Below the offices and living quarters of the Headmaster and his Praetor lies the Hall of Secrets—a room dedicated to the members of the Dark Council, and practically unknown by the rest of the Brotherhood. The spacious room is highly secured, with a curving stone ceiling and thick, stone walls. Any noise from the rest of the Academy is completely muted, the silence of this place like a tomb. You were summoned here, the note still clenched in your hand, but so far you haven't seen a soul.

There are a nine cubicles—one for each Councilor—made from transparent crystal, which divides the room evenly into sections. Glancing into one, you see that it contains a small console. You walk towards it and tap in a simple command. Immediately the crystal walls grow opaque, obscuring the interior from view and sealing you within. It seems obvious that this is a secure study for the Council, where its members come to access artifacts, holocrons, or other data, without the prying eyes of the Academy watching.

You reverse the command and step back into the Hall. Glancing around, you search for the person who summoned you. Most of the cubicles are currently transparent, but the furthest one is dark—currently in use. You step towards it just as the walls flicker back to transparency revealing a single figure with weapon in hand…

Kordath let out a heavy sigh, recognizing the robed figure wielding a katana at the other end of the hall. A familiar sense of unease filled him, much as it always did when the masked Obelisk was nearby. Something tickled the back of his mind though, and the Ryn cocked his head to the side a bit before his eyes grew wide. The Krath began to duck,too late, as the Prelate’s open hand cuffed him across the back of the head, sending him sprawling to the ground. Grunting and rubbing at the point of impact, Kordath stood back up, turning to face his assailant as the illusion at the end of the hall dissipated.

“What the hells, Edraven?” he spat out angrily.

A dry chuckle could be heard from behind the ballistic mask. “I’m surprised. Did you see through my illusion, or simply sense the attack too late?”

“It wasn’t moving enough to be you, and the aura of unpleasantness you tend to have about you was stronger than it should be at that distance,” replied the Ryn, glaring at the Qel-Droman Aedile. “That doesn’t answer the question. Why did you call me down here, and why did you feel the need to knock me upside the head?”

“Your recent...escapades during Clan operations have caused some concern within the Summit. Frankly, Bleu, you’re becoming a liability. You have a penchant for being captured, which, considering you came to us from a life of thieving and stowing away on transports, is most unsettling,” came the dry reply. The Obelisk pulled his saber hilt from his belt. “How long before you get captured and broken? And what if you actually know something of use to the enemy? I know you seem to pride yourself on avoiding work, but I know better than to think you do not pay attention.”

The Ryn winced, thinking back to the Zeltron who’d nearly cut off the end of his tail and locked him in a dark utility closet while in the middle of an investigation. Or her boss, the Chistori Elder, a One Sith named Dassac, who’d held him for a week while using creative methods to torture him in an attempt to turn the Krath to his side. He’d escaped the Zeltron, mostly of his own accord, but Dassac on the other hand...Dassac had simply released him when fleeing from encroaching Arconan forces. The Priest had to admit, the Prelate had a point.

Kordath licked his lips, watching the man and feeling the hair on his neck rise. “Celevon,” he started to say, watching the Prelate’s cyan blade spring to life. “I would think someone from Galeres would be...dealing with this. In House and all, yeah? Why’d they send you down to butcher the Ryn?”

“Butcher you?” questioned the Obelisk, who began to approach the Krath. “I’m here to teach you to defend yourself, you imbecile. You may still have use to the Clan. As for the whom...well, Cethgus would probably kill you outright in a fight, and our past associations….let’s just say they believe I can get some knowledge into your head.”

“Physically, I take it?” growled the Ryn, backing away and weighing his options. Taking the Prelate in a straight fight was incredibly unideal to the Priest.

If the mask he wore could show the grin Celevon had on his face as the Krath finally fumbled for his own saber, Kordath would have been even more unhappy with the goings on. Together, the hum of a second saber activating and the way the shadows danced in their blue-white glow set the tone.

“I’ve been given free reign, Bleu, to see that you learn this lesson. Try not to disappoint me,” spoke the Prelate, his right hand gripping high on the hilt of his weapon. Done talking, the Obelisk moved forward with surprising quickness., Kordath cursed under his breath as he tried to fall into some form of flow,relying on his usually sharp precognitive abilities to guide his own blade in defense.

Knocking aside several sharp, erratic attacks, the Ryn watched his foe warily. He was already feeling the sweat coming up through his undershirts. Celevon grunted slightly as his blows were parried and stepped up his pace, the strikes coming quicker and their angles more random. The Priest, for what it was worth, did his best to keep up as cyan and blue light intermixed and sparks flew.

“Good,” murmured the Obelisk, stepping back a half step, left hand clenching as he sent a telekinetic hammer strike towards the Ryn. Kordath stumbled backwards, only his own nimbleness and the extra balance provided by his tail keeping him from falling. Despite the assault, the Priest couldn’t help but feel as if it had been a light tap compared to what the Prelate was capable of.

“So, I do something properly, and then you try and blast me down with the Force?” growled the Krath.

“Oh, that wasn’t a blast, that was a nudge, Bleu,” replied the Prelate, a mocking tone infusing his words.

Oh poodoo, thought the Ryn, mentally sighing as the Obelisk came at him again.

The beams of plasma snapped and spat as the Prelate wasted no time returning to the previous speed. Different shades of blue clashed repeatedly as the Onderonian took his time testing the Ryn’s defenses. Celevon’s blade flashed back and forth, randomly thrusting or spinning the hilt in his hand to further determine the Galerean’s skill.

The Aedile slowly increased the speed and complexity of his motions, paying little attention to the burns the pair of them were slashing through the walls and crystalline doors of the cubicles. He took note of the heavier breathing of the Ryn and the beaded sweat trickling down his opponent’s face, highlighted further by the cerulean glow cast by their weapons.

Kordath tried to not gasp for breath as his own motions began to blur. Fighting like this was the furthest from his style and he was unused to long, drawn out usage of weapons of this type. He ignored the fabric of his robes sticking to his back, focusing instead on blocking the blade of his former Executive Officer.

The way the Obelisk moved, the strikes of his saber brought an image to Kordath’s mind of a mythological creature that was essentially a large serpent with multiple heads. Though the name evaded him, he felt the comparison was accurate.

Celevon abruptly halted mid-slash, moving backward as the cobalt energy of his weapon vanished. He pretended to not notice the Galerean stumble as Bleu had been moving, bracing himself for the next clash of blades.

“Not bad. Not bad in the least. We shall get back to that in due time,” the Onderonian mused as though to himself. The Aedile began pooling the energies of the Force, carefully weaving a construct behind the gray eyes of the Priest.

“Wha-what?” Kordath deactivated his own lightsaber and hooked it on his belt. He looked up and saw his opponent removing his mask. The calculating silver eyes that regarded him slowly began to turn black. “What’s going on?”

“Just another test, I assure you,” the Assassin replied dryly, before he snapped his fingers.

Blackness overtook the Ryn’s vision, making him wonder if he had had one drink too many. His eyes adjusted as he glanced around. Panic began to set in as he felt himself float off of the ground, taking in the stars around him. In the distance, the Krath could see what looked like a marble made entirely of flame.

‘Space... open space...’

Indistinct voices whispered around him. The ticking of seconds passing on a chronometer steadily grew louder to Kordath’s hearing.

He resisted the urge to whimper as the unsettled feeling grew stronger.

Celevon was watching the Ryn closely, focusing his will on immersing the Priest within the illusion he’d woven. The added touch of using telekinetics to keep the Krath afloat was just an amusing bonus. Reports on Kordath’s little space faring issue had brought this scenario to the Prelate’s mind almost immediately. A vagabond, ship hopping wanderer who had a fear of open space? It was too much not to take advantage of, and any enemy who figured out that simply putting Bleu in front of an airlock….well this was an issue that needed correcting.

Kordath on the other hand, was not happy. Not happy at all. Intellectually he knew he was still in the Hall of Secrets with that psychopathic Edraven. Panic was setting in as the Ryn’s perception of reality clashed with his logic. Part of him knew for certain that he was about to depressurize and every blood vessel in his body was going to implode. The logical bit of him was telling the irrational part to calm down and quit yelling. And then another, far more sensible part of him just wanted a drink and a smoke.

Right. None of this is real. It can’t be real. I’d have died before the end of that first thought. Oh gods what if it is real? Can Celevon teleport people now? I don’t think he can do that, can I do that? I’m sure that would have come up at some point. Blast it Kordath, get it together! Celevon is testing you, this is all a test and you are failing miserably. What’s that sound? Tick...tick...does he...he does! He’s got a bloody chronometer out, he’s timing me the jerk!

Hold on, wait a tick….hah...wait a tick….tick...oh great I’m already going mad that’s wonderful. But no, I can’t be in space because I can hear the chrono piece ticking, aha!

Kordath floated in his artificial vacuum, watching the stars glitter in the darkness and attempting to ignore the sun’s steady growth. He’d hoped that realization would snap him out of it, but that didn’t seem to be happening.

Poodoo. Kordath closed his eyes, and realized he felt light headed from holding his breath this whole time. Releasing it didn’t bring on a wave of agonising depressurization and death, so he viewed this as a bonus. Okay, lets try...picturing...the Hall, the cubicles. The stone floors, smoothed by years of the Councilors treading across them. Yeah...the...ceiling was arched? I think? Blast it this isn’t working either. What’s that sound?

The Ryn could hear a thudding noise, rhythmic and quick. First he thought the Obelisk had added in some sort of space faring nightmare beast before he realized it was his own heart. His chest hurt, breath was quick. What limited knowledge he had of the medical sciences suggested this was a very bad thing. Panic was growing within the Krath, reaching a peak that would possibly kill him at this point.

Closing his eyes once more and taking a deep breath the Ryn tried to ignore the rising sensations of vertigo. Opening his senses up and trying to recall if his float in this artificial space had involved any spin, the Priest fought for focus and control. Hoping for the best as he got a tenuous grasp on the Force, Bleu pushed out with a telekinetic sweep of power. He was torn between tears and laughter as the cold, hard floor of the chamber rushed up to meet his back. Lying there, staring at the ceiling for a moment and feeling some concern for his undergarments and pants, Celevon stepped into view.

“Good usage of the Force, someone with less control then I would have lost their concentration from such an act. Now then, let us...move...on...what is that smell?” Edraven wrinkled his nose, his silver eyes searching the area.

Kordath let out a little croak, before grinning weakly. “Pretty...sure..that’s me, Celevon, hah...hah hah….” The Ryn passed out as adrenaline burned off and his heart rate dropped, exhaustion taking it’s toll on the Krath’s body.

“Oh blast I think I stepped in it,” muttered the Obelisk, backing away from the fallen Priest to call for a custodial droid.

Celevon slowly circled the Priest, watching as the Ryn curled into a ball and rocked in place. The stark fear that radiated from Kordath was palpable, so much so that the Aedile hardly needed the aid of the Force to detect it.

He kept a close eye on the member of the Nighthawk. His orders were clear: Teach Kordath a lesson. The Onderonian was not to maim, kill or otherwise permanently harm the Galerean. Fracturing his mental state was therefore unacceptable, despite the fact that the Healers could pick up the pieces and reassemble it.

An acrid stench reached Celevon, causing the Obelisk to sneer in disgust as he placed it. His gaze rested on the pool of liquid spreading under the Krath as he dispelled the illusion.

The Priest kept his eyes clenched shut tightly, whimpering slightly.

The Onderonian delivered a vicious kick to Kordath’s ribs, knocking the Nighthawk member out of the foetal position.

“Get on your feet, Bleu!”

The Krath’s boot shot up between the Aedile’s legs. Celevon collapsed to the ground, cradling his groin as Kordath retrieved a flask from within his robes and took a long pull of the alcohol within. “That’s payback for the dick move you pulled, Edraven. You know how much I hate space!” The Galerean’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped as the Onderonian started chuckling, moving into a sitting position.

“About time you fought back. What do you think I was aiming for?” the Prelate smirked over at the Ryn. “Meet up with me in a few days. We’ll see about improving those mental defenses of yours.”

Kordath continued to stare blankly as the Onderonian stood and made his way out of the Hall of Secrets. He upturned the flask and shook it over his mouth, sighing when only a drop fell. “I need a drink now.. Frakking psycho!”