Private Knight-Time Activities

[Drystan Creed]

UKATIS

Wearing​

Drystan had been in his fair share of compromising situations.

His work had taken him across countless locales, put him in more dangers than he could count. And no matter how precarious the circumstances, he always remained calm—clear-minded.

The most precarious? A high-stakes game of dice with a pirate prince, gambling over Jedi artifacts—all while the prince's ship drifted dangerously close to the event horizon of a dying star.

But that was a story for another day.

This was not one of those times.

As the morning sun warmed his skin, his brow furrowed, consciousness dragging him back into reality.

My head…

A dull, relentless throbbing pounded at his skull. His throat felt dry as dust, and an overwhelming nausea twisted in his gut.

Hangover?

He groaned, lifting his only arm to rub his head—only to find it stuck.

His gaze lowered.

A barrel.

A giant barrel surrounded his body, his torso locked inside. Only his forearm stuck out, bent at an awkward angle, while his legs—thankfully—remained free.

This is new.

Everything ached. He needed to get out.

Instinct told him to blast the damn thing apart—until he realized two very crucial things.

One: His gear was missing.

Two: He was wearing nothing underneath.

Kark.

His eyes snapped into focus, scanning the area, piecing together the situation.

He was back in the town he had infiltrated the night before. But not where he last remembered. This was the outskirts—far from his original mark.

The night before…

A tavern.

Loud. Boisterous. The roar of a crowd. His target—Ser Hansel, a local noble he had spent the last week tracking.

How it led to this? That part was still hazy.

Either way, standing around in a barrel wasn't going to solve anything.

With a groan, he forced himself upright, shaking off the lingering haze.

The sun had barely risen. Most of the town still slept—it wasn't a working day. Only the earliest risers or those with purpose would be moving about.

Good.

No one to witness a Shadow in such a compromising position.

First priority: Clothes.

He needed to make a call—hail his ship for pickup. Rearm. Reassess.

No doubt Brazier was already expecting his return. The racyon wasn't neglected, far from it, but this… this was an unexpected detour.

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

"I told you, it's a monster! I saw a monster in the woods!"

Cora stared down into the insistent face of a little girl. Her cheeks were red from running, all puffed in anger that this adult did not believe her.

To her credit, Cora had not exactly dismissed the girl's claim. Questioning the truth of what she'd seen, however, was not proving to be a fruitful strategy.

"Alright," she gave in, placing her clipboard atop a stack of crates. It did not take a Jedi to oversee the distribution of clinic supplies, but it was a task that Cora took pleasure in doing. Any excuse to get her feet back on Ukatis, she supposed. "What did this monster look like?"

Pleased that she was finally being taken seriously, the girl spread her arms out wide to either side, arcing downward to mimic the barrel's curvature.

"It was, uhm, really fat like this! And it had weird hands and made a noise that went like...groooaahhh…!"

Cora lifted a brow. That did not sound like any sithspawn she'd come across, but then again, the Sith seemed to be coming up with new and increasingly grotesque creatures. "Did the monster hurt you?"

"Uh-uh." The girl shook her head. "Why aren't you writing this down? I don't think it saw me, but I'm also like, super sneaky. I think it might have been dying, cos our cow made the same noise when she was dying and my dad had to put her down and-"

"Right, right. I think I understand." Cora raised both hands before the girl could continue on with the tale of her sick cow. "Run along back to your home. I promise that I will investigate this monster."

---

As she neared the edge of the forest, the monster came into view. The monster was...a man wearing a barrel, legs and hands fitted through holes in the sides. Cora let out a quiet groan and brought her palm to her forehead. This was why she shied away from Ukatian ale. In addition to tasting horrid, it killed brain cells faster than most known toxins.

"Are you alright?" she called, pacing over to the drunkard slowly. Her footfalls were muffled beneath the recent snowfall. "It's cold out, you'd better get ins-"

Cora halted at the familiar head of dark hair. It took her a few moments to place a name to the face, largely because what the hell?

"Drystan?!" she sputtered. Her steps resumed, hurried. Then, they stopped. "What in Ashla's light are you – oh, good lord a-are you nude??"

She covered her eyes and whirled around, cheeks flaming. While she hadn't seen anything untoward, he still only appeared to be wearing a barrel.

Drystan Creed

 

[Drystan Creed]

UKATIS

Wearing​

Drystan continued through the forest, throat sore, body chilled. Not quite the agony of being strangled by a wampa in subzero conditions, but still an annoyance.

His steps were slow, deliberate—each one carrying the weight of both physical exhaustion and the undeniable humiliation of his current predicament.

Then—footsteps. Soft but distinct.

He paused.

A familiar voice called out.

Turning, he found himself face-to-face with Cora—and watched as the horrific realization dawned on her.

Drystan wasn't some nameless drunkard staggering through the woods.

He was a Knight of the Alliance. A Shadow. Someone she had fought alongside in Devit.

But the man standing before her now was not the same as the one from that battle.

A permanent scar ran vertically across his left eye. His entire left arm—gone. The only hand visible was the one sticking out of the hole in the damned barrel he had been forced to wear.

Drystan raised an eyebrow at her reaction, his expression unreadable.

Then, with a half-tired smile, he greeted her.

"Oh. Glad to see you here, Cora. I take it, someone saw me and asked you to investigate. I was just, you know… trudging."

His voice carried the unmistakable weight of defeat.

Partly from the hangover.

Mostly from having to walk through town wearing a barrel.

Truly, this was an unusual situation—both for him, who had to experience it, and for Cora, who now had the misfortune of witnessing the aftermath of whatever disaster Drystan had gone through.

He exhaled, shaking his head slightly.

"Trudging. To trudge: the slow, weary, depressing, yet determined walk of a man who has nothing left except the impulse to just simply soldier on."

A pause.

"And no, I am not nude." Drystan deadpanned, motioning to himself. "As you can see, the fine people of this town were kind enough to lend me this barrel."

He let the words hang for a moment before exhaling.

"I was half considering taking it off, but… well."

A glance down. A resigned sigh.

"Let's just say I've had enough bad decisions for one night."

He paused. Then hesitation.

Drystan wasn't particularly bothered by the thought of finding a way out of this situation. But what he couldn't do—at least, not without great difficulty—was ask for help.

He was not used to relying on others.

And yet, here he was.

"I need…" He nearly choked on the words.

A deep breath. He pushed through.

"I need to borrow a communicator. Hail my ship. Get something to kill this hangover. And… to get some clothes."

The request was simple.

But asking for it? That was the real challenge.

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Cora had crossed paths with Drystan a few times. Their interactions had always been polite - almost friendly, even. He was a reliable ally on the battlefield.

Cora was reminded that she did not know much about the life the Shadow lead. After a deep, shuddering exhale, she centered herself and turned back around to face the barreled Jedi.

"Dare I ask what led to your…trudging?"

Her hands rested at her hips, face pinching as she fixed Drystan with the same look her unruly students often received.

"Please keep the barrel on."

Good Ashla. What happened here? Cora was morbidly curious, but was not certain that she even wanted an answer.

The slow, forced tone of his words - he needed something? - had her brow furrowing in concern. Cora took a step closer, worried that Drystan was beginning to suffer some sort of medical event, no doubt wrought by whatever had lead him into such a contraption.

"Oh," her expression eased in mild relief. Cora wasn't sure what she'd have done if Drystan had dropped to the ground, frothing at the mouth. "Of course. That seems most prudent."

She was quick to slip the communicator from her pocket and passed it to Drystan's…well, his only hand now. Her eyes widened in quiet realization, awkwardly settling the device into palm.

"Dare I ask…" she cleared her throat and waved up and down, gesturing to his state of dress. A hundred questions whirled in her mind, so she settled on the simplest one.

"…Why?"

Drystan Creed

 

[Drystan Creed]

UKATIS

Relief washed over Drystan as Cora didn't press him further on his moment of weakness.

"It's a long story. But since you're here, you could lend me a hand."

He paused.

Then, realizing his choice of words, a weak, tired chuckle escaped him.

Given his outfit—or lack thereof—and his sheer exhaustion, the entire scene was almost tragically pathetic.

The laughter lasted only a second before he shook his head, taking the communicator from Cora and tapping a few buttons. A soft beep confirmed the connection.

Drystan was known for his professionalism. He carried himself with ice-cold confidence, a demeanor that rarely wavered.

But beyond that? He was distant. Aloof.

Like a shadow, always lingering at the edges of social gatherings, watching from afar but never stepping into the firelight.

Whenever Cora saw him in the same place, he was always off to the side—hunched over a datapad, eyes darting about, scanning the room like a silent guardian.

And when he did interact?

It was always the same—polite, professional, fleeting. Almost cold.

He had an uncanny ability to exit a conversation at the exact right moment—precisely timed, perfectly measured. Like each interaction was pre-calculated to the last second and syllable. Even a droid would linger longer in conversation than he did.

But despite his overcomposed exterior, he acknowledged Cora and her contributions to the Order and Alliance. He respected her, and he made sure that was clear whenever their paths crossed.

With a flick of the Force, he brought the communicator up to his ear and tapped in.

Each pause from him was followed by a garbled response on the other end.

"It's me. Sending my location. Get a change of clothes ready and fire up the caf machine."

A brief pause.

"Tie? Do I still have a black one clean? Yeah, that'll work. If not, just grab me a dark blue."

He closed the connection, tossing the device back to Cora with a nod.

"Appreciate it."

When she inevitably asked for an explanation, he could only shrug—or at least, attempt to within the confines of his barrel.

"Like I said—long story."

A sigh.

"Short version—I was undercover. Got a lead that brought me here. Been staking out some nobles, keeping tabs. It's all... complicated."

He rolled his neck for a moment, exhaling.

"Honestly? I don't remember much from last night. But once my ship lands, I'll review the recordings and figure it out."

Instinctively, he tried to scratch his nose—only to immediately realize the futility of it.

With an exasperated shake of his head, he pivoted to his own question.

"I suppose before you got tipped off to my whereabouts, you were here for something."

His brow quirked slightly.

"What was it, if I may ask?"

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Cora lifted a brow. "Nobody wears ties on Ukatis. Well, except the nobility who live in the capital." It wasn't meant to be an admonishment – more of an observation. She couldn't be certain that Drystan was trying to blend in, but he seemed to be doing a decent enough job of it given that she'd thought him to be a tavern drunkard from a distance.

His vague story had her other eyebrow rising. Undercover? A lead? Keeping tabs? She glanced around them, ensuring that there were no listening ears or curious eyes that she could see.

"Ukatis lacks the infrastructure to bring proper medical care to much of it's rural population. The Alliance established a series of clinics in the provinces." With arms crossed over her chest, she tilted her head, gesturing towards the only modern looking building in the village. It was some distance away from here, just a pinprick on the horizon. Depending on where Drystan had been and his level of inebriation, he may not even have seen it at all.

"I'm from Ukatis, so I stop by from time to time to make sure that supplies are going to where they're needed. We've had some trouble in the past with thieves."

The corner of her lips lifted in a little half-smile. When she'd been married to the planet's now deceased prince, Cora had to leave the Order. The clinics had been her pet project, something she could do to help her people with the influence that the crown had afforded her. So long as she stuck to charity work, Horace and his father had not seemed to mind.

It also meant that she was protective of her home. Her brow scrunched in curiosity, hands unfolding to rest on her hips.

"A little girl thought you were a monster, you know. I'd like to hear more about what you've been up to here – after you change into something that won't scare the children. You're quite lucky that you didn't wake up to them beating you with sticks."

Drystan Creed

 

[Drystan Creed]

UKATIS

At her comment about ties, Drystan tilted his head slightly.

"I figured. People here tend to be a bit more... plain in their choice of clothing. Just common courtesy on my end. I wear a suit to look more professional. It's not like I need to be undercover at the moment."

He glanced upward, as if willing his ship to arrive sooner rather than later.

Every extra second in this barrel was a second too long.

Not to mention, it was cold despite the morning air. If there had been wind, he might have been facing a true crisis.

What she said was obvious—Ukatis was no Coruscant.

From his experience, the level of technology varied widely, especially in the outskirts. Some villages barely had modern infrastructure.

But that didn't bother him.

Drystan had trained, survived, and thrived in places with zero civilization.

The jungles of New Cov. The dunes of Tatooine.

"It was a bit of a change of pace at first, but I settled in quick. Beats sleeping in jungle trees any day of the week."

He scoffed at her statement about his luck, his mind taking the comment far too literally.

"Not likely. A Nexu tried ambushing me once while I was bathing under a waterfall. I doubt a bunch of kids with sticks could take me down."

There was a hint of pride in his voice—entirely missing the point of her remark.

But then—her actual request.

His expression shifted slightly, more focused now.

"I've been tracking the illegal trade of Force artifacts. I believe a noble here has been exchanging local resources for artifacts—something worth investigating."

He exhaled.

"Said noble also happens to enjoy throwing parties and tournaments. So, I went undercover, found a lead that could get me in without having to sneak through, and, well..."

He gestured at the barrel, deadpan.

"This was what came of it."

Not long after, the recognizable hum of thrusters filled the air.

Drystan exhaled in relief as his ship flew overhead, descending smoothly before touching down in front of them. The entrance hatch hissed open.

He turned back to Cora, meeting her gaze.

"I can debrief you better on my ship."

A pause.

"If you want to tag along."

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

"Bathing under a waterfall? How…whimsical."

Cora briefly imagined a nexu attacking Drystan whilst he bathed in the open air. Her lips twitched, threatening to break into an amused smile.

She quickly cleared her throat.

"Not while you're sober, no. I dare not ask what you indulged in last night."

Their conversation switched gears. Cora's expression firmed as Drystan relayed his original mission - an illegal trade of Force artifacts.

"That is unfortunate," she murmured. "I'd certainly be interested in learning which lord has been procuring these items." There was no shortage of party-loving flamboyant aristocracy on the agriworld, making for an immediate conclusion impossible. Still, she filed through her memory of this region’s nobility. At one point, she’d had them all memorized for her wedding.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the hum of starship thrusters. Cora tilted her head back slightly, gaze following the vessel's path as it touched down.

"Certainly," she agreed and followed behind Drystan. She had to stifle another grin at watching him ascend the ramp in…that thing. "Perhaps my knowledge of the culture can be useful for you."

Drystan Creed

 

[Drystan Creed]

UKATIS

"Alright, let's go."

Drystan nodded, making his way toward the entrance hatch.

Then, just before stepping inside, he paused. His stance straightened slightly.

"…And thanks. For the help, and not laughing when you saw me. Getting embarrassed was the last thing I needed."

It still sounded awkward, but the appreciation was genuine.

—

Upon entering the ship, one word immediately came to mind:

Sterile.

Everything was immaculate—cleaned down to the last speck of dust. The fixtures, the facilities, even the appliances looked untouched, wiped down to pristine condition after every use. Yet, despite the near-clinical atmosphere, two things stood out.

Two figures occupied seats at a table in the crew lounge.

The first—a Commando Droid—sat with five upside-down cups neatly arranged before him. His chassis was gaudy gold, a striking departure from the standard issue make of his kind.

Across from him?

An adolescent racyon with a darker-than-average coat, clad in a vest lined with tools.

"Alright, alright. Let's see you find it now." The droid sounded determined, his mechanical tone carrying a rare hint of frustration.

The racyon skittered across the table, eyeing the cups before confidently nudging the farthest one to the right.

The cup tipped over, revealing its contents. A treat.

In an instant, they were devoured.

"KARK! HOW DO YOU DO THAT?!"

The droid spasmed in outrage, arms flailing as he pushed himself from his chair before pausing, it's servos going still.

"Wait. Who's there?"

Drystan and Cora had entered.

In one chaotic motion, the droid scrambled onto all fours, hastily searching for a blaster—

Only to stop.

His head unit swiveled between them before locking onto Drystan. A pause. Then, the droid pointed at him, his voice unit outputting hysterical laughter.

"Ha. Ha ha ha. HA HA HA HA! Welcome back, boss. Made sure to use the autopilot this time—didn't try to fly it myself, just like you asked after the mining colony incident. Also, hello? Who's the broad?"

Drystan's eye twitched, teeth clenching as he spoke through them.

"Cora, this is M-10. He helps around the ship. Don't mind him, he had a...custom personality package pre-installed when I found him."

The racyon, meanwhile, had turned its attention to Cora, sniffing around her with keen curiosity.

There was a familiarity about her, something recognizable.

"And that's Brazier."

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

"Of course," Cora said. "To laugh would've been rude."

Never mind how close she'd come to letting an undignified chortle slip through her more composed demeanor.

---

"Broad?"

One eyebrow lifted sharply. Cora frowned.

"Jedi Knight Corazona von Ascania." She gave M-10 a curt tilt of her head in greeting. "I am a colleague of Knight Creed."

The commando droid had an odd appearance, and an even odder personality. Unamused by his behavior, Cora let out a hm. She swiped a finger over the top of a nearby caf machine, then rubbed it against her thumb. She hummed again, this time in approval.

Whether it was Drystan or his unconventional droid keeping this place scrupulously clean, she did not know.

The racyon's approach had her brightening. Cora bent slightly at the knees, extending a hand for Brazier to examine.

"My goodness, look at how big you've gotten!" she cooed. If Brazier was open to it, she'd give the racyon a gentle scritch behind the ear. "Your coat looks very healthy, too. And that's…what exactly are you wearing?"

After noting the tactical vest, Cora glanced up to Drystan questioningly.

Drystan Creed

 

[Drystan Creed]

UKATIS

"She helps around the ship and with first aid," Drystan said in response to Cora's questioning look.

"Don't worry—I keep her safe. She's either here or at the temple. No fieldwork for her."

Brazier quickly examined Cora's hand, tiny fingers pressing into her palm as she gave a few curious sniffs.

Then, a sudden beep caught her attention.

Without hesitation, the adolescent Racyon skittered away, making a beeline for an auto-feeder that had just dispensed a fresh meal.

Drystan chuckled slightly.

"She kept bugging me with visions about her food bowl running empty, so I set that up. Did some research—rigid feeding schedule, timed to her sleep patterns. Keeps her from over or under-eating. Took a few rounds of trial and error, but I've got it down now."

With a quick motion of his lone, trapped hand, he used the Force to pull a pair of contact lenses from his eyes, placing them on a convex holder.

Immediately, a holo player tied to the holder sprang to life.

A progress bar flickered above the player—"Analyzing."

Drystan exhaled, rolling his shoulders.

"Sit tight in the lounge while I slip into something more… appropriate. Caf and water are over there. Not much in the way of fine dining—just nutri-cubes, bars, and quick eats."

With that, he disappeared into what appeared to be the captain's quarters, the door sliding shut behind him.

For a brief moment, silence.

Then—

"Oh! You're a friend of the boss aren't ya?"

M-10's voice cut through the quiet, his robotic tone edged with curiosity.

"How'd you two meet? One of those big Jedi missions I hear about? Was it the one where he had to take down a rogue Padawan and then got blown up by a missile? Or the one where he had to cut off his arm?"

He snapped into a salute, suddenly standing at full attention, as if forgetting his prior remark.

"Like the boss said, I'm M-10. If you need something moved, disposed of, repaired, or shot—I'm your droid."

A slight pause.

"Especially the last part. I don't get to do much of that anymore." There was an unmistakable edge of enthusiasm in his voice.

The lounge itself was sparse—clean, utilitarian, lacking any unnecessary decor. Functional.

But two distinct objects stood out.

Two picture frames. Both made of sleek black-painted wood, looking years old. The first—a family portrait at what looked to be a park. The subjects wore casual summer wear to match their environment.

A young couple, husband and wife, both with black hair, standing with a child between them. His messy black hair stood out as he grinned wide, his cheeks flushed with joy.

The second, a Jedi Master and his Padawan.

The Master—human, male. Tall, tanned and with a wild mane of black hair—stood resting an elbow on the younger Jedi's head, who looked unmistakably like the boy from the first photo, only older, now in his teens.

The background—the Jedi Temple.

Both wore wide grins, their eyes shut, radiating a rare sense of genuine mirth.

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Cora gave a soft laugh as Brazier darted for the feeder. Her grin did not dissipate when she looked over to Drystan.

"If she's sharing visions with you, that means you've grown close. She's very well cared for."

Brazier's mother, Lula II, had been the object of Cora's affections during her lonely marriage. Spoiled, the mother racyon developed a rotund figure which often drew criticism. Then, babies.

Cora watched in quiet curiosity as Drystan removed his contacts - he had those in? - and placed them on a mount affixed to a holo player. A recording device, perhaps. She nodded in understanding as the Shadow, barrel and all, disappeared into his quarters. She imagined that even a burlap sack would be more comfortable.

Cora crouched for the small fridge beneath the caf machine. M-10's unexpected voice had her shooting back up, water in hand.

"Oh! Well…"

Was friend the right word? She and Drystan had gotten along well enough when they'd worked together, but she wasn't certain that qualified them as friends. Then again, she'd never seen him hanging out with anyone before.

She'd never seen Drystan unless he wanted to be seen.

Cora blinked. "…I'm sorry, a missile?" Though she'd been on Hapes during the snafu, she'd been confined to a hostage crisis. It took her a few moments to realize that he was referring to the take down of Padawan Khal, a native Hapan. She'd read the report detailing their interaction.

She shook her head.

"Believe it or not, we first met when he took Brazier home. Her mother, Lula, lives with me. I couldn't take care of eight kits in my own, so I sought volunteers from the Jedi."

Cora tilted her gaze towards Brazier's feeder, watching as the racyon snarfed away. She'd gotten so big.

"Brazier has her mother's appetite," she chuckled. Now that the awkward introductions had smoothed over, she regarded the droid with a bit more warmth.

"Thank you, M-10. I'll be sure to reach out to you if I am in need of your…specialties."

Uncapping the water bottle, Cora took a cursory sip. Her gaze wandered, observing the spartan setting, before it landed on what appeared to be the only two decorative items in the room. A pair of picture frames. Happy people smiling.

She stepped a little closer, enough to observe the photo subjects.

Two dark haired parents, their dark haired child posed between them. Then, a pair of figures clad in Jedi robes. Also smiling. They were, what she assumed to be, Drystan's family and master. It struck her as odd, somehow, seeing such sentiment displayed among a utilitarian environment.

Cora rocked back on her heels, once again bringing her focus to the droid.

"How did you and Drystan meet?"

Drystan Creed

 

[Drystan Creed]

UKATIS

"Oh, so you're Brazier's mom's mom." M-10 rubbed the place on his head unit where a chin might have been.

"That would make you her grandma, right?"

His tone was serious, as if genuinely analyzing the Racyon's bloodline. At Cora's question about how he met Drystan, the droid's posture straightened.

"Him and some blind guy with white hair beat up my boss."

The explanation was simple.

"Boss was running guns for Coruscant gangs. Drystan jumped in, beat him up, and took a shipment of me and my brothers."

A pause.

"I was the only one with a custom package installed, though. He's been sending us out to scout and help with missions ever since."

M-10 seemed to hold zero qualms about his newfound existence, visibly content with his place under Drystan's command.

—

Soon after, Drystan emerged from his quarters, now in more appropriate attire. A white longcoat, draped over a black turtleneck, with matching black pants and shoes.

But in contrast to the pictures Cora had seen, this was a very different person.

The once flushed, youthful face was now pale, almost ghostlike. His gaze—sharp, unreadable. His expression—all business. A perpetual tiredness weighed on his features, his eyes slightly narrowed, as if exhaustion had long settled into his very being.

He took a seat on a stool in front of the holo-player, rolling his shoulders before speaking.

"Sorry for the delay. Let's get down to business."

The holo-player flickered to life, displaying two armored duelists clashing swords in an arena, surrounded by onlookers cheering with wild enthusiasm.

"As a native of Ukatis, I'm sure you know how prevalent noble parties are." He leaned slightly forward, analyzing her reaction.

"Even on Coruscant, the high rollers throw insane parties—spending more credits in one night than a building full of blue-collar workers make in a year."

His eyes flicked toward the holo-projection, watching the duelists battle.

"How familiar are you with the types of tournaments thrown here? That part—I'm not too well-versed in."

He exhaled.

"But it looks like they're a notable fixture in my target's gatherings."

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

"Oh, so you're Brazier's mom's mom."

"Actually, that's not really-"

"That would make you her grandma, right?"

Cora's lips went still. Her lower eyelid twitched.

Even being called a scar-faced hag was not the death blow that was grandma. M-10's voice seemed to echo in her mind.

Grandma…grandma…grandma…

Cora shook her head as if she'd been slapped, and the droid's voice came back into focus. "A blind guy with white hair…" She frowned in thought. "Knight Lidos, perhaps?"

Despite his rather rough acquisition, M-10 seemed to be content. Between him, the racyon, and the Shadow, the ship seemed to be in a quiet sort of harmony.

Shortly after, the Drystan she was accustomed to reappeared. Cora's attention went from him to the imagery displayed by the holoplayer. Leaning forward, she peered at the screen and frowned.

"Un-sanctioned duels are unfortunately prevalent at these types of gatherings. My father was adamantly against such events."

Whether or not the Viscount himself partook was another matter entirely. Cora has difficulty imagining the stone-faced visage of her father among the raucous crowd.

"It's something of an open secret, especially in the rural provinces where the King's ears and eyes are few and far in-between. Lots of drinks and gambling. Even the late Prince was a fan of such things."

Her upper lip curled into a grimace. Horace had taken her to one such party before, but even she couldn't tell if her own displeasure was for the thought of her rightly deceased husband, or the undignified celebration she'd been forced to endure.

“I have attended one. Once.”

Drystan Creed

 

[Drystan Creed]

UKATIS

"Bet it wasn't anything like the space hockey games my Pa used to take me to." Drystan murmured, noting her expression before making a swiping motion.

The display shifted, now showing a middle-aged man dressed in ornate, finely crafted fabrics, adorned with a large golden necklace. His dark, intense gaze was paired with a clean-shaven face and short-cut hair.

No-nonsense was the perfect descriptor.

"This is our person of interest—Lord Janek von Grund. He rules over the fiefdom of Molshov."

Drystan's tone remained cool,

"Records I've analyzed refer to him as a client—both a buyer and a seller in the artifact trade. And, as you said, his fief lies far from the capital's eyes."

The image switched to a map, displaying their current location and a plotted route to Molshov.

A long journey—but one that could be made quickly with a ship.

"I've cased the place—only from the outside."

A series of photos appeared, showcasing various angles of the fief.

The notable one—a wide shot of the entrance leading to the upper district, lined with stone walls. The architecture and pristine streets were in stark contrast to the lower village, clearly housing the wealthy and influential.

Drystan would give a moment to let Cora immerse herself in the provided information, he then pulled out a datapad from his coat, eyes flicking across its screen.

Footage from the night before.

His eyes darted to Cora, narrowing slightly before he angled the datapad away, ensuring she couldn't see the recording.

This was his footage. His eyes. And, given the contents, it would stay for his eyes only.

"Damn." He muttered, shaking his head as he watched.

"My business at the tavern was a bust."

He exhaled, setting the datapad aside for now.

"Sir Hansel—one of the younger, up-and-coming nobles—was my target. He had an invitation, his first time attending from what he told me. Would've been easy enough to take his place, steal the invitation. Even had an alibi for my missing arm."

A pause.

"There are two ways to get into these events."

He reached into his coat, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.

"One—an invitation. Simple. Show it at the gate, and you're in."

He took a drag, exhaling before continuing.

"The second—the duels."

Another pause.

"Not just anyone can enter. You need to be of noble blood, which requires a patent of nobility—and, as you can probably guess, I'm no noble."

A brief silence, before he added:

"The other way? Be sponsored by a noble—like a champion of sorts."

His gaze lifted to Cora, gauging her reaction.

"And, of course, the duelist's sponsor must be present."

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

"Bet it wasn't anything like the space hockey games my Pa used to take me to."

"Probably just as violent."

Cora observed the maps and photographs. She understood Drystan's work - Force artifacts could be dangerous if they fell into the wrong hands - but something in her felt strangely…defensive?

There was something so odd about seeing her home planet being cased, even if she agreed wholeheartedly with the purpose of the mission.

Cora sucked a sharp breath in between her teeth. She could tell where this was going.

"Not to call into question your combat capabilities - I've seen what you're able to do - but are you certain that you can duel properly with one arm?"

Perhaps that wouldn't be an issue for him at all. Something else bothered her, though.

"Lord von Grund was at my wedding. Granted that was some time ago and he might not recognize me, but my presence is…" she trailed, looking uncertain. "There are some members of the aristocracy that do not like me very much."

Cora looked off to the side, gears turning. She couldn’t be sure which side this nobleman was on.

"I suppose I could wear a wig."

Drystan Creed

 

[Drystan Creed]

UKATIS

At her comment about his arm, Drystan's gaze drifted away, the memories she had unknowingly unearthed creeping at the edges of his mind. Thinking about his lost limb would send him down a rabbit hole of bad thoughts—one he had no interest in exploring. So, instead, he took a deep breath, shook his head, and let his cool, nonchalant demeanor resurface before addressing her again.

"You're right. How about I be your sponsor?"

A smirk tugged at his lips as he leaned slightly forward.

"Give me a copy of your family papers—I'll say I'm some distant relative or something. Meanwhile, I'll be enjoying champagne and those tiny plated food things while you're in the ring defending my honor."

He let the joke hang for a moment before adding:

"You're not afraid of helmet hair, are you?"

A brief pause, then a slight shake of his head as he moved on.

"I've also considered other ways to infiltrate the Ukatian noble nightlife."

With a swipe at the holoplayer, the display shifted—now showcasing the rear of the castle.

"Parties of this magnitude need a steady flow of servants, cooks, cleaners—staff in general. Could go that route if you fancy that kind of infiltration."

Another swipe. The hologram changed, now displaying a crude illustration of a man in a ski mask, prying open a door with a crowbar.

"Or we could do it the old-fashioned way."

His voice was casual, but there was a clear edge of amusement.

"Ski masks, darkest clothes, sneak in."

He glanced back at her, his single arm raising slightly, as if weighing the options.

"Not my first choice, but if we go that route, we're working with less—just our skills and experience."

His gaze steadied.

"So what do you think? That's all I've got. Unless you have something up your sleeve that you aren't willing to share with the class."

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Cora hesitated the moment the words left her lips. She would've pulled them back into her mouth if she could. It didn't take an empath to note the subtle shift of Drystan's demeanor.

Her eyes flicked down to her right hand; mechanical and gloved.

"My sponsor?"

Wide eyes snapped back up to the Shadow. There was a second where she genuinely seemed to be weighing the merit of his joke. "I have been practicing my Ukatian style swordplay…but a lady-knight would be most unusual."

Her father allowed her to practice fencing, but live steel had been off the table during her youth. Only recently had she begun to explore the blade-work of her heritage.

"We could play maid," she considered. "But that would put us further away from the action. House staff may overhear a lot, but that could take too long. They typically don't interact directly with nobility, unless they're handmaids or personal assistants."

Cora's displeasure with ski masks was made plain in the grimace she openly wore. She spent a moment scrutinizing the hand-drawn suggestion.

"I suppose our best bet would be your original proposition. You shall be my champion, and I your noble escort."

She nodded once, as if she'd spoken to convince herself rather than him.

"Do you have the appropriate attire for a Ukatian knight?"

Drystan Creed

 

[Drystan Creed]

UKATIS

"Excellent. I promise you, you won't regret this decision."

Drystan gave her a nod, a smile.

"Your honor—and whatever it is you nobles wager on duels—is in safe hands. Or hand, in this case." He raised his lone arm—both as a joke and as a silent reassurance that whatever he felt from her remark wasn't her fault.

At her question, he merely shook his head.

"Not at the moment. But if you get me in touch with your tailor—or whoever handles your outfits—I can have one ready before the next gathering in a few days. And before you ask, it won't look anything like what you saw me in on New Cov."

A pause.

"I'll take the time to learn how to use a sword. Meanwhile, we should start crafting your new identity. It'll be your cover for the party, and we can't afford anyone suspecting otherwise."

--

A few days passed in meticulous preparation.

Drystan's ship descended onto a plain landing zone in Molshov, the culmination of careful planning and practice. By now, Cora had undoubtedly seen just how exhaustive Drystan's methods were—his near perfectionism laid bare. He had taken those days to study dueling maestros from city archives, analyzing their movements, their footwork, their flourishes.

And then, as he always did, he copied.

Not simply imitating, but breaking each technique down, internalizing and adapting them, making them his own. His bladework had evolved—not yet a master duelist, but far beyond where he was days prior. Whatever gaps remained were supplemented by Form II principles and fragments of the other lightsaber forms.

Now? He was ready.

Drystan stood before the entrance hatch, issuing his final instructions to M-10 and Brazier.

"Keep the ship off-limits. We should be back by the end of the night. If we're not, follow the contingency plan exactly as we discussed."

With the droid saluting, and the racyon doing its best to, he turned to Cora, his gaze sharp.

"Alright. One more time."

His voice was calm, measured, but firm.

"Who are you? Who am I? And why are we here?"

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Drystan's gaze was intense. She met his exacting stare with a gentle, courtly smile. The kind that had been perfected over a youth of mingling with the Ukatian aristocracy.

"Lady Mariel von Althann, youngest daughter of Baron von Althann. You are one of my father's knights, Ser Theo, appointed as my personal escort. We've come here because…"

With a flick of her wrist, Cora waved open an ornate hand fan. She held the silken leaves over her mouth and nose, peering up at Drystan as if she were a shy maiden. "We're here because I've been searching for a husband. The man who beats my knight shall have my hand in marriage."

Snapping the fan shut, she jabbed the accessory into his chest.

"Which means that you'd better not lose." There was a stark tone shift there, from airy and sweet to stern and sober. "Ukatian suitors are among the most aggravating in the galaxy."

The von Althann family once held the throne. Centuries ago, they'd been chased off and retreated to the furthest reaches of Ukatis out of fear that their line would be wiped out. Only in the past few decades did they slowly begin to make their entrance back in to society. A daughter from a previously disgraced noble house seeking to strengthen her family's name by acquiring a titled husband would be in-line with Ukatian standards.

Cora took the fan away and tucked it beneath her arm as she smoothed the flowing material of her skirt. She wasn't a fan of the excess fabric that gave the sleeves of her dress their flowing appearance, but it was the best that could be acquired for a woman of her alleged stature from that particular region of the planet.

"Your swordplay is...frighteningly accurate." They'd gotten the chance to spar twice with vibroswords during their prep work, and though Cora was no master of Ukatian saberplay, her form was solid. He'd still countered her with an almost mechanical efficiency. "Are you sure you've never studied this particular type before?"

Drystan Creed