Pain is an efficient motivator for one sluggish in rousing from sleep. Or when they've been knocked aside the head.

Stifling a groan (not that he could have with whatever this fabric was in his mouth), Kul blinked his eyes to clear his vision. The room remained black.

*Am I dead? Someone is going to have a really bad day if I am.*

His senses had somewhat fully returned by this time, and the coarse scratching of fabric against his face gave him some comfort. Further testing revealed his arms were also hampered, stun cuffs clasped upon them. He focused his attention upon the Force, directing its energy into the waiting cells of his arms and wrists. Sufficiently suffused, he pulled his hands in opposite directions and strained against the metal clasps with bulging muscles. Unable to withstand the natural power of the Force, the metal easily snapped.

Kul efficiently disposed of the other hindrances, finally clearing his view of his enclosed quarters. A bare room, the air was stale and thick. There was a familiarity to it, though. Like he had been here at one point. Before he could think more on that, his instinct kicked in and he felt the presence of a being behind him. He spun on his toes and adopted a defensive K’thri stance. Though it felt familiar, the place held a sense of doom about it. The face of his watcher was familiar, too. Blank eyes stared at him through the mask of an Inquisitor. Their voice rattled through a modulator the society sometimes utilized for discretion purposes.

“About time you woke up. And I must say I was unimpressed by your little trick just then,” the Inquisitor taunted, while waving a small device in their hand, “Would have been difficult had I not turned off the Force dampener.”

Kul leered at his likely captor. At a quick check, he seemed to have come to no harm during his unconsciousness, and his gear was set aside in a box beside the Inquisitor. The situation still remained furtive in his eyes, regardless of him seeming unscathed.

“Why am I here?”

The Inquisitor tapped a thin finger against their cheek.

“Now why might you be, indeed? It couldn’t possibly have anything to do with Plaguies’ show of defiance against our Grandmaster, surely?”

Kul growled, remaining in stance for the time being.

“Defiance? The Grandmaster struck first, and would have again had Plagueis not shown him it was futile to try and force us down.”

The Inquisitor slammed a fist upon the only piece of furniture in the room, a small durasteel table guarded by a quaint durasteel chair. The Inquisitorius always did have a flair for Feng Shui.

“A foolish gesture! The clans should remember their place in this Brotherhood. The Grandmaster claims the throne, not the Consuls. As an Inquisitor, you should have supported the assault in some way, even if from the shadows. Especially from the shadows.”

Kul wasn’t one to plead, but he did want the agent to understand, if only for the chance it might help him get out of this alive.

“Surely the Grandmaster knows if he rules through fear, it will cause a backlash at some point? Has he learned nothing from the predecessors of the galaxy? The name of Palpatine comes to mind. Strength can be respected as well as feared, and respect lasts longer and doesn’t hide in secret waiting to strike back.”

The Inquisitor stood, and a portion of the wall slid aside to reveal a floating droid covered in the tools of a torturer.

*Ah. There’s that familiar sensation.*

Kul could see no emotion in the Inquisitor’s stance, merely an acceptance of their position and duty. Even their synthesized voice (much like the modulator he had used at times) possessed a complete lack of empathy.

“I will choose to ignore those blasphemous words, Inquisitor, as I can only assume that Plagueis has brainwashed you for such defiance against your masters. But don’t worry...I’m here with a cure.”

The Inquisitor approached, the droid on his heels.

*No. I will not allow such a thing again.*

Roaring his defiance, Kul launched himself at the Inquisitor, who dropped into a Core stance of their own. But unlike Kul, the Inquisitor had cut themself off from companionship and connections of loyalty and affection, and this gave them a lack of willpower that Kul often utilized. His eyes blazed red with fury as he rained blows upon the Inquisitor. The droid lasted only the time it took to rear back and swing.

The Inquisitorius still speaks of the day when a rogue agent turned into the embodiment of a Krayt Draigon, tearing its way out of captivity and into the sunlight.

The noises had been muffled as Xolarin’s mind came to. The last thing he remembered was being on a planet: Corellia maybe, or no it was after that. But the sounds of one familiar voice and one new voice echoed in his head.

The smells were different as he breathed in the stale air where he was. Last his mind could recall he was open and free. The smog of Corellia or the open scents of forest and tundra had recently filled his nostrils and his memories.

The sights were nothing as Xolarin opened his eyes. Before now, he had been in front of some people, Laren Uscott included. But now, the blurred vision that slowly melded into clarity was showing the dank basement-like structure he was in. Sure it was durasteel, but it felt and smelled and looked like an old stone castle.

“Uhnnn,” was all he could manage as he started to lift his body up off the floor. This could not be good, especially with what he found when he searched around, coming to his knees. He had no lightsaber, no all-temperature cloak, no utility belt, and not even a vibrodagger he normally kept in his boot.

As Xolarin got up to his feet, the scene became familiar to a degree. It wasn’t an old castle but was a durasteel room. And something was indeed familiar about it, but he could not quite place it. The smells, the hum of distant engines or machinery, and the walls were something that had been in his recent past, likely before he ended up in the room.

The knight went to the door and tried it - locked. He looked at the control panel and punched in some commands - access denied. He looked around for other panels or access hatches and - nothing. He was trapped, and he had no idea who had put him here.

He tried to remember back to the day before, Corellia or perhaps somewhere else. And who had him… he had trusted Laren for quite some time, but could it have been the mercenary? Could the new friend, who was finally helping Xolarin find his father’s truths, have taken Xol capture? If so, where would he be taking him?

Xolarin sighed and pounded his hand on the wall near the door, at the same time kneeing the control panel. And suddenly with the knock of his knee the door slid open. Xolarin raised his head from where it rested on his arm, still a pounding headache, and looked out into the corridor. It smelled the same as his room, everything sounded the same, and it was still not quite but slightly familiar.

The man crept out of the room and looked around. No security cameras were mounted in sight and yet there was nothing for him to grab as a weapon - not even a blunt object. Nonetheless, Xolarin went down the hall and tried to use his affinity with the Force to sense what was going on and who might be near. It hurt with his headache, but there was someone up and around the corner.

Xolarin slowly and as silently as he could approached the room and tried to listen. There was some rustling coming from the room, someone definitely active. But the door was open and he poked his head around the corner. Sure enough, Laren was there, sitting in a cockpit, fiddling with something in his hand.

“I KNEW I couldn’t trust you,” Xolarin said as he rounded the corner, facing his captor and grimacing at the merc.

Laren shuddered in surprise and turned to face Xolarin. “Man, you scared the crap outta me.”

“What have you done? What am I doing here?” Xolarin was angry, an emotion with which he battled recently, and yet had used successfully to help his cause.

Laren furled his brow as his head shot back. “Seriously? You don’t remember?”

Xolarin shook his head. “No… not a thing. Why was I locked in there, and where are my belongings?”

Laren chuckled and then sighed. “Wow.” The man stood and went to Xolarin and they were standing face to face. Laren matched Xolarin’s gaze and even grimaced back at him. And then he put his hand on Xolarin’s shoulder and patted him. “You drank so much Gamorean Moonshine that I had to carry you back.”

Xolarin’s internal guard and adrenaline went down a notch. “What? Back where?” He looked around the ship.

“Your ship. You managed a new boat recently.” Laren shook his head and went over to one of the seats in the cockpit. He grabbed a bundle and handed it to Xolarin. “It’s dank and old, but it will work. I’d say it was a good deal.”

Xolarin accepted the bundle - his robes, lightsaber, and other gear. “Um, I bought a ship?”

Laren then walked past Xolarin, chuckling again. “Yeah… and a couple jugs of Gamorean Moonshine which have apparently disappeared. Mystery solved on where those went.” The man continued out into the corridor and began down the way. “Get some coffee,” he harkened back. “We probably need to leave soon.”

Xolarin’s grimaced look was now that of shock, as he stood there holding his clothes and weapon… and evidently more hungover than most men could possibly be. Suddenly he felt nauseous. This would not be a fun day.