The Beginning of the End

[Acantha Malvern]

Tatooine - The Very Heart of the Desert | Midnight​

[member=Alkor Centaris]

​

All was quiet, all was still.

For a while now, nothing had disturbed the peace that spread over the blackest night of Tatooine. Far out here in the middle of the desert, way away from the fluorescent city lights, it was easy to appreciate the darkness. Ordinarily the bright blaring sun cast its meltingly hot glow atop the yellow sand, heating it till the humidity was unbearable. Yet, it wasn’t the heat that put the young apprentice off, it was the light. So intense it burned her eyes and rendered her entirely blind, so, she worked in the dark. Sat atop a crumbling stone wall outside the bounds of her master’s domain, The Mistress lay in wait. For what? She had yet to decide, but something stirred in the darkness.

Someone was coming.

The slave-ring had been going for a month now, unimpeded to her surprising realisation. When her master had first suggested it Fela had scoffed at the idea. Privately, of course. Tatooine belonged to the Confederacy, a faction that was so outwardly against slavery she was in awe that it had even lasted this long. For the past few weeks, their only task had been acquiring the slaves to fill the camp. Thus far their stock had come from other planets, smuggled onto Tatooine in secrecy, but recently… His ego had been growing. He’d been getting bolder and bolder in his mission to acquire the slaves. Advertising had become more outlandish, trade ships had been landing at the base instead of the meeting point for weeks now, he had even begun to host extravagant off-worlders while they explored the wares.

He was doing things that were, eventually, bound to get him noticed. Despite this, the ever-loyal Felurian would not abandon him. Would she keep her aspersions to herself? Undoubtedly. It was not her place to question is the reason or his motive, and on this occasion even if she had been given permission to speak freely… Felurian would have kept her mouth shut. Part of her hoped that this would be the weakness in his armour. Part of her hoped this would be the end to almost two decades of unwilling servitude. The revelation of any kind of freedom had been a long time coming.

​

 

[Alkor Centaris]

Talk of the Slave Ring operating on Tatooine had gone through the hands of the Ministry of Secrets' agents first. Whispers made their way from intelligence to the Knights Obsidian only after they had been substantiated, because within the borders of the Southern Systems, there was no greater crime. Only a fool would dare to smuggle living beings under the Vicelord's nose, let alone settle on one of the planets under their umbrella.

Still, if there were any truth to it beyond leavings, it was their duty to investigate and levy punishment where necessary. Instead of applying the full fist of the Knighthood, they opted to be more surgical. A single Knight would suffice, one who was tried in the trials of taking a life. It had to be someone who would not alert the Slavers to his presence until it was too late to evade him.

His swoop bike screamed out of Mos Espa and ripped along the sands. Nightfall on Tatooine brought with it a creeping chill, and death to under equipped vagabonds who tried to brave the sands. The intelligence placed them outside civilization, much like the Hutts or Tusken Raiders. That would keep their operations largely obfuscated, so it added up.

Precursory sweeps yielded little to no information, and his close ranges sensors picked up no trace of life. Alkor had a duty however, and he remained vigilant despite the cold settling into beneath his clothes.

"Where are you?" he growled beneath his breath, stretching out with his sixth sense to seek his prey.

[member="Felurian Malvern"]​

 

[Acantha Malvern]

[member=Alkor Centaris]​

The gentle pad of feet attempting to gain purchase on sand caused the Mistress to stir. Her body turned at the waist to face the crudely built gate to the base. For a moment or two, whoever was behind them struggled to get them to swing open against the sand. It was pitiful to watch. When they finally creaked open enough to allow them to slip through, Felurian was met with one of the low-life’s her Master hired to aid them. ‘You staying out here tonight?’ He asked in a rough tone that seemed perfectly fitting for their surroundings. ‘Mmm.’ Fela hummed out in response and turned back to face the rapidly fading horizon. ‘There’s someone coming.’ The man seemed baffled, even going so far as to pull a confounded expression. ‘I dunno what you mean. We ain't got word of any visitors.’

The Mistress tutted and shook the straight ebony hair atop her head. ‘Don’t you feel it?’ Her icy tone bit at him, almost as much as the chill in the air itself. Part of her questioned why she even bothered to engage in conversation with him, a large majority of the hired hands were extraordinarily thick. As expected, he could only grunt in response. ‘Nah. It’s just this place, makes you see things that ain't there. People back home used to say folks go crazy out in the desert at night.’ It was superstitious nonsense, of course. Farmers tales. The only thing that made people crazy in the desert was dehydration. Felurian waved a dismissive hand in his direction, not even bothering to turn and face him as she did. There was no shortage of relief when she heard the gate being dragged back and the sound of his footsteps fading into the distance.

Perhaps there was some truth in it. Shadows played tricks on the eyes, and in the dimming light Fela could have sworn she saw the darkness shift. The young apprentice shook her head, as if it would clear the haze the midnight black forced upon her eyes. When she stilled again the horizon was empty, just as it always was, but something still felt… off. Felurian couldn’t place her finger on it. Raven eyes disappeared behind pale white lids as she shut off her senses to simply feel. The moment she shut out the sound of sand against sand as the icy breeze whipped over the landscape, it finally became clear. A disturbance in the atmosphere, one that couldn’t be registered as a force of nature. This was man made.

As though a hot poker had been jammed into her thigh, the Mistress shot up. She knew it. Someone was here. Someone who’s signature she hadn’t yet burned into memory over the past month. Her left hand slid down to double check her sabre still hung from her belt, she’d been sitting so she could no longer feel the comforting weight of it against her thigh. Her last action before backing up toward the gate was to send a wave of warning to her Master, the only other force user in the base. In a few hours she had no doubt she’d be questioning whether the decision to neglect the privacy of this signal was a wise one, but there was no turning back now.

Whoever was out there would feel the wave of warning. Like a beacon in the night, a lighthouse in the middle of the storm, a map with the path marked in bright red ink. Whoever was out there, their search was surely over.

 

[Alkor Centaris]

There was something to be said for traveling alone. If they had come en masse to deal with this, the Slavers would have caught wind and fled. A single swoop rider might draw attention, but he would hardly cause a panic. They would send sentries to deal with the interloper. All the times he had been sent to eradicate targets, it was the same. They never took a single entity as a threat.

Even if they did, it was late enough that people in the desert were wise and went indoors. The cold and the sandstorms took lives indiscriminately. Alkor slowed his approach just outside the outer perimeter, cleverly marked in the way of the Tuskens. It gave people a reason not to approach.

If nothing else, these Slavers were cunning. It was a small wonder they managed to evade detection for so long.

When he felt the surge in the Force, Alkor responded with something of his own.

The Dark Jedi consumed his own Force Signature, shrank it, and effectively disappeared. If they had already felt him, it was too late to avoid raising their guard, but he could perhaps still get the drop on them.

He would have to thank whoever had given him the warning, if anyone were left alive.

It raised another fascinating question. Were they trafficking Force Adepts?

[member="Felurian Malvern"]

 

[Acantha Malvern]

[member=Alkor Centaris]​

Chaos was the most fitting word Fela could think of to describe what was happening behind those closed wooden gates.

Felurian’s signal of warning to her Master had prompted a mass camp-wide panic. Men ran left and right carrying items of significance to the cleverly prepared smuggling dens. Slaves were being dragged across the wide-open courtyard, bound in chains, heading for the very same caves. Even the flickering orange flames in the windows were being doused, till the only light left was the pure, unadulterated white of the moon. The only strange thing about this panic was the noises or lack of them. The emotion was there, but it was devoid of any features that ordinarily defined it. Save for the rapid shuffling of feet against sand and the muted clink of chains against chains, the camp was filled with silence.

Even the Mistress found it rather eerie as she strode across the courtyard toward the main base.

The further she got, and the quicker the loose sand beneath her feet would allow her to go, the more she felt the heat returning to the desert. It wasn’t the ordinary type of heat that came from the blisteringly hot sun, but a raging heat that transpired from anger. Felurian recognised it all too well. She’d been on the sharp end of it far too many times to be able to forget it. Behind the thick cloth doorway draped across the entrance to the caves, her Master’s rage swelled. While her step did not falter, Fela did take a moment to brace herself. There had been many a time where she had to face his wrath. She could do it with a face as blank as a sheet of freshly pressed paper, but it didn’t mean she relished it.

Immediately bathed in a dim yellow glow, the thick material fluttered as Fela brushed aside the makeshift door to the entrance of the cave. Now the heat felt painfully akin to standing in front of a blazing furnace. She didn’t need to look up to know his eyes were on her. A few minutes passed by where Fela toyed with the idea of breaking the conversation herself, but she had a fair few scars that pleaded passionately against it. So, she stood and waited.

‘What… Who… How…’ He finally spoke or at least tried too. The words were laced with rage. ‘I have no idea.’ Fela finally looked up at her Master, a slender man that looked as though you could snap him clean in half across your knee. People had even tried it, and Fela had watched them suffer a fate much worse. ‘Whoever it might be, they know where to find us, of that I’m sure. I only caught them for a moment, but they were alone.’ He seemed to visibly relax, so much so that she watched his shoulders lower by a full two inches… but it didn’t last long. ‘You riled everyone up and made me move the merchandise to the caves… for one person?!’ He stormed toward her, hand in the air, braced to bring it down upon her once he was close enough.

She’d seen this trick before. He’d storm toward her with the threat of his fist, but the blow wouldn’t come. Instead, he’d find some other way of showing her his displeasure. A bone-crushing pressure on her shins, a torturous day of excruciating insanity, a week or two without sight. He could be incredibly inventive. Yet, nothing came. Not pain, not insanity, not sorrow… nothing. Felurian looked up from the orange coloured dust that had settled on the ground, back up to the fire behind her Master’s eyes. His hand remained raised, mid-air and ready to strike, but it was almost as if someone had frozen it there. ‘Just…’ His voice escaped his throat, defeated but still full to the brim of an untapped rage. ‘…handle it.’

Fela raised a slender raven brow in his direction, though she was sensible enough to let it fall before he had the chance to look at her. ‘Come back here with their head or I shall have yours as a replacement.’ With the hand he had intended to bruise her with, he motioned for her to exit the tent. The Mistress did not need to be told twice, and she didn’t need a second opportunity to escape his anger.

Once again, she was shadowed in darkness as the fluttering material fell shut behind her. The courtyard, for the most part, was entirely empty now. All that remained was the sand beneath her feet and the thousands of footprints imprinted into it only moments before. Whoever was coming would surely have a better plan than to enter through the front gate, but that’s what she decided to focus her attentions on. Every action she had made since discovering the signature on the horizon had been intentional. Carefully planned out and mapped until she was sure it was the only logical step to make. If she focused her attentions on the gate, instead of on the surrounding walls or the edge of the cliff to her back that overlooked the courtyard, there was every chance she wouldn’t even see the intruder.

There was enough lee-way on all sides, save for the gate, for someone to slip by her entirely unnoticed. Anyone sane of mind, especially if they were alone like she believed this person to be, would take the chance to slip by the exterior guard for the more worthwhile fight they would find inside. Unless, of course, they were the type not to care about whether a fight was worthwhile. Some people just liked the sight of their own sabre swinging through the air, no matter who was on the other end. Either way... the Mistress was a little less ready than she ought to have been, a little too unprepared for the eventuality of a fight, but everything she did was calculated.

 

[Alkor Centaris]

The darkness had crept across the desert and swallowed the world whole. Alkor hopped off his swoop after killing the engines in a single sweeping movement, and his feet hit the sand almost weightlessly. He was walking before he even touched down. The weapon stowed at his hip swung to and fro like a pendulum, ticking away the seconds left in the lives of the Slavers.

The camp came to life with every step he took. The hustle and bustle of a busy population told him they decided to rouse and stand on guard. He made out the shapes of several larger, more imposing humanoids and readily heard the sounds of Akk Dogs spitting and barking in the distance. They were on full alert.

That meant they were more interested in finding him than they were keeping a low profile. They probably thought the two things went hand in hand. The critical flaw in their plans was that their diligence also revealed a crucial detail.

A ringleader always sends his minions to do the dirty work.

This slavery, the man behind the entire operation, would be the sedentary piece. Everyone else would rush about and stir because they were desperate to find the danger. They would leave the King relatively undefended.

And Alkor would take their King in the midst of the Chaos.

He remained low to the ground as he came within several yards of the compound. They were equipped with lights and long range macrobinoculars, everything they needed in order to sus him out. Yet, he knew the game well enough.

With a trained effort, he lifted a hand and the battlecry of a Tusken Raider emanated from his throat, reverberating across the dunes.

The point of origin was always indeterminate with Sand People.

[member="Felurian Malvern"]​