during his years as a Sith. And every bit of those honed instincts abandoned him right then, eyes widening, mouth falling open for a second before he recovered. "A place in the… you're serious?"

"Dead serious. Your knowledge of the Sith is helpful, but your power with the Force; your skill with healing; and your knowledge of the history of both Jedi and Sith is a rare and valuable asset." Gnost-Dural nodded. "You wouldn't be a Master to start, of course -- you would start as a Padawan. But I don't see you staying in that rank for long." He chuckled. "And you're far from the oldest recruit to join our ranks."

A Jedi… even in his wildest, most deeply secret dreams of defection, Sorand had never dared to truly let himself imagine being offered a place in the Order's ranks. Even if he was restarting as a Padawan, this was already a dream he had never dared to hope for. "I don't know what to say. I'm… I'm incredibly honoured," he breathed out, then hesitated. "... I am married with a family, though, and my first commitment is to them. Will that be a concern?"

"A decade ago, perhaps. But I think the Jedi are evolving with the galaxy -- some things do change. Besides, your sister is also rejoining us with a husband and a child. It would be rather hypocritical for her to keep her family, and to ask you to give up your own. I understand you're both Corellian as well -- it is the tradition of the Green Jedi to have families." 

"It is," Sorand acknowledged, inwardly trying to control his sheer excitement at being extended this offer. "Who would be my Master?"

Gnost-Dural chuckled again. "Well, if you're content with having an old man as your Master, I think it's time I took on a new Padawan myself. And after fighting against Malgus with you on Ossus, I would be pleased to have you at my back. You're a good man, despite what the Sith tried to turn you into."

"I had a good teacher as a child," Sorand murmured, thinking back to the lessons his mother had taught him… the lessons that had kept him sane and attuned to the Light, even in the darkest parts of the Empire. Even looking past his excitement, he could feel the Force all but pushing him to accept the offer. He swore he could feel his mother's spirit proudly beaming at him. "I… I'm honoured to accept. I can think of no better teacher."

He was sure Gnost-Dural was smiling under his mask. "The honour is mine, Padawan. The Jedi are fortunate to have both your sister and you." The old Jedi reached out to clasp his new student's shoulder, then stepped back. "Take the evening to relax and enjoy your new citizenship. We'll begin your training tomorrow."

"Thank you, Master." The phrase that he had absolutely loathed during his years as a slave, and his tutelage under Zash, felt comfortable and easy here, when directed to a Jedi. He managed to keep his elation somewhat tempered down until after Gnost-Dural took his leave… and then let the broad, excited grin take over as he made his way back to his father and his wife.

Reanden raised an eyebrow as his younger son rejoined them. "Well, you look particularly gleeful, buddy. What's up?"

Sorand felt his grin lessen slightly as he wondered how the news of his new status would be taken. "Well…" he slowly said, "of all the titles I've had or planned to have… I never expected 'Padawan' to be on that list."

Reanden's eyes widened. "Padawan, is it?" Then he looked over at Shara and grinned as he held his hand out. "I win. Pay up, kiddo."

“Wait.” Sorand blinked. “Did you two have a bet going for what that chat was going to be about?”

"Totally thought it was gonna be Alliance osik," Shara ruefully said with a smirk as she pulled a few credits out of her pocket and handed them to her father-in-law, then looked at Sorand. "The Jedi know we're a package deal, right?"

"Yes. Apparently that's going to be a little less of an issue in the new Order." Sorand grinned and hugged Shara across the shoulders, kissing her forehead. "You're still stuck with me, cyar'ika… just with much less ambient lightning."

Shara laughed and stretched up to kiss his cheek. "Long as you ain't replacing that with jetiise preachy osik, we're good. I can't wait to see your brother's face when he gets the news."

Oh, Korin's reaction was going to be hilarious, Sorand knew… even if he was pretty sure Theron was trying to push the spacer in the general direction of the SIS. But that was something to think about later. Right now, it was an evening to celebrate. The Empire reeling from a successful Republic blow; a new citizenship and a place in the ranks of the Jedi; and the knowledge that he would never, ever need to return to the Empire…

Yes, he thought, smiling as he waved his brother over to tell the news to. Life was the best it had been in years.

[haru-sen]

Imperial Forces

I’ve written...a lot of words for a fanfic no one asked for, and only one person has confirmed knowing what the hell I am even talking about.  My god. This is a preview of the IAL anniversary gift and may be changed down the road.  Certain people instigated this, you know who you are, and I’m still salty at you.

TW:  This is a darker piece of work compliant with some of the unpleasantness that one expects the Sith Empire.  Includes: dubcon, mentions of previous sexual assaults, attempted sexual assault, bad boundaries, bondage, and improper use of the Force.  Edited: Posted some minor corrections. Part 1/?

You sat at the table, ramrod straight, focusing on the silverware, and your glass of wine. The cut of the crystal was exquisite, and the wine was a Dathomirian Fury Red, if you recalled correctly, which you might not, because the entire day had been an absolute disaster, and you would be so very lucky if you made it to the dessert course. Surviving this situation was highly unlikely. You’d known for awhile that your time was extremely limited. But having dessert before you were murdered by a Sith lord, would be kind of nice.

You glanced up at the masked Sith, and then the bored moff across from you: dinner, dessert, death. At least the dining room was luxuriously decorated. You’d always expected to die in a dark, gross alley. This was an upgrade, really.

But for some reason, all these high-end pre-murder amenities were not making you feel any better.

**

They called you Cipher 13, because your real name was classified, and because the previous Cipher 13 took a one-way trip down a sarlacc pit the night before your spontaneous promotion. In all fairness, the name was probably cursed. You were the “unluckiest” of the Cipher agents, often getting the worst assignments or having your missions interrupted by the most unbelievable accidents.

It was an old joke by now, but you still got regular comments about your unenviable misfortune. Like today, when you’d gone to the quartermaster to stock up on the special blend of stimpacks Ciphers used. Fixer 3 had made an awkward joke about how your formula had “unpredictable results” and looked uncharacteristically scared when you took one right in front of him. Fixer 3 was normally a sensible guy and you liked him. You weren’t sure what he had been thinking today.

But it had been a long week, and you had not been given the regular rest break between assignments. Something “urgent” had come up. Watcher 5 had briefed you of your next mission, which was something convoluted and political. You were working for a Dark Council member. Watcher 5 had slipped in a snide remark along the lines of, “try not to let your personal chaos spill into this operation. Sith Lords have little tolerance for surprises.”

He said this, like you had control over these things. Ridiculous.

For example, how could you anticipate that a rancor would get loose at a diplomatic banquet and eat the person you were supposed to interrogate (along with half a dozen or so other very important people)? Not your fault, and certainly not within your control, and despite slicing the needed information from his personal terminal, the mission had been judged (unfairly!) to be a failure. Then there was that pazaak tournament on Nar Shaddaa where you had been burned by another Cipher, who outed you to the Hutts. It didn’t matter, in the sense that you won the game, shot her in the face, and received the boon you had entered the tournament to acquire. (The Hutts didn’t care who you worked for, as long as you weren’t crossing them.) You received demerits for having your cover blown by another agent’s blatant betrayal. (But she didn’t get any, because she was dead, and Minder 2 was pissy with you after that forever.) Then, there was that time you’d walked right into a Jedi strike team ambush meant for Darth Baras on Corellia… You were lucky to only lose a hand that day. Coincidentally, the officer who had given you the bad intel had also been fatally unlucky. He had a rare and deadly allergic reaction to the nuts in his ryshcate pastries, served at a diplomatic fete that weekend. How tragic it is when one can’t even enjoy their pastries.

But it wasn’t just misfortune. The current Keeper did not like you, had never liked you, and was growing more and more frustrated by the fact that you kept coming back alive, when many others did not. (You knew for a fact that the Minders had a betting pool regarding your survival. Minder 12 had been very helpful in providing you the behind the scenes information. You missed her.) As Keeper effectively ran the ops division of Imperial Intelligence, this was a definite problem.

Watcher 4 had been instrumental in keeping you alive. But now that he was gone, you were on your own with very few allies within your organization. That was why you had been given this newest assignment. (You missed Watcher 4 as well, and while you could not and would not try to prove it, you thought he and Minder 12 might have faked their deaths and run off together. It was a purely fanciful notion, but you could dream, right?) Imperial Intelligence agents didn’t get happy endings. And Ciphers usually didn’t make it to five years.

You had seven.

By all rights, you should have been able to transfer to a Watcher position a long time ago. But that never happened. It was probably because Keeper hated you. You did not know exactly why. You suspected it was because you were not born into the upper echelons of Imperial high society. You had started out a slave, earned some freedom, and trained as a Cipher; but on the Imperial capital planet of Dromund Kaas, that wasn’t enough. Your continual survival offended him, a constant reminder of his own failure to erase you.

And so here you were, assigned to the whims of Darth Thanaton, a member of the Dark Council, a crusty overpowered madman, and worse, an absolutely unmitigated boor. He was urbane enough in his public appearances, but behind closed doors? An absolute drama queen.

You stood in his foyer, Thanaton was shouting now, and you got the impression that he did this a lot, having an audience present was optional. The man himself was older, fit enough to show his face (no mask or rebreather), and had been quite the assassin in his day. The room was black marble, filled with ugly stone antiques, and it felt like a mausoleum, only louder and more oppressive. Your head was pounding and your stomach churning as you struggled to pay attention to his spiel. You were professional enough that you could maintain a mask of respectfulness, despite your growing physical discomfort. You had powered through worse.

Like that time on Tatooine when you’d broken a leg in melee combat with Tusken Raiders…That had been a bad day. Or that time you’d gone undercover as a Hutt’s dancing slave on Nar Shaddaa. Or even when…

Focus. Thanaton was bad enough. You did not need to take a trip down traumatic memory lane in the middle of a Darth’s monologue.

Thanaton spent a good quarter of an hour railing against the failing morals and falling standards of the Sith academy on Korriban. And then another quarter of an hour complaining about the bureaucratic delay in assigning a “suitable” Imperial Intelligence agent to his cause. He went into great detail about how much the Council needed this work done, and how important it was, and how Lord Messor’s habits were unseemly, and Moff Kiljack needed to know his place, and...and...and… It went on much longer. He sprayed spittle when he spoke. It was painfully distracting.

You nodded along, like a good Cipher, even though you could feel the nastiness of his aura crawling along your skin. It worsened your nausea. You were no saint, but being near powerful Sith made you queasy. There was something fundamentally wrong with most of them, and your body knew it. But you stood at attention, masking your disgust, because to cross a Darth was a clear-cut and uncomfortable death, usually with choking, sometimes lightning. You’d seen it up close many times and experienced lighter versions of those punishments yourself. Best avoided if possible.

Keeper knew what he was doing. There was a fifty percent chance that you wouldn’t even make it to the mission. Snotty old Darth Thanaton would take offense at you for simply existing and smite you before you had a chance to get to work.

But you were not unaware of the situation. Lord Messor was an unconventional dark lord, taking more than his share of apprentices from Korriban (and doing who knows what with them? Sith Lords didn’t usually keep more than one alive at a time). Moff Kiljack had been one of those apprentices, and had shown an extreme aptitude for military strategy. He had then been put on a different career track, promoted to head of Messor’s security forces, and given free reign. Eventually however, things between the men soured, and the former security chief had managed to wrangle a promotion from the Imperial army, instead of just wasting away as Messor’s lackey. He gained some powerful allies and rose quickly to the rank of moff. To no one’s surprise, Messor hadn’t taken the change of allegiances well, and now things were awkward, to say the least.

Thanaton claimed that he found the entire situation offensive. You didn’t think it seemed any different from any other horrible day on Dromund Kaas. There were so many betrayals, atrocities, and political cliques, you just tried to keep your head down, and your heart beating. It was more likely that Thanaton feared Messor’s growing power and wanted to eliminate a rival.

If only you had gotten another off-world assignment. You’d already disabled the kill-chip implanted in the base of your skull. You could just fake your death, move to some peaceful, secluded farming planet, and not worry about being flayed alive for accidentally making eye contact with a power-mad sorcerer.

You’d always suspected your cause of death would be “someone else’s ego” or at least “collateral damage,” but you didn’t expect it to play out so literally. By the time Thanaton actually got to the point, you had been standing in his foyer for an hour, watching him froth and rant. Lord Messor or Moff Kiljack had just been assigned to deal with a situation on Hoth or Voss (you couldn’t tell because Thanaton had been going at it for so long that he kept switching the names and not giving you any kriffing context…) But you were to sabotage those efforts, make Messor and the moff lose credibility, fall from grace, and be tossed into the bone pile in the waste dumps outside the city.

That’s it. Ruin them on the basis of his disapproval and use his tenuously plotted scheme to do it. Failure would be met by death.

Success would also probably be treason, and that too was punishable by death.

Hell, if you did succeed, Thanaton would have to kill you to tie up loose ends.

Death, death, or more death, with no obvious way out. Normal mission parameters, really.

Nodding, you told him, “I understand, my lord. It will be done, my lord,” while preparing to take a shuttle off-world and commit very public suicide on Nar Shaddaa. Hell, you could just go throw yourself at the mercy of Theron Shan. He probably would only torture you a little, as a formality, before taking pity on you, and ending your misery himself.

OK, clearly you had been in Darth Thanaton’s dark energy radius for too long, because his madness and depressive thoughts were now rubbing off on you. Plus you still wanted to throw up. And Thanaton might have sensed your urge to flee, because he sent you back to the Imperial High Command with an escort: one of his security advisors, a pompous man of “good breeding” named Captain Prince, and a dozen heavily armed guards.

Druk.

The soldiers weren’t really there for you, you realized once you were already seated in the convoy listening to Prince further explain Thanaton’s “plan.” Lord Messor was taking on a greater role in the war effort against the Republic, and Imperial High Command was providing more men for his military gambits. Prince and his men were being overtly assigned by Imperial High Command, though they were actually loyal to Thanaton. Prince would be reporting to Messor tonight. Your cover was as Prince’s assistant. Your job would be reconnaissance and sabotage, and you would be reporting your progress to both Prince and Thanaton. You also would be expected to produce reports for Keeper, not that Prince understood the workings within Imperial Intelligence.

...It was shit plan. You knew it even before you heard it, though Prince seemed confident that his background would pass muster. That was a little more reassuring than Thanaton’s mad ramblings, but still amateur. Prince was a decorated military man, and had seen some very vicious combat, committed atrocities, and been rewarded for his service. He was not the man you would have put in charge of any operation that required subtlety. If Keeper had wanted this job done right, he would have assigned it to you himself, and given you free reign. There was a lot of subtext to unravel, but right now you had to nod along to Captain Prince’s blathering. He wasn’t nice, he stared at your chest longer than was polite, and he put a hand on your knee. You lightly brushed it off, reminding yourself that you could not kill Thanaton’s representative on the first day.

Like any highborn noble, Lord Messor had an estate outside the city. The route was straight forward, and you were taking a regular speeder to get there. Contrary to your expectations, the ride actually helped clear your head. You were still a little shaky, but less nauseated. Getting away from Thanaton helped. Wind lashed at your skin as you watched the jungle pass by, and you wondered how much of a lead you would have if you left for Nar Shaddaa tonight. With any luck, it would be hours before anyone noticed you were gone.

You waited, hands steady, even as you and Prince exited the vehicle. It was raining, as usual, and the air stunk of ozone. Three more men followed from another transport, and Prince did not offer any introduction, though you could feel them watching you with predatory eyes.

The Messor estate had several outbuildings, and the gates were high. A large fortress had been partially carved out of the cliff, the jungle providing more strategic cover. Though solid, it had the columned facade of an ancient Sith temple. You studied it, not quite sure what Thanaton had been complaining about. Lord Messor seemed to have traditional Sith tastes (gothic and imposing), at least when it came to architecture.

“Come on, kitten,” Prince said with a leer. “If you want to marvel about size, I have something to show you.”

The men behind you laughed.

You just smiled politely, and decided that maybe Prince would lean too far out a window tonight. The jungle provided a lot of ambient noise to cover any screaming. The winds were dangerous. Accidents happened, especially around you. Hell, if Prince was defenestrated, they’d probably be too busy mopping up the meat confetti to look for you…

Prince led the way to the fortress, frowning as an HK droid met you at the bottom of the steps.

“Greetings, Captain. Lord Messor is expecting you. Please come this way.” The droid pointed to a more discrete entrance: a small path leading to a recessed door. With the foliage and the angle of entry, it was well-concealed.

Prince’s upper lip curled in aggravation, but he adjusted course. You followed, noting the placement of the turrets, the thickness of the walls, and the fact that the droid that met you was a high-end assassination model. It spoke like a protocol droid, it had those functions as well, but you were very familiar with the HK series.

You followed Prince through the heavy durasteel door and to a narrow set of stone steps. The lights were low, and the stairwell was mostly in shadow. Then the door slammed shut behind you, leaving the HK droid and the other three men outside.

Prince stopped, he glanced at you questioningly.

“I didn’t shut it,” you said.

Prince pushed past you and tried the handle. The door did not budge. He frowned and drew his blaster pistol.

“Let’s go,” he told you, gesturing with the pistol for you to go first.

“Of course, Captain,” you said, maybe a little sarcastically, as you marched up the stairs, keeping an eye out for trip wires, pressure plates, or any of the other nasty surprises that Sith lords liked to keep around their homes.

...Druk. Sometimes there were creatures. The local fauna was bad enough, but the Sith liked to import nasty things as well as craft their own monsters. You’d seen plenty and you had no desire to face Sithspawn again any time soon.

You stepped lightly. The stairs went up for at least three stories, and then there was another door. You glanced back at Prince.

“Hurry up,” he growled.

You opened the large metal door, and stepped into a cavernous room big enough to serve as a huttball field. Dim lights shone in wall sconces, and two rows of black pillars lined a path to a massive carved throne. All these features seemed to be cut from the same mountain stone.

There was a figure on a throne, black and red robes under a heavy breastplate, a black hood and stylized skull mask covering his face. He wore heavy metal gauntlets, tipped with dangerously sharp talons.

“Captain Prince,” Lord Messor spoke quietly, his voice smoother than you expected, a lot calmer than some other dark lord whom you had met earlier today. The acoustics of the room were amazing, his voice carried through the hall.

“Ah, my lord,” Prince stepped past you, his blaster already holstered. “I am honored to finally- be in your presence.” He gestured for you to follow as he led the way toward the throne.

“I did not give you orders to approach.” He sounded almost bored.

Prince stopped. “My apologies, my lord. I did not-”

“You don’t need to explain,” Lord Messor said, resting his chin in one palm. “And I don’t have patience for your excuses.”

Prince cocked his head to the side and looked almost comically confused.

And then Moff Kiljack – you recognized that striking blonde hair and those icy blue eyes - stepped out from behind a pillar, and pressed his blaster to the back of Prince’s skull. There was no hesitation. He blew the captain’s brains out right there in Lord Messor’s throne room. Prince dropped with a thud.

You barely had time to avoid the splatter, let alone wonder what Moff Kiljack, Lord Messor’s sworn rival, was doing in his throne room. You glanced between the Sith lord and the moff, wondering if you had time to dive for cover while they battled.

Instead, Lord Messor just sighed. “Ensign De Veo,” he said, using your cover name, and giving you hope that he didn’t know exactly what was going on. “Also known as Cipher 13,” he added, crushing that hope. “I’m sorry for the mess. Kiljack can be so...uncivilized.” He stood and began descending from the dais.

You glanced over at Moff Kiljack, not at all surprised to find the blaster pistol aimed at your head.

“That’s unnecessary, Kiljack. I’m sure our dear Cipher understands her position.” Messor swept down the stairs from his throne, red and black fabric swirling behind him. He circled you like a hungry sleen. “Now, I realize this isn’t what you expected. But I’d be delighted to explain everything. So why don’t you join us for dinner, and we can discuss what you’re doing here, why you’re still alive, and what you need to do to stay that way. This should be easy enough for a woman of your caliber.” He chuckled.

There was no room for panic. You survived because you could think on your feet. Because you didn’t get caught up in “what should have happened.” You kept your mouth shut and most of your insubordinate comments in your head.

You gave a stiff bow from the waist. “I would be honored, my lord,” you said, already tasting lightning in the back of your throat. It was very unlikely that you would get through the night without a demonstration of Sith might.

Lord Messor laughed, like he found you genuinely amusing, and headed toward the eastern doors.

“Cipher,” Moff Kiljack was at your side, offering you his right arm. He was a tall man, very fit in his officer grays. There was blood on his cuffs and glove. He stood like he was carved from ice.

You swallowed and tentatively placed your metal hand on his bicep, wondering if you could scratch him with one of your poisoned needles without him noticing.

“I wouldn’t,” Kiljack said, not even turning his head to look at you. “Be a good girl, and you’ll make it out of this alive.”

You shivered, suddenly very cold in your officer’s tunic. The fear crept down your spine, threatening to freeze you in place. But that would not do. You forced yourself to breathe. You had forgotten that the moff had once been a Sith apprentice. Force-users could pick up surface thoughts. Normally though, you were better at shielding. You steered your mind back to nav-charts and the asteroid belts of the Outer Rim. Head held high, you walked with Moff Kiljack to Lord Messor’s banquet hall.

**

And so here you were now, seated to the left of Lord Messor, a very bored Moff Kiljack sitting across from you, watching you with cold eyes.

The table was long, almost the length of the room, and also carved from the same obsidian stone as the chamber. The same with the high-backed chairs, though they were not attached to the floor, and had plush cushions on them.

Your brain was working almost too fast, panic welling in each heart beat. You tried to calm yourself, as you stared at the vividly colored salad in front of you. You turned some of your hyperfocus on that. It was very aesthetically pleasing, and would not be out of place at a restaurant on Alderaan or Coruscant. Perhaps it would pair well with-

-So what the hell was going on? Moff Kiljack and Lord Messor shared a well-known enmity. But now they were working together, likely because they had learned of Darth Thanaton’s intent to bring them both down. Prince’s men were definitely dead. HKs were ruthlessly efficient like that. You were a loose end, but one they could bargain with. They would want to use you against Thanaton, of course, but you were an experienced Cipher. You still had some resources-

-a Starblossom spritzer or a Coruscant blush wine. You weren’t sure what the next course was, but traditionally there would be a protein and a starch, and-

-This wasn’t a con you could pull off alone. Not that it had much of a chance before. The original plan was half-baked garbage and you didn’t really want to-

Wait.

You willed yourself still, taking a moment to breathe. Your mind was moving too fast. There was something wrong. Had been wrong all day, your focus slowly sliding into the abyss. But trying to figure out what was exactly was wrong, was like grasping at fog. And with both a moff and a Sith lord watching your every move, now was not the time to buckle.

Your memory coaxed up a tiny epiphany. This started around the time you met Thanaton. Was it him?

Kiljack took a bite of his salad, his flat expression not changing, even as he chewed.

Lord Messor was not eating though. He raised his mask to sip his wine, but given the kinds of damage Sith lords did to their bodies, it was possible that he did not have a normal digestive tract.

“Is the food not to your liking, Cipher?” Messor asked, curling those metal talons against his palm with a rhythmic tap tap tap.

“It is exquisite, my lord,” you said, picking up your fork, and taking a bite. The vegetables were crisp, fresh, and lightly vinegared. There were sweet berries mixed in with crumbles of salty cheese. If this was your last meal, you could have really done worse. “Are these Alderaanian fickleberries? They’re a wonderful addition to the dish, just the right amount of sweetness.”

“Indeed,” Messor practically purred. “You have a sophisticated palate. I understand that you are well-traveled.”

“Or she’s used them before,” Kiljack said, still eating his salad. “Likely when she mixed them with the nuts in that Corellian ryshcate to poison Ambassador Morrow. Clever move: I understand the symptoms mimic an allergic reaction. Never thought to mix fickleberries with vweilu nuts and a decoction of grillig-juice. All are harmless on their own, but when combined together, the enzyme produced causes catastrophic organ failure in most humanoids.”

You froze.

“Do you think that would work on Darth Thanaton?” Kiljack asked, tilting his chin up “No, that’s far too radical for him. Mixing foreign nuts and berries, he’d never go for that.” He flashed you a predatory smile. “You might have better luck with a rancor.”

They knew.

This wasn’t just about Thanaton. No one in Imperial Intelligence decisively knew everything that you had done, or how: just that you got results. But Moff Kiljack and Lord Messor, two mortal enemies had just sat you down to dinner and they karking knew. And if these two knew what Imperial Intelligence did not, that meant they were far more driven and dangerous than you initially expected and how did they know? Why did they go through all that effort-?

Terror, still fresh from your encounter in the throne room, blossomed in your chest once more. Dozens of scenarios played out in your mind: the consequences of your exposure. There was no need to go into graphic detail, though you kept getting distracted with colorful visions of your own evisceration. No matter what you thought of, it all ended very badly for you.

In that moment, you cursed your premature deactivation of your kill-chip. They knew. And if it was you versus a Sith lord and his moff ex-apprentice, you would not win. They had already done the hard part, already figured out what you did and how. And then you had just walked into Messor’s home, a gift-wrapped sacrifice. They wanted something from you, and judging by what they already knew, what it took to find that information out, they had the will and means to break you. You’d seen the inquisitors work, seen the aftermath too, the piles of mewling meat begging for death. Being on the wrong side of Sith and moff persuasion wasn’t any kinder. Electrocution or a snapped neck were far better.

You were on your feet in seconds, already turning to run, hoping Moff Kiljack would take you out in one shot.

“No!” Lord Messor raised his hand, and you slammed back down into the chair. Something in your body cracked as you struck the stone, and the world went black for half a second before you snapped back into your body.

You tried to move, but the force held you in your seat, pressing tightly against your chest, your arms pinned down on the armrests. You could barely breathe, let alone move your limbs. Shuddering, you could only watch as Moff Kiljack leaned against the edge of the table in front of you. He reached out, one gloved hand tilting your chin up.

“You hit her too hard, Messor,” his voice was calm. “She’s bleeding and her pupils are uneven.”

“Couldn’t help it. She moved too fast, and she was planning to self-destruct.” Messor’s voice came from behind gritted teeth.

“That, or hoping to get one of us to do it for her.” Kiljack shook his head.

Cold sweat dripped down your neck. Your breaths came in short bursts. You were trapped, back flat against the stone chair. You couldn’t move. And you were at the mercy of men who didn’t know the meaning of the word. A strangled sob died in your chest as you vainly tried to move your limbs.

“Shhhhh, don’t struggle,” Kiljack reached for your napkin and then gently blotted your nose. “Messor, she’s having trouble breathing.”

“I know,” Messor shuddered, and took a deep breath. “She’s very scared.” There was a note of something like hunger in his voice, but he raised his hand again, and suddenly you could draw in a little more air.

“Mmm,” Kiljack nodded, those blue eyes studying your face. “That’s it, stop fighting us. This doesn’t have to hurt.” He set the napkin down, watching you intently, like a puzzle he wanted to dissect. He smiled then. “You are very loud, Cipher.”

You gritted your teeth and tried to stifle your breathing. You must be badly injured if you were making too much noise. Ciphers didn’t make a habit of being loud. For obvious reasons.

“That’s not what I meant,” Kiljack said. He leaned in, nearly nose to nose with you. “Quiet your mind.”

You stared at him, trying to swallow, but your throat was dry and your vision blurred. You dropped your head, too dizzy to stay upright.

Kiljack lifted your water glass to your lips. “Here. Take small sips. We don’t want you to choke. On the water.”

You flinched, waiting for one of them to follow up with a traditional Sith demonstration of force choking.

“Just drink your water,” Kiljack ordered.

You opened your mouth, closing your eyes as the glass touched your lips. The cool water tasted better than you hoped and the light steady stream cleared your throat.

“That’s it, good girl.” He stroked your cheek, his black glove soft against your skin. “Is that better?”

You managed a nod, feeling queasy from the motion alone.

“Now, are you going to behave?” Kiljack asked coolly. “Or do we have to keep you restrained? Another stunt like that, and I won’t be so nice, do you understand?”

“I’ll be good, sir,” you said, voice weak, and you had to grit your teeth, because speaking hurt. That force blow had done some damage to you. You couldn’t pinpoint the exact location, because your whole body ached. You still couldn’t move. And to make things worse, Moff Kiljack, of all people, was trying to gentle you like a wild tauntaun.

“Does it hurt?” He asked.

You closed your eyes, focusing on the different routes off of Nar Shaddaa instead of your current location. And you waited for the next threat of more pain, or the lightning, or whatever Kiljack wanted to use.

“Now, she’s gone silent,” Kiljack muttered.

“She’s in pain,” Messor said, his voice still low. “And while I find nav-charts far less tedious than endless streams of pazaak, someone really needs to teach you how to shield your mind better. I don’t know how you’ve survived this long with such loud and irreverent thoughts.”

Normally, you were better at it. But Kiljack had said your pupils were uneven...OK, concussion. That made sense. You took an inventory of your injuries: bad concussion, something fractured in your chest or abdomen, and you still were trapped here with a dark lord and a moff who wanted you for nothing good. Druk. It would have been so much easier if one of them had just killed you outright. They were supposed to be good at that kind of thing. Hell, you could still bite your tongue off and-

Kiljack gripped your chin, prying your jaw open. “I thought you were going to be a good girl, Cipher.”

You whimpered.

“I will get the bit and the slave collar,” he said glaring at you.

You relaxed your jaw. You weren’t trying to upset him. You were concussed. And you didn’t have complete control of your faculties right now.

Kiljack narrowed his eyes at you. “Is that so? Do I need to get the bit for your own safety? Or would you prefer I make you a cloth gag? Messor, can we borrow your sash?”

“Sah-ee, sir,” you said. It was not the first time you’d given a disingenuous apology with another man’s fingers in your mouth at the dinner table, and quite frankly you were a little embarrassed to be in that situation again.

Then came the spasm of pain that would have bent you in two, if you could move that far. Instead, you twitched, teeth clamping down on the moff’s fingers as you struggled to breathe. You tasted blood in your mouth, though you weren’t sure whose it was.

Kiljack’s eyes widened, but he didn’t move, and the slap you expected did not come. He waited for you to unclench before withdrawing his fingers. He examined his torn glove with a sigh. “We’re going to need kolto, Messor.”

A kolto pack floated over the table to Kiljack.

Nimble fingers began unbuttoning your collar. You opened your eyes to see Kiljack unfastening your tunic, a kolto pack in hand. His gaze lingered on your thin undershirt for a moment, and then he applied the cool healing gel onto your stomach, along your sides, and around to your back.

“I don’t think we’ll be finishing dinner out here any time soon,” Messor said.

“Messor, I’m not making do with just a salad, no matter what kind of fancy berries you put in it,” Kiljack said, wiping his hands off and checking his fingers. There were teeth marks, and some broken skin, but nothing severe. After the kolto application, the wounds started closing up as you watched.

Messor laughed. “We can take our meals in our rooms. Why don’t we call the medical droid and put our guest to bed first?”

The pressure on your body suddenly lifted, but before you could regain your bearings, Kiljack scooped you out of the chair.

“Is this causing you more pain?” He asked, one arm supporting your back, the other under your knees.

“No,” you said, though breathing was still uncomfortable. Rib damage, likely. You didn’t struggle, too woozy to make good decisions right now. On the bright side, it looked like they weren’t going to kill you just yet, but also, you hadn’t made it to dessert, and you were a little sad at the prospect of missing whatever Lord Messor’s chef had concocted. Even if it was fickleberries mixed with vweilu nuts and a decoction of grillig-juice.

Despite the danger, you could not keep your eyes open. The world faded away.

You dreamt.

**

You were back in that dining room, candlelight casting eerie shadows on the walls. You saw yourself bent over that banquet table, Lord Messor’s hand on your back, your face pressed against the stone, your wine glass rolling on its side, the red liquid dribbling onto the floor. You felt a spark and flinched, that light crackle of electricity as those metal talons trailed down your spine.

“Scared?” Messor murmured, his breath hot on the back of your neck.

“Yes, my lord,” you panted, squirming under him, feeling his cock pressed against you through his robes.

“Good.”

**

You were on your knees, staring up at Kiljack, the tip of a riding crop under your chin. You didn’t recognize the room. There was a small fountain flowing in the corner. It was an office, probably aboard a starcruiser from the shape of the window. You did not recognize the orbit. But Kiljack was in full moff regalia, gray tunic coat and jodphurs, black boots and gloves, and a heavy belt. Was this his battleship?

“I told you to open your mouth,” Kiljack said coldly.

You hesitantly parted your lips, noticing that your hands were unbound. You could-

Kiljack pushed a piece of silicone into your mouth, the ring shape holding your teeth apart. He fastened the strap snugly around your head.

“That’s better,” he said, an edge in his smile as he cupped your cheek. “This wouldn’t be necessary if you were more careful with those teeth. Now be a good girl and stick out your tongue.”

**

The bedroom was large and dimly lit.

The bed was enormous, draped in scarlet silks and pillows. It was comfortable, but you could not actually move very far. You poked at the gold collar latched around your neck. You wore matching bracelets and anklets, but there was a chain attached to the collar and secured to the headboard. You rolled your eyes at the outfit: the dancer’s garb with the red and gold harness top, chain belt and lashaa silk loincloth, and knee high boots.

You had worn these before – what spy hadn’t? But you didn’t remember getting here, or where here even was.

There was someone else in the room, somewhere in the shadows, just watching you. You looped a length of chain – your best bet for a weapon, and began examining where it connected to the headboard.

“I thought you were going to behave today.” Messor’s voice came from somewhere in the darkness.

“But if this is how she wants to play, why should we deny her?” Kiljack laughed.

The lights went out. And suddenly you weren’t alone on the bed.

**

“So do you like the view?” Kiljack whispered. “You’ll have to be quiet, or everyone will hear us.” He tightened his grip around your waist. “Or maybe that’s what you want.”

You sat on his lap, looking around the throne room, in all its sinister glory. Crimson imperial banners hung from the walls and pillars, the firelight casting harsh shadows. There was a second story balcony overlooking the throne room. It was too dark to see if anyone else was up there. But the rest of the cavern was a vast expanse, easily surveyed from the throne where Kiljack sat: Lord Messer’s throne.

He was right. If you made any noise, it would echo.

You swallowed roughly, eyes drifting to the spot where the moff had executed Prince. There was no body or blood.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Kiljack growled in your ear.

You opened your mouth to speak.

“You’re in my seat,” Messor said, the words echoing off the walls as he materialized from the shadows. His tone was dangerously mild. He stalked up the stairs toward you.

You started to move, but Kiljack held you tightly against him. “About time you got here,” the moff said. “I was getting bored giving the tour. Maybe we can move on to something more exciting.”

**

You sat up with a strangled gasp, your head pounding. Another unfamiliar bed, but when you looked down, you were covered in blankets. You peeked underneath, finding yourself still dressed in your thin tanktop and uniform pants. You ached, like you’d been in a fight. But there wasn’t pain between your legs, a small, but important reassurance. The inside of your mouth felt like a stable floor and you winced as you looked around, the dim lights still aggravating your eyes.

It was a large elegant bedroom, the furniture silver with red trim. It was neat, but it felt lived in, not a guest room. You started to look around, but your vision swam. Holding your head, you gave yourself a moment before trying to focus.

Yesterday was an absolute sarlaac snarl. You’d been sent off on a poorly-planned suicide mission, and your reactions were...wrong. Judging by how awful you felt right now, you’d been drugged. You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to analyze each location step by step. You started feeling ill in Darth Thanaton’s presence, but you neither ate nor drank there. Maybe he did have some secret force brainwashing powers, but that was unlikely. That ability was too subtle for a bombastic coot like him.

...The stims. Something had been wrong with the stims. Fixer 3 wasn’t being a smart ass. Fixer 3 had been trying to warn you. Echuta! It had been right there in front of your face and you were too distracted and arrogant to notice.

You growled, throwing the blankets off. You tried to stand, but found you were still too dizzy.

“Well, I’m glad to see that you’re feeling better.”

You blinked.

Just off to the side, nestled between a wardrobe and a table, sat Moff Kiljack. There was a blanket on his lap and a blaster pistol on the table. He yawned, stretching his arms above his head, before he stood, fully dressed, though his jacket was unbuttoned. A faint dusting of stubble shadowed his jaw. He looked you over. “That’s better.” He tapped his left temple. “You’re not so loud any more.” He gave a sigh that sounded a lot like relief. “I know that wasn’t entirely your fault. You were out of your head. The medical droid analyzed what was in your system, if you’re curious.”

“Someone sabotaged my stims,” you said, resting your head on your knees. “Someone in Imperial Intelligence.”

Moff Kiljack nodded. “Makes sense. You also had a bad concussion, cracked ribs, and some bruising. The kolto pack helped a little, but a localized injection sped it up.”

“Thank you,” you said, even if you were not so sure that you were grateful to be saved. Because you still had a lot of questions about what was going on, why these two “enemies” had put so much research into your accomplishments, and how much they knew about Darth Thanaton’s intentions.

You closed your eyes, knowing a few things already:

Moff Kiljack and Lord Messor had a complex relationship; this was likely Kiljack’s room and Messor would not keep it for him if they were really enemies. You needed to figure out the exact nature of their alliance and how much of that infamous enmity was a smokescreen. They worked too well in tandem for all of that showboating to be real.

Keeper was now actively trying to kill you. It would be very difficult to tamper with the stims otherwise. Thanaton was probably meant to be the instrument of your death. He was old, powerful, and no one would bat an eye over a Darth executing a Cipher.

The sensitivity was getting worse. Once it had been an asset, just enough insight to give you an advantage. Now it was opening you up to too many other things. And you lived in the capital city of the Empire, where so many hungry Sith congregated. No, this was bad for you. Kiljack was right, you needed to shore up those shields, and hide yourself better. Anything less would get you shipped off to Korriban.

“Can you hold down food?” Kiljack asked, suddenly standing beside the bed. He set a glass of water on the night stand.

“Not sure. Thank you.” You eyed it for a moment, knowing that he could have slipped any manner of drug in there, but at this point, what choice did you have? They needed you for something, and that meant they probably needed you alive and functional. You took the water, sipping it slowly.

The moff watched you like a hawk, probably worried that you were going to choke or throw up.

You studied him, noting his bare hands. There were scars on them, but it looked like the bite marks had healed. “Sorry about biting you last night,” you said. Apologizing seemed like a good idea. It would be wisest if they thought you were docile and amenable to them. You still weren’t certain that you were going to thank him for sparing your life. But you were a little more confident that they weren’t planning on torturing you to death. Not immediately, anyway.

“You need to be more careful with those teeth,” he said, without a hint of inflection, that handsome scarred face stoic once more.

You stared at him for a second, a moment of deja vu. You shrugged. “I need to be more careful, period.” You dropped back onto the pillows, another wave of dizziness skewing your balance.

The moff picked up a personal comm. “Echo, let Messor know that our guest is awake, and have something mild brought up from the kitchens for her.” He glanced over at you. “I can send for the medical droid.”

“You already had me checked out, right?” You asked, staring up at the stone tiled ceiling.

“Yes. There was a small amount of bleeding in your skull. We took care of it. It can provide some painkillers and anti-nausea meds if you want.”

We took care of it.

That was an interesting way to phrase it. The medical droid might have accomplished it on its own, though the procedure would be more invasive.

“I think I should go for the anti-nausea meds,” you said, one hand over your eyes. “But if you give me a minute, I can try to get upright and-”

“Just stay there,” Kiljack said. “Messor will be along shortly. Finish your water.”

You sighed and downed the rest of the glass, spilling a little down your chin, and not really caring because your head hurt.

**

The comm unit chimed and Kiljack stepped out of the bedroom. When he returned, he was carrying a large platter of flatbread, grilled fish, and some fruit. There was a small glass of anti-nausea medication too. He set it all on the nightstand and poured you another glass of water from the carafe.

Your stomach rumbled, so you took a few berries and ate them slowly, letting the sweetness roll down your throat. You downed the medication in one shot.

When everything stayed down, you took a few more berries, and then a piece of bread, passing on the sauce, just in case.

Kiljack settled back down in his chair, watching your every move.

You had taken a break from trying to eat, when there was a knock. It was distant, and you realized this bedroom was probably part of a suite. Kiljack got up, giving you a stern look.

You pretended not to see. You were still too messed up to make a run for it, and even if you did manage to escape, where would you go? Keeper was trying to kill you. Thanaton was not going to be happy about Prince. And Nar Shaddaa with its flashing lights and cacophony of sounds, would give you a migraine bad enough to make your head explode. You could stay here in the comfortable bed for a moment. You needed a more accurate picture of the situation, before you did anything rash. You did not need a repeat of last night.

“No, it’s fine, I don’t have to get back to the fleet, I’ll just stay here and babysit your new pet spy,” Kiljack said sharply as he returned and practically threw himself into his chair.

Lord Messor followed, still in those sweeping red and black Sith robes, that stylized skull mask in place. The Sith had several skull motifs, though to be honest, his reminded you a little of the Mandalorian mythosaur skull symbol, without the horns.

“I’m glad to see that you’re feeling better,” Lord Messor stood in the doorway. There was a slight mechanical quality to his voice that you had not noticed last night. The mask had a built-in vocoder then. Interesting.

“My lord,” you said, attempting a bow at the waist and feeling your head swoop dangerously close to your knees.

“Don’t-” He sighed. “We can do this informally, Cipher. You’re still recovering from your ordeal.”

You nodded, wincing as you leaned back into the pillows. “I appreciate that, my lord.”

“We’re in private, Cipher. You can forego the title as well.”

Thankfully, you were already lying down, because otherwise you would have fallen over in shock. You had never actually expected to hear a Sith lord say that. After Thanaton, it was a pleasant reversal. But you did not trust that magnanimity.

If Messor and Kiljack knew about the “extra” missions you did, then they had to have a fairly accurate psychological profile of you. They had to know that people who forced you into bad situations ended up having freak accidents. Being polite was just a good way to manage you. You had no illusions about the altruistic natures of moffs and Sith lords. But you could appreciate the effort and you would work with good manners. This was certainly better than spending an hour being shouted at by Darth Thanaton.

You waited for one of the men to speak. They were the ones who wanted you here, after all.

“You were recently tasked by Darth Thanaton to sabotage our strategic efforts on Hoth and Voss. You were assigned to Darth Thanaton by Imperial Intelligence, but that does not mean Imperial Intelligence condones his actions. However, as Thanaton is a member of the Dark Council, politics must come into play.” Messor’s hands twitched. He wasn’t wearing the gauntlets today. He had large hands, dark skin, and thick callouses, probably from handling weapons.

“So someone in Imperial Intelligence tipped you off?”

“Your...Keeper saw fit to warn me,” Kiljack said, fingers steepled.

You frowned. “But not Lord Messor.”

“I think you’ve already figured out that Messor and I are...exaggerating our feud.” Kiljack gave a wry smile. “But that is very guarded knowledge.”

“Yes,” you nodded, and then winced, because you did not need to be bobbing your injured head like an idiot bird. Your brain had taken enough of a blending.

A secret political alliance gave them an interesting cover and access to a wider range of intelligence. But Moff Kiljack did not have the wealth and prestige that Lord Messor did. He would be at a fundamental disadvantage. A Sith lord was not likely to trust anyone outside their control. There were a lot of disadvantages to this tactic and you could not see a clear payoff. You sat with that for a moment. There was an important reason for their ruse, though you doubted they would tell you anything but a plausible cover story today. But the layout of the game started to form. You looked at the empty spaces, trying to find the details that didn’t make sense.

...There it was. There was a third party in play, aiding and abetting this ruse. Someone with enough clout to help Kiljack get his promotion. Someone that even Keeper did not want to cross...

Another Dark Council member then. And given Kiljack and Messor’s military interests and mostly low-key behavior, you had a good idea whom that Council Member was, though again, not why they were using this exact ruse. But if Kiljack’s patron was who you thought it was, you did not blame Keeper for wanting to stay on his good side.

But you were also pretty sure that you were not supposed to survive that meeting with Thanaton yesterday. The exchange would go something like this:

“Send me another minion, peon!”

“I’m so sorry, your Decrepit-ness, you killed my only available agent and we’re very shorthanded! There’s no one else to send. You’ll have to wait.”

Keeper would be off the hook with Thanaton and Kiljack’s patron. You would be dead. Three problems solved.

Except you were alive, and no problems were solved. You looked up to see Kiljack studying your face.

“Do you suspect that Keeper knows the feud is fabricated?”

“No. That’s very exclusive knowledge,” Messor said without a trace of doubt.

You wondered how he could be so confident – not because he wasn’t ruthless – but because your business was secrets: keeping them, stealing them, rooting them out. If people wanted information badly enough, they would find a way to get it. No matter how well you thought you covered your tracks. Your stomach soured a little at that thought. They’d figured out some of your secrets. You’d have to return the favor, if only for your own pride. And maybe some leverage.

“So you want to recruit me as a double agent against Thanaton,” you said.

“Partially,” Messor admitted. “But I had a more permanent offer in mind for you.” He cleared his throat. “My current intelligence chief will be retiring soon. You were recommended to us.”

You blinked. “I can’t just quit Imperial Intelligence, believe me, I’ve tried,” you blurted out.

“You can if you have the right patronage,” Kiljack said. And he had some experience there, having gone from Sith apprentice to moff.

“You want me to help you bring down Thanaton, get you onto the Dark Council, and then you’ll hire me?” Your lips twitched at that tall order. Sith expectations.

“I will hire you now as a house intelligence agent, at double your current pay with all the usual amenities one expects from the well-to-do estate of a Sith lord,” Messor said. “Promotion to intelligence chief pending results.”

That would have been extremely generous, except Imperial Intelligence was criminally cheap. Sure you had some good benefits, but they didn’t have to be competitive when their employees literally weren’t allowed to quit. Still, it was not a bad offer. Better than a lot of the alternatives.

Messor continued. “Handling Thanaton and the Council are longer term problems. If we succeed on Hoth and Voss, I will have enough clout to extract you intact from the employ of Imperial Intelligence. And it will be easier since you’re already assigned to me: possession is nine tenths of the law.”

You sat with that for a few seconds. You could play the long game, letting Thanaton think you had wormed your way into Messor’s confidence. That would sit well with Keeper – it kept him out of the hotseat. You could go back to Keeper and see which way he wanted you to go – for intel purposes only - and then do whatever you wanted anyway. You could say no outright, and get shot in the head by Kiljack…

“You have questions,” Messor said, still keeping his distance.

“How long have you been tracking me? And what brought me to your attention?”

“A man once called “Sparrow” recommended you to us a year ago. He is around here if you want to catch up later.”

You sighed, of course Sparrow was still alive. That explained a lot. He knew you well enough to guess which missions you had purposefully altered. He knew your expertise well enough to conjecture methodology. That he shared this information with a strange Sith lord should not have surprised you entirely. The former Cipher 7 was a skilled assassin; he’d been declared KIA with his brother two years ago. But it seemed he had found a safe haven here.

“His brother?”

“Didn’t want to work with us. No one was going to force him. He took a shuttle to Yavin 4. Sparrow visits him occasionally,” Kiljack said.

“Why me?” You asked, not because you doubted your abilities, but because you still did not quite understand how this coalition worked.

Messor was silent for a moment. “You are a reasonable woman. And looking at your track record, we thought your methods would align with ours.”

“And why do you think that?” You asked.

“The Rancor Incident,” Kiljack said with a smirk.

You kept your face neutral.

“Lord Vilhus was there, a very nasty individual. But the casualty list also included Ieyak the Butcher, Margrene the Bloody, General Arus, Enso Chain-Maker, and Lord Casten. Coincidentally, none of the slaves, servers, or civilian bystanders were hurt. And everyone thought it was just a terrible accident. That took planning, skill, and finesse.”

You stared at your lap, trying to remember if any of those people had good or bad ties to House Messor. Vilhus wasn’t anyone’s friend and Arus wasn’t related. Casten might have attended the Academy at the same time as Messor. You pondered that connection.

Because once you’d had a close...friend, a lower ranking analyst in Imperial Intelligence. A smart and pretty Twi’lek who didn’t deserve the things Lord Vilhus did to her. Lord Vilhus was a Sith lord and could do as he pleased to those weaker than him. So when you saw him there and that rancor… It was just an opportunity.

You looked up to see Kiljack studying you intently. “None of them were allies to House Messor or myself,” he told you.

“Am I...broadcasting?” You asked, trying to make sure your mind was quiet.

“No, it’s just the next logical question,” Kiljack said. He cleared his throat. “But there’s something else we need to address.”

“You’re a Sensitive,” Messor said.

You winced. Of course they’d picked that up yesterday. “A little. Nothing kinetic level, just intuitive boosts every now and again. Came along later in life.” Though it still might be enough to get you sent to Korriban. And now they knew. Which was a manageable thing. You knew about their fake feud, they knew about your force sensitivity. Mutually-assured destruction ensured that the balance of power remained less complicated.

Messor nodded. “Kiljack is very good at shielding. You should consult him about how to better protect your mind.”

Kiljack gave Messor a side-eyed squint, but did not protest.

Accept the offer, take a hard job, and maybe get out from under Keeper’s thumb. Or decline and end up dead. It wasn’t much of a choice.

“What do I have to do to sign on?” You asked.

**

Different Sith lords had their ways of ensuring loyalty, or at least compliance. You had undergone years of conditioning to be kept under the authority of Imperial Intelligence. A lot of that conditioning had come undone in your term as an active operative. You had worked hard to slough the restraints that would have otherwise hobbled your thinking. They might have had your service, but your mind was your own. Ciphers had a lot of leeway to run operations as they saw fit, because an obedient drone could not do their job. But there were still ticks, involuntary habits ingrained in your mind, pathways worn in by years of unpleasant reinforcement. Oh, you weren’t loyal to Imperial Intelligence, but you knew to instantly bow your head to a “superior,” to mask your emotions with a lie, and that the mission came first at the expense of all else... You knew these things in your bones, because of the conditioning. And you understood intimately how those rituals did psychological damage.

So when Lord Messor stepped into the room and drew closer, you prepared yourself for something unpleasant.

“Give me your hand, the flesh one.”

Permanently, or just to hold? You wanted to ask, but you kept your mouth shut and extended your right hand. He took it gently between his palms. His skin was warm and rough. You swallowed, preparing to be overwhelmed by your reaction to the Sith.

The world turned black.

Then heat and light poured into your skull, a waterfall rushing through you, and you screamed under the torrent. It cut through your perception, and tethered something in your head, to that little spot of intuition that always knew when a weapon was being drawn or when someone was lying to you. That metaphysical aperture expanded, wedged open by the hooks of Messor’s connection. He was in your head, and for a moment, you were face down on the dining room table, those claws tracing along your spine while he pinned you there, while you squeezed your thighs together, squirming at his touch…

Then you felt the weight on your left arm, felt Messor squeeze your right hand, and you forced your eyes open.

Kiljack held you to the bed, your left hand pinned over your head.

You could feel Messor through the force. He was in your mind, had his own private backdoor in, a new sort of violation. And that realization enraged you. Snarling, you thrashed, “You bastard! Get the hell out of my head!”

“If you shield well, I can’t see what’s in your head,” he said calmly. “And I won’t go looking.”

Cursing, you lunged at him, but Kiljack held you down, his full weight on your body.

“It’s not mind control, it’s a minor force bond,” Messor said, tone even.

So this was how he kept Kiljack in line. And you had just willingly submitted yourself to the same treatment. Maybe death was preferable. Fury overtook you and you tried to throw Kiljack off you. When he didn’t budge, you sunk your teeth into Kiljack’s shoulder.

He jerked, then braced himself, hand tightening on your throat. “I thought I told you to be more careful with those teeth,” he rasped, pupils huge.

You waited for the leash or the neural bolt.

It’s not a leash. It goes both ways. And it fades with time. Messor said quietly in your head. Also, if you keep biting Kiljack, he’s going to choke you out.

Groaning, you released the moff, feeling his fingers begin to loosen around your neck. You kriffing piece of sarlaac scum! I’m going to feed you your teeth!

“I hope you’re talking to Messor, because you’re not in any position to threaten me,” Kiljack said gruffly, running his thumb over your throat, before letting go of your neck.

“You’re on the list too, don’t worry,” you hissed.

Messor released your hand, a hint of amusement in his aura. “Get some rest, Thirteen. We can talk more later.”

I know so many annoying drinking songs from dozens of planets. I will be screaming them into your skull all night!

“Charming,” Kiljack said, rubbing his temple. He glanced down at his ripped jacket and glared at you. “If you’re going to be a nuisance, you can go crawl into someone else’s bed, because-”

There was the ghost of a memory, a shirtless Kiljack laughing as he lay in the bed, another man pinned under him, like you had been, a flash of heat pulsed between your thighs-

Messor inhaled sharply.

Kiljack pinched the bridge of his nose. “I told you-” He pushed his hair back, suddenly very tired. “Just go. Your proximity is probably making things more difficult.”

“Your shoulder,” Messor said softly, he stepped out of the room and returned with a medkit.

You watched silently as Messor carefully cleaned Kiljack’s wound, and treated it with kolto.

Kiljack leaned into Messor’s hands, his head resting against Messor’s shoulder, and it clicked.

There was more than one reason why Kiljack did not betray Messor, one you had not anticipated. You gave a dry laugh, how utterly ridiculous. These stories never ended well for the Sith or their lovers. Suddenly very drained, you dropped back into the pillows.

Rest.

I hope you get eaten by a gorryl slug, you bastard. You pictured the giant carnivorous slugs of Kashyyyk, arboreal hunters that dropped onto their prey and were nearly impossible to pry off. They would exude digestive juices and slowly digest their victims. An unlucky person could take a very long time to die.

What are those- oh that is awful. I’ll have to remember that one. A low laugh in the back of your skull. Kiljack is very good at shielding. He will help you if you ask, nicely.

I’m going to gut you like a ghest.

Get some rest, Thirteen. You’ll have plenty of time to threaten me later.

[mercurypilgrim]

Can we have Ven’fir rate the Dark council on level of hotness?

You bet we can!

Darth Acina

If Ven were not spoken for, he’d have the biggest thing for Acina. He sort of still does, a bit.

She’s classy and clever, and he’s always likes the put together ones. He loves her voice, thinks she’s gorgeous, and adores how well she gets her hands dirty. A woman who can tear her enemies apart without smudging her eyeliner? Unf.

A 9/10 for sure, the only deduction coming from her betrayal on Iokath. He had a very put out ‘really?’ moment.

Darth Arkous

Ven crushed. Ven crushed hard. Arkous ticked all Ven’s boxes. Elegant, cultured, handsome, not insane… Well, until the betrayal. Ven was very miffed by that but thinking Arkous was the kind of Sith he’d have gladly tumbled into bed with didn’t stop him from killing the man. An 8/10, because Ven really didn’t appreciate being made to look foolish.

Darth Aruk

Ven never bothered to find out who this is. 0/10 for being so boring that not even nosey Ven knew about you.

Darth Baras

Well. Ahem. Not a 0, surprisingly enough? Ven genuinely liked Baras, which made the betrayal sting even more. He was funny and Ven liked his voice. He also allowed Ven a lot of freedom where other Sith would not have. Sadly though, betrayal is not an attractive trait, and considering the pain he brought to Ven (physically, emotionally and reputationally), only merits a 5/10.

Darth Decimus

What, Ven would dearly like to know, is going on with this mans headwear? It’s awful. Decimus, why.

He also is a very callous individual and nothing turns Ven off like a lack of passion. Sorry Decimus, you rate a solid 1/10.

Darth Jadus

Ooh, an interesting one. He gets points for his wonderful voice, and then loses most of them because he’s a traitor and really, really creepy. Can no one go five minutes without upping and betraying everyone?

He’s tall, he’s built like a hovertank, he’s got a lovely voice, and he’s clever.

8/10.

Darth Malgus

Malgus. Oh, Malgus. You could have been so much higher than where you are. Ven was significantly more on board with his ideals than he let on, but honestly Malgus. The plan was bad, and you should feel bad. Also, he killed Eleena because he was an idiot. Ven does not approve of that kind of nonsense.

6/10.

Darth Marr

If he didn’t think he would have been eviscerated and dumped, Ven would have jumped him or gotten under his desk. Few things turn Ven on quite like competence and Marr has that in spades. He’s built, he’s smart, he’s got a hell of a voice, and he’s loyal.

50/10 with a bow on top. (Or somewhere else)

Darth Mortis

Ven likes older men. He isn’t sure why, but he just does. Mortis… he has something. A certain air about him of quiet competence, of cool power, and Ven likes that.

8/10.

Darth Ravage

Oh look, the mud on the bottom of Ven’s boots.

Ravage isn’t terrible to look at, Ven had to admit, but he was just so annoying. He would have been more handsome if his facial expression hadn’t been akin to smelling something foul, and his constant comments really grated on Ven’s nerves.

There are few people Ven could claim to genuinely despise, and Ravage is right there on the list.

-5/10

Darth Rictus

If the only thing Ven knows about you is that your kinda racist and you’re really, really old, you’re not getting any.

0/10.

Darth Thanaton

Ooh, yes.

Ven’s type shows itself yet again. Older, classy, smart, and cultured. Ven would have happily played boytoy for him for a while. Of course, Thanaton does the dumb thing and challenges Avior, so bungling that one takes a few points off.

Still, an 8/10 because Ven would in a heartbeat.

Darth Vengean

Another truly horrendous choice of headwear. Vengean was a bit of a blowhard and a warmonger, and Ven likes neither of those things. Truly, he had almost no opinion on him because he ended up on the wrong end of Ven’s lightsaber soon enough.

3/10.

Darth Vowrawn

Well then. Well then. Ven would likes to say ‘yes please and thank you’ while he takes his clothes off. Vowrawn is blisteringly clever, and he’s funny. What Ven wouldn’t give for more Sith who are funny. A gentleman with all the trappings of a rogue just does it for Ven.

10/10

Darth Zhorrid

Zhorrid would have been higher on the list had she not been… Zhorrid. She’s pretty and Ven feels a bit sorry for her, but he’s more of a mind to kill her out of mercy than share her bed. She treats Imperials like playthings and that’s something Ven really can’t get over.

4/10

Bonus

Darth Nox (Yare) ( @darkshadeless ;) )

Ven would be flirting within minutes (seconds, even) of meeting him. He’s built, he’s clever, he’s badass, he’s surprisingly sweet for a Sith. Ven would enjoy his company, and that’s worth a ton. He’s also gets flustered upon being hit on, and Ven does love a cute blush.

10/10.

Darth Nox (Avior)

Heh. Avior does have a certain something about him that Ven appreciates. He’s very clever and even though he tends to make Ven feel a bit stupid, it never comes across as intentional. He’s got a dry sense of humour and likes to banter, and Ven likes those cheekbones. Still, Avior is ace and aro and even if Ven flirts with him for fun, he knows not to press. Avior isn’t interested, and even Ven isn’t that much of an ass to ignore that.

7/10.

---

Disregarding the fact that Ven is a bit of a ho, he actually wouldn’t get naked for a lot of the Council. He’s surprised too.

[sith-shenanigans]

Outfit Show - Kel’aari

The local glittery noodle has probably the most outfits of all my characters, and it’s kind of a problem. The solution is obviously to make it y’all’s problem too. So here they are!

1. Apprentice gear v1. Fairly practical, looks like something you could run around, say, a vault full of toxic waste in. Basically abandoned at this point.

2. Apprentice gear v2. Sometimes you need a simple black robe, and if it shows off your cleavage and very excellent shoulders, that’s just a bonus. Also has a rocking scarf. Occasionally still worn, but mostly just on her ship.

3. Great Healer. Stealing a cult requires dramatic mystical vestements, and possibly also bare arms? She has extremely good arms, but BioWare are cowards so the game doesn’t allow her to look buff. Only worn on Nar Shaddaa.

4. Hot weather. She wore this on Tatooine and made a very definite first impression on Andronikos.

5. Ludicrously shiny. Originally just her outfit for Alderaan and making an impression on the nobles, accidentally awakened her to her great love of glitter. Makes her look like an expensive bumblebee. Worn as fancy combat gear, to the great chagrin of 2V (who has to clean it).

6. Act 3 robes. After the incident where she exploded a little bit, she decided killing Thanaton was an undertaking she would need a lot more allies for, and that she would therefore need a good, serious, reasonably impressive impressive set of robes for. One of her less fancy regular outfits.

7. Fancy robes v1. I’m fairly sure she killed Thanaton in these. Looks formal in a more understated sort of way. The outfit she wears most often.

8. Fancy robes v2. In my head, the pale grey tones look kind of like mourning clothes. She wore them to Ziost to make a very particular point regarding the Emperor, and wore them after Ziost for a while for… obvious reasons.

9. Party clothes. I feel like Sith cocktail parties are definitely a thing and that this is something she wears to them. The chain motif makes a very unsubtle point about where she came from and what obstacles she clawed her way over, and is singlehandedly responsible for making it a faux pas for Sith from more typical backgrounds to go in for “broken chains” metaphors in their clothing. At least if she might be around to see it.

10. Pirate outfit. For her Rishi “vacation.”

11. Outlander. Putting together a ragtag team of renegades from both factions is not really a fancy dress occasion.

12. Alliance Commander. Slightly fancier, still uniform-like, still making a very particular point about what the Alliance is and stands for.

13. Maximum Sith formalwear. For extremely important occasions, probably including Council meetings. Lives at the end of her outfit list because I didn’t get all the pieces until recently, not because it’s a late-in-story outfit.