Another set of parameters. Another fruitless search. More time spent pouring through the archives. He had plumbed through the Shadow Academy's virtual stacks, plundered his own stores as Master of Holocrons, and gone through the Clan archives for good measure.

It was for naught. There were a lot of sketchy leads out there, but nothing that the Corellian was quite willing to send members of the Clan out upon. As much as he wished for it, the resources of the Clan were not limitless, and he didn't think the populace would forever support his ventures without some greater incentive than the wishes of their dark Overlord.

If only he had the sort of time that he had once possessed, then Bentre Sadow might have taken time to depart the Orian System, to explore the galaxy on his own, to brush shoulders with the common populace. With a grunt, the Consul pushed away the small keyboard so hard that it came to a stop, the cord attaching the device to his console pulling taut. Between Clan business and the albatross of these Children of Mortis the Dark Council had told him about, he had to stay close to Sepros for now.

There would be plenty of time for him to wander at some point, he hoped. The Dark Council's directive concerning the crystals had been both a boon and a lodestone. It wasn't as though the Sadow hated the opportunity to conduct such research. He had considered taking a very personal stake in the research. As a matter of fact, he was sure that Tasha'Vel would grow quite angry when he heard a few of the things that her husband had planned.

I mean, I remember how much she lost it when I told her about how we could protect Lyna'Vel. I mean, a child with poison glands and stingers in her braintails would be the last thing a child-napper would be expecting, right?

Looking sideways, his eyes came to rest upon a thick tome. While it might have been antiquated to create a literal tome, he had started to scrawl down his own research. For a moment, he even considered reviewing over his Alchemical notes for some sort of inspiration. He ran a finger over the cover of the flimsiplast book briefly before two tones sounded out.

"Enter." The Sith looked up, his features hardening.

"Overlord." The voice was immediately familiar, yet Bentre's face did not shift. Darkhawk stepped into the room with a brief, respectful tilting of his head. At this, Bentre raised an eyebrow, the barest hint of a smile in his gaze. At least he had gotten the Proconsul to stop bowing all the time.

"I presume that something interesting has happened." The Overlord raised a hand, pointing with a single finger at a point behind Darkhawk. Scrunching his finger back towards his palm, the Adept gave a half smile before closing his hand. Bentre tilted his head in a nod towards the padded seat that had skidded across the floor plates to rest just behind his second in command. "Take a seat. And please, for all the Force and stars, don't tell me somebody has tried to blow up Markosian City again."

This statement caused a pause from Darkhawk.

"It's a joke, Takagari. What do you have for us, today?"

"We have a contact request that came through official channels for you, sir."

Bentre considered telling Darkhawk to can the sir stuff in private, but his interest was piqued. "Are the locals in Telos wanting something from the great Sadowan Empire?" He paused thoughtfully, losing some of the mirth in his voice. "Or is this from another of the Clans?" A mischievous smile split the facade of aloof disinterest that he had been trying to maintain. "Or do the Jedi in Odan-Urr want to schedule a playdate with the big, bad Sith in hopes that we will do a heel-face turn?"

Darkhawk blinked twice before continuing. "No, sir. There is a party from a station that wants to speak to you, personally. They say they have something that you might want."

Those words actually caused Bentre to lean forward. "I want a lot of things, Takagari. What sort of things are we talking?"

"That is all they told us. The sender refused to tell us more if we were unwilling to give them an audience." The Shaevalian paused. "They are currently awaiting a response."

“Make it so.”

A holoprojector atop the Consul’s workstation whirred to life, projecting the image of a lanky Chiss female onto the table, floating centimeters above the table. “Overlord Stahoes, of the illustrious Orian Empire. We send greetings.”

“And I grant you ten minutes to explain the occasion for this call.” Bentre’s tone was neither unkind or gruff. “Our empire requires constant attentions or else we start getting some undesirable elements mucking up our streets and making us spill excess blood. A real waste of resources,” the Consul nodded, “I am sure you understand.”

“Of course.” Nothing in the response or the stance of the alien expressed any discomfort with the emphasis given. “Word of some of your developments have stretched up and down the Hydian. Some of our people have reported back sightings on Yavin IV, for example. Which is what brings us to this day.” The alien raised a datapad, tapping at its surface. “We here on the Refuge understand that your empire possesses a keen interest in certain oddities and antiques. You appreciate some of the finer things in life. You appreciate objects of value.”

“My time is valuable.” Bentre’s tone was pleasant, but his eyes flashed with emotion. “As I am sure that you are not merely here to make idle observations, I am curious to hear what you have to offer.” He nodded. “That is what you were about to do, wasn’t it? To offer me some object as a show of tribute?”

The Chiss gave a nod. “Tribute paid to another does not pad one’s pockets, Overlord. We offer an opportunity. If you will review the file that I have just sent you, I think that you will find at least a few objects of interest.”

The eyes of both Bentre and Darkhawk stared past the holographic projection to focus on the scrolling list on the screen. Several objects were interesting, this was true. Many were merely the sorts of objects that the Overlord had taken to collecting. While several were more obscure, few seemed particularly rare or pertinent to the Clan’s immediate needs.

Suddenly, a line item caused Bentre’s eyes to bug out, and he pointed a finger. “Lot Sixteen.” He looked at Darkhawk, who gave a nod. Then the Consul turned back to the small, glowing hologram. “What is your asking price?”

“That is where the second part of our message comes to light, Overlord Stahoes. We want to invite you and a party of your choosing. We invite you all to Refuge. An auction will occur in a week’s time, where all these objects and more will be displayed and bid upon.” The Chiss made a sweeping gesture. “If Lot Sixteen is of interest, I wish you all the greatest luck in winning it. We do wish to reiterate. You and yours are cordially invited. Join us to wine, dine and party. You get some fine food, a chance to win some art and antiques to brag to other dignitaries about, and you help us to fund our latest leg on the Hydian Way.” The Chiss gave a slight bow. “I just need to know if we can expect you.”

“A party of our people?” Bentre raised an eyebrow as he scratched at his nose. “Do you have any particular limits to this party size? Are all the tin-plated dictators going to have their own honor guard?”

“Your fellow dignitaries will have their own parties of course.” The representative raised her hands in a placatary manner. “Do not worry though! Refuge is a station of considerable size, Overlord. I am sure we will be able to accommodate you all. You have no need to worry about that.”

The Consul pretended to consider the invitation. He stared off for a whole forty-five seconds, waiting for some sign of impatience on the part of the Refuge’s representative. When he brought his gaze back to focus, he could see the representative standing with a pleasant smile, at rapt attention. “I suppose that we could entertain such an invitation.”

“We will transmit our planned stop for the auction in a week’s time, then. Good day, and good luck at the auction!” With these words, the hologram winked out of existence.

Darkhawk stepped forward, turning to face the Consul. “So, we are taking the Clan to a party?”

“Well, why not?” Bentre smiled. “After all, we are going to have a couple of new pieces by next week. By next month, I fully expect we will have our finest Novitiate polishing our newest find!" Bentre waved a hand in the air. “But first things first, please call up Raistlin, Quentin, and Kojiro.” A brief wave of confusion washed over Darkhawk’s face and rippled in the Force, causing the Overlord to raise a hand in supplication. “We might win the auction. We might not. Either way, I am leaving nothing to chance. Whether we party and auction, smash and grab, or steal it from under their noses, we will have our prize. Three members, leading three teams.” Bentre smiled. “Should be pure pazaak.”

A taste of things to come...

As the start date of Caper on the Hydian Way approaches, we will also be fine-tuning the introductory fiction for the upcoming event. Keep out an eye for the opening fiction, which will be dropping in just three days!

Don't worry though, we will be dropping our normal monthly report later as well. For now, prepare yourselves as we wreak a little havok on the Refuge in the pursuit of new, shiny things for the Clan. We hope that everybody will enjoy this little event!

As Ever, Your Servant in Darkness,

Overlord of Naga Sadow