Silently the blade lay, on the stone floor of one of the caves of K'eel Doba, not far from the planet's capital city. It was a beautiul blade, of an ancient and far superior craftsmanship. The sword seemed to shine with an alluring aura, seemed to invite, indeed, to plea to be held. Though voiceless, the blade seemed to whisper promises of power and glory to whomever next grasped its hilt.

The allure of this blade was perhaps the focal point of the first stages of the plan that was forming in the mind of Ragorian, the ancient sorcerer who's spirit dwealt within the sword.

Too long have I remained idle, too long have I watched in the shadows, he thought determinedly to himself. Too long have I been absent from my people. It is time, well past time, for me to rejoin them. To rejoin the Sith!

With these words, Ragorian focused his mind, shutting out the sensations of the cave around him, shut off his link to the young Rykounagin, shut everything else off, and focused on this, the crucial first step of his plan.

Concentrating on the magickal powers that he had been honing for centuries, the ancient sorcerer began broadcasting these powers in invisible waves from the vessel that contained his spirit. The waves streteched across the stretch of land, across K'eel Doba, sweeping over the capital city several times before fading.

The purpose of these waves was simply to intrigue the beings of the city, to let them feel the magick and know there was some sort of power residing out in the wilds of K'eel Doba. Ragorian figured that whomever was in charge of the city in Graysith's absense (if indeed she was gone, as the information he had garnered from Rykounagin stated), would send some sort of Sith patrol to investigate the waves. Ragorian knew, or hoped that he would be able to hoodwink at least one of the Sith into grasping the blade, and therefore becoming his new host, the essential beginning of his new plan. But the enitire plot hinged on the Sith feeling these waves, feeling their power, and being puzzles enough to investigate. Ragorian continued broadcasting for many many minutes, before his powers waned for a time and, tiring, he settled back to wait.

Come, he thought desperately, his thought echoing in the own silent chambers of his mind.

Come to me.

“She will return to me,” the spirit thought. “Already I feel her growing closer, and she, the One, will have already once again felt drawn to me. Yes, dear lady, I await you. I need you as you need me.”

A wave of strange power wafted through the atmosphere, almost as a beckoning of some sort. T’elion tried to follow it, but it disappeared too quickly.

“There is something here,” he thought. “Something strange, old, and… not quite sane. What was it?”

His thoughts were interrupted by another wave of energy, followed by another, and another. Wave after wave now pulsed through the air, and T’elion grew more and more wary with each burst. A strange sense of familiarity came with those bursts, and T’elion thought back through the ages of his inhabiting this device. All of those with which he tried to bond, all of those who had died in failure.

But, no, this memory was of a different sort. This was not the lost echo of a failed host, this was the beckoning call of another spirit. A spirit thought lost, defeated… Yes, T’elion now recalled. A time when he was wielded by a captain of the Sith Warrior Clan, strong though he was the captain had no magick and was of little use. But he stayed, as if compelled by the gods. Then during a raid upon a sect of Sorcerers, he felt a power so strong he felt initially compelled to bond with it. But the power was not right, not in line with his purpose. T’elion’s dilemma was quickly ended, however, as the warriors stormed the cave and put and end to the sect forever.

But this was the power. Yes, this was it…

The spirit’s attention turned to the guard near the door of the great hall. The guard’s fidgets gave clue that he, too, had felt this energy. T’elion concentrated on the guard’s thoughts, his desires, and sent waves of need towards him.

But now... something strange seemed to be happening.

It wasn't anything he could place a finger upon. In fact, if truth were to be known, it wasn't anything that he really was consciously aware of. But from somewhere, somewhere very far away, something old and evil and very, very patient seemed to be trying to slide insidiously into his being.

He broke his rigid posture by the doorway, swaying the tiniest fraction. Beads of sweat sprang upon his brow, increasing until they could no longer withstand gravity's force and began trickling slowly down his face. His hands tightened of their own accord upon his pike, and quite suddenly it seemed that he couldn't breathe.

He slid his eyes to his companion. That worthy seemed to be having some sort of difficulty of his own, judging by the wetness gleaming on his face.

He wasn't too surprised to see eyes staring sideways right back into his own.

But he was surprised when his fellow guard suddenly whirled upon him, his own pike held threateningly, and charged.

No matter. His own pike lowered instinctively as the other rushed him; without uttering a sound he waited until the very last moment then stepped a bit back and to the left, thrusting low and ripping high as he did so.

He smiled darkly, not understanding truly why this horrendous action was so deeply satisfying, and pushed the pike more deeply into the dying flesh of his fellow. As the ripped and bleeding body struck the floor he released the pike, uncaring to the fact that its presence would telegraph who had killed the warrior.

It was the why that would be unknown, and the thought of approaching intrigue made him smile.

He looked at the body at his feet, then, uncaring, turned away. His footsteps were sure and steady as he went straight to the fireplace. There his brilliant sky blue eyes focused on the floating image of the Finger of R'lous, which hovered where the Dark Lady had left it.

His hand didn't even tremble as he reached out and grasped the hilt. It felt warm and powerful and very, very good as he literally plucked it from thin air and pulled it to him....

"I am Xax'andaar," he thought back, not quite aware that he was actually in conversation with... something.

Smiling, he held the finger up and gazed upon the jewels it bore, which were gleaming and glistening like drops of blood upon its hilt.

As he allowed the waves of magic to flow out of him and cross the city, Ragorian this time allowed them to carry a bit of extra magick, a kind of "power sonar" he had created that would send a new wave resonating back towards him if it incountered another powerful being in the city, or on the planet, for that matter. Or at least Ragorian hoped.

After a surprisingly short wait, a wave did come back to him. As he absorbed it, it imparted to him a "feeling" of sorts of the power it had found. Ragorian soon observed that the power did not come from the Lady Graysith.

So she is gone from the planet, he mused to himself. Very interesting...

But although that had answered one of his questions, another one arose.

If that was not the Lady Graysith...then who was it? it was unmistakably powerful...and also, unmistakably Sith.

After a moment of pondering, Ragorian released another wave, this one specifically targeted towards this powerful entity. He meant to entice it, bring it to him, and, hopefully, ensnare it. Or at least one of its subordinates. A power like that, mixed with his own, would do him good. Perhaps it would even be enough to revive him...

Putting his hopeful thoughts aside, Ragorian waited, albeit impatiently, for his chance ot arrive.

The Spirit, T’elion, was cut short by the feel of another wave. This one was different, charged with some sort of energy…

Sith magick, T’elion mused. He allowed the direct magick to flow into him, siphoning it into the Finger of R’Lous and allowing the device to capture that magick. The rest of the wave passed harmlessly around. The odd magick, that reflective bit of curiosity, would not be returned to the sender. Whatever energy the sender would feel returned would not be that of T'elion or the Finger, but of some other being.

Ah, it is good to be wanted, dear Sorcerer, but mine is not the energy you will feel returned. There is another here, one whom you would be wise to not touch without invitation. I will let it pass, but SHE will not.

He returned his attention to the warrior.

“-- take me to the source of these waves. Use this bit of magick to guide you. But do well to keep others from knowing your intentions, do not allow their jealousy to delay us. Quickly, to the west!”

Much time had passed since the night when ShaRhylla felt the passing of Entaris' being from her body, time in which she had gradually come to terms with who she really was, not who someone else would have had her be.

It took months for the nightmares to lessen, which they did in quantity, never degree. The nights in which she would jerk frantically from slumber, pearly claws grasping and rending sheets wet with sweat, grew farther and farther apart. Yet each one of those nights was just as vivid in her memories, just as horrendous.

And, although it was deeply repressed within the very core of her being, just as welcomed and longed for as ever it had been during her time with Entaris in the Darker Realms.

The majority of her nights, though, were the same as any other, quiet and filled with refreshing sleep, and her days were filled with lessons of being Sith and heiress to entitlement. Of learning how to read the language, how to fight in hand-to-hand combat, how to wield sword and knife and staff. How to command servants, how to treat the courtisans.

How to be the Dark Lady of Warriors, which as the daughter of Lord Roan and Lady Graysith, she indeed would be one day.

Upon occasion her sister Darra would join her, but never stayed long. She was fully human, something ShaRhylla found instinctively repulsive for some reason. Mother must have adopted her, she would often tell herself, and Darra too for that matter; never once did she really bother to address the fact that Mother was indeed human herself.

Mother was, after all.... Mother.

And so time passed. Those within the great temple did their best to teach the fiery young adolescent what she needed to learn, and she in turn tried her best to do what was expected of her.

Even though deep in her heart she longed for something... more.

It is said that all things come at length to those who wait, and she was no exception. It really was no surprise to her heart of hearts when one evening as she lay lounging in her chambers, hunting voracious creatures in the dancing flames of the fireplace, that something with the heart of said creatures but a far surpassing intelligence whinged softly into her being, a great and gentle and overwhelming flow of pure magicks.

She leapt to her feet, every cell instantly alert. Innate magicks of her own took hold; from her father she had inherited the magick of the Sith, and from her mother the power of the All. She didn't even have to think, but immediately grasped hold of the flowing wave, holding it closely to her being for inner scrutiny.

It seemed to roil and writhe and flower and bloom and beckon in a manner more seductive than she had ever known, even more seductive than had been her dear Dark Heart.

Her lip curled, exposing a delicate and razor sharp fang. Holding the wave to her heart she threw back her head and simply basked in the moment of it.

Then she let fly with a great returning burst of her own.

"I know you...."

The recognition, of course, was not a conscious one at all, but on a level buried deep within her psyche. Moving gracefully to her balcony then, she laid her hands against the balustrade and leaned out into the coolness of the night.

I know you....

There was the familiar glow of Sith magicks that he knew so well, but mixed in with it was a different power, something alien to him. Something he had felt once before...in the presence, he now remembered, of the Lady Graysith. But this magick aura was definitely not hers.

Suddenly, a voice echoed in the chambers of Ragorian's spirit. A voice he had never before heard spoke to him, whispering its message that had been carried along with the wave.

"I know you...", it said

For Ragorian, the whispered message brought only confusion. He had never heard this voice before in his life. How could he know this...person? But then, as the wave enveloped him completely, he too felt the subconcious recognicion, familiarity with a spirit not unlike his own. Savoring the feeling, he paused a moment in silent repose.

Soon enough, he allowed the moment to pass, quickly gethering another wave, one hinting at powers unmatched, a wave seductive and calling, composed using all his whiles and the persuasive magicks of the blade. Within moments the wave was released, focused solely on the being who had called to him before. To that one the wave went, to that one it would deliver its silent, beckoning message as it washed over and enveloped whoever had called to him this night.

"Come to me," the message said, and the desire ran itself through and around the corridors of Ragorian's mind even after the wave had departed and began searching for its appointed target.

Come...come to me...come...

The blatant absence of his fellow spoke the obvious.

What had possessed him? He was one to be trusted, always had been as long as he had known him; now circumstantial evidence pointed to the probability that the loyal Xax'andaar had turned traitor, killed his fellow, taken the Finger, and run.

But the ominous question running in dark undercurrent was... why?

Salandaar turned in disgust, putting aside for the moment all thought of what the Dark Lady might do if she returned to discover the Finger still missing. Withholding the fact that it had been absconded with to begin with was something her Second simply would not not consider; however, the shame he felt that this had indeed happened while he was in charge would be cleanly washed away if he could catch the perpetrator and return the item to its proper owner.

He strode to a nearby gong, struck it a mighty blow. The sharply musical note bounded forth into the echoing corridors of the Temple, leaping from wall to floor to ceiling to wall again as it traversed in ever increasing timbre.

Moments later, he was confronted by two of his Captains. A quick glance was all they needed to understand the dilemma at hand.

Salandaar said little. He moved not.

"Find it, and he who took it."

The others bowed and whirled, barking orders to alert their own squadrons, crying out into those corridors that something was amiss, that the warriors were to assemble with their tuk'ata.

Throughout the Temple the cry went out, warriors grabbed weaponry and armor, while the rudely awakened servants and other minions could only shrink into themselves, shuddering, in reply.

Thousands of them, in fact.

Veiled within the depths of a silken and flowing cloak, one enveloping her in the color of the forest's canopy at sunset, she had gone unnoticed, not quite following, perhaps in some manner actually hunting, but in either case responding to a call so deep and subliminal she really wasn't quite aware of it lurking in her soul.

And so it was she had run through the entirety of the temple and had at last come upon this tiny back door, where she stood in sudden alertness. For although she couldn't actually hear anything other than the beating of her own heart, somehow she knew there was something amiss within the cold stone walls of the Temple of the Warriors.

Cocking her head, she listened with every cell of her being... and then smiled.

Good. No one knows I am no longer in my chambers.

Not even bothering to wonder why, she pushed the little door open, slid through it, and gradually found her way down to street level. All was quiet, although now she could definitely hear the faintly ringing cries as behind her the warriors awoke to unexpected duty.

No matter.

Holding her cloak more tightly about herself, she melted into the night, flitting through street and side street, until finally coming to the edge of the great city of Phrinn'chatka.

The starfield glittered in her eyes as she set out across the surrounding countryside, heading away from greenery and field and meadow, and going gradually upslope to where all slowly transformed into rock and scree.

Xax'andaar padded through the market and past the Grand Library, now reopened, though lightless in the night hours. He paid no mind to the bows and respectful nods from the nocturnal citizens who paused as he strode past, and he intently pursued the trail of power left in the wind like a tuk’ata locked on the scent of prey.

As cobblestone gave way to brick tiles, which in turn gave way to dirt, T’elion could begin to sense the spirit at the source of the power. The warrior moved into a wooded area at the base of a vast slope, away from prying eyes, and removed the Finger from its hiding place. The jewels glowed a brilliant red.

Some time later, unexpectedly, his efforts were rewarded. One of Ragorian's honed abilites was his one to "smell," as it were, powerful spirits, souls ripe with magick or power of some sort. To his amazement, Ragorian felt one of these coming his way. As he strove outwards with his abilities, he also felt, in addition to this powerful spirit, the soul, unmistakably, of a Sith coming closer as well.

An attendant to this first one, perhaps? he mused.

It seemed the logical explanation. Something, however, made him think not. It was nothing he could put his finger on, but something was...different...about this Sith's aura. Something else was with the Sith.

Euphoric at these results, Ragorian sent another wave out of the cave, then another, then another. Not sure who he directed them at, perhaps both in particular, the waves carried his desire to be found towards the entities who approached him.

Yes! they seemed to shout, their desire almost palpable.

“This one wants to be found,” the spirit sent to the warrior. “So we shall allow it. You shall be protected as long as you are true to me, great warrior, for if he finds you then this wizard will try desperately to woo you with his lies. But you are beyond his influence, trust in my guidance and soon you shall be rewarded with the greatness you so deserve. Another approaches, it is she who shall decide the fate of this wizard, and if she chooses correctly then my quest is one step closer to fulfillment.”

The spirit could now sense the power from the daughter of the Dark One.

Not able to bear silence any longer, Ragorian focused his mind, reaching out, attempting to speak with one, with either of the ones who were so close to him.

I am here! he called out, lacing his words with everty ounce of his seductive, compelling, beckoning aura. You have found me. Please, come and free me. Please...

Tucking it under his hunting cloak then, he melted backward into the embrace of a vertical fault, and waited in silence to see who was coming.

All the while the entreaty coming from the cave beat loudly and seductively in his ears, difficult to keep at bay.

Ahead was only darkness... and from that darkness that voice seemed to beg for her to hurry.

She swayed a bit, something deeply buried and even more deeply dark rising to meet this challenge, while that newer portion of her being, that reflecting the humanity she had inherited from her mother augmented by what she had learned since coming back to K'eel Doba, shied away like a nervous colt.

Who is this? Why does he call out to me... or indeed, why have I received this call?

Was it meant for me, or--?

That particular line of query was nipped in the bud as her other half, that dictated by the Sith blood running in her veins, blood she had gotten from her father, rose to squelch it.

I fear nothing and no one! I am ShaRhylla, the Heir Apparent to the Warriors, and daughter of Dark Lord Roan! I answer to no one; all, rather, answer to me!

Her eyes narrowed to slits then and she smiled, continuing upward with the agility and grace of a cat. At length she stood at the entrance to the cave; a moment's hesitation and she tossed her head imperiously and strode inside about fifteen feet.

"I am here," she announced in a light whisper, and fell silent.

Although it seemed to him that he had been brought a powerful ally indeed by...her, for it was a her, scent, something about that scent was different. As far as Ragorian could make out, the female was Sith...mostly Sith. Curiously, Ragorian also seemed to feel the scent of a human mingled among the Sith. An odd combination indeed. But certainly more interesting than that was the scent of her power. Sith magick he could sense, that was certain, but she also seemed to possess something more. A power that he had not sensed since being in the presence of the Lady Graysith. Most interesting indeed.

Sending forth a desperate, snaking tendril of his own spirit and magick, Ragorian called to her mind softly, beckoningly, but wordlessly, for he could not actually speak with one who did not grasp the hilt of the sword, save for a few choice words that rapidly sapped his mind's energy.

At the same time Ragorian directed a slight amount of his magickal energies into his vessel, the sword, making the beautiful, wonderously-crafted blade glow faintly, edged with a deep red light that cut through the darkness of the cave and cast shadows on the newcomers face. He also took a moment to activate and strengthen the alluring spell of the sword, that which made it seem to call out to any nearby, to beg to be weilded, and promise immeasurable power and glory to that who did weild it so.

The scrape of his foot against rock sounded loudly in his ears as he took an involuntary step forward, gripping the Finger of R'lous and holding it to himself like a shield. He stopped at the sound his own foot made, and waited, holding his breath, cursing himself for moving as he had in disobedience to that which had instructed him to stay.

She gasped at the wondrous sight in front of her. There limned in red, was a sword, a sword of great beauty, of wondrous temper, a sword so obviously strong that it could only be fit for a ruler, for a king...

Or for a queen.

That human portion of her unique duality let out a frightened little cry when that realization arose, and shrank back.

No no no! What blade speaks? It is bewitched; turn now, depart from this place, go back to the Temple and find Salandaar...!

Her Sith blood only scoffed, and pushed that small attempt at reason and sanity into the furthest recesses of her mind.

"Fit for a queen..." she breathed, cocking her head to the side, her nostrils flaring and her eyes widening even more in the dimness of the cave.

Then she strode forward and simply took up the blade. It fit in her small hand as if it had been made to her personal specifications.

It was then that she heard the noise; gripping the blade, she whirled, sensing out with the innate All she had been born with, reaching out with what Sith magicks she had learned, seeking to find with every sense and talent available to her just who was lurking behind her in the night.

Blinding fury, rage, and desire were fed like a sudden eruption into the warrior. T’elion pushed harder and harder, for in the mind of the warrior there could only be one outcome, and after the glorious taste of bloodshed he alone would stand holding both the Finger of R’lous and the mighty blade! The courage of the warrior grew intensely, spurred on by the waves of confidence T’elion gave the warrior…

What was one so young and fair doing lurking about in such a place at this time of night? Up to no good, probably meeting with some other dark one to plot and scheme against my Lady; well not while I have arm to raise and weapon to bring to bear!

The honor of my Lady and that of the Sith and my family and myself shall be protected at all costs!

He let forth a great howling cry, that of the warrior leaping to the call, and drawing his sword leapt likewise into the cave.

"Traitor!" he hissed between his fangs as ShaRhylla whirled to meet him, her head cocked a bit to one side as if she was seeking something of her own, a gleaming blade of her own held in her small hand.

ShaRhylla's lips curled in a derisive smile as the howling warrior appeared from seeming nowhere to leap upon her, murder in his heart, glistening blade in his hand.

But she was not the daughter of Lord Roan for nothing; far from losing her composure in the face of this unexpected attack, she met it head on.

She had only the time to tense, ready to spring in either direction, judging the warriors trajectory with a careful eye, before he was centimeters from impact.

Only then did she neatly sidestep from him, the blade in her hand singing its wondrous song, filling her ears and the cave with those musical notes, filling her heart with a promise of power.

Power now used as easily as that of plucking a flower from a grassy meadow.

She came in low and fast. The momentum she put into the blow turned her in a complete circle, but when she finally halted, once again facing the direction from whence the raging warrior had sprung, it was to face only thin air.

He was laying on the rocky, stone-strewn floor of the cave in two pieces, the light fading from his eyes as his blood poured from what was left of his body. In his loosened hand, something gleamed a beckoning red.

ShaRhylla approached to wipe the offending blood from her blade. Her eye caught the glow; she bent over a bit, curious, and nudged that something with the tip of her blade.

The Sith Lieutenant made a quick movement with the hand by which he held his straining tuk'ata, looping the thick leather leash yet another time about his hand. His other held his pike aloft, pointing toward the top of a rocky incline perhaps fifty meters ahead of him.

"Up there, the trail leads there!" he called, waiting a moment afterward to be certain his cry had been heard by the others. At length warriors and their beasts began coming to him out of the night, responding immediately to his call, relieved that their own fruitless side-quests were over.

Now the trail left by the traitor was a certainty.

The tuk'ata yowled and raged, pulling and tugging against their masters, their great rending claws ripping huge rents into the thin soil at their feet, not having to penetrate far until they met with solid rock. Their garbled cries grew even more heated, more urgent, more blood-thirsty.

The Lieutenant smiled.

"Release them, and follow," he ordered, then standing aside to let the ensuing rush of beasts go by. That smile never faltered but grew even more grim, more certain of itself as, raising his pike aloft, he uttered another cry and began leading the warriors up the incline that their tuk'ata were now traversing in ever-increasing leaps.

He squinted as he marched along: there, near the apex, was a dark little blotch.

A cave.

More than likely it is where the traitor has taken shelter, a pitiful enough attempt at evasion indeed.

What he learned surprised him.

The daughter of the Lady Graysith was she, hers and...a Sith. Dark Lord Roan was the name given to him by her mind. He had called to him the Dark Lady's own daughter! Before he could speak to her, however, suddenly she was moving, as was he. Looking through her eyes as well as feeling the motion of the sword, Ragorian felt the perfect harmony, witnessed the moment of shared euphoria when she...he...they cut down the unexpected opponent, Sit hwarrior though he may be. Never had he been so weilded! Excitement kindled the dormant fires of Ragorian's spirit as he felt the power coursing through her, coursing through them.

Yes! he sang out in her mind. Well done indeed!

Calming his tone, he continued. Well done, and well met, ShaRhylla, Daughter of Graysith.

His questions were answered when he felt the flow of magicks directed from the object towards ShaRhylla, tempting her to pick up and take the object on the floor. Ragorian almost laughed when he noted the similarity between his own magick and this, The Axis' magick.

For, indeed, that is what this object was.

Ragorian felt a touch of the powerful magicks as ShaRhylla nudged the object with the tip of his vessel. The contact was enough for Ragorin to quickly establish a link between himself and the Axis, one that could be spoken across. Keeping his ears open to ShaRhylla, he spoke across this link.

Once again, well met, Axis. I am glad we are given the chance to speak once more. Would I be correct in assuming that you guided that...unfortunate warrior here, in response to the waves of magick I sent out?

Pausing for only a few seconds, he then put voice to the question that had been nagging at him since he and the Axis had parted ways last.

Unless I am being decieved, it seems to me that we seem to be akin spirits. You know that I am trapped inside this sword, and i sense that you are a spirit placed inside an artifact as well.

Tell me, spirit of the Axis, who are you? And why did you answer my call?

After a moment she bent over and picked it up.

It was then that the first of the tuk'ata leapt, howling, into the cave. She whirled about, half alarmed, half angered to be followed here as she seemed to have been. The Finger, still in her hand, responded to that innate and quite unstoppable rush of anger: a red light streamed forth from its tip, striking the tuk'ata as it in turned strove to come to a halt before its own unthinking rush into the cave would bring it to terminal impact upon what it instantly recognized as being Sith. The scrabbles of ten-inch claws dissipated into the darkness of the cave then, as the red flare blanketed down atop the luckless animal, bearing it to the stone floor beneath it, sinking down to cover it as the great beast fell.

For a moment there was a red lump upon the floor of the cave, then this too disappeared as the redness flattened, then faded into the night.

Nothing was left in its wake.

"Interesting," ShaRhylla breathed softly to herself, realizing at once that even though the response from the thing she held was an unexpected one, it was indeed a response to her own emotional state. Thus it was that she managed to keep a tight grip upon herself, her own magicks, and the All innate within her being as the warriors burst into the tight confines of the cave.

The moment their eyes adjusted to the dark, they dropped to one knee before her.

She smiled, holding the blade in one hand, the Finger in another.

"Take me back to the Temple," she commanded, softly yet imperiously.

"And clean up this-- this mess which affronts my eyes!"

The point of the sword swooped and gleamed, pointing now to the halved Sith warrior she had killed.

In his euphoria, Ragorian failed to notice at first the voice that spoke to him suddenly, one that instantly drew his attention for it was the spirit of the Axis speaking to him.

For what it had to say intersted him greatly.

T'elion? he thought to himself, pausing to reflect on the Axis' words. Have I ever heard that name before?

Finding no answer, he delved deep into the aons, the thousands of years of shrouded memory that he carried with him. deep into his past he dove, back into his time as a true Sith, searching for some spark of recognition that this name afforded him.

And he found it, yes, there it was! But faint it was, only a spark indeed, the faintest glimmer, buried in his centuries of thoughts. Reaching out with his memory, he attempted to capture that spark, to answer the questions of when and where. But no such luck found him. The spark was there, and then it was gone, lost deep in the flow of his mind.

T'elion...yes, I have heard that name before! But where? When? Who is he?

He considered the rest of what the Axis had said to him, but neither did this help him in his search. Too long have I been alone to remember the old ways, or the old gods. he muttered to himself in frustration. Then heaving a mental sigh, he again focused on the spirit, now speaking to it.

My desires and purposes? Many of these I have, but the one I truly yearn for is to be free of this prison I am trapped in, to leave this blade and house my spirit wihin a new body of my own. That is my focus for the time being.

He stopped for a minute, wondering whether to press the spirit further, attempt to truly find out his identity. A problem to be dealt with later, he decided eventually, and instead continued along a different path.

And what does this mean to you, T'elion? How now do our causes coincide? And how would that affect the both of us, my brother?

Who is this who inhabits this sword? And how is it he has called out to me, and why?

The questions roiled in her mind, tumbling over and over as she stared at the sword and the Finger, wondering what the glowing sigils and jewels upon the latter was all about.

This is indeed a powerful thing; I wonder what it is... and who can tell me about this thing?

Of course the first person she would have brought it to would have been her dearly departed Father. However, as that possibilty was moot, the only other one she could think of was her Mother.

She has some of the power my Father had; she was married to him; perhaps, if he would have known of this thing, she would have learned of it from him...

But her Mother was gone as well; at least, this was what Salandaar had told her. So she was a bit puzzled as to what she should do once she got back to the Temple.

Despite the fact that something deeply buried was struggling to catch her attention, whispering on the farthest edge of her unconscious awareness that these were now hers, that she won them in fair battle, that none other should know of them, that she should keep them secret.

She shook her head, frowning to herself, wondering all the while why she was doing so. Then, ignoring for the moment the puzzle of the glowing Finger, she closed her eyes and concentrated, trying to make contact with that which had contacted her after she had killed the Sith warrior.

"Who are you, and why are you now silent? I have wielded you with glory and honor; do you now retreat from me, and leave me with but a shiny new toy?"

My imprisonment, he replied at length, was a decision that I myself made to escape certain death...a decision made long ago, in a moment of desperation. Obviously and unfortunately, I neglected to leave myself a way out.

The reason I am not able to free myself is that doing so, I believe, would require tremendous amounts of magickal energy, just as the imprisionment did. More energy than I myself can supply. Which brings us to the reason I sought you out...

For I have taken a measure of your powers, T'elion. I believe that were we to combine our magicks, it would be enough to create a new body for myself and free my spirit. This is the favor I ask of you. Help me return to my physical form, and I will be greatly indebted to you, my friend.

As he paused to wait for T'elion's reply, he became aware of another voice speaking to him, that of ShaRhylla. He listened carefully, fully aware he could not afford to find himself on the bad side of this new weilder. he then opened another mental link to her mind, keeping his one with T'elion open as well.

Of course not, Lady ShaRhylla, he purred soothingly, lacing his voice with faint traces of subtle, persuasive magicks as he spoke. I ask that you forgive my silence. I was merely using this time to learn more about you who now weilds me, with indeed much glory and honor, more so than I could have dreamed a weilder could bring. And i must admit, your new "toy," as you put it, intrigued me as well.

Please, allow me to introduce myself, my lady, he continued, while slowly, ever-so-slowly began winding slight, indetectable tendrils of his magick delicately into the corners of ShaRhylla's mind, taking persausive hold, but not control, of small, rarely used corners of it with quiet, nigh-invisible precision. I am Ragorian, and I am at your service, my mistress.

Beneath her, the tuk'ata responded with a querying growl of its own; this she ignored, and merely closed her eyes for a moment, relishing something at such a subliminal level she really wasn't certain exactly what it was, or why she was responding to it as she now was.

She only knew... that she was.

"Ragorian..." she breathed inwardly, turning the syllables into a drawn-out purr.

"A name most worthy, surely descended from nobility; tell me, Ragorian, how it is you have come to be inside this blade... if indeed this is what has befallen you. If not, then truly a mystical blade you are indeed, and one I shall hold to my heart, in secret from all, until the day I die."

With that, she opened her eyes and yanked on the tether holding the tuk'ata in bondage to her. It yowled once again in protest, but slid to a rock-slicing halt, it's ten-inch claws digging deeply into the sedimentary layers over which she was moving, sending tiny crumbles tumbling downslope to disappear into the night.

"The traitor was found this night, dead and unarmed; it is apparent it was at the hand of highwaymen or others of this murderous ilk!" she cried out in an imperious voice, turning about on the back of the tuk'ata to send that command ringing out to the warriors behind her. They responded with myriad, yes, m'ladys, knowing full well that to reply in any other manner would mean death by torture.

For indeed, such were the ways of the Sith.

Knowing that her treasures were now hers to do with as she pleased, she settled back upon her mount, and with a kick sent the animal to loping downslope again.

"So, Ragorian," she thought in an intensified purr.

"Tell me more of yourself, who you are, where you came from...

"Ane why you called out to me as you did this night."

Upon the belt about her waist, where she had thrust it, the Finger of R'lous let forth a strident glow, but she paid it no heed as it was of no great interest to her.

At least... not for the moment.

But then, that should be obvious, he continued, reminding himself to remember he was not dealing with any ordinary being here. ShaRhylla was powerful, certainly, and she must be treated as such, he reminded himself.

Renewing the flow of subtle magicks that enhanced his "silver tongue" as it could be called, Ragorian again spoke to ShaRhylla.

You guess correctly, my mistress. I am indeed a spirit inhabiting this blade. Before my spirit came to be here, I was a Sith sorceror, head of a powerful order on a distant planet. Ragorian let loose a small mental sigh, attempting to not lose himself in his own memories of grander days.

But, alas, that was a long time ago. Now I am simply a spirit that has withstood the test of time.

The tale of the events that placed me in this sword would take some time to tell. Perhaps later we may discuss it in full. For now, suffice it to say that my placement in here was of my own doing, a choice that I made to escape my own death, which I felt had come too early, which I thought I could defy...

Again he gave a small sigh.

And defy it, I did. That incident, as I said, was a long time ago.

He paused for a moment of reflection, then continued.
My reason for calling out for you was that I was desperate. You see, I am trapped within this blade, unable to free myself. Without a weilder, I cannot move at all, as you saw back in the cave.

In my despertaion, I sensed your power, my mistress, and called out to you, hoping you would answer my call and provide me with my salvation. So you have done, and I am eternally greatful to you for that, Lady ShaRhylla.

Ragorian's voice felt silent, but his magicks and mental energies continued their silent, delicate, slow work of inhabiting, persausively grasping, the darkest, furthest, most unused chambers of ShaRhylla's mind oh-so-sfotly, so as to escape her notice.

And even as he continued to do this, Ragorian still kept his mind partly focused towards his link with T'elion-who seemed to be pondering Ragorian's words-and waiting for his reply as well.

He tapped the tuk'ata's haunches with his feet, and began moving towards it, wondering if it was a returning member of the search party, comming to report. He was suprised, as he drew closer, to find that it was ShaRhylla. "Milady!" He quickly bowed his head, and did not rise it.

Clutching the Sword more tightly, she brandished it in Kelvendar's direction, pleased to feel the power surging throughout the shining blade in response to that aggressive movement on her part.

He kept his eyes low, and wonders if she would merely fell him for his imputence. "In my unworthiness, I further beg you do not strike me down, though it would bring little recovery from my disrespect."

Not that I need any assistance in that arena! she scoffed inwardly. She knew her capabilities; wasn't she the daughter of the Dark Lord of the Warriors, after all? As such she knew no weakness; whether that self-image proved erroneous, only time would truly tell.

But so far it had played quite heavily in her favor. And for the most part, the tenants of the Temple knew this.

Not to mention the carefully hidden tickle, rooted deeply in her subconscious, which seemed to insist that she was more powerful than she knew, that she had been through more than she could ever imagine, even in her wildest of dreams.

"Mother," she said suddenly, letting her hackles lower but keeping the tip of the blade pointed toward the warrior.

"It is mother who has sent you to look after me, is it?"

She cocked her head and looked darkly down upon Kelvendar. When he did not answer right away, she hunkered forward on her tuk'ata, stretching out with the sword until she was able to reach him. The tip of that sword pierced lightly into the flesh of one shoulder, a mere millimeter or two.

"Speak up, or have you no tongue?" she said in a whisper, one low and soft and musical...

"I wish I could say I had been asigned such an honor..." He said, feeling the edge of the blade, pressing, he could almost sense a strange power running into and through him, as though it sought something.

He shuddered mentally, and brushed the feeling aside. "I was to merely wait for the return of the party sent out after the thief. I did not know that you had accompanied them, and been successful."

ShaRhylla stared down the blade of her sword, wiggling it a bit until the kneeling Sith lifted his head and she could look directly into his eyes. Her lip curled in a dark smile of satisfaction.

"I killed him."

With that she straightened upon her mount, smoothly withdrawing the razor-sharp metal from the warrior's shoulder, and stared off into the distance. From nowhere a great blanket of darkness seemed to descend upon them, momentarily blotting out the rising brilliance of the sun.

Her tuk'ata growled again, and waved a face tendril impatiently.

She jerked to awareness, and sent another look toward Kalvendar. One that was a touch less imperious, a touch more appraising. Then, the movement quick and unexpected, she thrust the sword into the belt that held her nightrobes about her. It hung there in silent but not completely unspeaking majesty, next to the Finger of R'lous.

Something rose up in her then, battling against the darkness lingering in her soul. It stretched out protective wisps throughout her being, into her heart, her mind, her every cell, as though seeking something dismal and terrible, and striving to keep it at bay. But oddly enough there was nothing to be found; in the wake of that innately protective move there rose up something else.

An unconscious awareness of the humanity that likewise lived within her.

She dropped her hold on her mount then, and with another move both sure and swift took up the edge of her nightrobes in her hands. Her pearly claws made short shrift of the hem; in moments she had a long and silken strip which she then tossed down to Kalvendar.

"Staunch your wound; you may then escort me to the Temple."

With one hand she took up the reins again, while the other drifted down to lay softly, yet meaningfully, upon the hilt of the sword she had so recently taken.

Normally, he would have let his pride allow him to cast aside such a small thing, with words to show he had pride in his ability to stand through much pain.

But he decided there was no reason to let pride show him to be as honorable as he would be stupid not to mend any damage when opportunity came.

"Thankyou milady." He said, tying the small cloth around his shoulder, with slight difficulty.

Or of one who believes he is telling the truth... he added mentally.

Desperate? he continued, changing the subject. Yes, I suppose I am desperate enough to ask for your help. Five millennia trapped inside this vessel has made me desperate. But it has not, however, made me foolish.

I felt a sort of kinship with you, T'elion, when we first met. Even if, as you say, your prison is not a burden upon you, we are in similair situations. For some reason, my instincts made me believe you would help me.

You say it is fate, or something akin to it, that has driven us to meet. I have never been a believer in fate myself...but I, to, can see the fortune of this situation.

Tell me now, T'elion, what is it you, and our good Lady ShaRhylla, require my assistance with? For if it is as you have said and fate deems my assistance to you shall lead to my freedom, then I shall do all I can to bring this about.

As Rykounagin's sith starfighter exited hyperspace, pressing him gently against the crash-webbing of his seat, his thoughts wandered from their origonal course (deciphering his father's word's meaning) and came to ponder where he should begin his search for the threat.

He decided he would go with the more obvious places, the capital city outwards across the smaller cities then finally into smaller hamlets and villages.

He set the ship down two kilometers from the city, cooincidently one he had fled only a few days previous, and left the ship, activating a sealing sigil in the ship to seal it to all until he was to return.

As he survayed the area around him, he could not help but wish he had not vowed to negate his powers until the task was complete. However, a vow was a vow, particularly given to one's father. He walked along, climbing up over several hills until the city was in full plain view.

Sounds in the distance, mayhaps half a kilometer away from him, south of hise present location, caused him to look, seeing what appeared to be a hunting or tracking party of sith. He sneered inwardly as he spotted some of the sith that had captured him previously, but made a mental note to avoid them in any case.

He let his gaze travel from them towards a city, and yet another sight came to him, which interested him much more.

A sith and a woman, human from all appearences, were conversing, mounted upon their beastial hounds. However, he did have to wonder at the identity of this woman, for aside from her human appearence, she seemed familiar, as though she shared heritage with another...

"Malcina cobridos....." He whispered, realizing he knew only one being that had any plausible reason for being here with that same hair. "Graysith...."

He began walking towards them, slowly, for he had sworn not to use his powers, as they would have normally enhanced his speed tremendously.

As he approached, they seemed to have reached a final point in their conversation, and he halted, just behind a large boulder he suspected was an extremely worn statue, and listened. If this was Graysith's daughter or sister or something of the like, how could I treat her in some respect? Should I honor her as I would my father or someone of equal status, treat her as equal perhaps?

As he heard them begin to move, their Tuk'ata's claws raising from the ground to tear futher dirt as they began a steady tread, he stepped from behind the stone facing their retreating backs.

"Who is it that would demand such from her highness ShaRhylla? A human of no standing, who's very presense would deviate that I should fell him? Speak!"

He nuddged his Tuk'ata into motion as he spoke, bringing the beast before the man who had called, his spear pointed towards him in mild hostility.

Rykounagin! his mental voice rang out. Due to his momentary surprise, he failed to notice, however, that his exclamation had echoed not only in his head, but ShaRhylla's as well.

For indeed, it was his old ally and former apprentice standing there, now focusing on Kelvandar, who had hopped down to confront him.

Curiously, Ragorian reached out towards Rykounagin's mind, pleased to find that the seemingly-permanent link they had developed was still intact. He paused, considering, then reached out and spoke along it.

Well met again, Rykounagin. It is I, Ragorian.

What brings you here, my friend? Tell me, what transpired between you, Aelvedaar, and your...brother, I believe? And why have you come to this planet now?

He then turned back to his link with ShaRhylla, opening it quickly and speaking to her.

Mistress, please call your warrior back. This lad is an old acquaintance of mine, and one that can be trusted. Or so I believe. Let us hear what he has to say...

He then fell silent, listening for the replies of both his former and current weilder.

He stood there, stunned as this arrogant sith stood with his spear pointed at him, seeming to have lost his physical body for a moment. My mentor, my master, who I thought destroyed lives? In the possession of this woman?

He knew now that Ragorian would let no common being possess him, and in one moment, lept up, the sith guard reacting as expected, trusting towards him with his spear.

Rykounagin lightly stepped off the end of the spearhead, and jumped past the Sith's Tuk'ata, landing before the woman.

I shall deal with him when we return to the Temple, she thought to herself, lifting a pale hand that he would not try anything foolish.

Beneath her seat, her tuk'ata shifted its weight, hunching a bit as it prepared to do whatever its Mistress bid of it: attack or whirl and bound away to safety. Moving easily with the animal's brute motions, the young halfling bared her teeth in a sneering smile.

"I do not wish that my escort depart from my side," she said simply, her smile broadening but in direct proportion to the deathly darknees which began filling up her two-toned eyes.

"Speak now what it is that has brought you to me in this manner, away from my kith and kin and the beauty which is Phrinnchatka, but instead here in the wilderness like some common thief or highwayman.

"Is that who you are?"

Her smile grew yet more glacial, her fangs seemed to glisten in anticipation of this young, rash fool doing something...

"A mere servant am I, in service to my lord, I have come on a task for him, and having spotted you across the plains, I sought direction if you would give it to me, though you of course have no obligation."

Although she hadn't moved a centimeter, her tuk'ata could easily sense what more than likely would be forthcoming. It let out a low rumble, flexing its great claws upon the stone beneath its feet, its tail lashing from side to side as it affixed the small biped with its eerie, pupilless gaze.

ShaRhylla merely let her body flow with the tuk'ata, once again shifting effortlessly as it did the same. Leaning forward a touch, she spoke up.

Her voice was sweet and musical and quite lethal.

"Strange... that you should need my escort to vacate my presence, simply that you may ask direction of me.

"And for what purpose..."

She shrugged gracefully, closing her eyes.

"What do I know of your Lord and Master?"

He continued his bow, and wondered how long he could hold the position, a perfect 90 degrees. "He has sent me on a task that brings me to your world, that I have only visted recently, for I find this world to interest me greatly."

But never let it be said that the Halfling was prudent.

Raising her chin, she peered down her nose at Rykounagin, sniffing disdainfully.

"Because my mother is the Dark Lady Graysith, and my father is--"

She stumbled only the slightest bit as memories waged a brief yet vicious war in her head. Then she curled her lip, and continued on.

"Is Lord Roan, Dark Lord of the Warrior clan."

Again she paused, reflecting upon her own words, then realized she hadn't completely answered his question.

"My mother is human, and unique and powerful enough to attract the attentions and loyalties of even the Sith."

With that she fell silent, waiting to see the effect her somewhat imperious words would have upon Rykounagin. Again, logic would have informed her that the young man more than likely had no idea of half of what she was speaking; again, ShaRhylla was anything but a logical person.

Letting the deathly silence about them deepen she continued in silence, pinning her eyes on Rykounagin, letting one slim and pearly-clawed hand quiet M'wonBo'o, who was becoming more and more agitated as time went by.

He at this point, knelt, almost exactly as he had a few days previous in his false fealty to Graysith. "I am honored to be in the presence of the decendant of such nobility. I am one to honor your mother beyond many others, even close to my own master that I do honor her."

He smiled still in his kneeling position. What cause could I give to my father should I turn this encounter to bring her to him, or perhaps at least bend her will to his aid slightly? No, those manipulations I would leave for the wiser in the knowing of purpose and place.

"Mother has never said anything to me about you, and she tells me everything!" she snorted, stretching the truth a bit, yes, but then what did this simpering fool know of it anyway?

Her final thought ignited a growing rage, and she snorted again.

"Oh, do get up, you look quite ridiculous like that. You don't owe me any fealty; you're not Sith after all.

"Which reminds me..."

She leaned forward over M'wonBo'o's massive shoulder, her long flaming curls washing down upon them.

"How is it a human comes to be in the service of a Dark Lord? Are you of-- of--"

She frowned, trying to recall those partially heeded lessons of Sith history which the Elders so pontifically -- and repeatedly -- had tried to teach her.

Her eyes widened.

"You're a Cult Assassin!

"Guards!"

Clamping her thighs against her mount, she rose up from her seat, crying out toward the rest of the warrior party, alerting her escort, and sending M'wonBo'o into an immediate, threatening stance.

He tried to rise, but found he could not even move his torso with the weight of the spear upon him, being forced down into him, he felt as though his spine would snap.

He wondered if he should break his vow to his father, and was sorely tested as he knew he could not escape with his outer powers. Then mentally shook his head. A vow is a vow, no matter the circumstances.

My friend, he called out to Ragorian. This one is an old acquaintance of yours, you say? I believe he may soon be an ex-acquaintance. How do you know him? What care do you hold for him?

ShaRhylla sat back in her seat and smiled sweetly, one hand lightly stroking M'wonBo'o's muscular neck. Then it raised to clap against that of its mate.

"Bind him, and bind him well!" she commanded the incoming warriors, who scrambled from their mounts to obey.

"And take a care... Cult Assassins are nothing to regard lightly, or so my Teacher would say."

With that she quieted, cocking her head to one side and watching with amusement while Rykounagin was ringed by six warriors, given a quick if rough body check, and then bound, his wrists together behind his back and in turned tied to his bound ankles, another chain running up from the ankles to collar him like a dog. If he tried to fight his bonds, or relax his bent legs, he would slowly strangle himself.

ShaRhylla's eyes glittered.

He decided to make a small bit of a stand. "I can walk you know." He said, ducking a would-be-smarting-blow from one of the guards, and sighed as they kept up at their pace as they walked along.

I wonder what "proof" I can offer. I have the mark, but I'd leave that as a last resort over anything else. But if it comes to elseness, even I, with fathers leasons still in my ears, would show my markings.

He shook his head, and wondered how he was going to get out of this mess, as for the second time in the same week, he was dragged into the city by armed sith guards.

At the top, she reined him in with a hand signal; his claws dug deeply into stone as she brought him to a complete halt, turning round then to observe the others coming up behind her.

Another smile darkened her lips, and she barked a series of orders. Then turning M'wonBo'o, she entered the doorway in the apex, crossing the courtyard, into the Great Antechamber with its myriad stone collonades, not stopping until she had come up to the elaborately carved and bejeweled doors which led into the Grand Dining Hall.

There she dismounted, landing lightly on her feet, patting the tuk'ata as she came to rest. The beast turned its pupilless eyes upon her and twined a tendril about her waist; as docile as any housedog, he then followed her into the Dining Hall.

Once inside, ShaRhylla headed to the huge stone fireplace off to one side, where she took up an artful pose, one hand against the stone, the other toying with her hair, the light of the crackling flames behind her silhouetting her in fire.

After a moment, a loud ruckus. Footsteps. A scraping sound, a muffled curse... and Rykounagin was ushered into the Dining Hall where, with no preamble, he was quickly unbound and left on the floor.

The warriors bowed, and backed off; ShaRhylla waved them on, with that motion bidding them to depart. They did... but not too far, taking up guard in the corridor without the double doors.

Beside ShaRhylla, M'wonBo'o growled deep in his chest, lowering his head and hunching, every muscle a coiled steel spring, ready to leap if Rykounagin would make so much as one small move.

The Halfling twined a tendril of hair lazily around one finger.

"Now you know who I am," she said, her voice soft and low but rife with meaning.

"Perhaps now, you would be more honest with me and tell me who indeed you are, and why it is you have sought me out?"

After all, your father never did put limits on what you could do.

He cleared his throat. "Well, first off, I'd like to trade a few things. The first being that I congradulate you. The chances of you identifying me as what I am are astoundingly small, but yes, my heritage lies in that particular cult. As for what I am, I am no assassin."

He looked at her. "As for who I am, I can say that though not by blood, I share your rank to some degree by my father Aelvedaars will, may his years last endlessly. As for why I am here, I have been honest."

He watched her as he spoke, before continuing, scanning her before continuing.

"I am here to retieve the greatest present threat to the sith, as my father has forseen. To answer your most likely next question, it is not you. It is full sith somewhere upon this planet who is rallying forces against the clans."

He breathed slowly, comming to his close. "As for "seeking you out", I have done no such thing. I had spotted you across the plains, and noting that you appeared human at distance, and as I needed direction of some kind, I approached you, not knowing your identity at the time."

He finished. But before she could respond, he spoke again. "Not to sour the moment or change your opinion of my words, but you have lied to me. Your mother does not share all with you, or she would have told you that I was once her warrior for a short time, her betrayer for a now longer standing time, and a thief of what you now possess in your belt, and servant to the blade you carry. Oh, your mother does not share nearly everything you imagine with you."

"Why would I believe you concerning what my mother says or does not say to me; what proof have I that your words are true ones, and not made up on the spot to save your sorry skin from anything...

"Detrimental to it?"

She paused, letting the tendril drop from her fingers and leaned back against the stone of the fireplace, her hands now flat upon its rough surface.

She cocked her head a bit to one side, her eyes narrowing dangerously.

"A matter of semantics, then; you did indeed seek me out from across the plain, or you would not have come to me to begin with, am I correct?

He paused before continuing. "As for you disbelief in my "stories", I can give small evidence aside from a mark your mother gave me-" He reached up the hand that possessed his fathers mark, pulling back some of his hair at the top of his forehead, that easily showed a mark from the claw.

"-and this, showing my mark of my father, though I wish you not to judge or treat me by my possession of it." He held the marking upon his forearm up, easily seen from the light comming from behind her in the fireplace.

"If you question my once fealty to your mother, ask Ragorian, I'm sure he'd be glad to fill you in on that. As for any possible affiliation to Aelvedaar, as if this mark my father has given me did not show, ask the object you hold."

He smirked without humor. "After all, he's the one who tried to send your mother out on a warpath against my father in return for what I had at the time thought to have been a period that I could have not been punished by her under the guise of possession. Though possession is part of the truth."

"Is it as he says?" she reached out with her innate abilities and quite easily slid the question into the blade one hand was now softly stroking.

"Has he had conflict with my mother, and affiliation with the Sorcerer's clan?"

Waiting to hear the reply, she focused again upon the young man, noting for the first time the sincerity -- or at least the appearance of it -- which shone out from his dark eyes. She chewed her lip in consideration, then spoke up, letting her manner soften just a trifle.

At her side M'wonBo'o tensed in direct proportion to that softening, ready to instantly obey her slightest order, even if it should come to him before she knew she had to give it.

"You speak of once having fealty to my mother, which would lead me to believe that you at least knew her somewhat. Yet you say with bitterness upon your tongue that she was cruel and unjust to you."

She paused, reflecting back on everything she knew about her mother, the Chosen Daughter of the Sith, and then sighed.

"This is not her manner in the least--"

Ahh. But father....

Blinking that errant thought to the side for the moment, she moved gracefully out from her pose in front of the fireplace and went to a sideboard. The richly shining wood fairly groaned with the foodstuffs and drink with which it was laden; selecting a choice bit of meat and some fruits, she finished by filling a jeweled goblet with Sith brandy before turning back to Rykounagin.

Nodding to him, she then moved to a satin-cushioned divan which faced the fireplace, and daintily seated herself upon it.

"Tell me," she then went on, her words slightly muffled through the food in her mouth. She took a quick drink of the brandy.

"What did my mother do to provoke such resentment within you... or indeed, what was this act of betrayal of yours, which would thus turn her against her own nature?

"And what is this about possession, of which you speak? Perhaps your reply to these questions will decide the path upon which fate shall guide my hand."

Holding the goblet in one slim hand, she turned round and pinned Rykounagin with an intense look.

"And then, of course, yours in turn."

He leaned up against the stone of the wall behind him, and began relating his story yet again.

"As you can tell by the markings I bear, I am of the Cult of Assassins. From birth I was raised to the ways of the cult by my parents and elder brother. After a time, my parents passed and my brother and I wandered for a time, until comming here."

He paused before continuing his story, the bitter point of his past always causing him to hesitate. "My brother at the time then concealed my face and shrouded my mind with strong magicks, leaving me memoriless and helpless upon this rock, before the sith came.

For four years, I lived her in total seclusion, the nature of an untamed and harsh world playing with my thoughts and mind to the point that I almost lost all hope of existence, then suddenly, in the blink of an eye, your entire civilisation existed. Suddenly I was hunted by scouting and defending partiess of your city, and in my unwisdom, thought this to be another tormenting trial of my existence.

Then finally, I came upon the blade you now carry, Ragorian, and at first shunned it as another cruel trick. I finally came to recognize Ragorian as a friend and ally, and I became his apprentice and companion for a time. Finally when our bond was strong enough, I hid him away and took a shard of his being with me on a quest to spy upon your mother, and when the time could come, retrieve the Finger which you also possess, from her to take to my master."

He took a breath after this long, never ceasing relation. "I had come close to achieving a good deal of trust in your mother, when Ragorian, impatient for my mission to be complete, used my body to strike at your mother, her guard and companions, within these very walls. I took the finger, and fled, though when my escape was comming to a dismal result, the finger betrayed me with a suggestion that I turn myself in and say my possession had been of my fathers influence."

He smirked as he continued speaking. "Your mother, without explanation or trial, cast me into the eternal stasis of the Elseness, and there I waited, fearing I would never find my past, or speak and see any being ever again. But I found a portal and escaped too my father, where I soon learned of my past, and confronted my traitorous brother."

He paused. "In short, my father began to teach me lessons that I needed, but I failed to learn them effectively, and he has sent me on this quest to find the greatest threat to the sith and bring him to my father alive. However, I must warn you of my former kin."

"Sa'kal'ishaalas is not to be trusted, his manipulation and treachery can reach no limits if it gives him power and moves him closer to his goals of which even I am uncertain of. But that warning has little to do of your decision upon me, which I do give confidence will have more mercy than your mothers black heart delivered."

A while later, ShaRhylla's voice in Ragorian's mind called hi mback to his blade, back to the present. He left the puzzle for now, but reminded himself to come back later and solve it.

Bringing his attention back to ShaRhylla and Rykounagin's conversation, he arrived in time to hear Rykounagin recall the story of how they were brought together, the bond they had formed, and the deeds they had commited against Graysith...ShaRhylla's own mother. Almost Ragorian let out a mental groan. He had been working his hardest to gain influence with her, his new host, a powerful one, and this revelation could ruin all that.

For a moment Ragorian considered betraying Rykounagin, calling him a liar, an usurper who was trying to take him from ShaRhylla. But the more he considered that path, the more he thought about just what it would mean for Rykounagin. And knowing, or at least suspecting, what his fate would be, Ragorian found that he could not go through with this course of action. He cared for Rykounagin more than he knew, and had, despite all odds, formed a kinship with the young lad. And because of this kinship, he could not betray Rykounagin, not even if it meant losing ShaRhylla and the power of the Axis.

Finally, he spoke again, opening his links with both ShaRhylla and hte Axis, so that they would both hear his words.
What he says is true, Mistress ShaRhylla, he said in a calm, soothing tone. All of it. Though i know not of his said alliance with the Sorcerors, all the other events he states up until then I can vouch for as the truth. He did find me, and it was he who placed me in that cave that you discovered me in. He has been a loyal and true companion to me for a long time, though recently I was separated for him.

He did go to your mother, at my bidding, for apprenticeship and to earn her trust. And myself, acting through him, did indeed strike at her, steal the Axis, and flee Phrinnchatka...to no avail.

Quickly and silently he closed his link with the Axis, having fulfilled his explanation there, but continued speaking to ShaRhylla in his calmest, most soothing tone.
That, however, my lady, was a decision that a deeply regret, he siad, while beginning to softly, silently, undetectably stroke the back corners of her mind comfortingly, attempting to use what influence he may have gained there, but making sure he would not attract her attention. I most humbly apologize to you for amy cowardly, traiterous actions against your mother, and, given the chance, I would apologize just as humbly to her. For a long time now I wish that I had not taken that course of action.

You see, he continued, The course i took, striking at your mother, was one born of pure desperation and desire. I saw before me the chance, the power I needed, to fulfill dreams I had been holding for so long. My ration and logic faded, and I simply acted. Again I offer my apologies to you and your family, and dare to hope that you would find soem way to forgive me, my mistress...

He fell silent, waiting as quietly as he could for her reply, the blade's and his own persuasive magick still stroking ShaRhylla's mind oh-so-gently, reminding that far corner of her concious of the pormises they offered...power and greatness, and the true goodness and friendship Ragorian could offer.

He had played his cards as best he could, now chance would fall as it may.

"Words are easily offered, when in the presence of a possible enemy," she yawned, taking hold of a leg of some roasted bird and raising it to her mouth. Her aspect changed like lightning; baring her fangs, she tore into it, like an animal.

She grinned as she chewed, letting the savory juices of the meat run down her chin.

"It boils down to one thing, and one thing only," she finally offered, swallowing. With a panther's smile she set the joint back on her plate, and daggered Rykounagin with a dark glare.

"You speak against my mother, whilst your associate who yet hides within this, which you want--"

She caressed pulled the sword from where she carried it, ran a hand up the blade ever-so-lightly, ending with one slim finger pricking upon it's point. Something seemed to vibrate within the blade, as if seeking egress from it into her flesh; with another snort she removed her hand altogether and shoved the blade into her belt.

Hanging on the other side, the jewels within the Finger of R'lous seemed to glow.

"Your associate actually goes so far as to act out in cowardice against her. Now, while what you two deign to think of her, or feel about her, is indeed your own business; however--"

She paused again, letting her eyes narrow even more.

"When you act against her, you act against me, and against all the Sith."

A pregnant moment passed; she finally filled it with an offhand wave of one slender hand.

"I don't know who this is whom you seek, nor do I care one whit about the Sorcerer's affairs. Wander as you will across our lands, but wander alone."

A sly grin flashed across her features then as she reached inward to touch upon her innate talents, utilizing them before Rykounagin could dodge or turn to flee.

A bolt shot from her hand, ravening upon his forehead, emblazoning there a series of brilliantly glowing sigils:

They spelled the Sith word which meant The Betrayer.

"Go now," she ordered; then without so much as a concerned glance toward the staggered young man she turned back to her meal and her brandy.

Beside her, M'wonBo'o took a single step forward but stopped, a threatening rumble growing deep in his chest.

"Such a mark, but you possess no right to brand me so. But then I shall give you fair return, for you had cause. I am new to your traditions, but there is a tradition in my own Clan, that is known as equivilant exchange. But I will also put in something that comes from my father's clan, which I shall refer to as the greater good."

He paused, breaking his vow as he summoned his sword and made a cross against his eyes, cutting into several of the runes there. "I have punished myself for the sins against you and your mother." He began cleaning the blood from his face.

"You wrong me by doing further, but I have not given you my equivilant exchange. As you have branded me to all sith, even my own clansmen, I will ask one of two things, the former of the two I would request. The second I would force if required."

He held out a hand, open palmed, the blade of the black lotus held backwards in the other hand. "I ask for Ragorian, if I am to be branded a traitor, then he is as well, and he has no purpose here. But if you keep him, you take from me, and break your own code."

He closed his eyes, biting away the minor pain of his scaring face. "If you wont give me Ragorian, then I warn that I will attempt to take him from you by asking you to honor a challenge for him. But if you refuse, I will not only take Ragorian as a prize."

ShaRhylla smiled, albeit a bit darkly, letting one hand play about M'wonBo'o's silky shoulder, by that touch letting him know she was quite safe but that his guard was still desired. When he finally settled a bit, she turned her entire attention to Rykounagin.

"I have no idea, nor any interest, of this code of which you blather. What is of concern is that you would take from me that which I now possess, this sword."

With a vicious yank she ripped it from her waist and held it aloft. The blade glittered like fallen snow in the moonlight.

"Your associate called out to me this night; your associate led me to where he lay, abandoned, afar from kith and kin in the dankness of a tiny cave in which you left him; your associate, he who is your associate no more but now mine!"

Suddenly she was standing, her eyes flashing fire, her hair seeming to whirl about her head as though caught in a tornado of her own making. She raised the blade even higher.

"This is yours no longer, nor do I accept challenge from a mere human!" she spat, her eyes now black, the trembling tuk'ata doing all he could to keep from leaping at Rykounagin's throat.

"You belong here not; consider yourself lucky that I do not slay you on the spot!"

He sneered openly now. "You do not realize the ramafications of this conflicts do you. You are a spoiled child playing with a new toy she can't help but possess jelously. you have the mind of a child, however it is more fragile than a childs."

Rykounagin as he spoke, began silently calling upon his magicks and runes as he continued too speak. "You do not understand, what you bring to yourself. I wasn't raised to kill spoiled brats, I was raised to be a slayer of kings and lords. If you think yourself one, then act and stand as one."

Please, Rykounagin, I ask you not to do this. Do not try to take me by force. It seems somewhat likely, unless this new alliance of yorus has provided you with formidable powers indeed, that you would die in the attempt, and I certainly do not wish that.

And nor, for the moment, at least, do I wish to be taken from here. Understand, it is not that I have turned on you or sided against you, my friend...but the position I am in now is advantageous to me, and could allow me to fulfill my desire of creating a new body for myself relatively soon. After all, we share a deeper link now...why do you truly need to possess my blade?

I ask you now, in the name of our friendship, please, do not take me from here. Go and accomplish your other missions here, and I shall remain in contact with you. You cannot help me, or yourself, much by fighting with ShaRhylla over a cause that I do resist, after all.

"You have no right to speak to me in the manner that you do!" she finally sputtered, now so angry that she was literally shaking with effrontery. At her side M'wonBo'o crouched, his tail lashing from side to side, his ears pinning back to his skull as he fully prepared to spring.

Suddenly he was stopped, as the Daughter of Roan gained control over herself once again. She drew in a deep breath, one hand fluttering up to pluck an imaginary piece of lint from her clothing, her tongue snaking out to wet her lips.

They glistened, full and red in the dim light.

Like the fires which were smoldering in her eyes.

Suddenly, the movement quick as a striking diagona, her free hand shot out, grasped the very fabric of space and time itself and, with a wrenching movement, ripped it open.

On the other side of the Portal she had just created, a very special non-ness writhed and roiled... but was not beheld long. Before Rykounagin could so much as cry out, she flung the upraised Blade directly into that Portal into the Elseness, then slashed it closed with another twisting move of her hand.

The look she then turned upon Rykounagin was lethal.

"How badly do you seek your erstwhile associate, who plays at being the womprat by remaining so sickeningly silent? How much do you wish to repossess the blade, human?"

Now her eyes grew sultry, and she let a syrupy sweet grin spread across her face.

"I can send you to him there....

Emotions flared in him, and time seemed to slow to a crawl as the blade soared toward the portal. Fear, surprise, sadness al lrose up in him, accompanied by an emotion that he had not felt in a long time: rage. The long-forgotten purest form of anger filled him at this sudden fate, this unjust imprisionment, no, simple discardation of the very entirety of his being as though it were a simple tool or possession, a toy that one quarreling child wanted anothern not to have. And, as the blade, an him with it, crossed over the portal to that hated Elseness, the closest thing to Hell that he had ever known, this rage lept out of him in a sudden burst.

In the minds of all those present, whether ShaRhylla, Rykounagin, or any Sith throughout the entire temple, it sounded as though a voice in their mind was loosing some sort of primal scream of fury. This was accompanied by a flash like an explosion in thieir mind, akin to the explosion of a thermal detonater in their thoughts, as Ragorian's rage instinctively released a large amount of powerful magick in primal retaliation, and many Sith upon hearing it were sticken to unconciousness at this sudden assault, ShaRhylla, the Axis, and Rykounagin at its heart

But even as the faded, the portal closed, the blade gone into the other realm, Ragorian's voice still echoed, in ShaRhylla's mind, one word only, that repeated along their corridors before fading into the darkness of her own thoughts.

"Why?"

He said, turning from her furious stance before him, turning too the door that still stood sealed.

"You may keep him. He is no longer an ally upon which I can rely. But have I really ever had any?" He asked, his self questioning thoughts escaping in the last sentance.

"I will leave you and your city, for I can see whereever I go, I am not welcome. I am a traitor to my clan, to my mentor. I am already failing in my father's eyes. Is there anyone who can see me, or accept me for who I am and what I have done?"

He looked back at ShaRhylla. "You have marked me the Betrayer, but once I am gone, maybe you will realize I am the betrayed. Just a human who lives in a society of sith, where none will ever trust him. Maybe some day, you will find pity in your heart for me. But then again, we all love weakness. It is weakness that we love, and that is what makes it beautiful."

"Beauty is irrelevant!" she finally retorted, lowering her hands a bit but keeping them ready should her talents be necessary. She lifted her chin and stared down her nose at Rykounagin, who yet stood paused in mid-step.

"What is relevant is the fact that weakness does indeed exist, and is apparently before me now."

A self-satisfied grin curled her lips.

"I have no use for weakness; only the strong survive!"

Yet even as she spoke the words, she couldn't help but flick her eyes off to one side, quickly, just once. Though the tone of her voice was firm and unyielding, there seemed to be just the slightest touch of uncertainty in her bearing.

A little shiver cascaded through her, one she didn't feel, wasn't aware of, and for another brief moment her eyes turned inward, seeming to seek something, something buried deeply within her, something that was entwined about her very being more tightly than a lover's arms.

He walked from the doorway, between long ranks of sith who watched him, their faces showing scorn for him, and even more for his branding.

They only see me as I am branded. As I am branded. Is that what I am, cattle too the massess, a slave and coward in their eyes to walk away?

He sighed inwardly, his thoughts sad upon the past and what his future could hold as he exited the cities center and walked through the various levels of the city towards the outskirts.

I will have failed twice. My mentality and being are not capable of completing this mission for my father. I will tell him of my failure, of the breaking of my vow. Perhaps I mgith redeem myself for I do believe I have found his true meaning.

But will that be enough? He wondered. If it is not, what would he think of me. Incapable of completing a task set by him, taking longer than seemingly possible to understand his words. Would he cast me out as a failure as all the others have?

Then she snorted, drawing herself erect.

Nonsense! she thought to herself as she went back to the sideboard. She came upon it, found a jewel encrusted silver platter, heaped a veritable mountain of foodstuffs upon it and returned to the table. There she seated herself regally, only halfway listening to the echoing scrape as she drew her chair up close.

The echo died away, along with her appetite.

He stood for a long moment, then reached into the folds of his clothing, drawing a fine powder. He whispered a few words too it, his runes glowing, then began to speak a message too it.

"ShaRylla, with all respect, I leave your city in no way hostile. Though I sense your mistreatment may have been a hasty judgement, I will let it by. Take my words in no way as a threat or command, but I seek peace. A peace I hope to find in the near future. I would ask, that if you are to find the stih who I came here seeking, that you would deliver him alive too my father. As a note, I leave Ragorian too your judgement and keeping, as for the Finger, beware of it's tricks, for it has lured me too a near permanant fate. I am leaving your world now back to my father, and hope that the next time I return, will be under the right conditions. With all due respect of the nobility of the Warriors, Rykounagin, son of sorcerers."

He flicked his hand forwards, and the powder floated into the wind, swiftly lost from sight on it's way to her. "Should I be gone before the day, or await a possible response. I must think of what to tell my father, for he should be most displeased with my failure."

He continued walking, and went to his ship, laying down upon a small cot in the back of the ship. "Rest, for otherwise, the weary will take action and words he will regret. The ninteenth code." He recited, before sealing the ship, to doesed into a light sleep.

The calming glow from the jewels around the channeller cast a soft light around ShaRhylla’s waist. M'wonBo'o stopped as the glow caught his attention.

The rich red jewels upon were softly yet brilliantly aglow with inner fire, pulsing as though to the rhythm of an unheard heartbeat.

She blinked again before pushing away from the table, and then quietly gained her feet and stood unmoving, just staring down at the Finger of R'lous.

"Who?" she whispered, cocking her head then as the old familiarity of rampant self-confidence rushed over her again, chasing away whatever trepidation or distress she might have been harboring.

"I know you not-- Rykounagin! Is this you, playing yet more tricks upon the Daughter of Lord Roan?!"

Now she shot an annoyed glance about, let it carry her from the spot where she had been standing and over to the double doors. Reaching out with both arms, she flung them imperiously open.

Without: two Captains of the Guards; beyond them, a squad of the elite, all positioned to guard her.

"Is something wrong, Mistress ShaRhylla?" one Captain deigned to ask, but only after falling to one knee in front of her.

She merely snorted, and slammed the doors closed. Then she whirled and leaned back against them, now reaching out to gingerly remove the Finger from her belt. She held it up in front of her eyes, studying it carefully.

"Who are you?" she whispered softly, so that none outside the Dining Hall could overhear.

The jewels pulsated softly, a welcome, warming glow.

"An intelligent one, this I can see," she offered; then:

"So you have sought me, that together we might achieve great ends? How very interesting...."

Even as she finished the statement she couldn't help but compare this unseen spirit to the white-headed youth who had so recently produced such ill-will within her.

It is a shame he could not stand up to me, she thought self-indulgently; then she broke off that train of thought completely and waited to hear what the Spirit within her hands would say to her next.

The pulsing lights slowed, dimming slightly.

"Harnessed?" she retorted, gripping the Finger more tightly, her hand trembling with mounting effrontery.

"No one harnesses me; I am no draught animal, to be lackey to any other than myself!"

As she flung the words out, her rising rage was softened just the slightest as from nowhere in particular a soft tickling whickered at her ear. It was the lightest touch, like the down of a feather, or the powdery caress of silken dust.

As if from a great distance, Rykounagin's near-apology wafted into her being.

She blinked in surprise, then snorted again, turning her focus back to the device in her hands.

"I can't go back. I haven't completed my task. I have to finish it, or do something equal to it's level of power. I will wage a private war, and in this, prove that I am no weakling."

He got up, and went to a storage locker in the ship, and began preparing himself for an assault on the city. I cannot fail in this task alone, I will succeed, or I will die in the attempt. I will go to ShaRhylla, and by Myrinas-Cobridos, she will see the light.

Then she set it down upon the table, surprisingly carefully, and regained her seat. For a moment thoughts of this strange revelation paled beneath the suddenly vivid colors of the foods, the exquisite aromas wafting from her plate, the deep and rich velvety depths of her brandy.

She fell on the food like a starving beast, wolfing it down without thought of decorum or delicacy; finishing what she had before her she returned to the sideboard, refilled her plate and goblet, and ravished that as well.

At length she fell back in her seat, replete. Taking a more genteel sip of the Sith brandy, she finally spoke to T'elion.

"So, my dear Spirit, tell me of yourself. And ask what you will of me; this is of accordance, is it not, if we are to become, as you said, acquaintances?"

He reached out to touch the walls, faint runes in his fingertips flashing quietly as he felt his fingers attach to the wall.

He began a quick accent of the wall, almost to the top, then stopped, pausing to listen above him. Footsteps, few but heavy. Obviously sith, perhaps.... seven?

He wondered, then came up to peek over the edge of the wall and glimpse. Eight on this section, I haven't done this in a while. He crawled over the wall's side, then crouched, pressing himself against the side of the wall.

He waited for one of the many guards to pass, then moved too the otherside of the narrow walkway to drop down onto the other side of the wall, making a small cloud in the dirt below.

He removed his hidding magicks, then moved along to the boulevard that lead up to the palace. Enter once as a friend, again as a prisoner, then return with the furies of the swordwind.

Dog of an Assassin! the Captain snorted to himself a third time, for he well knew the meaning of the markings tattooed upon Rykounagin's flesh.

--there was something in the air that he just could not put his finger upon. Perhaps it was merely the fact that a Cult Assassin had indeed been brought to the Temple... only to be freely let go, albeit branded, by the young ShaRhylla.

Now, there is folly, he couldn't help thinking to himself.

One so young, and inexperienced, to be left in charge; it is a blessing from the gods that Salaandar watches over affairs from the shadows, else--

His musings were cut short by a slight movement caught in his peripheral vision. His eyes cut to the spot of their own accord, then narrowed in something approaching self-satisfaction. For while there was no one to be seen below, a tell-tale puff of dirt bespoke the hidden truth:

From the manner in which that puff ringed upward from the ground in the shape of a donut, the Captain could easily deduce that it had originated from a central spot, one just about the correct size for a pair of feet to inhabit.

He squinted his eyes further, just to make certain. Yes, that was it; he hadn't risen to the rank he held simply because he knew how to wield a sword or spear. The youngest warrior in their lot could easily do that; a supervisory position was awarded to those with cunning, who could read subtle signals and signs. And it was cunnning borne of years of experience that he now brought into play.

He knew of the Cult Assassins; he knew of their abilities.

He also knew one had recently been degraded and flung from the temple like a dog flings aside an old and worried bone.

A wave of a hand, and a messenger lad materialized by his side.

“Quick, lad; to the Mistress! Inform her that the dog who has been sent out of Phrinnchatka sneaks back, no doubt in an attempt to assassinate her. Run now, lad, run!”

He watched as the lad nodded, bowed, then took off and soon disappeared into the temple. Secure in the knowledge that his message would reach the young Daughter of the Dark Lady, he turned to his men.

“Pass word, guard every doorway well, every window, every rampart and bulwark. This one is not to be taken lightly!”

"A thousand pardons, Mistress!" he groveled, trembling with the effort to keep his voice steady through his panting exhalations.

"But danger in the form of treachery approaches!"

Heartened by the fact that he had yet to be stricken down, he raised his head and dared a quick glance at the halfling. She merely sat where she was, a mingled look of surprise and growing annoyance marring her perfect features. Quickly then, he told her what his Captain had ordered him tell, as well as what the warriors were doing to ward off the impending attack.

ShaRhylla continued staring at him when he finished and resumed his posture before her. She cut a glance to the Finger of R'lous which lay on the table near her plate, then returned that look to the Sith lad.

"Your message is duly noted; you may inform the Captain that he has done well, and to be wary."

A single wave of her hand and the messenger was dismissed. ShaRhylla waited until the doors were securely closed, then picked up the channeler once again.

It felt warm and welcoming in her hands.

"You have understood this, have you not, T'elion?" she questioned aloud, albeit in a voice as quiet as the whisper of a dove. She then drew the device closer, laying it against her cheek.

He could hear distant calls of the guards, and smiled. A trial by fire it shall be then. I won't take a stealthy approach, I'll go directly. But no warrior shall cry for alerts.

He shadowed himself again as he came to the Palace and looked up at the monolithic structure. "I'll find you Sha'Rhylla." He murmured. "We'll find you."

He looked down, focusing again, not realizing he had spoke a second time as he moved towards the palace, knowing they wouldn't realize he was there until he made himself noticable. The walls I'll avoid. The inner chambers, I will accomplish with honor.

He scaled the wall, but this time held. There were many more guards then before, and he knew they were expecting him. He smirked, and began to employ another magick, then peeked over the wall to look at a sith standing directly before him.

He looked the sith in the eyes, and knew the sith could see him. Quickly he pressed the magick forwards too keep the sith from calling out, then, waiting a moment before asuring himself the sith was in his thralls, he reached out, and gently pushed the sith backwards off the wall.

He quickly pulled back and moved along the outside of the wall as footsteps and cries of warning came, moving towards the fallen sith. An excellent distraction. A voice whispered in his mind as he pulled himself over the wall where some of the guard had gone to investigate the fallen sith.

He shrugged away his cloaking, then dropped into the inner courtyards of the palace, and began a sprint towards the main doors, smiling at the recognition the sith gave him as he approached, bringing a lesser, more mundane blade to his second hand.

She caressed the Finger of R'lous like a lover, holding it up to her cheek before her head turned and she bestowed a long kiss upon it.

"Gladly, dear companion," she whispered; then without thinking much of it she willingly channeled some of her own All strengths into the device.

Her smile grew even darker, more sultry, and she fairly purred with anticipation.

"He shall pay hundredfold for every Sith he has murdered in making his way here, that much we can promise, can we not my friend?"

T’elion relished in the gift of the All, and held the power within the device in anticipation. While not able to channel the All itself, the device had the ability to combine it with Sith magick and deliver a powerful energy to the wielder.

All that remained was for the appearance of a sorcerer. One that T’elion could feel aproaching…

He knew he couldn't fight forever, the wall guards would come for him shortly. He smiled at the protection of his magicks and armor as a sith spear lifted him into the air to toss him a short distance.

"Tougher than I thought, most definately a challenge." He groaned, picking himself up. "I might as well end this fast." He grunted, raising a hand to wash one of the forerunning sith in a light flame, then to quickly dodge aside and begin his defense again.

Occassionally he'd calculate the odds of his being struck, and would dark in to stab one of them in some non-lethal point, designed to disable them as he did so. He finally realized as a loud storming sound began to approach, he had run out of time to fight these sith, and turned towards the palace, to charge to the doors, burning them in his charge too weaken the structure, then dug his feet into the base of the wood he had burned, and began to scale the wall quickly towards one of the many hundreds of windows above him.

"What of this Ragorian, he who occupies the sword I have put away for momentary safe-keeping? What of that? This would-be assassin is certainly enthralled with the blade; what think you, dear T'elion?

"Shall I retrieve it from hiding, to wield against the dog, or shall I keep it in hiding there, or--"

She paused a moment longer, her eyes darkening with dark glee.

"Shall I just go destroy it altogether?"

A smile curled her lips, which then pursed into a pout.

How typical of the dog, the assassin who slides through the dark like a slug! he fumed to himself as he straightened from the body of the burned Sith. His anger was laced not without a modicum of sorrow; that particular warrior had been of his own tribe, his blood nephew, in fact.

He stood there a moment, trembling, one hand clenched in anger, ignoring the softly outcrying Sith who milled about in the streets behind him. They were met by yet another line of his warriors who, spears held down parallel to the street, were keeping them from coming any closer.

The Captain closed his eyes and straightened from the charred corpse.

Run swiftly, my fine warrior, and go with strength upon this new road you travel.

A wave of his sword made a peculiar sigil in the air above the body, then he jerked his eyes upward, tracing a line which paralleled the sweeping stone steps down which he had just run, only to find the injured warrior nursing a jammed shoulder from his fall from the courtyard and accompanied by the blackened remains of his nephew, who likewise had been cast over the low wall above.

All he could see were the guards of the courtyard, all seeming to congregate toward the left, all looking upward. He followed the direction in which they were looking; far in the air, he could just make out the tiny forms of some of the guards who manned the widow's walk atop the Temple itself.

A face peered down at him, a distant arm gestured. Then that guard disappeared off to the left.

The Captain grimaced, knowing what was happening.

He creeps along the outer walls like a rotting vine! he ascertained, heading now for the stone steps leading upward. These he took three at a time, coming quickly to the little entrance which led him into the courtyard. He hurried off toward the left, aiming for a knot of milling and gesticulating warriors.

A lieutenant turned at his approach, bowed in respect, then pointed.

The Captain didn't even have to look. He already knew what it was the warrior was pointing out to him. He merely raised his face, cupping his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice, and called out to the warriors atop the widow's walk.

"He comes up the eastern wall, take a care!" he cried. Then gripping his blade he whirled and crossed the courtyard, going into the temple itself, from there to find his way up to the widow's walk, there to join with the warriors in meeting Rykounagin's coming.

He shall go to the Mistress, oh yes! he smiled grimly to himself as he hurried along.

"That is so typical." He was about to continue speaking to himself, when he heard a faint whisper. He listened to it, then thought it to be mad.

No, not mad. Brilliant. He smiled, then spoke quietly to himself. "Yes, this is one I can believe." He closed his eyes.

When they opened again, they were black, everything but two crimson irises against the endless background. "I wont fail."

He yelled, then drawing both blades, lept upwards towards the defenders, tossing the blades forwards to strike two, then spreading both his hands out to burn several others before scooping his blades up to take an immediate offensive.

He did not care for his own defense as he moved among them, blades cutting accross his armor while spears sought to scewer him, he could only smile, dodging and weaving, cutting at achilles tendons and slashing across torso's for light damage.

"No need to imagine that which is obvious, and no need to tarry in boredom waiting for the dog of an assassin to find his way here."

With no further ado, she closed her eyes in concentration, one hand once more reaching out to rend open the very fabric of space and time. For, being the one to open the portal into the Elseness and fling the blade therein, she likewise could re-open it and seek him once again.

It took but a moment, for indeed there is no time where there is no dimension.

Something black and noisome yowled in the corners of existence as she thrust one arm in the portal, up to the shoulder. Eagerly grasping fingers easily found that which she had placed there, indeed for safe-keeping. A little grunt, a pulling back, another wrenching tug of one hand...

...and the Portal was closed. She stood where she was, the Finger of R'lous in one hand, the Blade which housed Ragorian's spirit held firmly in the other.

Smiling, she held the blade up to her face and spoke to it.

"Dear Ragorian, did you think I had abandoned you? Nay; the assassin would have taken you from me; I was watching over you all the time.

He screamed as he fell, then looked down to see that a blade had cut through his armor in one swing, and had cut into his chest. He lay there, bleeding heavily for a moment, then took some of his own blood in his hand, looked up tot he warrior who had struck him, and flicked the blood towards him, his black and red eyes seeming to recede.

"That one you will die for." He said too the sith, who remained passive as Rykounagin stood. "Let our blades meet." He smiled.

"Another time." He grinned as he brought up the dark tenticles that had entraped his brother before to take a hold upon the warrior. "Indeed, another time."

He turned towards the entrance, his path unhindered now, and slowly, agonisingly walked towards it, feeling a burning pain from his wounds and tiredness. "I wont stop until I reach her, then when I do, I will prove my point, but no more fighting...."

A quick salute, a touch of one hand upon the other's broad chest, and the Captain was on his way, that one touch having sent into the Second in Command a blow-by-blow replay of all that had occurred since he had seen Rykounagin leaving the Temple in disgrace. As he came upon yet another corner, he heard Salandaar gasp in his wake.

The sound of receding footsteps dwindled in his ear as he created yet more distance between himself and the other Sith, who in turn was hurrying away to seek the Mistress, letting his own inherent magicks lead him to her, finding her in the Dining Room. He rushed there as fast as he could, to stand beside her in formal protection of her, gathering a cloud of warriors with him en route like a magnet gathers up filings of iron.

At length the Captain came upon a final set of doors, a modest little pair of wooden ones bearing hammered metal studs. They opened to reveal a set of stone stairs which led upward; the Captain didn't hesitate but hastened up those stairs, tightening his grip on his sword as he did so. At the top another opening beckoned; he burst through, gaining access to the widow's walk that topped the Great Temple of the Warriors.

Scarcely fifteen meters in front of him was Rykounagin, heading in his direction. The boy looked a little worse for wear; the Captain first grinned to see the wounds his warriors had placed upon him.

Then his gaze caught sight of the myriad bodies, some moving feebly, most certainly dead. His eyes darkened dangerously, and his other hand moved to snatch up his main gauche from its sheath at his side.

He spoke nothing for a moment, just stood there drinking in the sight of Rykounagin, cutting his gaze to take in the pile of dead warriors, bringing his focus back to the assassin yet again.

Finally he spoke.

"You shall not gain the Mistress, assassin," he growled in a low voice, then stood his ground, one foot kicking out behind him to close the only open door which led into the temple...

"It's funny how you and I always meet in conflict. Ohwell, you can stop calling me an assassin. If I was here to kill, your men would be dead, not disabled. I wouldn't have so openly announced my presence."

He sighed, dropping his mundane blade into the stone before him, landing in a crack to stand up, and dismissed his Black Lotus. "I'm not here to kill anyone, I'm here to prove a point. I could swear to you now I wouldn't harm your lady, but my words are empty upon arrogant ears."

"Arrogant words, from one who would accuse me of thus," he finally allowed, widening his stance and loosening his knees. His eyes flicked over the ground, judging the distance between the two of them.

"And lying ones as well."

The image of the dead warriors, of his own dear nephew, rose up in front of him, threatening to send him into paroxysms of rage. But he was an older warrior and a canny one as well; well he knew how detrimental the red blanket of rage could be on a battlefield. So he took a short moment to gather up that rising rage, and channel it into his muscles, into his mind, into his eyes and ears, willing it to fill his blade.

Putting it to good use, and in that doing keeping his mind clear.

"You expect to be taken to the Mistress with guard, but not a prisoner? How do you expect; as an honored guest?!"

"What foulness is this, assassin?" he growled in a low tone, taking one step toward Rykounagin. Logic prevailed however; with some effort, he brought himself to a halt, assessing the remaining words Rykounagin had just spoken.

A pregnant moment stretched out between them, seeming to go on until sunset before the Captain finally spoke again.

"You have no task here, and if you did, you had your chance."

This he knew, for no one but Mistress ShaRhylla could brand the young man in the manner he was. Other than her mother, of course.

"And try not to sway me with your weak attempts at parley; the warriors know that to die at the hands of such as you, in defense of home and temple and those we love, is honor in itself.

"Something of which you obviously have no knowledge, child."

He paused, cocking an ear behind him. The sounds of pounding footsteps echoed faintly through the door behind me, followed shortly thereafter by the louder pounding of fists against it.

"You may not see her again."

He shook his head, then turned. "Tend to your wounded, but you wont stop me." His expression ws slightly sad, then with a whisper, he faded from view. "Another time."

He moved to the side quickly, then looked down over, then stepped off the side, sliding down the side until he came to the first balcony, landing on it and running inside the room it wa sa part of before anyone could realize his tactic.

He moved too the door, listened at it, then opened it and stepped into the passage. He sensed for Ragorian, and smiled to himself. That traitor will prove useful in his own unwilling way.

Curiosity arose in his mind at her actions as he was pulled back into the material dimension. What does she have planned for me now? he mused to himself. I will admit, she is an unpredictable one, this halfling. Certainly not to be underestimated. I wil lahve to watch myself from now on.

Nearly as soon as he emerged from the hated dimension, Ragorian felt his connection to Rykounagin reestablish, and he quickly connected his mind to ShaRhylla and T'elion once more, and listened as ShaRhylla spoke to him, soothingly, comfortingly.
Reassuring though her words may seem, he thought to himself, Can i truly take her words at face value? Can i trust her?

No. Not entirely. But then, you have long sicne realized I can trust no one entirely, haven't you? he thought resignedly. A moment he spent considering, then he spoke to ShaRhylla once more, his voice still calm, soothing and seductive, but he avoided touching her mind with his magicks this time, so as not to arouse any suspicion on her part.

"Ahh, Mistress ShaRhylla. How good to be back in your grasp, to be weilded by you once more.

Of course I did not think you had turned against me. Indeed, I must apologize for my outburst as I crossed the threshold of the Elseness. I did make a snap judgement at that moment, and let my emotions rule me. It only took a moment of reasoning and consideration, however, to realize the wisdom behind your course of action. Indeed, I did not wish to fall back into the assassin's hands. Ally though he was of mine, I much prefer your company, my dear Mistress."

He was about to continue, but then ran over the last part of her words to him again. She knows about me? She knows my desire? Strange, for i told this to nobody that she would have spoken to in so short a time...except for T'elion.

So, it would appear her and the spirit of the Axis have formed an alliance of some sort. And where does this leave Ragorian? As an equal, a fellow conspirator, one of ShaRhylla and T'elion's trusted allies? Or, perhaps, merely means to an end, a tool, a source of power to be used?

So be it. For they can provide means to my ends as well.

He again turned his attention back to ShaRhylla.
"Indeed? You know of my story, of my ambition and desire? This proves that you are indeed quite resourceful and powerful, my mistress.

"Do not waste your breath on words of flattery, Ragorian; you have powers of your own. And desires."

She paused, picked up the blade and stared at the gleaming metal, seeming to bypass its surface altogether to view the hidden beauty and danger in the depths of the reflections there.

"I know you seek a body," she said of a sudden, then laid the sword back on the table. She let those words hang in the air a long moment, tantalizing and promising, willing them to trigger the avarice she knew was hiding deep within the old sorcerer's heart.

The moment a precise one, she leaned over the table, crossing her arms and resting her chin on her wrists. The blade was now at eye level with her, and the tempered steel of its edge frosted with condensation as she continued.

"I can... arrange for a body to your liking to be made ready for you. All I ask is that you show a certain... gratitude for that which I will do for you.

"That you swear fealty to me and mine and all I hope to--

"Obtain."

She fell silent with that, rolling her head to one side, smiling to see the reflection of her violet-rimmed turquoise irises shining clearly back at her.

And while her offer was...tempting...

...To put it lightly...

...There were still questions he had left to ask.

"Indeed? You could arrange the construction of an entire, perfectly working, physical human body? A flawless form, like any other body is, merely without a soul or mind inhabiting it?

"My curiosity does force me to ask how, Milady. How you could arrange the doing of a feat that I have spent hundreds of years attempting to accomplish? Forgive me if I seem doubtful, but you make my century-spanning quest seem more like a favor, and no difficult task for you. Which, as I said, calls forth my curious nature.

"And there is the nature of your conditions, my gratitude as you put it. I would wish to know exactly who it is i would be swearing fealty to, and what it is I would be helping you obtain."

He sighed at her last words, allowing the promise they held to flow around him, but keeping his emotions in check. However, he did respond to these words with a mental whisper heavy with his longing desire.

"I know that you could, Lady ShaRhylla. But I would be a fool not to consider at what price it would come...

"How this body can be made as you wish is simply something my powers are capable of doing... although I am made to wonder as to why you wish a human body, and not one of your own race, Ragorian."

She paused, thinking a bit, wondering if T'elion's assessment of this possible scenario was the correct one to respond to. There was, after all, another Sorcerer she knew of, one which a certain assassin had ties to, one whom she could easily reach.

On her own, if necessary. Much more easily if with the willing assistance of Rykounagin.

She pushced that thought away then, focused on Ragorian once more.

"Why, fealty to me of course. Fealty to me and the gaining of ownership of this entire galaxy."

She stopped suddenly, momentarily surprised at her own words. Not so much that she had spoken them without realizing them...

...but that their meaning was nothing more than simple truth. Emboldened by this, feeling invincible as the sudden awareness of her great strength and power surged through her, power which could increase thousandfold, she went on.

Truthfully, as before.

"By my side as my consort, your powers to mine, to strengthen each other-- to strengthen me...

"...with this."

She held up the Finger of R'lous. The jewels glimmered and blinked on it, shining like drops of spilled blood. She poured her soul into that image, sending it to Ragorian, that he could see it with her eyes.

A HUMAN body? a voice inside his mind shouted at him. What? Do not be a fool! You are a Sith! You will always be a Sith, and do not forget that!

A Sith in spirit you may very well be, another voice said. But in body? In mentality? Uncertain. If this is true, then why does the first image of yourself restored come to your mind with your body being that of a human?

Shutting these voices out and turning his attention to ShaRhylla again, he spoke.

"A mere slip of the tongue, milady. I have spent so long inhabiting the bodies of humans that it may be a consequence that my mind conjures up one of them at the first image of "body." My body, were you to create one, would be Sith."

He pushed those thoughts aside and listened to the rest of ShaRhylla's words.

Which surprised him just as much as the first had.

This one has ambition, he laughed to himself. Ambition far surpassing what I had first imagined.

"Ownership? Of the entire galaxy? You believe us, we three, could do this? Many have tried, Lady ShaRhylla, and all have failed given time. Why would we be any different?

And can you not think of any who would oppose us? The entire Empire, for one.

And what of Lord Aelvedaar?

What of your mother?

Could we truly stand against them?"

"Your continuous questions grow irksome, Ragorian. I do not offer that which I cannot accomplish--"

From a place deep within her very essence, a strange and gibbering darkness smiled in affirmation. For indeed, having survived the lowest depths of Hell, not just existing there but revelling in the dark as Mistress of it who bowed to none other than that Darkness Itself, Entaris; was she not of strength sufficient to take on a task far smaller, far easier, by comparison?

"Perhaps I am mistaken in presenting you with my offer. You either trust me or not, and in doing so either swear fealty to me or not.

"Or--"

She shrugged, tossed the Blade haphazardly on the table, all the while recalling everything T'elion had to say to her and scrutinizing it letter by letter.

"It is also, sadly, my nature that I do not immediatly trust any of those I come across. Pledging my life to you does require some questions answered, and some consideration. After all, I would hardly desire to be returned to a body of my own, only to be executed as a traitor, or conspirator to a coup attempt on the galaxy."

Suddenly, he stopped, for something called out to his attention. Somethign inside ShaRhylla that he had...at first not seen. A darkness, deep and powerful, resided there. He probed the edges of it very slightly, and horrible images immediatly assaulted his mind...images of ShaRhylla's trials, and the impact these trials had left on her. He shuddered in revulsion, but still his curiosity persisted, for the dakrness spoke of the deep, amazing power and potential inside ShaRhylla.
Could her ambitions actually be possible? he thought incredulously to himself. Could we actually conquer the galaxy together?

Is that what you truly want?

For that, his mind could offer no answer. And even if it could, he was not sure he wanted to know it.

For moments that seemed ages, conflict surged within him. Considering, weighing, debating, his mind went over and over. But still his desire, to rejoin the Sith, panged desperately in him, now that he was as close as he had ever been, would ever be, to fulfilling it.

Finally his mind reached a consensus, an agreement, formed a plan that he could use if all else failed. His fate, for the present, he had decided. And so he spoke.
"You were not mistaken, my Lady ShaRhylla. I have seen the power you hold, the power we could weild together.

The power we will weild together.

"Well met, my consort-to-be, well met," she purred, lowering her voice to syrupy richness, bringing into it a tone which clearly bespoke of all she could offer, would offer, would promise to him.

Then she rose to her feet, the sword held reverently in her hand, and moved to the ornate fireplace which took up the entirety of one wall of this Grand Dining Hall. There above the mantel it was: the Sword of Evictaar, legendary warrior who had, according to history, fended off an entire battalion of proclaimed usurpers of their lands with but a handful of men, Sith stealth and cunning, a touch of magick, and the sword.

The sword was revered by all for what it represented, the victory of the Sith over all oppressors, and had been given this place of honor in the very heart of the Temple.

This mattered little to the halfling; standing up on her tiptoes, she reached up and yanked the Sword of Evictaar from its mooring clamps, and tossed it idly onto a nearby couch. Then she replaced it with the Blade which housed Ragorian.

"Here is your place of honor, my dear Ragorian, until a sheath worthy of your beauty may be tempered for you, that you might hang always at my side until the body of your desire is procured. You must tell me of your specifications, for truly not every Sith--"

She whirled as a ruckus sounded behind her. The doors to the Dining Hall flew open, allowing a concerned Salandaar to enter therein. He hurried to her side, knelt swiftly before her, and proceeded to inform her of all that had transpired with the assassin she had so recently branded.

ShaRhylla merely smiled, reached out and patted him on his shoulder, soothing him with calm words. Then she sent him on his way, off to gather troops to station one every meter in all directions terminating at the doors into the Dining Hall. All to be given the order not to hinder the lad in any manner, but to allow him free passage to her. He was then to begin overseeing the creation of a sheath worthy of a blade more stupendous than that of Evictaar himself. She smiled to herself, thinking about it, but forced her attention back to matters at hand.

"He comes, Ragorian," she whispered as the doors of the Dining Hall snicked closed.

"Let us see what we shall see...."

Even as she spoke, her other hand was toying with the Finger of R'lous, and a tendril of her power coiled stealthily into the device, anxiously seeking praise for her actions, wanting his approval for the strange alliance she had only begun to cement.

He began to call for his Black Lotus, but then suddenly realized none of them moved too intercept him, but merely stood back, their eyes upon him.

He watched them for a long moment, then slowly walked forwards through the gap they had made in their ranks to admit him too the massive doors that they guarded. He pushed them open slowly, then looked to see ShaRylla standing alone.

No, she has Ragorian. He thought as he recognized the blade laying upon one of the seats. "So you took him back did you. Not that I care, after all, he was willing to discard me as though I was a tool."

He spoke calmly and passively, speaking to the world as though he was having a common conversation. "I've proven my point ShaRhylla, unless you had a response to my attack."

T’elion paused, ready to intercept any magick the youth would send outward, and channel it for the young halfling. Determined to give the lady a taste of the possibilities, he even prepared himself to rip the magick from the assassin should he not use his magick willingly.

"Point?" she finally purred as her free hand reached up to toy idly with a strand of her hair.

"I was quite unaware that there was a point of any kind to be made; perhaps you'd be so kind as to enlighten me?"

Her smile deepened as she waited for what she truly expected to happen, silently readying her powers as she waited, never loosening her grip upon the Finger. Young though she might be in years, she was far, far older than this youngster in experience and a particular kind of maturity.

Even though he didn't seem to recognize that, a short-coming on his part which was quite transparent to her.

Her expression, it's as though she expected me. But I didn't come this far to play the cautious fool.

"My point is that even you are mortal, if I, a mere being in the sea of souls, can pass them all, then it is you that has judged falsely halfling. But that's not all I came for." He smiled, then flipped his blade in his hand, holding it by it's still blood-wetted blade.

He drew it up to the side, and smiled. Oh, she will be suprised. "A gift for an honorable opponent, and to my old master, though I see you've cast him aside." He glanced towards the couch where he saw the damaged blade laying, then turned and hurled it towards her, but his target not her, but the mantle behind.

Even as that surprisingly calm statement left her lips a question was racing through her mind, lightning fast.

He would attempt to destroy his once-Master, this Ragorian who has now sworn fealty to me, and in turn will share with me that which I shall eventually obtain?

With an equivalent speed the hand which had been so idly toying with her hair likewise flashed out to one side, and with a simple yet imperious gesture, one strengthened with her All-abilities, she intercepted the blade Rykounagin had just flung toward the one she had so recently hung over the mantle. It came to a momentary and trembling halt in mid-air before responding to her silent command, then flew backward to come to rest in her palm.

She held it up and looked at it a moment, turning it this way and that before tossing it disdainfully to lay at Rykounagin's feet.

"I do not know what this feeble attempt of yours means, whether to impress or destroy. But as you see, it has failed both."

Tightening her grip on the Finger of R'lous, she stood quiet, still wondering just what it was that Rykounagin was trying to prove.

He shook his head, then took a slow, confident step forwards. "I have swept aside your guards, and though I'm sure by your graces, entered your inner chambers, yet if I am so unworthy, then why is it that I am successful?"

Rykounagin raised a gloved hand before his face, and watched it for a moment, then looked back to her. "On some worlds, the arid and desert ones of course, my father once showed me a tribe of nomads, who's greatest way to show respect was to give up their own blood to the other."

He closed his mouth, and though his face was calm, a flash of pain shot through him as he bit his tonge, drawing blood. He spat it at her, and smiled. "For my most honored opponent, though you're no longer worth my time, I have already given up enough of it to you, and my father must surely grow impatient for my return."

Still gripping the Finger of R'lous, ShaRhylla took a few steps forward, following the apparently psychotic youth.

Indeed, she thought to herself as, for once, surely a rare moments of her life, she strove to battle against her rising anger and really tried to understand Rykounagin.

He must be troubled at best, psychotic at the least; no living soul acts in such a bizarre manner as does he.

This realization brought her to a scowling halt, but one which did not last long. Pursing her lips, she moved quickly forward, passing by Rykounagin and coming to the doorway before he did. She flung open the ornate doors, stepped out into the corridor, took a look both right and left.

As far as she could see there stood her warriors, one every meter per her command, all at rigid attention, all with weapons at the ready.

All unmoving and unharmed.

She whirled back to the lad, her scowl growing even blacker.

"I do not know what it is you wish of me, why you persist in returning when I sent you from this city, why you act in one manner one second, yet in the next deny that very action you have just taken.

"And then--"

She drew in a shaking breath, now fighting anger, but managed to remain surprisingly calm.

"And then you accuse me of paranoia!"

Something of her struggling emotions made themselves known to M'wonBo'o, who was hovering nearby, ever ready to defend her. He uttered a low growl, whereupon she made a slight gesture with her free hand. A brief and questioning whine was his only response before he padded out from the shadows to lap up the spot of blood Rykounagin had spat at her. His face tendrils whipping about his face, as though to clear out a nasty taste from his mouth, he then hunkered in a crouch, ready to leap out and cover the few tens of meters which separated him from the youth as easily as a bird takes to wing.

ShaRhylla cast him an approving glance, then let her eyes meet those of Rykounagin.

"You returned to this room for a reason, human, do not attempt to mislead me any further with your senseless words. This I knew of the moment you turned back; of curiosity I ordered the guards to give you freeway here. You claim to have proven an unknown point, you hurl this meager weapon of yours against your erstwhile master, then claim I am paranoid to believe you intended him or me harm.

"And now--"

Try as she might, she now couldn't help but relish the searing heat of rage now flooding her veins. For daughter of Lord Roan she was, always had been, and would be until the day she died.

"And now you have the effrontery to claim you have wasted too much of your time with me!"

Although she didn't move, it was as if she had somehow moved closer to Rykounagin, becoming somehow larger, more threatening, more deadly. There was not so much as a flicker of motion about her being, yet it seemed that a great wind had come up, to blow her hair about her head like a flaming hurricane.

Clearly the young man did not understand the danger of the path he was now treading upon....

The sound began to carry around, and he only magnified his volume, incapable of stopping as he did, Rykounagin seemed to look up to the heavens as his arms opened up, and he let out his stream of mirth. He shook with the laughter for a time, then finally, it seemed to fade as soon as it had come, and he looked back down towards her.

"Because you amuse me, and you are too foolish not to realize the lesson I've given you. I mean no affrontery, but you are the most arrogant and self absorbed being, yet alone halfling I have ever met. I know this must sound quite mad too you, but if you cannot see my point in doing this, then it is you who is quite foolish."

"Yet again you answer my questions with riddles, though I give you every opportunity to explain yourself in a calm and civil manner. Although--"

Now she stepped toward the sneering youth, walked about him, scrutinizing him as if he were a bug beneath a magnifying glass.

"Although, to be truthful, I do not believe you to be capable of such."

Now she stepped back, one hand darting out to the side to alert the threatening tuk'ata, who inched a bit closer, his pupilless eyes fixed on his prey. Only the fact that he had yet to receive the command to attack stayed his leap, so he remained crouched in place, whining with anticipation.

ShaRhylla cocked her head to one side before, in an action meant to mock one Rykounagin had so recently performed, she spat at his feet.

She did not honor him with blood, but with spit.

Then she lifted her head, and swept past him, speaking as she went but not bothering to look at him any longer.

"You grow wearisome... and by behaving in so boorish and erratic a manner, you have made in me and mine an enemy."

Stopping, she whirled to face him, letting her eyes pour forth all the wrath and contempt she now felt for him, and would forevermore.

"I must amend that; you do not even hold enough honor to become an enemy; one must at least act in a gentlemanly manner for that. This is what we Sith believe, and thus is my belief as well.

"You are, in fact, nothing to me. Go elsewhere, find something of a use for yourself, perhaps in blacking the boots of a warrior, for indeed that is all I believe you are worthy of accomplishing."

Before the youth could respond, her free hand darted out and opened a portal. This was not an inter-dimensional one, but rather one of a more simple design, one meant to provide transport between worlds, or between systems. For a moment her brow wrinkled in concentration; then she stared at the portal.

A dim yet somehow fiery light seemed to glow somewhere within its depths.

"Go off with the others who creep beneath the soil. You are not fit to walk upon the surface of any planet, let alone that of the Sith."

A wave of that hand compressed the air between herself and Rykounagin, forcing him backwards. He struggled, but was no match against the strength of the All. She merely deepened the density of the atmosphere in front of Rykounagin, shoving against it, and in this manner kept pushing him back and back until he teetered on the very threshold of the portal she had opened.

For a moment his eyes widened--

Ahh. He fears... something about these portals....

--and then were seen no more as one final push shoved him entirely into the portal, to land on the blisteringly hot and noxious surface of the planet Sullust.

ShaRhylla merely smiled as the portal closed, then turned to go stand before the Blade of Chaos which gleamed and shimmered in its place of honor above the fireplace.

"So much for your erstwhile companion," she murmured, then fell silent, lost in thoughts of what she planned for herself and Ragorian....

Rykounagin already forgotten.

((OOC: Rykounagin is transferred into Minds Like a Sieve in the "CSWU" forums, thank you.))

Kalvendar watched, completely stunned as the imputent man disappeared by a sheer measure of will that the great lady had pressed upon him. She is a true sith.

Instead, he scrutinized the two of them, especially Rykounagin. The lad had changed, almost beyond all recognition. To Ragorian, his actions and words seemed barely recognizable from the boy he had come to know. What happened to him? Ragorian wondered to himself. What did that treacherous brother of his do?

His curiosity turned to astonishment when Rykounagin suddenly hurled his own blade at the mantle, where Ragorian's vessel sat. He was too shocked to reach out with his magicks in time, and it was only by a timely intervention by ShaRhylla that the blade was deflected.

Ragorian was struck speechless at this. Had Rykounagin tried to destroy him? Although he denied it, it certainly seemed that way. He truly believed Ragorian had betrayed him, then. Loosing a small sigh of regret in his mind, he watched the confrontation proceed until, at its climax, ShaRhylla opened a portal, not the the Elseness, but some other planet, and pushed the boy through it.

Ragorian noticed, with again a tinge of regret, that this turn of events actually relived him. He could not trust Rykounagin any more, it seemed. Now they would go their separate ways.

Now he turned his attention to his new weilder the person to whom his fate was now inexorably bound: ShaRhylla, who stood before the mantle where his blade now hung in a place of honor. Softly he reached out to her mind, spoke to her again.
"Indeed. So he is gone."

"I must thank you, milady, for deflecting that sudden attack he directed at me. I was certainly not expecting it. It seems I know owe my life to you in addition to having sworn it. I will not forget this."

"Now, what of your ambitions, my mistress? What are your plans for me? What are the first steps we take on our new path together?"

So very long ago, it seemed.

The air whistled as the keen edge cut effortlessly through it; ShaRhylla's smile broadened, and she stopped what she was doing to hold the blade up in front of her face. Her ususual bi-colored eyes glinted eerily in the flawless metal of the blade.

"I really do like this weapon you have chosen to occupy, Ragorian," she said, reaching out with her other hand to run a thumb along the blade's edge. It sliced through her flesh like a hot knife through butter; her smile grew somewhat crooked as she then lifted her thumb to study the upwelling ruby drops of her own blood for a moment.

Then she licked her thumb clean, and turned back to Ragorian.

"I would like this to be my personal blade, if you would be so willing as to agree with me, my consort," she offered up with a lazy smile.

"And to that end, it seems that our first approach is to find a body worthy of you. Do you have anything -- or anyone in particular in mind?"

A soft sound, almost a purr, followed the bold statement.

“Prepare yourself, dear lady, and ask your servant to take you to see your father, the Dark Lord.”

"You, warrior!" she called out boldly, capturing his attention at once.

"Fetch my father, the Dark Lord Roan, hither at once. For I have not had the pleasure of his company for many days, and it would please me to partake of it now."

"My lady...." Kalvendar looked up slowly, his face concerned. "Your father has been passed for some time, were you not aware?"

Utterly enraged.

Father....

She exploded; with the quick grace of a feral creature she was before the apologetic warrior, her eyes projecting the only warmth in her otherwise glacial demeanor. They blazed with the very fires of hell; drawing back the hand holding the Blade she let it fly with all her not inconsiderable strength, striking Kelvendar across the face with the flat of it.

"I shall rend your sorry tongue from your deceitful mouth, and feed it to the tuk'ata!" she seethed as she trembled before him, her voice dangerously low.

"But before I do, I shall be merciful and allow you one chance to redeem yourself; tell me:

"Why do you speak such lies to me?"

But even as that command left her lips she found herself beginning to wage a silent war within, unable to totally rid herself of the rising suspicion that the warrior had spoken the truth.

"Milady, ask any of your servants here, and they would tell you the same truth as I have told you."

But he also was thankful the warrior was brave enough to tell her, for it was much better to have this wrath directed at someone other than himself. And now that her anger was wavering into doubt, it was time to act.

“Dear lady,” he whispered into her mind. “I know it is a difficult thing to face, but your loyal warrior speaks the truth. Your father, the great and powerful Roan, was laid to rest without your knowledge. Do not blame your servants, dear lady, they did not know of this negligence. Take a moment to gather yourself, for the decisions you are about to make shall define your character and set you upon the path to your own vengeance and glory. It is why I sought you out, dear lady, to right a senseless wrong, and bring about a much needed change.”

Father. How can I follow in your steps? You had only begun to teach me; I cannot learn that which you started from Mother.

I do not wish to learn from Mother....

Her eyes flew open then with the realization that the grief she was feeling was really born of selfishness, rooted in the fact that now she had no mentor, no one to teach her the ways of strength and dominance. A wayward synapse flashed a quick memory of the docile Recinis and her mother the day they had tried to speak with her in the then-silent Phrinnchatka; she grimaced, feeling a dirty taste in her mouth.

Even though she focused her fiery gaze upon Kelvendar, the words she then spoke could have been meant for any of those present in the Dining Hall, anyone with the knowledge to reply.

"How did he die?" she whispered, clenching the Blade with a trembling hand, feeling as if she was standing on the teetering brink of a dark and unfathomable abyss.

"And why did no one tell me of this?"

“There is a Sith, a powerful giant who holds the title of Dark Lord of the Armorer clan. Though he asserts to hold no claim to the Warrior or Sorcerer clans, he has taken steps to obtain the Dark Lord title for both. He has exposed the treachery of Aelvedaar, and even now plots to remove him from power. He has removed both Lord Roan and Recinis, and has placed himself at the very side of your mother.

“For yes, dear lady, hard as it is to accept, your mother knew it was Phalomir who murdered your father. And she was thankful for it, enough to allow herself to love this Phalomir. While all of K’eel Doba mourned the loss of your father, your mother purposefully kept you unaware of his passing.

What he learned from the conversation both surprised and sorrowed him. ShaRhylla's father, the Dark Lord Roan, was dead, and she had not been told.

How could this have been overlooked? he wondered to himself bemusedly. Did the Sith simply forget to tell her? Or, perhaps, did they wish to keep the truth from her, for some reason or another?

Interesting. This will merit some investigation.

He then reached out to and spoke to ShaRhylla's mind.

"Milady, please allow me to extend my apologies as well. This must be painful for you. It is a terrible thing, to lose one's father.

For a brief moment something flashed in Ragorian's memory..a brief glimpse, barely noticable, of his former life. Of him...cradling a Sith body in his arms. And along with that glimpse came a short, incredible feeling of grief and pain, so much that he almost cried out for it.

Then it was gone, like a dust mote on the wind, leaving no trace that it had ever been.

What was that? his mind wondered, but could find no answer, and gave no sign that it would.

Shaking himself out of momentary reverie, he again ran over the conversation between the Sith, ShaRhylla, and the words the Axis had spoken to her mind. For a name had jumped out at him there.

Phalomir...

It took him a moment before he remembered where he had last heard that name, then it hit him. In the company of Lady Graysith herself, it had been. Though what about the exchange he remembered with the Lady didn't Curiously, he called out to both ShaRhylla and the Axis, letting his words be heard by both of them.

"Phalomir? My lady ShaRhylla, your mother once spoke to me of a Phalomir. It was some time ago, when I first came to this planet. But there is soemthing that confuses me.

When we spoke of this Phalomir, your mother made him out to be an enemy of hers. She said he possessed something that threatened her power. And, if I remember correctly, she asked me to kill this Phalomir, a task I did not get a chance to complete.

Is this Phalomir, Dark Lord of the Armorers and love of Graysith, truly the same Sith that Graysith requested me to kill? Are they truly allies, and lovers, now?"

"What is of immediate concern is why Mother chose not to inform me of the death of my father!" she gritted between her teeth. A heavy twinge gripped her heart, filling her with raged-enwrapped mourning.

Father--

She clenched her hands tightly, stared off into middle space. Before her there rose the image of her mother, bending low over her bedside, a cool hand upon her brow, words soft and yet more cool whispering into her fevered brain. There they battled with yet another image, one shrouded and dark, one just beyond reach of recognition, whether that recognition be conscious or unconscious:

A haze filled somehow with fire and velvety blackness and something far, far worse than death.

Something seemed to reach out to her then, from those ebony shadows. Something that tickled a part of her she had no idea existed.

Something repressed through the skills of her Mother, something which managed to let out a tiny yet utterly lethal yowl, crying out for the right to exist.

She blinked, jerking her focus back to reality. Kelvendar bowed before her, the Blade was practically skewered into her grasp, words of all three entities with her tumbled about in her head.

"Whether Mother and this... this Phalomir--"

She spat in derision.

""--are lovers or enemies matters not. The simple fact is that they are now both enemies to me!

"And now I must decide exactly what I wish to do about it...."

She closed her eyes, striving to contact that strange little niggle she had brushed by within her very soul, now reaching out a tentative tendril of her All-talents.

Father? Is that you?

"There is no betrayal other than the Dark Lord of the Warriors has been slain, and obviously the one he had taken to him as Dark Lady has her foul fingers somehow involved in the deed!"

She took three quick cat-steps, bearing down upon Kelvendar like a predator upon its prey, nevermind that she was speaking such of her own flesh and blood. Though diminutive in height, the aura bursting from her every pore made her seem amazonian in stature; she stood before the warrior, a hand raised in warning.

"Take a care who you betray, my friend," she hissed, her eyes flashing.

"For in a misguided attempt to save the Sith, you may find yourself hastening its very demise-- not to mention your own!"

She stood there breathing heavily, while a detached little portion of herself wondered just why it was she wasn't sending this warrior off to his Final Reward. Shaking her head at this, she then bent low and whispered to him.

"Recall if you will that the-- Dark Lady hasn't so much as a single drop of Sith blood in her veins...."

...and if I could, I'd rip that human taint from my very own.

"Of course my lady." He responded cautiously. "Perhaps it is that your mother holds no love for use and would wish to betray and destroy us for her own gain? You would seek to save us for our greater good then?"

Kalvendar responded carefully and slowly, as thought pondering his own words as he did so, for he knew in her volitile state, one could never be too careful.

"Keep your ears and your eyes and your tongue closed to this, warrior!" she finally hissed, then turned away from him and moved over to the massive fireplace. There the dancing flames sent another kind of heat cascading over her.

She held the blade up to her face, cocked her head and reached out to Ragorian.

All the better for what I have promised to you, my dear Ragorian. The thought was like black silk rippling between them.

Then she reached out to T'elion as well, including him as recipient as well to her next query.

"Do the people know the name of the perpetrator?" she asked them both, expecting to receive an affirmative response. For indeed, why else would her mother have gone suddenly missing, if not to take haven away from Phrinnchatka with the murderer of her father?

"She has many questions to answer, dear lady, as you yourself have much to consider. Yes, you are right in your anger. You are right in your feelings, for in any case you are betrayed. If the Dark Lady is indeed an enemy, hiding the truth from you for her own insidious purpose, she must be deposed. But even if her intentions were merely to keep you from the hurt of losing one so dear, then her trust in your ability is lacking, and the time has come to earn your place. But you must trust your feelings in this, dear lady, for no-one may choose your path for you."

Silence, the stage is set. It is quiet, the audience waits.... waits for the performance....

The drama begins, the first lines being spoken. Exit one of the main players on the stage.... he returns as the plot thickens, to battle and fight, to defeat those in his way, then he comes again to stand on the stage.

A bit of of stage magick, and he disappears, leaving only the origonal cast, a cast that so well fits into my adgenda. I step away from the small peephole that has given me this fantastic view, and ponder the recent events.

I know that my father has fallen, no doubt as this "rykounagin" who plays the part of an assassin has pushed him too his fate. This does require my presence, even I cannot hide forever.

I steal back to my chambers, far below the commonly walked places of the sith, where my father and I have made my home. It is strange now that without hesitation I will leave it, but I digress from the most important facts of this. I must dress for the occasion, for the meeting of a sith princess is no small thing.

I dress in my dark silks and black mask, taking my semi-human form, feeling my horns sprout, my hair grow to slick against my skull. I smile faintly as I pull the thin black leather gloves onto my hands, buckling the rapier to my side, smiling faintly as I see myself in the broken mirror, the hundreds of slivers reflecting the horror that I am.

"Let the masquerade begin." I whisper, stepping from the chamber to walk slowly up the passageway that will lead me back to the peephole and secret passage, just next to the mantle, where I would make my entrance upon this stage.

Eventually, he drew his mind back to the palace, to his present situation. Still not being able to offer any useful input, he instead probed 'round the room, examing the minds and souls of the familiar and unfamiliar around him. As he did so, his attention was attracted by a small, elusive twinge of a soul that was quite near, and quite unfamiliar to him.

Focusing his attention, he attempted to reach out and take measure of this new soul. Doing so, however, proved quite difficult, as the soul of this one was provign extrmely elusive. He could not seem to pin it down long enough to take good reading of it; it alwasy seemed to squirm away from his "grasp."

After several minutes of frustrated chasing, all he had managed to gather was that the keeper of this soul was very near the room that they themsleves were located in, listening in on Lady ShaRhylla, T'elion, and Kelvandar's conversation. Who, or what, as well as exactly where this eavesdropper was, still eluded him with maddening secrecy.

Still, his discovery merited attention. Reaching out with his link between ShaRhylla and himself, he whispered along it.
"My deep apologies for itnerrupting you, milady ShaRhylla," he purred apologetically, "But I have made a discovery that may merit your interest."

"It seems that we have...an uninvited guest, of sorts," he continued. "There is a...being...listening to your conversation. I believe he hidden somewhere along the outskirts of this room."

"Be warned, my mistress: this one is very elusive. I could not discern even his exact location, or what sort of creature he is. I would advise caution in dealing with this unexpected interloper."

Not that I am not strong enough to take care of myself! a silent little portion of her mind snorted to itself.

But if there is one thing I can learn from Father's death, it is that even the strongest can be felled, if he stands alone....

She jerked minisculely at that, a wonder that she should even think thus quickly following the cold logic of that statement. For to be truthful, she did not know for a fact that the straightforward conclusion had been a result of her own deductive reasoning.

When have you been a logical creature, my dearest?

A whisper of a chuckle floated through her mind, only to disappear like chaff upon the wind. She jerked again, blinked, and then focused upon those with her.

"Thank you for that information, Ragorian," she thought to him via their connective link.

"It is indeed most... unsettling that we appear to have an interloper...."

Aloud, she continued on along the same vein, now directing her comments to the respectfully wary Kelvendar while yet another portion now sought out the advice of the too-silent T'elion.

Where are you? I feel that to follow along the correct path that I now must do, I need help of others, and not many would be persuaded to rise up against Mother....

"Warrior!"

She let her eerily bi-colored eyes pin him like a bug.

"To whom is it that you present your honor, and your life?"

A link popped into existence between the two of them, one created by the All, and one which only the All could penetrate to eavesdrop upon.

"To whom is it you place your loyalties, warrior?" she pressed silently.

"I see no others sitting upon the throne, not even a puppeteer exists that I can see, though they are well hidden. Perhaps it is that he is also a puppet to greater powers, though who is the puppetteer? But regardless, does this mean you hold the throne?"

I had taken a single step from that time, just enough to frame the right side of my body in the firelight. "I do not doubt your bravery, nor your courage, but I wish to make a thing clear. Do not fear ShaRhylla, dark lady of the sith, for I am here to help you."

I finished the small line with a curt and deep bow, there was the que, now for the returned line.

"To the Lady ShaRhylla I pledge my alliegence."

Then, still keeping her eyes on him, she tilted her head a bit toward the quiet warrior.

"I find your loyalties pleasing; only time will tell if they are worthy of reward. To that end, I give to you this task:

"Go out among the clansmen, find those who would likewise bind themselves to me. No action is to be taken at this time, but those who swear fealty to me and mine shall look to the sky when the moon glows orchid.

"Then we shall meet on the Plains of Jh'affra'Dar."

She nodded to Kelvendar, letting her fingers drop from his temple to drift lightly along his jawline before they removed themselves from his face altogether. Abruptly then, she straightened, dismissing him by this simple action in order that she might direct her full attention to the newcomer.

"I fear none; who is it who comes now before me, with yet another claim to be of assistance to one who needs none other than that of those who have already proven their worth to her?"

On the side, she sent a quick query to Ragorian:

"Is this the eavesdropper of whom you spoke? He appears normal enough, but yet--"

She cocked her head to one side, letting a small tendril of her talents snake out with all the delicacy of a spring zephyr, to investigate for herself if the appearance this one presented was exactly what it seemed...

“Be wary of this one, dear lady. Those who approach you offering assistance are difficult to trust.”

T’elion allowed himself a micron of musing at his own statement, then continued.

“But there are others who are trustworthy. There are those who follow your father still, even in his death. They are the warriors who placed their faith and lives in his hands, his leadership, and who would point to you as the rightful successor… and vindicator. You have taken the correct path, Kalvendar is of that stock, and will find many who will support you. But you will find that the laws of the Warriors will back you as well, for making your challenge in the tradition of the Clan and defeating her will gain you immediate support from the Clan. Look at what it did for your human mother.”

T’elion allowed another small moment of silence.

“Did she ever tell you how she rose to power? Hmm, another time. For now, this newcomer must be tested. Who is it that steals from the shadows and presents himself as an ally? And why?”

"That we share a half common ancestry does not warrant so blatant an appeal on your part; do not take me for the fool, Mask.

"Tell me now: what is it you wish to obtain by this sudden alliance that you offer, which in fact I do not truly need? For though my blood might be thin in that it is but half Sith, this matters not.

"What does is this."

He had returned to his "human" form, and now stood, his head slightly cocked, a gloved hand gently running over one of his horns.

"Can't you see? All I want is to feel that his blood has wetted my blade or to be able to feel that his flesh has found a place upon my horns. I want the assassin dead, and I'm willing to help you to get to that end, wether my service be temporary or for life."

He came to kneel next to a sith who had plumeted from the wall, who sported a concussion and several damaged bones. He did his best to tend, and spoke with some of the healers, small questions as to their opinions upon the Dark Lady Graysith's absense during such an attack and what they thought of the lady ShaRhylla.

"...whom he apparently holds a great deal of animosity for. Which strikes me as quite odd, milady. For Rykounagin held no memories of this 'Mask' during all our time together that I was aware of."

He fell silent a moment, perusing the self-proclaimed "Lord of the Masque" with a mounting curiosity. He was indeed half-Sith, as he had proclaimed, but what his other half was eluded him still. Some sort of shapeshifter was obvious. Ragorian reached into his own recesses of memory, searching for names of species that could suit this description. Clawdite, perhaps? No, they could not change form this drastically. He had heard of other shapeshifting species, one in particular that seemed as though it would fit, but its name eluded him almost as persistently as the race of which he was trying to pin such name on. Sighing mentally in frustration, he brought his attention back to the present.

"I do not trust this one's proclaimed motives, simply of pure hatred. Something else is driving this 'Mask,' I would believe, though his spirit is far too elusive for me to pin down, much less reach out to."

"I would also advise caution, Lady ShaRhylla. This shapeshifter hides far too many secrets, both of his thoughts and his abilities, for me to consider him anything but an enemy."

"This one shall be the tool by which we overthrow the pretender and She who took Dark Ladyship in so false a manner," she said, the words flowing between them like silken oil.

"Who better to assist in this than one who is able to alter his shape at will...

"...and that will being mine?"

Still smiling coldly, she then focused on Mask.

"And if I assist you in the killing of this Rykounagin--"

She spat to the side, momentarily remembering the rash youth and his insouciance toward her.

"--then you shall swear unquestioning loyalty to me.

"Then it is without regret that I hand my life and ability to your hand and bind it to your will, lady ShaRhylla, Dark Lady of the sith, and puppeteer of the masquarade." I drew my sword and spun it between my fingers, so that the handle and hilt were before her, easily in her grasp.

The gyrations ended with the handle offered back to her new minion.

"Good," she stated simply, then moved toward him and, taking him by one arm, began leading him toward the sideboard. There she paused and motioned toward it, welcoming him to its bounty. She took none herself, but merely contented herself with an ornate goblet of the famous Sith brandy.

"Tell me, my new friend," she began abruptly, never one to beat about he bush.

"I know that you are a shapeshifter; to what extent are the ablilites you hold?"

Taking an unexpectedly dainty sip of the brandy, she continued peering at him over the rim of her glass.

I barely blinked as my body seemed to "shift" almost rippling as suddenly I became ShaRhylla, becomming her to the best of what I could examine in her figure, then shifted again to become Kalvendar, again to become the previous dark lady, Graysith, again to become Rykounagin, and again and again, encompassing a few dozen forms before returning to my "human" form.

"Good, good," she purred as she took another sip of her brandy. Swallowing, she held the goblet up, studying the glistening green liqueur for a moment before turning her attention to the Mask once again. Her smile stretched even more broadly across her face before it appeared to soften, becoming almost sultry.

She took another sip, looked over the rim of her goblet at Mask, then set it down.

"Tell me more of yourself, my new ally," she said, softening the command to a request by the tone of voice in which she spoke.

"Where have you kept yourself, here on K'eel Doba? One with such talents as yours would surely not have gone unnoticed by my father, the true Dark Lord of the warriors. How is it that we have not come to know of your existence here?

"You refer to the altercation between you and Rykounagin?" she asked sweetly, taking her seat once again.

"Or some other... event."

With that all pretense of fastidiousness evaporated. She tore into her meat like a rabid animal, sinking her fangs therein, ripping and tearing as the blood and juices ran down her face, presenting to the Mask a symbolic gesture of what she could and in fact would do to others in return for loyalty and assistance...

ShaRhylla finished devouring her meat like the animal that yet resided within her, and was awaiting her companion's reply when the doors to the Dining Hall burst open.

A small contingency of warriors entered quickly, saluted, and as a whole fell to one knee before her. The highest ranked of them bowed his head, and spoke.

"M'lady, a ship of unknown origins has landed in our spaceport; we have hailed, but as yet have received no answer to our call.

"Your instructions?"

It was indeed something to be said of the Sith and their strict warrior codes: during any trial and tribulation, in absence of either their Dark Lord and/or Lady, leadership was clearly and without hesitation assigned to the one who was closest in line to inheriting the title. With the Lady Graysith out of the picture and Lord Roan dead, the one individual next in line was ShaRhylla, as indicated by the tattooes of entitlement she bore upon her fair skin.

The warriors stood quietly, waiting for her answer. It did not take long in coming.

"Take the occupants captive, and imprison them in our dungeons," she replied in a tone of voice that appeared totally unaffected by all this.

That her feelings regarding this manner were completely otherwise was indicated by her next words.

"Kill those who would try to fight back. When all are incarcerated, bring one of them to me; it matters not which one."

The warriors bowed, got to their feet, and departed to carry out her orders.

Soon the spaceport was crawling with warriors, who muscled in to replace the workers and technicians who under normal conditions kept Ch'arlingua up and running in a smooth and efficient manner. A Warrior Captain sent forth a hail.

"Depart from your vessel immediately, and without your weapons!" he commanded before flicking closed the communication link he had opened. After all, there was at this point no need for any reply from the newcomers other than strict obedience.

He motioned to his men, who swarmed out onto the tarmac, ringing the strange and ancient ship, weapons quivering and ready.

Apparently Kelvendar had been a busy little bee of a Sith in his compliance to ShaRhylla's orders, for none of the warrior units under Graysith's Second, Salandaar, were anywhere close to the frozen spaceport.

Much less swarming about a peculiar ship in particular....

Most warriors remained at the ready, their spears and swords drawn and bristling, but a chosen few approached the strange ship in one tightly bound body. At a nod from the highest ranking Sith, they lay their weapons down upon the tarmac, quickly making a mystical symbol upon the cold ground out of their swords and spears, making certain that every point was aimed directly toward what they perceived to be the hatch of the mysterious ship. Then they drew back even further, joined hands and, closing their eyes began to chant.

The eerie sounds of mysticism clashed abruptly with the technologically advanced hull of the ship, but Sith weaponry always blended with its magicks...

Even when there were those who were not even aware that they were dealing with things of Sith nature.

The hatch slid obligingly open; the warriors carefully picked up their weapons, taking care to do so in the direct opposite order in which they had been laid down.

Then they turned to the others and nodded, receiving a nod of affirmation from the captains. Soon about fifty warriors were swarming the ship, gaining entry via their magickally opened hatchway, while the others tightened their positions as well as their grips upon their weapons.

Within the ship, the leading warrior came upon a sight so unexpected it made him pause in mid-march:

There, standing quietly together as if there wasn't a thing wrong in all the universe, stood a blond-haired young woman and a Sith.

A Sith.... and a warrior to boot, judging by the tattooes embellishing his features.

Behind them they could make out a shadowy cylindrical shape, something that was strange in its unfamiliarity.

The warrior tightened his grip on his weapon, and glared at Shayla and Panthar. He had his orders....

"Place your hands where we can see them, and come with me!"

Waiting for a reply, he motioned to the others, who quickly ran past the little party and headed into the bowels of the ship, seeking to find anyone they could, to imprison them per the command of the young Dark Lady pro temp. Their footsteps pounded into the shadows, preceding their arrival, warning anyone who might be hiding that their masters were soon to be there.

They smiled as they ran, dreaming of those who would be so foolish as to try to oppose them....