Beneath the neon, the clinking of glassware and the hum of droids, the quiet conversation lived. The summit, <@524388230481707009> and Ashen at the bar with their people. Kojiro and his nightsister nearby, contemplating the riddle of steel. <@225840973802897408> and a bounty hunter discussing history with <@1171812493715308668> at a booth over skewers of roasted meat and vegetables. <@226173840533880833> sat in his chair, bathed in artifical firelight, a book in his lap and a glass of something red in his hand as he watched the accumulated crowd. Yarino sat a second drink down on the table to his side, the perspiring glass dripping into the coaster as the cyborg bowed and stepped away.
At the entrance, @Ashia and a mohawked Lasat paused at the entrance to the bar, the Lasat wiping his mouth with a sleeve. in the other room, the singer finished her song, the Twi'lek voice smoothly coming to an end, polite clapping from <@599000234605150208> in the adjoining room accompanying it. <@424911230386438160> had arrived, entreating one of the security guards to do…something, it was hard to hear.
One of the screens above the bar had a feed of the hangar, the comings and goings of ships easy to track from this new hub for those belonging to the clan. <@1147585737177432077> , <@247003569314725889> , <@297496904282144769> and more were all somewhere between the hangar and here. And there certainly was enough to see, between the little shop owned by Chuff, another Cyborg, and the noodle stall ran by a Ranat. Muz leaned back in his seat at the bar, his hand stroking his chin as he considered the possibilities, the visions of what was yet to come dancing along in his mind to the tune that the Force murmured.
Soon.
But not just yet.
Locke took a long drink as he listened to the tail end of Roxas’ story, thinking there was no way Anya would be interested in this. The One Sith? Thinking they were ‘ancient reincarnated harbingers of apocalypse’? He remembered the One Sith a little differently…
“Fascinating,” she said. When Locke lowered his glass he gave her a sidelong glance, but she seemed completely serious.
“Such events are the foundation of legendary stories that last milennia, long after all those who lived for the original event have passed on.” Anya took one of the skewers, and made a grand gesture with that in one hand and her drink in the other.
“The Four Horsemen…” she said grandly. Then she paused and, more calmly said “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a horse, though I have heard of them. Supposedly, they are native to Dathomir. Could you imagine those Nightsisters riding such beasts?”
Malisane glanced over at the screens, which also showed the Sadowans relaxing and socialising in their groups. They seemed to be having a good time, which was the purpose of all this, and that seemed satisfactory to him. “Very well,” he told the guard, “tell the staff to give them one more complimentary drink each and then start a tab. Send it to payroll and accounts. They’ll sort out the deductions. Oh and keep an eye on the big one with the beard.” The guard nodded and left.
The Adept took a sip of his still water, and then slowly walked through the crowds towards the Overlord. He gave a polite nod towards <@524388230481707009> . “Good evening Consul, I assume everything here is to your satisfaction?”
DarkHawk knew that familiar voice all too well. Many joint missions had been logged between the two Sons of Sadow. Turning to greet his comrade, “Malisane, I am glad you made it! Satisfied? Without a doubt good sir, this is definitely what everyone needed. Expectations exceeded!” he said looking around at the new establishment and its patrons.
Tytus tipped his hat towards the Elder Sadow. From past experience Ty knew that Malisane was not keen on pleasantries, however his gesture was reciprocated with a deep nod.
Motioning for the barkeep, DarkHawk asked for new round of still water for brethren. The droid quickly slid a tall glass in front of the group, “A fresh soldier for you Mal.” DarkHawk said, sliding the ice cold drink across the bartop.
Malisane finished off his water before grabbing the fresh glass. “Many thanks Consul. We must plan our next outing soon,” replied the Adept.
““Indeed.” DarkHawk said raising his glass. Mal grabbed the glass and clanked it against the Consul’s. Then he bowed and moved on towards the new Shar Dakhan Quaestor.
It was good to see all the familiar faces out and about. DarkHawk noticed movement on the bar monitors. He watched several ships land and folks disembarking. Each looking around taking in the new facility. Protocol droids met the arriving personnel & their crews, escorting them towards the festivities.
DarkHawk took another long drag from his cigar. The future had much in store for Naga Sadow, having a sanctuary such as this will definitely benefit the Clan. Money well spent indeed. Excited for what was to come, the Shaevalian’s mind raced at the possibilities. Noticing the Lion <@284848346672136192> leaning back in his chair, they shared the same thought.
As the madman exited Chuff’s bodega, he looked directly across the hall. “A medical clinic.” The Sith chuckled. “Well, well. I could really have some fun there. I wonder what is on the menu today. Corellian flu? Laser coolant burns? Vivisection?”
“Query: Master, what do you mean by that? Statement: terminations statistically likely.” HK 22 clanked along beside the madman and stopped when he did.
“No, not this time Twenty Two. I know, I know. You haven’t terminated anyone in at least seven cycles. The horror. Tsk tsk.” The Alchemist continued his stride again. “Poor kitty.”
“Query: termination subjects nearby?” The droid looked down at the helm it was carrying and then at the blaster on the other hip. “Statement: extra items are interfering with optimum termination efficiency. Recommend discarding.”
The Sith cuffed the droid’s head with a clang. “Idiot. Shut your vocabulation orifice and carry that helm. That is an order.”
“Yes Master.”
“Hurry it up clanker. We have someone special to meet in the bar area. Syra should be here already. She served well on Gamuslag, and we are in need of a flesh and blood pilot. My own skills are limited in that area. One cannot always rely- on droids.” The Sith looked pointedly at HK 22’s impassive visage. “Droid. Besides, it has been a really long time since I saw any of my comrades. The regular hibernations are a bit of a drag that way. Even so, I don’t like people all that much anyhow. Well, some people maybe.” Macron put an armored finger to his lips. “On occasion.”
The door to the cantina area slid open with a whoosh and the pair trooped in. Several <@424911230386438160> familiar faces were nearby as they entered. <@524388230481707009> “Hi folks!” quipped the madman cheerily.
“Tinman?” Lilith queried eyeing the Twi'lek. “Not overly original.”
“Oh and what would you call him stuck in all that daft armour, acting like some droid?” Leena responses with a wyr smirk on her lips. She moved on close to the Nightsister. “Well?”
“Oh he’s no droid, that I can ensure you. But I’d have definitely stuck to stubborn, dull at times, rather full of himself, a prattler….”
The list continued on and it took Kojiro everything on his power to tune it out as the ladies burst into more names. He sidled away from the two and moved away from the bar. He noticed a few familiar faces but had never been good at… socialising. He guessed trying to understand where his purpose lay from hadn’t exactly given him time to mingle. He figured he’d start small and moved over towards the overlord.
“Afternoon, how are things with you recently overlord?” He felt himself wince. Maybe he was robotic “eh, how’s it hanging?” <@524388230481707009>
It felt as though it had been ages since he had walked about the facility. It left him uneasy. Once he had declared himself Overlord of the Orian System. He had been without equal. Even Muz Ashen had not been fussed enough to curb his antics. Now Takagari and the rest reigned. He could already feel the knife in the small of his back. He held no qualms, they were a Sith empire after all. He also held no misgivings that he would be welcomed with open arms.
He had dwelled in the hanger a long time as he considered his approach. He hadn’t even left his shuttle. It was true that each of them had served under him. He had catered to the needs of the Sadowans as a whole but he did not even trust the Neti Jedi. Personal treason was all too familiar to him. He had been on both sides and knew how easily it came to all beings.
You let the fear grip you, little one.
The thought surprised him. He had been so assured. The voices had almost ceased over the last few months. Now, when he had taken a break from twisting flesh, the needling pricking sensation had returned just behind his eyes. He had dared to hope he had found relief. He hoped it was over, leaving only success in its wake.
It would never be that easy, Kairn'tel. You know enough of history that such delusions should be beyond you.
He blinked a few times. That was a name he hadn’t thought of for a while. He had scarcely spoken to Tasha'Vel since she had taken his prodigy away. That thought was followed by a quiet rage.
“It doesn’t matter.” He stretched in his seat. No one had approached the refurbished Imperial shuttle. He was not setting off any alarms in the facility. His arrival was doubtless known, but he wasn’t about to announce himself. Drawing on the Force, he relished in the painful sensations that accompanied it. It was something he never got quite used to, but the pain kept him alert. As he faded out of sight, he smiled.
Skulking the hall of the facility was easy enough. Using the Force to cloak himself, it was merely a matter of careful steps and maneuvering to avoid detection. He passed troopers and officers, making note of each.
Disloyals. He sneered. So easily serving the new Overlord. How easily they can be swayed, Kairn'tel. Not to be trusted. As easily swayed as leaves in the wind. Faithless rabble.
His prowling finally brought him to hallway preceeding the entrance to the bar. He stopped, frozen for a moment as spotted the Lasat and his Zabrak companion. An unexpected anger flashed through his body as he recognized his former Proconsul. A low growl escaped his throat before he could quash it.
The Keibatsu. The voice hissed. Ashen and his kin. He allowed himself to slip back into view. He set his jaw as he chewed over his next move. Between her companion, the former Grandmaster, and Ashia herself, it would better serve him to be diplomatic.
<@586720783481569290>
Roxas noticed the look that Locke gave her and tried not to laugh while taking a swallow of his drink before saying “Surely you have good stories Locke.” There was a hint of mischief in the Mandalorian’s eyes as he spoke “I’ve been away for quite awhile, surely I missed something worth hearing about.” Roxas then cut some of his steak and took a bite. The meat was cooked perfectly.
It was not hard not noticing the large silver haired man sitting down at the bar <@854787468817858591>. It was good to see the Keibatsu out and about. He had not seen him in a moon or two. The NIghtsister accompanying the Keibatsu drew DarkHawk’s curiosity though. “I bet there would be a lot of interesting Nightsister lore in a conversation with her,” he said to himself.
However, DarkHawk had never met the Zelosian before. Not many take kindly to being approached by strangers and having them fire question after question at you about your heritage. Fairly easy to conclude the percentage of not being throat punched for it would be rather low. Then again, some of those details could prove beneficial, especially having a first hand understanding of it.
DarkHawk figured he would lighten the mood a bit. Taking a long drag from his cigar then blew a series of smoke rings out over the bar.
“HA! Five in a row I think that is a personal best!” DarkHawk exclaimed.
“Check that out sir” DarkHawk said, nudging the Keibatsu and pointing at the smoke rings.
Tasha'Vel stood by the corner near the bar with her arms folded. She observed Darkhawk there blowing his smoke rings, and the rest. Still an uneasy feeling came over her. It was him. She could sense Bentre’s presence. Though she didn’t quite see him, she knew he was there. The former Proconsul shifted slightly, still maintaining her composure. It had been a long time since she felt his actual presence, but there was no mistaking the heavy, yet subtle force aura permeating the room. True Muz’s was very strong, but Bentre’s was unique. So subtle that unless you had been with him would be almost undetectable to most. She kept silent, but stayed alert. As her master once said, “Always prepare yourself for the unsuspecting ambush.”
Some habits die hard. Muz swirled the amber colored liquid in his glass. The scarring of his sclera afforded him a little obfuscation as to what he was looking at. Not that he often bothered, to be honest. The Force sang to him always, dirges of woe and ballads of powerlust, harmonies of blood and the ever present staccato beats of duty. Caerick taught that the Wanderer had likened it to a fabric, all threads intertwined, some knotted, some smoothly knit. But then again, weren’t all notes woven?
He looked to his glass, the scent wafting to his nose as the Consul’s smoke rings were exfiltrated to the ceiling, the miniaturized exhaust droids keeping the air pure in the facility, yet leaving the tiny fire to burn. It was a controlled fire, consuming only what it was meant to, and thus would be allowed. It was very much the same within the clan, dating back all the way into antiquity. Apprentices honored their masters until it was time to take over. Rivals threatened, but once defeated, would fall in line. Even beheaded, the ancient Lord Simus used his power to survive and counsel Naga Sadow rather than fade into death and obscurity. The old and honorable way of the Sith was far superior to Bane’s folly, the wasteful depredations all the way through to Palpatine. What he could have done, but for the jealousy and fear that moved his blade, would never be fully known.
Muz took a sip, pulling his focus back. Fear. Not love, not strength, not any sense of duty. It drove too many to madness, sacrificing everything that they had worked for, the labour of a thousand generations wasted, enormous empires crumbling into dust. And for what? Believing that you could turn son against father, brother against sister, lover against lover, that there wasn’t absolute power hidden in those emotions. That broken concept that love, trust, and honor were weaker than fear. And that is why they always managed to collapse in such pathetic ways after such displays of incredible strength.
Muz smiled, watching the others. At least here, in the Ancient Empire Reborn, they would understand the most important lesson:
Fear was for the enemy.
Leena placed a hand on his shoulder gently. Black eyes slid to meet her, seeing concern writ across her face. “You’re monologueing again.” Her face held stern while he wondered if he had been projecting inadvertntly again. She stood silently for a moment before breaking into laughter and tapping her glass on the bar, summoning the Bobots again.
With the Overlord having wandered over to talk to the Fierrerreo mercenary, Malisane was briefly alone. He was content with that. However lively his past had been, he now felt out of place and disinterested in social events. He remembered that reception at Sadow Palace a few years earlier with the Taldryans, after their joint battle against the Unchained. Having avoided conversation for most of the evening, he had somehow ended up talking to their Pro Consul. After a few forceably polite enquiries about the Taldryan’s health and if he had any idea what had happened to Shar Dakhan’s Skyhook, the Sadow Sith had managed to escape. He was considering the same when he heard a familiar voice and turned to see tattooed features of <@1147585737177432077>
Of all the Clan the Alchemist was one of the few he knew well now, having known him since joining the Brotherhood and served both with and under him. They had been good friends once, partners in projects and occasional adversaries. The Alchemists career had progressed far faster and further than his own. He had cared about that once, but now he only served where he was needed and it satisfied him.
He inclined his head, “It is good to see you are back with us. I trust you are well?”
Kojiro was partly glad of the filters in his helmet as the smoke rings dissipated in the air in front of him “Neat trick, you’ve definitely improved. I wonder if she can top you?” He inclined his head to Lilith who noticed and walked over, another glass in her hand and a slight skip to her step.
“What’s up droidy?” The woman giggled. The Keibatsu hadn’t seen his companion like this and was beginning to assume the nerves had gotten to her.
“Droidy?…oh yes of course. Darkhawk here was just showing me this smoke ring skills. I was wondering if you’d show him yours.”
“Oh? Sure.” Lilly closed her eyes momentarily as she held out her palm before her face. Where once an empty palm rested green flame danced to life. As it cast a sickly green on those around her she simply blew. Now wherever it was her control of the Force helping her cheat, but seven small green circles of witch fire danced away from the blace and vanished into tiny puff’s.
“Like that?”
<@524388230481707009>
“Malisane! Good to see you!” The madman looked about suspiciously. “I am… okay. The hibernations change everything. Things continue in time, but yet stay the same. I stay the same. Or, well, do I? Things change.” The Sith gestured to a serving-droid. “Double shot of kerosene, and a bit of carbon dust please.”
“I forgot. You actually drink that stuff.” Malisane looked around awkwardly. “Your biology is messed up.” His eyes closed briefly. “This place is okay. It is not the Skyhook.” Memories flooded in. He shrugged. “Even so. I think it is a good thing to get the Clan folk together.”
“Yeah man. You did, and continue to do good work.” The madman grinned evilly. “And did we not do some good work together? I believe we did. I don’t have many friends. I would consider you one. Such as it is between Sith.” Macron gestured to his HK droid. “Stand by me Twenty Two.” The paranoia and PTSD was obvious. And so it was, quietly and much more inconspicuously, with Malisane in his own way. No being could have passed through the crucible of fire that they both had without consequences.
“I wonder what is in store for us.” Malisane continued to survey the bar coolly. “It is always something. Always. I find it awkward to make small talk, you know?” He looked at a readout.
“Yeah man. It’s cool. You are an excellent coordinator. A gift I do not possess. Silence is golden.” The Alchemist nodded at Malisane and hoisted his glass. “To fallen comrades. And a fallen Apprentice or two,” at which point the madman winced. “I still hate that I had to kill her.”
Roxas and Anya continued to eat and drink while exchanging idle chitchat while waiting for Locke to join in. The meat had been seared and seasoned perfectly, the drinks were cold and over flowing. It was indeed an inviting place the summit had set aside for the members of Clan Naga Sadow. Roxas hadn’t always been so inviting, it was obvious that he had changed over the years.
For his part, Locke had a distant look in his eyes for awhile. He suddenly snapped out of it and muttered something about “wires” and “buttons” before ordering another drink - which he downed in a hurry, as if trying to forget something.
“You don’t strike me as the sentimental type.” Malisane looked down at his own beverage. “Then again…” The words drifted off. “I could be wrong.” He knew he wasn’t. As quiet as he was at times, the Dark Jedi was a keen observer of other beings. And Macron was terrible at hiding his emotions.
“You aren’t, Marauder.” The madman grinned reflexively against the awkwardness of his admission. “Anyway I am off to go do some experimental kinetic physics. The Sith stood. “And hire a backup pilot.”
“Experimental physics? There is no telling. Hopefully no Ewoks are involved this time. I must admit, they are effective though.” They certainly were effective at squeezing debts out of creditors.
“Nope. The locals call it pin-ball. This is a moniker which I do not understand. There are no pins in any actual, ah, nevermind. Catch you on the Dark Side. Come along Twenty-Two. The young woman is not prey.” The Sith strode to the pinball machines where an athletic Arkanian woman dressed in “spacers blacks” stood waiting. She had long white hair, pale single-hued weak eyes, and a set of 3 thin black lines tattooed on her chin.
“Syra Dath.” The Alchemist bowed slightly as he spoke. “Thank you for coming.” His mismatched eyes closed. There was no fear in him. The woman was not powerful enough to be a threat- yet. “I see.” He opened his eyes. “You have continued to train as a Sith since your time on Gamuslag. You are a Knight.”
“Adept Sadow.” She bowed lower but never took her pale eyes off the madman- nor did her hand stray far from her lightsaber hilt. As the Knight straightened, she spoke with a surprisingly melodious voice. “Charmed, I am sure. Still as strange as ever. Your creds are good, and you treated the staff well.” She looked at Twenty Two pointedly, and then about the room casually. “An interesting crowd to be certain.”
“Excellent. Let me finish this game, and then we will discuss the terms of your employment.” The Sith turned to the pinball table and triggered it. “Come on, top score! Daddy needs a new Sith Forge!”
The two strode in and made their way to the bar. Ashia nodded towards the bartender and held up two fingers. The Bobot nodded back and a moment later two small glasses filled with amber liquid sat before them.
Ashia picked hers up and inhaled deeply before taking a sip. The warm fluid eased it’s way down her throat and brought a warmth to her cheeks. She looked across the bar and caught her husband’s eye. She raised her glass towards him. He raised his and nodded silently.
“What is this stuff again?” Sully sniffed, his nose wrinkled at the strong smell of alcohol.
“Whisky.” She replied dryly as she looked about the room.
“Why does it smell like that?” He stuck his finger in and gave it a lick. His brow furrowed as he smacked his lips in distaste.
“What? Not as good as your hot garbage soup?” Ashia rolled her eyes.
Sully snorted as he pushed the glass away. “It’s Ha Gabbasu for your information and it’s delicious!”
“So what now?” He too looked around the room.
“So now…we wait and we watch.”
Her eyes landed on Koji and his…pet.
She narrowed her eyes at the supposed ‘Nightsister’. The woman clung to Kojiro like a lost little child at times. It was really beneath a Nightsister to cling to a…man.
‘Don’t start it here’ the thought crept into her mind as if it were her own.
She dropped her gaze to the glass in her hand. ‘I won’t, but she irritates me with her weakness.’ Ashia let her own thoughts drift towards her husband.
She chanced a glance up and saw Muz regarding her with one eyebrow raised.
She looked back over at Koji and Leena.
“If she’d done that in my village, they would have stoned her.” Ashia muttered under her breath as she took a swig from her glass.
“Huh? What’d you say?” Sully was busy trying to get the bartender’s attention.
“Nothing, just muttering to myself.” She took another sip of her glass and looked around some more.
Malisane watched the Alchemist engage in a new conversation and let his gaze drift over the bar. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, and though the conversations had shifted participants non seemed aggressive or concerning. He frowned as his gaze took in the quiet lone figure of the Archanist, quietly drinking on his own and seemingly hitting the drink hard with a distant look. The Sith personally believed that so long as they did nothing to harm Sadow his fellow members were entitled to pursue whatever activities or depravities they saw fit, but this was a public place. He slowly walked over to <@225840973802897408> and greeted him. “Good evening Epis, are you enjoying the facilities?”
Having spotted Ashia, Leena moved from Muz’s side, making her way around the circular bar. The way that the lights played across the floor reminded her of something she’d seen before, like a target reticule, but thorny. It meant something to these folks, she was sure of it. Sliding up to the barstool next to Sully, she nudged the Lasat with her elbow and a quick smile. “I see you’re getting the same sort of missions as I am, finally.” She chuckled briefly, remembering the last few weeks and how many times the Lion had sent her into brotherhood space for one reason or the other. She wondered for a moment if he disliked it half as much as she did.
“And it’s always a pleasure to see you…” Leena paused, her left lekku iddly tapping her shoulder as she debated what title to use. “…Lady Keibatsu.” That was probably the safest, all things considered.
Blackwind roared with laughter, slapping his hand on the bar as Tytus laughed with him. “And then, he dumped the decoy flares all over the hangar! It looked like the karking thing sneezed a firestorm!”
“And they still let him fly out of there?” Tytus leaned over, swalling a gulp of his drink fast to avoid spraying it.
“Well yeah, it got him out of their hangar, didn’t it?”
Muz watched the mad alchemist playing the machine across the room, the little lights and bells chirping encouragingly. The spectacle of it was somehow hilarious to him. He’d seen the man literally melt faces off of enemies with a toxin sprayer he had personally tinkered with to the point where it seemed like it would explode. And here he was, cackling at a game. Muz smiled, turning his gaze. Quentin had finally set down his book, watching the rest of the folks as they found ways to be entertained. The Krath had studied intensely, and from what he had heard, was actuually adept at field work. He nodded at him as he caught his eye. Muz supposed he would know a little more about that firsthand soon enough. Hades lounged, almost out of sight, enjoying the live music in the next room, the Twi'lek singer from the Core anxious for the work, if he remembered what Malisane had said about her.
And thinking of Twi'Lek, the sapphire skinned Tasha'vel stood at the far side of the bar, doing a very good job of not looking at all paranoid. Vigilance was important, to a degree. But like so much else, too much of it would kill you as dead as not enough. Her, and Bentre both seethed under the facade, boiling underneath the surface with …what was that? Rage? Jealousy? Ambition? If he wanted to know for sure, he would have to focus, and he wasn’t sure that it was necessary, in any event. He made a mental note to pull the pair of them away and have a discussion at some point, lest they fall to the wayside, the way of the Sith bringing them to their own crystal casks, much the same as Simus. And that…well, that would be a terrible waste of strength, of potential.
He knew what was coming.
Naga Sadow needed every bit of it that they could muster.
“huh?” Locke asked. He pulled the mug down from his his lips and set it on the nearby table. Oh, it was Malisane. Thank the Force. “it’s a nice place, I was just-” he blinked and saw wires cross crossing his vision and winced. “Enough about me, what have you been up to since you retired from Quaestor?”
Locke hoped ‘retired’ was the right word. He split his attention between Malisane and looking for a server to get him another drink. He wasn’t usually one to go hard on the stuff but being hungover was better than remembering how much time he spent cutting wires before…