Stealing @crqstalite's tags on my post talking about Hex's Backstory because I haven't actually talked about my headcanons for the Emperor's Wrath here. Or more specifically, why Hex's family doesn't give a single fuck about them being Emperor's Wrath (aside from the fact that Hex has more power than them now, making Hex a threat.)
We all know the Emperor's Wrath is viewed as the Emperor's personal assassin. They're supposed to embody the Emperor's Will. That means they're above the politics of the Dark Council, separate from them, and acting on the Emperor's behalf.
Which leads me to ask the question: how does one stay politically neutral in a culture and society built off of personal gain and status climbing?
You might say, the Emperor's Wrath is already at the top of the food chain, they no longer benefit from this. But what does that mean for their family? It can't be a matter of saying "you have insulted me/my family, and I am related to the Emperor's Wrath so you have insulted them and they will get you" because the Emperor's Wrath is above the petty power squabbles now. They are supposed to act on what is best for the Empire, not what is best for themself or their family.
(Hell even when the SW does act on the Empire's behalf - taking out Malgus during The False Emperor - they are scolded by the Emperor's hand for daring to act on behalf of the Emperor when they were not told to. Some of that is because the Emperor is currently in the midst of Evil Plans and being you know, completely absent, but it's still interesting to see.)
We don't really know much about Lord Scourge, the (afaik) first Emperor's Wrath, but we know that he is immortal - a gift granted to him by the Emperor. In game, we aren't told about his family or his bloodline but he is a sith pureblood. Considering how important bloodline is to the Sith Empire, I find it hard to believe that he doesn't have ancestors. Now maybe family is too difficult to discuss for him, considering he probably outlived most of them + felt nothing but I have my own personal headcanon which is...
The Emperor's Wrath exists outside of the Empire's political & social structure - having to eschew family ties.
Becoming a Sith Lord or Darth raises their family's status, but becoming Emperor's Wrath means they must prioritize their Emperor above all else. Becoming Emperor's Wrath will not raise their family's status, it will not serve them. The best way an Emperor's Wrath can serve their family is by carrying on their bloodline. Even if they can't contribute to their family, their children still can. With their duties as Emperor's Wrath, I imagine that it makes more sense to give any children to their family to raise.
Now, as there have only been two Emperor's Wraths, I also think there aren't really any set rules in place for this. When the same guy has been the Wrath for 300 years, you stop thinking about the process of getting a new Emperor's Wrath and what is necessary to be the Emperor's Wrath. The Empire has changed since Scourge became Wrath so there are bound to be some changes. But that's how I imagine the Emperor's Wrath to function in sith society.
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Slight spoilers for the end of the Sith Inquisitor and Warrior base game storyline
After all these years I think I've come up with a Darth name for my Sith Warrior.
As many who have played SWTOR know, unlike the Sith Inquisitor - who gets 1 of 3 potential Darth names depending on their force alignment at the end of their base game storyline (dark side, light side and neutral) - the SW doesn't get a nifty Darth name. Hell, SW players didn't even use to get a "Darth" title originally. It wasn't until much, much later that the SW was given the "Darth" title after so many people complained about not having it. Just didn't make sense that someone in such a prestigious role as "The Emperor's Wrath" wouldn't be considered a Darth. So Bioware finally decided to throw us that bone.
For a long time I thought about just swiping the neutral name - Darth Occlus - from the SI, since Dany's alignment is neutral and my SI's alignment is dark side - Darth Nox - so there wouldn't be any problems for my personal story (since all my character come together during the creation of the Alliance against Arcann). And I did use it as place holder for my stories.
Now, I could still go that route. Or I can use the name I found. Darth Velo (VEH-lo). Rooted in the Latin velum(veil), it directly implies hiding behind a mask or concealing one's true nature. Which seems appropriate for a neutral Sith.
The Boorcati Ch’at Baversco sat comfortably in the very Dromund Kaas hangar that Calline had stolen it from, almost three years ago. Fully a third of its original parts had been replaced and upgraded in the tide of credits earned through killing Supreme Chancellor Janarus. Calline didn’t much like Darth Tormen, but he paid well. And Mako always knew how to winkle a payday out of filling multiple people’s bounties on the same person.
Calline sat comfortably in the Boorcati Ch’at Baversco. She had wiped out a chunk of cargo space to expand the holo room and put in a circle of plump couches in hound’s tooth gray and blue. Calline wasn’t a big animal person; she had grown up in barren places and as a rule the critters she met tended to not like her despite her heartfelt offer of petting. Crysta Markon’s pet Anomidian constrictor had scared her witless, which at the time was only covered by the fact that she didn’t talk much even when not witless.
But Torian had explained to her about hounds, not just the akks she’d seen in her travels but bred and trained hunters. She liked giving them a nod with her furniture pattern.
“So,” Gault said expansively. There were narrow consoles set into the circle of couches, and his held not only a wineglass but the wine bottle to go with it. “We can still go up, or at least sideways. Jedi Council? Dark Council? Emperor?” He waggled his eyebrows.
“The entire Republic side of the Holonet says a Jedi killed the Emperor last month,” Mako reported. “It’s about to get a lot more chaotic in Imperial space.”
“That sounds like steady work,” Torian said.
“Eep!” said Blizz.
Calline sat up in a hurry. Blizz’s section of the sofa rocked and tipped over backwards, sticking up a footrest as it did so.
Blizz, now flat on her back on the floor with a sofa section towering over her, gulped.
“Blizz fix,” the Jawa said sheepishly.
“Do you want to see how many top-level Sith have multiple bounties?” said Mako. “We could score a payday bigger than Janarus if we move fast.”
Calline gestured for her to bring it on.
“Right. I’ve got a…Darth Arho…three for Darth Ravage, but that one’s killed over a hundred hunters already…hm? Anything?” Calline shrugged. “Do you want something lower-stakes?” Calline made a rolling gesture. “Okaaay…live bounty, Colonel Tartarus is looking for his brother. A lot of credits…oh. Oh. He’s Sith, and the Colonel wants him delivered alive.”
Calline made a finger blaster and clicked it.
“Really?” said Gault. “Mako said ‘a lot’ but it’s not a Supreme Chancellor price range.” He added as if wounded, “It’s not our price range.”
“We find him,” Calline said. And they knew her well enough to know when she meant business.
Because things were changing. Calline had made a name for herself the galaxy over. She could choose any job she wanted.
And she wanted the jobs that reunited families.
She let her crew figure out the new scheme in their own time. She started skipping kill bounties as a matter of course. She delivered children to parents, sisters to sisters. She wasn’t stupid. She didn’t think every one of these was a rosy reunion and everybody would be happy and nice to each other forever.
But if she didn’t try, what good was she?
Mako kept her eyes on Project 32 and the Chiss named Wynston. The latter seemed to have vanished from the HoloNet. If the timing were any different, Calline might believe something bad had happened to him. But as it was, he’d vanished in the bare weeks when she’d been closest to catching up with him. That was an awfully convenient death. No. Somehow, somewhere, maybe with a mask like that Wrath, her brother was still kicking.
Her income dropped to a trickle, and she took poverty with the same philosophy as riches. She had earned the ability to choose her targets, and she chose with care. The acknowledgment from the occasional truly grateful family was reward enough, no matter what Gault said.
*
“Here’s a family matter with some zeroes behind it,” Mako said. “A woman wants her son returned from, get this, Darth Malgus.”
Calline tracked Darths. Any responsible Mandalorian would. Malgus was vicious, and he had a private army. Was this son a soldier? Or an apprentice? Mothers had a way of not mentioning their wayward children were full-fledged Sith.
But this one was just a person. Human, an Army lieutenant, a loyal citizen and one whose mother said had been proud to be selected for Malgus’s army.
That is, before that army vanished two months ago.
“He served Darth Malgus. But Malgus’s closest forces disappeared two months ago. I don’t know where they went or what they’re doing.” Corena made a fist. “I don’t give a damn what they’re doing. I want my son.”
The transmission ended.
“’s a challenge,” Calline said with a slow and low-key pleasure.
“It may mean crossing Darth Malgus,” Mako said. “And he has a bad reputation.”
“This will barely cover armament costs,” Gault said glumly. “If we want to stay on top of our game.”
“Always,” Calline said. “We’ll make do.”
She switched the holo on again and was startled to find one message on a dozen channels. Darth Malgus himself, promising a new Empire. An Empire for everyone, not just Humans.
“Oh,” Calline said. An Empire under new management? Maybe she could get a new sponsor out of this. One who didn’t think aliens were animals.
Darth Malgus had been active with some ships over the distant planet of Ilum, apparently a source of Jedi tombs and some very modern crystals. T5-M7 collected sensor readings until she detected a blip not far from the Imperial beachhead. There was no visual with it.
“Well, they said he disappeared,” Mako said. “Let’s see what’s up.”
A star destroyer materialized before the Boorcati at collision range. Calline slewed up as hard as she could and still had to go for an open hangar to avoid plowing into the star destroyer’s side.
The hangar had a small fighter and four transports, all of them oriented as if they had just landed and hadn’t been turned around for relaunch.
Calline left Teefive in charge of the Boorcati and deployed her team. Blizz got to carry her rocket launcher, which seemed to make her happy.
They made for the main artery of the ship. There was a choke point, and beyond it a woman screaming. "Wrath," Darth Scythia of the Dark Council bellowed. "Would you GET a fucking HOBBY."
Calline darted to enter the long corridor. “Darth Scythia,” she said.
“Oh, it’s you,” the Mirialan said in her dramatic soprano. “We’ve come a long way since Voss, hunter. I’m going to pay you a sinful number of credits if you come with me to stymy the counterattack. Starting with this maniac.”
“Malgus sounds good for Mandos,” Torian said. “And aliens, Champion?”
Calline had no problem nodding. Then she brought up a holo to display a single man, an Imperial lieutenant. “I want this one.”
Scythia shrugged. “If he doesn’t get in my way. We’re here to reinforce Malgus, so if this is one of Malgus’s people…we need only avoid misunderstandings.”
“Well?” called a black figure further down. “Are you going to try?”
Scythia yelled back. “Wrath, the Emperor has gone silent. Not just irregular, like after the Jedi attack. Why did he go silent? How did Malgus get his station? Don’t you want to know?”
The black figure was silent.
“I promise I will tell you all I know,” said Scythia, “if you defend Darth Malgus with me.”
“I promise you will tell me now, or regret your silence.”
“Now, now. I made my offer. I could tell you, but then you’d have to kill me.” Scythia smiled, not pleasantly. “Come with me, Wrath. You were chosen, you are the elite, but the system doesn't work for others the way it works for you. Is that not wrong? Come with me, don’t fight me, and I’ll tell you what I know of your master.”
A few things happened at once. The Wrath extended one hand, palm aside, gripping in Scythia's direction. A blaster bolt, fat and bright orange, ripped past her and stopped in the air, quivering like a restive animal. A mechanical yelp came from the bulkhead a hundred meters away.
The blaster bolt hovered about two meters from Scythia’s head, held in place by the Wrath's concentration.
“The Emperor’s station,” the Wrath said.
Scythia gestured. The bolt separated in two and streaked past her ears.
The Wrath had turned her face down the corridor to a balcony overlooking the end. A rust-orange figure stood there, aiming something that had to be a sniper rifle.
The droid fired again, and the Wrath just redirected the fat bolt into the ground. The droid’s vocabulator sounded like it was dragging along the deck. “Exasperated observation: a Sith who can stop blaster fire will force me to less pleasant methods.”
“Droid,” Mako said decisively.
“Hm,” the Wrath said. “Snipers.” And she ran toward the droid.
“Gault,” Calline sang, and began a ground-eating lope. Maybe this was Malgus’s first defense. She couldn’t communicate her desire to help, not when the Wrath and her blaster-wielding minions were right there. She looked around for an alternate route.
And the door behind the droid burst open. Over a dozen people piled onto the balcony: two alien Jedi, two Twi’lek gunners, a full armored squad, various people of her height or smaller, and a Wookiee. A closer look revealed a Mon Calamari trying to hide behind the Wookiee.
Calline didn’t know any of them, but their weapons came up as they surveyed the scene. Calline tilted her head to tell her party to defend as necessary.
One of the newcomers fired a lean green blaster shot. Scythia gestured. The bolt yelped and streaked back to the tall armored figure that had fired it. He grunted loud enough for everyone to hear.
The droid spoke again. “Smug truth bomb: I am capable of disposing of all of you given—”
The tall Jedi gestured. A force slammed the droid into the wall. A grenade rolled from its hand.
“I want no part of you,” he said unsteadily. “Are you here to stop the betrayer?”
“I make no public statement about my reasons,” Scythia said. “But I will kill one more Jedi today.” She looked at the Sarkhai girl. “Or two.”
“Don't fight,” he groaned. “Please, don't fight.”
“The Republic has no authority here. This is an internal Sith matter.”
“Pretty sure Malfuss made it everyone's problem,” said the smaller Twi’lek. “Unless you want to take him on by yourself?”
The Wrath was following Scythia, walking slowly toward the staircase that led to the droid’s perch where Tebbith’s party had piled through. “Vette,” she said in a loud, emotionless voice. “I need something from Scythia.”
The Twi’lek said, “And you'll hand Darth Malfuss the Empire to get it?”
“You don't understand. My handlers are dying. I need the Emperor.”
“Why? Does he give brooding lessons? If you're not getting orders, enjoy your freedom. Just tell me you want your freedom.”
“Halt,” Calline blurted. Because Scythia was suddenly in motion. She bowled through Tebbith’s party as if not occupying the same space as them, and streaked further into the ship.
“She’s going to reinforce Malgus,” the Wrath announced. “Go, if you mean to stop her.”
The mismatched party poured back through the door. Calline closed the distance to the droid and knelt beside it. It was a hunter-killer droid, shiny and modern in finish though outdated in design.
She reached for the behavior core. It was covered in an orange crystalline substance. When her glove touched it, her glove’s surface started to hiss and smoke.
The hunter-killer droid had boobytrapped its critical systems. Calline had to admire it. She activated her wrist carbonite freezer and coated the whole core in a safe layer of carbonite. Then she slung it into a bag across her chest.
Just then a stream of Kaleesh flowed into the artery behind Calline and her family. Many had spears. Some had blasters.
“Scythia?” Calline yelled.
“Yes,” said one of the Kaleesh.
“That way.” She pointed.
The Wrath was still standing near the balcony. As Calline watched, she leaped to the ceiling and clung to a grate. In another moment she wrenched the grate off and lifted herself in.
The passage was long and winding, with few exits. To the point, it wasn’t carrying poison or any wild temperature or gas. When the dark figure ahead punched through a grate and dropped, Calline knew they had to be somewhere important.
She didn’t quite expect it to be a divide as deep as the ship itself, with forces gathering on both sides.
Darth Malgus stood just below Calline’s vantage point. The Wrath had dropped to stand beside him. Scythia had somehow made it to Malgus’s left. Half a dozen masked Kaleesh ranged behind her.
And opposite, the entire cavalcade from the assassin droid’s chamber was waving their weapons and getting ready to fire. Calline noted that the beefy soldier whose hand Scythia had deflected his blaster bolt into was now resting his rifle on his forearm rather than gripping it. Even good quality gloves couldn’t protect against a Force-accelerated sniper round.
The leader stood in front of him, blocking what she could. As Calline watched, the rifleman’s wounded arm wavered and the leader eased the barrel down to rest on her steady shoulder.
Opting to dispense with surprise, Calline dropped to Scythia’s side. “Lord,” she said shortly. Torian slammed to the ground behind her and caught up at her shoulder. The Kaleesh raised their spears, but didn’t stop her.
Scythia spoke loudly without taking her eyes off the assembly. “I want Malgus alive. The Wrath and I can defend him. Torment the Jedi, would you? The tall one. I want him to feel like he simply must come to our side to eliminate the threat you pose to all those people he cares about.”
Head games were extra, but she hadn’t given Scythia an invoice yet, so it didn’t matter so much. Calline would love to test herself against a full-fledged Jedi, and Torian’s tension told her he was thinking it, too.
In point of fact, she shot first.
*
“Servant Two.” Without Servant One.
The Sith Pureblood was favoring one leg, and blood stained his face. “Wrath…he takes the Emperor’s name…he hunts us.”
It wasn’t an assignment. It was a death croak.
Ruth didn’t care about Vette’s party. She didn’t much care abut Scythia’s Kaleesh brigade. She didn’t care about the bounty hunters which were at this moment dual-wielding pistols like a pair of cartoon gunslingers.
She cared that Scythia had answers about the Emperor, and that Darth Malgus was challenging the order of things.
Ruth didn’t love the Dark Council. Familiarity bred contempt. But as long as her master was silent, she had to serve the Empire’s interests. Not the interests of former friends whose personal projects clashed with the Empire’s traditions. Even her friends had betrayed her or her master outright. She had always meant to honorably serve the Empire; in a way, that had never changed.
She felt very tired. But she had to go on, or despair.
Darth Malgus stood on one side of a deep divide. Vette’s party spilled into the other side. Ruth let herself down with Malgus, and the two bounty hunters who followed her received orders from Scythia. The woman had no idea how to balance velvet glove with durasteel fist. Or so Ruth could say; it wasn’t like she had ever attempted the feat herself.
The female bounty hunter shot straight at Tebbith. That’s when it all broke loose.
Ruth, Malgus, and Scythia stood side by side on one lip of the abyss.
“I had not expected so much so soon,” he boomed. “Let us destroy these Republic agents.”
The Republic agents. Vette was one of them. They were firing for all they were worth. Scythia deflected back at the gunmen. Ruth deflected to the ceiling. Malgus deflected—well, according to some logic, Ruth imagined. Meanwhile, the two bounty hunters were concentrating fire on a harried-looking Tebbith. He couldn’t hold both of them, with all their tech, forever. He probably couldn’t hold them for another five minutes.
Kaleesh were sidling into the far side one at a time. A yell went up among the Republic forces and their rear guard engaged.
Ruth could force Vette to surrender. It was the only way to get her out of here. If Ruth chewed through enough of these friends of hers, she would have to leave.
Yet Ruth deflected toward the ceiling. Over, and over, and over. No stray bolt could be permitted.
“You’re not trying,” Scythia practically yodeled.
“I want your answer. Don’t think that means I want your body count.”
Tebbith managed to rip one blaster from the female bounty hunter's hand. She flowed into a single-shot stance without missing a beat.
Scythia clenched a fist. “They’re Jedi and Republic hirelings! We can end this now!”
The next voice was small and far away. “Ruth! Ruth, we can end this!”
Vette. Asking not to fight her.
That’s when Malgus lowered his lightsaber, raised his hand, and sent a stream of purple Force lightning across the abyss.
At Vette, who had spoken up for peace.
Ruth didn’t think. Her hand came up. Her Force sense infiltrated the giant frame and yanked at three points of his spine. Snap. She shoved the reeling Sith toward the pit and roared, “My master is more than a space station. If you knew the first thing about me, you would know that.”
He gurgled. “My girl…likewise.”
She pushed, and let him fall.
She felt abruptly out of breath.
The firing had stopped. Kaleesh on both sides of the divide stared at her with yellow eyes, and an inner ring of casual acquaintances stared as well. She might only have seconds to save Vette’s life. “Enough,” she shouted. “The False Emperor is dead. Vette, you and your crew may leave.”
Even at a distance Ruth could see the way Vette held her chin up. “Fade. Thanks.”
The armored squad's leader yelled crisply. “We can still—”
“I know her, Fade. She hasn't even started fighting us. We should get out.”
The squad's war droid danced in place. “Sir! Permission to pursue these two dastardly Sith and rendezvous back at the ship while your crew receives medical attention!”
“Fade,” Vette said. “Tell him he shouldn’t kill ‘em here with no holovid coverage. Tell him anything. But don’t put him up against R—the Wrath and Darth Scythia.”
The armored leader nodded shortly and gave quiet commands. The armored squad retreated, carrying their wounded.
“Master Tebbith,” Vette prompted.
Scythia pouted. “I wanted him.”
The big Zabrak looked green instead of brown. “Darth Scythia. I have nothing to say to you.”
“It was never your talking I was interested in. Remember that a Sith made peace today, Master Jedi. Inexplicably, to no concrete advantage, but for whatever reason, she did.”
Tebbith joined his hands in front of his chest. The girl Ruth didn’t know, the striped lightsaber user, copied her master’s pose. Tebbith bowed slightly. “My lord Wrath,” he called. “Perhaps we may find common ground, in time.”
“When I conquer yours,” Ruth said coldly. “Go while my mercy holds.” Which was as long as Vette was watching, but nobody had to know that.
He limped away.
Vette waved her friends out toward the exit after the Jedi’s party. Corso was helping Risha and Risha didn't even sass him.
“Let's not do this again,” Vette said, and left.
Then there was just Ruth, Scythia, two bounty hunters, and a dozen feral Kaleesh.
The Mandalorians walked to the pit’s edge and leaned over. One said something quiet in Mando’a to the other. Both of them turned toward Scythia.
“Don’t need sinful credits,” the taller one said. “But I need to buy a replacement blaster.”
“You’ll get it,” said Scythia, without looking away from Ruth.
“Shall I report your treason?” Ruth said levelly.
“It complicates things, that there are witnesses saying we both survived this showdown. Murder afterward is so awkward. They can say, fairly, that I fought the Jedi to a standstill and secured Malgus’s flagship.” Scythia drew a line with her green eyes, ranging far, taking in every one of her Kaleesh soldiers. Taking in Ruth.
Something shuddered amidship.
“Do you hear that?” said Ruth. “Moff Regus’s forces are boarding. Soon I won’t be quite so badly outnumbered.”
The idea of interruption seemed to settle something in Scythia’s mind. “You want to know what I know of your master? A Sith searches for him. Kills every Servant he meets. I have no signs of the master's life…but the elder Emperor's Wrath seems to believe he can be fought somewhere, somehow. The Voice who came after the Jedi mission vanished from his station for no evident reason. You may have been the last to see him…?” Ruth gave her nothing. “He may be in hiding. He may have built a Voice anywhere in the galaxy. But he isn't ruling the Empire.”
Ruth was falling. She was surely falling. “Do you think that report makes us even?”
“Since I can’t very well assassinate the Emperor’s Wrath in front of witnesses and maintain my credibility as a woman of her word? Yes, let’s say even.”
“Fine.” She walked out, and no one tried to stop her.
*
Tebbith sat on the curving sofa of the Gnost-Dural and hyperventilated.
Zenith leaned in the doorway, holding a kolto pack to a dark burn above one lek. “You get out okay?”
“I was not prepared to see her again. I very nearly tried to harm her.”
“Hm.” Zenith looked concerned. “Nobody's giving you points for stopping yourself.”
“That's not true,” said Nadia behind him. “To maintain his connection to the Force, he has to side with life. It's not a score, it's an affinity.” She looked past the Twi’lek toward Tebbith. “We survived. Darth Malgus can't hurt anybody again. We won, Master.”
“I feel like there could have been more. The Wrath valued Vette.”
“That was unexpected,” Zenith allowed. “I don't like it. What else don't we know about the spacer?”
“There may be more to them both than hate.”
“Hm. Believe that and carry a big lightsaber,” Zenith said. “Please.”
*
Vette and her crew sat around the lounge. For a while nobody said anything.
“I don't understand,” Corso said. “Why did she cooperate with Scythia, and why did she pull a 180 and help us out of there?”
“We used to be friends,” Vette said. “Maybe that’s all a supervillain needs. I'm just the quirky sidekick of her tragic backstory.” She shook herself and looked at the holo. “Come on, I want a job.”
“We just did one,” Risha said. “Our fee’s already deposited.”
“I want one with no strings.”
*
Scythia sipped a Quesh Sunrise and glared past her crew. “No one told me she was on good terms with her Twi’lek.”
The Kaleesh pair named Jefe stared straight ahead. Xalek stayed well clear of their lines of sight. Scythia gathered that they were shamed by the loss of the objective.
Oh, everyone was. “Next time I will not guard the ship,” Khem Val said.
“No kidding. Alas, I'll have to deliver that rousing speech myself once I have a fleet.”
“And when does that happen?” Zash-in-Khem said idly.
“When I want you to know, I’ll hand you some bubbly for the dedication.”
*
“We got him,” Mako said. “We can deliver anytime.”
Calline nodded thanks, then unslung the carbon-encased droid behavior core. “New project.”
Teefive beeped uneasily. The little droid did get jealous sometimes, even if her faulty language library felt that the word for jealousy was “snorkel.”
“We just got a very nice infusion of cash,” Gault called from his quarters. “I take it the Dark Council paid for our services? Would’ve been more if you’d won…”
“We almost took down a Jedi Council member with four blasters and no briefing,” Torian said, sounding as relaxed as ever and also a bit smug. “We’ll do better next time.”
*
Frustrated by the ceasefire, but pleased that she had forced Darth Malgus at bay just when a Sith decided to practice backstabbing, Fade took the Havoc Go Fast down toward the Republic’s Ilum base.
“Sir?” It was Dorne, datapad in hand. Probably an after action report. Fade would need to sleep on it to really sort through what had happened and what she should feel about it.
“Yes, Dorne?”
“You’ve received a priority message, sir. Time-sensitive.”
“Probably Tare getting into trouble. I’ll take it here.”
“Yes, sir.” She nodded and walked out. Dorne asked a lot of questions, but there were a few areas where she guarded privacy carefully.
The transmission displayed with black edges. Fade’s stomach flattened and soured.
“Major Fadreleth, it is with deepest regret that we must report…”
Fade stared at General Garza’s pointless image. She looked at the attachment. It was a crystal-clear image of the throne room where Tare had drawn the short straw and had to play honor guard to a small-time heavy. It was supposed to be a meaningless little assignment.
A masked Sith came into the image. The very one who had just let Fade out of the room. She raised a gripping hand and Tare boosted off the ground, clawing at his neck. She closed a fist and hurled the dying man at his comrades, just enough to throw them off balance while she leaped to attack. Tare’s last living act had been to bodycheck his own team immediately prior to execution.
Fade was sitting. How had she failed to protect him from this? How had she failed to destroy the bitch who did it when she had the chance? How…how…how?
Fade had no one else, not like her brother. Now there wouldn't even be him.
She was too angry to cry, at first.
*
end of Part 9. Falling Stars
Story index
*
Chiss ship name courtesy of https://swc-chiss.com/cheunh-language/.
Another painting of my Sith Warrior with Darth Marr!
My fanfic about them recently hit its first anniversary, so I decided to draw this to celebrate the occasion.
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Chapter 54. Wynston's Record is Not Spotless. Sith Warrior, Imperial Agent
from Part 9. Falling Stars
Galaxy Without End
*
Ruth and her mask toured, not the individual Sith prisons in Kaas City, but the municipal jail. She looked for women over a certain age, alien or Human, with certain professions, with a certain something in their eyes. She looked for women who, in the jailer’s opinion, had never misbehaved. Women who probably weren’t even guilty of what they’d been jailed for.
Most of her interviews were short, and ended with her moving on leaving a confused and distressed prisoner behind. No one walked free.
She came to a Togruta. The small woman sat slightly off balance, but with her head held high. Her prison clothing was ill-fitting but she didn’t seem to notice. Her pale eyes widened as she took Ruth in.
But she didn’t jump or move. She watched.
“Elgareda Fint,” Ruth said.
“My lord.” She leaned forward and peered down the hall. “You sent the guard away.”
“You’re a nurse, aren’t you? Any family in the area?”
Elgareda was alert, but clearly spiritually bruised. “No, my lord. No family. And-and yes, I’m a nurse.”
“Why are you here?”
“I was convicted of felony theft.”
“Of what?”
Bruised, but not broken. “Myself. My master decided not to deal with me after I tried to escape. So I ended up here.”
“There is no escape from the Empire.”
She slumped. “I know that now, my lord.”
“Have you ever cared for young children, Elgareda?”
“Not for my day job. I helped raise my sister’s children.” The thought raised a ghost of a smile before her face stiffened. “…My lord? What is this about?”
“I have removed more collars than I’ve placed,” Ruth reflected. “What if I offered you a job as a live-in nanny?”
Caution. Interest. “How many children?”
“Just one, an infant. Human, like myself. He’s healthy and easy to get along with. It’s just that I travel into danger for work.”
“Why are you…? I mean, a prison. Instead of…a daycare?”
Ruth had to roll her shoulders, acutely aware of a stiffness in her spine. “Because a prisoner served me well once. Before things changed. I’ll pay you a fair rate. Come, if you’re interested I’ll bring you to the interviewer.”
She obviously weighed black-clad Ruth against the Imperial guards she was used to. “I’ll go, my lord. What…should I call you?”
“My lord Wrath will do.” She broke the cell’s lock with a fingertip and a twist of the Force. “Stay close by. You’re still an alien on Dromund Kaas.” She led Elgareda briskly, giving the staff curt nods on her way out.
Out. Out. Up the stairs. Up into a sticky, cloudy night, the clouds lowering orange onto the ugly knives of the city. Out into the air. Ruth felt better just walking.
The restaurant was a low black building with seating up top, and Ruth wasted no time leading Elgareda to Jaesa’s table. Jaesa was nursing a tall pink drink.
Ruth stopped, and touched Elgareda’s elbow to bring her up alongside. “Jaesa?”
Jaesa shot to her feet. Her tension had been like a durasteel cable ever since Ruth asked her to come to Kaas City. One last time. “Ruth! Who’s your friend?”
“That’s for you to answer. Meet Elgareda. I need a nanny for Rylon, and I know you’re busy, so, here she is. Tell me.”
“Of course.” Jaesa joined her hands over her chest and bowed her head. The old familiar glow came up. Jaesa was always so steady, so earnest. She tried so hard.
If she failed here, and Ruth ever found out about it, she would die very quickly. If she failed and Rylon was hurt as a result, she would die very slowly. It felt fundamentally wrong to have these thoughts about Jaesa Willsaam, of all people, but Ruth couldn’t afford to give preferential treatment now.
“You are so much gentler than everything you’ve had to stand next to,” Jaesa said softly. “I sense no treachery. I sense no desire for treachery.” Her eyes opened. She looked directly at Ruth. “Be kind.”
Ruth’s stomach churned. She had asked, and been answered. Something about it hurt her. Ruth had been that nice and gotten punished for it, beyond endurance. Elgareda was that nice and maybe she would get to stay that way. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair.
But her son needed a caretaker.
“Thank you,” Ruth said stiffly. “You may go.”
Jaesa looked startled. “Ruth, when you invited me here I thought…sit with me. There’s so much we have to—”
“This consultation was a gift for my son, and I’m grateful. Now go away.”
Jaesa looked at least ten years older when she was desperate. “Ruth! I can’t let you do this alone!”
“I’m not. I have Pierce and Broonmark. Now I have Elgareda, who will presumably be better at diaper changes than Pierce and Broonmark are. I have everything I require, Jaesa. Goodbye.”
Jaesa didn’t submit. “I still see you…”
“I can’t explain it to you. Go.”
And she looked past Ruth. “Waiter? A drink for my friends.”
Ruth walked out. Elgareda all but trotted to keep up behind her.
*
Ellie Fint had nothing to hold on the shuttle ride out of Kaas City. She had owned little as a slave and less as a prisoner. Now she was going to be a third thing, if this black-masked possible employer judged her suitable.
The Emperor’s Wrath piloted toward a sprawling building half hidden under the eaves of the jungle. She landed precisely on a small pad inside a head-high outer wall and led Ellie down an access ramp and into the building proper.
The Wrath never let Ellie out of her sight. She indicated directions with her hands and walked at Ellie’s side. All the way down a pale-walled corridor, into a living room.
Ellie had never seen a place so much built for comfort. It had a big fireplace that was presently artificially breathing a relief of cool air. The walls were pale cream, hung with fabric and framed items of geometric figures in bold colors. The furniture was all light colors, puffy, but well-worn.
A man sprawled on the one couch. A very tall man, with very broad shoulders, and scarring on one side of his face. He was a soldier if Ellie had ever seen one.
And he jerked his head toward a gray crib and spoke in an earthquake of a voice. “Sleeping soundly, milord.”
“Did you feed him?”
“On schedule, milord.”
What was he? A husband? A father? Family? Friend? Servant? Slave? “I’m Ellie,” she dared to say.
The man gave her a probing once-over and a cocky grin. “Captain Pierce. I’m in your master’s employ.”
The Wrath gestured annoyedly. “I’m paying her, Pierce.”
“I’m in your employer’s employ,” he said placidly. “Do you want to meet the little one?” But he looked at the Wrath, not at Ellie.
And the Wrath peeled off her gloves and laid them on the back of a chair. Then, after a second’s apparent thought, touched a release on her mask and pulled it and cowl off.
She was Human, very fair-skinned, with a small full mouth and big blue eyes. The mask had left red marks on her nose and forehead. Her hair was brown and straight, swept back to the back of her neck but for a few strands knocked loose in her unmasking.
She gave Ellie one warning look, then came to the crib and softly smiled. “Hello,” she said. “Were you good for Uncle Pierce?”
“Oh, take his side,” Pierce chuckled.
“I want you to meet somebody,” the Wrath said. “Will you do that? Will my little one do that? Come here.” She scooped up a rounded green figure that wriggled in the Wrath’s arms until she arranged it into a chubby baby seated in the crook of the Wrath’s arm, staring with wide blue eyes like his mother’s at Ellie.
“What did you introduce yourself as?” the Wrath said. “Ellie? Rylon, this is Miss Ellie. I’m going to ask her to look after you when I have to fly away. What do you think?” Her voice took on a harder tone. “He’s never seen a Togruta before. I’m not sure what he thinks of it.”
But Rylon leaned toward Ellie, reaching. “Ack!” he yelled.
Carefully, Ellie approached. The Wrath’s attention was rock-hard and colder than the air conditioning. Rylon seemed thoroughly fascinated by something about Ellie, which as she came closer proved to be her left montral.
Ellie accepted the baby into her arms and hoisted him to grab at her montral. It hurt, a tiny bit, but Rylon looked delighted. He crowed and patted, then tapped his fat little hand down to her face.
She brought him to face her. “Well, aren’t you a lively little fellow? What do you think? Togruta children do the same thing to start with.” She settled him in his arms and he seemed to laugh at that, too. “He’s a darling.”
The Wrath looked at Pierce, who shrugged and grinned back.
“You’re hired,” said the Wrath.
*
Ellie, Pierce, and Broonmark served their respective roles easily enough: Ellie at home with Rylon and Ruth’s entire family collection of holovids, Broonmark with the Scorned serving honor guard whenever Ruth traveled, and Pierce playing backup in any assignment Ruth received or gave. In fact, one day Pierce and Broonmark were out together, softening up a potentially rebellious lord who might not need to die, if he fell in line. This wasn’t a question of mercy; it was a question of efficiency.
So she came home and found her living room proper, her crib proper, her nanny proper, and a Chiss in a smooth Kaasian business suit in violet and black.
He stood, looking serious.
Her heart leaped, and shriveled. Since when did Wynston have the right to be in her house? Charming her servants? Getting close to her child? Was this an Intelligence play? What did he want? Was this Quinn’s replacement, only delayed by current events?
Wynston cocked his head. “It’s been too long. I got tired of waiting for the Force to take its course.”
Ruth found her voice. “How dare you. How dare you.”
“My lord,” Ellie said. “I’m sorry. He wouldn’t…I kept him away from the baby.” The baby’s crib was not three steps away, but at least the colorful mobile above it was undisturbed.
“Yes, good,” she growled. “Wynston is so very charming. Get out of here.” She opted not to specify how far out, nor when to return.
“My lord.” She scurried in the direction of the garden.
Which left Ruth with Wynston.
Her heart was racing as she pulled her mask off. This had better be good.
*
“Watch out, miss!”
Ryessa heard the voice a fraction of a second before she saw the hoverpallet. She tried to stop short and just ended up stumbling over the lowest tier of crates.
The pallet stopped. A man ran around – a colorful alien, dressed in pressed workman’s clothes with a brown leatheris jacket and a jaunty scarf tossed over one shoulder. Ryessa stared, a little. With blue skin and bright red eyes he didn’t look like most of the traffic around here. In sixteen years on this dirtball, Ryessa should know.
“I’m so sorry, miss! Are you all right?”
“Huh? Yeah, I’m–” she looked down and realized her backpack had spilled half its contents upon impact with the cargo.
“Let me help you with that.” He crouched and got to work gathering her scattered things. She knelt and started sweeping the rest of them up herself. “A girl could get killed walking down this street,” he said, “you should really try to be–” He brought up his head to see her, eye to widened eye. He stopped talking.
“I should try to be?” she prompted, briefly forgetting to keep searching for things on the floor.
He smiled, teeth showing white against blue. “Forget it.” He tugged at his scarf’s end, then rose gracefully to his feet, offering her a hand up. There was something in his look, like maybe he knew what a ridiculously old-fashioned gesture it was, but like he wouldn’t laugh at her if she accepted it. So she let him help her to her feet. He handed her the books he’d gathered in one arm.
“So,” he said, leaning against the highest stack of crates, the one that had blocked his vision to start with. “You live around here? I just got to town and, obviously, I need to brush up on my traffic regulations.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I live near here.” In her reclusive father’s fortress. “Who are you?”
“My name’s Thrandon.”
“Thrandon what?”
He looked at her mouth and his lips curved a little. “Gath’rando’nuor. It’s a Chiss thing.”
“Gath’randn-n...war?”
“Close enough. Thrandon works for everyday.” He smiled like she hadn’t said anything stupid. For all that his features were alien, he had a killer smile.
That was the first night they went someplace to talk. She could lie about her age and the whereabouts of her ID to him but she couldn’t get into cantinas, so he went in and brought back a fizzy fruity drink with bright layered colors and an actual small umbrella. She took it in hand and laughed. “Really?”
Thrandon, swishing a wide glass of something brown and smoky in his other hand, grinned. “It’s considered quite stylish. Everyone on Coruscant has them.”
“So how come you’re not being stylish?” She craned to look at his drink.
“Well, a man like me doesn’t have to care about other people’s style.” He leaned back and took a shallow sip before continuing. “Besides, this stuff’s most popular out in Hutt space. Visit Nar Shaddaa, they’ll hand you this.”
“Can I try?” She set aside her own beverage.
“I expect you to get back to the Tri-La Citrus Rango Tango, it cost me a pretty credit.” He winked and held out his glass. She took it – the fumes crinkled her nose, but she took a sip. It went down like fresh fire.
He grinned. “Burns, doesn’t it? That’s half the fun.”
When she could talk again she giggled, a little self-consciously. “It does.”
“You ever been to Nar Shaddaa, out that way?”
She shook her head. “No.” She’d only been off planet a few times, usually to Coruscant. Certainly never out to Hutt space. She wished she could sound better traveled.
“Fantastic planet. Always something happening, much of it fun. I stop by there every chance I get.”
He told her some stories, and asked about what there was to do in town – nothing, she was afraid, but he tilted his head and said every place had its attractions – and finally when it was getting late he set his glass aside and offered her a hand up from her seat. “Are you all right to ride?” he said. The swagger of his voice had given way to something sincere.
“Yeah,” she said airily. “I’m fine.”
“I want you to get home safe. Can I at least get you to your door?”
“Property gate, maybe. Dad’ll kill me if I let you in from there.”
“Property gate, then. I do hope you won’t have trouble getting from your gate to your house. Go on, lead the way.”
*
He looked at her the way adult men looked at the adult women they wanted, which might almost have been scary, except any time it started to bother her his eyes would find hers again and he’d smile. Not like some horny creep on the street, but like a guy who had no place to be and nothing to do more important than smiling at her. Which was funny, because his schedule seemed pretty full. He was always making what he called puddle jumps to nearby towns or working on his ship.
He made time for her, though, and laughed off the question of whether it would mess with business. He had a conspiratorial way with her: a devil-may-care wave for the rest of the world, but he invited her in for things exciting and personal. She lied to her parents and friends to spend more time with him. She would describe the security nonsense her father put her through and he laughed and commiserated with her. It just made sneaking out that much more fun. Every time Thrandon let her into the pilot’s seat of his Kismet Skimmer, leaning in around her to show her the way, she wasn’t sure whether the adrenaline or the delight would drown her first.
*
She tripped on the uneven pavement of the city park. In an instant Thrandon was there, his arms around her waist, and she easily, gratefully brought her hands up to rest against his chest. He was so much warmer than the evening breeze.
“Steady,” he said, a little tang of liquor on his breath. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah. I’m good.” She turned her face up to his and smiled. “Just fine.”
“She says as she trips. I’m starting to think your license for walking in this city should be revoked.”
“No. I’m fine.” She could handle this. She loved handling this, being out with him, getting away with it.
He didn’t let her go. “It’s almost dark,” he said in a low voice. “Shouldn’t you think about getting home?”
“Nah. I can get away with a while longer.”
He tilted his head a little, bringing his face in closer to hers. “I’d hate to get you in trouble.”
“Maybe I like trouble,” she said. Her heart pounded. She’d never said anything that forward before. It made her dizzy, or maybe she already had been.
He leaned in so suddenly she didn’t know what was going on until his lips tickled her ear. “Probably not as much as trouble likes you.” In a last burst of boldness before she melted she turned her head and he was there, mouth hot, arms tight, heart pounding too under her hands.
She would remember, later, that he had been toying with her pockets after she’d gone to vibroshower.
*
Ryessa stopped short when she reached the living room.
She had meant to bring up the topic of Thrandon, her—boyfriend? Eee, boyfriend. She had to walk lightly near the thought or it might vanish. But the living room was full of strangers, hard-eyed men in ordinary clothes. What made even less sense, one man had her mother Innere’s arms pinned behind her, and two more stood over her father Athsin. He was on his knees, hands behind his neck, with two blaster barrels hovering over his head. He had been beaten. Bruised.
The voice behind her was hammered so metallic and flat that she didn’t immediately recognize it as lively Thrandon’s. “Major Thaye.” The accent was wrong, too, not Huttese but…Imperial? “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. We have a few things to discuss.”
“Thrandon?” she whispered.
“Not my name, I’m afraid.” She heard him shifting behind her. “I’m here for your father.”
Her head spun. Was he with these people? How did they get in? How did…
…she’d told him. She told him all about her paranoid father’s security. She’d left her identicard unattended with him. But…none of this made sense. Thrandon was just a pilot, a smuggler. “But you...how...we...”
She turned around, tearing her eyes away from her family. Thrandon was wearing his dapper brown jacket, but his face was foreign. His features were as chiseled as ever, but chiseling was something that happened to cold stone.
“No matter what happens,” he said calmly, “it isn’t your fault. If you believe anything, believe that.” Then loud, “I had to work to get this close, Thaye, but the game’s up. We can still be civilized. Answer our questions and we’ll be on our way. Ryessa, understand, this is your father’s fight, not yours. And if he’s half the man he thinks he is he’ll let you out of the equation by talking.”
What game? Was this about her father’s military career? How could Thrandon fit into this?
“Don’t pretend you’re here to deal,” said Thaye. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth when he spoke. “I won’t give you anything.”
“Is it so simple?” said Thrandon. “If you wish to die for your cause I will oblige, in time. But can you be so cavalier about your family? How lonely, how isolated must a girl be to turn to a total stranger? I’m in a position to offer your family considerable assistance. First in sparing their lives. Then in ensuring they’re provided for after this matter is settled.”
“So many lies, Imp.”
Imperial. Imperial, here. Threatening her life, her parents’ lives, her siblings’ lives. All because of her information. Because that man…that man…
And he was right in front of her. She knew where in his jacket his vibroknife was kept; she had been furtively delighted to know such a thing about such a man. She charged, seized the knife and pushed it at him. He held her away as if she were a kitten. She twisted and fought harder, desperate to land a hit, to cut him open like her father had already been cut. Her wrists pulsed agony as he forced the precious knife away. Then he was wrenching her arm up behind her and pulling her in, her back to him, his arm wrapping around her shoulder and throat. He put his hands on her and she couldn’t stop him. She tried to kick back but it was no good. He’d had full use of her body before and now he had it again. “Let go! Don’t touch me, don’t touch me, let go of me!”
He shoved her away hard and one of the strangers spun her and pinned her arms. She struggled some more, but she felt weaker by the moment; she couldn’t shake his grip.
“Ryessa, listen to me, you can both survive this.” Thrandon’s voice was hurried but clear. “Just tell your father to talk to us.”
“Drop dead.” She snarled at him, straining against her captor’s hands, too angry to be afraid. She couldn’t reach him. She spat instead.
It missed both face and scarf to fall on his jacket. He wasn’t even paying attention. “I’m not hearing your voice,” he said, looking not at her but near her while he brushed the spittle away. “Tell me, should I start with Ryessa? Or should I send my men to find Vivien and Roffet first?”
He learned those names from her. That bastard. That bastard.
Her father looked as brave as she had ever seen him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
What was he talking about? What was it these people wanted? Her father must know. Was it something from his Army days? Why would they want it now?
“Tsk, tsk.” Ryessa was dying to jump at him and she couldn’t. “You’ve served well,” he said. “You’ve hidden well. But the chase is over. And it ends with either you sacrificing your beloved wife and all three of your young children for a cause that’s passed you by, or you giving us what we require. You can save them, Thaye. You can still protect them. Give me the datapad.”
A datapad? All this for a datapad? Ryessa’s head swam. She tried again to shake free and couldn’t.
“Let Ryessa and Innere go,” said her father.
“I state terms,” snapped the Chiss, every word cut distinct, “you fill in what I tell you. Your family will be released when I have the datapad.” With that he turned back to Ryessa. His movements were strangely slow, and he still didn’t look directly at her. She wondered what calculations were going on. How else could he use what she’d trusted him with? What was this monster going to do? Whatever it was, she couldn’t stop sobbing.
He sighed and turned back to crouch before her father. “Athsin Thaye, I remember hearing about your unit in the war. Thunder Company, wasn’t it? Fought tooth and nail, just as my men did. We were both soldiers before we started lying for a living.” That wasn’t true, she thought. This man and her father had nothing in common. “As soldiers we can both size up this scenario. You’re surrounded. You’re outnumbered. You’re outgunned. Surrender is the only way any of you survive, and it’s no reflection on you to admit it. The mission is over, Major. Give me the datapad.”
Her father was afraid now. That scared her more than anything else. “I lost it.”
“Ah. How unfortunate.” And in one quick motion he turned and there was a mechanical yelp and Ryessa screamed, as her mother screamed, and after the screams there was a thread of a groan from her mother, and a hole low in her belly.
Still the nightmare didn’t end. “She has some time,” Thrandon said coldly. “You still have a chance. I could tend to her, stop the bleeding, ease her pain. All you have to do is give me what I came for.” He looked her mother over like she was a piece of meat. Then he stood and leveled his blaster, this time at Ryessa. She wasn’t too angry to be afraid this time. “It’s unpleasant enough hearing your wife moan. Will you also force me to start torturing children?”
Her heart stopped. He was…he was talking about…and calling her a child. A child, like he had really fooled her all this time.
“Dammit! I’m the one you want. Let them go.”
“The datapad first.”
“I don’t have it.”
“My men can find Vivien and Roffet while you and I wait.” No. No, he mustn’t. “I hope you’re aware that we won’t kill them right away. Tell me where the datapad is.”
He licked his lips. “I don’t have it, but I know where to find it.” Would that stop him? Would that make them go away?
But Thrandon’s attitude only got stiffer and colder. “Do not insult my intelligence. If it is not on site it will cost you your daughter now, and the retrieval may save your remaining children. So if you’ve anything to say to dear Ryessa before the end, perhaps something about how sorry you are that your secrets and your lack of planning damned her, you may do it before you start telling us where to go.”
The room was deadly silent except for her sobs. She couldn’t stop them. The men all around were blank-faced, including Thrandon.
“Speechless? Very well.” He turned back to her, somehow flicking his gaze over her face without looking her in the eye. “A blaster won’t do for you.” He holstered his weapon and stooped to pick up the vibroknife where it had fallen during his earlier struggle. He took a step toward her, stopped to switch the knife’s cutting vibration on.
Athsin talked. He talked before Thrandon made her bleed. Thrandon got everything he wanted, some datapad she had never seen, and he ordered Athsin’s execution before strolling out with his thugs.
She never saw him again.
*
Ruth clutched the mask of the Wrath in one hand. Her eyes, once so full of light and humor, were narrowed, a stranger blue, an uncomfortable gleam.
She said, “You talk to me before you get near my son.”
“I don’t mean him any harm. And I don’t plan on reporting this visit to my superiors. I’ve missed you, Ruth.”
“Hm. Can I get you a Telos Twist? Or three?”
He didn’t suppress the cheek twitch. When had she gotten vicious? He kept his voice level. “No, thank you.”
“Why did you wait eleven months? Why not pick me up as soon as Quinn failed?”
“What do you mean, ‘pick up’?”
“You tell me, Cipher. Are you here to sweep me off my feet? Fall in line with Imperial Intelligence, or just kill me from up close? I’m not sure which you would like more.”
“I don’t like hurting you and I’m not here on anyone’s behalf. My days of doing whatever it takes and not even asking why are long over. I missed you. I was hoping to meet your son.”
“He’s over there. Done. Leave.”
“I’d hoped to talk.”
“Who was Ryessa Thaye?”
Wynston’s prospects shriveled. If she was spoiling for a fight, and she had that name…
“What did Hunter tell you?” he said dully.
“Is that his name. I didn’t open the file at first. I didn’t want to second-guess you. Who was she?”
“A woman I hurt. I believed it was for the Empire and therefore justified. I’m not proud of it.”
“You should be,” she said coldly. “Is that the first time you've told me something other than what I want to hear? We all serve the Empire. How old was she?”
“Sixteen.”
“But Chiss mature early.”
“She was Human.”
“Did you fuck her?”
“Ruth, I was acting out a textbook, I was barely an adult—”
“Did. You. Fuck her.”
Had Hunter said? A lie would be fatal. The cold stranger in his friend's skin would make sure of that.
“Yes,” he said.
“Did you kill her?”
“No! Stars, no!”
“Her family?”
He slumped. “Her father.” The parallel was too perfect.
“You can go now.” Her lips were white.
“I was young and stupid, I'm not that man anymore, you taught me a better way, you have to believe that—”
“Get out.”
“Please, Ruth. If we were ever friends.”
Her voice dropped to a different register, thoroughly commanding. “Generally speaking the Wrath doesn't have to repeat herself, Cipher.”
He looked at her, searching for the girl he'd known. She glared back. Hating him. Hating the way he’d done to some girl she never knew what someone had done to her. And that was fully justified. Why, why did she have to remember the definition of compassion for her and no one else? His only defense was a promise not to do it again, a promise not to be that Imperial with that textbook ever again. And she didn’t want to hear that.
Her eyes really did have a yellowed tint. He forced himself to move. If she had Ryessa, he had nothing. There was no way he could ever get her back.
So he tried not to want to. He failed, but he did try.
*
It was Rodia, or Duros or Hutta or whatever. A minor warlord sat on a throne and said he could defy the Empire. Ruth was ordered to disabuse him of that idea.
“I have the Republic behind me!” the would-be king howled. A dozen Republic troops ran in from the wings and aimed at Ruth.
“Pierce,” she said calmly. For a few seconds, everything froze.
Pierce opened fire on one wing. Ruth lifted the lead soldier on the other wing with the Force, snapped his neck, and threw the body into the next three soldiers, blocking their fire long enough for her to get in with her lightsabers. When she had cleared her side she jumped in amid the mess of plasma grenade to finish everyone Pierce hadn’t gotten to yet.
And she stopped among the flames, and twisted. “Will you submit?” she said, for the second time today.
I've been considering the power tier level of SWTOR's force sensitive classes before and also thought the Consular might be the strongest but now I'm curious: how would you rank the four classes in terms of connection/power in the Force?
Hmm, it’s been a while since I’ve thought about it and some of my opinions have changed a little, but I maintain that the Jedi Consular is by far the strongest.
Shielding each person takes enough strength away from them that they stagger afterwards, so clearly it’s a LOT, yet they’re able to keep fighting and functioning like normal. I know it’s just game mechanics, no one would want to play a consular if they had to do most of the first chapter with increasingly heavy debuffs nerfing their power, but I like to take that and run with it. So yes, each shielding ritual exhausts them and they get more and more tired as the chapter goes on, but they’re able to compensate as their connection to the Force grows to more or less match it. Having to function in a constant state of pain and exhaustion likely forces them to sink further into the Force just to use it, so when you’re finally released from the ritual, that intense level of focus and connection remains. If their connection was strong while they were struggling under the demands of the ritual, think how strong they are without the exhaustion and pain distracting them.
They also have the most obvious shows of strength in the game, like lifting a steel girder the size of a city bus and tearing though 3-4 foot thick blast doors.
The next strongest would be the Sith Inquisitor, although my ideas on them have changed a lot as my understanding of how the Force works has also changed. Honestly it probably works in a similar way to the Consular. Each additional ghost puts their mind and body under immense stress, yet they still manage to fight perfectly well, so their connection to the Force is deepening to compensate. I do think they were more powerful when they had all the ghosts, but once they leave they’re still no slouch. Still, there are much fewer ghosts than there are shielded Jedi, so I still think the Inquisitor is weaker.
Next would be the Sith Warrior, maybe. I honestly think of the Warrior and Knight as swordsmen/swordswomen first and foremost, so I haven’t considered how they would rank. If I remember right, the Warrior is held up on Korriban as a prodigy, and Baras uses them time and again as his bruiser enforcer. I think I recall more examples of them using the Force, and you could also argue that becoming the Emperor’s Wrath might come with a power boost. So I’ll say they’re stronger than the Knight when it comes to brute strength in the Force.
The last would be the Jedi Knight. They’re shown time and again as being immensely skilled with a lightsaber, I think it’s even mentioned at the beginning of the prologue right after you land on Tython. However you don’t see as many examples of them using the Force for big things, and nothing happens in the story that might increase their strength. If anything, I think more of their Force use goes into their swordsmanship, like making themselves faster and hit harder.
If we’re talking swordsmanship, it would be Knight, then Inquisitor (Assassin), then Warrior, then Consular (Shadow).
And since I’m having fun here are the other classes from strongest to weakest
