BETRAY OUR CREATURES

   He watches on, though the display has done little to hold his amusement for the past while. Now it is simply boring. There’s normally some enjoyment to be gained from watching his enemies rush headlong into a trap, but really, this one has had so little effort put into it as to be almost obvious. Sad that they cannot see it, but he grieves more for the wine in his goblet. It’s not one of the Alderaanian vintages he’s developed a penchant for, but an equally pleasant local brew. And this moment is the last opportunity he’ll have to savour it before having to make a hasty retreat and leave whatever’s left of this world to the clones (no great loss; his current residence is a palace in name only, nothing as grand as that on Serenno, and the setbacks of retaking the planet now outweigh any potential benefits). He takes a sip as the sound of another explosion reaches him, closer this time. And closer still is his true prey.

His eyes widen when they reveal it, and he can almost hear old bones creaking as his spine stiffens. The hilt is instantly recognisable; there was a time when he’d thought himself able to retain the images of all the blades his had ever crossed. While age might have sullied some of the memories, this one remained ever viciously clear. Part of him almost wants to reach out and call it to his hand, acting on instinct, but the rest of his mind recoils before his ageing fingers move any closer to the cold metal. For a moment the weight of its bloody history finds a home on his shoulders, the thought of the souls of all the Jedi who’ve fallen to it running down his back in a shiver (what right have you to be disgusted, when your own sword is no cleaner? — that whisper coming to him in the voice of a witch who refused to die, threatening to infest his limbs with her once again). He dismisses the thought and steadies himself.

@serennian liked for a Jedi

             The clones stationed in the jungle had no chance against General Grievous.  None at all.  He mowed through them, like a forest fire, felling trees and filling them with the bodies of good men.  Good, brave men, who had given so much for the Republic, a beast that had eaten their sacrifice and given no reward…              It was a ragtag group that survived.  Their sacrifice had bought time for the Navy to retreat with fewer losses, their lives and blood and agony had bought precious, precious hours, as they grimly held off the droids’ assault on the planet.  The technology-eating mold had wreaked havoc on the droids, unprepared for the sheer speed of the stuff.  And on Grievous too…

             It was the only reason any of them were left.

             There couldn’t have been more than twenty of the men, expressions haggard with days of nonstop warfare, cheeks hollowed with starvation, eyes sunken with exhaustion, and jaws tight with hate.  Yet, in the press of bodies, the droids had missed someone…and it was this frail figure they kept at their center at all times, protected and sheltered, out of sight and out of mind…they hoped.

             It worked…for a time.  But no ruse could last long under the ever-watchful, tireless gaze of the droids.  Within a week the defenders were subdued, shocked until a frail voice softly commanded it cease.  When the droids did not…pieces fell with the simple clenching of a shaking fist.

             The frail, wilting figure could not stand under her own power: her battle with General Grievous and had only worsened her condition.  One of the clones carried her, her small, frail form weighing little more than a child, even bundled in her robes…and she shivered, despite the increasing heat as they neared their destination.  The large if sparse room they entered barely seemed to even interest the commander, as his grip shifted to ensure his Jedi still breathed.  It was shallow and weak, so much so he feared it might shudder to a stop.  She barely ate, or drank…

             A sharp shock to the back of his knee had him stumbling, almost dropping the fragile Jedi, but for the sudden grip of the Force.  A hiss sounded, quiet, and yet it almost seemed to echo, despite it’s softness.           “Don’t. You. Touch. Him.”

             A B1 cleared it’s throat, it’s vocabulators almost sounding nervous.

          “The Count will see you shortly.”

             That same soft voice, minus it’s anger, whispered into the clone’s ear.  After a hesitant moment, he shifted to set her down, the cool metal seemingly helping with whatever fever always seemed to grip her now.  Some of the shadows faded from her gaze as he sat beside her, a steadying presence for her to lean on as her arms trembled to support her own weight.

             And it was that way they settled, waiting for their host to appear.

For Serenno to experience such harsh rain was rather rare.

A similar rain had clattered against the window of the Count’s study a few days ago, when his Master had called to relay the latest news he’d deemed fit to share with his apprentice. “Master Windu’s old apprentice has lost her way,” Sidious had uttered in serpentine tones, nearly causing the older man’s skin to crawl. “He seeks to bring her home. Make certain he cannot take her back.” Why he had ordered this, Dooku could not say. Perhaps he wanted to avail of an opportunity to demoralise the Jedi, drive them to greater lengths of desperation as the conflict continued to unfold across the galaxy. Or perhaps it was intended to target Windu specifically. Sidious had never liked Mace, Dooku knew, more so than other Jedi; no doubt he disliked the Korun master’s shrewd observations and blunt honesty. It was perhaps ironic that those were what had made his presence so enjoyable when Dooku was still at the temple; although he was still as misguided as the rest of the Order, he possessed a clarity of vision and devotion to their ideals that had always been admirable. As was the woman Depa had grown into under his tutelage.

It had been years since Dooku had seen her last. A reunion was certainly well overdue. His Master had not directly said he wanted her dead, but that was no doubt intended to be the end result. Training her to be a Sith was hardly a possibility, not with the Rule of Two in plac and Sidious having the most loyal follower in Lord Tyranus. But if demoralisation and instability were what his Master desired, then Dooku knew that far more could be achieved if Depa’s end was drawn out. A simple execution would not be enough. So after Grievous’ failure to eliminate her and the rebel force on Haruun Kal, the Count had taken more direct control over the situation and sent his own unit to retrieve her. Whether her torture was broadcast to the temple, or she fell to the dark side deep enough to be of some service to the Separatist cause before she was disposed of, he would find a way to deal the greatest damage possible to his enemies.

The comm on his desk buzzed, stirring him from the haze of thoughts his mind had drifted into as his gaze followed rain drops forming tear-tracks down the glass. Answering it, he was informed that the droids had returned with their prisoner. Drawing himself up and straightening his cape, he headed towards the door, pausing to glance back at the rain and wonder if it might be an omen of some sort.

Making his way through the chambers of his palace, he soon arrived at the one that the Jedi Council member had been brought to. Upon seeing her, all thoughts of torture and manipulation momentarily left him, drowned out by the shock at seeing her in such a poor condition. He had received reports that she was unhealthy, but this...it was more than he had expected. But he was quick to mask any surprise, maintaining a cool aloofness and the aristocrat’s air of superiority. The fact that she had to be supported by a clone made him feel some small measure of disgust; a Jedi should be able to stand proud, no matter what. He was beginning to think it fortunate his Master had put him up to this; whatever horrors Depa had faced on the jungle world, she would have to endure them no longer. And he might be hard-pressed to make her suffer anything worse while she was here.