It must have been an odd request, for a young Equite and newly christened Research Director to extend an invitation for training to the esteemed Proconsul of Clan Odan-Urr. The strangeness wasn’t the request itself, but the place Bril had chosen for them to meet and train: an abandoned temple on the Sith homeworld known as Moraband. As he peered out of the observation deck of his Upsilon-class Command Shuttle, the planet appeared as a red marble cast amongst the velvety, blackened expanse of space. Two sublight ion engines propelled his transport toward the planet at a moderate pace. Eventually, streaks of white appeared and stretched across a vast expanse of reds and oranges as clouds came into view. It was oddly serene, though nonetheless eerie because he knew it to be nothing more than a barren world with a deeply troubling history. He hoped that his invitation wasn’t so outlandish as to deter Gui Sol from traveling there. They were strangers to each other but of allied clans … that had to mean something, right?
Moraband was hotter than he expected, though not uncomfortably so. It didn’t come close to the scorching, dry summers back on Iridonia. Few things did. Even now, with the temple in question looming so far in the distance, Bril could feel the Dark Side picking at his skin, looking for a way in. But he denied it. He would only call upon it when he was ready.
For now, all he could do was wait, leaning against his ship while taking a sip of water from his thermos.
Flame swallowed the hull of the Mynock as it burned through Moraband’s atmosphere. It recently tore free from the Rogue Star, Sin Warpa’s modified Tribune class freighter, and began a descent that took a matter of seconds. Gui Sol’s newly acquired vessel was one of the fastest the Galaxy had ever seen. At Least he liked to think so.
Trimming the yoke, the coordinates he had been sent pinged on his HUD and his worrisome PIT droid Barry, rattled off a series of chatter that lifted one of the Kiffar’s eyebrows and caused a smirk to form.
“Easy, bud. He’s a friend.” Gui pondered the possibility as the landing site revealed itself beneath the cloud cover. Engaging the thrusters, the converted N-1 came to a halt and slowly rotated as it touched down. A Zabrak stood below, arms folded over one another, clearly perturbed by the Consul’s late arrival.
With a hiss, Gui’s hatch peeled back and black dreadlocks flicked in the stirring of the thick air. He stood and with the agility of a lothcat, leapt from the cockpit.
“Bril,” he greeted, “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
Bril sensed Gui’s presence well before he announced himself. By the time he arrived, the young Zabrak was already facing him with his hands lightly clasped at his lap. Normally, seeing the leader of his sister clan would have inspired him to offer a warmer greeting, but all he managed was a flash of a smile and polite nod.
“A bit, but I’m not lacking in patience,” he replied. “Thank you for meeting me here, Gui. How are things in Odan-Urr?”