Fiyarro

"Our fortunes have been reduced in your absence, especially after the death of your father. But rebuilding Fiyarro after the Mandalorian attack has seen an enormous return on whatever funds we had to invest. Public work bonds have soared in value, and three technology firms have returned our investment through stock dividends. We own a controlling interest in a Droid factory on the city's West Side as well. The new Government Center also has a pillar with the name of Malvern at its base."

The return to the Malvern estate would have been a celebration with much fanfare for any other Count or Countess. But when the Amethyst touched down in the courtyard of the Malvern compound in the dead of night, it was all part of the plan as Lady Aldes had formulated with her Councilors. The new head of Security was busy with overseeing Sekenn's new nursery construction and security staff interviews, but the walls around the estate were still patrolled by Battle Droids on the alert.

Even as Lady Malvern walked the courtyard gardens with her Seneschal Valerious, she found herself peaking over the smooth stone walls at the scorched tops of some buildings beyond the compound.

"Was it terrible," she asked.

Valerious, stone-faced Chiss that he was, knew what she was asking. "I wasn't present, madam." His datapad beeped, displaying text and new messages from the opening of the Coruscant Exchange. "I served in the Chiss Army. The sacking of any city by a professional army is a terrible event. No matter how professionally trained, innocent people will die. They will suffer deprivation after the army leaves. Mandalorians have a sense of personal honor that can substitute for true discipline, but I can only guess what the sack was like based on news reports. That Serenno's counts stepped up during and after the attack speaks to their character. Your uncle Dorien personally led the defense of the Arbitrators and Home Guard in this sector of the city. And your father did invest in the rebuilding projects."

"Still not enough," Aldes said, shaking her head, making a tsk sound.

"There will always be blight in any city, madam. We cannot fix the whole planet."

"The whole planet, no. But if we are to effect change for the better on this world, I want everything within visual distance of this courtyard cleaned up and restored by next month's end. Is that possible?"

"Possible," Valerious said as he tapped on his datapad, "and noted. Now, to the business of running things. The return of the Heir of Malvern must be a carefully coordinated affair. Before you publicly return, there is a risk of plots and counterplots against you. Once in the public eye, you will have a paper shield against the other counts. Wars between noble houses who rule for the common folk are looked down on here, especially where instigators are concerned."

"We begin here," Aldes said. "I will want to host an event, a kind of return party and debut for my son- after Hering has found a suitable retinue of guards for him."

"Absolutely."

"Also, we must make it absolutely clear that the House of Malvern is a friend to all, but especially to the Jedi Order."

"Goes without saying madam, considering your professional position, but I'll draft the press releases."

"Finally, what can be done in regards to setting up a full scholastic center here? Not for Jedi, mind you, though they'd be welcome. But when I was among the Mandalorians there was a constant and rigorous training for war, from youth to old age. During my... captivity, I began to think, what could that sort of upbringing do if applied to protecting the Galaxy as opposed to tearing it apart."

Valerious frowned as he lowered his datapad. "I do not follow, madam. You mean to open a military school? Or a mercenary one?"

"Neither," she said, shaking her head beneath the robe. "It's an unformed idea. Perhaps nothing more than a dream rather than the will of the Force. But it's something new I would like to ponder while we get re-established here. Now, tell me where we stand with the accounts again..."

The D5 soared over the verdurous mountains and forests that was Serenno, the sweeping clouds, the gentle winds, all of it hadn't changed even slightly from the last time FIfth had seen it. It was as if the timeless artistry and culture of the planet had remained unchanged, completely untouched by the war. That changed, though, as the ship rounded a hill, and Villa Cortessa came into view. Once a proud four sided castle, the top of which contained expansive wooden roofing, a courtyard, and roof covered walkways, half the affair had come crumbling to the ground, bits and pieces of stone strewn out for many feet. Here and there, blast points and the blackened marks of cannon scoring could be clearly seen, and, throughout the area, the silent and still forms of Stormtroopers and armored Serenno security personnel littered the ground. Ah, but it had happened an age ago - already the forest, once immaculately cut and trimmed, and the lawn, so lush and green, had grown wild, overtaking stone walls, lawn fixtures, and even the archaic stone path used by land vehicles. Vines had overtaken what less stubborn plants could not, choking out once beautiful flowers, drowning out the delicate carvings and reliefs that had once adorned the garden paths of the Chateau. 

Silently, Fifth took in the scene, staring at the disrepair, a hand slowly clenching at his side, his jaw setting itself. "Fel." Fifth began, his words dripping acid and contempt. "Female human." He continued forward, a sneer on his lips, fury in his eyes. "Villa Cortessa. For your viewing pleasure."

Fifth, with very little emotion in his voice, responded back in deadpan - his thoughts more on the scene before him than on Fel. "Even worse, Fel. For if there is not even pleasure in the act...then there truly was no reason, no sense, not even the slightest justification to the act to begin with." A derisive laugh, a shake of the head, and a wave to a spot in the distance. "Set down three hundred meters northeast of the uppermost crater." Said Fifth, in clipped tones. Eyes running over the battlefield, he slipped back into that of strategist and military commander. "Villa Cortessa had military base grade shielding...it is no wonder they had to bombard. The fact the entire affair isn't a large crater, is indicative that they didn't detonate the underground reactor. This gives us hope, that while the surface may be dead...perhaps the subterranean levels are intact." Fifth paused a moment, then shrugged. "Intact - or occupied. It would not surprise me if the Imperial Order have scouts stationed here. We must be cautious."

Taking a seat, the Firrerreo readied himself - he unlaced then re-laced his boots, checked the charge on his blaster pistol, mumbling something that was either a prayer, or a curse under his breath while he worked. Nodding in satisfaction, he stood from his seat, taking in a deep breath, rolling his shoulders, before giving an actual genuine smile to the two human's present. "I am ready." Fifth said, with finality; a strange glint in his eyes, a cruel smile on his lips.

Opting to stay silent to Fel's raised eyebrow, Fifth jerked his head towards the overgrown lawn. Crouching, he proceeded to run from shrub to shrub, tree to tree, making his way ever closer to the dilapidated walls of the Villa. Reaching the wall of the Villa proper, he pondered for a second making his way down the wall to find one of the numerous holes that had been blasted into the structure. Instead, he opted for the sneakier route - overgrown for many years, vines of numerous sizes had taken over the villa. In particular, they had grown up the walls up to the very top, cloaking the Villa's once proud gray fortifications in dappled green. Grabbing one of these vines, testing it, Fifth slowly began to climb. Somewhere around a five story climb, he had, perhaps, somewhat forgotten about the large gap in strength between his own alien physiology and his human compatriots.

He cared not.

Making his way to the top, pulling himself over the edge of the Villa's North wall, Fifth came to a crouch, unholstering his pistol once more, waiting on his collaborators. From this vantage point, he could see into the courtyard, the Villa's open arboretum, and the rest of the Villa proper. To all appearances, it was indeed abandoned. Pockmarks, blaster scoring, and a few craters dotted the myriad surfaces every so often, while the bodies of Serenno soldiers and Stormtroopers littered the ground, their armor old and faded, what flesh that was exposed having decomposed to mere skeletal fragments. Slowly, Fifth raised himself from his crouch, his weapon sweeping the area, before, tentatively, holstering it.

"I was wrong. We fought hard, but this place is nothing more than a graveyard. It seems the Carta threat is no more. A pity." 

"If I die, then I die, Fel." Fifth said simply, waiting for Fel to catch his breath. On Fel's other comment, he only shook his head, before gesturing widely to the ancient battlefield. "No, Fel. My life was long over before this battle. And long before I went to sleep." A final shake of his head, and Fifth turned to walk along the wall, heading for a stairwell. "What now? Now we see if the bunker below is intact. with luck, perhaps the shielded portions were undetected by scans. Given our brief track record...I am unenthused."

Making it to the stairwell, Fifth took the spiraling steps downward, a hand coming up to run along the wall - Fifth seeming to need to feel the rough stone underhand to assure him he was there. No shallow staircase by any means, Fel would no doubt notice the temperature drop, indicating they were well underground, and, as Fifth paused at the bottom of the stairs - said pause being the only concern he showed over Fel's weakened state - they eventually entered one of the subterranean halls of the Villa.

Damp and dimly lit by sparse fixtures, Fifth guided the pair through the hallways - seeming to be purposely random and labyrinthian. Coming eventually to what appeared to be a dead end, Fith nodded once, and reaching a hand out, touched an apparent random stone, which glowed briefly before popping out of the wall with a hydraulic hiss. "We are here. Be on your guard." Several moments passed, Fifth adjusting circuitry and examining a small panel that the false stone front had concealed. "The lock has been changed. This...is not a good sign." Concluded Fifth grimly, his hand hovering over a final button. "...Do we proceed?"

Silently, Fifth's hand hovered over a final button, and he pressed himself flat against one of the corridors walls in preparation - waiting for Fel to do the same. It was, perhaps, very poor cover, but it was the best they would get in the sparse corridor. Blaster at the ready, Fifth pressed the last button in the sequence, the false stone front hissing back into the wall before, with a lurch and no small amount of dust, the whole of the wall simply slid out of the way; the apparent dead end in fact the very opposite.

Of course, what was behind the wall was of no small interest. A corridor that was pitch black, a single light fixture revealed five heavily armed and armored figures just on the other side of the false door, weapons leveled at the pair of intruders, apparently patiently waiting for Fel and Fifth to figure out the lock. Their attire unique, each of the humanoids wore the same style of helmet - what appeared to be a highly modified flight helmet of some kind - with integrated rebreathers, polarized visors, and a series of comm antennas sticking up from one side. For armor, each wore a dull gunmetal gray cuirass, vambraces, and greaves, with complementing combat boots and gloves. Designed to be light and flexible, the entire ensemble bore the distinct traits of scout armor of some kind, with the cloaks that the beings wore, forrest patterned respectively, reaffirming that image. In unison, the beings leveled high powered light repeating blaster rifles - modded with tactical attachments - which even now traced small circles on both Fel's and Fifth's chests. Instantaneously, Fifth dropped his blaster to the ground - with a muttered word to Fel to do the same.

Sign five. Iteration nine. "Who watches the watcher?" Countersign, now! Demanded one of the armored beings through their helmets voice synthesizer, weapon trained on Fifth. The phrase was repeated to Fel as well, by one of the beings closest to him. "Countersign three. Iteration four. 'The Carta in the cold watch the watchers.'" Replied Fifth quickly. And, immediately and in unison, the armored beings lowered their weapons. Slowly, the lead being took off his helmet - revealing, well, a her. Appearing to be a human woman in her thirties, with close cropped brown hair - the woman's eyes, a dull and glowing red, signified her alien heritage as a Samuac. "...Who the hell are you, and how do you know our pass phrases." Demanded the woman, her eyes darting from Fifth to Fel. Fifth laughed a little, tilting his head at the woman. "Don't you recognize me? Or at least my species?" He asked snidely, his voice in it's signature deadpan monotone - albeit perhaps a little more intentionally pronounced. The woman's eyes narrowed, her hands flexing on her helmet. "Duvall? Duvall Deveaux? That's the only Firrerreo I know. And he's dead. Even if he wasn't, he'd be about forty by now. A poor disguise." Fifth, now revealed as Duvall, snorted disdainfully before replying. "Incredible. Your intelligence ability has indeed suffered in my absence Simell. Which is almost forgivable seeing as how I was your Intelligence officer." The woman, her hand a blur, drew a pistol from her side then, pressing the barrel to Duvall's head. "What the hell did you call me?" Spat the woman vindictively. Duvall, monotone and deadpan, replied slowly - almost as if bored by the whole exchange. "I called you Simell. I called you the same thing about eleven years ago. It was a cold night out on the Antaran mountain range. We'd been scouting for about ninety days straight during the Great War. We Carta always got the crap missions - but that's the downside of being so good. Anyway. Food was low, sleep was cold and fitful, and tempers were high. You called me a poor excuse for a Carta, and a, I quote, 'disdainful excuse for a male sentient with a shriveled up pontah.' We argued then, which gave away our position to the squad of House Separatists that were coming up the trail. We killed them quickly - and, that night, shared a bed. In the morning I threw up in the snow over the fact I had relations with an alien. I called you a Simell. Or is that incorrect, Commander Torran?"


Duvall faded off at the end, and the woman, Torran, arched an eyebrow at him, her pistol still pressed firmly to Duvall's forehead. Leaning in close, apparently trying to take him in at different angles, eventually leaned back, an eyebrow still arched. Meanwhile, the other four humanoids whispered amongst themselves, apparently shocked by the revelation of said juicy gossip between the eternally stoic Duvall and the hardened and foul mouthed Commander. "Shut up." Said Torran idly to the soldiers behind her, who promptly quieted. "Duvall? How? You haven't aged a day." Torran said, unsure. Duvall simply shrugged, gesturing at Fel. "Carbon freezing. This smuggler broke me out - on promise of a reward. You can check the Nal Hutta HoloNet. My face is plastered across the entire system." Torran narrowed her eyes, and barked out an order to one of her subordinates, who promptly disappeared, reappearing some minutes later to confirm Duvall's story. Slowly, Torran's pistol came down from Duvall's head, to be holstered back at her side. Only to be replaced by her fist in a surprisingly heavy punch that sent Duvall to the floor. "Fine. It's you. But don't you ever call me Simell again." Torran said flatly, before extending a hand to help Duvall up. Taking the offered hand, Duvall had a, perhaps for the first time ever - genuine smile on his face. "I won't. I promise. Now...can we perhaps have some proper accommodations? The road has been hard."

Torran barked out an order, and the four soldiers that had accompanied her saluted, and promptly left. Torran, turning on her heel, gestured for the pair to follow. "So. Smuggler." Said Torran, addressing Fel as they walked. "How did you spring the infamous Duvall Deveaux out of prison? We Carta didn't even know if he was alive. His brother Dante Deveaux seemed convinced, though. Hence the reward. Your answer will influence your payment, and our decision on whether or not to kill you."

They began to walk forward, both Torran and Duvall listening to Fel's story with great attention. Coming into the bunker proper, the extent of the damage to the Carta was soon apparent; a sunken pit with a holographic well displayed the Villa and the immediate area around for several miles. To the right, a row of triple bunks, military style barracks, where about ten humans and a smattering of aliens eyed the newcomers with interest. To the left, a secluded room with communications equipment, staffed by about a half dozen sentients. Beyond this, there was nothing else - aside from a small armory - though very noticeably, several tunnels, presumably entries to other parts of a larger complex, had been caved in. Indeed, it seemed the Carta had sparse resources indeed. The trio coming to a stop at the holographic well, Torran took a seat on a rather dilapidated looking chair, and gestured for the other two to do the same.

Between Fel's questioning about Dante, and Duvall's questioning look about the bunker - apparently far different than what he remembered - the woman clicked her tongue, silencing both. "Maybe I can save some trouble here. Clear the air. Smuggler wants to know where Dante is, and, probably, who the hell we are and what the hell is going on. Duvall, you obviously have a dozen questions. So. My turn to talk." Propping her feet up, she gestured behind her to the armory, and the multiple sets of armor suits contained within. "In the beginning, an alien of unknown species called Arcturus came to Serenno. A mercenary, and a force user, he helped a noble house fight a war - his viciousness and prowess helped him win said war, whereupon he was granted the title of Count, essentially nobility. In the years that followed, Arcturus made his own house, House Sorreaux, or "Sorrows" in the common tongue. A house of warriors, he built his lineage from the ground up: his species unable to have children, he adopted several "sons", each of them a head of a distinct branch family within the Sorrows. The Firrerreo Deveaux house was one of these branch families, along with the human Demici, the multi-species Sorrows main family, and the Anzati Salazar."

Torran leaned forward, patting Duvall on the shoulder, which he bared his teeth at and uttered a low growl in response.

"But disaster struck when Arcturus died. Being of an exceptionally long lived species, the pecking order had never really been defined for when Arcturus died - and many thought he was immortal. In the wake of his death, the three branch families and the main family erupted into war over control of the planet. We called this The Great War - which lasted nearly eight years. The Deveaux won this war, no small part due to us - the Carta." Torran gestured all around them at the bunker in general. "We Carta were the non-force sensitives born directly into the Noble Houses or the branch families. Too high born for lower order work, but not force sensitive, we formed the House Guard, the Carta, and were more or less the Sorrows' assassins, bodyguards, and hunters. When the war broke out, the Carta stayed out of it all - letting the nobility duke it out amongst themselves. When we chose a side, the Deveaux, it tilted the war quickly in their favor."

Duvall snorted, apparently a little offended by what he considered an oversimplification of the War and the political nuances involved, but left it alone. Taking over for Torran - who nodded to him to continue the story while she got up and left to speak to several of her troops momentarily - Duvall eventually continued. "My...brother, Dante the Deceiver, is named such for The Great Deception. See, Fel, Dante coveted power above all things, he wanted, above all things, Arcturus' secret to longevity. Not for himself, oddly enough, but for...other uses. Dante killed Arcturus himself, sparking the entire war, and used the war itself to desecrate tombs, plunder hidden secrets, and more - all to achieve his own gains. He did horrible things to his own son, Jashin, in the name of war. And imprisoned me, his own brother, so that I might not interfere. It was naive of me, but I did not think him capable of such to his own blood." Duvall trailed off, a snarl and a stream of alien words accompanying the explanation. Torran, returning with a datapad, sat back down in her original seat, picking up where Duvall left off. "In Duvall's absence, and Dante's negligence, the House system of Serenno deteriorated greatly - the First Order easily overtook the planet in the wake of the civil war. Dante cared not for any of this. He only cared for Arcturus' secrets: but, when he had killed Arcturus, Arcturus, in great wisdom, used the last of his power to lock away his secrets from Dante's sight. It is in this way that Dante came to work with the First Order, using their military might to achieve his own ends. Dante's son, Jashin, was sculpted into a likeness of Dante, and was implanted with a great many of Dante's memories, including the ones veiled from his sight. He sent this false Dante to you Smuggler, or should I say Fel, to enlist the help of your crew."

Torran took a second then, and handed the datapad from earlier to Fel. On it a set of coordinates, leading to Bespin of all places. "The purpose of this was to get this false Dante to Bespin, where Arcturus' last surviving apprentice, Xanathane, would see Jashin. It was Dante's hope that upon seeing what he had done to his own son, that Xanathane would heal Jashin, reverting him back to his true self - in the process unlocking the memories that Dante desperately wanted. Jashin, under the guise of Dante, as well as one Liya Tawaza and one Jace Stealer did indeed go to Bespin. There, Xanathane did indeed release Jashin from his father's disease, and, from there, all three left to confront Dante and the forces under his command. By all reports, Jashin killed Dante, and now lies in a coma. Liya and Jace survived the ordeal as well. Their last known location is contained on that datapad."

Torran fell silent, allowing Duvall to process, who currently sat in his seat with his eyes closed. It was, after all, quite a bit of information to dump out on the duo. Some twenty years of information for Duvall, and three years for Fel. Eventually, Duvall opened his eyes, his face stoic, his voice dead pan. "Well...I do hope my brother suffered. At least he is dead now." Torran just stared at him, a little dumbstruck. Really? That was all he had to say? Standing, Duvall gestured to the bunker at large. "I'm guessing the First Order hasn't been kind to you." Torran scoffed in response. "Oh, really, you got that did you? There's less than a thousand of us now, scattered across the planet in cells like this one." Eyeing the armory, Duvall made his way towards one of the many suits of armor and racks of weapons. "Well, if I'm going to go with Fel to find my nephew, I'll need Carta Scoutplate and weaponry. Also, Fel, your payment...does this information suffice? Or do you want extra."

But Torran did not respond to Fel, and the soldiers did not move. Duvall, slowly and surely, disrobed before the group - replacing his clothing with mesh armor, then flexisteel cuirass, followed by gauntlets and greaves, then, finally, by scout helmet. The helmet sealing against him with a hiss, Duvall strapped a pair of pistols, Deathhammers, to his thighs, and a carbine across his back. When he was done, he turned to regard the rest, who, as a whole, had fallen into rank and file. Torran, coming to the front, eventually cleared her throat, addressing Duvall formally.

"Duvall. It...gives me no pleasure, but..." Torran shook her head, setting her jaw, and came to attention. "Sir. In the confirmation of Dante's death, I hereby relinquish my command, and name you as Count Deveaux. What are your orders, sir?"

Ah. Because it wasn't exactly a simple thing, Duvall coming back from the grave. Indeed, a large part of Torran's astonishment over Duvall's return was the fact that a rightful heir to the House Deveaux, a true blood relation, had not only been found, but had returned to the planet. - and now, was being forced into command. Silently, the helmeted visor that was Duvall stared blankly at those assembled, and a mighty choice lay before the Firrerreo: he could abandon the war that still waged even after his long absence, or, he could try and right the wrongs of his brother. Eventually, speaking through synthesized speakers, Duvall replied.

"Commander Torran. I name you my second in command. Your right hand shall be given the rank of sub-commander. Immediately relay to all Carta the immediate laying down of arms." At the grumbling that carried began at that, Duvall raised a hand, silencing it. "Make no mistake - this is no surrender. Once I have personally verified the death of Dante and retrieved my nephew, I shall return and assume the role of Count. In doing so, I will also reclaim the House Deveaux militaries. The war, one way or another, is over. Thus I so order." The assembled Carta saluted as a whole, before dispersing, the bunker becoming a hive of activity. Duvall, walking over to Fel, waved the guards aside, speaking to Torran as he lead Fel and company back through the maze. "Commander. Relay my presence to all Deveaux assets, including the second and third fleets. Also, relay the death of Dante to the other Houses, as well as to the First Order garrison on the planet. The Order may have a choke hold on the planet, but Serenno backs a hefty amount of their endeavors through our wealth and resources...to those Houses who ally themselves with the Order, remind them of my nickname. And why my brother feared me."

Torran, stopping at the edge of the maze, nodded once, a trace of a small smile on her face. "You mean, 'Duvall the Damara'? Otherwise known as Duvall the Butcher?" Duvall nodded wordlessly in confirmation, and, about to turn way, hesitated at the last second. Bringing a gauntleted hand up, he rested it gently against Torran's cheek. No word was said, and, his face a mask behind his helmet, it was impossible to read his expression. With a snort, Torran batted the hand away - albeit, was that a trace of a blush on her face? "Kark Duvall. You're going soft. Get out of here. I'll be here when you get back."

Again, wordlessly, Duvall turned from Torran and gestured for Fel to lead the way back to the ship.