Down into the dark well (Veskasa and Damien)

[Tear]

Claws of fire ripped lines of smoldering charcoal across the blue skies of Tanaab. The citizens in the streets of Pandath slowed as they watched the sky fall, in what resembled a meteor shower passing by their city. The sharp crack of sonic booms rolled over the hills and fields of the country side. The falling objects were largely ignored by the harvesting droids which, in the country, were the only presence for miles in any direction.

“Why do you think the Sons of Coruscant picked Tanaab? It’s a little close to the core isn’t it?” Mephis asked as they approached the meeting coordinates. “It seems like too much of a coincidence they would choose a harvest world and not know our situation.”

Tear remained silent, refusing to entertain his inquisitor’s curiosity. Instead, he pulled back on the controls of his Drakuun war droid, his squadron turned in unison, following him down. They veered from the sky, each war droid deploying massive metallic wings moments before landing to soften their impact, save for the largest, which crashed behind the others like an artillery shell. After a moment the war droids stalked out from the settling column of dust and soil which had been thrown into the air from their landing. The largest Drakuun lingered behind, shaking clumps of dirt from its body with a twist and a beat of its massive wings.

The war droids resembled Krayt Dragons to an extent. Reptile in appearance, metal plating replaced scales, gears replaced muscle, and reinforced durasteel replaced bone. Each droid sported different coloring from the next with six droids in total. The Drakuun leading the pack was styled with black paint, and highlighted with red down its wings and spine. Its head was thick, sporting metallic horns that sprouted from the sides which grew larger down the neck and back. As they approached overlapping ‘scales’ of armor slid back from their heads, uncovering large eyes that constricted and adjusted to the light. The robotic eyes inspected their environments, studying those it was approaching with a curiosity that denoted an independent intelligence. The beast crawled on their razor edged wings, propelled forward by digitigrade legs, tipped with talons that looked like they would be welcome on some giant bird of prey. Swaying behind the Drakuun was a large tail, edged with metallic spines and tipped with a thick spear of durasteel.

The metal beast’s wings hissed, sizzling against the grass each time they touched the ground. Their metal bodies ticking as they cooled and relaxed from their orbital descent. The sound of clanking metal and whining hydraulics slowed to a stop as the squadron neared the meeting. The lead Drakuun lowered itself, large armored plates thrummed with the sound of hydraulics. The plating slid back in layers from between the droids shoulder blades, revealing a pilot inside. The pilot had been leaning forward as one might ride a speeder bike. He straightened, pulling his arms free from the droids piloting sockets. Behind him the rest of the pilots began to disengage from their droids in the same fashion and soon everyone was on foot.

Ahead, the Sons of Coruscant and their allies had already assembled. Tear approached, his helmet scanning the faces, or armor of those present. A stream of data flowed across his display fed from a large Imperial data reservoir.

“Veskasa Vel Aath. The rumors and reports are true she did defect from the Inquisitors.” Mephis noted from behind his own helmet. “Do you remember Rekoj’s report on her?”

“I do.” Tear murmured back before tapping his helmet just behind the ear. His helmet gave a gush of pressurized air as it unlocked and loosened. The last scan before the display cut out blinked the name ‘Damien Kantrael’.

The former Grand Inquisitor paused as he took in the gathering with his own molten eyes, albeit squinting under Tanaab’s sun. “Inquisitors.” Tear greeted, “It’s too bad we couldn’t meet beneath the shade of the Citadel.”

Tear’s Drakuun war droid shifted to the singing sound of metal caressing metal, the beast extended a single black wing, blotting out the sun and dousing the gathering in shadow.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

[Damien Kantrael]

This meeting did not sit right with Damien. The call came in through one of his terrorist cells in the core. Someone found them, uprooted them peacefully, and sent them on their way with a message. A declaration of interest in meeting with the head of the Sons of Coruscant. The sort of person who would try such a gambit was someone that Damien would rather not deal with. His soldiers reported that they were Imperial soldiers, likely Inquisition or Intelligence. Not the sort he wanted to meet with unless they were willing to cross lines. If they were that made them unpredictable. This was dangerous, but he was too desperate for allies to deny the meeting.

The agricultural planet of Tanaab was an ideal planet for this meeting. It sat close to both sides of the cold war but was an independent world that had to allegiance to the Throne of Coruscant or the Leadership of Dac. It traded with other worlds and played it's neutrality to the letter. That meant keeping out foreign interests if possible. Damien had no doubt that the Empire and Alliance had spies on Tanaab. They would be fools to let a Force Academy exist and not keep tabs on it. However, it was a big planet that lacked in planetary defenses. Entire continents of the planet were virtually unwatched. All the eyes were focused on Pandath and the nearby Academy. Out here, away from the city, they were virtually invisible.

Ancient fortresses and ruins covered the surface of the planet. It had participated in some old sith war. Damien hardly cared. The ruins made for a suitable rendezvous. All that remained of this particular ruin was mossy, crumbling walls. They offered cover in a planet of hills and plains where a high perch could give you vantage for miles. He had made himself as comfortable as he could around a makeshift table cobbled together from a steel door placed on top of a pile of rubble. Vel Aath was here, naturally. Damien had a feeling she didn't trust him to do anything besides lead his soldiers, and even then she had a tendency to meddle and nag. His soldiers were spread about the ruin, hiding from view while camouflaged snipers watched over them all like guardian angels from a grassy hill. The gunmetal stormtrooper armor they wore, with it's red trim, set them apart from the Empire's finest.

However, they paled in comparison to the armor that Kantrael wore. The Project: Nightmare suit was, at it's conception, the very best armor crafted by the Empire. It was formidable, and designed to be fearsome and terrifying as well as offer incredible protection in battle. Damien wore it as a badge of pride. The Nightmares had been, in his mind, the best soldiers the Empire ever minted. Mothballing the project, and it's soldiers, had been the single greatest travesty in his lifetime, seconded only by the closing of the Inquisition by that bitch Tarkin.

That was why they were here, to settle that score.

The snipers spotted the falling "meteors". The fragments drew closer and were identified as some sort of piloted droid exosuit by the looks of it. Interesting, for sure. He waited, impatiently, until they arrived and landed. Damien walked out to meet them, his heavy armor bearing him like a ship with full sails. The red lenses of his helmet greeting the cold eyes of the man who greeted them at the head of his procession. Damien suddenly felt very small, even in his large armor, as he recognized the man. Tear. A reputation that he had only ever heard in hushed tones and whispers came flooding back from old memories.

"Grand Inquisitor." Damien began, his voice grating through the helmet's ports. Using a title he had given himself felt odd to mutter with is own tongue. "I am Damien Kantrael, the leader of the Sons of Coruscant."

[Veskasa Vel Aath]

Vel Aath said nothing, though she merely smiled. She was sitting in a chair, her legs crossed, flanked by Stormtroopers and Inquisitors that had come to her, but she wasn't looking at the man, she was looking at the war droids.

While Kantrael had his soldiers scattered about, and Tear had come in what she had learned in the past was his usual fashion; that is, with a show of overwhelming strength. Her transport sat nearby, almost conspicuously without defenders, and larger than her little delegation seemed to need. The exit ramp was huge, taking up the entire width of the lower aft end of the ship, and the interior was hidden by use of a thick curtain of a deep red with golden accents.

"Well?" she asked, seeming to exude a confident relaxation with one foot slowly swaying back and forth like a sunning snake on a branch with its tail hanging down. "Get on with it, then. You likely already know who I am. And if you don't, I'm not about to give up that advantage, am I?"

[Tear]

“That is an Interesting tone to start a diplomatic meeting Veskasa Vel Aath.” Mephis criticized, while also acknowledging the identity of the Inquisitor.

“She sounds like a petulant teenager.” Naberius, the Chistori hybrid, was a looming tower of tattered and rippling black robes. As with any giant creature his approach was slow and plodding, while his voice was an avalanche of gravel.

Tear turned, only slightly, causing both Mephis and Naberius to relent and straighten, even though their sneers, more so from Mephis as Naberius had no lips, remained. The former Grand Inquisitor turned back to Damien.

“If I’ve heard correctly, Grand Inquisitor is a title we share, among other things.”

Damien Kantrael, Agent Class II, had originally been a member of Imperial Intelligence before transferring into the Inquisitors. While not a striking similarity, Tear had shared a similar transition himself. Vader had shepherded him into the department of Intelligence to assassinate Imperials who had dug too deep into the former Executors extracurricular activities. From there Vader had him moved into the Inquisitoriate, much for the same purpose.

Damien’s official Imperial record had been erased. Tear had to piece together deleted or corrupted file fragments from the black archive of the Inquisitors to get the full dossier. His loyalty scoring during his induction, as a pilot, into the Nightmares had been incredibly high, fanatical, they had noted. So how does Damien, whose life was defined by his duty to the Empire, betray it?

It was an easy riddle to answer: He doesn’t. In Damien’s eyes the Empire he had sworn to serve had become warped into something unrecognizable. They had made peace with terrorists, the memory of those who had sacrificed were buried beneath treaties and accords. That wasn’t the Empire Damien was raised to believe in, nor was Miranda Tarkin, the false Empress, a leader that inspired him. Her culling of Imperials that remained steadfast against peace and therefore, her rule, had been a betrayal. Though Tear was no fanatic, having read over Damien’s records, and reviewed the scenes painted by his terrorist actions, the Nightmare’s perspective was clear.

“Other things like the toppling of weak monarchs.” Tear continued, glancing briefly to Vel Aath as he tried to recognize the woman in Rekoj’s reports. “You’ve become a leader and a crusader. The Sons of Coruscant, while small, have been potent in their activities but it’s become clear to me that you lack the necessities to wage the war you deserve. I can help you bridge that divide.”

[Damien Kantrael]

Damien allowed a small lift at the corner of his mouth, the barest approximation of a grin, to form underneath his helmet. There was something oddly satisfying to hear someone say what he wished he could, but he valued his budding partnership with Vel Aath too much to tell her off. A pawn of the Grand Inquisitor of the False Empire lent more protection than Damien's own position in the galaxy. He would not go so far as to say he was afraid of the woman, but he picked up hints that, perhaps, he should. Between her alchemic monsters and formidable force of Inquisitors, she was at least his equal, and therefore demanding of respect.

"You have my attention, Grand Inquisitor. What do you propose?"

Damien was always one for being direct and to the point. Dealing with Vel Aath had given him an even shorter patience. She liked to talk, and tease, and insult. It was a strange dance with her, and he found it incredibly exhausting. Like entertaining a demanding house guest. If she was not to integral to all of this, he would have ordered her execution already. The casualties would be great, he was sure, but it would be worth it to silence her twisting tongue.

[Veskasa Vel Aath]

Ah, the sound of irritated adversaries. She'd never really given others much thought back during her tenure as an Inquisitor, but now, with more responsibilities and the sheer necessity of keeping track of underlings and their morale and other such things, she'd found that she enjoyed needling and putting others off their centre. It was immature, perhaps, but she couldn't find it in herself to care.

"This all seems very nice," she paused for a moment, "My lord Executor of Her Imperial Majesty Miranda Tarkin. Ah, there's a bit of a quandary there for me. You represent and hold no small power in the very government our other Grand Inquisitor wishes to usurp — excuse me, apologies, to restore to its former glory. He's gifted and resourceful, but no threat to the Empire just yet; you can't be hedging your bets in case he wins this early in the conflict. To be to the point, you don't need us, so I find it hard to believe your offer of aid comes without significant danger to my counterpart, and thus to me."

She shifted slightly in her seat, lifting her arm from the armrest of her chair and settling her chin on her knuckles, a picture of calm and regality. She spared Tear's underlings no glances. Her gaze rested squarely on him, eyes heavy lidded and dark.

"Twisting us perhaps to do for your work while preparing to smash us?" She didn't sound threatened by the possibility. "Or merely co-opting our people and our resources you find advantageous, perhaps."

She smiled wanly.

"Please, assuage me of these worries, if you would. I can't speak for our esteemed Grand Inquisitor beside me, of course, but I'm simply a little fish in a huge ocean attempting to see if the shark isn't simply trying to lure me in as its next meal."

[Tear]

“Impudent.” Naberious bristled, his black robes whipping at the air like rathtar tendrils.

“Enough.” Tear commanded. “She speaks her mind. I’m not here to listen to platitudes or groveling. That would be disingenuous and only serve to feed my ego while their resentment of me grows. I seek a partnership and their honesty, not ritual or fawning”

Naberius eased, reluctantly. The massive genetic monstrosity of Trandoshen and Chistori straightened, filling his thirteen feet of height, which may have looked impressive if it wasn’t for the large mechanized war droids arranged behind him.

The Executor paused then, a small beep from his wrist made him cast his gaze up into Tanaab’s vapid blue sky. He watched as six dagger shaped vessels leapt into low orbit directly above them. He didn’t seem surprised by their sudden arrival.

“I ask for truth. As such I will give you mine.” Tear continued, watching as the six newly arrived ships began to belch forth an orderly cloud of star fighters. “Mephis, show them.”

Mephis looked to his leader with hesitation. From the small of his back he produced a halo shaped device and clutched it tight. While the device itself wasn’t a portal to access their secrets, it did represent a point of no return. The Inquisitor thumbed a small button on the side of the device before tossing it between the two parties. A bubble of ink formed above the gathering heads and began to melt over the meeting place. Placing the gathering into an egg shaped field. Outside, the egg’s surface was an impenetrable shell of black but inside little had changed. Tanaab’s brightness had merely rusted giving the countryside a palette of cascading orange and pinks

“Some time ago I left the Empire.” Tear paused and reiterated, “I disappeared.” His eyes broke away from the fleet above to look at Damien. “I had come to a realization. The rebellion was a cancer which had spread it’s infection to the heart of the Empire. We had lost the war. Endor had just postponed the inevitable.

“I raged at this realization.” Tear smiled. “Like a child. I swore that I would find a weapon powerful enough to carve this infection from the flesh of the Empire. I scorched planets to glass. I enslaved and eradicated an entire people in search for the means to change the future.”

From the same device that was emitting the field around them a small holographic display began to play back events from Tears crusade. It was a frantic assault of images that ranged from battles across open fields to incursions into tomes. For those that scrutinized the recordings a few moments stood out: The unearthing of a spaarti cloning cylinder, the ruins of a large ship being excavated, an artifact being raised from the same ship’s remains and lastly, a brilliant beam of red which enveloped an entire city.

Tear raised a hand and the recording paused on the artifact. “This changed everything. It was the end of my crusade. It was an ancient weapon resurrected during the clone wars and then destroyed, again. The weapon was in fact a ship, called the ‘Dark reaper’, and while it was beyond salvage the artifact it harnessed, a force harvester, still held promise. Its original function was to drain its surroundings of the force. A function it was no longer able to perform. However, with some modifications we were able to re-purpose it.”

The Executor extended his arm and opened his hand. Sitting in his palm was a small stone fragment. It was pale in color and had rough edges like it had been chipped away from its source.

“This is merely a fragment of the artifact. During its re-purposing we tested its destructive capability on the city of Foulahn. While the artifact’s destructive potential fell short of desired estimates it had an unpredictable side effect. It had somehow torn through space and time creating a wound in the very fabric of our dimension.” A drop of blood leaked quickly from Tear’s nose bending and then falling into the crease between his lips.

“We had somehow sliced into the galaxy itself as if it were nothing more than an animal. We had wounded it. At the time I felt compelled. I needed to learn more. I took a small craft and landed on the outskirts of this bubbling storm of ether. I stepped into it. I tasted it.” Another bead of blood began to dribble down from the opposite nostril as he continued. The stone fabric still sat loose on his palm.

“Since then I’ve been able to reduce its destructiveness and refine its use from sword to scalpel. I can make a controlled incision into the very fabric of reality and commune with the essence that spills forth.”

Eyes of ember swayed from Damien and settled on Vel Aath as Tear spoke, “I have been witness to past and future.” A forking river of red was now leaking from both of his ears, criss-crossing a path down his neck and beneath his uniform. “And now you will too. Apologies Damien, your armors psychic dampening plates may cause some discomforting feedback.”

Tear closed his fist. Though no one said a word in that moment a vacuum of sound occurred. Air ceased to exist, but inexplicably did not impede the action of breathing. The lines of blood that had drawn themselves with gravity down Tear’s body began to lift. Droplets, formed chains and crimson snakes spiraled forward between the creases in Tear’s closed fist. The blood searched out the fragment, feeding it.

All present would feel their body begin to vibrate with no interaction to the earth they stood on, or in Vel Aath’s case, the chair she sat upon. Their bodies passed through crust, core and planet into space and light. The further they fell, the faster their reality crumbled from the recognizable to the unexplainable.

Their flesh rained from interstellar clouds into rivers of their own flowing memories. They tumbled from birth, through moments recognized into moments yet to occur but were instantly familiar and always known. From death they simply spilled back into birth following the torrent of their lives again. Future or past, they were a drift in time, drowning. They were unable to grasp onto the shoals of the present until an outside presence reached in and pulled them gasping into darkness.

When the darkness abated Damien and Veskasa found themselves standing at the precipice of a canyon. Twin suns sat high above a yellow and dried out landscape. Down into the belly of the canyon a throng of people had swelled around a stone obelisk. The crowd was chanting and bowing in unison. Five figures emerged from the mass and reached out to touch the stone monument, uttering a single phrase. A phrase too far from the high edge of the canyon to make out clearly but from their vantage they were able to witness the ripple of violence that followed.

“They fight until only five remain alive.” Tear commented from behind as he moved to join the pair at the canyons edge. “The surviving five mark the obelisk with their blood and depart. Hundreds of years from now there will be another pilgrimage from their descended bloodlines to repeat the ritual. This cult has continued this selective breeding tradition for thousands of years.”

The Executor waved his hand and time sped forward. The twin suns crashed and rose like hammers against the horizon and the canyon floor flowed with bodies and blood. As time advanced so did technology. Migrations on foot across the planet advanced to pilgrimages by starships from across the galaxy. Stone clubs and spears gave way to vibro blades and blasters with the occasional spastic arrival of lightsabers and other irregular weapons.

“Through the artifact I was able to trace my origin to this point and witness it firsthand.” Tear extended a hand and time once again normalized. “This is but one of my secrets. Ask your questions and I will reveal the rest.”

[Damien Kantrael]

Damien turned from the scene before him, the red lenses of his helmet rotating in their sockets as they automatically focused from one object to another, in this case Tear's face. "I fail to understand, Inquisitor. I am very interested in this weapon you have uncovered, but this..." He waved his heavily armored hand at the spectacle before them. This never ending battle to become the dominant five. "...This means nothing to me. Some ancient tradition carried on through time, not unlike many other such traditions that have survived the eons. Our galaxy is an old one. New Empires rise on top of the ashes of the one that came before. Everything we have and are rose up in the ruins left behind by the so called 'Infinite' Empire. So what, pray tell, makes this ancient thing important to you, and to us."

An obsession with the occult and ancient powers was ingrained in Imperial culture. Their very emperor Sheev Palpatine was a strong worshiper of the dark side of the force. It made him a strong leader. Unmatched by any. Not even the terrifying Lord Vader could compare. The Inquisition as Palpatine's left hand had often investigated the occult and in many case found ancient relics of power. Some worthwhile, but most were old and broken, their purposes lost to time, and their mechanics impossible to reverse engineer. It was wasted time that could have been spent developing modern weapons and pacifying the rebellion. Palpatine could do no wrong in Damien's mind, but perhaps he could have been more focused on the war effort and less on finding a deus ex machina in the sand.

The draw was unmistakable. Damien himself could feel himself growing just as excited as he was annoyed at this display of Tear's. An ancient weapon unearthed and some sort of connection to this strange even he was showing them. There was something there, no doubt, and hopefully it was something worthwhile and not some pitiful lark that would distract them from what the true goal was. Damien was only interested in drawing the power needed to knock Tarkin off her throne. That was his ultimate goal. It would seem that Tear already had that in this ancient weapon he had found. If it's power was capable of ripping apart the fabric of space than they had only to drop it on Coruscant and remove the Empire's capital, and inflict a huge strike against it's stability.

It's fall would be assured.

[Veskasa Vel Aath]

"This is nice and all," she said, "but what does this have to do with us?"

She gestured to Damien and herself.

"What about this requires your lordship to associate with such lowly upstarts, hm? My worries are not assuaged."

Her expression was wry, but her eyes were still hooded and dark.

"Not that I don't find this intensely interesting in the least," she continued. "Some mysteries are becoming clearer, just not the ones which concern us the most."

[Tear]

“I can understand your confusion.” Tear knelt after his reply, peering over the chasms edge, his attention intent on the remaining five survivors. “When I first found myself in this place I didn’t comprehend it either. I was a vague awareness in the dark, lacking of definition. I lost myself for a time until I sensed that beneath that darkness, there was substance.”

The former Inquisitor stood and reached an open hand toward Damien and Veskasa. “In that substance I discovered a current of intent, a disc on an ever turning loop, one that I had become disconnected from.”

Tear closed his eyes. It was clear he was focusing on something. His head pitched from side to side, listening. His fingers began to close and then all at once the landscape dropped away. When it rose again it came back like a crashing tide, splashing high into the sky and filling the horizon with shapes, dark, tall and familiar. The trio were now on a burning Coruscant. The city around them was wrought in flames and ruin with black clouds of dust and debris pillaring into the sky. A star destroyer careened past, half seen over head when something equally as large, carried on leather-like wings, speared through the choking black and collided with it. Behind the curtain of smoke the drama played out: Muted flashes of cannon fire, the screeching of metal being sheered, or perhaps that was the roaring of the creature it couldn’t be discerned.

The trio stood in the courtyard of the citadel, like spectators, off to the side and merely witnesses. In the courtyards center was, impossibly, another Damien. His armor pocked and shredded, portions still smoldering red hot from blaster fire. Damien’s hulking form hung, half kneeling, but held upright. He had been run through repeatedly by numerous force lances. Each lance had been thrust from many desperate angles. In Damien’s clutches was the corpse of an Imperial knight, his throat crushed, apparently killed in the Inquisitors death throes. Throughout the court yard were the strewn remains of the tangled dead. The stillness of death had had settled in the wake of the battle which was still being pitched some distance away.

“At first I was only a passing witness to where the current took me, but in time I learned to steer and then to anchor myself.” Tear, glanced to Damien before stepping forward into the middle of the courtyard. As he spoke, his finger drawing circles into the air. “Time is a disc that spins on a loop, spilling and pouring back into itself. The future you see here is one of many possible variations.”

Damien gave little away. His armored form was immovable physically as he was emotionally. The red glow of his helmets ocular lenses were still. Only at the sound of battle did his head turn and his body follow.

In the distance two sabers danced against each other. The owners veiled and barely distinguishable between fingers of smoke leeching into the air from nearby impact craters. A woman’s scream pierced the dark, not one of pain, or grief, but of rage. It was Veskasa’s turn to twist at the perhaps familiar and intimate sound.

“You both die here.” Tear stated flatly staring into the black smoke before them. “This time, in this moment, but time is liquid while it can’t be stopped it can be altere-.”

“I can sense you.” A voice echoed out from the edge of the courtyard. The voice was dark, commanding, and an incision into the attentions of all three spectators. The rubble that dotted the courtyard and still burned with open flames smoldered before being snuffed out as the shape of a man appeared like a wraith through the smoke. Rossos Atrapes, Lord Commander of the Imperial Knights stalked forward, his eyes sunken with fatigue but steady on the scene before him.

Tear regarded the Imperial Knight for a moment, before waving a hand and the world crawled to a stop. Across the courtyard the former Inquisitor returned, once again coming face to face with Damien and Vel Aath, taking both by the shoulder.

Blackness raced in and swallowed their forms. Nothingness followed until finally, Vel Aath could feel the soft touch of a breeze tossing a few loose strands of her hair out of place. Following was the hushing whisper of grain bending in the wind and when she opened her eyes she was back on Tanaab.

Tear was speaking as he had been before but this time it was different, “I ask for truth and as such I will give you mine.” The former Inquisitor looked up into the sky as six dagger shaped ships emerged into low orbit.

“There comes a natural point in all evolution when an environment’s prevailing species will encroach upon all other weaker beings. What do you believe is the reasonable reward for that species ascension?”

Tear didn’t wait for an answer. “Dominion. It’s in this I believe we share a common vision. I am offering you both a chance to shape the things to come.”

[Veskasa Vel Aath]

"I can sense you."

Vel Aath spun, her hand millimetres from her lightsaber. Atrapes was looking at her.

When they had 'returned' to Taanab, and she found herself once more sitting in her chair across from Tear and his subordinates, and only a short hop from Damien and his men. The rogue Inquisitor pursed her lips.

"If you believe that showing me the potential of my death will sway me into seeking your protection from my former teacher, you are mistaken," she said, her tones firmly controlled. "Not only am I well versed in the use of illusions to sway the weak-willed and indiscerning — they were and likely still are one of Atrapes' favoured disciplines — but I am also skilled enough to sense when an illusion is not used."

She paused, gathering her hands into her lap and smoothing her expression.

"So, continue. You have my attention now."

[Damien Kantrael]

The breath rattled his helmet with it's intensity. It felt like the first air he had received since the vision had begun. Escaping that world had been just as jarring and painful as entering it, the feedback overwhelming his helmet's sensors and causing temporary blindness before systems recalibrated and returned to full functionality. Raising a hand against the side of his helmet did nothing to calm the headache that was raging underneath his skull like a Death Star shooting it's way out.

There was a lot to take in from that vision, and just how much he had enjoyed every moment of it. It was true that he would prefer to live through the experience of sacking Coruscant, but causing such destruction and death in the Imperial capital was a victory in of itself and he would gladly sacrifice himself for that outcome. The vision did not show if his true enemy had fallen. So long as that false Emperess Miranda Tarkin lay dead somewhere in the rubble than he could go to his death satisfied that a monster had been slain and a better tomorrow created.

"Are you suggesting that you can offer a better outcome?"

[Tear]

"Of course." Tear's reply came easily. As did the tone of his voice. One wouldn't call it calm, or flat, but reserved with notes of emotion. These emotional queues matched the compelling words that were conducted from the lips of the Executor even if sometimes those words were ones you didn't want to hear.

"Damien, from what I've seen your forces are respectable, but small. Your men are trained nightmares in the most literal sense but they are too few. While project Nightmare remains cutting edge technology, even today, we both know that if you're not constantly developing newer advancements you are already out dated. Do not mistake what you just experienced as a vision. That was the reality of your potential future. While bloodying the lip of the Empire may seem a fitting or satisfying end, I believe you can accomplish more."

It was a careful distinction to make. In a world that existed with mystical elements like the force or the shamanistic legends of the Dathomir witches what Damien, Vel Aath and Tear had experienced was no vision of the future, but rather an actual sliver of that reality manifested.

"And together we can achieve more. I can bolster your forces with my own. Not only would that increase our effective target options it would put us on equal footing during engagements with any others in this galaxy. I can also support your technology development. Introducing you to our own advances and sharing what we have learned to keep your nightmares in the minds of our enemy."

The Executor turned then to face Veskasa, who still sat reclined in her chair, although more attentive now then when they had started.

"Veskasa, what is it you want to accomplish?"

[Veskasa Vel Aath]

"Oh, nothing so grandiose as the two of you, I'm sure," Vel Aath said. "There's no overarching truth to be discovered, after all. You could say I'm simply... bored. Everything's so dreadfully dull now. Peace this, treaty that. There are some interesting people to be sure: you, my old teacher and his cute followers. The Jedi. Others."

She smiled.

"I think I'll restart the Galactic Civil War," she hummed. "Everyone's trying to set themselves up for the new state of affairs; it'll be interesting to see how they'll react when everything comes crashing down. Maybe set up a warlord or two; help Corellia liberate itself. Just to make things interesting."

[Damien Kantrael]

At least on one thing he and Vel Aath agreed; restarting the civil war. Their motives for the same conclusion were vastly different. Vel Aath seemed keen to kindle the fires so she could be queen of the ashes. Damien felt the peace accord had robbed the Empire of their true destiny, that they had backed down in the face of terrorist threats when no cost should have been too great to win this war. Yes, it could reduce the galaxy to the same ashes but the Empire would be all the stronger for it, or dead. There is no middle ground. You are either the victor or the defeated, and the undeath of peace was not a natural position to occupy. Not for a great Empire forged in the crucible of war.

While Tear was correct that he was in dire need of more troops and resources, Damien would never admit it. He was making due with what he had, and was successfully growing his army. Forced conscripts bolstered his forces as slave labor and cannon fodder soldiers. The Nightmares hardly existed anymore with the advances made in the field of cybernetic and biological augmentations. The new soldiers he was creating were hardly human anymore; great hulking beasts clad in thick armor wielding massive weapons. The formula was nearly perfected. True, he only had a handful of these super soldiers but they were worth more than a platoon with their damage potential and difficulty to slay. They were gods among men.

[Tear]

The long grains of Tanaab’s wheat fields shivered as the wind continued to blow in waves. Each rolling forward, leaving the dry, coarse, vegetation whispering in its wake. Tear’s hand opened and felt the fingers of the breeze tease between each digit. It was soft, nearly imperceptible, the lightest of touches. In the same fashion of the breeze that had touched Tear, the former Grand Inquisitor reached out to touch the edges of Vel Aath’s mind. Not to invade, or investigate, but to taste the peripheral of the dark side that had taken hold of her. To witness the shadow that danced on the edge of her being and identify the body that cast it.

Tear’s eyes were cinders. A side effect of his marriage to the dark side. His mind and body had long fallen into to the dark well where rage and hate made one powerful. But there was also the madness. The dark side was an unstemmed tide of emotion and to any being that would dare let their emotions flow unbound, wading willingly into the depths of the heart and mind, must be considered mad. Tear had peeled back that veil and like many before him had emerged unhinged. Or so that was how he was often perceived.

Veskasa Vel Aath seemed similarly unbound, having allowed herself to steep in the dark side. Was she simply free and in touch with her passions, or had she stared too long into the black and lost her mind? Tear wondered, as he mentally contrasted her depiction in Rekoj’s report to who sat before him now. Either reality did not truly matter, mad, or sane, the chaos she intended to wreak would have its uses.

“I seek the same.” Tear stated. “In that, what you’re describing is control. With you both at my side, as partners, we can extend this control throughout the galaxy.”

The Executor looked at both Vel Aath and Damien in turn. “We won’t simply decide the fate of an Empire, but the fate of everything and everyone.”

[Veskasa Vel Aath]

Vel Aath's eyebrows rose, and a rumbling came from within her ship, behind the massive red curtains. The sound reverberated through the ground and into the feet of all those gathered.

What Tear found was, interestingly, not Vel Aath at all; or more aptly, it seemed she was hidden behind a curtain of the Dark Side like the interior of her ship was hidden by the still curtains. It was as if she were shielded by someone, or something else.

It was obviously not her herself. There was a will around this curtain of the dark that surrounded her that did not seem at all like her. Pride, and an almost bestial desire to dominate characterised this presence. A malevolent intelligence, a glimpse of a serpentine slit eye ringed by liquid gold.

"Ah, you woke him," Vel Aath said, glancing back at her ship, and then looking back at Tear knowingly. "Do continue. Control the fate of everything and everyone? Stirring, but vague, don't you think?"

[Damien Kantrael]

Damien's hand dropped to the pistol at his side; a huge, unwieldy weapon that stood out from it's place attached to the hip of his armor. The weapon remained holstered, but his hand rested at it's back all the same. It's heavy lethality brought him comfort in a time that Vel Aath's beast robbed it from him. The rumbling made the bottom of his stomach drop out. He could not fathom what exactly the beast was, and Vel Aath was not the type to share, but it terrified something deep within him. His primal being, evolved over billions of years, knew that something was very wrong and warned him of the danger.

"We can posture and clash for now until the Universe grows dark. That won't accomplish anything. A direction, a plan, an avenue to success. That is what we need. Not promises of eventual rewards. What is your plan? Who will throw the first stone? I have already begun my crusade."

[Tear]

Tear inhaled, long and slow, taking in the very scent of the darkside that hung, smoky and thick, around Vel Aath. It had become clear the scent wasn’t hers. Instead she sat heavy in it; allowing the dark cloud to obscure her from the force. The source of it billowed in thick plumes from the Inquisitors ship. Like ash, it obscured everything that fell beneath its blanket.
Beyond the curiosity of what Vel Aath was using to mask her presence in the force, there crawled a feeling of familiarity. Tear’s eyes tightened into a squint, his presence in the force burning brighter amidst the bubbling clouds of ash. He didn’t pry, or search, he just waited, watching.

It stirred, rumbling from inside the inquisitor’s ship, uncoiling its presence to stare back through the darkness. A serpentine eye ringed by gold. Tear’s eyes shut tight as he withdrew from the force. His hand coming up to pinch at the bridge of his nose. The interaction with the beast had left his ears ringing, but he had his answer to the mystery of why it felt familiar. The great shadow that had soared above the ruined landscape of Coruscant. It had collided with the Star destroyer just after their arrival. The creature that sat in the belly of Vel Aath ship was the same beast he had heard in the future, only much larger.

Tear opened his eyes to find Vel Aath looking at him knowingly. “Do continue,” She prompted. “Control the fate of everything and everyone? Stirring, but vague, don’t you think?”

“No.” The Executor replied, his tone flat and curt.

Damien spoke up, cutting to the heart of the discussion. A plan of action. It was something the former Grand Inquisitor was beginning to like about the man, his directness.

“Agreed Inquisitor. All Empires have foundations. Roots under the soil that keep things beyond their attention in order. And like roots they can be used to transfer vital supplies to the rest of the organism in times of need, for a price. The criminal cartels would be our first target: The Pyke Syndicate, The Hutts, even the beleaguered remains of the Corporate Sector. These factions hold sway, and influence, even more important they control supply. With the Alliance and the Empire blockading each other these powers have become strategic and we can use them to our advantage.

“We remove their leaders. Replace them with our own, strings attached. Not only will this provide us all with an already established system of resources, it will give us the opportunity to, so to speak, fill the roots with poison, if we choose.”

[Veskasa Vel Aath]

"Oh joy," she said, a smile crawling over her lips. "Concrete plans. I do enjoy a proper plan!"

She was honestly excited to be hearing an actual plan, with goals and particulars. Of all the refugees and deserters to whom she'd extended her protection, any who wanted a position of power was manifestly unfit for any sort of responsibility whatsoever.

Every day, she was giving the barbaric queen of a horde idea more and more attention.

"I am currently based in the former Corporate Sector. We'll not find much of use there in terms of factions to usurp. Mostly a lawless place; the old corporations left quickly when the Empire itself did. The Alliance is clearly building up to establish authority over it in the next decade at the most. I've used it for tests. It is incomparable at the moment for evading overly watchful eyes."

She stood, nodding to herself. It may have been a shallow thing to base a decision of off, but she liked the leadership both Damien and Tear had evoked that day.

"The Hutts, perhaps one of the smaller crime syndicates based in the Core, would be a perfect start. I'd been giving such things a thought more recently, since certain projects of mine are nearing completion."

She smiled.

"Very well. Let this little cabal be for the betterment of its members. I'll be in touch milord Executor of the Empress," Vel Aath said, gesturing. One of the Stormtroopers stepped forward and picked up her chair. She turned and gave Damien a hooded smile. "Damien. Don't be so much of hermit, will you? I've got plenty of new toys and work to do on your pretty Nightmares."

[Damien Kantrael]

"Then our course is decided. I already possess a foothold upon Oba Diah through an allegiance with Clan Tae'chanka. They are eager to usurp power from their neighbors, and the Syndicate. I will grow their ambition, and in turn grow our war machine."

Turning his head he looked at Vel Aath, the red lenses of his helmet betraying nothing as he stared in silence before finally admitting a single sentence that grated against every synapses of his being, but was necessary for the health of this growing allegiance.

"Our Nightmares, Vel Aath. Our."

It was not a lie to consider the growth of the Nightmares a team effort, but in his heart of hearts they would always belong to him. They were his people, his brothers and sisters. The armor was as sacred as a ceremonial coat, and the hearts and minds beneath a shared brotherhood. He would never allow her to sully that reputation, and for that reason the title of Nightmare may need to fade into myth and a new kind of soldier be birthed by their collective advancements in armor and physical acceleration. The Decimators were a successful middle ground between the two, and replaced the Nightmares as battlefield commanders. The Nightmares did what Nightmares did best, and went back into the shadows.

"Should you find a worthy target you have only to send for me. I will bring the hammer down upon it."

Completing the rest of his turn he headed back toward his transport. There was a renewed fury in his gut, and he was eager to return to his base within the misty mountains of Oba Diah and begin this new campaign to conquer the Pyke Syndicate.