Re: The Noble Wars: Tapani Civil Wars (Open)

Captain Decker looked up from his terminal and frowned. His office, small in comparison to the admiral's, nonetheless had room for a chair in front of his desk. He motioned for his visitor to sit and settled back into a more comfortable position. "I thought this matter was settled, lieutenant. Am I to understand you've continued to investigate crewman Splane's death?"

Lieutenant Aster, ship's security, nodded. "Yes, sir. Prior to the matter being… settled," he let his tone convey what he thought of that outcome, "I interviewed a number of Splane's comrades. They tell me he ran into Hand Phaerce in the messhall the night he was murdered. They left together, and told no one where they were going. Then Splane shows up gutted and pinned to the wall in front of Phaerce's quarters?"

Decker's brow had wrinkled in concern as Aster spoke. "What are you saying, Lieutenant?"

"I'm saying it's gorram suspicious, sir. Phaerce could get pretty much anything he wanted. All he had to do was say the word. So what's he need to commandeer a tech officer for? Splane's friends say they left before the poor bastard had even eaten. So they go off to do who knows what, and then Splane's dead." Aster shook his head. "And it gets worse. The suspect who supposedly killed Splane? The one that Phaerce says spaced himself? I checked the logs, sir. The computer makes a note of it every time an airlock cycles. Where it was triggered from, when, etc. During the time the suspect supposedly spaced himself? No log of an airlock cycling. I went a step further and checked the sensor records, too. They didn't record any atmosphere or debris exiting the ship from the vicinity of any airlock. Hell, sir, I even checked sensor logs for the hangar bays and the missile tubes. Nothing."

Decker leaned forward, elbows resting on his desk as he clasped his hands together, and stared at Aster. "You do realize what you just said, don't you? You know you just accused an Emperor's Hand of murder, and of conspiracy to cover up that murder?"

Aster sat a little straighter in his chair, and for a moment looked uncomfortable. But the moment passed, and he nodded. "Yes, sir. And… well, sir, there's more. I don't know if it's connected, but before the smuggler ship exploded? Phaerce had guards assigned to him. I questioned them. They said he went aboard the smuggler ship before it exploded. That he locked the crew in their quarters while they slept and accessed some sort of secret compartment. He took something out, brought it back with him. Something of a coincidence, isn't it, sir? And isn't it just a coincidence that Phaerce paid a visit to the smuggler captain just minutes before he escaped? That everybody just happened to be looking somewhere else, or can't remember what they were doing at the time he escaped? I hear force users can do interesting things to people's minds."

"Murder," Decker intoned, "Sabotage. Conspiracy." He closed his eyes and sighed. "Why? To what end? What motive could he possibly have?"

"Well, sir," Aster replied, "That's the question, isn't it? Whatever it is he's got the admiral hook, line, and sinker."

Decker drummed his fingers together and thought carefully. "Have you told anybody else about this?"

"No, sir. Just you. I've got everything here on a datapad." Aster gently laid it on Decker's desk. "All the details." The captain pulled it towards himself.

"Keep this to yourself, lieutenant." He waited until Aster nodded. "Thank you. That's all… you're dismissed." The two exchanged salutes and Decker was left alone with the datapad. He picked it up, scrolled briefly through it's contents. This wasn't good. Not at all, and he didn't like it one bit. Not only was Phaerce a Hand, he was the admiral's new best friend. Gods, the admiral… how would the admiral react?

************

"You can't possibly be serious."

It was a statement, not a question. Captain Pitts, Imperial Army Diplomatic Corps, kept his face impassive. He'd known this wouldn't be easy. Command had known this wouldn't be easy. That's why they'd sent him to do it. He sat at an ornately decorated conference table, all alone on one side. On the other side of the table, clustered together as if for protection, were four representatives from the Tapani Free Worlds Alliance. "Oh, I'm quite serious," he assured them. "I wouldn't be here if I wasn't."

"Bah," one of the representatives - the one with the flamboyant hat - waved a hand dismissively. "You're Imperials. You're hardly doing this out of the goodness of your hearts." The man narrowed his eyes and glared. "If you had hearts. You have an angle. What is it?"

"It's true," Pitts admitted, "We're not this for charity. But what we want out of this goes hand in hand with what you want out of this. We have a common interest." He looked from one representative to another, finally coming back to the one with the incredible headgear. "Tapani is going through it's death throws. The Noble houses are destroying each other in a very messy war, one that even now threatens to spill over into neighboring sectors. So far you've been lucky. It hasn't spread to your doorstep yet. But that will change. One of the Noble Houses will come out on top eventually, and when they've bested their rivals they'll look around and realize that there are only two things keeping them from taking complete control of this sector: The Tapani Imperials, and the Free Worlds."

"And by the time that happens," a representative with a rather stylish beard pointed out, "They'll have bled themselves dry to attain victory. We've watched the war, captain. We know it's a meat grinder for all sides. Casualties are horrendous. Whoever comes out on top in the long run won't be able to move against us. Not for some time."

"And," added a more plainly dressed representative "we have no desire to enter into a conflict that would have a high cost in both lives and materiel unless there is no other alternative."

Pitts was, frankly, amazed. "And have you been following the holonet news?" he asked the bearded representative. "Do you see the headlines? You won't get to wait until one of the Noble Houses is victorious. The New Republic is talking about sending in a 'peacekeeping' force. To restore 'order' to the sector, and prevent the war from spreading into neighboring sectors. Does that sound familiar to anybody else?"

It was, Pitts admitted, a dangerous card to play. But it would be one they recognized. Showing them the specter of horrors past could go a long way to making them recognize the dangers of the future."If this chaos continues," he argued, "the New Republic will have all the excuse it needs to send a battlegroup in. And after they've used excessive force to put an end to the war, they'll find an excuse to stay. To keep the war from flaring up again, to oversee the reconstruction, to eradicate the pirate nests that have sprung up, pick an excuse. They'll find one and effectively annex the entire sector, for it's own good. And then you'll never be rid of them. Tapani will be will become New Republic territory, and whatever aspirations of autonomy the Free Worlds have will be slowly eclipsed by the machinery of their bureaucracy until one day you're just another province."  

For a moment, the representatives were silent. Pitts tried to judge their reactions. Representative number four, who had thus far remained silent, was the hardest to read. The others, however, seemed to have drawn the fairly obvious conclusion.

"What would you have us do," the hatted representative demanded, "Trade their New Order for your Old Order?"

"No," Pitts replied, thankful that they'd given him the opening he'd been looking for. "I propose you trade their New Order for our New Order. A unified Tapani government, where our future is determined not by squabbling Noble Houses or a galactic government, but by Tapani itself."

"Says the Imperial," scoffed the plainly dressed representative.

"The Empire abandoned us to our own devices," Pitts told them. "If the Remnant doesn't have the stomach to fight for us, then we're not fighting for them. From now on the First Tapani Battlegroup fights for Tapani."

"And we're just supposed to take your word for this?" inquired the representative with the beard.

"It would be nice," Pitts half smiled. "But no, I don't. I ask you to look at our leadership. General Corvae is, as I'm sure you've noted, a woman. Admiral Gandel served with Thrawn and until recently was still in exile in the Outer Rim. Hardly a command structure steeped in the old ways. This very meeting is proof that the Tapani Imperials are not the Empire, nor the Remnant. We want to work with you, not against you. And to prove it, General Corvae has authorized me to present you with a gift of no small significance."

"A gift?" the hatted representative inquired.

"That's right," Pitts focused his eyes on the silent representative and delivered his news. "Procopia."

"… what?"

"Procopia," Pitts repeated. "The sector capital. We're mounting an assault. Our intelligence shows the planet is lightly defended. It should be easy to take. And once we have it… we're going to give it to you."

"A bold move," the silent representative spoke at last. "And a gracious gesture." His colleagues fell silent, watching him almost cautiously. "But," he continued, "General Corvae must know that it is also a gamble. Thus far you have been on the sidelines of this war, scraping together what forces you could. When you take the capital - if you take the capital - you will be placing yourselves firmly in the game. If we ally with you as you ask, it will also place us in the game. What you say may be true. Perhaps a Noble House will rise above the rest, or perhaps the New Republic will… intervene. But given either of those choices we have time to prepare. If we join with you, the war will start tomorrow. There will be no time to prepare. And once we are in this fight it will be to the death. The Noble Houses will not forget our insult in openly making war against them. So you give us this gift… but is it enough?"

This took Pitts by surprise. The one thing he hadn't considered was the Free Worlds saying 'its not enough'. It was a huge prize! What more could they possibly want? Indeed, the other three representatives also looked shocked, both by the offer of Procopia and by the implication that there needed to be more.

"You tell me," Pitts countered. It was possible, he thought, that this wasn't a serious argument. They could be sounding him out to see just how desperate for help the Tapani Imperials were. "General Corvae feels that this is more than enough. Not only are we asking for no involvement of your forces in the initial assault, we're willing to assist you with garrisoning the system after it's takeover. Surely you can see the benefits of an alliance here? Alone we can do little. Together, with military and economic resources combined, we could challenge the largest of the Noble Houses and win."

"You've given us a lot to think about, Captain Pitts. Please excuse us… when we have a decision, we'll contact you."

"Of course." Pitts saluted smartly, and left the men to their discussion. Five hours later, he was sending the news to Tallaan. They had their alliance. When Imperial forces took Procopia, Free Worlds Alliance troops would be ready to move in behind them and establish a garrison. And then it would be time for the new Tapani Alliance to decide it's next course of action.

Re: The Noble Wars: Tapani Civil Wars (Open)

Phaerce bent over his work, a grin playing across his lips as he lowered and lifted tools with perfect dexterity. It had been so long since he had had a body, eyes, hands. For centuries he had lain dormant, his mind all that existed of him. He had had centuries to think, plan, plot. He had centuries to judge his past life. But he had grown bored, and now he not only had the world to move and act in, but a whole other life to study with the precision he had studied his own. New subject matter. It was a good thing.

He lifted the mask to his mouth and blew, removing some excess build up of metallic dust. He moved it back to the table and once again worked with tools.

He smiled at the thought of his old life. He had been foolish then, he had come to realize over the many hundreds of years, but less foolish than any of his brethren. He had known that even then.

He had been a member of a Sith Order. While the others plotted and toiled with the plan of conquering the physical Galaxy and it's inhabitants, Phaerce had made his own plans. He had realized early that the domination and power the Sith needed didn't lay in the worthless control of a physical realm, but that of a mental realm. They needed to control the people's souls, not their minds. And Phaerce knew the way to people's souls.

The others had seen this as weakness or laziness. They plotted domination on a galactic scale and he plotted what they saw as domination on an individual scale. They knew he had his uses, as an interrogator or spy, but the fools had thought that was it. They didn't truly know what Phaerce plotted.

Phaerce had two goals, held in a delicate balance. The first was immortality, to live forever. He went after this goal in secret, studying ancient texts and methods. Before he found his way, he had come to think of it as impossible.

His second goal was complete domination of what he saw as the controller of all sentient life: fear. His reasoning was precise. What drove every being to action? Was it pursuit of happiness and pleasure? In a way, perhaps. He preferred to think of it in another way. Beings acted to escape pain. And why did they want to escape pain. Fear. Fear was the motivator behind all action. Every being with a brain had fear. Even animals felt fear and fought against it. Fear brought on many reactions, which, when controlled and driven properly, could lead any being to any response. You could drive creatures with their fear.

He had achieved a mastery of fear that was unbelievably precise. He had used the Force to help him. He could trigger a fear in others that left them immobile, or that drove them insane. He could stimulate chemical responses in the body that would make a being run from his very presence, or bow down to him. He could touch the mind with visions of a person's worst terror, or make them suddenly and inexplicably collapse into tears. He had come to not only control people with their fears, but came to enjoy their fears. To feed off them. The feeling of another creatures fear brought to him the greatest bliss. It was his drug.

He came to see fear not only as a weapon against others, but as a tool. With proper administration of fear to his own body, he could trigger adrenal rushes, increasing his strength, his speed and his senses. He came to embrace fear in the way others ran from it. Fear was not only his drug, but his lover.

The others frittered his talent. Even his master scorned him. But he knew, even at that early time, that he was better than any of them. He was the best of his order.

And it was this realization that led him to immortality. He was the best. He was their master. Their lord. Their king. And it was this thought that invented the crown. His icon. His symbol. The crown. He was their king and he needed a crown.

And once he saw this crown in his mind, he discovered his path to immortality. He realized that he could not preserve his body forever, but perhaps he could preserve his mind. But his mind would need a host. And what better host than his own icon?

So he studied and worked for days and weeks, while the others wasted their time. He researched the techniques needed, knew he had the power, the will, to do what was needed. He was their king, and soon would be their god.

Only one thing was missing. The path he had chosen, the plan he had devised, required a violent death in order for the soul to be transferred. And there was no certainty that he would die violently. He would have to devise his own death.

So he planned again. His first step was to determine who the killers would be. He was the master of fear and of death. Only a master of violence should touch him. Who were the masters of violence?

The Sith themselves. His own brethren would kill him. It was perfect. In their own mocking laughter he would achieve his transcendence of them all.

He then had to determine what would drive them to kill him. What drove any being to kill. It was here that his goals intertwined. What drove anyone to do anything? Fear. He would drive them to fear him and then lash out at him.

And what did Sith fear? What did they want to protect more than anything? Their own power. He would threaten their power and in so doing make them fear him.

So behind his master's back he began taking subjects, and testing his limits on them. His plot was to create soldiers who would do anything for him without question. If he asked them to kill their families and mutilate the bodies, they would without question. They would rape, pillage and burn at his command. And without mercy. For with fear, he would shatter their minds.

After years, he did it. Three test subjects, who would do only as he commanded. Their only reason for breathing was because they feared that if they stopped that he would punish them. Their fear was so great that all remnants of their past selves were destroyed. They were husks, instruments. No more. The perfect tool for creating fear in his brethren.

He let two of the most loyal of his master's students learn of his plotting. And of course they announced his attentions, hoping to gain favor. Phaerce's experiments were destroyed and he was punished. First, he was put through a lesson in pain. Then a lesson in humility. And finally, a lesson in death.

He had felt more terrified in that last moment than he had in his entire life. His skin burned, his body broken, his face soaked in spit and piss, he had seen the lightsaber blade descend upon him and he had wondered for a moment whether all this was for naught. But with his knowledge of fear, he embraced the terror, had felt the blade bite into him and in a moment was dead.

What glorious terror in the release. What pleasure in the pain. In the single moment of destruction, he had seen and known all. He had been free of the bondage of flesh and mind.

But then he felt the tug and pull of his soul to the crown, and had let himself slip back into a physical form.

And then there was darkness. For centuries, only darkness and the sense of life around him, and then there was no life around him, but far above him. And all he could do was sit and think and plot and learn. He philosophized the deepest truths of fear, plumbed the bottoms of the ocean called terror.

And after centuries or millenia of waiting, for time had lost meaning, they had dug him back up. And he was surrounded by life again, and being moved. And soon he sensed what he had been waiting for. A strong chunk of Force nearby. The life of the body he now inhabited. And he called to it.

It had taken so little effort to gain control, Phaerce thought. The effort to completely eliminate the being that was Haika would take far longer, but he needn't worry. Haika was locked far within Phaerce's consciousness in a way none could ever dream of. Locked there by his own fear, where Phaerce could gloat and mock and pull into Haika's mind for any facts he needed.

The irony was that he knew Haika better even than Haika himself did. Haika could only remember what weak human memory allowed him. Phaerce saw everything Haika had ever seen and known, not barred by memory. He knew every fact about Haika that had ever been hidden. It was a sense of power that Phaerce had never felt before.

He lifted the mask one last time and blew the last of the dust away. He turned his handiwork side to side, admiring it. He had gotten the idea when he had first seen Haika's armor. What a glorious way to inspire terror, if properly utilized.

He had re-wrought the helmet's face plate. An eagle he was no longer. Haika was the eagle.

Phaerce was death. Phaerce was the skull dyed black with terror.

Phaerce was fear.

Re: The Noble Wars: Tapani Civil Wars (Open)

It was time. Gandel stood on the bridge of the Dominator and watched the colorful lines of hyperspace as they swam around his ship. He'd given the order. The fleet was on the move. Probe droids had been scattered around the system for days in preparation for the assault. They gathered information on the system's defenses, traffic in and out, and monitored as many active communications frequencies as they could find.

The invasion would be almost painfully easy. As intelligence had expected the defenses were light. House Mecetti was either careless or hard pressed elsewhere. Perhaps they thought the long tradition that held Procopia as neutral ground would hold. Whatever the reason, all they had to hold down the system was a handful of system patrol craft and two cruisers. There were no orbital defense platforms. Planetside defenses were equally feeble, with only two squadrons based on the ground. Troop presence was mostly a paramilitary police force, though it was bolstered by what used to be the Imperial garrison. Gandel was hoping they would rejoin the Corvae's command once the hammer dropped. If they didn't, he was fully prepared to wipe them from the map.

A small shiver of dread worked it's way down his spine. He was always nervous before battle, even when the odds were heavily in his favor. You never knew what the enemy had up their sleeve. You never knew when that lucky shot would get through your forward defenses, obliterating the bridge and you along with it…. Fear was part of combat. If you weren't afraid, you weren't alive. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and he turned. Phaerce had entered the bridge. Gandel frowned. Phaerce had changed his armor. Once gleaming gold, it was now splashed and smudged with black paint. It looked tainted, old. And then there was the helmet. The eagle had been replaced with a death mask, a blackened skull through who's eyes Phaerce looked. It was quite a change.

"New look," Gandel observed.

"Do you like it?" Phaerce asked, a strange edge to his voice.

"It's… interesting." Gandel did not mention that it put him in mind of Vader. He banished the thought. Phaerce was nothing like that Dark Lord. "We should be arriving shortly," he said instead. Phaerce simply nodded. Gandel liked that about the man. He let those who knew their jobs do their jobs. He turned to face the forward viewports. Suddenly realspace snapped back into sight, stars and planets spinning slightly as the ship aligned itself to the system's horizontal axis. The Plague exited hyperspace in formation beside the Dominator, followed by the interdictor, an escort carrier, and four frigates. The frigates were to protect the interdictor and the carrier while the star destroyers went to work.

"Status," Decker demanded as soon as the fleet was all present.

"Fleet is accounted for and in formation," a sensor officer reported. As he spoke the ship's tactical holo sprang to life and began updating. "The Snare's gravity wells are hot. Sensors read two enemy cruisers in system, one is five thousand kilometers out. The other is on the far side of the system. Designating cruisers Alpha and Beta. Alpha is running."

"I'll bet they are," Decker commented. Gandel had to agree. Having an Imperial fleet drop right into your lap was the kind of thing that inspired the better part of valor.

"Launch all starfighter squadrons. Have the bombers target Alpha first. Order the Plague to pursue and assist. Captain Decker, move us towards Beta. The SPCs?" Four small red circles populated the tactical holo. Gandel guessed they were the system patrol craft, as the two cruisers were represented by red triangles. His own fleet was a grouping of green icons. There was, he noted, a smattering of blue squares. Civilian traffic, most likely shipping of some sort. They were all headed away from the conflict.

"The SPCs are headed towards the planet, sir. Probe droids are picking up a fair amount of chatter," the officer volunteered. "From what we can decode it sounds like there's a debate about whether they should surrender or abandon ship and head dirtside."

"Send an open transmission offering surrender," he ordered. Looking at the tactical holo, he noted that the bomber groups had caught up with cruiser Alpha. Torpedoes were already streaking towards it, an initial volley meant to lower or obliterate it's shields. Alpha would have one and only one chance to accept surrender. The Plague was close behind, and gaining. And then there was cruiser Beta… it was in position to run and save itself, but instead of fleeing it seemed to be headed for Alpha at full speed. He had to admire that, even if they were just going to get themselves killed.

Torpedoes slammed into Alpha's shields, which fluoresced a myriad of colors as they tried to absorb the destructive energy hammering them. Here and there the shield generators couldn't cope, and holes opened in the cruiser's protective bubble. Three warheads passed through, tearing chunks out of the ship's armored hull and sending the debris spinning off into space. It only took a moment for the captain to decide that surrender was better than dying in the conflagration that would result from a second volley. Alpha surrendered and cut it's engines. The Plague moved into position beside it, an overbearing presence that wound ensure Alpha didn't think twice about it's decision.

Cruiser Beta, seeing Alpha's surrender, turned and ran for the edge of the system. A move they should have executed earlier in Gandel's opinion. By now the  Dominator was closing in with the Snare close behind, gravity well projectors trained on the doomed cruiser. It didn't take them long to realize that they had two options: surrender, or make a suicide attack on the Snare in the hope they could disable it's gravity well projectors and somehow escape afterward. They opted for surrender, as did the SPCs.

All in all, Gandel found it fairly anticlimactic. Still, he noted that his palms were moist by the end of the short lived battle. He rubbed them distractedly on his pants before folding them behind his back. Phaerce loomed large in his peripheral vision, somehow seeming to take up more space than he actually occupied. It was an odd sensation.

The troop transports from the Free Worlds were on station only a microjump out. Gandel ordered them brought in as his fleet secured the two surrendered cruisers and established orbit around the planet. The ground based fighter squadrons did not launch. He decided it would be overkill to destroy their bases from orbit when they seemed content to sit and wait for the change of stewardship to take place.

"I'd say Phase One is more or less complete," he told Phaerce as shuttles and transports filled with Alliance troops swarmed down to the planet.

"And Phase Two?"

"We dig in and see just how badly they want this system back," he said with a grim smile. "And we let the propaganda machine do what it does best."

Re: The Noble Wars: Tapani Civil Wars (Open)

Haika opened his eyes slowly, the nightmare that he had been dreaming fading into the primordial pits of his subconscious. It was strange to think that a person could have a dream so detailed, or seemingly so long.

He was on Yavin, after Lorrd. Jenia still lay next to him, her breathing soft against his neck. He smiled. If the dream had been a vision of the future, he could push it off for a few minutes. He let himself succumb to the warmth of the blankets, the softness of the pillow and the link that bonded himself and his wife.

He felt a hand on his cheek. There was a slight rasp as his short beard was stroked.

“You should shave,” he heard Jenia's voice say.

He rolled over, smiling at her.

“You don't like a little hair?”

“I'm fine with it,” she grinned, “but I'd like to see your face. I want to know what our son will look like.”

Haika laughed, then kissed her. Their embrace lasted a long time, but after Haika's dream could have lasted much longer.

Haika pulled away, smiling. “I hope he looks more like you than me. This face on a child…”

She smiled. “I'd like it that wa–”

Her smile fell from her face. Haika felt her clutch at her abdomen.

“What is it,” Haika asked, concerned, “what's wrong?”

“I don't know, it's just…” she raised her hand from beneath the blanket. Blood drenched her finger tips.

“No,” she whispered.

“No,” Haika said, leaping from bed. He grabbed his wife, blanket and all and ran from their room on the Scarlet Eagle. With Jenia in his arms, he ran from the ship, across the docking area near the Jedi Academy. Several trainees watched him pass, their eyes wide. Haika pushed into the main building, through several halls. Jenia had gone stiff in his arms. He doubled his speed.

He burst into the medical area. Several medics and Jedi healers looked shocked at his entrance.

“What's wrong?” A medic turned to him.

“I don't know,” he said, “but there's blood.”

“Get her to a bed, now.”

Haika set her down on a medical bed. The doctor and several assistants pressed past him. The doctor began saying things, but Haika wasn't listening.

“What's wrong?” Haika asked.

“She's having a miscarriage,” the medic explained, “but there's something else wrong. It's damaging her too. If we don't act quick, she could die.”

Jenia let out a muffled wail as a breathing mask was brought over her face. Haika felt her hand grip his forearm. He kneeled next to her bed. Her eyes begged him for…something.

The doctors were moving fast, but there was a lot of blood. Haika whispered to her. He comforted her. But his heart screamed at him.

And then her hand went limp, her arm was slack. Her heart rate monitor has ceased it's beeping.

Haika stared at his wife's eyes, stupefied. A doctor placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, then closed her eyes.

Haika wept. For a long time, he cried with abandon. All that was important for him was gone, and like with Whe-too, he was powerless to have stopped it.

The hand lingered at his shoulder. Haika opened his eyes, and looked up into the face of his comforter.

And saw himself, clothed in black.

Everything faded to white, except himself and his tormentor.

“You bastard!” Haika screamed at Phaerce. “You heartless bastard!”

Haika made to strangle the ancient Sith who had stolen his body, but found himself chained to something. He turned. Thick black chains linked him to a black stone.

He turned back to Phaerce, raging. The Sith sat upon a black throne on a field of black. Haika's imprisoning rock was upon a field of white. A thin line of grey divided the two. Haika knew what this place was. This was Haika's mind, or a representation of it.

“Tsktsk,” Phaerce condemned mockingly, “language now. It's all pretend. All an illusion. And one that would go away if only you would submit.”

“I will never give into you, you bastard,” Haika hissed.

“But you already have, once. Just a little bit more, that's all I need.”

“No. You may have my body, but you'll never have my mind.”

Phaerce looked down at himself. “You mean this old thing?” He pinched some of the cloth at his leg. “If you want me to take another body, only tell me which one.”

Phaerce shifted before Haika's eyes. His skin rippled and bubbled hideously, his hair lightened. When the process was over, he sat before Haika as Whe-too, clothed in black. Then his skin bubbled aagain, and he was Jenia. Haika hissed. The process repeated, and Phaerce was a child of about four, light-haired and rosy cheeked. He looked like Haika, but his hair and eyes were his mother's.

Phaerce sat on his throne as Haika's son.

“You bastard,” Haika whispered, “just be yourself, you bastard. So I can see what I hate.”

“Are you sure you want that?” Phaerce smiled cherubically from his child's-face.

“Change, you Sithspawned son of a bitch.”

Phaerce's skin bubbled and snapped. In a moment, he sat tall.

He was a bald, horrifying creature. His skin was burned and bubbled and unhealed. His eyelids were gone, and his eyes sat wide in their sockets. His lips were pulled back over blackened gums. His ears were no more than pale lumps of melted flesh.

“Thisss iss how I was when I died. Do you like your choissse?”

Haika grinned. “I know now why you hide behind masks, you ugly frak.”

“Enough from you,” Phaerce waved a bony, charred hand. “Let's play the game again.

Haika opened his eyes, the nightmare he had been dreaming fading into the primordial pits of his subconscious.

Re: The Noble Wars: Tapani Civil Wars (Open)

Ambassador Yungh looked up from the datapad he was looking over. One of the ship's junior officers stood before him, looking as if he was waiting for Yungh to say something. It suddenly occurred to the ambassador that the young man may have been talking at him. "I… I'm sorry," Yungh said uncertainly. "You were saying?"

"The captain wanted you to know we're about to enter Tapani Sector," the officer repeated. "We'll likely reach Mrlsst within the hour."

"Ah. Thank you." Yungh shifted in his chair. My, how the time had flown. It seemed like they'd left Corellia only yesterday. And he was nowhere near finished reading through the mountain of source material on Tapani, it's noble houses, and the Imperial presence in the system. He could almost feel his eyes glazing over despite himself, and the young officer turned to leave.

"I apologize for the ambassador," a deep, calm voice said. "He means no disrespect." Jedi Knight Jek Ah'trask flicked an ear in amusement. The officer nodded appreciatively at the Bothan's words, and then was gone. Jek took a seat in one of the lounge's other chairs, robes draping over it's sides. While some Knights preferred more tight fitting garments, Ah'Trask had decided to subscribe to a more scholarly style. "Interesting reading?" he asked.

"Mmm? Oh. Yes, sorry." Yungh had started reading the pad again. He made himself put it down on the table and rubbed at his eyes. "There's just so much to absorb. Each house has it's own history of relations with the others, it's own cultural idiosyncrasies… and then you throw the Free Worlds and the Imperials into the mix…" Yungh sighed. While he had negotiated the entrance of several former Imperial star systems into the Republic, he'd never overseen anything as complex as this promised to be. Perhaps that's why the Jedi Order had seen fit to send Jek and his companion, Jedi Knight Mirian (Mir) Drayson. Yungh suspected their presence had more to do with protection than advice and council.

"Especially these Imperials," Jek commented. Yungh nodded in agreement. Before the diplomatic mission had been dispatched they'd received a datafile marked 'secret'. The contents dealt with the 105th Imperial fleet, it's connection to Grand Admiral Thrawn, and it's recent return from exile. All of the intelligence the New Republic had been able to gather was there, including the fleet's new apparent commander in the self proclaimed Admiral Gandel. The fleet had recently sparred with a New Republic task force, an encounter which ended in their defeat and the loss of a Star Destroyer. Their presence in the Tapani conflict showed just how little that defeat had slowed them down.

"We've been able to work with rogue Imperial elements before," Yungh said. "Maybe we'll have some luck with this…" he searched his mind for the appropriate name. "This General Corvae."

"Perhaps," the Jedi said thoughtfully. "People quickly grow tired of death and chaos. Even Imperials." The two lapsed into silence. Jek reached out with the force, using just the smallest wisp of it to sample the emotions of his companion. Yungh was determined, a little nervous, and only slightly overwhelmed at the amount of raw data he was expected to ingest. Even now, Jek felt the man's thoughts turning back to it. He stood, gathering his robes around him as he did so. "I will leave you to your studies, ambassador. As always, the Jedi are at your disposal."

The corellian corvette that bore Ambassador Yungh and the Jedi, Guiding Light, was escorted by two New Republic frigates. As they entered realspace in the Mrlsst system those escorts broke off and headed back into New Republic territory. Their job was finished. From now on, a Free Worlds cruiser would be the Guiding Light's escort. The guard having changed, the diplomatic mission pushed on to Tallaan, where it picked up an additional escort in the form of an Imperial carrack cruiser. As the ship entered the Procopia system, Jek found himself found himself overcome by an oppressive feeling of foreboding.

"You feel it too, don't you." Mir asked Jek when the two met in the ship's dining area. "I can tell just by looking at you." She sat across the table from him, concern on her face. Master Skywalker had always taught them to pay attention to their feelings. It was the Force talking to them. Gut instincts could save their lives, he'd said, if they could be properly interpreted.

"Yes," Jek rumbled. "There is something amiss here. But I cannot place it."

"The Imperials?" Mir thought aloud. It was a thought that had worried her since their departure. Many Imperial remnants still held fast to the old order's anti alien policies. While she and Yungh were human, Jek could pose an awkward problem.

"Had the Imperials wished us ill," Jek replied, "They could have done so at any time on the journey here. No… there is something else. Something…" his ears flattened in annoyance as he once again failed to grasp the source of his unease.

"I feel strongly that it involves the Imperials," Mir insisted. Jek smiled at her concern. He reached across the table to pat her hand. The two hadn't worked together for all that long, yet they had already become close friends.

"Be vigilant," Jek told her. "It's all we can do. And remember, should we come to it, Yungh's safety is paramount." The implication of his words was obvious. One or both of them would die, if needed, to protect the ambassador. Jek hoped it would never get that far.

********

Gandel watched as the shuttle bearing Ambassador Yungh descended through the atmosphere. It was flanked by two New Republic X-wings, each piloted by a Jedi Knight. A quartet of TIE interceptors followed behind. The New Republic had notified them about the Jedi, of course, and the opportunity to reject their presence had presented itself. He had restrained himself, however. If he were to avoid direct New Republic involvement in the sector he had to gain acceptance of the Tapani Alliance as the legitimate government. One didn't gain such acceptance by turning away members of a diplomatic mission, Jedi though they be. Besides, he told himself, he had Hand Phaerce with him. Surely the Hand would be able to deal with the Jedi if they tried any of those fable mind tricks.

It was a breezy day. Though Gandel only watched from a monitor, he could tell by the way the flags at the official government landing pad flapped on their poles. He would not be there to personally greet the New Republic delegation. No, he would leave that to the Tapani Alliance diplomats. Once they had established a baseline for negotiations, he would meet with them on behalf of Major General Corvae, along with a high level representative for the Free Worlds government.

The thought for Corvae brought a frown to Gandel's face. She was in a medical facility on Tallaan, still in a coma. The medical droids said it was medically induced to help with her internal injuries - injuries that bacta treatment could only do so much for. Silently he wished her a speedy recovery, then pushed those thoughts from his mind. It was time to think of more pressing matters.

Intelligence reports indicated that Mecetti was gearing up to take a stab at reclaiming Procopia. A string of small victories had the other noble houses momentarily on the defensive. They now had some room to breathe and consider their next course of action. In a way, Gandel had hoped they would attack Procopia. If they'd pressed their advantage against the other noble houses, it could have swung the war permanently in their favor. As it was, they were about to put significant effort into a counterattack to regain Procopia. Win or lose, they were about to waste what momentum they had, giving the other houses a chance to even the playing field again.

There was a sound behind him, and Gandel turned from the monitor. Phaerce stood behind him, radiating that aura of unease that he'd had ever since changing his armor. "The Jedi are here," Gandel told him. "They're landing now."

"I know," the Hand answered. "I can feel them."

"I'd like you to stay in the background during negotiations," he said. "Our little surprise, in case they try something. No need to show our hand early." He turned back to the monitor, and felt the hair rise on the back of his neck. Deep down, some long forgotten animal instinct shrieked that he was in the presence of a dangerous predator. He ignored it.

Re: The Noble Wars: Tapani Civil Wars (Open)

Phaerce was nothing if not thorough. When they had first arrived in the Historical District of Estalle Island, he had taken account of all the important buildings, all the back alleys, all the escape routes. Certain movements had the possibility of necessity, and he wanted those movements to be instinctual.

He was especially happy with the residence that he had suggested for the Admiral, his subordinates and, of course, himself. The Pelagian Embassy. It was one of the largest embassies, with expansive and impressive gardens that stretched from the main, domed building all the way to the outer walls. Hiding places, escape routes and shadows abounded beneath the great trees in the gardens.

It was also a political move. Taking the embassy of their enemy was a show of strength, but leaving the larger embassies for members of the Free Worlds made their allies feel content. A wonderfully laid-out situation.

The embassy had the added benefit of an excellent collection of basement tunnels and chambers that led to the outlier buildings and into the city sewers themselves. The dankness of the shadows there fitted Phaerce’s goals. The long forgotten ends of tunnels were the perfect places to restart his ancient experiments.

The main negotiation room was a mid-sized, vaulted chamber. Thick, stone pillars held up high ceilings. A wooden table with built-in holoprojectors dominated the main area of the room, and wood of a matching, chocolate brown colour paneled the lower half of the walls and pillars.

Phaerce knew all the back ways into and out of the room. As was the style of Tapni nobles, the Pelagians had created routes for their assassins and escapes. Assassinations were not liked while on Procopia, but the style of architects died hard. And it made for an excellent way to listen in on the negotiations while remaining hidden.

Phaerce settled himself against a wall as he prepared for the dull negotiations what would follow. He had never much been one for extended conversation when a simple action would do the trick. He grinned behind his mask. Death was a simple action. He could kill them all. It would barely take effort. He frowned. But it would ruin his plans. He needed to remain hidden and safe while he worked.

He heard the doors open. Maxwell settled himself. Phaerce could hear papers being shuffled, others were there as well, but Maxwell had taken the dominating seat at the head of the table. There was a clink as he poured himself a glass of water. Ice clinked against the sides of the glass as the Admiral drank. Phaerce raised his mask and scratched his nose.

“Sir, the ambassadors from the New Republic are prepared to start negotiations.”

The voice was clear despite the thick door. The Pelagians had clearly designed their tunnels so that spies could hear clearly and take their notes without fear of distortion.

“Let them in.”

The door opened. There was the sound of the retinue of the New Republican ambassadors entering the room. Guards, ambassador. Jedi. Phaerce grimaced. He was glad that he had early learned to draw in the feeling of the Force in him. To them, he would feel like a cockroach. A very unsettling cockroach.

Phaerce heard the door close. A voice announced the arrival of Ambassador Yungh and the Jedi Jek Ah’trask and Mirian Drayson. There was the sound of a chair sliding back as the Admiral stood to shake hands.

“Welcome to Procopia. I’m sorry I couldn’t greet you as you landed, but we have been extremely busy attempting to maintain the security of Estalle Island and the planet as a whole. Please sit.”

That was a blatant lie. The Admiral was attempting a clever maneuver. By making it seem like the NR representatives were a secondary concern, he lowered their standing and made their confidence shaky.

There was the sound of moving chairs. Phaerce touched the Jedi tentatively. They were good, that wasn’t to be denied. But they were barely a concern in their power. They could attack him with all their strength and he would crush them without a second glance.

“We welcome your gracious offer of hospitality, Admiral,” the ambassador spoke, “but I must admit that your choice of residence is…unusual.”

“Certain members of my fleet have proven the worth of the embassy as a defensive stronghold. As you can imagine, certain factions here have not traded leadership lightly.”

Phaerce could hear one of the Jedi, the female, mumble. “I don’t blame them.”

There was a brief silence.

“Pleasantries aside, perhaps we best get our negotiations under way.” The other Jedi began.

Phaerce dropped to his knees, a sudden pain rocketing throughout his skull. He ground his teeth, finding his control on his energy waning momentarily. The pain quickly subsided, but the damage was done. Phaerce heard a chair scrape in the other room. The male Jedi spoke again.

“There is something else here.”

There was a silence.

“Tell me, Admiral, is there anyone else among your fleet that we should know of? Other remnants of the Empire?”

“I’m not sure I follow your meaning, Master Jedi.”

“I felt a presence, here, in this very room. Is there any Force-users among your people.”

The Admiral was silent for a moment. “Perhaps there are sensitives among my guards or pilots. I really couldn’t tell you.”

“You are lying. This was a trained presence.”

Phaerce heard footsteps coming closer. Of all the times to lose control of Vibrose, this was the worst.


“Come out.” The Jedi spoke. It was an order.

The presumption in that voice enraged Phaerce. What was this Jedi that he believed he could order around Darth Phaerce, the Lord of Fear?

Phaerce stood. He paced towards the secret exit to his hiding place.

“Come out.”

Phaerce gritted his teeth. His hand fell to one of the sabers at his waist.

“Come out, now.”

He tightened his grip. For a moment, he considered leaping from his position and beheading the Jedi where he stood. But that would ruin everything.

He would observe patience.

With a steady hand, he opened the door. He could see now, the light rushing in. His helmet adjusted it’s visuals, preventing him from being blinded by the sudden inrush of light.

There was a gasp from all but the Admiral. Surely, for a moment, they believed him to be Vader reborn. A figure of skull-metal and dancing cloak.

The Jedi breathed. “You are a Jensaarai?”

Phaerce laughed. “In a way.”

“This is Samuel Phaerce, a trusted advisor.”

“You hid his existence from us. Bad form when starting negotiations,”

“If I can, good sirs,” Phaerce spoke, the mocking of his voice evident. “I myself asked for secrecy. We planned to reveal me in good time, but we believed knowledge of my existence would pre-empt you to ignore our diplomatic negotiations. You may not even have come. We have as much interest in peace as you.”

The Bothan Jedi’s eyes narrowed.

“Where have I heard you before.”

As Phaerce blew past, he spoke two words in a whisper.

“Your nightmares.”

Re: The Noble Wars: Tapani Civil Wars (Open)

No one else heard those two words. Jek's ear twitched in annoyance. This force user was toying with him, and he determined not to play his game. Still, the presence of a trained force user was cause for concern. Especially since he could hide himself from the Force. And then there was the armor…

Jek took his seat again as Phaerce stood behind and to the right of Gandel, a location that made a statement all it's own. Ambassador Yungh's expression was carefully controlled in the face of this new development. He glanced at Jek, who nodded. The meeting could continue. "Are there any other surprises we should know about?" Yungh asked.

If I told you about them, Gandel thought, they wouldn't be surprises. Instead, he said "No, ambassador, of course not. My apologies for the deception, as Phaerce says we had only the best intentions in mind."

"Admiral," Yungh said with a glance at Phaerce, "Let me be blunt. The New Republic is concerned by your activities here. This has all the markings of a Warlord carving out his own domain, and the New Republic has had problems with former Imperials in the past. Add to that the humanitarian crises that this war is generating and you have justification for a New Republic intervention in the sector. Many are already calling for a peace keeping mission to be deployed. I have been dispatched to find out whether or not such a mission necessary, and to work with every faction in the hopes that peace can be attained through diplomatic means rather than by force. I would like to know where you stand on this, admiral. Can we attain peace through diplomacy?"

"First, ambassador, I would remind you that it is not where I stand that counts. General Corvae is in command of the First Tapani Battlegroup, which my fleet is now integrated with. With that said, I believe I can speak for the general when I say that peace and order is the first and foremost priority for our forces. It was with that goal in mind that we joined the Free Worlds in forming the Tapani Alliance. And that is the reason we are fighting to overcome the Noble Houses."

 "Peace and order is what the first Empire claimed to stand for," Jedi Drayson said.

"And your fleet has engaged New Republic forces before," the Bothan added. "According to reports they kidnapped a critically ill admiral, and partnered with pirates."

Gandel hid a grimace. He had hoped that wouldn't come up, but now that it had he would have to deal with it. "If you've read those reports, I assume you've had a full intelligence report on the 105th. We came back from the Unknown Regions blind, not knowing what had gone on in the Empire. As soon as we showed up the New Republic branded us a threat and started hunting us down. Had we received a warmer welcome, things may have been different. But they weren't. Siding with pirates was a survival measure, nothing more. They could give us the supplies we needed, intelligence networks we could exploit, and they provided a small addition to our combat forces. As for the admiral, I had no way of knowing she was ill when ordered her capture. While she was aboard my ship she received the best medical care I could provide. I had intended to use her as a bargaining chip, a way to force a negotiation with the New Republic so they would stop hunting me. I think it speaks to my intentions that I had her captured instead of merely assassinated. And that I didn't have her killed as soon as the New Republic task force showed up to destroy my fleet."

He could feel Phaerce's presence looming behind him. Maybe he imagined it, but he thought he could feel the man's palpable disapproval. He did his best to ignore it.

"For what it's worth, admiral, I believe you." Yungh said. "According to the intel brief, the captain of the Decimation said much the same during his interrogation." The words struck Gandel like a hammer, momentarily throwing him off balance. Anton was alive? He'd known there was a possibility the captain had survived the boarding and capture of his ship. But Gandel had firmly refused to think about it since, preferring to believe his longtime friend was dead rather than in enemy hands. If Anton was alive… and come to think of it, how many more of his men might be in enemy captivity? Belatedly, he realized the Jedi had noticed his mental distraction. The Bothan especially had turned a critical eye his way.

"But as you've said yourself," Yungh continued, apparently oblivious to what the Jedi had noticed, "You're not the final word here. What of General Corvae?"

Gandel took a drink of water, using the pause to gather his momentarily scattered thoughts. Corvae… right. She was, at last report, still in that damned coma. But the New Republic didn't know that. They couldn't know that. "General Corvae is dedicated to returning peace to the sector," he said. "It was her idea to partner with the Free Worlds for the common good." A lie, but he was fairly certain she would agree with it once she woke up. "As for any questions of lingering loyalty to the Imperial Remnant, I can tell you right now that you don't have to worry about it. As far as General Corvae is concerned, the Empire abandoned us and the people of this sector when they pulled out. She owes them no allegiance now. They would not fight for us, we no longer fight for them. What we fight for is a safe and free Tapani, where the people no longer have to worry about petty wars between Noble Houses."

Yungh nodded, though Gandel wasn't sure if he genuinely accepted his words. "That is good to hear, admiral. But tell me, what steps are you prepared to take in the name of peace for Tapani?"

"We've already taken the first steps," Gandel replied. "The Tapani Alliance has Procopia. Accordingly, we claim recognition as the legitimate government of the sector. The Noble Houses will accept that claim, either peacefully or when our warships are in orbit over their capital worlds. The Free Worlds have already sent diplomats to the various Noble Houses on behalf of the Tapani Alliance. I have yet to hear back from them, but I fully expect the reactions to be negative. Perhaps you'll have better luck."

The ambassador frowned. "We will be visiting the remaining Noble Houses, attempting to negotiate a cease fire. If we're successful, we might end this crisis without need to conquer them. If General Corvae is committed to peace in this sector, admiral, I hope you would agree to such a cease fire."

He had, of course, no intention of stopping short of his goal. But he smiled at Yungh anyway, and said "Of course, ambassador. And I would hope that, in the interest of continued security for Tapani, the New Republic would recognize the Tapani Alliance as the legitimate government in the sector, so that we might more easily work with you in the future."

"I would have to speak to Coruscant before making such a commitment, but I think it could be arranged."

That took Gandel by surprise. He hadn't expected the New Republic to offer recognition so freely… but then, perhaps they weren't. It could just be a tactic to buy time and cooperation from the Tapani Alliance. In any case, he expressed his appreciation for the gesture. "I'm afraid we'll have to pick this up later. I have important matters to see to - namely the defense of the system against a Noble counter attack. I've arranged for you and the Jedi to stay here in the embassy, if you like," he told them.

They opted to stay in the embassy, and Gandel knew better than to try to spy on them in the rooms that had been prepared. Especially after they'd found out about Phaerce. That would definitely have them on edge. "Well," he told Phaerce as they left the meeting, "I think that went well, considering."

The Hand nodded. "The Jedi will be a problem," he said. "They'll get nosy, start looking into things better left alone."

"I'll trust you to handle that," Gandel told him. After a brief pause, he asked "What was that they called you? Janisarai?"

"Jensaarai," Phaerce corrected. "A kind of Jedi. It's not important."

****************

"Now do you see?" Drayson asked as she and Jek settled into a pile of cushions on the floor. Jek had crossed his legs and was adopting a meditative posture. Drayson sat with her legs folded under her. "It's Phaerce. The danger we've been sensing. A Force user working with Imperials? Hiding himself from the Force? He's dangerous."

"Patience, Mir," Jek said, voice rumbling from low in his throat. "All is not as it seems. There are layers here. Did you feel it? When we first sensed Phaerce, there was something else." He closed his eyes, focusing his mind to recall the moment. "One trained in the Force as he is would not have allowed himself to be detected by accident. He did not make a mistake. There was another influence…" A shiver went up Jek's spine as he recalled the moment, for there alongside the simmering malevolence of Phaerce was another presence, barely perceived. It was a silent scream through the Force, fear and rage and hate. Defiance. Somehow familiar. It had been directed squarely at Phaerce before it had been silenced utterly. "You are right," he told Drayson. "There is a danger here. But I fear we cannot begin to grasp it's entirety."

Re: The Noble Wars: Tapani Civil Wars (Open)

The knife tip slowly descended, scratching random marks into the wood of the table. Splinters of varying size flicked straight into the air before falling in an arc, landing back on the flat surface of the wood and rolling away, landing behind various tools and artifices. All this had a distinctive sound. Shhhhh-tunk…shhhhhhh-tunk.

Phaerce tended to cut things when he was upset. And he had great reason to be upset.

Firstly, the arrival of the Jedi had thrown his schedule for a loop. Rather, since the Jedi knew he existed, he could no longer operate in the same secrecy as he would like. They would keep their senses tuned for anything he might do. Of course, they would expect him to remain in the embassy, but even as far away as he had gotten, they would sense if he did anything too overt.

Secondly, his current subject was weak. Weak subjects were the worst. More often than not, they would die before the process could be completed. And it wasn’t as if Phaerce had an abundance of test subjects. If people started disappearing off the streets, eyebrows would start to be raised. It had been difficult enough to convince the neighbours that his elderly subject was sick and in bed, and that he was her doctor. And that had been, in a way, true. Not the truth, but not a lie. He was just a different kind of doctor.

Thirdly, and most importantly, there was that blip in Phaerce’s control that had so badly damaged his plans. He couldn’t understand it, although he could explain it. Haika, momentarily, had been able to shove Phaerce aside. He had surfaced, and for that split second had retaken control of his body. The problem was how. Phaerce could not figure out how Vibrose had pulled himself from his dream prison, even for a moment. He should believe the nightmare entirely. That was the design. He should be so taken in by it that he couldn’t begin to comprehend that it wasn’t real, let alone fight back.

Phaerce placed the knife on the table one more time. Shhhhhh-tunk.  He looked up at his subject.

“What do you think, hmm?” He asked, the knife tip against the table again. Shhhhhh-tunk.

The old woman lay perfectly still, her eyes wide with fright. That, of course, had been the exact reaction that Phaerce had stimulated. No need wasting bonds on someone who wouldn’t be struggling anyways. If he was going to use this woman’s house as a lab, he might as well save the real supplies for better test subjects.

“I asked you what you think, Genevia,” he said calmly. Despite this, his voice had the slick edge of a threat to it. He lifted the knife by the blade and laid it carefully aside.

Her voice came in gasps and titters. “A-a-about wha-what?”

“About me, of course,” he straightened the blade, lining it up perfectly with the tool next to it, a scalpel, gleaming and cold.

“Yo-you aren’t-t-t a d-doctor.”

Phaerce grinned wickedly. He looked down at the clothes he had worn: blue scrubs, a small ID card pinned to his collar. A brown trench coat lay at the base of the bed. He then looked at the bloodstains on his thin white gloves, the flecks on his forearms, and the cuts on the elderly woman.

“I think that is blatantly obvious.”

“A-are you th-the E-e-estalle Sli-slicer?”

“The Estalle Slicer? No no no no no,” Phaerce shook his head, “I don’t even know who that is. An uncaught serial killer, I presume. No, I’m a higher degree of evil than that, I’m afraid.”

“Wha-what ar-are you?”

Phaerce lifted the scalpel, turning it in the half-light. “A scientist, I suppose. A type of biologist.”

“Wha-what are y-you going-ing t-to d-d-do to me?”

Phaerce waved the scalpel vaguely. “Keep you alive as long as possible. I’m relearning a process I developed years ago, seeing if I can repeat my triumphs. If you stay alive long enough, you may just be one of those triumphs.”

She swallowed. Phaerce could see how dry her lips were. He set down the scalpel and lifted a glass of water. He brought it towards her head.

“Or,” he mused, “I could drown you, fill your tiny weak lungs with water and watch you gasp for air.”

She saw him lowering the glass of water towards her lips. The fear in her eyes was ecstasy. That was the trick with fear: take their greatest hope, their greatest need, and make them fear it.

Just before the water met her lips, Phaerce lifted it to his own and chugged it down. He slammed the glass back onto the table. “Let’s see if you die of thirst before I get back.”

He grabbed a belt from her closet, wrapped it around her wrist and her headboard and strapped it tight. She would be unable to move while he returned to the embassy. He saw the tears of fear and need in her eyes.

“Don’t cry, Genevia,” he cooed. His voice grew hard. “It’ll waste your water supply. Try not to sweat either. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
He removed his gloves, threw them in a waste basket and put on his jacket. He turned up the collar and left, taking a flimsy on the door. The note was simple, reading:

Hello,

My name is Dr. Sam Fairse. I’m treating Genevia in these, quite possibly her last days. She is extremely tired, and I am unsure whether or not she is contagious. Until I can diagnose her, I recommend that you don’t disturb her for the next couple days. This is for her sake. If you need to contact me, all of my information is attached.

Thank you,

Dr. Sam Fairse

He walked off, knowing the note should be enough to ward away neighbours.

As he moved down the street, he let the night consume him.


“You look tired.”

Phaerce really did like the Admiral. Despite what Phaerce considered a deep naiveté, the man had more than enough redeeming features. He was passionate, strong willed, intelligent, a man who inspired loyalty among his men. If it wasn’t for the fact that Gandel was too gorram pure, he would have made a fantastic second-in-command in Phaerce’s plans. Regardless, that purity could be rectified. It would take too long to find a man as suitable for the task at hand as Gandel. It would be easier to convert the man.

He needed Maxwell Gandel to enjoy killing, to feed on the fear of his enemies. He needed Gandel to be the Hand of Fear, with Phaerce as it’s head.

It was a testament to the man’s charisma that Phaerce had let him live at all, or that he had let the man keep Corvae alive. If there was one thing that Gandel’s purity stood in the way of, it was proper ambition. If Phaerce had had his way, the General would have died long ago. It was still a possibility that Phaerce had not ruled out, but he had a better idea for the comatose general.

“I have not been sleeping well,” Phaerce responded. That wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t an uncontrolled lack of sleep. His nights were taken up plotting and working. He would sneak out to Genevia’s ramshackle house in the Residential District and experiment on his subjects. So far, Genevia was the only sentient. He spent most of his time keeping her alive. But he had also worked extensively on animals: birds and rodents that he could catch. He even had a few stray pets in the basement. He had had great success with the Mynocks he had caught. One out of every four seemed to respond to his treatments. They would be rendered almost completely complacent. The other three would die.

Phaerce just wished he could use more of the Force. Turning living things into fear-puppets was so much easier when you could effect them with the power of the dark side. But he couldn’t risk the Jedi finding his little menagerie.

“The New Republic diplomats are discussing matters with one Noble House or another today. I am working on the more pressing matters of keeping this war localized in the system. You are no tactician, Samuel, we know this. Go get some sleep.”

Phaerce bowed. “Thank you, Admiral.”

“It’s no problem,” Gandel said, signing his name at the bottom of some paper or another, “we need you in top form.”

Phaerce turned quickly and exited the room that the Admiral had commandeered as his office. It was at the end of an expansive hall with yellow marble floors, white walls and huge mirrored ceilings. Statues of varying ages and skill stood in alcoves every twenty feet or so, and the center of the hall was dominated by a large statue of some heroic human slaying a barbarian Zabrak. Phaerce hated the statue, neither of the warriors showed the appropriate fear that filled a person in battle, but for this one time, it saved him.

On the other side of the hall was the Jedi Mir. Had the statue not been there, she would have had a clear line of sight to his face…or, rather, Haika’s face. Haika was a Jedi swordmaster, and had met many Jedi while training in various forms on Yavin. Phaerce couldn’t take the chance that one of the Jedi would recognize him.

Before Mir saw him, he lifted his hood, letting it cover most of his face. The shadows fell in such a way that only his lower jaw was visible…that and the red that had flooded the whites of his eyes.

Suddenly, a voice rose from the back of his head, a nagging whisper.

Eventually, it said, they will recognize you. You will be caught.

It was Haika’s voice.

“You,” Phaerce hissed, “how are you doing this?”

Dreams are dreams, Haika replied, you can only have the same one so many times before you realize that it is a dream.

Mir was approaching. Phaerce ignored the voice in his head and held his ground.

“Hand Phaerce,” she glared at him.

He grinned with devilish charm. “Mir,” he spoke with familiarity, “I thought you were speaking with the Noble Houses today.”

“My master,” she spoke those words with reverence, “left me here. To keep an eye on things.”

Phaerce could feel the anger in her. She was a pretty thing, and would factor well in his plans, if he could turn her. He didn’t believe that he could, not without great effort and time he didn’t have. But he would try.

And you will fail.

Phaerce ignored the voice, but it was becoming grating. Haika was mocking him. Him! Phaerce! The man who had conquered death, who was master of all fear. Who was Haika to mock him.

“You know,” Phaerce smiled pleasantly, “I’ve noticed something about your master. He seems to leave you behind a lot. I wonder why that is.”

“He trusts me.”

“Or maybe he doesn’t. He always leaves you when he is going to have important diplomatic discussions with the houses. Maybe he doesn’t trust you to act appropriately. Maybe he thinks you’ll let your tongue slip.”

“What do you know about it?”

Phaerce let sadness drip onto his tongue. Emotion was a venom. He was instilling the fear of distrust. “My master thought the same about me, long ago. He went and left me behind. Didn’t trust me to still my tongue. And then, once, he was killed. Because he left me behind. I could have defended him. I could have helped. But his lack of trust killed him. He was overcome, and if I had been there, I could have turned the tides. But he was killed.”

It was partly true. His Sith master hadn’t trusted him, had left him behind and had been killed because of it. Phaerce had neglected to say that he had been the one to kill his master, or, rather, let him die.

Mir bit her lip. The fear of harm coming to her master was now mixed with the other seeds Phaerce had placed. Her anger broiled. Phaerce found himself seeing her beauty in her anger and fear. A good apprentice, and a good concubine.

Haika laughed in his mind. Phaerce ignored it.

“I’ve held you too long,” Phaerce apologized, “you must be looking for Gandel. He is in his office. But think on what I’ve said. And if you ever need help, talk to me.”

“Leave me alone,” Mir hissed, “it will never come to speaking with you.”

“That is your choice,” Phaerce turned and left.

Haika kept laughing. She loves her master too much to fall to you.

“Love can be broken.”

That is why I am laughing.

“Why?”

You think you understand so much. But all you understand is fear. You can never understand love.

Phaerce hissed.

He would one day kill that voice. But not today

Re: The Noble Wars: Tapani Civil Wars (Open)

The old house creaked. Phaerce liked that. Creaky old houses, coated in layers of dust. They called to mind tales told by children late at night to scare one another. Ghost stories. It was houses like these that ignorant adolescents would break into in the dead of night, just to say they did it. It was houses like these that adults would look at and shake their heads, wondering why it hadn’t been condemned yet, why some high-end apartment complex hadn’t been built in its stead.

A week ago, it hadn’t been like this. It was surprising how fast things could fall apart when small things were left unchecked. The dust was a big one.

Of course, Phaerce had taken efforts to make sure no one could see that from the outside. It would be clumsy to lose his work because someone wondered why it was so messy inside.

“Genevia, Genevia, you really let this place go.”

She lay on his work table in the basement. Animals of many sorts pushed their ways to the back of their cages, avoiding him as he moved around the room. They were surprisingly quiet. Of course they were. Phaerce had made sure they knew silence was best for them, and they would forever bear the scars to prove it.

Phaerce no longer had to tie Genevia down. She was so weak and so filled with fear of him she wouldn’t dare try and run. Besides, with her wounds, she wouldn’t make it three paces before falling out of pure pain.

You’d be surprised what people can do when their lives are on the line, Phaerce.

For once, that nagging voice in his head, the one who wouldn’t give up, for all Phaerce’s work, didn’t annoy him. Phaerce chuckled.

I know exactly what they can do. But I know when and how and where they will. Fear is a science, and I am using fear that doesn’t say flight or fight, but hide or die.

Maybe for this one. But I know something you fail to see.

What would that be, dearest Haika?

She has less than a day to live. Then you need a new test subject.

Phaerce looked down at Genevia. Despite her age, she had lasted longer than Phaerce had expected. She had been surprisingly resilient, and if he had had the luxury of using the Force more openly, she would already be his Subject Zero. But without that luxury, he had reduced her to a sagging shadow made of skin and bone. And even the skin was sparse.

Phaerce placed two fingers to her throat. Her heartbeat was ragged and weak.

“Mmmm, you may just be right about that.”

Here’s the key piece: you don’t have a new test subject.

“And you are right there too.” Phaerce was becoming annoyed.

Why don’t you give up. With the Jedi around you are pathetic and useless and incapable of scheming. With Corvae alive, you have no real excuse to assume power. And with the New Republic keeping half an eye on you, you can’t do anything else to further your plans. Might as well sit back and let me take my body back.

“I have plans for those things,” Phaerce seethed, “I have ways to fix it.”

But have you put them into action? No. You know what I think? I think you are scared. Scared of men and women much weaker than you. Because you are nothing more than a little child. You have no more access to your emotions than an infant. You have no control, no real power. You are nothing but a fearful little bastard with no one to look to for guidance.

“QUIET, YOU FRAKKING SHIT!” Phaerce roared. The animals shrank as far back in their cages as they could. They whimpered and groaned. Genevia stared up at him. Her body thrashed. Her fear was mounting, her body pumping adrenaline into her heart. It started beating faster and faster, her breathing quickened. But she was too weak for her body to do what it wanted to, too weak to let her heart beat that fast. She whimpered and started gasping as her throat tightened. Her body started twitching from head to toe.

Too late Phaerce realized that he had let his anger escape, too late he had realized its effect. He turned to his subject and tried to still her, scare her into obedience. But Phaerce knew nothing of healing, only of pain.

Genevia’s heart stopped. And Haika laughed.

“FRAK! FRAKFRAKFRAKFRAK! FRAK!”

Phaerce stood and stormed around the room, his anger unleashed. Focusing on an emaciated dog,  Phaerce grabbed a scalpel and hurled it across the room. The dog wailed as the scalpel embedded itself in its leg. Phaerce grabbed his worktable, Genevia’s corpse still upon it, and flipped it. There was a thump as Genevia fell onto the cool stone floor, and a clatter as Phaerce’s tools followed.

“You did this! You knew this would happen!”

Of course. Anything to set you back. Anything I can do to prevent you from getting where you want to go, I will do.

“I’ll kill you!”

The only way to do that is to kill yourself.

Phaerce stared at the corpse on the ground. He truly hated Haika, with all his being. It was the first time since childhood he had had anything to truly hate. It was not something he wanted. He needed a clear head to perform his experiments, something other Sith would never understand.

But you know that if you meditate, I’ll be there. I’ll whisper. I’ll stir. I’ll find the cracks and slip back in. You were once like I am now, the voice in the back of someone’s head. I’ll do what you did and much worse. I will destroy you, and if that means taking me with you, so be it.

Phaerce hissed.

Look on the bright side. You have a night off. Go get rested. You look exhausted.

Haika’s mocking tone made Phaerce’s anger bubble to the surface again. Yet Vibrose had stumbled on something. A night of sleep would help clear his head, without letting Haika have control. Dreams could trap them both, for a time.

“Fine, we’ll have it your way.”

Phaerce removed his blood-stained gloves and threw them in a corner. He grabbed his coat from a hook on the wall and climbed the stairs into the house proper.

He knew something wasn’t right. He wasn’t alone.

Phaerce whipped around, scanning the shadows.

“You know,” he spoke, trying to keep the edge from his voice, “it is rude to stalk people. I may have to teach you some manners.”

There was a creak of a floor board shifting under weight. Sleight, ever so sleight, but Phaerce heard it. The Force was his.

He dashed forward and grabbed the intruder by the throat. Letting his eyes adjust to the shadows, Phaerce saw himself gazing upon a soldier, one of the Admiral’s men. A single glance at his rank eased Phaerce’s mind. A lowly private, someone whose voice would take a long time to reach the ears of the Admiral. Someone less likely to be missed.

“Who are you?” Phaerce hissed, “Why are you here? What have you seen?”

The soldier gulped for air and groaned back a response. “Private Whit, Special Assignment. I haven’t seen anything, sir, nothing. I swear.”

“Nothing, everything. It’s all too much. How did you get here?”

“I followed you.”

“When, how, is this the first time?”

“When you left. I tracked you. No, I’ve followed you before.”

“Why?”

“Orders.”

“Whose orders?”

“Someone’s.”

“Someone who?”

“Captain Decker.”

“Why did he order you to follow me? What does he know?”

“I don’t know. He knows nothing. He doesn’t know about this place. I’ve yet to make my report.”

He knows that you are up to no good, otherwise he wouldn’t have sent Whit here.

Phaerce growled. He looked Whit up and down. He was healthy, strong. Phaerce grinned. This could be a blessing in disguise.

Except that Decker would know he is missing. He knows he followed you. He knows you aren’t what you say you are. He will put two and two together. The witch hunt will start. Nothing will save you.

Phaerce hated Haika more and more. But yet again he was right.

The trick was how to deal with Whit.

“What do I do with you?”

“Let me go, please. I swear I won’t say anything! I swear!”

“Unfortunately, words do me no good…”

Whit gulped. He had seen Genevia, of that Phaerce had no doubt. He knew what Phaerce could do.

The only solution was to kill him. But even that would arouse Decker’s suspicions. How could Phaerce do it in a way that left him safe?

Phaerce looked around the room, Genevia’s kitchen, searching for an answer. Week old dishes on a counter, a table, cupboards. A small liquour cabinet.

Phaerce grinned.

“Private Whit, sit down.”

Phaerce let go of the private and walked to the table. He pulled out a chair for the Private. The man knew what Phaerce would do if he didn’t obey, and so crossed the room and sat down.

“Now then,” Phaerce moved to the liquor cabinet and opened it. He looked over the bottles. “It’s been a while since I’ve been around the Galaxy properly, and lots has changed. How old would you say I am?”

“Mid-forties, sir,” Private Whit replied.

“This body is in its early thirties. I know, I know. Age hasn’t been good to it.”

Phaerce pulled an unopened bottle of Renan wine from the cabinet. He grabbed a bottle opener and quickly uncorked it. He sniffed it and shrugged. It would have been a good vintage a few weeks earlier, but it had started to turn into vinegar. The cork must have had a crack in it.

“You and I, Private Whit, are going to share a drink. We are going to drink this bottle of wine together. Then maybe another. After that, we are going to go for a walk. Does that sound alright with you?”

“Yessir.”

“You will then return to Decker, tell him that I go to bars at night, that I have a taste for wine and Corellian whiskey. You will never speak of this place, or you will die before you have a chance to return to your bunk. Do you understand?”

“Yessir.”

Phaerce took a swig of the wine and handed the bottle to Whit.

“Drink up.”


“Captain Decker, sir.”

“What is it, Lieutenant?”

“I have some bad news.”

“What is it?”

“The private you sent as part of Hand Phaerce’s security detail was found dead this morning. He had apparently left his post and went to a cantina not far to the north. He was found in the alley outside, having choked on his own vomit. Several patrons have reported that he entered the cantina near midnight, already intoxicated. He drank by himself for perhaps an hour, before being cut off by the bartender, who kicked him out. Early reports say he died soon after.”

Decker raised an eyebrow. The story was plausible. There were witnesses. Yet he still didn’t trust it.

“Where is Phaerce this morning?”

“Asleep, sir.”

Decker nodded. Of course he was. Where else would the Hand be?

“Thank you Lieutenant. That’s all.”

Aster saluted and left. Decker wiped his eyes. So many coincidences. So many deaths. And all of them connected to one man.

He couldn’t keep this under wraps much longer. He’d have to tell the admiral. But first, he needed solid evidence. And there was no one he could trust to get him that, not with Phaerce seemingly able to avoid every move he made.

Decker’s eyes went wide. There was someone he could trust. He activated his commlink.

“Lieutenant?”

“Yessir?”

“Get me the Jedi. Tell them I wish an audience with them. I want to discuss something with them.”

Re: The Noble Wars: Tapani Civil Wars (Open)

Phaerce awoke and stretched. He grinned at seeing the sun streaming through the windows of his room. For the first night in what felt like forever, Phaerce had slept soundly. All the taunting, all the mockery, all the annoying pokes and prods of that voice in his head meant nothing to him now.

During his sleep, he had come to a realization.

Phaerce stepped from his bed and whistled an old war-beat as he slinked his way to the ‘fresher. He relieved himself and showered quickly and satisfyingly, Haika’s voice mercifully absent, leaving his good mood intact. Phaerce stepped from the shower (a real shower, with water and all, rather than a ship ‘fresher), dried himself on a thick towel and stepped to a mirror, the war-beat still happily tapping its way along in his head.

Phaerce studied his face. He was still not quite used to seeing it. Every time he looked in the mirror, he expected something else. A flatter nose, green eyes, hair shaved to the scalp. His old face. Still, this one was his now, and he would become acclimatized soon enough.

Running a hand through the length of Haika’s hair, Phaerce grinned wickedly.

“How you could keep your hair this long I will never know,” Phaerce laughed, then grabbed a set of trimmers and flicked them on. The satisfying buzz as hair fell from his head into the sink further served to alleviate all the anger and stress of the night before. Soon, all his plans would come to fruition.

In a matter of minutes, Phaerce found himself looking at a man seemingly years younger, and with hair much shorter. Only a few inches. Phaerce knew no one would be seeing the change, but it felt appropriate to be properly groomed. He quickly trimmed his short beard and then washed his face. He grinned at his reflection.

“You should learn to take care of yourself, Haika old-boy.”

Why are you so happy? Haika’s voice was suspicious.

“You’re in my head. You tell me.”

There was no response. Phaerce grinned.

“Oh, come on. Don’t be petulant.”

Why now?

“Your…accusations the other night, while wounding,” Phaerce mocked pain in his voice, “did bring up an excellent point. I have been…inactive in the pursuit of my goals. Well, it’s time to take charge. Grab the bantha by the horns, take life by the balls and all that. I mean, I only live twice.”

You’re a frakking bastard…

“A fact I am very, very proud of.”

Phaerce turned from the mirror and returned to his bedroom. He carefully made the bed (a chore that Phaerce had always enjoyed, since his childhood oh so long ago) and laid out his armor. With a brush and cloth, he carefully cleaned the armor. Scorch marks disappeared and black paint seemed to blend into a gold-black camoflague. Even the dings, scratches and cracks (not to mention the larger wounds in the armor) seemed to gain a shine. All the while Phaerce whistled his war beat.

His task complete, Phaerce donned the armor, finally placing his black-skull helmet over his freshly cut head. As the suit sealed, data suddenly sprang up across the visor. Phaerce used practice movements of his eyes to give himself a clear field of vision, then stepped out of the room and into the hall beyond.

She won’t agree to it.

Phaerce laughed. He flicked the external audio off with a blink so no passing servant would overhear his conversation with himself.

“Oh, she will. There’s no better fuel to fall than hatred and self-doubt, the two greatest fears. And I can assure you, she fears me enough to hate me, and fears failing enough to join me. Her master coddles her, but tender loving care can easily be made to look like distrust.”

Haika was silent. Phaerce didn’t know whether it was a silence of acquiescence or a silence of judgement, but he didn’t really care.

It didn’t take long to find Mir. The Jedi had taken to walking the Gardens when not performing her duties for her Master. Phaerce didn’t know if the young woman found peace in the gardens, or if it was more a matter of avoiding the Imperials who seemed to pour from the very woodwork inside. Considering the general sense of anger and unease that she expelled, Phaerce leaned for the second. His seeds of distrust had apparently taken root.

Phaerce slid up behind her, silent and unnoticed. She was sitting on a bench beneath a Bimiza tree. Her eyes were closed and she was letting the morning sun fall upon her face. Despite the apparent serenity, emotions played across her face. Emotions that Phaerce had set there.

“Good morning, Master Jedi.” Phaerce spoke. Mir’s eyes suddenly snapped open and she spun, glaring at Phaerce.

“What are you doing here?”

“A morning walk. Allows me time to think.”

“To plot, more like.” Mir spat.

Phaerce chuckled. He sat down next to her and leaned back, letting the  sun fall across the mask of his helmet. Mir suddenly shot to her feet and stood across from him, feet firmly planted.

“Mir, Mir, Mir,” Phaerce chuckled, “you and I are hardly enemies. I’ve had very…positive relationships with Jedi in the past. Have you ever met Haika Vibrose?”

Mir cocked her head. “No. I’ve met his wife. She’s pregnant. At the Praxeum.”

Phaerce nodded. That was all he needed to know. Carefully, he lifted his hands to his helmet and removed it, placing it on his lap and looking her in the eye.

“I met him not so long ago. Seemed like a good man. Jenia, that’s his wife, yes? Jenia sounded charming.”

Haika hissed in Phaerce’s skull.

“You’ve met him?”

“Mmm, only briefly,” Phaerce nodded. “A good swordsman.”

Mir relaxed slightly. Lowered her guard.

“Why are you here, Phaerce?”

Phaerce smiled and stood.

“I had a proposition for you and your master. Speaking of which, where is he?”

“He is speaking to Captain Decker.”

Phaerce furrowed his brow momentarily, then resumed his relaxed tone. He would deal with Decker later. The Jedi was just a nuisance.

“Ah, Decker. And why have you been left behind?”

Mir glared at him. “Who says I have been left behind?”

“Well, you aren’t there.”

Mir placed her hands on her hips. “My Master left me to meditate while he spoke with the Captain.”

“And yet you are here. Interesting. I find it unreasonable that your Master seems to leave you so often.”

“He trusts me.”

“I suppose,” Phaerce turned his back to her and placed a hand on the trunk of the tree. “Regardless, I only really needed to talk to one of you. You know Corvae?”

“The Imp’s General, all drugged up and injured? Yeah.”

“You understand that she is…rightfully in charge here, yes?”

“I suppose,” Mir hesitated.

Phaerce turned back to her, placed a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t play games. It has been the bantha in the room. Negotiations can hardly begin in earnest while this looming factor of the true commander of the Imperials lying in bed is dangling over us.”

“True,” Mir looked at her feet, then once again glared at Phaerce. She seemed to like glaring. She shrugged his hand off her shoulder. “What does this have to do with anything?”

“Well,” Phaerce backed up, “I’ve been toying with the notion of healing her. With the Force. But I’ve been afraid that her injuries might be too great for me alone…”

“And?”

“Well, I was thinking that, with your help, we could heal her.”

“What?”

“To clear up this whole…mess. You understand? To make negotiations progress…smoother.”

Mir bit her lip. “What do you have in mind?”

“Well, we have some time now, while your master is in discussion with Decker…”

Phaerce said that but seemed to be saying, “We have some time now, while you’ve been abandoned…”

“And?”

“We could go in, I assess the damage and then you and I perform a miracle.”

Mir hissed. “Why is this only coming up now?”

“I just felt like it was the right time…”

“My master would hardly be happy that I am helping you heal our enemy.”

“We’re not enemies here. We’re temporarily placed against one another, but we are hardly enemies.”

Mir turned and pressed her hands to her forehead. After a moment she turned back.

“Fine. What do we do?”

Re: The Noble Wars: Tapani Civil Wars (Open)

Phaerce cast a grim look across Corvae’s form. As was typical for coma patients, she seemed to have shrunk. Become a husk. Phaerce nodded once. Hardly seemed like a threat like this. He could slice her throat without a care.

But that would track back to him. In fact, he wouldn’t take two steps from the med-bay without being taken down by several well-armed Stormtroopers. No, his plan required more tact.

“She feels…empty…” Mir noted.

“We’ve been keeping her sedated,” Phaerce spoke, “we’re unsure of how much pain she would feel if we didn’t. But a side-effect means she doesn’t even dream. She feels nothing. She thinks nothing.”

“She’s less than a person. She’s a husk.”

Phaerce grinned. Oh, the apprentice the girl could make. The things he could mold her into. He let the grin drop from his face and turned to her.

“An apt description. Would you help me?”

Mir stepped forward. Phaerce walked around the bed Corvae was laid out on. He carefully stepped over the cords and tubes keeping her alive and placed his hands on her forehead.

“I’m going to assess the damage to her brain. Her bodily injuries are mostly healed. It’s her brain that is the problem. She hit her head extremely badly. We believe the damage might have some permanent effects.”

“Like what?”

“Loss of memory, blindness, perhaps loss of motor function.”

Lowering of the defense of the rostral anterior cingulate cortex. Phaerce didn’t say that. Although she may not know what that was, he wasn’t willing to take the chance.

The rostral anterior cingulate cortex was the part of the human brain that regulated control of emotions. Without its defense, every fearful stimuli would be absolutely terrifying, every angering stimuli would whip the person into an uncontrolled rage.

Specifically, in this case, its lack of defense would allow Phaerce to manipulate her memories. It would allow him to place himself inside.

It would allow him to make her fear him more than anything she had ever feared.

The greatest problem Phaerce had always had in the creation of his fear-soldiers was that damned rostral anterior cingulated cortex, blocking him from the complete control of their emotions. But with Corvae, it would take seconds. He could flood himself into her and gain control.

Not complete control, of course. He couldn’t eliminate her personality like the design of the original fear soldiers. Nor could she break down and weep upon seeing him. She had to be exactly like she was before. But she had to subconsciously fear Phaerce in such a way as to allow him to influence her. Make her do what he wanted.

Make him the controlling force of the Imperials of Tapani, their puppet master.

He needed Mir there so that the Jedi would not become suspicious of his use of the Force. With her there, he would have a trusted witness who would believe he was simply assessing the damage to her brain.

Phaerce placed his hands on Corvae’s head and reached. Closing his eyes, he flooded himself into her. He pressed into her, finding her dormant personality. Her dormant self. Usually he was blocked from that part of people. But now he pressed further in. And he filled her. He hid himself there. In the background. Becoming a part of her. He embodied her fear.

He breathed deeply. The process had felt indescribably long to him, but took only seconds, he knew. With a final rush, he did a scan of the damage inside her. He opened his eyes.

“Her cerebellum is damaged, although that isn’t necessarily terrible damage. Her movements may become erratic, but that isn’t the problem we should focus on. Her coclear nuclei are…swollen is a good word. That could leave her deaf, but it is also pressing up against the rest of the brain stem. She could be paralyzed if that isn’t dealt with properly and quickly.”

“How do you know so much about the brain?”

“I’m a scientist, of sorts. My studies focused on the amygdala, specifically its control of emotions, but you can understand. When studying the brain you must study the whole or nothing at all.”

She nodded. “So what do we do.”

“We heal the damage to her brain and get her off the sedatives. If we proceed properly, she will be up and about in a day or two.”

“How do we heal her? Specifically. This isn’t like closing a wound or something.”

Phaerce tapped Corvae’s forehead with a finger. “We convince the blood that is building up in the brain stem to move on. Hells, if that coagulates she’d have an aneurism. Basically we kick her motor functions up a notch so her heart beats faster and harder briefly, and force the blood out. That should lower the swelling. Then we repair the bruising to the cerebellum, you should know how to do that. Finally, we do a cursory full body heal for any small and undiagnosed wounds that the doctors or bacta may have missed.”

“This all seems rather…”

“Impossible? You are a Jedi, I am a Hand. Nothing is impossible.”

She swallowed, then placed her fingertips on Corvae’s forehead. Phaerce did likewise. Breathing together, Mir and Phaerce pressed. With a little effort, and a pained groan from Mir, Phaerce began to feel the swelling in Corvae’s head go down. He smiled and pressed farther. The swelling continued to shrink until it was almost imperceptible. Phaerce wiped his forehead, and then they proceeded to get Corvae’s cerebellum fixed. A few seconds later, they stepped back, both too tired to continue healing the rest of Corvae’s minor wounds. Phaerce heaved. Fine healing like that was far beyond his realm of expertise.

“Well,” he finally said.

“Well,” Mir looked at her, “is she better?”

“Only one way to find out.”

Phaerce walked over to the device keeping Corvae sedated and with a flick of the switch shut it off.

It took several seconds for there to be any effect. Phaerce folded his arms and watched.

Suddenly, Corvae jerked about. She coughed three times, spittle flying from her mouth in a less-than-dignified manner. Her eyes shot open and she looked about wildly.

“Where am I? What happened? How long have I been…”

As her eyes fell upon Phaerce, she stopped. For a moment, her gaze grew fearful. She looked tiny and worn, like a child and an elder smashed together. Unbelievably weak, and weaker still because she didn’t know why she was afraid. Phaerce savored it, and was glad Mir could not see Corvae’s expression.

Corvae’s face hardened into a more typical glower, but beneath it ran the vein of fear, almost impossible to perceive. But Phaerce was watching for it.

“What are you doing here, Phaerce?”

“Only saving your life, general,” Phaerce smiled beatifically. “May I introduce Jedi Mir, who helped me with your healing.”

“A Jedi?” Corvae glanced at Mir and then at Phaerce. “You betrayed us! I knew it! Your brought Jedi here and tried to kill me!”

“Hardly. Mir is a member of the New Republic delegation attempting to negotiate a peaceful conclusion to the struggles here in Tapani. I simply borrowed her so that she could help me heal you.”

“Help? Heal me? Why in godssakes would you do that?”

“Because we need you. The Empire needs you,” Phaerce looked up at Mir. “Without you, Corvae, this conflict will spread to other systems. The Galaxy needs you. For order.”

Phaerce looked back at Corvae and his voice hardened.

“And, Corvae, because I need you. There is work to be done. Great works. And you must be up and ready.”

Behind her eyes, there was a sheen of fear, quickly buried.

“I’m well aware of my duty to the Empire, Hand Phaerce,” she sat up and twisted on the bed so she could get out. She pulled herself from the bed and stood for a moment, resting against the bed.

Phaerce turned and grabbed his helmet. He slid it on, and with a hiss it pressurized.

“Of course, General,” he spoke in a monotone, “of course. But you are weak. I suggest you get your rest.”

“I know what I need,” she said, but Phaerce noted that she sat back on the bed.

It was at that moment that the Bothan Jedi and Captain Decker rushed into the room. Evidently, Jek had expected the worst when he sensed Phaerce’s meddling, as Phaerce thought he would. And Decker already didn’t trust him.

Jek pushed past a guard into the room. His hand was on the hilt of his lightsaber. Phaerce’s hand dropped to his own, but he didn’t draw. He grinned behind his mask.

“Master Jedi,” he spoke, “how can I help you?”

“What is going on in here? I sensed…”

“Hand Phaerce, who is this?” Corvae’s voice betrayed her contempt for the Bothan.

Decker followed at that moment. Quicker to take in the surroundings, his eyes went wide.

“Master Ah’trask, Captain Decker, may I introduce,” Phaerce raised his hand with a dramatic flourish, “General Corvae, healed and ready to lead.”

Corvae glared, then spoke.

“Pleasure to meet you. Now all of you, leave!”

Re: The Noble Wars: Tapani Civil Wars (Open)

The human subconscious is a strange thing. It retains rigidity, maintaining an underlying slate of preconceived notions even under strict depiction of the contrary. It will fight at all costs to avoid having this foundation shifted in any way, shape or form.

And yet the human subconscious is fluid, easily adapting and containing new images, so long as they do not directly contradict the underlying foundation. It will absorb, maintain and remember concepts long after the conscious mind has forgotten them.

Haika had once seen a mandala, a vast pendulum pouring a constant stream of colored sand onto a stone circle. The pendulum would swing back and forth, moving in circles as the rotation of the planet beneath it caused slight imperfections in the parabolic swing. The stone plate filled with wondrous designs created by the sheer, random event that was the pendulum’s movement. Haika had watched it for hours, unable to tear his gaze from it.

The mandala had been maintained by a hermit on Dantooine. While Jenia visited with her family, Haika had found himself drawn to the location. Eventually, the monk had found him and had sat with him for some time, watching the mandala’s designs grow, fade and then grow again.

“It represents the human subconscious,” the monk had explained, “our minds are like the mandala. The sand is outside influence. It builds, collects and creates designs within our mind. These designs may become covered or hidden, but they are always there, beneath a layer of new ideas.”

“What if the sand was cleaned away?”

Haika had asked the question idly, but the hermit had simply grinned and leapt down to the mandala. With the pull of a lever, the stream of sand stopped. Haika watched in horror as the hermit took a broom and swept away every trace of sand from the stone beneath. He then cranked the lever and returned to his place next to Haika.

“Outside influence may be removed, through hard work. But beneath it is a solid stone, carved with a design that we can no more remove than we can live forever.”

Haika watched as the stone was once again covered by the sand.

Phaerce was a blight on the mandala of human subconscious. He was like a boulder tossed unceremoniously onto the design, distorting and reshaping until he was so buried by sand that he could never be removed.

But Haika had learned from the rock in his mind, had studied its shape, it’s consistency, it’s texture with every moment since he had been taken.

He knew Phaerce’s plans, his every move. Better yet, he had learned how to implant his own stones on the design of the human subconscious.

Phaerce hadn’t realized it, but when he had gone into Corvae’s mind, he had opened himself wholly to her. That included parts of himself he kept trapped.

Parts of himself Haika had been trapped in.

Haika had not wasted his chance. He had implanted his own suggestion onto Corvae, one small and innocuous, but one that would change the design of her mandala more than even Phaerce’s boulder.

Haika’s plan had begun.

Better yet, in a split moment, Haika had gained a foothold in Phaerce’s mind, a foothold that he refused to lose. He would pry himself higher and higher up and out of the dark torment of Phaerce’s nightmarish hell of a brain until he regained control of his body and removed the disease that was Phaerce.

Phaerce was dying and didn’t even know it.


Corvae rubbed her temples. The seemingly endless stream of assistants, aides, appointments, enemies, opponents, ambassadors, governors, nobles, soldiers, politicians, citizens and obstacles showed no signs of petering out. In the days since her recovery, Corvae had found herself drowned in waves after waves of well-wishers and not-so-well-wishers. All of Admiral Gandel’s work in maintaining order had seemingly fallen away under what appeared to be a regime change, and all of the work he had done had seemingly been set back by weeks.

Corvae may not like Gandel or his lapdog, Phaerce, but they had certainly done admirable work in maintaining the Empire’s hand in the Tapani sector. Better still, they had pressed a right of Imperial law that had been accepted, if not embraced, by most of the noble houses. They had made great strides in their peace talks with the Republic as well, not that that mattered now. All of their work was apparently trumped by her return.

The Admiral, standing behind her and to her left, didn’t know how to take this. On one hand, he had had a great burden lifted from his shoulders. On the other, he felt jealous that his power had been taken from him and that all of his work had been, apparently, for naught.

Phaerce, on the other hand, could barely contain his enthusiasm. That Corvae could never understand. Under the Admiral, he had been one of the most powerful figures in the system. Now, he was relegated to an errand boy. She hated him and tried to keep him at arms length.

Still, his suggestions had proven powerful. She often found herself agreeing with many of his ideas. If it wasn’t for his sorceries, Corvae was sure they would have gotten along admirably.

Still, something nagged at her about him.

The problem was that, when she was alone, she couldn’t help but wonder why. Why he seemed to see things exactly her way, or rather, why she seemed to see things his way. Why he embraced his removal from power and trust. Why, when she looked at him, she felt…afraid.

The real problem started one morning, about six days after her revival, when she found something wholly unexpected on her bedside table.

It was a datapad. Not much was on it. Just two sentences.

Don’t trust Phaerce.
Consult with Jedi and Captain.

She had checked with her guards. No one had entered or left her suite through the main entrance. No one had left the datapad.

And yet…yet still it sat heavy on her.

Don’t trust Phaerce.

She didn’t…and yet…

Yet she was powerless not to accept his advice. She was afraid of what would happen if she didn’t.

Don’t trust Phaerce.

All of that day, she had been unable to work properly due to the message. She could do nothing but wonder. When Phaerce entered for his tasks for the day and to check up on the state of affairs, she had barely spoken a word to him, simply handed him a typed-up flimsi and dismissed him.

Don’t trust Phaerce.

Whoever had left the message knew something. Whoever had left the message was afraid as well. Afraid of Phaerce.

There was more going on than met the eye.

The message told her to consult with the Jedi and with a Captain.

She didn’t like Jedi. Hated them, in fact. But she had an idea of what captain the message wanted her to speak to.

Decker.