Citadel of the Ren

Correct, it is not an option...
Her hand continued to stroke through Fiora's hair before suddenly coming to a stop as the Princess-turned-Knight-turned-Empress seemed to finally get to the root of what was bothering her. Neith had to take a moment to calm herself and stop a more visceral reaction from rising to the surface. Instead, she focused her energy into grabbing hold of Fiora and pulling her up into a seated position and into a cuddle from behind
Sweet Sister... I know things seem bleak and that perhaps hope is lost. But do not let such feelings fester. We may use the darksider, but even we are not immune to feeling demoralised...
She slid her arms around Fiora, hugging her fiery haired sister as she leaned her face forward to kiss the top of the girl's head. This in turn caused her silver locks to drape forward
Let me tell you a little story about the Imperial Knights and their peace... There once was an Imperial Knight by the name of Izalea Kasalle, cousin of Jenia Kasalle. She joined the Imperial Knights as a young girl, believing them to be honourable and just. There was no greater service for her than to be an Imperial Knight, with the order becoming like a family to her... But a secret laid beneath the oh so shiny surface of that order. For despite their espousal of following the Light and adhering to its tenets, a darkness grew in the hearts of many. A darkness which consumed them when Xeonon Solomon plotted his treachery against Nicademus. They tried, and failed, to assassinate Nicademus, falsely claiming that they were merely carrying out their oath sworn duty to prevent him from being corrupted by and using the Darkside. But it was merely a cover for the darkness within their own hearts. They were the ones that sought power for themselves...We purged the traitors, but it was little too late. What had once seemed a noble and stalwart Knighthood had been revealed to fall well short...
She pressed another kiss to the top of Fiora's head
I left their order and became a Knight of Ren not long after that purge... There was no path to peace with the Imperial Knights. They long ago abandoned their principles and were merely biding their time until Nicademus was gone to once again resume their agenda... We are a threat to the First Order, not just because we are darksiders, but because we threaten their power. When your Mother became Empress, the Imperial Knights were furious. But when Octavian was offered to the Imperial Knights to train and Faina eventually became Empress, they knew victory was theirs... Sure, the Imperial Knights may have purged their ranks, but I suspect it was only of scapegoats to cover for the sickness that still festered in the hearts of many... Octavian was raised within this corruption, taught to think as the others did. No... I doubt he could have been reasoned with, even if Jin had managed to find him. Of that, I am certain...

She moved her face up and back a little when Fiora twisted around to look at her. The younger Ren was now the first person to see what lay beneath her mask in quite some time now. The truth of the matter was that Izalea Kasalle had died years ago and only Neith remained. Unlike her siblings, she did not much care nor enjoy reminiscing about her past or bringing it up to others. But in such a moment as this, she could bear the pain
Yes, well... Could you imagine the scandal that would have been? Imperial Knights sworn to protect the Emperor try and take his life... He protected them to save their reputation, even when Harnan found one of their number helping protect and defend a Jedi Library on Ossus... No that information had to remain under lock and key, yet we were the ones that the Imperials were suspicious of betraying the First Order...
She unwrapped her left arm from around Fiora's waist and ran her hand through the fiery red mane, brushing it down across her sisters back while she considered the statement made
I can't speak with any certainty, but Faina never seemed like she was part of it. But perhaps that was her greatest skill... Many a spy never seemed like they were working for the enemy and even seemed like they were aiding their allies... As for Octavian... Perhaps he was not knowingly part of it, maybe he was, but what ever the case it does not matter any more. Even if he did not want the Crown and Throne before, he will fight to keep them now. His whole life Nicademus prepared the boy to succeed him. Now his own Sister has raised a standard against him, something which threatens the one thing his whole life has been about until now...
She let out a sigh, her hand continuing to comb through the red mess of hair
If he wins and the Imperial Knights achieve victory, they will wipe us all out...

Reminiscent of a void dwelling crustacean, the personalized yorik-vec of the Executor descended through the clouds, silent as a wraith as its dovin basals manipulated the forces of gravity for propulsion. It served as a stark contrast to the four TIE-Conquistadors that followed them in, escorting the Bleeding Orifice all the way down from orbit to the landing pad situated outside the Citadel of Ren, their twin-ion engines shreaking the entire way. Long spindly segmented chitin armoured legs extended from crevasses on the ventral bow just prior to the coral craft setting down, operating as the living ship's landing gear, puncturing the tarmac with their pincer ends and bending slightly at the joints as they accepted its weight. Beneath the prow a section of yorik-coral retracted and a seam split in the flesh beneath it, revealing a dilating hatch-sphincter that split apart, exposing the interior of the organic vessel while a long molleung worm unravelled from the foot of the opening all the way to the ground to form a ramp.

"We're here." Hissed Nem's hoarse voice, stating the obvious given the view of the Citadel they had through the translucent membrane serving as a cockpit window. He released the controls and rapped his knuckles on the cognition throne to signal the thrall to take over, then stepped out of the enclosed space and into the corridor just beyond. Sliding a hand beneath the left lapel of his coat, the Executor withdrew a scrap of parchment and a stylus biot from a pocket in the inner lining, then quickly scribbled down a series of digits onto its surface. The living pen squirted a bio-degradable ink from a slender proboscis that served as the writing tip of the stylus. When he was done recording the sequenced series of numbers, the Intendant returned the pen to his pocket and folded the piece of paper remaining in his hand, before then offering it to Jin. "Take this. Given the unlikelihood of you allowing me to surgically implant a villip in your skull so we can remain in contact, this is the next best thing. That's the frequency for a private channel you can reach me at. Opposed to the uncrackable telepathic network a villip uses for communications, this frequency can be sliced using your infidel technology, so if you need to transmit try to do it from a secure connection. Use the passphrase 'blue givin' to identify yourself. It may take me some time to respond depending on what I'm doing, but don't hesitate to contact me if extraction proves necessary. I'll do what I can to provide a distraction to take some of the heat off of you."

Clawed toes worn down to nubs by time and decrepitude sounded on the vein strewn coral floor behind Nem, causing the Executor to turn his hooded head and regard the old chazrach standing there quietly, its scaled hands and head shaking with infirmity. The bipedal reptilian was wearing what looked like a ceremonial set of shimmering robes produced from expensive glistaweb, while a robeskin satchel hung over its left shoulder, full of the various knickknacks the Intendant typically carried for diplomatic events or cultural exchanges with infidel races. It contained a bladder-flask of sparkbee honey, a handheld qahsa device, writing and recording implements, a pulsating living lambent crystal, his personal villip, and a commbuzzer among other things. Nem looked his aide over, then nodded, before turning back to Jin.

"Getting here was the easy part, but getting out will be somewhat trickier, especially without Fiora's support. Even with a few surprises, there is no way my ship will be able to outfight or outrun that Ren fleet in orbit. So, if you must extract, go to ground. Even at the centre of the Ren's seat of power, there will be places to hide within the city. Locate one of them and hunker down. I'll find you when I am able." The tight skin stretched over his right cheek lifted slightly, suggesting he was smirking beneath the gnullith. "You already know what happens if you fail. My suggestion, assuming you don't want Harnan as a future father-in-law...don't fail, Jin. Heh, heh, heh." Even his snickering was distorted by the rebreather.

Half a minute later, the Executor appeared at the threshold of the ramp, joined by his chazrach manservant Scab. Decorative hooks of bone attached to the bottom of the Intendant's sleeveless long-coat rattled together in the breeze, adding a musical quality to the Yuuzhan Vong's presence, which otherwise exuded a cold menace. Barely any of his face was visible, hidden behind his gnullith and veiled in the shadows cast by his hood. Only the tight skin around his glowing emerald eyes was visible, strewn with dark veins that spiderwebbed out from his skull sockets across his corpse pallor complexion. Empty hands rested down at his side, not far from a pair of coufee blades sheathed in coral scabbards on either side of his waist where the living pants adhered to the skin of his legs gave way to his naked navel and chest, which themselves were a pale canvas of religious artwork. The left half of Nem's body appeared devoted to the Trickster Goddess, Yun-Harla, while the right was a shrine to the Slayer God, Yun-Yammka. A self admitted atheist, the humour was not lost on Nem, who in life had known both Yuuzhan Vong his peoples pantheon of deities were based upon. Harla, the one he barely remembered from long ago, would have likely shared a laugh over it. His ocular implants studied the Citadel connected to the landing pad, then he lowered his gaze and sauntered down the ramp with an arrogant swagger, curious who would be there to greet them.

Jin was in fact rather hot under the collar. The fact Fiora wasn't here greeting her personally made Jin wonder if her return was being kept from her lover. And then there was Harnan assuming she was a hostage, and not standing here, unshackled and conscious, of her own free will. She did feel a little nervous at the moment Nem offered to resume the duel here and now. Almost putting a hand on his arm to try and stay his action, but it was revealed to be a joke, in very poor taste and time she would note. Though she didn't object to the Vong's declaration as friends, she just staired at Harnan. If things did come to blows, she knew in this fight who she would be siding with. And I would very much like to see Fiora. Now. Had this been after any mission in another time, she would have wanted to shower, and clean herself up first, but she felt an immense pressure that time was not on their side. Every minute that past drew Octavian a step closer to arriving on the Ren doorstep, and if what Nem said was true, it would be too late. Jin broke eye contact with Harnan and looked around at the assembled guard, wondering how many of them, if any, would attempt to stop her if she simply walked past. But she was loathe to leave her only ally behind before his safety was at least a little assured.

Silent as a fero xyn stalking after its prey, Nem followed Harnan through the ominous Citadel, matching the Master of Ren's exact step and width of stride. The only difference in posture was the occasional turning of the Intendant's head as he appeared to be taking in his surroundings. No stranger to the world of espionage, the purposeful design of the fortress architecture was not lost on him, with its layered halls that curved where least expected to mislead and confound anyone unfamiliar with the structure. By the time he reached the throne room, the Executor had lost all sense of his bearings, though he hadn't entirely lost his way. Nem had a chilab biot, what was often referred to as a neural grub in the common tongue, inserted through his sinus cavity into his brain. The living organism interfaced directly with the Yuuzhan Vong's optical nerve and recorded everything he saw. If necessary, he could replay the footage and use it to backtrack his way to the landing pad. He stopped short of the throne as his host made himself more comfortable. Instincts developed over a long career caused the Executor to split his attention between Harnan and his two underlings lurking in the darkest corners of the room, while Nem mustered enough arrogance to not let it show how being surrounded rankled his senses, nor did he outwardly display the indignation his professional pride took at the notion that Jin was his match. For his part he remained silent and waited for Harnan to finish before speaking his piece.

"One thing you should know about me, Harnan, is that I always deliver." He said with the sort of confidence one might expect from one making such a bold claim. "And as for what my people can offer you? Why, nothing short of victory, of course. I'm sure your agents have already informed you that the Yuuzhan Vong are currently fighting side by side with Octavian's forces at Coruscant. When that theatre of war ends, we'll mobilize alongside the other loyalist fleets when they make their push towards the Deep Core, when they come for you and the Empress. While they will undoubtedly be hurting after purging Baltasar and his supporters from Coruscant, even the most modest projections suggest Octavian will hold the numerical advantage in a head on confrontation with the Ren. Obviously that's far from an assured victory, but if I were in your position, I wouldn't shirk at the opportunity to turn that advantage on its head. My people are positioned to provide your forces with reliable tactical data. We'll be able to let you know when the attack is coming, where the hammer will fall, and the composition of fleets arraigned against you."

That kind of information would be difficult to find elsewhere. After all, how many of the Ren's spies had the First Prefect's access to members of the Emperor's war council? And it was a fair conclusion to draw that they had their own spies in place. If the positions were reversed, it's what Nem would have done. In fact, he already was in a way, though his preparations were focused beyond this Civil War. Even as they conversed here in the Citadel of the Ren, bodies of unrecorded slain soldiers were disappearing from the battlefields of Coruscant, their lives meticulously researched, and their appearance flawlessly replicated. When this war was over, whichever royals ass sat on the Imperial throne would be Emperor or Empress of a widely infiltrated First Order. Domain Yin was seeding its agents everywhere.

"Reports of losses suffered by the Praetorite Vong fleet have been purposefully exaggerated and spread among the loyalist camp. When they make their move, we'll assume a support position at the rear of their formation. At an opportune moment, we would turn on them, cutting off any chance at retreat while pinning their fleets between our forces, eliminating the largest segment of those that oppose you. In one move we could end this war, then all that remains is to divvy up the spoils. That's where our price comes in. This conflict has soured my peoples taste for this galaxy. When the corpses of Octavian and the rest of Empress Fiora's enemies lay soundly at your feet, the Yuuzhan Vong will be departing for the far edge of the galaxy, where we will take possession of the remaining First Order territories in Wild Space and the Unknown Regions. We'll stay out there, and you...you and your Empress and all your knights can do with the rest as you will. That's a reasonable request, no? After what my people have been asked to give, we're owed a few worlds."

She'd felt a moment of calm as most of the force signatures of the Ren seemed to move away from where she was. She was almost starting to drift away, lost in the art work when she suddenly felt a chaotic storm rushing through the Citadel and approaching the doors to the bedroom. Something about it was... familiar.

She knew only one person who emanated such a presence in the Force: Jin!

No. She shook her head, trying to dismiss such a thought. It was impossible that it was Jin, since as far as she was aware her girl friend was still imprisoned on Coruscant under either Baltasar's or Octavian's lock and key. It was wishful thinking to believe that she was free and here.

But still, someone was coming hard and fast toward the bedroom. Fiora tilted her head to the side, her focus set on the doors as they flung open and against all odds the figure that burst through them was a very distinct black and purple haired, black robed figure. Her eyes grew wide as the one person it seemed impossible to be walking through those doors did that very thing
Jin...
She pushed herself up into a seated position and then off of the bed as Jin feel to one knee. Tears had started to come unbidden as she quickly crossed the small distance and went to also go down to one knee, but instead lost her balance and launched herself into Jin. Her arms wrapped instinctively around her lovers torso, gripping her tightly close
Jin! How... When... But...
She squeezed tighter then, burying her face into Jin's shoulder to make sure this was all real and not just some dream or hallucination her brain had conjured
I-I'm so sorry...

Harnan was right to be mistrustful. Nem lied, quite often in fact. Sometimes he felt like he lied more than he told the truth. It was a sad necessity of his line of work and a hard habit to break after practising it for so many centuries. Well, this Yu'shaa had no intention of making it clear just which version of the truth was real and which was a fabrication. He was about to spin and sell another mistruth when the Master of Ren gave the Executor cause to pause. The breath supplied by his gnullith caught in his throat and his heart skipped a beat. What did this infidel warlord just offer? Not just what he had asked, nor solely the Core, but the Deep Core holdings as well. Having no world of their own to call home since the disappearance of Tur Yenagh, the Praetorite Vong had scoured the outskirts of the galaxy in search of suitable planets upon which to start colonies and begin rebuilding their severely diminished population. Choice real estate was slim and the risk of predation by hostile alien breeds was high. But, if the Yuuzhan Vong could reestablish themselves in the Core, they would have access to resources and many worlds with suitable environments to make a real home for themselves. Much as he hated to admit it, Harnan was right, Nem couldn't see Octavian offering his people such a prize. It definitely bore some serious consideration.

The real question running through his mind, was why would the Knights of Ren abandon this region and where would they go instead? That really only left the Outer and Mid Rims, both massive regions of space where one could get lost in. But what was out there that was so important that they would be willing to leave behind their current holdings? Maybe Nem wasn't the only experienced liar present in the room. The offer seemed far too good to be true, yet, he couldn't ignore it. Also, while he was unlikely to fall prey to the Master of the Ren's obvious attempt at emotional manipulation when he spoke of justice for the Yuuzhan Vong, that too he wasn't wrong about. Repeatedly they had been asked to give what they had gained under Nicademus, utilized by his son as nothing more than mercenary cannon fodder to throw at his enemies. It was offensive really, this treatment they had received after all they had done. Under Nem's leadership, the Imperial Agricultural Corps had increased its crop yields significantly. The First Order had never been fatter, or so had been the case prior to the outset of this Civil War. A little show of appreciation went a long way, and thus far the new Emperor had provided the Praetorite Vong with less than a pitiful pittance.


In a series of sinuous snaps, the Executor's calcified knuckles cracked. Of course, if the Knights of Ren were the ones responsible for this war, they too bore some responsibility for the death of many a Yuuzhan Vong warrior. Nem could overlook Ralltiir, they'd been offered a choice before the outset of that fight. Any deaths from that battle rested on his own conscience, but to die having served as pawns in the greater scheme of some master puppeteer pulling the galaxy's strings, that was something he could not countenance. Domain Yin, Nem's domain, took that sort of thing very seriously.


"There is no justice." His gnullith hissed steam alongside words spoken as though whispered from the throat of a burnt wraith, cruel and without a lingering trace of warmth. "But I'll settle for revenge. Alright, Harnan, you've made your point. On behalf of the Praetorite Vong, I accept your offer, and will ensure we honour our side of the deal by remaining here as your guest..." Hostage. "...until Octavian is a corpse and we can begin taking stock of the spoils. My manservant Scab will remain as well to see to my personal needs." He crossed his arms. "Acceptable?"