Long Live the Empire

Posted on Sun Mar 28th, 2021 @ 4:06pm by Thane & Bomoor Thort & Valavai Tarses

2,741 words; about a 14 minute read

Chapter: Chapter VI: The Last Bastion
Location: Grand Moff's Chambers, Disra Palace, Bastion
Timeline: Evening (Day Two, Week Four)

OLD

Their armour, unlike the others that had light colourings to set them apart from their white-clad kin, was entirely produced in brilliant crimson, bringing back more than a mild echo of the ancient empires that once claimed dominion over the galaxy. Striking red-and-black capes swept down from their shoulders and their helmets were differently-designed.

The appearance carried more than a hint of the demonic.

But, of course, Thane and Bomoor, fallen heroes of the Reborn Order, were not so easily deterred.

NEW

---

---

I saw two beings in the hues of youth
Standing upon a hill, a gentle hill,
Green and of mild declivity, the last
As 'twere the cape of a long ridge of such,
Save that there was no sea to lave its base,
But a most living landscape, and the wave
Of woods and corn-fields, and the abodes of men
Scattered at intervals, and wreathing smoke
Arising from such rustic roofs: the hill
Was crowned with a peculiar diadem
Of trees, in circular array, so fixed,
Not by the sport of nature, but of man:
These two, Apprentices of Masters, were there
Gazing—the one on all that was beneath
And both were young, and one was a Seeker, the other a Wanderer:
And both were young—yet not alike in youth.

A change came o'er the spirit of my vision.

As the sweet moon on the horizon's verge,
The Wanderer was on the eve of Mastery;
The Seeker had fewer summers, but his heart
Had far outgrown his years, and to his eye
There was but one beloved brother in the Universe,
And that was shining on him; he had looked
Upon it till it could not pass away;
He had no breath, no being, but in the Wanderer's:
They were each other's; they did not speak to each other,
But others trembled before their words,
For their eyes followed each other's,
Which coloured all their objects;—they had ceased
To live within themselves.

A change came o'er the spirit of my vision.

The Wanderer did leave.
—I saw him stand
Before an altar with his Seeker;
His face was pale,
Even at the altar, o'er his brow there came
The selfsame aspect and the quivering shock
That in the antique Oratory shook
His heart in its solitude; and then—
As in that hour—a moment o'er his face
The tablet of unutterable thoughts
Was traced—and then it faded as it came,
And he stood calm and quiet, and he spoke
The fitting vows, but heard not his own words,
And all things reeled around him; he could see
Not that which was, nor that which should have been—
But the old keep, and the accustomed hall,
And the remembered chambers, and the place,
The day, the hour, the sunshine, and the Light,
All things pertaining to that place and hour,
And he who was the Wanderer's destiny, came back
And thrust themselves between him and the Light;
What business had they there at such a time?

A change came o'er the spirit of my vision.

The Seeker became alone,
The beings which surrounded him were gone,
Or were at war with him; he was a mark
For blight and desolation, compassed round
With Hatred and Contention; Pain was mixed
In all which was served up to him, until,
Like to the Imperial monarch of old days,
He fed on poisons, and they had no power,
But were a kind of nutriment; he lived
Through that which had been death to many men,
And made him friends of mountains; with the stars
And the quick Spirit of the Universe
He held his dialogues: and they did teach
To him the magic of their mysteries;
To him the book of Night was opened wide,
And voices from the deep abyss revealed
A marvel and a secret.
—Be it so.

A change came o'er the spirit of my vision.

It was of a strange order, that the doom
Of these two creatures should be thus traced out
Almost like a reality—the one
To end in madness—both in misery.

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---

"The condition of victory in my game is simple..."

The old man's baritone voice carried well in the tall and archaic chamber that served as the Grand Moff's personal retreat within the ancient palace, travelling far up towards the rafters where two former Knights of the Third Republic were nestled, concealed by the shadows they so readily adopted in these dark and tumultuous times.

A crackling fire and the scent of rich smoke accompanied the ageing Human's carefully-enunciated words to Thane and Bomoor's perch - a scent which was further complimented by the aroma of the pages of old tomes, which lined several tall bookcases hugging the walls of Valavai Tarses' stately chamber. Although still minimalist, the quarters were tastefully-decorated with ornaments, paintings and sculptures of stark, artistic designs, although the floors remained clear of any clutter, spotlessly, meticulously clean.

There seemed to be a thinly-veiled war between Tarses' clinical efficiency and cultured character, which translated beautifully into this chamber of contradictions - the keenest insight the galaxy's self-proclaimed reigning Sith Lord and his Ithorian companion had yet been offered to the inner workings of the Old Empire's millennial successor.

"May the Force serve you well, as they say," the wily Moff continued. "Be brave, son, and give us a good show."

The projection Tarses had been addressing winked from existence, and he nestled himself into the large chair-cum-throne that was situated behind his broad desk, and a stylus found its way into his hand as he settled into the ongoing administration of his empire.

Thane watched the Imperial mastermind, garbed in a simple black officer's tunic and trousers, intently. His presence in the Force radiated fiercely, a dark nexus that was seeping into their surroundings, seeking to subsume everything within grasp, hoping to divine some hidden truth from the environment and the mysterious man beneath them.

Whilst the darkness and intensity emanating from and surrounding Thane was plain to Bomoor, both through the power of their bond and his familiarity with the younger Human, Thane gave no voice to his inner workings.

The Ithorian's eyes flicked over to his companion, feeling the aura and sensing that faint impulse only those attuned could feel: the precognition that told him of Thane's intention to speak to the Moff below. Bomoor had the same impulse growing inside; it seemed that they were not pulled here to confront this great man. Their sleeping vision, their trip through the city and the sheer presence of the man all spoke of a greater purpose between them all.

Thane continued to eye the Grand Moff in his resplendent trappings and surroundings, an almost-menacing expression twisting his features, but it was neither quite angry nor excited. In the shadowy darkness of their perch, Bomoor could even see a golden glimmer radiating around his friend's eyes, giving the man an almost ethereal visage.

"Wait here," the pale-skinned Sith said to his companion. With no further comment, Thane dropped silently to the floor below, landing gracefully behind the Grand Moff's desk and quickly bringing himself to his full height. He took no steps closer to the other Human, but simply stood in eldritch silence, unmoving.

Tarses touched a single key on his command console at his desk. "Ensign," he said, "have the reports from our informants on Corellia arrived."

"They have, your excellency," the eager voice of a young woman answered. "I have forwarded them to your secure file vault shortly before the deployment."

"Satisfactory," the Grand Moff said with no sign of sounding satisfied or disappointed as he signed off on an emergency budget allocation. "Give my regards to Mister 'Dulmer'...off the record of course. Oh, and tell him I have valuable information about Versetto's missing widow. If he asks for the price, inform him that all it will require is giving me a mere five minutes of the Board's time. He'll know to what that refers."

"Very good, sir," the ensign acknowledged. "Do you have additional orders?"

From his perch above, Bomoor watched Thane silently land with the grace of a practiced gymnast onto the floor below and silently rise so that he stood almost as tall as the older man's impressive height.

"Yes," Tarses calmly answered when he realized he was not alone in his office. "Tell the garrison I am not to be disturbed for the next ten minutes under any circumstances. No exceptions. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly clear, sir," the ensign replied.

Tarses took his finger off the key and turned his mechanical seat about in smooth and dramatic fashion to face his new visitor. He sat back casually, rested his elbows on his chair arms, and steepled his hands at their fingertips as began his full assessment of the ex-Jedi.

"Ah, the wayward Waayist has arrived," the Grand Moff said with well-practiced calm and confidence. "Your celerity and employment of stealth is to be commended. Curious, I do not see your Ithorian companion with you."

"You were expecting us, Excellency," Thane observed simply, his words framed politely and as a statement of fact.

The former Jedi stood his ground before the Grand Moff, both men's eyes locked upon one another. He did not advance on Tarses and he made no show of confrontation against him - even his posture was one of confident detachment, as if he felt comfortable addressing an equal in standing.

Less clear to the Grand Moff, most likely, and only truly palpable to Bomoor at this time, was the dark power Thane was allowing to radiate from himself, as the would-be Sith sought to draw on his baser instincts and nature in this momentous confrontation.

Indeed, watching from above, Bomoor could not help but tilt his facial muscles in what approximated to a grin. The man was smart; smart enough to draw them to him rather than have them executed at the numerous other opportunities he presumably had to do so. But he also took comfort in the fact that Thane's radiating power could cut the man down in a heartbeat too should he so wish. Even from here, Bomoor began to get a feel for the Moff's weak points, should relations turn sour.

Tarses had already seen thousands of other alpha-male types over the years just like Thane that had the same dauntless gaze in their eyes, their souls full of potential, their hearts pounding with exquisite yearning for violence and social validation for their accomplishments. But this time, the look was backed up something deeper, something beyond ambition, malice, or hatred. Tarses had a suspicion what that was beyond the obvious of what he already gleaned about Thane from lab reports, and he determined to find out just what it was in hopes that confirmed his intuition.

"Of course I was," Tarses affirmed with a curt nod, not the least bit concerned by whom he was facing. "We like to keep a close eye on things here, especially on people with exceptional talent like yourself. Besides..." he rose steadily with a grunt and some visible strain stemming from his withered old spine, "...if I had wanted you dead, you'd be dead." He tilted his head to an electronically locked plasteel floor cabinet on the wall across from his desk. "Care for refreshment, Master Jedi?"

Thane said nothing. Instead, cold but interested eyes watched the elder man as he moved with slight but obvious discomfort about the desk. There was no challenge the title Tarses had used to address the Caanan; Thane simply nodded at the request, and continued to watch the Imperial carefully.

"I imagine you must be parched after your self-induced near-death experience," Tarses said with a cordial tone as he moved to the cabinet. "Oh, and do invite your cohort to appear. He is welcome to indulge. A man is a man regardless of his species."

"My cohort follows his own mind, Grand Moff," Thane replied, keeping his tone still respectful, although there was no disguising the curiosity plaguing the young Human, and his posture remained one of caution, rather than hostility.

"If you're the paranoid sort, know that this isn't some petty trick to pull a blaster on you," Tarses added whilst a nearby table produced a quartet of chilled crystal glasses from a hidden compartment under the table's surface upon detecting the Grand Moff's approach. "The last Jedi to enter this room drew his lightsaber on my predecessor when he was offered hospitality. Needless to say, that Knight was formidable, but..." he tapped a key on top of the beverage cabinet which caused a hidden panel on the wall to Thane's left to turn transparent which revealed a polished silvery metal and black lightsaber hilt on display, "...he was already doomed the moment he allowed his emotions to get the better of him. Are you a wiser man, I wonder, or just another boy enslaved to his bravado?"

With a softened thud, which would have made lesser individuals flinch, Bomoor dropped into place beside his companion, "We are slaves not to man or emotion," his voice was low but defined, "But you must appreciate our caution meeting a man who, by all accounts, would treat individuals like ourselves as ancient enemies."

Tarses grinned at that, pouring the drinks in the pair of glasses in full view of his visitors so as not to needlessly arouse their suspicions just as the conversation was becoming interesting. "I admit," he confessed to Bomoor, "in my youth we would not be having this conversation. I would have kept you both under tighter lockdown, used chemical and physical restraints on you and your abilities, and even if you escaped, the garrison would have been mobilized long before you got here. Waste of life and resources if you ask me. Care to try a port wine? I have one here from Öetrago if you're interested, or you could just kill me now if you feel so inclined to slay an unarmed old man. What say you?"

Thane had not turned to Bomoor upon his arrival, let alone flinched or acknowledged him in any manner as of yet. Instead, he stepped forward and claimed the proffered beverage. He took only the briefest of moments to note the nose of the drink and to swirl it, quickly examining it, before draining it. Again, there was no outward display or reaction to the drink, and he placed the empty receptacle silently onto Tarses' desk.

"My father taught me it was poor conduct to harm a sentient that shared hospitality with you," Thane said, gold-gilded eyes watching menacingly from the relative darkness of the Grand Moff's study, even as the elder man's glass shone back at him in the limited light. "But my master taught me such obedient social constructs are for the feeble; why surrender an advantage for the sake of a fool's honour?"

"Wise influences," Tarses said as he handed the glass of port to a weary Bomoor as the old man nursed a glass of the same drink that Thane so heartily consumed with amusing vigor and peculiar dignity. There was something of lordly caliber about the young Jedi, though he couldn't place it. Not haughty or pretentious like the other Moffs of Bastion, but...burdened, as if he himself carried his own weight of civil responsibility not meant for the elected political elite or the Force-imbued robe-wearers of Coruscant. For his part, Tarses imbibed in kind, but to savour like a proper man of the uniform rather than merely to drain like some miserable peasant. A drink was a friend to him crafted with great care whose company was short-lived as was most of his life's relationships.

"My mother once told me that if a fool is honorable," he added, "he can grow to become a personage of greatness, worthy of memory. 'Every king,' she said, 'was once a fool'." He motioned to the balcony where a small coffee table with a pair of macrobinoculars was set upon. "Come, let me show you some of those fools. You might even recognize them..."

TBC

 

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