Entry attached.

-W

Encoded transmission 596731

I have a position that may be of interest to you Agent Voth. A recent opening in Galares has become available and I believe your skills would be most suited to the position, please find the details in the enclosed attachment.

Encoded transmission 596732

To whom it may concern, and yes Naradas I know it is you, you’re far too easy to read even in text format. I will consider the position against my current one and let you know in due course.

-------TRANSMISSIONS BLOCKED-------

Nath made him wait, and wait, and wait some more. All in all, she let the proposal lie for over two standard weeks. The Iridonian did think on it though - it was a decision purely made on instinct and a natural need for revenge.

There was no way to get back at the Human for what he had done. What he had taken away from her couldn’t be undone, not even close - but she could at least gain something from this. Her mind ticked over the possibilities, all the while Zakath’s shade whispered sweet words of revenge into her ear as she sat in pensive silence.

Nath could feel him there - he was close, so very close and yet not. It was so very unsettling, most would have tried to place as much distance as possible between them, but the longer she gazed at the reconstructed skull in her quarters, the more she knew it to be the only path left to her.

A tug, that was how she could describe the sensation, the Force informing her in which path to take without ever using words. The more her mind acquiesced, the stronger he became - it took time and effort to extend his will on her; she was strong in that regard. However, the seeds had already been sown by the man himself. Zakath had very little work in truth, it just took much of his energy to keep reminding her of what was important.

What was needed.

No Retreat.
No Surrender.
No Regrets.

The Iridonian took a perverse amount of satisfaction in making Naradas sweat it out. After reading the specs of the position she knew she was the only one that could take the role and do it effectively without leaving the victim completely useless at the end of it all.

She sighed as she took a glance at her final contract, it was complete. There was nothing left to keep him waiting as she sent across the data she opened up a new tab and accepted the position, however, it was begrudgingly done.

***

Twenty four standard hours later

The shuttle docked, Nath stepped out with her duffel bag slung over her shoulder. She wasn’t remotely impressed by the ship, to her it was a bauble on the crown of Galeres and nothing more. It may be new but it meant nothing.

Waiting in the docking bay was Teroch, and stood next to him was Naradas. The Iridonian barely came to a halt to greet them, not really caring what their thoughts on her arrival were.

Naradas was the first to intercept her, he immediately regretted the decision, not expecting her to lean in close enough for the second head-butt he would receive from her in his lifetime. His knees buckled as his nose broke, Teroch tried not to laugh at the Human’s suffering but couldn’t completely hold back the snort of laughter from escaping.

Nath kept walking, a small splatter of crimson flecked across her passive expression as she did.

“When does Kalon arrive?” She didn’t hesitate to speak Mando’a with him, knowing full well he knew she could speak it.

“Soon.” With a nod, she parted ways seeking out a place of her own but not heading to the habitation areas, rather down lower into the sub-decks. She was unable to see the flicker of Zakath as the sudden surge in the Dark Side of the Force, feeding on the loathing that emanated from every pore of her being.

“Soon Naradas.” The sibilant hiss in his ear made the Sith tense and his eyes widen, the feeling of Zakath’s presence coming back stronger than ever before.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1zhZv5d_odAhEwy7aZPZLZlskOShFJh35Pmi-w0MFOqg/edit?usp=sharing

Origins of the Wolf
By Lonewolf

Sitting in the cockpit of The Bloodhound - a YT-2000 series light freighter I had picked up too long ago I couldn’t even remember - I looked out among the asteroid belt I was drifting through. The ship was in standby mode, only the fate hum of the life support system flittering the carbon dioxide to oxygen could be heard. I closed my eyes, focusing on the beat of my own heart. It slowed to a beat a second then every two seconds. I had taken the time over the early years of my life to master the simple workings of my body.

Time at The Corellian Academy for Gentlemen, or as it was more famously known as The CAG, had taught me a lot. The human body, so similar to near-human species yet so different, was the master of the mind growing up. You could push it only so far before the mind told you it was time to stop. At The CAG they taught us how to do the opposite, the mind to become master of the body. They pushed us for hours upon hours upon hours through military drills. During my second year it required us to go with only a maximum of two hours of sleep per day for a week. Should you be caught sleeping outside of the allowed time you were severely disciplined.

I slowed my heart to a mere single beat every five seconds, my breathing slow, my pulse low. I stretched out with the Force. I had only discovered it several years earlier during my time in the Unknown Regions, which was a name it didn’t deserve. Much of the so-called Unknown Regions were very much known, I just don’t think the map makers wanted to update their information after centuries. Still, the name had its appeal. It had to me. Over nearly two decades they had called to me. The Infinite Crisis during The Forgotten Campaigns; it was literal hell. Only a handful remembered the battles, the screams, the blood.

That was when I first had touched the Force. It would be nearly fifteen years before I really found it. And in doing so it changed me. I had gone from a comrade in arms, fighting shoulder to shoulder with men I had known since childhood. With the death of two of my old CAG classmates I had ventured off and became what I was now: a lonewolf.

I stretched out with the Force, feeling the chunks of rock floating around me. The Bloodhound was programmed and modified to avoid all ships found on passive radar, to miss the asteroids. I was truly alone out here and that is how I liked it. I didn’t sense anyone: no cloaked ship, no smuggler bypassing security patrols, nothing. I was alone, at peace with the Force for this brief moment in time.

When my friends had died I left the service of the Corellian Corps for the last time. I left my family, my siblings, my homeworld of Corellia behind. For several years I wandered the unknowns of space. It took me to far off planets, to different species, into arms of erotic lovers. Still, I moved on. I continued to venture, escaping my pain. It was only until I arrived within the Antei System that I found something worth stopping for: the Brotherhood.

They called themselves the Dark Jedi Brotherhood but I didn’t see it when I first arrived. I met my first Master, Rhiann Hi'ija. She had been a pirate lord, working around the system. She and another member of the Tyrant Sword had tried to board the Bloodhound. It was only when she felt my connection to the Force, and I her’s, did she bring me into the fold of the Brotherhood.

The Dark Jedi Brotherhood, what an interesting name since there were Jedi and Gray Jedi among them. I had just taken to calling them The Brotherhood soon after arriving. I wasn’t on a path of darkness, though I had done dark things in my years. I was searching for something between light and darkness. Sure, I could have gone to Yavin IV, to the Jedi Academy to search for a further connection to the Force. I could of headed to Ziost or Kariburr in search of the Sith. The stories of both had been told throughout the galaxy; I knew where to look, where to find those if I really wanted to. But no, I had been put on a path to meet Master Rhiann.

She brought me to Port Ol’val in the Dajorra System. It was a hive like Mos Eisley it seemed: full of bounty hunters, smugglers, a breeding ground for the underworld; those that didn’t want to be found. There she introduced me to House Qel-Droma, a house of Clan Arcona of The Brotherhood. It was all very new to me. Many around that I was introduce to were not dark per se, but were on the same journey I was. They were there looking for something they couldn’t describe.

I drifted through the headquarters of House Qel-Droma buried within the depths of Port Ol’val. It was called The Phantom Complex. I could feel the power of the Force here: light, dark, gray. I could feel the struggle within it. I wasn’t met with open arms but I wasn’t met with cold shoulders either.

Rhiann quickly took me on as her apprentice before she left the Order only several weeks later. I could feel the abandonment from her. She was my guide in this new world she quickly brought and left me in. I could have left. I could have climbed aboard the Bloodhound, left Port Ol’val, left The Brotherhood behind but I wouldn’t. Something had drawn me here. Something beyond myself. In all the galaxy I was brought to this place.

I heard a beep on the console before me. My heart quickened, returning to its normal pace. I opened my eyes and looked at the instruments before me. There was a ship approaching, almost on an intercept course. I flipped a few switches, preparing to arm the ship. This vessel must of dropped out of hyperspace. They knew where I was.

No, here is where I currently belonged. Could I leave tomorrow? Sure. Would I? I didn’t know. All I knew is that House Qel-Droma was where I was for now. I would continue to learn how to use my connection with the Force whether it be for the “greater good”, for some “evil purpose” or just for my own enlightenment. For now, it seemed I would have to deal with whoever was planning on paying me a visit.

Port Ol’val
Lucky Lekku Cantina

“I win!”

Mks and K’tana grinned at each other from opposite sides of the table; his drink down to its last sips and hers almost full. The Miraluka tossed his cards onto the table and drained what was left.

“That’s the third time in a row! C’mon, I’m dying from thirst here!”

“You’re the one who wanted to play a drinking game, Ms. Leader. Maybe if you hadn’t picked a game you can hustle me with then perhaps…”

“Hey, don’t blame the player, blame the game.”

“Does the same logic apply to cheating too?”

Both of her hands crashed into the table, eyes flashing fiercely.

“You calling me a cheater, sis?”

Their faces turned serious, both frozen in place as they watched the other intently. Although the cantina was quiet, the sudden change in atmosphere spread to the other patrons as they too began to stare. Something passed between them in the silence and then began to laugh until it was the only sound in the entire room. The bystanders marked them as unstable and their attentions died away.

“Well, that was the last of my credits - and my access to liquor!,” he rose from his seat, his usual robes replaced by a dark hooded tunic and long shorts, “So you’ll have to give me the opportunity to win it back sometime and buy me a drink or two for goodwill.”

K’tana’s laughter slowed down, her disappointment clearly written on her face, “So soon? But I was planning on you buying me a new speeder. Fine, you can go - but you’d better bring more next time! I don’t do quickies Mr. Blind Man, I am a Lady, don’t you know.”

The Miraluka nodded seriously, taking the time to make an elaborate bow that had taken a whole afternoon with his obstinate Master to learn, “Of course, my Lady Lekku.”

The Twi’lek applauded before dismissing him with one hand as the other emptied the contents of her glass into her mouth. Mks smiled and tucked his hair into his hood before pulling it over his head and walking out onto the street.

It wasn’t a particularly busy time in the Port, but it was rare to go five steps without seeing someone. There was always a pauper left in tatters on some worn corner or a cart led by a large animal took up half of the road. Messy, he thought blandly and turned down one of the narrow side streets, picking the pace into a light jog. Suddenly the smells of the Port became obvious - urine being the main component. But beneath that was the scent of human waste and rotting meat. Two things that were best avoided. He sprinted around a corner and leapt to a broken ledge, bouncing his way back and forth between the adjacent buildings until he was on the roof.

It didn’t look much better from up on top. Generally, the main streets were kept much cleaner than the narrower ones. Some of the spicers native to Port Ol’val put some credits together to keep them cleaned, a rather obvious attempt at a peace offering to House Qel-Droma after the Trials of Loyalty suffocated the Triumvirate.

He watched from his vantage point as a scruffy robed occupant threw a bucket of waste into the alleyway beneath him and was on his way before the smell reached him. The path he ran across was bright underfoot - brighter than the dust that seemed to coat everything. The Port was busy, with the mixed vibrations of engines from the ships coming and going constant. Dust was a sign that you were poor enough to have to live closeby to the inner walls, a fresh showering of dust falling with every exit and arrival. Although he couldn’t quite see the difference between rooftop with dust and rooftop without, he could feel the difference. A perk to being blind, one would say.

The roofs began to turn flimsy as he reached the slums and he changed direction, heading straight towards the rough asteroid walls. His hands found ledges with ease and he pulled himself up and into a small natural hollow. There he found a small receiver which he plugged into his ear and turned it on.

You have received two messages.

“Play all.”

He lay back against the cool stone as he cooled off and awaited the maelstrom.

“Apprentice,” his tone was clipped and with barely restrained anger, “I regret to inform you that although I agreed to your occasional usage of my personal library that should you avoid returning them like we agreed then we shall have to end our current partnership with the gravest of- oh, no wait, here it is. Never mind.”

End of message one.

Somehow he caught himself before the first chuckle and managed to say fairly clearly, “Next.”

"Apprentice,” this time he was hissing and Mks felt his stomach clench in preparation, “I’ve been trying to find you for some time. I can’t really talk here but I finally have something for you to do. Something long-term. You’ll have support in this. Two days, same place.”

The Miraluka stayed still for a very long time, his face frozen in the same anticipatory smile.

----

Two Days Later
Felicity Gentlemen's Club
Private Rooms

“Explain to me again why we meet here?”

Strategos stopped pouring himself a drink from an elegantly carved decanter for a moment.

“You know, I can’t quite remember.”

After he slid himself into a luxuriously made seat and made what agreeable sounds he felt he needed to, he finally noticed his Apprentice.

“So, you’re leaving Shadow Gate.”

The human took a brief swig of his drink, taking the time to savour the flavour.

“And?”

“And you’ll be leading Tyrant Sword. Would you like me to hold your hand and explain what that entails too?”

The room was quiet for a moment, with Mks in deep thought, a light smile ever on his lips, whilst his Master found more pressing things to observe on his robes.

“You’ll be coming with me, then.”

“And that wasn’t a question - good, you’re learning to think for yourself. Well done.”

The Equite let the comment pass.

“But why me?”

“It’s your turn, is it not? And is it not also my place to provide you with the room you require to grow, to save you from the cracks that most in your rank fall into? To guide-”

“And the real reason is?” The Mystic stretched the last syllable out to his Masters irritation. It had taken a long time to speak to one another so free of pomp but they both agreed it would cut a lot of wasted time.

“I’m bored,” he waved his hand at Mks dismissively, “Entertain me, or something.”

The Miraluka laughed briefly before leaning back to watch the fire, the crackling sounds a relaxing component for speculation, “Sure, I have some ideas about how to do that.”

“Good, then get yourself a drink. There is much you need to know.”

Merely to participate, not eligible for placement. :)

The old hangar of the abandoned mining facility was accustomed to emptiness. For decades it floated in the Dajorra asteroid field, desolate and virtually forgotten by all but a handful of people who made sure nothing in the system went unnoticed. The day finally came when Arcona found a use for it, when a group of elite hunters partnered with droids strode across its catwalks, the sound of their various comings and goings bouncing quietly against the walls. When the hunters of the Apex Brigade departed, the facility knew mournful silence again for several months. The roar of spacecraft engines and the raucous sound of military regulars turned pirates briefly filled the hangar with life once again, but the odd couple Hi’ijas decided to move on from their adventures and focus on their marriage. Adem Bol’era had said goodbye to them a week earlier, and set to work on clearing out the base. The young Umbaran who had spent the most time here out of anyone knew isolation well, and felt a bizarre kind of kinship with the hangar. He lay awake in a canvas hammock stretched between two catwalks, stricken with the familiar melancholy of introversion turning into loneliness once again.
The airlocks separating the hanger suddenly began whirring, and the bay doors opened to let the familiar grey shape of the *Broken Blade* slice into its drydock for the first time in weeks. Adem skittered down the decrepit rafters and descended several dozen meters in seconds to meet the floor. The landing ramp of the ship did likewise.

Hadn’t the ship been decommissioned and scrapped only days ago? Just what was it doing here? Odder still was the sudden influx of people walking out of the ship, with several of their faces matching those of the disbanded pirate crew. Had Mirus and Rhiann changed their minds?
Three cloaked figures disembarked, keeping the thought of the Hi’ijas alive for Adem until he looked more closely at their faces. On the left stood a mountain of black scales with a grim look in his reptilian green eyes. On the right was a tall and thin figure, with stone eyes and hair stretching down his back at a length that rivaled his cloak. In the center was a woman draped in white and blue, and despite the cloth over her eyes, Adem could not shake the strange tension one feels when making eye contact with someone, even if he cast his gaze to the floor. The Barabel hissed lowly at him, demanding the respect of being looked at, even if his blind fellows did not do the same.

“I’m impressed that you manage to stay sane in such a big empty place, Adem.” the lady in white said cheerfully. Frak! In the presence of the Shadow Lady, and Adem had completely forgotten his sense of decorum. He waved limply, then realized that the only person who could see it was a grumpy lizard.
“Uh. . . Hi?”
“Oh, no, maybe I spoke too soon. I do know about you, though. You have a nasty habit of insisting on staying in places by yourself.” Atyiru’s smile was warm and concerned.
“What can I say? I’m always alone, I’m used to it.” Adem shrugged.
“Ever since you had to leave the troupe behind, right?” Atyiru’s hands motioned for calm when she felt Adem tense up. What was a woman so gentle, so aware of how others around her felt doing leading an army of assassins, soldiers and criminals? “I’m aware of your story, doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear your feelings about it. But first things first; would you come inside? Mks and Zakath have a proposal for you to consider.”

Atyiru clapped her hands together and bid the men to sit after she finished tidying the bridge of the *Broken Blade* into a makeshift tea room, the low table bathed in soft yellow light. The familiarly sharp scent of Hapan mint wafted from Adem’s cup. It smelled like Bhan.
“My favorite. How’d you guess?” he asked Atyiru incredulously.
“Just a feeling. On to business. Introduce yourselves, gentlemen.” Atyiru kneeled down to the table and gingerly blew on her cup. The Barabel left his cup steaming away on the table and he turned to Adem.
“Zakath. I will be serving as an executive officer aboard this ship.” Zakath’s voice had the harsh feel of sandpaper, but his tone wasn’t inherently hostile. Adem imagined what an irate Zakath would sound like, and stowed the thought away to use in a nightmare sometime.
“Mks Ehn, at your service, though you might call me captain if formality’s your thing. I suppose we’ll both be getting used to the title, hm?” The man with eyes of stone wore a grin, but Adem was uncertain of its legitimacy, unlike Atyiru.
“Ooooh, maybe a hat? Hard to imagine a ship captain without a hat. I think it would radiate authority, especially with some feathers in it!” Atyiru mused, and the group laughed. Even Zakath snorted a little.
“Arcia doesn’t wear a hat.” Zakath pointed out.
“Maybe, but I don’t think this ship is going to be anything like Arcy’s rank and file. Arcona only has room for one of her and the Nighthawk.” Atyiru countered. Zakath agreed, lips curving with uncomfortable thoughts of his former captain’s wrath. “It’s a shame that the pirate’s life wasn’t for Mirus and Rhi after all, but it’s not a bad starting point for more. . . diverse criminal activities.” Atyiru gently sipped her tea and set a datapad on the table, bringing up a data map of Arcona’s connections to the criminal underworld.
“Concerned about our control? The Clan isn’t what it used to be with Antei gone.” Adem asked. Though he had steered clear of the war, he was well aware of how it had torn Arcona asunder.
“And how. We’re looking at the largest number of upstart syndicates and police forces disrupting our operations in the history of our time in the system. To simply wipe them out is overkill, and we’re done for if we make ourselves out as enemies of the public across the system.” said Mks.
“Hardly overkill. We’d make our point.” Zakath suggested.
“Rein in the stabbity mood, Zakath. That’s not apropos for tea time.” Atyiru smiled, and finished her cup. “I’m thinking that we’ll use this ship and its crew as a way of finally letting House Qel-Droma do what it says on the tin; make cute little underworld soldiers out of you.”
“Crime certainly isn’t disappearing anytime soon.” said Adem.
“Right, and it touches people’s lives every day. I’d much rather take that into our hands than leave it to people out just to help themselves. There are lots of criminal figures through whom we can do some good, but the odds aren’t really in their favor.”
“Lost causes, you think?” Mks asked.
“Hardly, I love an underdog. Actually, just dogs in general.” Atyiru replied. “Anyway, that’s where you come in. Your job is to flow through the underworld unnoticed, without incriminating Arcona. Think of it as becoming a river that no one realizes they’re swimming in. When it suits our interest, you change how that river flows here and there. Somebody drowns, somebody keeps floating.”
“Cute metaphor.” said Adem.
“Right? This clan needs more poetry. You’d be doing more or less anything and everything, because whoever’s the best, we are automatically better because we’re also Jedi. You’ll go from brokering information to dismantling a spice monopoly. Splinter a gang and help them take themselves down. Start good insurgencies, put down bad ones. All that and still plenty of piracy on the outer edges of the system to play with! Your talents will be very appreciated if we keep going in this direction, Adem.”
“I can be who you need me to be, right? A tool of many uses?” said Adem glumly.
“When you put it like that it sounds lousy, but I suppose that works. I want to assure you that if we can avoid doing anything unsavory, we will. I just want my family and its friends to be happy and safe. Please understand that.” Atyiru motioned for the meeting to adjourn. With that, Mks and Zakath rose to their feet and left the bridge. Adem and Atyiru remained at the table, the Miraluka sitting around the corner from him.
“Sorry,” Adem said mournfully, “that was out of line.”
Atyiru smiled and shrugged. “You said what you felt. Believe me, I know what you’re feeling better than you think. As hard as you try, every relationship you have seems so. . .”
“Ephemeral?” Adem finished her sentence between two slow sips from his cup.
“Ooooh, that’s a pretty one. Sad too. Tell me; in the troupe, did you do more comedies, or tragedies? What was your favorite?” The Shadow Lady was genuinely curious as always, even if she was already somewhat aware of the answer.
Adem leaned back and thought for a moment. “I guess Bo liked writing or adapting the comedies, so we tended to do those often, but the tragedies were better written. He’d usually write those when he was out of wine. Siobhan liked whatever play she had the lead in. My brother. . . well, Solis took every role he was given seriously, always passionate.”
“They sound fun, but what about you? If your life was a play, what would you describe it as?” What kind of question was that? She was almost as melodramatic as Bo!
“Tragedy, so far. If it plays out well, there’ll be a kind of beauty in it.” Adem stated flatly as he finally drained his tea to its last drops, ever the slowest person at a table. At that, Atyiru sighed and rose to her feet.
“I’m afraid I have to get going,” she said, passing behind the glum Umbaran but stopping to place a hand on his shoulder, “but I’d hope to talk more when you’re ready. I hope you find your home here, that you’ll be able to make this place a home for your friends when you’re ready one day. I’m going to change your mind about your play, you know. Just watch.” The Shadow Lady gently glided out of the room as easily as she had entered. Adem gently shifted the teacup in his hand and let the last remaining drop of Hapan mint swirl around the basin, the smell taking him back to better days. Still, he was alone, but perhaps a little less than before. . .