Captain's Quarters
Agave-class Picket Nighthawk

Lieutenant Colonel Rhace Tarrin stood at ease in front of the desk of the sitting Captain - literally and figuratively - of the Nighthawk. Rulvak Qurroc was obviously going on hard times. The bags under his eyes were growing and it felt like his sleep was ever so slowly taking up less and less time of his day, to make way for more paperwork and what seemed like more busywork herding around the core crew of his vessel. His Executive Officer had recently made the decision to step down and in turn Rulvak had decided to go it alone - perhaps for a while he had contemplated asking Arcia Cortel to step back into the role of XO, but with her sudden departure to Clan Odan-Urr - ostensibly to strengthen the Dajorra-Yhi Concordat in the wake of the bombing of New Tython - she was no longer a factor, either on board the ship or for his decisions entirely.

It made this place seem a lot more empty. All of her computers were gone, the infinite data flow from the Dajorra Intelligence Agency now fallen as silent as the vigil it stood. In fact, it seemed that around this time, the entire crew's morale had slumped to an all-time low. It was not an easy thing to have to deal with, no. Arcona was suffering, and so was the Nighthawk, a reflection of the Clan's beating heart.

"What is it, Tarrin?" Rulvak asked tiredly, rubbing his eyes a little. "Sorry. That came out a little more harshly than I intended. Take a seat, Officer. Let's chat. We don't do that anywhere near enough given your posting aboard my ship."

"I'll be fine, Sir," Rhace replied, those clipped Imperial tones showing through. The commandant of the Talons, the vessel's onboard security and expert boarding team, was very much a result of his upbringing. Even now he reflected the First Order's mentality and methodology as opposed to the considerably more relaxed Arconan way. "Thank you, regardless. I actually came to check on you..." his voice trailing away. "Permission to speak plainly, Sir?"

"Granted. You have that right behind closed doors, Rhace... within reason." A slight frown punctuated his statement. Rulvak had a bad feeling about this.

"What is our mission, Captain?" Not just our tasking orders right now in the wake of the bombings. What is it that you want this ship and her crew to do?" The Lieutenant Colonel paused for a moment before hastily adding, "Sir." The pair stood in an awkward silence before the Loyalist continued. "You have no Executive Officer. You are going this alone. And the ship's morale is as low as I've seen it since coming aboard."

Anger, regret, and shame flashed across the Captain's face. His pride and his leadership conflicting as he considered his answer. "That is dangerously close to insubordination, Lieutenant Colonel. Though, I know you, you would not have come here without a solution to what you perceive as my problems."

"You are walking a dangerous path without a chain of command right now. I feel that you're starting to struggle under the workload that you have taken on by yourself. The fact you haven't already quit out of sheer frustration is admirable, but I feel that you need to be utterly confident in your path to have this vessel succeed. You are going to need assistance even if you do not name an Executive Officer."

The Captain sensed that the military mind before him was laying a foundation for a larger discussion. The Force hinted that this moment - this exact moment - was important to not only his future, but the entire crew of the Nighthawk. He leaned in closer, "Sit and get on with your point, Tarrin."

Rhace Tarrin took the offered seat. Using the moment to collect himself for what he was about to share. It was a thought he had held onto for some time, but was unsure when to share it. "In my studies as a Magistrate to the Head Master, I have had time to examine the database of the Brotherhood. Did you know there are over fourteen thousand registered Force-Users in the databanks? Yet, Non-Force Users have been thought so lowly of - until recently - that only seven individuals of my rank or higher exist in that power vacuum. Three of which are in Clan Arcona."

Now that he mentioned it, that was a seriously odd statistic. Arcona was known for its' proud military traditions, certainly, but were there really that many people in the Brotherhood's history? "But isn't that only due to the fact that it was only recently that mundane personnel earned the right?"

"Correct, but the figure is still so hilariously low. Meanwhile, the Brotherhood continues to champion these Force Users; consider the recently organized Tal'mahe'Ra. No one knows what they do, but it is rumored their purpose is concerning Force User enemy combatants. The world is becoming choked on mysticism and the Force. There is an endless road of options for you to forge our destiny in a world that celebrates our Loyalist traditions, not more Force Users. The Nighthawk can ill afford to face the same fate as Soulfire Strike Team."

There weren't any words out of Rulvak's mouth for quite some time as he leaned back in his seat, hand on his chin, deep in thought. "Thank you for your input, Lieutenant Colonel. I need some time to process this. Dismissed." He watched as the man departed. As the doors hissed an affirmative seal, he grumbled to himself, "Why do I keep people like him close by?" It was not the discussion he had expected, but it had presented a chance to turn the current sociopolitical structure of team's in the Clan to his advantage.

But how?

That fates contrived to make life difficult for the Captain, going alone. But he would endure. This was not the first hardship in his life and it would be far from the last. With the support of a good crew - which he knew he still had - he would make the Nighthawk shine brightly as a beacon for the Shadesworn once more.

---

Nighthawk Landing Bay
1735 Hours

The sound of blaster fire was sporadic, but deliberate in its hammering peal, energy bolts lashing against targets on the far wall as the newest crewmen practiced their firing drills with one of the most experienced gunfighters in all of Arcona. Emily Hune, up until recently the Executive Officer of the vessel, was lending her eyes and ears to the development of the new crewmen - mostly at the prompting of her partner. After all, the ex-First Order soldier could not do everything concerning drilling here. Despite stepping down as the second-in-command, she still cared enough to help out and do her bit for the Clan and her shipmates.

Routine blaster training was mandatory for everyone aboard the Nighthawk. Not just for the mundane crew, but for the Force Users aboard, because they would inevitably be in situations were a lightsaber would not be accessible or even available. Being able to scrounge a blaster off a battlefield or even keeping a surprise sidearm always was considered an integral part of a soldier's life. So here they were.

"Okay, kids, lets see what you're doing wrong," shouted the Sephi over the din. "Cease fire!"

Without hesitation the blaster fire ceased - the junior crewman heeding the orders of the senior officer. All of them looked over to the woman as she paced up and down the line, looking at each of them and offering a few words of wisdom. A quick posture change for Stang Mach who was a great shot normally. A quick word of advice about gripping with the pinky for stabilization for Shawnathan. And a hint for not closing both eyes for when Jake Blazer was shooting. For all of the education the Shadow Academy offered young Force Users, it did not prepare them for simple tasks in the field.

"Okay, boys and girls, listen close, because I'm only going to say this once. Almost every single one of you can wield the Force. Almost every single one of you has a lightsaber. Do you know what that makes you against a blaster-wielding enemy?"

"At an advantage? A lightsaber is one of the best weapons in the galaxy," offered Mac with an air of superiority in his voice. He was still running high on being a newly minted Knight of Arcona and he honestly did not see the point of this exercise. He had a lightsaber. Fending off blaster bolts, fighting swathes of enemies - that was his arena. Shooting a blaster seemed so primitive, so backwards to him. He should have been practicing his lightsaber forms, taking every moment to hone his craft now that he had access to so much more knowledge.

"No, you asshole, it makes you dead the second you underestimate a good shooter." The ice in Emily's voice was apparent as she changed tones incredibly quickly, going from the kind teacher to the no-shit bounty hunter. "You know what? There are more blaster experts in the galaxy right now than there are Force Users in history. That means more people have had practice being able to out-shoot a Jedi than you'll ever have time to get good with your little laser sword. I'll prove it to you, right now."

All eyes turned to Mac as he folded his arms. "Go for it," he said confidently.

"Major Garrlan!" She shouted in response. Kharoc Garrlan had not said much during this exercise, but he was here too, knowing the value of honing his craft. Just like Rhace, he'd been an Imperial soldier, so she knew what he could do. In a single fluid motion he shut his eyes, un-holstered his sidearm with his off hand and put a single deadeye shot into his target downrange without even looking.

The silence was palpable.

Those dark brown eyes fluttered open as deliberately as his shot had been taken. He gave a knowing stare to Mac. The Knight's eyes were wide with disbelief from what he had seen. "I-"

"Let me just stop you there, kid." Emily took a step forward and put a finger against the Knight's chest. "I'm going to explain this in very simple terms." She turned to address the entire congregation now arrayed around her. "Lightsabers are good weapons. Do not get me wrong. But just like a blaster they have their disadvantages too. There are so many Jedi and Sith that a lot of people know how to deal with a lightsaber. You can't just think that you're hot stuff because you can wield a little flashlight better than I can. The second you let your ego get in the way you're going to get killed and that's a damn fact."

Breathe, Em.

Her feelings were becoming the point of the lesson. She needed to relax, to ensure they took something away from this other than her unbridled annoyance at Force User egotism.

"Continue to practice, so I don't have to bury your bodies. Class dismissed."

One by one, the assembled crew of the Nighthawk began to filter out of the hangar bay - with the exception of Kharoc, who was last to leave. He locked eyes with Emily for just a moment to offer her a moment of his time. "Thank you for the class, bounty hunter. The kids needed to heart that - even if they do not like it."

"Pleasure is mine, Major. Great shot by the way. I'll see you tomorrow at the range?"

"Count on it." The soldier nodded once, then left the hangar bay, leaving Emily alone to her thoughts.

In the background, Captain Rulvak melted into the shadows. He had been deep in thought since his conversation with the Lieutenant Colonel the day previous. He continued to return to one idea: it took both Force Users and Non Force Users to make his ship great. The ship was no longer a single chance against insurmountable odds - a role it had previously played under Captain Bleu's watch. Now, under the steady hand of Qurroc, the ship could be a beacon of unity. A place where military objectives were decidedly knocked down by a blended crew. The Nighthawk would be a place where anyone could rise to glory. And their missions would take them to a great many places.

A series of beeps interrupted his grandiose day dream. The distinct chirps told him it was an incoming encrypted message from the Darkest Night. Orders from Braecen Kaeth came rarely, but the Elder was not to be ignored. Rulvak's eyes flitted left to right again and again as he read the mission profile. Their vessel was to be dispatched to the planet of Eldar within the Dajorra System.