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Post by Rugs on Sept 5, 2020 12:25:10 GMT -5
Karn put on an expression of feigned, exaggerated hurt when Moor turned down his offer for wine. “What a loss,” he said, the lie nearly palpable in his voice. “I thought we were becoming fast friends, you and I.” The look he gave Moor was the sort someone might give a cur that had dragged its muddy paws into the house. No, he’d not miss Moor’s company, but never let it be said he hadn’t been the bigger man and offered.
Moor prattled on about some nonsense, assuming he knew more of Karn’s character than he did and boasting of his role in Karn’s survival as if that thread didn’t run both ways. For all that he built it up as if some big decision loomed ahead of Karn, the Arkanian was quite comfortable with his decision for reporting the whole affair to Darth Viren.
Truth be told, he was more concerned about narrowing down Syko’s expansive wine collection to a bottle or two to tuck under his arm and take with him for the hyperspace journey home.
“Do take care, Moor,” he said casually as he wandered off to Syko’s cellar once the assassin shut up and faded from view. He lifted his hand to wave over his shoulder as he left — a flitting, casual gesture more befitting a servant’s dismissal than bidding goodbye to a compatriot. “‘Til we meet again.”
Syko’s personal ship was a sleek, comfortable vessel. It’d been easy to slice his way aboard after returning with his bounty from Syko’s wine cellar. After checking to ensure Moor wasn’t skulking about on it, Karn set off, circled overhead until he saw flames blossom from the dead woman’s manor, and set off for the stars.
Now the blue of hyperspace swirled beyond a circular viewport as Karn lounged in a thickly-cushioned chair. A half-emptied wine glass sat atop a small table beside him, and a databad with a partially-finished report to his master rested on his thigh. His focus lay on neither of these at present, but on the holographic visage of a cowled Sith Lord before him.
“And you are certain, Acolyte, that Syko’s conspirators are planning to strike at me?”
“Absolutely,” Karn leaned forward, expression grim. “Syko herself has been eliminated, but I expect her lackeys still move as planned without the knowledge of her death. If they could be reached before doing something foolish...”
“No.” Prath was a cautious man, and calculating. It was no surprise to Karn that his steady hand earned Viren’s favor. “If they already move as you allege, then they have already done something foolish.” Even thousands of lightyears away, Karn could nearly feel fury radiating from Prath. “We will deal with this. You have done well, Acolyte. If your accusations prove truthful, I will ensure your Master knows the role you played in preventing this treachery.”
“Thank you, Praetor Prath,” Karn said, bowing his head deeply. A subtle, crooked smile curled his lips upward at the bottom of the motion. “I live only to serve my Master’s will, and his will is Her Radiance’s will. Such acts against the Body cannot be tolerated.”
Some time later, Karn lay sidelong in the seat, back propped up against one armrest while one leg lay bent over the other. His other leg dangled lazily to the floor as scribbled away at the databad that lay leaning against his raised thigh.
“...it is true that Knight Moor provided valuable assistance in addressing Syko’s treachery. However, in his recklessness, he has slain two members of the aristocracy, for no good reason, at a time when Her Radiance must preserve a fragile balance as this great Empire prepares for war against the Republic. Rather than consulting with Truth, he acted without thinking, and nearly unleashed disaster upon myself and his own head, and potentially Praetor Prath, had Syko’s plan been allowed to continue apace.
The Vikars, while hardly titans, were worthy enough for you to dispatch me to act as your voice in your stead, and now they lay dead at the hands of one of our own Order — and a Knight of Strife at that. This same Knight attempted to turn against me, and only stopped when it became apparent that it was his own hide in danger.
Furthermore, Knight Moor seems to share no significant bonds to other members of our Cult or our Order, and no sooner had we concluded our business than he turned to idle threats against my person. He seems beholden only to his own survival. While this attitude is not uncommon among the Sith, Knight Moor represents its worst potential — a loner with loyalty only to himself, rather than Her will.
He may warrant observation. Should he continue to show a reckless disregard for naught but killing those of our own Empire, he may best be cut away from our Order before he unleashes further harm.”
Karn sipped from his wine and set his stylus down. His long report on everything--from his arrival on Agamar to leaving Syko’s manor, was complete. He’d told the truth of it all, including Moor’s help. He took no issue in that — he’d freely admitted to having Kathar’s aid on Khar Delba when the Jedi helped him survive Naga Sadow’s ancient citadel. But at every turn, he’d twisted Moor’s role, darkened his actions, and bolstered the malevolence in his intent.
He held no illusions that this report would lead to any immediate repercussions for Moor, but leaving the glory to Karn, the assassin forfeited the right to tell his own story. Subtle lies stretched out over a long enough period, were all it took to twist perception. The histories were full of such examples. A war of obvious liberation became, after a few centuries, a matter of messy political questions to the public eye, despite the very words and deeds of those who launched the conflict themselves.
Moor was powerful. Karn knew — loathe as he was to admit it — that if they came to blows, he’d be hard-pressed to defeat the Knight. But he had one thing in spades, the Knight lacked, he learned when finally he looked into the Order’s records: connections, and the ears of some very powerful Sith.
You think you know me, Moor, he thought, setting the datapad aside. He stood, stretching after staying seated for so long, but you don’t know the half of it.
He wandered to the table where he’d left the wine bottles and popped the stopper off the one he’d opened. It was the second of the Vrieska bottles. Karn regretted that the first ended up smashed across the floor when Syko threw her tantrum. Contraband or no, the wine was good. It’d be a shame to let it go to waste.
Karn grinned as he drank the dark red wine. A shame indeed.
Zeryn wasn’t very used to Korriban. The sun beat down relentlessly during the day, and the brutal heat turned to bone-chilling cold during the night. Now was one of those strange in-between times, with the sun just starting to slip beneath the horizon as evening shadows rolled across the Valley of the Dark Lords.
The sandy-haired youth hurried into the Temple, through great sandstone arches and toward one of the residential wings. He clutched in his hands a box, with a note of some sort pinned to it. Something clanked about within. It sounded like glass. Whatever it was, it was apparently from the Praetor Magnus’ apprentice to some other Sith, so it had to be important.
He didn’t know the occasion and didn’t care. He’d just been told to drop off the package at a certain room at the furthest recesses of a dark hallway no one else lived on. He’d never been there, before but the place gave him the creeps.
He stopped at the door, double checked the number against his instructions and set the package down. He lifted his datapad to the security pad next to the door, left a notification for whoever lived there, and scurried off back in the direction from which he’d come.
The box contained a bottle of wine, yet unopened from a certain Sith Lady’s manor on Rhen Var. A note in clean, angular handwriting, lay within.
Bosom brother,
I never did get the chance to properly thank you for your help in handling a certain task. Needless to say, the job was a success, and it’d just be selfish of me to hog all the glory from it. I thought you might enjoy this, man of discerning taste that you are.
Your obedient servant,
K. Albrecht
Moor prattled on about some nonsense, assuming he knew more of Karn’s character than he did and boasting of his role in Karn’s survival as if that thread didn’t run both ways. For all that he built it up as if some big decision loomed ahead of Karn, the Arkanian was quite comfortable with his decision for reporting the whole affair to Darth Viren.
Truth be told, he was more concerned about narrowing down Syko’s expansive wine collection to a bottle or two to tuck under his arm and take with him for the hyperspace journey home.
“Do take care, Moor,” he said casually as he wandered off to Syko’s cellar once the assassin shut up and faded from view. He lifted his hand to wave over his shoulder as he left — a flitting, casual gesture more befitting a servant’s dismissal than bidding goodbye to a compatriot. “‘Til we meet again.”
Syko’s personal ship was a sleek, comfortable vessel. It’d been easy to slice his way aboard after returning with his bounty from Syko’s wine cellar. After checking to ensure Moor wasn’t skulking about on it, Karn set off, circled overhead until he saw flames blossom from the dead woman’s manor, and set off for the stars.
Now the blue of hyperspace swirled beyond a circular viewport as Karn lounged in a thickly-cushioned chair. A half-emptied wine glass sat atop a small table beside him, and a databad with a partially-finished report to his master rested on his thigh. His focus lay on neither of these at present, but on the holographic visage of a cowled Sith Lord before him.
“And you are certain, Acolyte, that Syko’s conspirators are planning to strike at me?”
“Absolutely,” Karn leaned forward, expression grim. “Syko herself has been eliminated, but I expect her lackeys still move as planned without the knowledge of her death. If they could be reached before doing something foolish...”
“No.” Prath was a cautious man, and calculating. It was no surprise to Karn that his steady hand earned Viren’s favor. “If they already move as you allege, then they have already done something foolish.” Even thousands of lightyears away, Karn could nearly feel fury radiating from Prath. “We will deal with this. You have done well, Acolyte. If your accusations prove truthful, I will ensure your Master knows the role you played in preventing this treachery.”
“Thank you, Praetor Prath,” Karn said, bowing his head deeply. A subtle, crooked smile curled his lips upward at the bottom of the motion. “I live only to serve my Master’s will, and his will is Her Radiance’s will. Such acts against the Body cannot be tolerated.”
Some time later, Karn lay sidelong in the seat, back propped up against one armrest while one leg lay bent over the other. His other leg dangled lazily to the floor as scribbled away at the databad that lay leaning against his raised thigh.
“...it is true that Knight Moor provided valuable assistance in addressing Syko’s treachery. However, in his recklessness, he has slain two members of the aristocracy, for no good reason, at a time when Her Radiance must preserve a fragile balance as this great Empire prepares for war against the Republic. Rather than consulting with Truth, he acted without thinking, and nearly unleashed disaster upon myself and his own head, and potentially Praetor Prath, had Syko’s plan been allowed to continue apace.
The Vikars, while hardly titans, were worthy enough for you to dispatch me to act as your voice in your stead, and now they lay dead at the hands of one of our own Order — and a Knight of Strife at that. This same Knight attempted to turn against me, and only stopped when it became apparent that it was his own hide in danger.
Furthermore, Knight Moor seems to share no significant bonds to other members of our Cult or our Order, and no sooner had we concluded our business than he turned to idle threats against my person. He seems beholden only to his own survival. While this attitude is not uncommon among the Sith, Knight Moor represents its worst potential — a loner with loyalty only to himself, rather than Her will.
He may warrant observation. Should he continue to show a reckless disregard for naught but killing those of our own Empire, he may best be cut away from our Order before he unleashes further harm.”
Karn sipped from his wine and set his stylus down. His long report on everything--from his arrival on Agamar to leaving Syko’s manor, was complete. He’d told the truth of it all, including Moor’s help. He took no issue in that — he’d freely admitted to having Kathar’s aid on Khar Delba when the Jedi helped him survive Naga Sadow’s ancient citadel. But at every turn, he’d twisted Moor’s role, darkened his actions, and bolstered the malevolence in his intent.
He held no illusions that this report would lead to any immediate repercussions for Moor, but leaving the glory to Karn, the assassin forfeited the right to tell his own story. Subtle lies stretched out over a long enough period, were all it took to twist perception. The histories were full of such examples. A war of obvious liberation became, after a few centuries, a matter of messy political questions to the public eye, despite the very words and deeds of those who launched the conflict themselves.
Moor was powerful. Karn knew — loathe as he was to admit it — that if they came to blows, he’d be hard-pressed to defeat the Knight. But he had one thing in spades, the Knight lacked, he learned when finally he looked into the Order’s records: connections, and the ears of some very powerful Sith.
You think you know me, Moor, he thought, setting the datapad aside. He stood, stretching after staying seated for so long, but you don’t know the half of it.
He wandered to the table where he’d left the wine bottles and popped the stopper off the one he’d opened. It was the second of the Vrieska bottles. Karn regretted that the first ended up smashed across the floor when Syko threw her tantrum. Contraband or no, the wine was good. It’d be a shame to let it go to waste.
Karn grinned as he drank the dark red wine. A shame indeed.
Zeryn wasn’t very used to Korriban. The sun beat down relentlessly during the day, and the brutal heat turned to bone-chilling cold during the night. Now was one of those strange in-between times, with the sun just starting to slip beneath the horizon as evening shadows rolled across the Valley of the Dark Lords.
The sandy-haired youth hurried into the Temple, through great sandstone arches and toward one of the residential wings. He clutched in his hands a box, with a note of some sort pinned to it. Something clanked about within. It sounded like glass. Whatever it was, it was apparently from the Praetor Magnus’ apprentice to some other Sith, so it had to be important.
He didn’t know the occasion and didn’t care. He’d just been told to drop off the package at a certain room at the furthest recesses of a dark hallway no one else lived on. He’d never been there, before but the place gave him the creeps.
He stopped at the door, double checked the number against his instructions and set the package down. He lifted his datapad to the security pad next to the door, left a notification for whoever lived there, and scurried off back in the direction from which he’d come.
The box contained a bottle of wine, yet unopened from a certain Sith Lady’s manor on Rhen Var. A note in clean, angular handwriting, lay within.
Bosom brother,
I never did get the chance to properly thank you for your help in handling a certain task. Needless to say, the job was a success, and it’d just be selfish of me to hog all the glory from it. I thought you might enjoy this, man of discerning taste that you are.
Your obedient servant,
K. Albrecht