Star Wars: The Sith Zero - [Reverse Summon, Familiar of Zero/Star Wars]
- Thread starter Advena Phillips
- Start date
- Crossover
Winged One
Not the Simurgh
- Location
- definitely the ground
- Pronouns
- They/Them/It
Nah, I think she's just a less-than-flattering interpretation of Cipher Nine.
Hakeginian Interludes: Chapter 2: The Odd Life of Tiffania NicTighearn
Advena Phillips
God-Emperor of all that is Void/Eldrich Horror
- Location
- The deep dark void that is my personal domain.
Chapter 2 - The Odd Life of Tiffania NicTighearn
Deep in the craggy Westwood forest of Alba, near the City of Dun Eideann, lay a long-forgotten hamlet. It was small, consisting of a few wooden buildings nestled in a clearing by the base of the Labhair Mountains.
A well sat in the centre, old yet well maintained with a fresh spring of water flowing deep beneath. To the northeast, a barn of decent size filled with tools, wood, and supplies, and a makeshift workshop nestled in a cosy little corner where leathers were tanned, arrows crafted, and clothes repaired. Beside the barn, to the southeast, was a cottage, big enough for a large family to live in comfortably—two storeys tall, not counting the attic, with whitewashed walls and grey tile roofing.
There was also a chicken coop, fenced in wire to keep the foxes and wolves out; a stable, though only one horse lived within its wooden walls; another, smaller, cottage repurposed for more bedding; a garden filled with flowers and herbs of all sorts; and an outhouse, further away from the rest of the hamlet.
Few knew of the hamlet's existence. Fewer still knew where it was. The lands around it was treacherous to the unfamiliar, and the mountains was home to trolls. Locals knew delving too deep into the Westwoods was almost always a death sentence. But, lately, other rumours started to spread about the forest. Rumours that it was home to the fair folk, ancient first-born who vanished a time after Founder Brimir first stepped foot on the White Isle—specifically one the locals call the Ban Sidhe.
There was no proof of these claims, though. At the most it was old tales of wayward travellers and delinquents delving into the forest. They would reappear days, even weeks later—well fed and clothed—but without any memory of what happened. Most were quite adamant that they had only wandered between the trees for a few hours at the most.
The rumours were true, of course. Sort of, at least. The forests were occupied, and the memory loss was, in fact, due to ancient magics, but not from some story-book faerie. No, it was all the actions of a single young woman: Tiffania NicTighearn. An orphan of barely sixteen years. She and her big sister Mathilda had taken up lodgings in the hamlet and had made it their home. In a way, it was their inheritance, after all. And the memory loss? A spell of her own, cast to keep her home secret from those who would do harm to her, her sister, and, especially, her wards. Her children.
They were orphans, just as she, who Tiffania had taken in so they may live without want for food or shelter. After all, she knew what it was like to fend for herself. And these days, with the civil war ripping Alba apart, times were tough. And, sure, it was hard work raising them. But she had three years' worth of experience, and every day she saw how carefree they were—well, it made everything worth it.
So, when the ground began to rumble one spring morning, rumbling like a furious wyrm, she snapped wide awake and launched out of bed. The first question—What was going on?—was quickly overshadowed as the reality of the situation sunk in. It didn't matter what was going on. The house was shaking, the ground was shaking! Where are the kids? With that single, resounding question in her head, she took off in a sprint, barging out of her room and down the halls. "Children! Children!" she cried. "Where are you?"
The only reply was the boom of thunder above and the terrified wails of birds. Tiffania cowed, every inch of her body screaming for her to hide, to curl up beneath her bed and weather the storm. It was like some dreadful knell that struck something deep and primal inside her mind. Tears came to her eyes, and she whimpered like a terrified child, but she forced herself forward. Her children could be in danger, and she would never forgive herself if she abandoned them.
She peeked out a rattling windows, hoping—yet also terrified—that she would find her kids outside, perhaps running for cover. She didn't. It was dark. Too dark to make anything out but the faint outline of twisting trees and the swirling masses of birds against the grey skies above. It would've been terrifying even if the world wasn't trembling. Her footing felt uneasy. She had only been on an airship once, but the sensation was eminently familiar. Just moving through her house was made almost impossible as she stumbled over the floor, bracing herself against the walls.
All the while, she continued screaming out for her kids, barely able to hear herself over the cacophony blaring outside. And by the time she reached the atrium on the first floor, she had seen no hide nor hair of them. Their bedrooms were empty, the study devoid of life. She wasn't even sure if they were inside or elsewhere in Westwood.
She hesitated; hand outstretched toward the door. Do I leave? Do I stay? There wasn't a right answer and she felt as if it was life or death.
And in that second it took to decide, the world suddenly stilled.
The birds continued their hellish scream, the thunder still booming overhead, but the shaking had stopped. It was almost jarring.
Hesitantly, Tiffania opened the front door and looked around. The sky was still dark, birds still flying, trees still swaying. Thunder continued booming overhead, but it was the final roar of a mighty beast and the world slowly returned to normal.
The clouds parted and bathed the land in morning light.
By this point Tiffania had no idea what was going on. What had just happened? She had witnessed storms before—frightful storms—but none were so powerful as to shake the very ground. None were so terrifying that they left the birds fleeing in terror. But all questions were second to one: Where were her kids?
"Aoife? Luc?" she called, taking a step out into the courtyard of the hamlet. "Elbhlin? Fleur?"
An alien dread coiled around her heart with each passing second, strangling her lungs as she resumed her frantic calls out for her children. She checked the second cottage where the older children slept, but found nothing. The chicken coop was next, but, again, nothing but a mess of feathers and broken eggs, and several beady dark eyes staring blankly at her in the far corner. The chickens were fine. At least she hoped. Terrified but fine.
It was when she approached the barn, however, calling her kids' names, she found the first sign of them as a small voice called back. "Tiffa?"
Tiffania perked up. "William? Is that you?"
She rushed inside the barn, finding the place an utter stye. Tools had fallen from their hooks; supplies had spilled onto the floor. Och, what a mess! But there, peeking out from a mass of hay, was, unmistakably, William—one of her younger wards. An Alban boy whose parents perished in the civil war and was left to fend for himself. One of several victims of the senseless violence.
The moment he saw her, and she saw him, he took off, sprinting into her arms—tears streaming down his face as he collided into her, wailing. She was about to ask where the others were when two other figures cried out in crushing relief—"Tiffa!"—and piled on. The twins. Octavius and Latvia. Urchins, who ran away from the abuse of the church-sanctioned orphanage in Dun Eideann.
Three of nine.
She half-hoped that the rest would come crawling out of the wood-work and into her arms, but none other came. So she focused on the three at hand, whispering words of comfort and besetting them with questions: Are you okay? Is anyone hurt? Where are the others?
For the most part, the three were fine. Shaken up, scared out of their wits, but fine. They had hidden under the workshop table when the ground started shaking and things started falling from the walls. But once she got to the all-important question, the three froze. "Where are the others?" she repeated, suddenly feeling like they were hiding something from her and suddenly fearing their answer.
"I—I don't know," said Octavius, sniffing as his eyes resumed watering, snot dribbling down his lip.
Tiffnia wanted to comfort the poor boy, to tell him everything was going to be alright. But it wasn't alright. Six kids were unaccounted for, and she needed to know where they were. "Please, just tell me where you saw them last."
"I—Aoife," began Latvia. "Aoife and the others. They—they went hunting."
Tiffania's stomach rolled violently, her body freezing. "Hunting? What? What are you talking about?" Her breathing began to quicken, a pain growing in her chest. "What—where—where did they go? When did they leave?"
The children cowed, guilty, afraid. She forced herself to calm, steadied her breath. They were kids. The oldest was barely eleven. "I don't know," said William. "An hour ago? They went east, towards the mountains."
"Okay. Okay." Tiffania took a deep breath and got up. Looking at the twins, she told them to go to the big house. "Stay there and don't come out, until one of us comes home. Okay?"
"Aye, Tiffa," the two dutifully replied, and quickly took off.
"William." The boy perked up. "Come with me. We've got to find them."
He nodded, scared, but trying to put on a brave face.
Knowing what needed to be done, the pair quickly got ready—grabbing some sensible boots, some rope, and some medical supplies in case anyone was hurt. Tiffania also made sure to grab her wand. And with that, she set out into the forest with William following dutifully behind.
The Westwoods were dense, with trees as thick as men. The canopy only allowed a few slivers of light to reach the forest floor. It would've been beautiful—the beams of light shining down onto the detritus below, and she found the crunch of leaves, branches, and all sorts of vegetation a relaxing sound. But not now. Now, nothing mattered more than finding her children.
Hunting, she seethed out of frustration. Hunting! What were they thinking! "Why did nobody tell me they were going out?" she asked William. "You all know the rules. If I'm home, tell me when you're leaving the village."
"I'm sorry," murmured William, trailing behind with tear-stained cheeks.
Tiffania grimaced. It was unfair. She shouldn't be taking out her frustration on him. "It's not your fault. The others are older and should've known better."
"They wanted to surprise you," William continued. "It was supposed to be a surprise."
"What surprise?" Tiffania pressed, never taking her eyes off the ground. She didn't want to trip over a stray root or fall into the crags littered about the land.
"They wanted to make you a special dinner. For your birthday."
Tiffania paused, brow knitting together. Was it…? "Oh." So it was. A touching idea, and she would've accepted the rule breaking hadn't today been so lousy. So, she ignored that for now and focused on finding her wayward children.
Tiffania's throat hurt, and she was sure William's did, too. They had been out wandering the forest for an hour, if she were to guess, and they hadn't seen any sign of her children. It was just an endless forest for as far as she could see.
But she wouldn't give up. Not while the sun was still in the sky. And so she and William continued their search, calling out for the missing six, hoping beyond hope she would find them.
The minutes continued to tick by, and soon two hours had passed. William was looking more and more worse for wear, and Tiffania wondered how long she could keep this up before she'd need to return the boy home.
But… she needed him. If she got hurt, nobody would know. It's why she demanded that everyone travel in pairs. A trio was ideal. If someone got hurt, they wouldn't be alone. Someone could help. And if both got hurt—well, that's why they always made sure everyone was home by nightfall.
It was unfair, though. Utterly unfair. He was only eleven.
"Damn it all to Hel!" Tiffania snapped, balling her hands into fists. "Gods damn it!"
"Tiffa?" William rasped, looking up at her with sad eyes.
"We—we should go back," she said, hating the words leaving her lips. "We'll check and see if any of them got home while we're out and rest up before we head out again."
William looked like he was ready to argue, but he sighed and hung his head. So, the pair turned back and began walking home. Defeated.
About a minute after they decided to leave, however, Tiffania's ears perked. She stopped, tilting her head. And there it was again. Something, just at the edge of hearing.
"Tiffa?" William looked up at the woman who had almost become a mother to him, confused.
Tiffania held a finger to her lips—"Shh."—and strained her hearing as best she could.
There. North. She could hear it. "—fa! Ti—fa!"
It was one of her kids. Her kids! "Tiffa!" It was faint. So faint she almost didn't believe her own ears. "Tiffa! Anyone! Please!" Luc. That was Luc. She would recognize the thick Tristinian accent anywhere.
Twisting on the spot, she cupped her mouth and screamed as loud as she could: "Luc! Luc! I'm over here!"
"Tiffa!" Another voice. Eumann. They were to the north, and they were getting closer.
Her heart thumped in her ear, and without thinking she swept William up into her arms and took off running in the direction of their voices. "Luc! Eumann! I'm over here!"
She bobbed and weaved, running through the forest with rejuvenated energy, navigating through the underbrush with practiced ease. "Tiffa! Tiffa!" They were getting closer, ever closer. And soon—there. She saw them between the trees, exhausted but utterly relieved. "Oh, Tiffa! Thank the Saints we found you!"
"Are you two all right? Where are the others?"
"We're fine," Eumann replied—a tall man and second oldest of the brood. "But Aoife. Tiffa, you gotta come quick."
Luc continued. "She—she fell. Hurt her leg. The rest—the rest are there. We got her out, but—but… it's bad."
"Okay, okay." None of them were dead. Yet. That was good. That was good. She needed to get to Aoife immediately but… William. "Eumann, take William. Get him back to the village and stay there. We should be back by noon."
Eumann nodded, and she let William down to follow him home. Now only two, Tiffania followed Luc to the others, walking as quickly as she could despite how her legs ached.
The trek was about half an hour before they found them. Elbhlin, Aoife, Fleur, and Caomhainn, along with a few dead rabbits. They were all there, sitting by a crack in the ground. A shallow cavern. A new one at that, if the sharpness of the rock and lack of overgrowth was any indication. Tiffania could imagine what had happened, and it wasn't pretty. The ground itself swallowing people up usually wasn't.
Tiffania rushed to Aoife's side, slipping the bag of medicinal supplies off her back, and beginning to treat the wounds. A fracture, they told her. And a nasty cut. The kids had done an admirable job with makeshift bandages (torn strips of tunic), but they hadn't done anything about the bone. If they wanted to get her back home, they'd need to deal with that first.
Carefully removing the bandages, she disinfected the gash with some alcohol and applied something cleaner. Splints were tougher. They didn't have anything suitable on hand, but the forest was filled with wood. They'd make do. Some thick branches would be good. Fortunately, Fluer was a mage—a better mage than Tiffania—and could cut decently sized branches from the trees. Alright for now, until they got home.
With that done, Aoife was all patched up. Tiffania breathed a sigh of relief and turned to Fluer. "I've stabilized her leg. You should be able to carry her back home, okay?"
She nodded again, squeezing her wand tight in hand.
Tiffania continued. "The rest of you, when she's in the air, I need you to guide her back home, okay? We don't want Fleur getting exhausted, all right? And we don't want her to accidentally drop Aoife."
The rest chorused their agreement, and—on the count of three—Fleur cast a simple levitation spell, lifting Aoife from the ground, as the others began guiding her back home.
The next two hours were long and gruelling. Sure, it was easier getting back, but she still had to deal with nine children in various states of upset. The cottage dining room needed to be—and not for the first time and certainly not the last—transformed into a temporary medical facility. And there was Aoife's wounds to deal with. Properly this time. Fortunately, they had the supplies. It wasn't the first fracture she'd dealt with and she was getting quite good at it, even if her only teacher was a stolen book on the subject.
Soon enough, Aoife's leg was in right shape and properly triaged, and everyone was blissfully quiet.
"I hoped you all learned a valuable lesson today," Tiffania said, collapsing on her Chair, too tired to put on the airs of a Disappointed Parent. "What if the shaking had been worse? What if you all weren't so lucky? What if the ground had opened up and swallowed you all whole?" As much as she wanted to hold what little hardness she could muster, to teach her kids that, no matter how sweet an idea might be, safety comes first, she couldn't. Looking at their tired, guilty faces, her heart melted. She sighed and tried to smile. "Just. Please. Please. Tell me before you go out. I don't want anyone getting hurt again."
"Aye, Tiffa," the nine chorused. None were willing to argue. Not today, at least.
They all lapsed into an uneasy and exhausted quiet. They were all too tired, both physically and emotionally, to do anything but lounge about like lazy cats. That is, until someone decided to break the silence with a question nobody had been willing to voice, yet.
"What happened?" Fleur asked. "What was the shaking?"
"I—" Tiffania hesitated. She honestly had no idea what happened. Young as she was, she had never experienced anything like this before. And she hated not knowing. One of hers had gotten hurt and she couldn't even tell them why. "I don't know."
But I plan on finding out.
Hours later, Tiffania was up in her room getting changed. She needed information and she needed it now. It didn't matter how tired she was. It didn't matter how much she just wanted to curl up on the couch and spend time with her kids. She needed to know what happened and, well, they needed supplies. There was no way of knowing if such an event, such a disaster, would happen again.
So, she picked out a nice and thick blue dress and a large cloak to keep warm, stowed her wand in her sleeve, and strapped a dagger to her waist, and plucked a scarf from her collection—an exotic purple thing she had gotten for a birthday in years past—and tied her hair up elaborately. As much as she loved the aesthetic, there was also a pragmatic side to her little headscarf.
Tiffania was an elf. A half-elf. And while her children knew and didn't care, the rest of Alba—the rest of the Brimiric nations at that—did have a problem. So, it was probably for the best that nobody found out. Though, it was a pain to make sure her ears were snug and securely hidden beneath the fabric.
When she got downstairs, she found most of her kids lounging in the dining room. Someone had made tea and it seemed they were all trying to distract themselves, whether by game or by book. But once she entered, they all turned to look at her.
"Are you sure you want to go alone?" Caomhainn asked, sounding frightened by the very proposition. The rest seemed to share his apprehension.
Tiffania sighed and nodded. "Yes. I'm not arguing this. I want you all here, save and sound."
It was clear they didn't like her decision. She wouldn't either. It was down right hypocritical, but she didn't think her heart could take her kids being in danger again. Nevertheless, they seemed to accept it. "Fleur's in charge," she continued. "Nobody is to leave the village. I'll be back by sundown."
The kids all nodded. "Please stay safe," said Luc.
"Don't worry. I will."
Dun Eideann was a few hours away, at least by horseback. If nothing went wrong, she'd be home with an hour or two of sunlight to spare. But, if anything were to slow her down it was the damned forest itself. Leading a horse through the winding paths was hard enough, but she had just spent the last hour calming Svadilfari down after the morning's fiasco. At least it was easier than calming the chickens—she'd have to thank Eumann and Elbhlin for doing that.
But once she was free from the forest's grasp, there lay the Deira highway—a great and ancient cobblestone road built thousands of years ago by the first Alban kings. It stretched from Eabhraig through Dun Eideann and up to the north-most port-city of Ros Fhobh. Dun Eideann was still hours away, but she would be able to kick up her legs, so to speak, and enjoy the ride.
It was peaceful, beautiful, and the sun above had warmed the land to a comfortable degree. A few years previous, she might've had to worry about bandits and other highwaymen causing problems, but they were no longer a problem, at least in this part of Alba. Now, the roads were free for merchants and couriers and travellers of all sorts, and even though she was always uncomfortable under the eyes of the law—well, she certainly did feel safer as she passed a few patrolling soldiers, out looking to make sure the road was safe to travel.
After a few hours travelling down the winding road, Dun Eideann (or Saxe-Gotha to the ruling nobility) came into view in all its glory. A beautiful and ancient city of stone built into the mountains itself. Legend held that the first brick had been laid by Brimir himself—and that fact alone would've made it a popular destination for pilgrims of all kinds. However, with Antonius' Wall and the ranges around, it was also a strategic stronghold and a centre of commerce for the surrounding settlements, from Obar Dheathain to Glaschu. Between it and Lunnainn, it was perhaps one of the richer cities of the entire kingdom. Or, should she say "republic."
Even if the civil war was still inconclusive, everyone knew the royalists were on their last legs. Their sympathisers were being hunted, the royals themselves were under siege in Newcastle-sur-le-Tyne, and while she loved the idea that peace would return. Well, the war left a bitter taste in her mouth, and not just because the republic was built on the backs of zealots.
Still, as cautious she was whenever travelling into the cities, she couldn't help but be beset with a strange nostalgia. She had grown up in the city. Kind of. And through all the bad, Dun Eideann held a special place in her heart. And it was hard to ignore that the city was simply gorgeous with grand walls, spire-like towers, and colourful brick homes atop terraces carved from the mountain itself.
Once she reached the gates, she quickly navigated her way to the stables to stow her horse. After paying the fee, she entered and quickly made her way down the main streets toward the markets, unwilling to be distracted by anything else.
Yet, as she shopped, she put an ear out for gossip, hoping to figure out what happened without actually speaking to anyone. And true enough, the city was abuzz, either whispering conspiratorially or boisoriously discussing the morning's events. People complained about broken valuables, cracks in their walls, and the horrid lightning. Apparently, the disaster had been more destructive than she first thought. I'll have to ask Luc about repairs tonight…
More, though, nobody seemed entirely sure what happened outside of knowing something happened. Everyone's imaginations came out in full strength, each explanation more wild than the next.
"I heard that the continent is to blame for it all."
"Cromwell was right! They're all rife with heresy. Surely this is a sign Ailoresgyniad is a just cause!"
"I heard it was an elven attack, right in the Tristainian heartland!"
"Really? How do you think they snuck across the border?"
"Romalia snuck them in, of course. Heretical bastards…"
"Elf attack? Pah! Methinks they struck a deal with those demons. It wasn't an attack on them, it was an attack on us! Trying to knock Alban out of the sky!"
"I mean, isn't it the Springtime Familiar Summoning today? Maybe something—"
"The End is Nigh! We must repent! We must take back the Holy Lands! I call on ye, take up arms! We must fulfill the prophecy as Saint Cromwell the Redeemer decrees! The Void shall consume our ancient enemies! No cost too great! Repent! Repent and take back the Holy Lands!"
Tiffania took that as her cue to leave. By that point she had bought everything she needed (and a bit extra) and she didn't want to see what would happen if the zealout started drawing a crowd. She had a nightmare of being singled out by such madmen, pegged as an elf for some asinine reason or other. They were right, of course, but them being right only meant there was a pot of boiling oil in her future (assuming her brain couldn't conjure something worse).
Quickly, making sure to avoid the zealot as much as possible, Tiffania pushed through the growing crowds and off toward the gate, trying to make herself as small and as unnoticeable as possible. Without much care for niceties, she took back her horse, packed her supplies into her saddle bags—the medicines, bandages, alcohol, chicken feed, and some Tristian pastries—and took off before anyone could stop her.
Only once the city was beyond her sight did she calm down and take a breath. It was overwhelming, not just the borderline conspiracy, but the city itself. She loved Dun Eideann, she truly did, but it could never outweigh the growing unease she had whenever out in a crowd. Especially these days. No, she preferred the peace and quiet and acceptance of her little hamlet.
But at least she now knew something. Whatever happened it probably started on the continent. Hopefully, this meant it would stay on the continent, unlikely as it was.
Still, at the very least the evening still looked beautiful. She always loved the provincial landscapes—the trees, the mountains, the clouds above. It was simply breathtaking. Especially on Alba, floating high in the sky near the continent.
But her reprieve wouldn't last.
She was just coming up around a corner. The road skirted around the southern tip of the Westwood forest—too far away to properly dismount and begin the trek through the woods. Her eyes were out, looking off at a glen that meandered down to the airy coast, when she heard it. Faint at first but growing closer.
The sounds of a horse. No, a few horses. Their hooves loud, clattering against the cobblestone highway in a full sprint. Instinctively, Tiffania looked behind her, but as far as she could see there was nobody. She hesitated, pulling the reins to slow down. Svadilfari huffed, his own hooves clattering against the ground nervously. They were getting closer, whoever they were. Closer and closer and she still couldn't make out who they were or what they wanted.
Tiffania had half a mind to dismount and pull Svadilfari into the forest where they'd be safe, but before she could make up her mind, around the corner came a spotted white horse sprinting furiously.
The two horses met and promptly panicked out. Tiffania was almost thrown off but held on for dear life as Svadlfari backed up, trying not to be run over.
Whoever was riding the other horse wasn't so lucky. He fell off with a yelp, hitting the ground hard, before his horse began sprinting away. It was a young man. Almost as young as she. His clothes were fine, robes of azure, clearly expensive. And in his hand was a wooden wand. A noble. A noble's son, at least. And he was afraid.
But before anything could be said or done, three other horsemen and a wolf came charging around the corner—though these men had the brains to halt before they suffered the same fate. And once Tiffania saw them, all she could do was gawk.
They were soldiers. She could tell just by how they held themselves. Yet, they weren't any ordinary Albani soldier. These men wore no helmet, revealing bald scalps tattooed with inscriptions she knew to be scripture. Two wielded swords, the third a simple black wand—their leader. And they were dressed in chainmail with a white monastic scapular fitted over top, a black rune embroidered in the centre—the Tir rune.
"Oh," Tiffania muttered. They were Cromwell's men. His inquisitors. "Mac na galla…"
"Halt in the name of the Holy Cromwell the Redeemer!" the mage inquisitor barked, words seeping with zeal. He lowered his wand, pointing at the boy.
The boy clutched his own wand tight, hyperventilating. His eyes darted about, briefly looking up and meeting Tiffania's own. And the moment their eyes met, she could see his fear—pure and blinding—but also rage and despair. There was blood on his face. Blood on his clothes, too.
"Lass, this is none of your concern," the man said as what must've been his lupine familiar approached, growling menacingly. "This is the business of the Ailoresgyniad. You are free to go. But this man is a traitor to our Holy Republic."
Tiffania suddenly found herself with a choice.
She could nod her head and continue her day as if she hadn't seen anything. The noble's son would be taken into custody, and he would be tortured and executed publicly for his parent's crimes, unless he renounced his titles and pledged undying loyalty to Cromwell.
Or she could step in. She could save the boy.
Taking a deep breath, she hoped she wouldn't regret her decision. Nodding her head, as if to agree to the inquisitor's command, she slipped her hand beneath her sleeve and—in a single fluid motion—pulled her wand free and pointed it centre-chest of the mage. "Fyr!"
Now, even though Tiffania was a mage, she wasn't a very good one. In fact, she felt like she was probably the worst mage to have ever lived. There was only one spell she could cast. One single spell. At least, only one she could cast successfully. Everything else ended with an explosion. Some spells ended in a catastrophic explosion—one that could render trees into little more than splinters—while others would simply blast a man off her feet.
It was annoying. Made chores harder around the village. What she would give if she were a half-way competent water mage. Patching her family up would be far less of a pain, and so would the cleaning and the gardening and so much else!
But here? Today? At this very moment? Well, an explosion seemed just the thing.
The second the short incantation left her lips, there was a brief pause where nothing happened. Then—CRACK!
A ball of pure kinetic energy exploded against the mages chest—not hard enough to seriously injure—but when the horse bucked and panicked, he was thrown to the ground. His men, similarly taken off guard, barely had time to register what had happened before they were bucked off their mounts as well, crashing to the ground painfully. Nearby, the wolf had yelped, agitated, too terrified to act beyond growling by it's master's side..
Tiffania, herself, had to rein in Svadilfari, who too was bordering on a panic. It was a struggle, but she held tight and got him to stay. Still, she knew the inquisitors would only be distracted—disorientated for a moment. So she made every second count. "Go! Run to the forest!" she said, letting sling another explosion.
The boy obeyed immediately, sprinting into the forest to hide. With him gone, and the men distracted, she raised her wand high and began her chant: "Feh, Oz, Rada—"
Two of the soldiers, the ones who hadn't been hit by an exploding spell, rallied as quickly as they could—curses spitting from their lips but unable to do anything else. She was a mage. They weren't. Here, they were nothing but human shields. All they could hope was for their leader to challenge her, distract her, so they could be of use.
"Geofu Iw Eoh—"
The inquisitor, recovering from the blast, began to raise his own wand. But before he could finish his spell…
"Tiw Ac Naod!"
The air stirred around the three like the summer heat above the stone streets and the men and wolf stilled, eyes vacant. A second later, they all seemed to snap out of it. "What—what's going on?" one said, and quickly Tiffania stowed away her wand and put on her best impression of a terrified maiden.
"Sirs, oh noble sirs!" she cried, as hysterically as possible. "Are you okay?"
"We're fine!" cried the inquisitors, dusting themselves off as they pulled themselves from the ground. They looked hurt, though it didn't appear to be anything serious. "What happened?"
"The brigand!" she replied, forcing tears to well in her eyes—her sister always said she was good at that. Certainly a lot of help when begging for food on the streets. "He—he cast some kind of spell! I thought he had killed you all!"
The men grumbled; their dignity obviously wounded. "Which way did he go?" the mage inquisitor demanded all the while the rest went about collecting their spooked horses.
"Towards Dun Eideann, good sirs!" she replied, gesturing to the mountain. "He threatened to kill me if I ever spoke up."
"He was bluffing, lass," he replied, "We'll have him caught and brought to justice."
They left a few moments later, charging off towards the city. Tiffania briefly considered wiping their memories again. She didn't like the idea that they'd seen her. But that would be more trouble than it was worth.
Once the inquisitors were far enough away, Tiffania looked into the forest, searching. Was he still here or did he—Oh, he's still here. She could see the blue of his robes very faintly in the dark, hiding behind a particularly thick tree. Dismounting her own horse, she drew closer until she was just under the canopy, and gestured. "It's clear," she said. "You're safe."
Almost hesitantly, he pulled himself from the tree and approached.
"Thank you, m'lady, for saving me," the boy said, trying to smile yet it looked more like a grimace. "You—you're of noble birth, too?"
Tiffania shrugged, not sure how to answer. "I just know a bit of magic. What matters is that you're safe now."
"Well, thank you again, m'lady." He hesitated, unsure, then bowed once again. "I—I—um. My name is—I am Alwin of Durham, son of Baron Edward of Durham. My family is forever in your debt."
"You—you don't have to do that," TIffania said, now feeling slightly uncomfortable. Formalities weren't something she was used to. "Um. So are you alright? You're not injured or anything?"
"I'm bruised, but fine."
"What about the blood?" she asked. He didn't seem like he was lying, and it didn't look like he was cut.
"Blood?" He pulled at his shirt, spotting the crimson stains on azure cotton. He blinked, staring at it for what seemed like the longest time before he returned her gaze, eyes dimmer than they were moments before. "It… it's my mothers." His face twisted. Agony. Pure agony. Tears welled in his eyes, and he looked as if he were about to break down at any second. "I—My—my family. They—they're dead! They—they killed them! Slaughtered them! They're dead and I—I have nothing. Nowhere to go. Nothing…"
Tiffania could only stand there, awkwardly. He wasn't one of her kids. She couldn't comfort him as she did them. All she could do was stand there and stare, sympathetic. "I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thank you," he said, again, wiping his eyes. "You—you don't have to worry about me. I—my father told me what to do. I'll—I'll find a way to Newcastle. Or—or I could go to the continent. I'll be fine."
Tiffania frowned, knowing what she had to do. In the back of her mind, she knew it was a risk. A stupid risk. But… but her entire life was a risk, and she couldn't just let him go off on his own. It'd be suicide! He didn't even look like he had money, and she wasn't sure he knew how to pass for a commoner to even get where he needed to be. He'd be dead by the week's end. With fidgeting hands, she took a breath and made her offer. "If you want, you could live with me and mine until you're ready."
Alexander blinked. "Really? Wait—I—"
"We live out of the way," she interrupted, "and you'd be safe from any of Cromwell's men. All we would ask is that you help out around the place, and you'd be fed and clothed, and there'd be a place for you to sleep, too."
"Thank you for your kindness, m'lady," he said, bowing deeply again. "I—I would pledge myself—"
"Oh, no you won't!" Tiffania snapped, and Alexander recoiled. "I'm just trying to help," she added, softer. "I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if something happened to you."
"Well, thank you, Miss…" He paused. "Ugh, I didn't catch your name."
"Tiffania," she said. "Though everyone calls me Tifa. Tiffania NicTighearn," she replied, then, before he could continue thanking her, she began saddling up on her Svadilfari. "Hop on. I live just a bit further up the road."
"Really?" he replied. "Towards Saxe-Gotha or…?"
"We were invaded by Germania once," Tiffania replied. She honestly had no idea why the nobility wouldn't go back to the original name. Yes, they'd been conquered for a century or two, but the common folk hadn't forgotten. "Anyway, using the Germanian name does nothing but peg you for a noble, and a sympathiser for the crown. A bad look in these parts."
"Uh, yes. You're right..." he said, as much as it seemed distasteful to him.
Tiffania rolled her eyes. Dun Eideann was a beautiful name!. "Anyway, I live north. Closer to the mountains."
"Oh…" He set about pulling himself up behind her on to the horse. "I didn't notice any villages nearby. How far is it?"
"Of course you didn't notice. It's in the forest."
"Wait. You live in the forest?" She could feel Alexander tense behind her.
"Aye?" she said. "Is that a problem?"
"But—but—but what about the Ban Sidhe? What about the trolls and werewolves?"
Tiffania rolled her eyes. Stupid commoners scaring the stupid nobles with their stupid superstitions! She wondered whether it'd be worth telling him or not, or if it'd just scare him to the point he'd just run away. Nah...
Sighing, she decided to just burn the bridge when she came to it. "There are no werewolves," she replied, trying to be patient with the poor boy. "And the trolls don't come off their mountain. You respect them, they'll respect you—unfortunately, many humans don't respect them, but that's neither here nor there. And the Ban Sidhe is just a silly superstition."
He wasn't convinced. "Are—"
"We're burning daylight, mate," Tiffania replied, a bit impatiently. "If you wanna hop off, go ahead, but I've lived in those forests for half my life and haven't met the Ban Sidhe once—nor any werewolves for that matter. I know my own home."
"If you say so…"
"I do say so." And with that, she spurred the horse forward and back onto the road, mentally preparing herself for the "picking up another stray" jokes that would come. At least Mathilda won't find out until she gets back...
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Deep in the craggy Westwood forest of Alba, near the City of Dun Eideann, lay a long-forgotten hamlet. It was small, consisting of a few wooden buildings nestled in a clearing by the base of the Labhair Mountains.
A well sat in the centre, old yet well maintained with a fresh spring of water flowing deep beneath. To the northeast, a barn of decent size filled with tools, wood, and supplies, and a makeshift workshop nestled in a cosy little corner where leathers were tanned, arrows crafted, and clothes repaired. Beside the barn, to the southeast, was a cottage, big enough for a large family to live in comfortably—two storeys tall, not counting the attic, with whitewashed walls and grey tile roofing.
There was also a chicken coop, fenced in wire to keep the foxes and wolves out; a stable, though only one horse lived within its wooden walls; another, smaller, cottage repurposed for more bedding; a garden filled with flowers and herbs of all sorts; and an outhouse, further away from the rest of the hamlet.
Few knew of the hamlet's existence. Fewer still knew where it was. The lands around it was treacherous to the unfamiliar, and the mountains was home to trolls. Locals knew delving too deep into the Westwoods was almost always a death sentence. But, lately, other rumours started to spread about the forest. Rumours that it was home to the fair folk, ancient first-born who vanished a time after Founder Brimir first stepped foot on the White Isle—specifically one the locals call the Ban Sidhe.
There was no proof of these claims, though. At the most it was old tales of wayward travellers and delinquents delving into the forest. They would reappear days, even weeks later—well fed and clothed—but without any memory of what happened. Most were quite adamant that they had only wandered between the trees for a few hours at the most.
The rumours were true, of course. Sort of, at least. The forests were occupied, and the memory loss was, in fact, due to ancient magics, but not from some story-book faerie. No, it was all the actions of a single young woman: Tiffania NicTighearn. An orphan of barely sixteen years. She and her big sister Mathilda had taken up lodgings in the hamlet and had made it their home. In a way, it was their inheritance, after all. And the memory loss? A spell of her own, cast to keep her home secret from those who would do harm to her, her sister, and, especially, her wards. Her children.
They were orphans, just as she, who Tiffania had taken in so they may live without want for food or shelter. After all, she knew what it was like to fend for herself. And these days, with the civil war ripping Alba apart, times were tough. And, sure, it was hard work raising them. But she had three years' worth of experience, and every day she saw how carefree they were—well, it made everything worth it.
So, when the ground began to rumble one spring morning, rumbling like a furious wyrm, she snapped wide awake and launched out of bed. The first question—What was going on?—was quickly overshadowed as the reality of the situation sunk in. It didn't matter what was going on. The house was shaking, the ground was shaking! Where are the kids? With that single, resounding question in her head, she took off in a sprint, barging out of her room and down the halls. "Children! Children!" she cried. "Where are you?"
The only reply was the boom of thunder above and the terrified wails of birds. Tiffania cowed, every inch of her body screaming for her to hide, to curl up beneath her bed and weather the storm. It was like some dreadful knell that struck something deep and primal inside her mind. Tears came to her eyes, and she whimpered like a terrified child, but she forced herself forward. Her children could be in danger, and she would never forgive herself if she abandoned them.
She peeked out a rattling windows, hoping—yet also terrified—that she would find her kids outside, perhaps running for cover. She didn't. It was dark. Too dark to make anything out but the faint outline of twisting trees and the swirling masses of birds against the grey skies above. It would've been terrifying even if the world wasn't trembling. Her footing felt uneasy. She had only been on an airship once, but the sensation was eminently familiar. Just moving through her house was made almost impossible as she stumbled over the floor, bracing herself against the walls.
All the while, she continued screaming out for her kids, barely able to hear herself over the cacophony blaring outside. And by the time she reached the atrium on the first floor, she had seen no hide nor hair of them. Their bedrooms were empty, the study devoid of life. She wasn't even sure if they were inside or elsewhere in Westwood.
She hesitated; hand outstretched toward the door. Do I leave? Do I stay? There wasn't a right answer and she felt as if it was life or death.
And in that second it took to decide, the world suddenly stilled.
The birds continued their hellish scream, the thunder still booming overhead, but the shaking had stopped. It was almost jarring.
Hesitantly, Tiffania opened the front door and looked around. The sky was still dark, birds still flying, trees still swaying. Thunder continued booming overhead, but it was the final roar of a mighty beast and the world slowly returned to normal.
The clouds parted and bathed the land in morning light.
By this point Tiffania had no idea what was going on. What had just happened? She had witnessed storms before—frightful storms—but none were so powerful as to shake the very ground. None were so terrifying that they left the birds fleeing in terror. But all questions were second to one: Where were her kids?
"Aoife? Luc?" she called, taking a step out into the courtyard of the hamlet. "Elbhlin? Fleur?"
An alien dread coiled around her heart with each passing second, strangling her lungs as she resumed her frantic calls out for her children. She checked the second cottage where the older children slept, but found nothing. The chicken coop was next, but, again, nothing but a mess of feathers and broken eggs, and several beady dark eyes staring blankly at her in the far corner. The chickens were fine. At least she hoped. Terrified but fine.
It was when she approached the barn, however, calling her kids' names, she found the first sign of them as a small voice called back. "Tiffa?"
Tiffania perked up. "William? Is that you?"
She rushed inside the barn, finding the place an utter stye. Tools had fallen from their hooks; supplies had spilled onto the floor. Och, what a mess! But there, peeking out from a mass of hay, was, unmistakably, William—one of her younger wards. An Alban boy whose parents perished in the civil war and was left to fend for himself. One of several victims of the senseless violence.
The moment he saw her, and she saw him, he took off, sprinting into her arms—tears streaming down his face as he collided into her, wailing. She was about to ask where the others were when two other figures cried out in crushing relief—"Tiffa!"—and piled on. The twins. Octavius and Latvia. Urchins, who ran away from the abuse of the church-sanctioned orphanage in Dun Eideann.
Three of nine.
She half-hoped that the rest would come crawling out of the wood-work and into her arms, but none other came. So she focused on the three at hand, whispering words of comfort and besetting them with questions: Are you okay? Is anyone hurt? Where are the others?
For the most part, the three were fine. Shaken up, scared out of their wits, but fine. They had hidden under the workshop table when the ground started shaking and things started falling from the walls. But once she got to the all-important question, the three froze. "Where are the others?" she repeated, suddenly feeling like they were hiding something from her and suddenly fearing their answer.
"I—I don't know," said Octavius, sniffing as his eyes resumed watering, snot dribbling down his lip.
Tiffnia wanted to comfort the poor boy, to tell him everything was going to be alright. But it wasn't alright. Six kids were unaccounted for, and she needed to know where they were. "Please, just tell me where you saw them last."
"I—Aoife," began Latvia. "Aoife and the others. They—they went hunting."
Tiffania's stomach rolled violently, her body freezing. "Hunting? What? What are you talking about?" Her breathing began to quicken, a pain growing in her chest. "What—where—where did they go? When did they leave?"
The children cowed, guilty, afraid. She forced herself to calm, steadied her breath. They were kids. The oldest was barely eleven. "I don't know," said William. "An hour ago? They went east, towards the mountains."
"Okay. Okay." Tiffania took a deep breath and got up. Looking at the twins, she told them to go to the big house. "Stay there and don't come out, until one of us comes home. Okay?"
"Aye, Tiffa," the two dutifully replied, and quickly took off.
"William." The boy perked up. "Come with me. We've got to find them."
He nodded, scared, but trying to put on a brave face.
Knowing what needed to be done, the pair quickly got ready—grabbing some sensible boots, some rope, and some medical supplies in case anyone was hurt. Tiffania also made sure to grab her wand. And with that, she set out into the forest with William following dutifully behind.
...
The Westwoods were dense, with trees as thick as men. The canopy only allowed a few slivers of light to reach the forest floor. It would've been beautiful—the beams of light shining down onto the detritus below, and she found the crunch of leaves, branches, and all sorts of vegetation a relaxing sound. But not now. Now, nothing mattered more than finding her children.
Hunting, she seethed out of frustration. Hunting! What were they thinking! "Why did nobody tell me they were going out?" she asked William. "You all know the rules. If I'm home, tell me when you're leaving the village."
"I'm sorry," murmured William, trailing behind with tear-stained cheeks.
Tiffania grimaced. It was unfair. She shouldn't be taking out her frustration on him. "It's not your fault. The others are older and should've known better."
"They wanted to surprise you," William continued. "It was supposed to be a surprise."
"What surprise?" Tiffania pressed, never taking her eyes off the ground. She didn't want to trip over a stray root or fall into the crags littered about the land.
"They wanted to make you a special dinner. For your birthday."
Tiffania paused, brow knitting together. Was it…? "Oh." So it was. A touching idea, and she would've accepted the rule breaking hadn't today been so lousy. So, she ignored that for now and focused on finding her wayward children.
#
"Eumann! Aoife!" "Fleur! Elbhlin!" "Caomhainn! Luc!"
Tiffania's throat hurt, and she was sure William's did, too. They had been out wandering the forest for an hour, if she were to guess, and they hadn't seen any sign of her children. It was just an endless forest for as far as she could see.
But she wouldn't give up. Not while the sun was still in the sky. And so she and William continued their search, calling out for the missing six, hoping beyond hope she would find them.
The minutes continued to tick by, and soon two hours had passed. William was looking more and more worse for wear, and Tiffania wondered how long she could keep this up before she'd need to return the boy home.
But… she needed him. If she got hurt, nobody would know. It's why she demanded that everyone travel in pairs. A trio was ideal. If someone got hurt, they wouldn't be alone. Someone could help. And if both got hurt—well, that's why they always made sure everyone was home by nightfall.
It was unfair, though. Utterly unfair. He was only eleven.
"Damn it all to Hel!" Tiffania snapped, balling her hands into fists. "Gods damn it!"
"Tiffa?" William rasped, looking up at her with sad eyes.
"We—we should go back," she said, hating the words leaving her lips. "We'll check and see if any of them got home while we're out and rest up before we head out again."
William looked like he was ready to argue, but he sighed and hung his head. So, the pair turned back and began walking home. Defeated.
About a minute after they decided to leave, however, Tiffania's ears perked. She stopped, tilting her head. And there it was again. Something, just at the edge of hearing.
"Tiffa?" William looked up at the woman who had almost become a mother to him, confused.
Tiffania held a finger to her lips—"Shh."—and strained her hearing as best she could.
There. North. She could hear it. "—fa! Ti—fa!"
It was one of her kids. Her kids! "Tiffa!" It was faint. So faint she almost didn't believe her own ears. "Tiffa! Anyone! Please!" Luc. That was Luc. She would recognize the thick Tristinian accent anywhere.
Twisting on the spot, she cupped her mouth and screamed as loud as she could: "Luc! Luc! I'm over here!"
"Tiffa!" Another voice. Eumann. They were to the north, and they were getting closer.
Her heart thumped in her ear, and without thinking she swept William up into her arms and took off running in the direction of their voices. "Luc! Eumann! I'm over here!"
She bobbed and weaved, running through the forest with rejuvenated energy, navigating through the underbrush with practiced ease. "Tiffa! Tiffa!" They were getting closer, ever closer. And soon—there. She saw them between the trees, exhausted but utterly relieved. "Oh, Tiffa! Thank the Saints we found you!"
"Are you two all right? Where are the others?"
"We're fine," Eumann replied—a tall man and second oldest of the brood. "But Aoife. Tiffa, you gotta come quick."
Luc continued. "She—she fell. Hurt her leg. The rest—the rest are there. We got her out, but—but… it's bad."
"Okay, okay." None of them were dead. Yet. That was good. That was good. She needed to get to Aoife immediately but… William. "Eumann, take William. Get him back to the village and stay there. We should be back by noon."
Eumann nodded, and she let William down to follow him home. Now only two, Tiffania followed Luc to the others, walking as quickly as she could despite how her legs ached.
...
The trek was about half an hour before they found them. Elbhlin, Aoife, Fleur, and Caomhainn, along with a few dead rabbits. They were all there, sitting by a crack in the ground. A shallow cavern. A new one at that, if the sharpness of the rock and lack of overgrowth was any indication. Tiffania could imagine what had happened, and it wasn't pretty. The ground itself swallowing people up usually wasn't.
Tiffania rushed to Aoife's side, slipping the bag of medicinal supplies off her back, and beginning to treat the wounds. A fracture, they told her. And a nasty cut. The kids had done an admirable job with makeshift bandages (torn strips of tunic), but they hadn't done anything about the bone. If they wanted to get her back home, they'd need to deal with that first.
Carefully removing the bandages, she disinfected the gash with some alcohol and applied something cleaner. Splints were tougher. They didn't have anything suitable on hand, but the forest was filled with wood. They'd make do. Some thick branches would be good. Fortunately, Fluer was a mage—a better mage than Tiffania—and could cut decently sized branches from the trees. Alright for now, until they got home.
With that done, Aoife was all patched up. Tiffania breathed a sigh of relief and turned to Fluer. "I've stabilized her leg. You should be able to carry her back home, okay?"
She nodded again, squeezing her wand tight in hand.
Tiffania continued. "The rest of you, when she's in the air, I need you to guide her back home, okay? We don't want Fleur getting exhausted, all right? And we don't want her to accidentally drop Aoife."
The rest chorused their agreement, and—on the count of three—Fleur cast a simple levitation spell, lifting Aoife from the ground, as the others began guiding her back home.
...
The next two hours were long and gruelling. Sure, it was easier getting back, but she still had to deal with nine children in various states of upset. The cottage dining room needed to be—and not for the first time and certainly not the last—transformed into a temporary medical facility. And there was Aoife's wounds to deal with. Properly this time. Fortunately, they had the supplies. It wasn't the first fracture she'd dealt with and she was getting quite good at it, even if her only teacher was a stolen book on the subject.
Soon enough, Aoife's leg was in right shape and properly triaged, and everyone was blissfully quiet.
"I hoped you all learned a valuable lesson today," Tiffania said, collapsing on her Chair, too tired to put on the airs of a Disappointed Parent. "What if the shaking had been worse? What if you all weren't so lucky? What if the ground had opened up and swallowed you all whole?" As much as she wanted to hold what little hardness she could muster, to teach her kids that, no matter how sweet an idea might be, safety comes first, she couldn't. Looking at their tired, guilty faces, her heart melted. She sighed and tried to smile. "Just. Please. Please. Tell me before you go out. I don't want anyone getting hurt again."
"Aye, Tiffa," the nine chorused. None were willing to argue. Not today, at least.
They all lapsed into an uneasy and exhausted quiet. They were all too tired, both physically and emotionally, to do anything but lounge about like lazy cats. That is, until someone decided to break the silence with a question nobody had been willing to voice, yet.
"What happened?" Fleur asked. "What was the shaking?"
"I—" Tiffania hesitated. She honestly had no idea what happened. Young as she was, she had never experienced anything like this before. And she hated not knowing. One of hers had gotten hurt and she couldn't even tell them why. "I don't know."
But I plan on finding out.
...
Hours later, Tiffania was up in her room getting changed. She needed information and she needed it now. It didn't matter how tired she was. It didn't matter how much she just wanted to curl up on the couch and spend time with her kids. She needed to know what happened and, well, they needed supplies. There was no way of knowing if such an event, such a disaster, would happen again.
So, she picked out a nice and thick blue dress and a large cloak to keep warm, stowed her wand in her sleeve, and strapped a dagger to her waist, and plucked a scarf from her collection—an exotic purple thing she had gotten for a birthday in years past—and tied her hair up elaborately. As much as she loved the aesthetic, there was also a pragmatic side to her little headscarf.
Tiffania was an elf. A half-elf. And while her children knew and didn't care, the rest of Alba—the rest of the Brimiric nations at that—did have a problem. So, it was probably for the best that nobody found out. Though, it was a pain to make sure her ears were snug and securely hidden beneath the fabric.
When she got downstairs, she found most of her kids lounging in the dining room. Someone had made tea and it seemed they were all trying to distract themselves, whether by game or by book. But once she entered, they all turned to look at her.
"Are you sure you want to go alone?" Caomhainn asked, sounding frightened by the very proposition. The rest seemed to share his apprehension.
Tiffania sighed and nodded. "Yes. I'm not arguing this. I want you all here, save and sound."
It was clear they didn't like her decision. She wouldn't either. It was down right hypocritical, but she didn't think her heart could take her kids being in danger again. Nevertheless, they seemed to accept it. "Fleur's in charge," she continued. "Nobody is to leave the village. I'll be back by sundown."
The kids all nodded. "Please stay safe," said Luc.
"Don't worry. I will."
...
Dun Eideann was a few hours away, at least by horseback. If nothing went wrong, she'd be home with an hour or two of sunlight to spare. But, if anything were to slow her down it was the damned forest itself. Leading a horse through the winding paths was hard enough, but she had just spent the last hour calming Svadilfari down after the morning's fiasco. At least it was easier than calming the chickens—she'd have to thank Eumann and Elbhlin for doing that.
But once she was free from the forest's grasp, there lay the Deira highway—a great and ancient cobblestone road built thousands of years ago by the first Alban kings. It stretched from Eabhraig through Dun Eideann and up to the north-most port-city of Ros Fhobh. Dun Eideann was still hours away, but she would be able to kick up her legs, so to speak, and enjoy the ride.
It was peaceful, beautiful, and the sun above had warmed the land to a comfortable degree. A few years previous, she might've had to worry about bandits and other highwaymen causing problems, but they were no longer a problem, at least in this part of Alba. Now, the roads were free for merchants and couriers and travellers of all sorts, and even though she was always uncomfortable under the eyes of the law—well, she certainly did feel safer as she passed a few patrolling soldiers, out looking to make sure the road was safe to travel.
After a few hours travelling down the winding road, Dun Eideann (or Saxe-Gotha to the ruling nobility) came into view in all its glory. A beautiful and ancient city of stone built into the mountains itself. Legend held that the first brick had been laid by Brimir himself—and that fact alone would've made it a popular destination for pilgrims of all kinds. However, with Antonius' Wall and the ranges around, it was also a strategic stronghold and a centre of commerce for the surrounding settlements, from Obar Dheathain to Glaschu. Between it and Lunnainn, it was perhaps one of the richer cities of the entire kingdom. Or, should she say "republic."
Even if the civil war was still inconclusive, everyone knew the royalists were on their last legs. Their sympathisers were being hunted, the royals themselves were under siege in Newcastle-sur-le-Tyne, and while she loved the idea that peace would return. Well, the war left a bitter taste in her mouth, and not just because the republic was built on the backs of zealots.
Still, as cautious she was whenever travelling into the cities, she couldn't help but be beset with a strange nostalgia. She had grown up in the city. Kind of. And through all the bad, Dun Eideann held a special place in her heart. And it was hard to ignore that the city was simply gorgeous with grand walls, spire-like towers, and colourful brick homes atop terraces carved from the mountain itself.
Once she reached the gates, she quickly navigated her way to the stables to stow her horse. After paying the fee, she entered and quickly made her way down the main streets toward the markets, unwilling to be distracted by anything else.
Yet, as she shopped, she put an ear out for gossip, hoping to figure out what happened without actually speaking to anyone. And true enough, the city was abuzz, either whispering conspiratorially or boisoriously discussing the morning's events. People complained about broken valuables, cracks in their walls, and the horrid lightning. Apparently, the disaster had been more destructive than she first thought. I'll have to ask Luc about repairs tonight…
More, though, nobody seemed entirely sure what happened outside of knowing something happened. Everyone's imaginations came out in full strength, each explanation more wild than the next.
"I heard that the continent is to blame for it all."
"Cromwell was right! They're all rife with heresy. Surely this is a sign Ailoresgyniad is a just cause!"
"I heard it was an elven attack, right in the Tristainian heartland!"
"Really? How do you think they snuck across the border?"
"Romalia snuck them in, of course. Heretical bastards…"
"Elf attack? Pah! Methinks they struck a deal with those demons. It wasn't an attack on them, it was an attack on us! Trying to knock Alban out of the sky!"
"I mean, isn't it the Springtime Familiar Summoning today? Maybe something—"
"The End is Nigh! We must repent! We must take back the Holy Lands! I call on ye, take up arms! We must fulfill the prophecy as Saint Cromwell the Redeemer decrees! The Void shall consume our ancient enemies! No cost too great! Repent! Repent and take back the Holy Lands!"
Tiffania took that as her cue to leave. By that point she had bought everything she needed (and a bit extra) and she didn't want to see what would happen if the zealout started drawing a crowd. She had a nightmare of being singled out by such madmen, pegged as an elf for some asinine reason or other. They were right, of course, but them being right only meant there was a pot of boiling oil in her future (assuming her brain couldn't conjure something worse).
Quickly, making sure to avoid the zealot as much as possible, Tiffania pushed through the growing crowds and off toward the gate, trying to make herself as small and as unnoticeable as possible. Without much care for niceties, she took back her horse, packed her supplies into her saddle bags—the medicines, bandages, alcohol, chicken feed, and some Tristian pastries—and took off before anyone could stop her.
Only once the city was beyond her sight did she calm down and take a breath. It was overwhelming, not just the borderline conspiracy, but the city itself. She loved Dun Eideann, she truly did, but it could never outweigh the growing unease she had whenever out in a crowd. Especially these days. No, she preferred the peace and quiet and acceptance of her little hamlet.
But at least she now knew something. Whatever happened it probably started on the continent. Hopefully, this meant it would stay on the continent, unlikely as it was.
Still, at the very least the evening still looked beautiful. She always loved the provincial landscapes—the trees, the mountains, the clouds above. It was simply breathtaking. Especially on Alba, floating high in the sky near the continent.
But her reprieve wouldn't last.
She was just coming up around a corner. The road skirted around the southern tip of the Westwood forest—too far away to properly dismount and begin the trek through the woods. Her eyes were out, looking off at a glen that meandered down to the airy coast, when she heard it. Faint at first but growing closer.
The sounds of a horse. No, a few horses. Their hooves loud, clattering against the cobblestone highway in a full sprint. Instinctively, Tiffania looked behind her, but as far as she could see there was nobody. She hesitated, pulling the reins to slow down. Svadilfari huffed, his own hooves clattering against the ground nervously. They were getting closer, whoever they were. Closer and closer and she still couldn't make out who they were or what they wanted.
Tiffania had half a mind to dismount and pull Svadilfari into the forest where they'd be safe, but before she could make up her mind, around the corner came a spotted white horse sprinting furiously.
The two horses met and promptly panicked out. Tiffania was almost thrown off but held on for dear life as Svadlfari backed up, trying not to be run over.
Whoever was riding the other horse wasn't so lucky. He fell off with a yelp, hitting the ground hard, before his horse began sprinting away. It was a young man. Almost as young as she. His clothes were fine, robes of azure, clearly expensive. And in his hand was a wooden wand. A noble. A noble's son, at least. And he was afraid.
But before anything could be said or done, three other horsemen and a wolf came charging around the corner—though these men had the brains to halt before they suffered the same fate. And once Tiffania saw them, all she could do was gawk.
They were soldiers. She could tell just by how they held themselves. Yet, they weren't any ordinary Albani soldier. These men wore no helmet, revealing bald scalps tattooed with inscriptions she knew to be scripture. Two wielded swords, the third a simple black wand—their leader. And they were dressed in chainmail with a white monastic scapular fitted over top, a black rune embroidered in the centre—the Tir rune.
"Oh," Tiffania muttered. They were Cromwell's men. His inquisitors. "Mac na galla…"
"Halt in the name of the Holy Cromwell the Redeemer!" the mage inquisitor barked, words seeping with zeal. He lowered his wand, pointing at the boy.
The boy clutched his own wand tight, hyperventilating. His eyes darted about, briefly looking up and meeting Tiffania's own. And the moment their eyes met, she could see his fear—pure and blinding—but also rage and despair. There was blood on his face. Blood on his clothes, too.
"Lass, this is none of your concern," the man said as what must've been his lupine familiar approached, growling menacingly. "This is the business of the Ailoresgyniad. You are free to go. But this man is a traitor to our Holy Republic."
Tiffania suddenly found herself with a choice.
She could nod her head and continue her day as if she hadn't seen anything. The noble's son would be taken into custody, and he would be tortured and executed publicly for his parent's crimes, unless he renounced his titles and pledged undying loyalty to Cromwell.
Or she could step in. She could save the boy.
Taking a deep breath, she hoped she wouldn't regret her decision. Nodding her head, as if to agree to the inquisitor's command, she slipped her hand beneath her sleeve and—in a single fluid motion—pulled her wand free and pointed it centre-chest of the mage. "Fyr!"
Now, even though Tiffania was a mage, she wasn't a very good one. In fact, she felt like she was probably the worst mage to have ever lived. There was only one spell she could cast. One single spell. At least, only one she could cast successfully. Everything else ended with an explosion. Some spells ended in a catastrophic explosion—one that could render trees into little more than splinters—while others would simply blast a man off her feet.
It was annoying. Made chores harder around the village. What she would give if she were a half-way competent water mage. Patching her family up would be far less of a pain, and so would the cleaning and the gardening and so much else!
But here? Today? At this very moment? Well, an explosion seemed just the thing.
The second the short incantation left her lips, there was a brief pause where nothing happened. Then—CRACK!
A ball of pure kinetic energy exploded against the mages chest—not hard enough to seriously injure—but when the horse bucked and panicked, he was thrown to the ground. His men, similarly taken off guard, barely had time to register what had happened before they were bucked off their mounts as well, crashing to the ground painfully. Nearby, the wolf had yelped, agitated, too terrified to act beyond growling by it's master's side..
Tiffania, herself, had to rein in Svadilfari, who too was bordering on a panic. It was a struggle, but she held tight and got him to stay. Still, she knew the inquisitors would only be distracted—disorientated for a moment. So she made every second count. "Go! Run to the forest!" she said, letting sling another explosion.
The boy obeyed immediately, sprinting into the forest to hide. With him gone, and the men distracted, she raised her wand high and began her chant: "Feh, Oz, Rada—"
Two of the soldiers, the ones who hadn't been hit by an exploding spell, rallied as quickly as they could—curses spitting from their lips but unable to do anything else. She was a mage. They weren't. Here, they were nothing but human shields. All they could hope was for their leader to challenge her, distract her, so they could be of use.
"Geofu Iw Eoh—"
The inquisitor, recovering from the blast, began to raise his own wand. But before he could finish his spell…
"Tiw Ac Naod!"
The air stirred around the three like the summer heat above the stone streets and the men and wolf stilled, eyes vacant. A second later, they all seemed to snap out of it. "What—what's going on?" one said, and quickly Tiffania stowed away her wand and put on her best impression of a terrified maiden.
"Sirs, oh noble sirs!" she cried, as hysterically as possible. "Are you okay?"
"We're fine!" cried the inquisitors, dusting themselves off as they pulled themselves from the ground. They looked hurt, though it didn't appear to be anything serious. "What happened?"
"The brigand!" she replied, forcing tears to well in her eyes—her sister always said she was good at that. Certainly a lot of help when begging for food on the streets. "He—he cast some kind of spell! I thought he had killed you all!"
The men grumbled; their dignity obviously wounded. "Which way did he go?" the mage inquisitor demanded all the while the rest went about collecting their spooked horses.
"Towards Dun Eideann, good sirs!" she replied, gesturing to the mountain. "He threatened to kill me if I ever spoke up."
"He was bluffing, lass," he replied, "We'll have him caught and brought to justice."
They left a few moments later, charging off towards the city. Tiffania briefly considered wiping their memories again. She didn't like the idea that they'd seen her. But that would be more trouble than it was worth.
Once the inquisitors were far enough away, Tiffania looked into the forest, searching. Was he still here or did he—Oh, he's still here. She could see the blue of his robes very faintly in the dark, hiding behind a particularly thick tree. Dismounting her own horse, she drew closer until she was just under the canopy, and gestured. "It's clear," she said. "You're safe."
Almost hesitantly, he pulled himself from the tree and approached.
"Thank you, m'lady, for saving me," the boy said, trying to smile yet it looked more like a grimace. "You—you're of noble birth, too?"
Tiffania shrugged, not sure how to answer. "I just know a bit of magic. What matters is that you're safe now."
"Well, thank you again, m'lady." He hesitated, unsure, then bowed once again. "I—I—um. My name is—I am Alwin of Durham, son of Baron Edward of Durham. My family is forever in your debt."
"You—you don't have to do that," TIffania said, now feeling slightly uncomfortable. Formalities weren't something she was used to. "Um. So are you alright? You're not injured or anything?"
"I'm bruised, but fine."
"What about the blood?" she asked. He didn't seem like he was lying, and it didn't look like he was cut.
"Blood?" He pulled at his shirt, spotting the crimson stains on azure cotton. He blinked, staring at it for what seemed like the longest time before he returned her gaze, eyes dimmer than they were moments before. "It… it's my mothers." His face twisted. Agony. Pure agony. Tears welled in his eyes, and he looked as if he were about to break down at any second. "I—My—my family. They—they're dead! They—they killed them! Slaughtered them! They're dead and I—I have nothing. Nowhere to go. Nothing…"
Tiffania could only stand there, awkwardly. He wasn't one of her kids. She couldn't comfort him as she did them. All she could do was stand there and stare, sympathetic. "I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thank you," he said, again, wiping his eyes. "You—you don't have to worry about me. I—my father told me what to do. I'll—I'll find a way to Newcastle. Or—or I could go to the continent. I'll be fine."
Tiffania frowned, knowing what she had to do. In the back of her mind, she knew it was a risk. A stupid risk. But… but her entire life was a risk, and she couldn't just let him go off on his own. It'd be suicide! He didn't even look like he had money, and she wasn't sure he knew how to pass for a commoner to even get where he needed to be. He'd be dead by the week's end. With fidgeting hands, she took a breath and made her offer. "If you want, you could live with me and mine until you're ready."
Alexander blinked. "Really? Wait—I—"
"We live out of the way," she interrupted, "and you'd be safe from any of Cromwell's men. All we would ask is that you help out around the place, and you'd be fed and clothed, and there'd be a place for you to sleep, too."
"Thank you for your kindness, m'lady," he said, bowing deeply again. "I—I would pledge myself—"
"Oh, no you won't!" Tiffania snapped, and Alexander recoiled. "I'm just trying to help," she added, softer. "I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if something happened to you."
"Well, thank you, Miss…" He paused. "Ugh, I didn't catch your name."
"Tiffania," she said. "Though everyone calls me Tifa. Tiffania NicTighearn," she replied, then, before he could continue thanking her, she began saddling up on her Svadilfari. "Hop on. I live just a bit further up the road."
"Really?" he replied. "Towards Saxe-Gotha or…?"
"We were invaded by Germania once," Tiffania replied. She honestly had no idea why the nobility wouldn't go back to the original name. Yes, they'd been conquered for a century or two, but the common folk hadn't forgotten. "Anyway, using the Germanian name does nothing but peg you for a noble, and a sympathiser for the crown. A bad look in these parts."
"Uh, yes. You're right..." he said, as much as it seemed distasteful to him.
Tiffania rolled her eyes. Dun Eideann was a beautiful name!. "Anyway, I live north. Closer to the mountains."
"Oh…" He set about pulling himself up behind her on to the horse. "I didn't notice any villages nearby. How far is it?"
"Of course you didn't notice. It's in the forest."
"Wait. You live in the forest?" She could feel Alexander tense behind her.
"Aye?" she said. "Is that a problem?"
"But—but—but what about the Ban Sidhe? What about the trolls and werewolves?"
Tiffania rolled her eyes. Stupid commoners scaring the stupid nobles with their stupid superstitions! She wondered whether it'd be worth telling him or not, or if it'd just scare him to the point he'd just run away. Nah...
Sighing, she decided to just burn the bridge when she came to it. "There are no werewolves," she replied, trying to be patient with the poor boy. "And the trolls don't come off their mountain. You respect them, they'll respect you—unfortunately, many humans don't respect them, but that's neither here nor there. And the Ban Sidhe is just a silly superstition."
He wasn't convinced. "Are—"
"We're burning daylight, mate," Tiffania replied, a bit impatiently. "If you wanna hop off, go ahead, but I've lived in those forests for half my life and haven't met the Ban Sidhe once—nor any werewolves for that matter. I know my own home."
"If you say so…"
"I do say so." And with that, she spurred the horse forward and back onto the road, mentally preparing herself for the "picking up another stray" jokes that would come. At least Mathilda won't find out until she gets back...
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- Location
- Versailles
If there is one noble in Albion that wouldn't kill an elf, it would be someone in the same situation as this boy. The guy wanting to kill the elves just killed his parents. On the other hands, elves have been fucking with the Brimiric kingdoms for a long time
It is a nice idea, but people can get strange thoughts. He has just lost everything, and it is quite easy to want to get it back. If he thinks that he can go back to something vaguely resembling his old life, then he could easily come up with a litany of excuses as to why it would be virtuous to turn them all in, and it is not difficult to concoct a litany of ill-imagined fantasies as to how liberating the forest of its curse and opening it up for exploitation could win some manner of reward and a high station. There is the obvious though as to him not wishing to give aid to the regime which so hurt him, but, well, things can get odd in that direction also...
Certainly it would be sensible for him to be worthy of trust, but such things are never certain.
Chapter 14 -Act II- The Exchange
Advena Phillips
God-Emperor of all that is Void/Eldrich Horror
- Location
- The deep dark void that is my personal domain.
Chapter 14 – The Exchange
There was something about Nar Shaddaa that was just… Louise wasn't sure. She couldn't help but admire it. Oh, it was still a cesspit of violence and misery, and she planned to address that soon, but—well. The neon lights, the shadowy corners, the opulence, and intrigue.
Terrible, suffocating, yet utterly enthralling in its grandeur.
Louise glanced back, watching Jacen struggle with the control stick of the cheap four-seat speeder. The Exchange factories were off on the horizon, looming ever closer. Mako was beside him, datapad in hand. Despite the turbulence as the speeder trembled in the air, she appeared untouched and unaffected. Nines, Louise knew, was beside her. An ice-burg. Frigid and unyielding. The picture of antisocial.
It was quiet. Serious. Jacen's jaw worked, lips a thin line, eye's straight ahead and unimpressed. He tried breaking the ice earlier, but Nines wasn't having it. No, she just wanted to sit and stew in apprehension. The most she would tolerate was the faint hum of the radio. Mako, the most well-adjusted of the mercenary quartet, was content to sway and bob in her seat to the rhythmic electronica. And Louise?
Her leg was tense, trying desperately not to bounce out of sympathetic anxiety.
She would've spent the time meditating, centering herself for the coming mission, but she couldn't. Well, no. She could. She just wouldn't. In part, she was impatient, wanting to get this operation over and done with.
Commercial transitioned into industrial as the speeder flew low past neon-clad towers, warehouses, and factories of all sorts—weaving through trenches of automated traffic and shuttles coming and going here and there. It didn't take long before they were within a kilometre of their goal: a tumorous growth of durasteel buildings topped with chimneys spewing smoke and steam into the smog filled skies, nestled within a series of warehouses and other facilities.
Jacen took the speeder down beyond the Exchange's territory, knowing that drawing too close would solicit brisk warnings and blaster fire if they weren't careful. There was an old parking lot tower nearby. Out of the way. They could barely hear the whines of speeders and skycars beyond the breeze. It was old and dilapidated. A single lamp flickered pathetically atop it's roof, the only thing keeping the darkness from consuming the cracked cement around it.
They landed, disembarking and popping the boot to collect their things.
For the most part, there was just a collection of weapons. Blasters and vibroblades. A few grenades and more. Louise would've preferred bringing her rifle along with, but she couldn't justify the encumbrance and, if Nines was to be believed, there wouldn't be much room for sniping anyway. However, there were other tools too: macrobinoculars, a pair of slicing kits—Nines and Mako's sets—and, of course, the explosives. Six of them in all.
Nines and Mako each got one, while Louise and Jacen were given the rest. Louise didn't care. Neither she nor Deathstrider were particularly good at slicing (Louise wasn't even sure how to slice), so they were relegated to pack mule status. Helped that Louise was content being the muscle rather than brains of the operations, even if it did feel silly being the shortest and skinniest of the party.
"Alright," said Nines, adjusting the strap of her slicing kit over her shoulder, finding it difficult with the bomb on her back. "Final check."
Jacen nodded, activating the commlink on his wrist. It beeped; Louise could hear a faint crackle from her own comm. "Testing. One-two, testing." All around them his voice popped into existence, from Mako to Nines to her own wrist. It was slightly surreal. Hearing his voice come clean over the comms, he smiled devilishly. "H—hewwo? Can chu heaw me?"
Everyone snapped to Jacen, expressions ranging from baffled to livid. Why was he—? Louise began, before Nines cut in.
"I," she said, speaking directly into her commlink while maintaining direct eye contact with him, "have never wanted to kill someone more than I do now."
"Pwease! Have mwercwy!" His voice was sickeningly childlike, a grin so shit-eating Louise wanted to punch him herself, even if she was utterly perplexed by what he was doing.
Her brow furrowed, knowing that he was doing a bit but missing the context.
"G—guys, guys." Mako looked on the verge of tears, struggling to hold back laughter, more at Nines' disgusted expression than anything else. "Could—could we not—not kill each other yet? We have a job to do."
Nines jabbed a finger at Jacen. "I will if he behaves."
Mako nodded, wrestling control back of her face. "Jacen. Please."
"Alright. Alright." He coughed and adjusted his coat. "Comms all clear, then."
"Weapons?" Nines asked, already sounding exhausted.
Each nodded their heads, checking their blasters and blades.
Louise had spent the morning stripping her blaster, making sure everything was cleaned and maintained. It wouldn't fail her. It shouldn't, at least. And her vibroblade? Well, a single press of the activation nub. the piercing hum answered her question quick enough.
Pleased with the brief, if superfluous, check, she looked up to the rest. "And what about our explosives?"
While Louise was familiar with the end product, the actual mechanics behind technology-based explosives eluded her. She just wanted to be sure.
"Well," Mako began, "I don't think we have time to test them, but everything appears to be alright. Everyone got a blinking blue light near the receiver?" A chorus of confirmations followed. "Good. Then we should be good."
"'Should'," added Nines, dubiously.
"Should," agreed Jacen.
Nines sighed. "I guess there's no helping it."
"Nope."
"Ugh. Let's get a move on, then. I'd rather be disappointed sooner than later."
"Couldn't agree more," replied Jacen, clapping his hands. He picked up a helmet from the boot, reminiscent of Mandalorian design, and slipped it on. Louise and Mako followed suit, each with their own helmets, and he began walking toward a nearby elevator which would take them down to the streets below. "Onward. Terrorism awaits!"
Walking to the factory was a nerve-wracking endeavour. They were deep behind enemy lines, not hiding, not skulking, but brazenly strutting toward the centre of the Exchange's entire drug trade. Security cameras scanned from the top of buildings and crossroads, searching for any intruders. And, even though she knew they couldn't see her, every time they swept over her she couldn't help tense, like a spring tightly wound.
And why couldn't they see her? Mako. The brilliant bounty hunter had sliced into the Exchange's system, replacing a live feed with a looped recording of the previous day. Anyone sitting at the security desk would see nothing but a slow and eventless day.
Even though it was working—after all, no alarms had sounded and there were no armed guards converging on their position (and Louise would know). She just wasn't confident. What if the slicing didn't work? What if they were walking into a trap? What if someone noticed any discrepancies? There were many things that could go wrong here, and if they got caught?
Questions, questions. All these questions, all these doubts swirled in her head leaving Louise constantly watching over her shoulder, hand on her hip ready to grasp her blaster at a moment's notice. Oh, I wish Khem was here, she thought, ruefully. But he wasn't. Not only was he far too big and therefore conspicuous for this mission—and it wasn't like there were many Dashade in the city—but she doubted he had the patience for such a mission. No, she knew he wouldn't have the patience for it. Sneaking around, planting bombs. Nary a bloodied corpse to be seen.
If he had his way, she would be charging the front gates, obliterating her enemies with the almighty power of the Dark Side, reminding the galaxy of the true power of the Ancient Sith.
No, he would not be interested, even for a so-called "assassin."
Mako's eyes were glued to her datapad, scanning live feeds of Exchange security cameras. True live feeds, of course. As good as she was, Mako had trouble slicing isolated "smart" droids without getting close. People were another thing entirely. So, she kept an eye out. If someone was coming their way, they had ample opportunity to hide, wait for them to pass by, then continue.
And hide they did.
A truck cruised down the streets. Crates full of spice loaded in the back, being moved into a storage facility elsewhere in the sprawling maze of warehouses. It passed without a fuss, but it was a tense moment. Mako barely had time to shuffle her companions into a shadowy side-street before the truck barrelled past and further into the district.
A few other patrols passed by after that, but nothing so problematic. Two guards, loudly laughing about some game or other. A supervisor slinking into an alley for a ciggara break. A droid repairing a faulty street lamp.
Eventually, they arrived at the factory's front door. A tall chain-link fence dictated the perimeter, humming with electricity. Turrets were mounted atop the metal posts, scanning the streets. Skeletal towers, tall enough to peek over the razor wire, sprouted on either side of the front gate where a force-field sat barring entry.
A few droids milled about, but they were outnumbered by the heavily armed guards patrolling the length of the fence or otherwise standing vigil at their posts.
Nothing got in or out without their go-ahead.
Louise was sure they had permission to use lethal force against anyone who didn't have clearance. Fortunately, neither she nor the others were stupid enough to try.
Skirting around the fence, the quartet kept an eye out for a blind spot in the Exchange's security. Though the turrets weren't an issue—once again, thanks to Mako—the guards and droids were another thing entirely, which made scoping out a suitable entry point a slow process. Through alleyways and side streets, past workers and droids, they edged around the facility all until they reached the loading dock.
It was quiet. Trucks came and went, sure, but there were only a few supervisors and droids milling around between loads. "And look over there," Jacen whispered, pointing to the numerous crates of what had to be spice and other such chemicals. Most patrols were lingering about the garage, before the force-field gate, but they seemed to be neglecting the corners, where crates were towered high with nary a guard or worker to be seen.
"Good a place as any to hide," Nines mused. She scanned the area, pure-red eyes taking in the wide swath of opportunity. "Not right away. We should wait and see what their schedule is like."
"Mm-hmm." Mako was fiddling with her datapad. "It'll give me time to shut down the fence, too."
Jacen nodded, though added: "Not all of it."
"Just this section, I know."
It took some time. Longer than it would have had Mako wanted to shut the whole thing down. All the while, Nines kept her eyes out, watching the dock with an intensity bordering on unnerving.
Louise and Jacen settled in as best they could. The alleyway they were camped in was dingy. Louise didn't know how, considering she had seen maintenance droids diligently cleaning the streets and keeping them in working order. Maybe this is another "cheap" thing. Keep the main streets fine, but who cares if the alleyway is rusted with puddles of weird grey water, she thought, eying the aforementioned puddle with suspicion. If this is the state of one of the major criminal organisations, I loathe to see the actual slums…
"When you're ready," Mako whispered, and Nines nodded.
More time passed. More trucks came and went, and Louise was beginning to feel her patience waning. Every second gave the Exchange more time to realise something was up. Her leg was bouncing, even as she leaned against the wall, eyes darting back and forth down the alleyway. She couldn't sense anyone nearby—outside of the obvious—but it didn't ease her anxieties at all.
But, eventually Nines stood up. "Now," she said, and without waiting for a reply, she sprang out of the alleyway, crossing the distance and ducking behind one of the fence posts. Unslinging her splicing kit, she pulled out a small device from her belt—a hand-held laser cutter—and began carving her way through the fence links; one after another, second by second. It was slow progress. Agonising, but Nines had timed it perfectly.
Not quite a hole. That would be conspicuous. Rather, a flap of metal with enough slack anyone could slip through and into the refinery grounds proper. Crawling through, Nines took position behind a stack of crates, waiting.
Mako was already checking the live feed, again. When it was clear they were sufficiently isolated, she flicked her head and, one by one, the rest followed. Jacen first, sprinting across the distance and slipping under the fence with practiced ease. Louise went next, clumsier. The explosives made it hard, and she was glad she hadn't gone as the Terrifying Sith Lord, because she just knew her robes would get caught in the jagged metal.
Finally, Mako. Packing up her tools, she rushed over. Struggling, like Louise, she managed to crawl through and began running over to the crates. Everything was going perfect, until—
"Hey! Who's there?"
Shit.
Mako had just ducked behind the crates, but one of the workers must've seen her.
Everyone froze, eyes wide. The potential of a firefight thick in the air. It was inevitable. There was no way they would be able to deal with the Exchange goon without drawing the attention of others.
Well, almost no way.
"I'll take care of it," Louise hissed. The looks she received were dubious, but nobody argued. Taking a deep breath, she popped out from behind the crates, spotting the thorn in their side approach, blaster in hand. He was a foreman, she noted. A pale Zabrak. Doing her best to look as indignant as possible, she scrunched up her face and scowled. "'Who's there?' Who are you?"
She could feel her companions die inside.
"I asked you first," said the Zabrak, slightly off kilter by her retort yet unwilling to lower his guard. "Identify yourself."
Louise made a show of rolling her eyes, which didn't really work because she was wearing a helmet. She approached, hands raised, though slowed as he reached for the commlink on his belt.
"Now-now," she said, slow, deliberate. As casual as she could, she waved her hands, injecting a subtle suggestion into the air. "We can talk this out."
He scowled, though the growing vacancy in his eyes told her she succeeded. Somewhat. He lowered his blaster, no longer reaching for his commlink. "We can talk this out," he echoed.
Inwardly, Louise smiled. Viciously. "My name's Karin," she began, inching ever closer, every word slipping into his mind, insidiously, twisting his reality. "I'm a mechanic. Working maintenance here, actually. What's your name?"
"Maintenance?" He seemed confused, but the suggestion tempered any caution. "Name's Gar. Gar Flicks. Hm. Heavily armed for maintenance."
"We work for the Exchange," she replied, closer and closer. "Even you've got a blaster, right?"
"Yeah, yeah. Blaster."
"Speaking of," she continued, now within arm reach, "what kind of model is that? Looks well cared for." She slung an arm over his shoulder. Casual. Friendly-like.
Then, not caring about his answer, she unsheathed the vibroblade at her hip with her off hand, and, without a second thought—
"Well, it's a T-13—Grrk!" He choked, legs falling out from beneath him.
Confusion. Fear. Panic. A flurry of emotion welled within him. He struggled, but his limbs wouldn't respond. Couldn't respond. The blade, vibrating at ultrasonic frequencies, cut through the bone, and pierced his brain stem.
A moment later and he was gone. That ball of life vanished. No more.
Before he collapsed, Louise grabbed him tight. Backpedalling quickly, she pulled him behind the crates before too much blood was spilt onto the cement.
"Nine Hells," Jacen breathed, though there was a giddy laugh behind his words. "That was cold."
Louise rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well…"
"Reckless work," Nines murmured, eying Louise critically. "But—good thinking. We'll have to dispose of the body, but it's one less pair of eyes on us."
Jacen turned to Nine, pantomiming complete shock.
"What?"
"Golly-gee, a complement?" he said. "I didn't think you had a kind bone in your body."
"Jace!" Mako chastised.
"No, he's right," Nines said, deadpanned. "I don't have a kind bone. I see good work, I acknowledge it. Even you could receive a compliment if you ever did anything to deserve it."
Even with the helmet, Louise could imagine the withering expression on Jacen's face as he sneered: "Thanks."
"Still, I'd rather we not make this a habit," Nines continued, ignoring him. "We have enough work as it is without having to hide a bunch of bodies, too."
Jacen nodded. "Yeah, she's right. Worst case someone grows curious where the foreman went. Regardless, Mako, Karin—you two head off to the East Wing. Me and Nines will deal with ol' Ger here."
The girls' nodded and made to start moving.
"Once you're done," Nines added before they ran off, "activate your commlink three times and head out. We'll meet back at the carpark and get out of here."
"And if we fuck up," Mako said, chipper. "Make as much noise and leave it to you two to finish things."
"Exactly."
Mako took the lead, guiding the young Sith throughout the facility.
Honestly, Louise didn't mind. Mako was in her element, skulking through hallways, blaster in one hand and datapad in the other. From over her shoulder, she could see the live feed. Hallways beyond filled with workers, guards, and droids of all stripes. A skeleton crew, sure, but the facility was massive.
Delving deeper, she also realised that the facility smelled faintly of urine. Louise didn't know why, but it was revolting. Does all spice smell of piss, she thought. Or does the Exchange even refuse their workers the right to go toilet?
Ten minutes later, she realised it was the former.
The factory floor stank. An utterly nauseating mix of piss, burnt toast, bleach, and the futile attempt to cover the stench with forest scented air fresheners. Despite how faint the smell was, it was nice to know even the Exchange hated the detestable odours of chemicals and raw spice. Still, it didn't stop Louise from wanting to gag and retch.
Mako, on the other hand, seemed oddly unaffected.
Still, Louise refused to let it ruin the mission. Centering herself, she forced herself to focus as she stalked the absent halls, weaving between patrols here and there.
Eventually, they arrived at their first stop.
It was a maintenance closet, big enough for at least two of the large droids to restock utilities. It was also—if the reverberating thump of machines were any indication—directly beside one of the main processing units. And beyond that was one of the many ammunition depots, just outside a security room where guards were on break, enjoying the scant hours of peace from the factory proper.
Mako flicked her head to the corner as she got to work, plugging her datapad into the control panel to make sure they wouldn't be interrupted.
Setting up a bomb wasn't as difficult as Louise might've thought. A few buttons pressed to activate the magnetic locks, sticking it in place low in the corner, behind a refuelling station where nobody would see it. Then, to prime the thing, she flicked a few switches as Mako had instructed, setting it to the right frequency, and… done. One down, two to go.
While Louise tended to the bomb, Mako was fiddling away at her datapad, the live feed giving way to a waterfall of data streaming across the dimly lit green screen. Honestly, Louise wondered how Mako could keep up with the strange polyglot of code.
Regardless, she was a skilled woman.
In the corner of the screen was a small window where the live feed remained, streaming video of the hallway just outside. A lone droid was walking down the hall: a rotund creature with four spider-like legs and countless arms tipped with everything from a welding torch to a saw.
As it approached, Louise could even make out the faint metallic clank as it waddled down the hall, stopping only once it reached their door.
Louise tensed, reading her blaster.
Mako shook her head as if to say, "Don't worry 'bout it."
The droid extended a tool, inserting it into the control panel as she had seen many droids do before. It stopped, froze, then withdrew the tool and turned around, walking back down the hall it came from.
Louise looked to Mako in askance and all the slicer could do was shrug. "Minor virus. It won't bother us."
Louise nodded. She didn't understand, but accepted the explanation regardless.
Once the coast was clear, Mako and Louise left the confines of the closet and set about after their next destination.
Despite the airs of a consummate professional, Nines felt like she was floundering. She would be the first to admit this mission was a mess. There was no chain of command, just the vague orders of "Destroy the Exchange's assets," and a hodgepodge team of three bounty hunters, an absentee Sith, and Nines, herself. Even then, things were going well. Too well.
Two of three bombs were planted, and her partner was exemplary in his discipline. Barely a single wise-crack or joke ever since they infiltrated the factory. He set up and primed the bombs like a professional, and they were already well on their way to the third site.
Below them, from where they stood up on a balcony, was the factory floor. Machines crashed and hissed, a chaotic cacophony of movement and noise. Droids milled about like insects, inspecting systems, performing diagnostics, and making any repairs necessary as spice flowed through the processing plants—beaten, crushed, bathed in foul smelling chemicals, and sent out through pipes elsewhere into the facility and neighbouring factories.
An office sat nearby to the pipes. A server room, she remembered. Even if the explosion itself didn't set off a horrific chain of destruction, Jacen was sure the property damage would be more than enough.
Nines didn't know what was weirder.
The fact they hadn't run into too much trouble—only a few avoidable patrols thanks to Mako's little bug streaming a live feed to Nines' datapad—or Jacen himself.
She expected, well. Less? More?
For all his dossier said, he was cavalier and a hedonist. Didn't take well to the rigid structure of the military. Refused to take anything seriously. Yet, here he was, the complete opposite.
Now, Nines knew she had two paths. Take him as he was now, give him a break, understand that he was an expert in his field regardless of eccentricities outside of missions, or wait for the other shoe to drop. Wait for that moment when he proved all her intelligence right.
Nines was a control freak. She knew it. Admitted it. Her superiors knew it, too. It's why she worked alone, at least in part. Lest she drive her partners mad with her constant over-analysis and high standards of operation. It's why she adamantly refused Keeper's idea to partner up with the anarchist, Kaliyo Djannis. A walking liability, that one, bigger than Deathstrider's dossier ever made him out to be—and far more dangerous.
Not to say he wasn't dangerous, of course. Jacen was. He was very dangerous. Took on an entire clan of Evocii rebels just to earn his sponsorship to the Mandalorian Great Hunt. But as dangerous as he was, he wasn't as selfish or as utterly unpredictable as Djannis.
Jacen was just casual. Almost careless. Or so the dossier said. He proved it when they met, when they planned this operation, but now? Now she wasn't sure. Whatever the case, it was why she needled in on him the most.
Though, it wasn't like she didn't have any reservations about the rest of her companions.
Mako. Nines trusted Mako the most. A capable woman, a skilled bounty hunter who took her job seriously. Might not be the most dangerous member of the party, not the most physically imposing at least, but her skills were invaluable, and she could be trusted. Well, as far as Nines trusted anyone.
Then there was Karin Maillart. Better than a foreigner Sith—Nine didn't approve of the idea of a fresh-faced apprentice taking command of the operation (as she would inevitably do by virtue of being Sith), even if her skills would be beyond helpful—but she was an unknown. A wildcard. And Nines hated unknowns.
The only things she knew about the enigmatic Karin was that she first appeared on Dromund Kaas last year and she had no complains about sabotaging a slave revolt. And how curious was that? Nines knew that both Jacen and herself had also visited that very revolt around the same time. Something to think on, at least. Whatever the case, that was as much as she knew about the bounty hunter, until meeting her. Only since then had she learned her species and her physical appearance. Human. Fair skin. Blue eyes. Purple hair.
It was troubling, such a haphazard team. So little known and what little was known was dubious at best. She just hoped it'd be enough.
The Emperor knew she didn't want to die on some brief excursion. She had a job to do, and she just wanted this finished.
Glancing down at her datapad, Nines froze.
In the hallway before them, a trio of guards were approaching at a casual pace. Her eyes darted around, but she knew there were no side rooms or alcoves to hide within. The only way out was back where they came.
"Kark." She spun on her heels, grabbing Jacen by the arm and forced him to follow. His eyes widened, a question on his lips, but she didn't give him time to voice them. "We gotta go now."
Back the way they came, they reached the door. But before she could reach for the control panel, it slid open and revealed an elderly Twi'lek man with pasty yellow skin. Lekku tattooed, eyes tired and unfocused.
By his dress, Nines assumed he was the overseer of this facility.
For the split second when their eyes met, he blinked. Mouth opening into a slight sneer. Teeth pointed like needles. He was running on autopilot and, before his brain caught up, he thought them nothing more than workers or security getting in his way.
Nines wasted no time. Unslinging her blaster from her hip, she lined up the shot in a single, fluid motion, and pulled the trigger.
The unfortunate overseer barely had time to react before his eye popped from the superheated plasma cutting through his flesh. There was steam. Smoke. The foul smell of burnt meat as his skin vaporised and skull cracked from the pressure. He collapsed, dead in an instant.
But he was forgotten as quickly as he appeared. Behind them, at the end of the balcony, the door slid open, and they were spotted.
"Intruders!" a guard shouted, his commlink in hand. The other two drew their blasters. "Intru—!"
Jacen silenced him, a bolt of angry red carving through the soft flesh of the guard's throat—blood and steam erupted, splattering their companions. The other two fired, forcing Nines and Jacen to duck behind the door. Fire was traded, green and red lancing down the halls.
One guard, too slow to duck behind cover, was hit in the hip—falling as blistering pain cut through his very being. The other tried to be a hero and was quickly cut down by a volley of plasma.
Both Jacen and Nines froze, looking about the balcony. "I'm guessing we don't have the time to hide the evidence, do we?" Jacen asked.
Nines didn't even have time to answer before the piercing scream of klaxons cut through the drone of the factory. Red lights flooded the halls, swirling angry as machinery slowed to a halt.
It was official. They'd been caught.
Jacen laughed, somewhat manic. "Ah, great. Guess creeping about's out of the question."
"Indeed," replied Nines, teeth grit and furious. Sloppy. Sloppy! I should've been paying more attention. Skatá!
"Come on." Jacen readied his twin blasters, gesturing down the hall. "We better get this last explosive armed."
On the other side of the factory, Louise and Mako were going fine. They maneuvered through the labyrinth quick enough, passing by guards and droids with expert ease. Helped one of the two had the preternatural ability to sense when others were nearby.
They tended to avoid the factory floors—a mess of movement and noise that left it difficult to focus on not getting caught. Well enough, they planted their final bomb and that's when the klaxons started screaming, and the factory was bathed in red.
Freezing, the two looked at each other, concerned. Louise couldn't sense anyone nearby, and the cameras showed no droids in the vicinity. Flicking through the feed, Mako swore.
"What?" Louise asked. "The others?"
Mako sighed, as if she expected this to happen. "Yeah…"
"Should we—?"
"No." She shook her head. "Jacen can handle himself. We should get out of here and wait by the speeder."
Louise nodded, and the two quickly began making their way out of the factory.
They weren't quite running, but walking briskly, purposefully. The datapad was nearly forgotten in their flight, Mako feeling as if they didn't quite have the time to navigate by feed. They were retracing their steps, out to the docks where they'd make their escape.
Unfortunate, because three guards were approaching at speed.
Louise barely had time to notice their presence, sensing indignation and fury beyond the office they stood within. Without thinking, she grabbed Mako and threw her into the corner, next to the door. Ancient Sith slipped fluently from her lips. A precaution. When the door slid open and the guards burst in, none noticed the two women held up tight against the nook of the room.
They barrelled through, blaster carbines in hand, eyes hard and ready for a fight.
And when they passed, Louise made a snap decision.
She rushed forward, vibroblade in hand. Slicing the throat of the nearest, she impaled the knife into the second's throat. Not even bothering to collect the blade, she slammed her fist into the face of the third, leaping up, wrapping her legs around them, and snapping their neck with Force-enhanced strength.
All three collapsed, two choking on their own blood as the third was paralysed.
Sparing Louise a moment's glance, Mako threw her head towards where the guards came from. "Come on, let's get out of here."
Taking a moment to retrieve her vibroblade, Louise followed, a silent hope on her lips that the others would be okay.
"Could you hurry up?" Jacen snapped, ducking out from the hallway, firing pot-shots at the gathering of droids and guards piled up at the end of the break room. For the droids, they were struggling, their path-finding stalling as they tried to figure out how to clamber over the bodies of their fellow machines and the corpses of Exchange thugs. It didn't stop them from unleashing plasma upon Jacen whenever their photoreceptors spotted him.
The guards had more sense in their heads. Using the droids as—well, "organic shields" was inaccurate, but as walking, stupid shields. They fired haphazardly; spray and pray. Maybe if they weren't so eager, they'd have actually hit the bounty hunter, but Jacen had only suffered glances, singeing his clothes reddening skin.
"Don't rush me!" Nines was frantically setting up the final bomb in the ajoining toilets.
Seven Hells! Jacen would've sympathised with her. He really would've. Unfortunately, he had to contend with a wall of fire that left him feeling that a bit of urgency was in order.
He ducked out, firing a volley of plasma, striking metal and flesh.
Droids. One of the most frustrating things to fight, yet he couldn't believe his luck. They were utterly ruthless, fulfilling their programming to the best of their abilities. But these weren't particularly advanced. A well-placed or lucky shot could disable them or even shut them down.
Better, the Exchange seemed to follow the "harder to hit" school of thought, rather than "tough as nails."
Their body and limbs were thin bars of cheap durasteel. The thickest part was their chassis, which was reinforced, but even a few bolts could pierce the plating and fry the wiring within.
Plasma struck, hitting a shoulder joint. Metal melted. Gears jammed. It couldn't use its arm anymore, locked in place as it fired an endless stream of plasma. The second bolt struck its head, knocking it over, destroying its photoreceptors. It fell back, turning over as blaster fire sprayed around the doorway, striking allies, and forcing the guards to retreat.
"If I die, I'm haunting your ass," Jacen snapped.
"Malakas, stop being dramatic!"
"I don't want to die!"
"Stop yelling at me!"
More fire was traded, Jacen felling only a single soldier completely by accident. He glanced at his blasters, knowing that he was running out of ammo. If they waited any longer, he would be out and they would be dead.
He was about to poke his head in and check up on Nines, but she almost ran into him. "I'm done, I'm done!" she screamed, he could hear his commlink beep three times. "The bombs are set!"
"Excellent!" Jacen said, through gritted teeth. "Now, how do you suppose we get out of here?"
"Oh, for the love of—" Nines threw Jacen back into the toilets and picked up a grenade from her belt. "Stay back!"
Jacen gasped. "If you blow us up, I'll murder you."
"I'd let you," Nines muttered, and threw the grenade out of the room. It bounced off the wall, rolling out of sight. Frantically, she slammed on the door control panel, shutting the door tight.
Six.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two—
The walls rumbled, a furious roar shaking the ground. Wall dented, malformed.
As much as Nines wanted to wait, to keep an ear out, she knew they didn't have time. Hoping that the door controls weren't damaged, she activated the control panel and breathed a sigh of relief as the door slid open with only a meagre jank in the gears.
Peeking her head out, she found the door on the other side of the break room a torn mess of blackened metal and gore and fire.
"Come on, let's get the kark out of here,"
Nines didn't even bother replying as the pair broke into a sprint, clambering over the mass of twisted metal and out, down the halls.
Within time, they were back on the balcony where their mistake was made—the corpses piled off to the side so as to not trip anyone over. Not even bothering to take the stairs, Jacen threw himself off the edge and onto the stilled machinery. Nines followed soon after, and the pair quickly descended to ground floor and off to the docks.
"They're running away!" a voice screamed from behind, and blaster fire followed them, barely audible above the screeching klaxons.
Diving, ducking, they did anything they could to hamper their pursuers. Doors shut behind them, control panels shot and locked. Anyone unfortunate enough to get in their way, blasted before they even knew what was coming.
Eventually, they arrived at a familiar room: the garage. Beyond the large metal doors, they could see the docks and the fence beyond. Freedom. But they needed to get past the fence. Crawling, through, wasn't an option, Nines noted. There was always the chance they could get caught, shot to bits halfway through. No, they needed something quicker.
Jacen seemed to share the same thoughts, as he looked at her and said: "Blow it up."
"But—?"
"I don't wanna die," he said quickly yet emphatically. "Blow. It. The kark. Up."
Nines nodded and primed another grenade.
Behind her, Jacen shut the door to the garage, blasting the control panel until it was leaking molten copper. From behind the door, Jacen could hear someone banging on the door, barking orders. "Get this open! You lot, go around. I don't want any of them escaping!"
The grenade was thrown; the six seconds passed.
Red, angry energy flashed into being, ripping through the metal and sending cement flying. Small enough that it didn't set off the crates around the garage doors, big enough to create a gaping hole in the perimeter fence.
Without waiting for the metal to cool, the two started running again, climbing over the burning, twisted metal, and sprinting down the familiar streets of the industrial district.
All six bombs were set, and all that was left was to leave.
Louise and Mako were at the speeder, trying to recover from the sprint over. And the other two? Mako watched their escape with trepidation, pacing about the car as they bolted through the refinery—blazing red plasma hot on their tails. When they blew up the fence, she took it as her cue to leap into the driver's seat and start the engine.
They would need to leave as soon as they were able.
Off in the distance, blaster fire could be heard. It was getting closer. Louise fretted, irritated. I should've brought my rifle. I should've. Now would have been the perfect time for it, but no. I second guessed myself, and now we're here. Stuck with a pistol and nothing more.
There were three paths up to the parking lot where they sat: the elevator, a stairwell, and a road twisted up through the guts of the building. Unfortunately, neither knew which way their partners' would come. They didn't even know where the Exchange would come, or if they'd elect to take the most direct path with speeders. All Louise and Mako could do was wait. Waiting as the sound of a fight grew ever closer.
"We're idiots," Nines muttered, pacing about the tight confines of the elevator. A faint, patchy jingle could be heard, only punctuating how stupid she felt.
Jacen snorted. "It's faster than the stairs!"
"But the elevator? Seriously?" She pinched the bridge of her nose, head pounding. "So much for a swift getaway. We should've just parked it in the streets"
Floor by floor, the elevator rose. The counter above the doors ticked up, somehow making Nines even more impatient. "Come on, come on!" she could be heard, a ball of anxiety ready to explode at a moment's notice.
When the elevator finally arrived, dinging, and the doors began to open, both Nines and Jacen broke into a sprint.
The speeder was where they left it, and they could see Karin and Mako waiting—the engine revving loud and sickly.
"Oh, thank the Emperor," Nines breathed between heaving breaths.
Karin was waving them down. "Come on! Get in! Get in!" she shouted, pistol in hand and ready for anything. Below them, distantly, they could hear yelling. Commands. The Exchange was only steps behind.
"No shit!" Jacen screamed and jumped into the back seat with her.
Nines, however, ran around to the driver's side.
"I'm flying," she said in a tone that brook no argument, and Mako obeyed immediately.
A second later, and the speeder lurched into motion as it launched into the sky. A hail of blaster fire followed them, some flying wide, others missing narrowly. But amongst it all, a flair launched high into the air, glowing green with fury.
Louise watched the flair, dread pooling in her gut. She had no idea what the flair meant, but she didn't need to wonder for long.
Screeching down the streets, twin speeders shot into the sky—one barely missing a nearby warehouse in their ascent. Blaster fire followed, and Nines cursed. "Could I get some covering fire?" she asked, sending the speeder careening off to dodge the volley of plasma.
Louise and Jacen obeyed, ducking out from behind their seats, firing back in a fury. It didn't help much, the plasma splashing harmlessly off the armour plating. They didn't let up, though. Couldn't. There was nothing else they could do but spray and pray it would do something at the very least.
Unfortunately, all it did was waste ammo. Soon, Jacen was left empty, shooting nothing, blasters utterly useless. He ducked behind the worn leather of his seat and spat: "Kark! I'm out."
Louise joined him. She still had ammo. A lot of it, actually. This was the first time she had used her blaster today, and she still had a few clips left. She paused, looking between her blaster and him. "Take mine," she said. "You're a better shot."
"You sure?"
"No." She shoved it into his hands. "Don't lose it."
Jacen nodded, and returned, unleashing ineffectual hell upon the tailing speeders.
Now, Louise had nothing to do. Nothing but to stare up at the sky, watching blaster fire streak by, clutching her seat like her life depended on it— and it did as Nines nearly shredded the speeder in two as she weaved through the district, diving past buildings and panicked traffic.
It was chaos, utter chaos, and Louise felt useless.
Useless. Why? Because I don't have a blaster? Her face hardened. I'm a gods be damned Sith!
Peaking over her seat, she focused in on the two speeders weaving through the air. She could sense them, vaguely. Like dim balls of light in a dark room. The drivers, the passengers. Their emotions. Rage. Frustration. Why won't you sit still!
She pulled back, narrowing in on a single speeder. On the metal, lifeless yet with a presence in absence all on its own. She reached out, an invisible hand grasping towards it.
Nines jerked, sending the speeder into a downward spiral and Louise was forced to let go of the tail to hold tight as gravity flung her back. Oh, gods, what the fuck?
Tight corners and narrow paths, the flight was a disorientating flash of colour and sound. Louise honestly had no idea which way was up, or where they were going. The engine was screeching like a dying cat, and she was sure it couldn't put up with much more of Nines' abuse.
"For the love of all that is and will ever be!" Jacen screamed, utterly horrified by the insanity around them. "I don't want to die today."
Louise agreed, clutching onto the back of Mako's seat with an iron grip.
But Louise was Sith. She bottled that fear and frustration, crushing and squashing it down until it was a dense ball of pent up and unstable emotion. When they finally, finally, escaped the nightmare and flew high up into the air, above the city below. She unleashed that fury in a powerful shockwave of energy that rippled back and slammed into one of the tailing speeders.
It spiralled, as if jerked out of the air by an unseen force. Spinning, the armour plate was wrent from its chassis, and it fell out the sky, shattering against a control tower and exploding into a thunderous fireball.
Jacen, too disoriented, had only seen the result. He ducked back down, and she could feel shock and owlish amusement radiating off him. "I—I think I watched a man have a heart attack."
"What?" Nines barked back.
"Did you not see that?"
"Too busy trying not to die!"
"Uh, yeah," Louise replied, trying to sound casual as she clucked her seat with clawed hands. "I saw it and it was, um… Wild."
"Good for you!" Nines replied. "As far as I'm aware, we still have one more tail!"
"Oh, shit, yeah." Jacen immediately resumed taking potshots at the final speeder.
"By the way," asked Mako from behind the passenger seat, "how far away are we from the factory?"
"Two, three klicks off?" Jacen replied, ducking as blaster fire lanced past right where his head would've been. "Why?"
Mako didn't reply. She didn't need to.
Light. Bright, booming light shot into the sky. A furious fireball that towered above the skyline. Louise could see the shockwaves cutting through the air, and a few seconds later it slammed into them with the wrath of a god.
The air twisted, ripped. Turbulence shook the speeders, throwing the passengers around. It was only Nines quick thinking that stopped them from spiralling out of control and slamming into a nearby building. The Exchange? Not so much.
Whoever was driving must've been startled, because their speeder careened through the air as if the driver had thrown the control stick to the side. It crashed, exploded, but was nothing compared to the crackling cloud of fire bellowing in the sky.
What the fuck was in those bombs? Louise thought, watching with morbid interest as it grew.
Nines did not stop tensing until she had disposed of the speeder, and only once they were in a completely different hemisphere did she finally breathe.
Oh, her anxiety levels hadn't abated. The city was abuzz with news of a terrorist attack, or a mistake on part of the Exchange. Whatever the case, an explosion had leveled half a district, and was still exploding as chemicals and spice reignited over and over again, spewing noxious fumes high into the atmosphere. Nobody knew exactly what happened, and she liked it that way.
Today was… Tough. Yes, tough was a good word for it. Certainly unlike her previous endeavours across the galaxy. But nobody died—or, at least, nobody important. The most were a few burns and scrapes from the firefight, too shallow for anyone to notice in the adrenaline-fueled haze.
Nines, herself, knew some of her hair was singed and armour a bit battered, just like Karin. Jacen's ear was bright red, soliciting surprised hisses whenever he tried to adjust his hair, forgetting the injury every once in a while.
Mako was fine. Out of breath, but fine. When Nines had commandeered the speeder, she had ducked below the seats and hidden herself while she detonated the bombs.
"I hope everyone understands," Nines said as they walked through the streets toward the spaceport, "whatever happened at the refineries, we weren't there."
"What refineries," asked Jacen, trying to joke yet utterly exhausted.
"That's the spirit."
"Where to from here?" Mako asked. She looked as haggard as Jacen. And Karin. And Nines. Back hunched, shuffling rather than walking. Was that a limp?
"Don't know," Nines replied. "Suppose we split up. Never talk to each other again. Hope nobody connects the dots."
"Now, now." Jacen rolled his eyes, a ghost of a smile stretching over his lips. He winced, accidentally brushing his ear. "We'll have a drink and relax. Unwind a bit."
Nines pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes. "At your ship, I assume?"
"I got a good collection of liquor. Whiskies, wines, vodkas. That sort of thing. Come on, we deserve the break."
"I think we deserve a lot more than just a break," muttered Karin. "Fucking Vizhen."
"Might as well," Nines decided, eventually. "It will give me a good alibi."
Jacen chuckled. "Here, here!"
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There was something about Nar Shaddaa that was just… Louise wasn't sure. She couldn't help but admire it. Oh, it was still a cesspit of violence and misery, and she planned to address that soon, but—well. The neon lights, the shadowy corners, the opulence, and intrigue.
Terrible, suffocating, yet utterly enthralling in its grandeur.
Louise glanced back, watching Jacen struggle with the control stick of the cheap four-seat speeder. The Exchange factories were off on the horizon, looming ever closer. Mako was beside him, datapad in hand. Despite the turbulence as the speeder trembled in the air, she appeared untouched and unaffected. Nines, Louise knew, was beside her. An ice-burg. Frigid and unyielding. The picture of antisocial.
It was quiet. Serious. Jacen's jaw worked, lips a thin line, eye's straight ahead and unimpressed. He tried breaking the ice earlier, but Nines wasn't having it. No, she just wanted to sit and stew in apprehension. The most she would tolerate was the faint hum of the radio. Mako, the most well-adjusted of the mercenary quartet, was content to sway and bob in her seat to the rhythmic electronica. And Louise?
Her leg was tense, trying desperately not to bounce out of sympathetic anxiety.
She would've spent the time meditating, centering herself for the coming mission, but she couldn't. Well, no. She could. She just wouldn't. In part, she was impatient, wanting to get this operation over and done with.
Commercial transitioned into industrial as the speeder flew low past neon-clad towers, warehouses, and factories of all sorts—weaving through trenches of automated traffic and shuttles coming and going here and there. It didn't take long before they were within a kilometre of their goal: a tumorous growth of durasteel buildings topped with chimneys spewing smoke and steam into the smog filled skies, nestled within a series of warehouses and other facilities.
Jacen took the speeder down beyond the Exchange's territory, knowing that drawing too close would solicit brisk warnings and blaster fire if they weren't careful. There was an old parking lot tower nearby. Out of the way. They could barely hear the whines of speeders and skycars beyond the breeze. It was old and dilapidated. A single lamp flickered pathetically atop it's roof, the only thing keeping the darkness from consuming the cracked cement around it.
They landed, disembarking and popping the boot to collect their things.
For the most part, there was just a collection of weapons. Blasters and vibroblades. A few grenades and more. Louise would've preferred bringing her rifle along with, but she couldn't justify the encumbrance and, if Nines was to be believed, there wouldn't be much room for sniping anyway. However, there were other tools too: macrobinoculars, a pair of slicing kits—Nines and Mako's sets—and, of course, the explosives. Six of them in all.
Nines and Mako each got one, while Louise and Jacen were given the rest. Louise didn't care. Neither she nor Deathstrider were particularly good at slicing (Louise wasn't even sure how to slice), so they were relegated to pack mule status. Helped that Louise was content being the muscle rather than brains of the operations, even if it did feel silly being the shortest and skinniest of the party.
"Alright," said Nines, adjusting the strap of her slicing kit over her shoulder, finding it difficult with the bomb on her back. "Final check."
Jacen nodded, activating the commlink on his wrist. It beeped; Louise could hear a faint crackle from her own comm. "Testing. One-two, testing." All around them his voice popped into existence, from Mako to Nines to her own wrist. It was slightly surreal. Hearing his voice come clean over the comms, he smiled devilishly. "H—hewwo? Can chu heaw me?"
Everyone snapped to Jacen, expressions ranging from baffled to livid. Why was he—? Louise began, before Nines cut in.
"I," she said, speaking directly into her commlink while maintaining direct eye contact with him, "have never wanted to kill someone more than I do now."
"Pwease! Have mwercwy!" His voice was sickeningly childlike, a grin so shit-eating Louise wanted to punch him herself, even if she was utterly perplexed by what he was doing.
Her brow furrowed, knowing that he was doing a bit but missing the context.
"G—guys, guys." Mako looked on the verge of tears, struggling to hold back laughter, more at Nines' disgusted expression than anything else. "Could—could we not—not kill each other yet? We have a job to do."
Nines jabbed a finger at Jacen. "I will if he behaves."
Mako nodded, wrestling control back of her face. "Jacen. Please."
"Alright. Alright." He coughed and adjusted his coat. "Comms all clear, then."
"Weapons?" Nines asked, already sounding exhausted.
Each nodded their heads, checking their blasters and blades.
Louise had spent the morning stripping her blaster, making sure everything was cleaned and maintained. It wouldn't fail her. It shouldn't, at least. And her vibroblade? Well, a single press of the activation nub. the piercing hum answered her question quick enough.
Pleased with the brief, if superfluous, check, she looked up to the rest. "And what about our explosives?"
While Louise was familiar with the end product, the actual mechanics behind technology-based explosives eluded her. She just wanted to be sure.
"Well," Mako began, "I don't think we have time to test them, but everything appears to be alright. Everyone got a blinking blue light near the receiver?" A chorus of confirmations followed. "Good. Then we should be good."
"'Should'," added Nines, dubiously.
"Should," agreed Jacen.
Nines sighed. "I guess there's no helping it."
"Nope."
"Ugh. Let's get a move on, then. I'd rather be disappointed sooner than later."
"Couldn't agree more," replied Jacen, clapping his hands. He picked up a helmet from the boot, reminiscent of Mandalorian design, and slipped it on. Louise and Mako followed suit, each with their own helmets, and he began walking toward a nearby elevator which would take them down to the streets below. "Onward. Terrorism awaits!"
...
Walking to the factory was a nerve-wracking endeavour. They were deep behind enemy lines, not hiding, not skulking, but brazenly strutting toward the centre of the Exchange's entire drug trade. Security cameras scanned from the top of buildings and crossroads, searching for any intruders. And, even though she knew they couldn't see her, every time they swept over her she couldn't help tense, like a spring tightly wound.
And why couldn't they see her? Mako. The brilliant bounty hunter had sliced into the Exchange's system, replacing a live feed with a looped recording of the previous day. Anyone sitting at the security desk would see nothing but a slow and eventless day.
Even though it was working—after all, no alarms had sounded and there were no armed guards converging on their position (and Louise would know). She just wasn't confident. What if the slicing didn't work? What if they were walking into a trap? What if someone noticed any discrepancies? There were many things that could go wrong here, and if they got caught?
Questions, questions. All these questions, all these doubts swirled in her head leaving Louise constantly watching over her shoulder, hand on her hip ready to grasp her blaster at a moment's notice. Oh, I wish Khem was here, she thought, ruefully. But he wasn't. Not only was he far too big and therefore conspicuous for this mission—and it wasn't like there were many Dashade in the city—but she doubted he had the patience for such a mission. No, she knew he wouldn't have the patience for it. Sneaking around, planting bombs. Nary a bloodied corpse to be seen.
If he had his way, she would be charging the front gates, obliterating her enemies with the almighty power of the Dark Side, reminding the galaxy of the true power of the Ancient Sith.
No, he would not be interested, even for a so-called "assassin."
Mako's eyes were glued to her datapad, scanning live feeds of Exchange security cameras. True live feeds, of course. As good as she was, Mako had trouble slicing isolated "smart" droids without getting close. People were another thing entirely. So, she kept an eye out. If someone was coming their way, they had ample opportunity to hide, wait for them to pass by, then continue.
And hide they did.
A truck cruised down the streets. Crates full of spice loaded in the back, being moved into a storage facility elsewhere in the sprawling maze of warehouses. It passed without a fuss, but it was a tense moment. Mako barely had time to shuffle her companions into a shadowy side-street before the truck barrelled past and further into the district.
A few other patrols passed by after that, but nothing so problematic. Two guards, loudly laughing about some game or other. A supervisor slinking into an alley for a ciggara break. A droid repairing a faulty street lamp.
Eventually, they arrived at the factory's front door. A tall chain-link fence dictated the perimeter, humming with electricity. Turrets were mounted atop the metal posts, scanning the streets. Skeletal towers, tall enough to peek over the razor wire, sprouted on either side of the front gate where a force-field sat barring entry.
A few droids milled about, but they were outnumbered by the heavily armed guards patrolling the length of the fence or otherwise standing vigil at their posts.
Nothing got in or out without their go-ahead.
Louise was sure they had permission to use lethal force against anyone who didn't have clearance. Fortunately, neither she nor the others were stupid enough to try.
Skirting around the fence, the quartet kept an eye out for a blind spot in the Exchange's security. Though the turrets weren't an issue—once again, thanks to Mako—the guards and droids were another thing entirely, which made scoping out a suitable entry point a slow process. Through alleyways and side streets, past workers and droids, they edged around the facility all until they reached the loading dock.
It was quiet. Trucks came and went, sure, but there were only a few supervisors and droids milling around between loads. "And look over there," Jacen whispered, pointing to the numerous crates of what had to be spice and other such chemicals. Most patrols were lingering about the garage, before the force-field gate, but they seemed to be neglecting the corners, where crates were towered high with nary a guard or worker to be seen.
"Good a place as any to hide," Nines mused. She scanned the area, pure-red eyes taking in the wide swath of opportunity. "Not right away. We should wait and see what their schedule is like."
"Mm-hmm." Mako was fiddling with her datapad. "It'll give me time to shut down the fence, too."
Jacen nodded, though added: "Not all of it."
"Just this section, I know."
It took some time. Longer than it would have had Mako wanted to shut the whole thing down. All the while, Nines kept her eyes out, watching the dock with an intensity bordering on unnerving.
Louise and Jacen settled in as best they could. The alleyway they were camped in was dingy. Louise didn't know how, considering she had seen maintenance droids diligently cleaning the streets and keeping them in working order. Maybe this is another "cheap" thing. Keep the main streets fine, but who cares if the alleyway is rusted with puddles of weird grey water, she thought, eying the aforementioned puddle with suspicion. If this is the state of one of the major criminal organisations, I loathe to see the actual slums…
"When you're ready," Mako whispered, and Nines nodded.
More time passed. More trucks came and went, and Louise was beginning to feel her patience waning. Every second gave the Exchange more time to realise something was up. Her leg was bouncing, even as she leaned against the wall, eyes darting back and forth down the alleyway. She couldn't sense anyone nearby—outside of the obvious—but it didn't ease her anxieties at all.
But, eventually Nines stood up. "Now," she said, and without waiting for a reply, she sprang out of the alleyway, crossing the distance and ducking behind one of the fence posts. Unslinging her splicing kit, she pulled out a small device from her belt—a hand-held laser cutter—and began carving her way through the fence links; one after another, second by second. It was slow progress. Agonising, but Nines had timed it perfectly.
Not quite a hole. That would be conspicuous. Rather, a flap of metal with enough slack anyone could slip through and into the refinery grounds proper. Crawling through, Nines took position behind a stack of crates, waiting.
Mako was already checking the live feed, again. When it was clear they were sufficiently isolated, she flicked her head and, one by one, the rest followed. Jacen first, sprinting across the distance and slipping under the fence with practiced ease. Louise went next, clumsier. The explosives made it hard, and she was glad she hadn't gone as the Terrifying Sith Lord, because she just knew her robes would get caught in the jagged metal.
Finally, Mako. Packing up her tools, she rushed over. Struggling, like Louise, she managed to crawl through and began running over to the crates. Everything was going perfect, until—
"Hey! Who's there?"
Shit.
Mako had just ducked behind the crates, but one of the workers must've seen her.
Everyone froze, eyes wide. The potential of a firefight thick in the air. It was inevitable. There was no way they would be able to deal with the Exchange goon without drawing the attention of others.
Well, almost no way.
"I'll take care of it," Louise hissed. The looks she received were dubious, but nobody argued. Taking a deep breath, she popped out from behind the crates, spotting the thorn in their side approach, blaster in hand. He was a foreman, she noted. A pale Zabrak. Doing her best to look as indignant as possible, she scrunched up her face and scowled. "'Who's there?' Who are you?"
She could feel her companions die inside.
"I asked you first," said the Zabrak, slightly off kilter by her retort yet unwilling to lower his guard. "Identify yourself."
Louise made a show of rolling her eyes, which didn't really work because she was wearing a helmet. She approached, hands raised, though slowed as he reached for the commlink on his belt.
"Now-now," she said, slow, deliberate. As casual as she could, she waved her hands, injecting a subtle suggestion into the air. "We can talk this out."
He scowled, though the growing vacancy in his eyes told her she succeeded. Somewhat. He lowered his blaster, no longer reaching for his commlink. "We can talk this out," he echoed.
Inwardly, Louise smiled. Viciously. "My name's Karin," she began, inching ever closer, every word slipping into his mind, insidiously, twisting his reality. "I'm a mechanic. Working maintenance here, actually. What's your name?"
"Maintenance?" He seemed confused, but the suggestion tempered any caution. "Name's Gar. Gar Flicks. Hm. Heavily armed for maintenance."
"We work for the Exchange," she replied, closer and closer. "Even you've got a blaster, right?"
"Yeah, yeah. Blaster."
"Speaking of," she continued, now within arm reach, "what kind of model is that? Looks well cared for." She slung an arm over his shoulder. Casual. Friendly-like.
Then, not caring about his answer, she unsheathed the vibroblade at her hip with her off hand, and, without a second thought—
"Well, it's a T-13—Grrk!" He choked, legs falling out from beneath him.
Confusion. Fear. Panic. A flurry of emotion welled within him. He struggled, but his limbs wouldn't respond. Couldn't respond. The blade, vibrating at ultrasonic frequencies, cut through the bone, and pierced his brain stem.
A moment later and he was gone. That ball of life vanished. No more.
Before he collapsed, Louise grabbed him tight. Backpedalling quickly, she pulled him behind the crates before too much blood was spilt onto the cement.
"Nine Hells," Jacen breathed, though there was a giddy laugh behind his words. "That was cold."
Louise rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well…"
"Reckless work," Nines murmured, eying Louise critically. "But—good thinking. We'll have to dispose of the body, but it's one less pair of eyes on us."
Jacen turned to Nine, pantomiming complete shock.
"What?"
"Golly-gee, a complement?" he said. "I didn't think you had a kind bone in your body."
"Jace!" Mako chastised.
"No, he's right," Nines said, deadpanned. "I don't have a kind bone. I see good work, I acknowledge it. Even you could receive a compliment if you ever did anything to deserve it."
Even with the helmet, Louise could imagine the withering expression on Jacen's face as he sneered: "Thanks."
"Still, I'd rather we not make this a habit," Nines continued, ignoring him. "We have enough work as it is without having to hide a bunch of bodies, too."
Jacen nodded. "Yeah, she's right. Worst case someone grows curious where the foreman went. Regardless, Mako, Karin—you two head off to the East Wing. Me and Nines will deal with ol' Ger here."
The girls' nodded and made to start moving.
"Once you're done," Nines added before they ran off, "activate your commlink three times and head out. We'll meet back at the carpark and get out of here."
"And if we fuck up," Mako said, chipper. "Make as much noise and leave it to you two to finish things."
"Exactly."
...
Mako took the lead, guiding the young Sith throughout the facility.
Honestly, Louise didn't mind. Mako was in her element, skulking through hallways, blaster in one hand and datapad in the other. From over her shoulder, she could see the live feed. Hallways beyond filled with workers, guards, and droids of all stripes. A skeleton crew, sure, but the facility was massive.
Delving deeper, she also realised that the facility smelled faintly of urine. Louise didn't know why, but it was revolting. Does all spice smell of piss, she thought. Or does the Exchange even refuse their workers the right to go toilet?
Ten minutes later, she realised it was the former.
The factory floor stank. An utterly nauseating mix of piss, burnt toast, bleach, and the futile attempt to cover the stench with forest scented air fresheners. Despite how faint the smell was, it was nice to know even the Exchange hated the detestable odours of chemicals and raw spice. Still, it didn't stop Louise from wanting to gag and retch.
Mako, on the other hand, seemed oddly unaffected.
Still, Louise refused to let it ruin the mission. Centering herself, she forced herself to focus as she stalked the absent halls, weaving between patrols here and there.
Eventually, they arrived at their first stop.
It was a maintenance closet, big enough for at least two of the large droids to restock utilities. It was also—if the reverberating thump of machines were any indication—directly beside one of the main processing units. And beyond that was one of the many ammunition depots, just outside a security room where guards were on break, enjoying the scant hours of peace from the factory proper.
Mako flicked her head to the corner as she got to work, plugging her datapad into the control panel to make sure they wouldn't be interrupted.
Setting up a bomb wasn't as difficult as Louise might've thought. A few buttons pressed to activate the magnetic locks, sticking it in place low in the corner, behind a refuelling station where nobody would see it. Then, to prime the thing, she flicked a few switches as Mako had instructed, setting it to the right frequency, and… done. One down, two to go.
While Louise tended to the bomb, Mako was fiddling away at her datapad, the live feed giving way to a waterfall of data streaming across the dimly lit green screen. Honestly, Louise wondered how Mako could keep up with the strange polyglot of code.
Regardless, she was a skilled woman.
In the corner of the screen was a small window where the live feed remained, streaming video of the hallway just outside. A lone droid was walking down the hall: a rotund creature with four spider-like legs and countless arms tipped with everything from a welding torch to a saw.
As it approached, Louise could even make out the faint metallic clank as it waddled down the hall, stopping only once it reached their door.
Louise tensed, reading her blaster.
Mako shook her head as if to say, "Don't worry 'bout it."
The droid extended a tool, inserting it into the control panel as she had seen many droids do before. It stopped, froze, then withdrew the tool and turned around, walking back down the hall it came from.
Louise looked to Mako in askance and all the slicer could do was shrug. "Minor virus. It won't bother us."
Louise nodded. She didn't understand, but accepted the explanation regardless.
Once the coast was clear, Mako and Louise left the confines of the closet and set about after their next destination.
...
Despite the airs of a consummate professional, Nines felt like she was floundering. She would be the first to admit this mission was a mess. There was no chain of command, just the vague orders of "Destroy the Exchange's assets," and a hodgepodge team of three bounty hunters, an absentee Sith, and Nines, herself. Even then, things were going well. Too well.
Two of three bombs were planted, and her partner was exemplary in his discipline. Barely a single wise-crack or joke ever since they infiltrated the factory. He set up and primed the bombs like a professional, and they were already well on their way to the third site.
Below them, from where they stood up on a balcony, was the factory floor. Machines crashed and hissed, a chaotic cacophony of movement and noise. Droids milled about like insects, inspecting systems, performing diagnostics, and making any repairs necessary as spice flowed through the processing plants—beaten, crushed, bathed in foul smelling chemicals, and sent out through pipes elsewhere into the facility and neighbouring factories.
An office sat nearby to the pipes. A server room, she remembered. Even if the explosion itself didn't set off a horrific chain of destruction, Jacen was sure the property damage would be more than enough.
Nines didn't know what was weirder.
The fact they hadn't run into too much trouble—only a few avoidable patrols thanks to Mako's little bug streaming a live feed to Nines' datapad—or Jacen himself.
She expected, well. Less? More?
For all his dossier said, he was cavalier and a hedonist. Didn't take well to the rigid structure of the military. Refused to take anything seriously. Yet, here he was, the complete opposite.
Now, Nines knew she had two paths. Take him as he was now, give him a break, understand that he was an expert in his field regardless of eccentricities outside of missions, or wait for the other shoe to drop. Wait for that moment when he proved all her intelligence right.
Nines was a control freak. She knew it. Admitted it. Her superiors knew it, too. It's why she worked alone, at least in part. Lest she drive her partners mad with her constant over-analysis and high standards of operation. It's why she adamantly refused Keeper's idea to partner up with the anarchist, Kaliyo Djannis. A walking liability, that one, bigger than Deathstrider's dossier ever made him out to be—and far more dangerous.
Not to say he wasn't dangerous, of course. Jacen was. He was very dangerous. Took on an entire clan of Evocii rebels just to earn his sponsorship to the Mandalorian Great Hunt. But as dangerous as he was, he wasn't as selfish or as utterly unpredictable as Djannis.
Jacen was just casual. Almost careless. Or so the dossier said. He proved it when they met, when they planned this operation, but now? Now she wasn't sure. Whatever the case, it was why she needled in on him the most.
Though, it wasn't like she didn't have any reservations about the rest of her companions.
Mako. Nines trusted Mako the most. A capable woman, a skilled bounty hunter who took her job seriously. Might not be the most dangerous member of the party, not the most physically imposing at least, but her skills were invaluable, and she could be trusted. Well, as far as Nines trusted anyone.
Then there was Karin Maillart. Better than a foreigner Sith—Nine didn't approve of the idea of a fresh-faced apprentice taking command of the operation (as she would inevitably do by virtue of being Sith), even if her skills would be beyond helpful—but she was an unknown. A wildcard. And Nines hated unknowns.
The only things she knew about the enigmatic Karin was that she first appeared on Dromund Kaas last year and she had no complains about sabotaging a slave revolt. And how curious was that? Nines knew that both Jacen and herself had also visited that very revolt around the same time. Something to think on, at least. Whatever the case, that was as much as she knew about the bounty hunter, until meeting her. Only since then had she learned her species and her physical appearance. Human. Fair skin. Blue eyes. Purple hair.
It was troubling, such a haphazard team. So little known and what little was known was dubious at best. She just hoped it'd be enough.
The Emperor knew she didn't want to die on some brief excursion. She had a job to do, and she just wanted this finished.
Glancing down at her datapad, Nines froze.
In the hallway before them, a trio of guards were approaching at a casual pace. Her eyes darted around, but she knew there were no side rooms or alcoves to hide within. The only way out was back where they came.
"Kark." She spun on her heels, grabbing Jacen by the arm and forced him to follow. His eyes widened, a question on his lips, but she didn't give him time to voice them. "We gotta go now."
Back the way they came, they reached the door. But before she could reach for the control panel, it slid open and revealed an elderly Twi'lek man with pasty yellow skin. Lekku tattooed, eyes tired and unfocused.
By his dress, Nines assumed he was the overseer of this facility.
For the split second when their eyes met, he blinked. Mouth opening into a slight sneer. Teeth pointed like needles. He was running on autopilot and, before his brain caught up, he thought them nothing more than workers or security getting in his way.
Nines wasted no time. Unslinging her blaster from her hip, she lined up the shot in a single, fluid motion, and pulled the trigger.
The unfortunate overseer barely had time to react before his eye popped from the superheated plasma cutting through his flesh. There was steam. Smoke. The foul smell of burnt meat as his skin vaporised and skull cracked from the pressure. He collapsed, dead in an instant.
But he was forgotten as quickly as he appeared. Behind them, at the end of the balcony, the door slid open, and they were spotted.
"Intruders!" a guard shouted, his commlink in hand. The other two drew their blasters. "Intru—!"
Jacen silenced him, a bolt of angry red carving through the soft flesh of the guard's throat—blood and steam erupted, splattering their companions. The other two fired, forcing Nines and Jacen to duck behind the door. Fire was traded, green and red lancing down the halls.
One guard, too slow to duck behind cover, was hit in the hip—falling as blistering pain cut through his very being. The other tried to be a hero and was quickly cut down by a volley of plasma.
Both Jacen and Nines froze, looking about the balcony. "I'm guessing we don't have the time to hide the evidence, do we?" Jacen asked.
Nines didn't even have time to answer before the piercing scream of klaxons cut through the drone of the factory. Red lights flooded the halls, swirling angry as machinery slowed to a halt.
It was official. They'd been caught.
Jacen laughed, somewhat manic. "Ah, great. Guess creeping about's out of the question."
"Indeed," replied Nines, teeth grit and furious. Sloppy. Sloppy! I should've been paying more attention. Skatá!
"Come on." Jacen readied his twin blasters, gesturing down the hall. "We better get this last explosive armed."
...
On the other side of the factory, Louise and Mako were going fine. They maneuvered through the labyrinth quick enough, passing by guards and droids with expert ease. Helped one of the two had the preternatural ability to sense when others were nearby.
They tended to avoid the factory floors—a mess of movement and noise that left it difficult to focus on not getting caught. Well enough, they planted their final bomb and that's when the klaxons started screaming, and the factory was bathed in red.
Freezing, the two looked at each other, concerned. Louise couldn't sense anyone nearby, and the cameras showed no droids in the vicinity. Flicking through the feed, Mako swore.
"What?" Louise asked. "The others?"
Mako sighed, as if she expected this to happen. "Yeah…"
"Should we—?"
"No." She shook her head. "Jacen can handle himself. We should get out of here and wait by the speeder."
Louise nodded, and the two quickly began making their way out of the factory.
They weren't quite running, but walking briskly, purposefully. The datapad was nearly forgotten in their flight, Mako feeling as if they didn't quite have the time to navigate by feed. They were retracing their steps, out to the docks where they'd make their escape.
Unfortunate, because three guards were approaching at speed.
Louise barely had time to notice their presence, sensing indignation and fury beyond the office they stood within. Without thinking, she grabbed Mako and threw her into the corner, next to the door. Ancient Sith slipped fluently from her lips. A precaution. When the door slid open and the guards burst in, none noticed the two women held up tight against the nook of the room.
They barrelled through, blaster carbines in hand, eyes hard and ready for a fight.
And when they passed, Louise made a snap decision.
She rushed forward, vibroblade in hand. Slicing the throat of the nearest, she impaled the knife into the second's throat. Not even bothering to collect the blade, she slammed her fist into the face of the third, leaping up, wrapping her legs around them, and snapping their neck with Force-enhanced strength.
All three collapsed, two choking on their own blood as the third was paralysed.
Sparing Louise a moment's glance, Mako threw her head towards where the guards came from. "Come on, let's get out of here."
Taking a moment to retrieve her vibroblade, Louise followed, a silent hope on her lips that the others would be okay.
...
"Could you hurry up?" Jacen snapped, ducking out from the hallway, firing pot-shots at the gathering of droids and guards piled up at the end of the break room. For the droids, they were struggling, their path-finding stalling as they tried to figure out how to clamber over the bodies of their fellow machines and the corpses of Exchange thugs. It didn't stop them from unleashing plasma upon Jacen whenever their photoreceptors spotted him.
The guards had more sense in their heads. Using the droids as—well, "organic shields" was inaccurate, but as walking, stupid shields. They fired haphazardly; spray and pray. Maybe if they weren't so eager, they'd have actually hit the bounty hunter, but Jacen had only suffered glances, singeing his clothes reddening skin.
"Don't rush me!" Nines was frantically setting up the final bomb in the ajoining toilets.
Seven Hells! Jacen would've sympathised with her. He really would've. Unfortunately, he had to contend with a wall of fire that left him feeling that a bit of urgency was in order.
He ducked out, firing a volley of plasma, striking metal and flesh.
Droids. One of the most frustrating things to fight, yet he couldn't believe his luck. They were utterly ruthless, fulfilling their programming to the best of their abilities. But these weren't particularly advanced. A well-placed or lucky shot could disable them or even shut them down.
Better, the Exchange seemed to follow the "harder to hit" school of thought, rather than "tough as nails."
Their body and limbs were thin bars of cheap durasteel. The thickest part was their chassis, which was reinforced, but even a few bolts could pierce the plating and fry the wiring within.
Plasma struck, hitting a shoulder joint. Metal melted. Gears jammed. It couldn't use its arm anymore, locked in place as it fired an endless stream of plasma. The second bolt struck its head, knocking it over, destroying its photoreceptors. It fell back, turning over as blaster fire sprayed around the doorway, striking allies, and forcing the guards to retreat.
"If I die, I'm haunting your ass," Jacen snapped.
"Malakas, stop being dramatic!"
"I don't want to die!"
"Stop yelling at me!"
More fire was traded, Jacen felling only a single soldier completely by accident. He glanced at his blasters, knowing that he was running out of ammo. If they waited any longer, he would be out and they would be dead.
He was about to poke his head in and check up on Nines, but she almost ran into him. "I'm done, I'm done!" she screamed, he could hear his commlink beep three times. "The bombs are set!"
"Excellent!" Jacen said, through gritted teeth. "Now, how do you suppose we get out of here?"
"Oh, for the love of—" Nines threw Jacen back into the toilets and picked up a grenade from her belt. "Stay back!"
Jacen gasped. "If you blow us up, I'll murder you."
"I'd let you," Nines muttered, and threw the grenade out of the room. It bounced off the wall, rolling out of sight. Frantically, she slammed on the door control panel, shutting the door tight.
Six.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two—
The walls rumbled, a furious roar shaking the ground. Wall dented, malformed.
As much as Nines wanted to wait, to keep an ear out, she knew they didn't have time. Hoping that the door controls weren't damaged, she activated the control panel and breathed a sigh of relief as the door slid open with only a meagre jank in the gears.
Peeking her head out, she found the door on the other side of the break room a torn mess of blackened metal and gore and fire.
"Come on, let's get the kark out of here,"
Nines didn't even bother replying as the pair broke into a sprint, clambering over the mass of twisted metal and out, down the halls.
Within time, they were back on the balcony where their mistake was made—the corpses piled off to the side so as to not trip anyone over. Not even bothering to take the stairs, Jacen threw himself off the edge and onto the stilled machinery. Nines followed soon after, and the pair quickly descended to ground floor and off to the docks.
"They're running away!" a voice screamed from behind, and blaster fire followed them, barely audible above the screeching klaxons.
Diving, ducking, they did anything they could to hamper their pursuers. Doors shut behind them, control panels shot and locked. Anyone unfortunate enough to get in their way, blasted before they even knew what was coming.
Eventually, they arrived at a familiar room: the garage. Beyond the large metal doors, they could see the docks and the fence beyond. Freedom. But they needed to get past the fence. Crawling, through, wasn't an option, Nines noted. There was always the chance they could get caught, shot to bits halfway through. No, they needed something quicker.
Jacen seemed to share the same thoughts, as he looked at her and said: "Blow it up."
"But—?"
"I don't wanna die," he said quickly yet emphatically. "Blow. It. The kark. Up."
Nines nodded and primed another grenade.
Behind her, Jacen shut the door to the garage, blasting the control panel until it was leaking molten copper. From behind the door, Jacen could hear someone banging on the door, barking orders. "Get this open! You lot, go around. I don't want any of them escaping!"
The grenade was thrown; the six seconds passed.
Red, angry energy flashed into being, ripping through the metal and sending cement flying. Small enough that it didn't set off the crates around the garage doors, big enough to create a gaping hole in the perimeter fence.
Without waiting for the metal to cool, the two started running again, climbing over the burning, twisted metal, and sprinting down the familiar streets of the industrial district.
...
All six bombs were set, and all that was left was to leave.
Louise and Mako were at the speeder, trying to recover from the sprint over. And the other two? Mako watched their escape with trepidation, pacing about the car as they bolted through the refinery—blazing red plasma hot on their tails. When they blew up the fence, she took it as her cue to leap into the driver's seat and start the engine.
They would need to leave as soon as they were able.
Off in the distance, blaster fire could be heard. It was getting closer. Louise fretted, irritated. I should've brought my rifle. I should've. Now would have been the perfect time for it, but no. I second guessed myself, and now we're here. Stuck with a pistol and nothing more.
There were three paths up to the parking lot where they sat: the elevator, a stairwell, and a road twisted up through the guts of the building. Unfortunately, neither knew which way their partners' would come. They didn't even know where the Exchange would come, or if they'd elect to take the most direct path with speeders. All Louise and Mako could do was wait. Waiting as the sound of a fight grew ever closer.
...
"We're idiots," Nines muttered, pacing about the tight confines of the elevator. A faint, patchy jingle could be heard, only punctuating how stupid she felt.
Jacen snorted. "It's faster than the stairs!"
"But the elevator? Seriously?" She pinched the bridge of her nose, head pounding. "So much for a swift getaway. We should've just parked it in the streets"
Floor by floor, the elevator rose. The counter above the doors ticked up, somehow making Nines even more impatient. "Come on, come on!" she could be heard, a ball of anxiety ready to explode at a moment's notice.
When the elevator finally arrived, dinging, and the doors began to open, both Nines and Jacen broke into a sprint.
The speeder was where they left it, and they could see Karin and Mako waiting—the engine revving loud and sickly.
"Oh, thank the Emperor," Nines breathed between heaving breaths.
Karin was waving them down. "Come on! Get in! Get in!" she shouted, pistol in hand and ready for anything. Below them, distantly, they could hear yelling. Commands. The Exchange was only steps behind.
"No shit!" Jacen screamed and jumped into the back seat with her.
Nines, however, ran around to the driver's side.
"I'm flying," she said in a tone that brook no argument, and Mako obeyed immediately.
A second later, and the speeder lurched into motion as it launched into the sky. A hail of blaster fire followed them, some flying wide, others missing narrowly. But amongst it all, a flair launched high into the air, glowing green with fury.
...
Louise watched the flair, dread pooling in her gut. She had no idea what the flair meant, but she didn't need to wonder for long.
Screeching down the streets, twin speeders shot into the sky—one barely missing a nearby warehouse in their ascent. Blaster fire followed, and Nines cursed. "Could I get some covering fire?" she asked, sending the speeder careening off to dodge the volley of plasma.
Louise and Jacen obeyed, ducking out from behind their seats, firing back in a fury. It didn't help much, the plasma splashing harmlessly off the armour plating. They didn't let up, though. Couldn't. There was nothing else they could do but spray and pray it would do something at the very least.
Unfortunately, all it did was waste ammo. Soon, Jacen was left empty, shooting nothing, blasters utterly useless. He ducked behind the worn leather of his seat and spat: "Kark! I'm out."
Louise joined him. She still had ammo. A lot of it, actually. This was the first time she had used her blaster today, and she still had a few clips left. She paused, looking between her blaster and him. "Take mine," she said. "You're a better shot."
"You sure?"
"No." She shoved it into his hands. "Don't lose it."
Jacen nodded, and returned, unleashing ineffectual hell upon the tailing speeders.
Now, Louise had nothing to do. Nothing but to stare up at the sky, watching blaster fire streak by, clutching her seat like her life depended on it— and it did as Nines nearly shredded the speeder in two as she weaved through the district, diving past buildings and panicked traffic.
It was chaos, utter chaos, and Louise felt useless.
Useless. Why? Because I don't have a blaster? Her face hardened. I'm a gods be damned Sith!
Peaking over her seat, she focused in on the two speeders weaving through the air. She could sense them, vaguely. Like dim balls of light in a dark room. The drivers, the passengers. Their emotions. Rage. Frustration. Why won't you sit still!
She pulled back, narrowing in on a single speeder. On the metal, lifeless yet with a presence in absence all on its own. She reached out, an invisible hand grasping towards it.
Nines jerked, sending the speeder into a downward spiral and Louise was forced to let go of the tail to hold tight as gravity flung her back. Oh, gods, what the fuck?
Tight corners and narrow paths, the flight was a disorientating flash of colour and sound. Louise honestly had no idea which way was up, or where they were going. The engine was screeching like a dying cat, and she was sure it couldn't put up with much more of Nines' abuse.
"For the love of all that is and will ever be!" Jacen screamed, utterly horrified by the insanity around them. "I don't want to die today."
Louise agreed, clutching onto the back of Mako's seat with an iron grip.
But Louise was Sith. She bottled that fear and frustration, crushing and squashing it down until it was a dense ball of pent up and unstable emotion. When they finally, finally, escaped the nightmare and flew high up into the air, above the city below. She unleashed that fury in a powerful shockwave of energy that rippled back and slammed into one of the tailing speeders.
It spiralled, as if jerked out of the air by an unseen force. Spinning, the armour plate was wrent from its chassis, and it fell out the sky, shattering against a control tower and exploding into a thunderous fireball.
Jacen, too disoriented, had only seen the result. He ducked back down, and she could feel shock and owlish amusement radiating off him. "I—I think I watched a man have a heart attack."
"What?" Nines barked back.
"Did you not see that?"
"Too busy trying not to die!"
"Uh, yeah," Louise replied, trying to sound casual as she clucked her seat with clawed hands. "I saw it and it was, um… Wild."
"Good for you!" Nines replied. "As far as I'm aware, we still have one more tail!"
"Oh, shit, yeah." Jacen immediately resumed taking potshots at the final speeder.
"By the way," asked Mako from behind the passenger seat, "how far away are we from the factory?"
"Two, three klicks off?" Jacen replied, ducking as blaster fire lanced past right where his head would've been. "Why?"
Mako didn't reply. She didn't need to.
Light. Bright, booming light shot into the sky. A furious fireball that towered above the skyline. Louise could see the shockwaves cutting through the air, and a few seconds later it slammed into them with the wrath of a god.
The air twisted, ripped. Turbulence shook the speeders, throwing the passengers around. It was only Nines quick thinking that stopped them from spiralling out of control and slamming into a nearby building. The Exchange? Not so much.
Whoever was driving must've been startled, because their speeder careened through the air as if the driver had thrown the control stick to the side. It crashed, exploded, but was nothing compared to the crackling cloud of fire bellowing in the sky.
What the fuck was in those bombs? Louise thought, watching with morbid interest as it grew.
...
Nines did not stop tensing until she had disposed of the speeder, and only once they were in a completely different hemisphere did she finally breathe.
Oh, her anxiety levels hadn't abated. The city was abuzz with news of a terrorist attack, or a mistake on part of the Exchange. Whatever the case, an explosion had leveled half a district, and was still exploding as chemicals and spice reignited over and over again, spewing noxious fumes high into the atmosphere. Nobody knew exactly what happened, and she liked it that way.
Today was… Tough. Yes, tough was a good word for it. Certainly unlike her previous endeavours across the galaxy. But nobody died—or, at least, nobody important. The most were a few burns and scrapes from the firefight, too shallow for anyone to notice in the adrenaline-fueled haze.
Nines, herself, knew some of her hair was singed and armour a bit battered, just like Karin. Jacen's ear was bright red, soliciting surprised hisses whenever he tried to adjust his hair, forgetting the injury every once in a while.
Mako was fine. Out of breath, but fine. When Nines had commandeered the speeder, she had ducked below the seats and hidden herself while she detonated the bombs.
"I hope everyone understands," Nines said as they walked through the streets toward the spaceport, "whatever happened at the refineries, we weren't there."
"What refineries," asked Jacen, trying to joke yet utterly exhausted.
"That's the spirit."
"Where to from here?" Mako asked. She looked as haggard as Jacen. And Karin. And Nines. Back hunched, shuffling rather than walking. Was that a limp?
"Don't know," Nines replied. "Suppose we split up. Never talk to each other again. Hope nobody connects the dots."
"Now, now." Jacen rolled his eyes, a ghost of a smile stretching over his lips. He winced, accidentally brushing his ear. "We'll have a drink and relax. Unwind a bit."
Nines pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes. "At your ship, I assume?"
"I got a good collection of liquor. Whiskies, wines, vodkas. That sort of thing. Come on, we deserve the break."
"I think we deserve a lot more than just a break," muttered Karin. "Fucking Vizhen."
"Might as well," Nines decided, eventually. "It will give me a good alibi."
Jacen chuckled. "Here, here!"
- Location
- Versailles
I don't remember if Nine was described, but after that malakas, my headcanon is that she is Kassandra
Advena Phillips
God-Emperor of all that is Void/Eldrich Horror
- Location
- The deep dark void that is my personal domain.
A red eyes blue skinned Kassandra with anxiety.