They were in the Archives room, it was quiet and musty, full of old sour Sith past their prime, Mitka snuck another look over the banister where he was looking over a holocron. He was older, already working on his trials, his eyes flicked up at her, and she ducked her head again as those blue eyes rounded on her. She peeked again only he was gone, she stood up to look around and was surprised by someone clearing their throat behind her, she spun around only to come face to face with tall, dark, and blue eyes.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” Mitka was infinitely thankful for her copper complexion as she felt her neck and face flush with heat.

His name was Rylon, a few weeks ago he had noticed her working with a training dummy, he had come up behind her, and adjusted her grip and her stance, offering her advice. Her form had gotten better with his friendly tip. She had also started noticing him everywhere she went. She had sent her friends to discover his name, his age, his pedigree, he was perfect, Mitka thought. He often wore a serious or sullen look which only added to his mystery. She hadn’t found the nerve to talk to him again, until now.

“It’s Mitka right? From the training room?” He knows my name!

“That’s right, Rylon?” Mitka matched his tone, pretending like she was struggling to remember his name. He nodded with a slow half smile.

“How is your Ataru form coming?” He sat beside her at the table, his arm brushed against hers, and Mitka stifled the audible sigh that wanted to escape her treacherous mouth.

“Wonderfully, thank you, your help…really helped.” Shut up…

“I’ve noticed.” Rylon kept his lovely blue eyes on Mitkas. She was acutely aware of how close he was to her. He Noticed!!

“Have you now?”

He brushed the hair back from her neck, “I’ve noticed a lot of things.”

Mitka could only nod.

“Join me for dinner tonight?” Rylon asked finally. There it was, she sensed a tinge of fear, he was nervous too. Somehow that helped, that he was scared that she would reject him, she felt a small surge of power.

“I don’t know, I have a Force theory test tomorrow…” YES!!!!

“I understand if you don’t have time, it was nice talking to you Mitka.” He stood up to leave, a clear shadow had formed on his face. He turned and started walking away.

“WAIT!” Mitka called out a little too loudly. One of the crusty old Sith gave her a disapproving glare. Rylon stopped in his tracks.

“How’s six?” she said as she scrambled to catch up to him, tripping inelegantly on her chair.

“I’ll see you at six then Mitka.” He gave her that mysterious half smile again, he looked down at her notebook then back up at her. “Also Niral is spelled with one L.”

Mitka looked down at her notebook, and there in big bold letters was Rylon Nirall surrounded by big sugary hearts and stars, and then the words Mitka Nirall, one of her many doodles. She felt the blood escape from her face, her words stuck in her mouth.

“Don’t be late now!” He called up to her from the lower level. Mitka wished the floor of the academy would swallow her whole.

Remi watched from her bunk as a pair of acolytes kissed a few beds down. There did not seem to be any rules against fraternization among Sith pupils. Only the knowledge that the acolyte you slept with tonight could try to kill you in the morning kept the debauchery to tolerable levels. She turned her attention back to her datapad trying to tune out the sounds coming from the bunk above her. She gave up and headed to the training room.

She attacked the practice dummy viciously, this was the only place she felt free to use her emotions. It felt natural to use anger and hatred to make her stronger.

A footfall off from her own. The low hum of another practice blade. A whisper of air behind her. Remi did not need the force to sense danger. She spun and parried her new opponent’s attack.

The Sith pureblood smiled down at her. He was another acolyte, tall, handsome, and powerful. She knew of him though they had never spoken, with his power and pedigree everyone was certain he would be chosen to apprentice for someone important.

“You’re good,” he laughed as he used his leverage and greater body mass to press down on her blade, “Better than the others.” They were locked together separated only by swords, he forced their blades closer to her face but his eyes never left hers, his tone was teasing his expression almost playful.

Remi felt her pulse quicken, from the exertion of keeping his blade away and the compliment. She tested his strength a moment longer and added a touch of Force to push him away. She kept her blade in guard position and waited for his next move.

“Beautiful and strong,” He deactivated his saber and threw it aside carelessly, “The name is Ivalen.”

“Remi,” she said.

“Everyone knows you. You defeated the bandit stronghold, saved the slaves, and eliminated a top rival. I must thank you for that, by the way, he was too stupid to be a worthy Sith.”

She shrugged a shoulder and dropped the point of her blade but did not cast it aside. He laughed at her suspicion.

“Not all acolytes are treacherous by nature.” He put his hand over his heart pretending to be hurt. “Some of us find the mistrust and the maneuvering tiresome, but play the game or die, correct?” He stepped closer unarmed and relaxed, he touched her arm lightly. “Join me for dinner. It would be marvelous to speak with someone here who isn't trying to kill me to get ahead.”

“I thought you and Laika were together.” Laika had been an acolyte when Remi arrived, another Sith pureblood with the superior attitude to match. Ivalen had a number of women seeking his company, but Laika had been chosen as one of Darth Thanaton’s apprentices. No longer rivals, Laika and Evalien had taken a more serious tone to their relationship.

“My parents would like that to be true.” He wore a pained expression, “But they will forgive me when they see I found someone better.” He offered his elbow.

Remi blushed and allowed him to escort her to the dining hall. Ivalen made a show of being there with her. At first, she only pretended to ignore the stares then she genuinely forgot about them as he told her funny stories of his home world and early life. When they left he casually draped his arm around her shoulders. Remi did not notice a Sith pureblood watching them with hate filled eyes.

Ivalen did not escort her back to the dormitory wing; instead, he led her to a small room used for storage. It was dark and empty except for a tall stack of boxes in a shadowy corner. He pushed her inside grinning with anticipation. Remi was excited and nervous, she had never even been kissed and she had a feeling this Sith would not stop there. Ivalen slid his arms around her waist, she tilted her head back eagerly.

A footfall that was not theirs. A change in the air. The tensing of Ivalen’s arms. Remi gathered the force and pushed in two directions. Ivalen and someone else were flung away from her. The unknown person hit the wall with a sickening crack. He slid down the wall, a slave collar sparking around his broken neck, a crude cudgel slipped from his fingers.

She picked up the blunt weapon and faced Ivalen. He was alive but still dazed by his own introduction to the wall. She threw the cudgel at the man who had tried to seduce her. It hit his knee shattering it, he screeched and reached for the weapon, Remi pulled it back to her hand. She threw it again, this time shattering his wrist.

“A slave, Ivalen? Was that your plan? You kiss me and have a slave murder me.” She tilted her head waiting for an answer, when he only glared at her she threw the cudgel again narrowly missing his head.

“No, but kissing you was a necessary part of it, I’m glad I managed to avoid it.” He spat at her feet. “We only needed to incapacitate you, murder is not allowed between acolytes and everyone saw me with you. But if I carried you to your bed for everyone to see and one of my jealous lovers saw fit to eliminate you I could not be blamed.”

“Laika.” She snorted and threw the cudgel at his shoulder eliciting another scream. She stared at the weapon when it returned to her hand, heavy and effective.

“Even if she got caught, Thanaton would offer her some protection especially against former Jedi filth like you.” He sneered at her despite his disadvantage, “What will you do now? You can’t just kill me it’s still against the rules.”

Remi shrugged and pinned him against the wall with her power. She crouched in front of him and pressed her lips against his, her first kiss tasting of revulsion. “Turnabout is fair play.” She whispered in his ear. She saw the terror in his eyes before she knocked him out.

Lord Scourge had seen the Jedi wander off with the acolyte Ivalen. The boy was a petty schemer but if he served to unlock her emotions and her true power, he might prove useful. He walked to the training room to practice; no one ever used the rooms at this hour. He found the Jedi attacking a practice dummy. She looked up when he entered, and bowed briefly.

He picked up a practice blade and pointed at her. She nodded and they squared off. “I thought you would be with Ivalen right now.” He began with a basic set of attacks to warm up.

She snorted, and Scourge felt a surge of anger before she spoke. “He lacked stamina, he was knocked out before I was satisfied, it’s why I’m here.” Scourge raised an eyebrow at that. He tested her reflexes with a flurry of attacks. She parried and dodged them easily, her frustration enhancing her speed.

“I wonder then, why he has so many who trail after him, such as Laika.” He hinted, hoping the Jedi knew of the rivalry she had just created between herself and a powerful Darth’s apprentice. He sensed another surge of emotions.

“You would have to ask her,” Remi replied, “Perhaps she is more easily satisfied.”

Lord Scourge barked a short laugh and prepared to attack again, but a series of screams echoed down the hall interrupting their match. Curious, they followed the screams to the dormitory wing. The lights were on and dozens of acolytes peered into one particular bunkroom.

The crowd parted for Lord Scourge, Remi followed in his wake. Laika stood next to Remi’s bunk, her lightsaber still in her hands. She had lost her ability to scream but her mouth still opened and vague hissing noises escaped. She stood over Ivalen’s naked body. She saw Remi and pointed accusingly.

“He would never have stayed in your bed,” she rasped, “He never stayed.”

Remi shrugged smiling coldly, “I guess he liked me better.”

Laika launched herself at Remi, she wielded a lightsaber and Remi was only armed with a practice blade. Scourge wondered if the Jedi could defend herself against a lightsaber with a mere practice blade, he decided it was not worth the risk. He ignited his lightsaber and neatly beheaded Thanaton’s apprentice.

“Punishment for killing another acolyte.” He declared to one of the instructors who had finally made it to the room. The instructor nodded, Thanaton would not be able to punish the Wrath. He arranged for slaves to clean up the bodies.

“You've lost your bedmate.” Scourge eyed the naked pureblood.

Remi shrugged, “I’ll find another one. He wasn’t my first.”

In my longer Remi story, Scourge tells her that as a Sith she was insatiable. This is the reason he believed that and neither of them know the truth because Remi does not remember that time period.

Poor Remi, her first kiss sucked.

Also, she has a type. She loves the tall Sith purebloods

Vierce picked up the holo in a hurry. He had some down time at the base, and he hadn't heard from his runt brother in a few weeks.

Kirsk appeared, decked out in some bizarre jacket with a one-shoulder thing Vierce couldn't figure the use of. Kirsk was sporting new cybernetics in his cheeks. Vierce wondered what they were for. With Kirsk, you never knew.

"Long time no see," said Kirsk, with that smooth low-key delivery he had been practicing since he was fourteen. "How are you, big brother?"

"Saving the Republic, one lap of the yard at a time," said Vierce. "You?"

"Busy days, busy days."

Before he could continue, Vierce broke in. "You call Mama lately? She worries."

"I'm calling her. Not to worry." Kirsk ran his hands over his slicked-back hair. "You two. Honestly. Anyway, I was checking in, because I'm a nice guy like that. Good to know basic training is letting you flex your do-gooder muscles. I literally got to rob from the rich to feed the poor yesterday. It was amazing."

"Sounds fun."

"Yeah, until the rich shot me." Kirsk tapped his cheek. "Glancing blow, but it didn't fix up too well. Figured I would get some sensors put in while I was having the thing fixed up."

"He shot you in the face?"

"Yeah."

"You robbed a guy and he shot you in the face?"

"Yeah."

"And you think you're doing good things with your life?"

"Hey. It resulted in my feeding a starving and very pretty girl, plus ten or twenty others. I'm happy."

"Tell me you didn't kill anybody."

"Nah, you know I'm more the take-the-money-and-run type." He grinned. "Speaking of which, I have a paperwork update for you. I wanted new credentials set up before I struck out to explore the galaxy with my very own ship. You are looking at Mister Kirsk Volheis, Esquire."

"What?"

Kirsk feigned worry. "Uh, which part is 'what'?"

"Volheis? You're ditching Savins? Just dropping it?"

"Relax, brother, nobody's gonna forget we're related."

"Seems to me you're anxious to forget already. Or are you telling me you really intend to come home for Summersday in your new rig with your new girl and your new face and your new name?"

"Don't be like that, Vierce."

"Don't vanish all at once, Kirsk." Vierce rubbed his neck. "Look, change your name if you want, just...keep in touch, okay?"

"I will! No need to worry." Kirsk hesitated. "Just, uh. One question. Are you technically obligated as a soldier of goodness to turn in known criminals you happen to encounter over Summersday dinner?"

"No. Even if I were, I probably wouldn't do it."

Kirsk gasped theatrically. "And you think you're doing good things with your life?" He grinned his signature, glacier-melting grin. "Good. It'll be safe to see you. Say hi to Mama for me. Kirsk Volheis, signing out."

The holo went dormant.

Vierce glared at it anyway. "You said you would call her yourself," he said. Time to pick up after his little brother's promises. Again.

Because in my spare time my brain decides that three active threads on three different continuities plus short-fic entries on five player characters is...insufficient, and I need to have more stories bubble to mind?

The first Imperial I ever saw was, when I saw him, in the process of killing my father.

I say "in the process" because he didn't make it fast. He had ion cells to spare, time to kill, and the "security sweep" of the occupied village was…nah, enough of that. Spend any given day in my head and you'll see the whole thing over again anyway, some days more vivid than others.

So anyway. That was a long time ago. I grew up, made good, joined the Republic Army, and found myself "leader" of the "elite" "Havoc Squad." I try not to be sarcastic, but in effect I'm replacing a bunch of defectors (to the Empire. The Empire! Who does that!?) to command an angry, recently demoted Cathar. That's Havoc Squad. Him and me. I think they're just that desperate to keep the name active rather than admitting the Empire swiped our best.

Jorgan's all right, mind you. He's like my brother only not a scumbag. Well, he's a different kind of scum. It's hard to describe. We can't get six words without picking another fight, but he's good people.

Havoc Squad's first priority? Hunting down its old members, of course. And boy, do I have every reason to want to see them stand and account for themselves.

My first lead was on Taris. The planetside control center I walked into was busy. Decent variety of people. I couldn't help but notice the bright golden hair of one woman working over a console across the room. It was done up in one of those buns you might call severe, but it looked nice. And when she looked my way…you know how blondes all have gold dust on their eyelashes? I swear I could see it from where I stood.

I reported to Colonel Gaff, who was in a snit at Havoc Squad having the gall to storm through demanding support for an unspecified mission. He stonewalled me until Sergeant Gold Dust left her console and walked up to directly contradict his claims of knowing nothing useful.

"Patrol teams three, five, and eight were all lost, all without explanation."

This news might have been more tactically interesting if it hadn't been delivered in a pitch-perfect Imperial accent.

The woman and her stupid yellow bun came to stand opposite Colonel Gaff. They glared at each other. I glared at her, but I don't think anybody was counting that, except maybe Jorgan.

She turned her eyes, dull overgrown lashes and all, away from the colonel and saluted me crisply. "Elara Dorne, sir. Sergeant, first class, commander of Search and Rescue Squad 204." Imps command our squads now?

"Lieutenant Vierce Savins. Havoc Squad. Colonel, is there anyone you can recommend to brief me on this matter?" Is this person actually qualified to be here?

Dorne didn't respond to the slight. Gaff processed my displeasure and gave me a sullen sneer. "That would be Sergeant Dorne. She's all yours."

"If you would, sir." The sergeant tilted her head toward a conference room and led me and Jorgan in, standing by to shut the door after us.

I had work to do, I reminded myself. Leads to pursue, and somehow Sergeant Imperial was the only one talking. I wouldn't take her information at face value, but there was a chance it was better than nothing. Therefore: "If you have information for me, sergeant, I'll be glad to hear it."

She nodded crisply – crisp was a big thing with her – and laid out the whole story of the base's standard patrols, their usual patterns, the communications of the missing patrols, every item of standard procedure they had missed. She had paragraph citations for the procedural violations. The constant rules mentions, done in that accent, really made her seem like an Imperial trooper scribbling "I AM LEGIT REPUBLIC" on her helmet.

But she got me the information to start. Whoever was screwing with our patrols might have other information I needed, and I sure didn't have any other leads, and it was possible that Colonel Gaff didn't actively encourage Imp operatives to send officers he disagreed with into deathtraps. It was possible.

I thanked her, as politely as I could stand to - she did have the uniform, after all, so I figured I could pull together some courtesy - and excused myself.

Jorgan fell into step beside me on our way out. "That was…interesting. I've had drill sergeants more relaxed than that woman. Not to mention that accent."

"Yeah, well. Imps aren't known for their capacity to relax."

"There's a story with her," said Jorgan. "But I don't think we're getting it until we finish this little job."

"I have a better idea. We skip the story." I rubbed my neck and growled. "Let's go. Sooner we find Needles, sooner we get off this rock."

It was, I realized as we mounted up outside, the first time I had ever met an Imperial without physically attacking her. (Or him.) The encounter felt more than a little unsatisfying. But I had work to do. Eh, with any luck she would've wandered into a rakghoul nest by the time I got back to base.

Umrahiel felt the bass rumble of explosions deep in the rock. It rang like the tolling of temple bells on his homeworld. Without a second thought, he seized Pierce with the Force and tossed him up the corridor like a rag doll. Pierce struck the stone wall hard and lay still, but Umrahiel could sense that he still lived. Hopefully the smaller space wouldn’t collapse. The larger cavern was done for. He sprinted toward the dubious safety of the stone passage, moving with unnatural speed, dodging the boulders as they fell. Threading the only path through certain destruction.

But speed alone wouldn’t save him. Neither would his sabers. The space was too far, and it was coming down too quickly. His battle with the Republic soldiers had been too taxing. He burned through his reserves and still it was too far. Rubble trapped him. He held off the crushing weight of the cavern with the power of the Force, but even that was ebbing. Stones pressed in through his defenses. Something large struck his head. His respirator cracked. Quesh’s poisonous atmosphere crept in through the breach. Varrel Umrahiel, Sith Lord, slipped into unconsciousness.

He saw them, two faces. Sith faces. Not Xathras. He did not recognize them. They were unclear in his sight, though whether that was a physical problem or something else entirely, he did not know.

“Fates entwined. Shall I revive?” asked the first.

“Offer no help. We must be sure,” replied the second. The speakers were male. Their voices sounded hollow, like distant echoes.

“Arm or eye? Our view…uncertain.”

“We will wait at the command center exactly one day for our proof,” said the second.

“Test of destiny,” agreed the first.

The vision faded, and pain replaced it. Varrel clawed his way back to consciousness. The collapsed cavern was dim. A single emergency light clung to a boulder, trying in vain to illuminate the space. Mashed circuitry sparked, splashing bizarre colors and shadows on the rubble. He caught a brief whiff of ozone and scorched insulation. An electrical fire smoldered somewhere in the pile.

Umrahiel’s only view was through a small gap between the stones covering his head. Many more pinned his body. Their crushing weight pressed in on him. A thought rose, unbidden, of the ghosts in the ancient tombs on Korriban and Dromund Kaas. He wondered if he would haunt this place as they did. Wondered if he might torment visitors, or drive them mad.

Varrel blinked and shook his head to clear it. He wasn’t dead yet. Lord Draahg and Darth Baras would have to try harder. The movement sent a spill of pebbles and sand down his neck. Grit filled his collar and sifted into his clothing. He ground his teeth at the annoyance. He thought to call on the Force and shove the rocks aside, but he had no focus. Without focus, he had no control. His focus was kinetic. He channeled the force through movement, and right now, movement was denied him.

Perhaps Draahg and Baras planned this ambush better than he thought.

No matter. He concentrated, opened himself to the Force, focused on the crushing weight of the stone. The power burned through him. He sought to direct it outward, to no avail. Too diffuse. Unfocused. Amorphous. Anger flared; how much precision was necessary to shove rocks?

The weight shifted. Pressed tighter against him. The small bone in his lower leg cracked with a near-audible snap. A rib followed. Breathing hurt, now. New focus. With a roar he shoved at the cairn again, only to feel it settle. His broken rib’s neighbor let go.

For once, he wished he had Xathras’ skill at manipulating the Force. The more esoteric applications of Force sorcery were never his forte. Umrahiel ground his teeth. No time like the present to learn. And no better motivation to master the lesson.

At the farthest reaches of his enhanced senses, Lieutenant Pierce’s feeble life force winked out. The electrical fire flared to bright life. The tainted air began to grow stale.

Jaesa paced in a circle around the Lemures holoterminal. She should be with him, with Varrel, but he’d had her remain here. Said Pierce would be more useful. He had more experience with Republic forces. She cast a glance at Captain Quinn, standing quiet at entrance to the bridge. No doubt he’d suggested it.

Now her master—her lover—was overdue by more than a day. They’d received no transmissions. Nothing from the garrison. Nothing from Baras, enquiring on the success of the mission. A clockspring of foreboding wound tight within her, each second increasing the tension. She knew this feeling. All too well.

“It’s late. You should sleep, Jaesa,” Quinn said.

“I can’t,” she snapped, “not while he’s gone.”

“I…could give you a sedative,” he said, “there’s no reason for you to do this to yourself.”

Jaesa wheeled on Quinn like a fury, “I cannot sleep while my Master Varrel is in danger!” she shrieked, “My place is at his side!”

Quinn recoiled, “I was only looking out for you, Jaesa,” he said.

She froze. Then a shudder passed through her body. Tears welled in her eyes and she sank to her knees on Lemures’ purple carpet, “No,” she whispered, “No no no no no.”

Quinn rushed to her side, “Jaesa! What’s wrong?” he cried.

“He’s gone,” she hissed, eyes unseeing, staring through the walls.

“I don’t—“

“NOOOOooooo!” Jaesa screamed again. She writhed as though in the throes of some hideous unseen torture. Quinn tried to support her, but she flailed in his grasp.

Vette padded out from the crew quarters dressed only in a loose negligee, rubbing her eyes, “What’s going on out here?”

“Call the garrison!” he ordered, “be useful for once!”

Vette started, shocked at Jaesa’s condition, “What’s wrong with her?”

“She thinks Lord Umrahiel is gone,” Quinn growled, “Now call the damn garrison and confirm it, you stupid, stupid creature.”

Vette mimed a salute and took a step toward the bridge when the alert on the exterior hatch chimed. She looked at Quinn, still cradling Jaesa, “Guests?”

Quinn glanced over his shoulder toward the hatch, “Hold her,” he said.

“I can get it,” said Vette.

“Not dressed like that, idiot,” he snapped. The alert chimed again. “Hold her, damn you!”

Vette knelt beside Jaesa. No longer flailing, she lay limp and unresponsive. Vette took her from Quinn’s arms. He stood and straightened his uniform, then strode toward the hatch. The alert chimed a third time.

Jaesa gasped once and shuddered. She raked her fingers through her hair. Her eyes opened. A red tint overlay everything like a sunset. Varrel Umrahiel was gone. Her master, her lover, was gone. Torn from her just like her parents, her teacher, and her Jedi master.

This time, the pain of loss condensed like a nebula. And a new star was born.

She shook off Vette’s hands and fought to her feet. She stood disheveled, beyond caring about her appearance. Who was here, anyway, beyond Quinn and Vette and—

Two Sith.

True Sith. One slight and frail, the other robust. Their faces were unfamiliar to her. They glided into the room, bypassing Quinn who remained by the door, looking very uncomfortable.

The frail one spoke first, “Eye,” he said.

“We must have proof,” said the other.

“Proof?” Jaesa snarled. She turned her attention to the smaller of the two, and opened her Force-granted sight. And fell into the void.

This body was only a shell, the consciousness behind it far distant. Dark. Cold. A voice spoke, “You seek the true nature of things? Let me show you.”

Before Jaesa could pull away a vision seized her, malevolent and cruel. A world of dead ash spinning in grey columns on the wind. A black glass sphere the size of a planet, baking hot inside its sun’s photosphere, the ruins of a forgotten civilization melting into slag. A star, its gaseous envelope flayed from its surface and pulled inexorably into the maw of its greedy companion.

“All the worlds die,” said the voice, “let them burn.”

“Let them burn,” Jaesa echoed. She snapped back to herself.

“Jaesa?” Vette whispered.

Jaesa giggled, “Let them burn,” she repeated.

The smaller Sith glanced at the other, “Test of destiny,” he said, “The eye sees.”

The taller Sith nodded in agreement, “Indeed.” He stepped forward, “Jaesa Willsaam, I am Servant One, this is Servant Two. We are the Hand of the Emperor.”

“Hands and eyes and…” Jaesa paused, “and wrath and voice,” she said.

“Your insight does you credit,” said Servant One, “We oversee the Emperor’s interests in the galaxy, and have come to offer you a place as the Emperor’s Wrath.”

Jaesa giggled again, a sound verging on hysteria, “I have plenty of wrath.”

“The vision planted,” said Servant Two, “bearing fruitful seeds.”

Servant One continued, “Darth Baras seeks to use the Dark Council to his own ends. He removes all opposition, including Varrel Umrahiel.” Jaesa’s eye twitched at the words, but she said nothing, “In his hubris, he desires to be named as the Emperor’s Voice. This will not be allowed.”

“Do I get to kill him?” Jaesa asked. Another nervous giggle escaped her lips, “Because I really want to now. Silence the Voice,” she said, grinning, “and hear the music of the void.”

“Destines entwined,” said Servant Two, “the Eye grows dark and Wrath burns bright.”

“Our interests coincide on this point. As the Emperor’s Wrath, you will be tasked with enforcing the Emperor’s will,” said Servant One.

“Purge,” Jaesa purred, running her hands through her hair and down her face, “bathe in the blood of the traitor and all his allies.”

“Soon, Wrath, very soon,” said Servant One, “Wait, for now. Darth Baras is still powerful. Umrahiel is dead, but you live and we may turn that further to our advantage.”

“I want to kill them all,” she hissed.

“Darth Baras desired you, your power, for a very long time. With your ties to Umrahiel severed, he will seek to bind you to him,” said Servant One.

The new sun within consumed her despair and returned a white-hot rage. “I will never serve Baras,” she shouted.

“You need not,” said Servant One, “But let him think you an friend, and he will not oppose you. An ally, and you can get close to him.”

Jaesa’s mad smile widened through her tears, “Silence the Voice.”

“The Eye grows dark, and Wrath burns bright,” repeated Servant Two.

“We will be in contact, Wrath,” said Servant One. The two Sith disembarked in a swirl of dark robes.

Quinn stepped forward, “Jaesa? Jaesa, you’re distraught. This is a shock to all of us. Perhaps you should reconsider tomorrow, after you’ve had some rest.”

Vette looked up from her position on the floor. She hadn’t moved since Jaesa wrestled free of her support. “For once, I agree with Captain Compulsive here. Those Hand guys give me the creeps.”

Quinn shot Vette a dirty look, but did not reprimand her. He turned back to Jaesa, his fingers hovering near the young woman’s shoulder, “Jaesa?” he asked.

Jaesa took a deep shuddering breath then exhaled slowly. “I’m fine,” she said. Let them burn. “Never better.”

So: “What if” Quinn’s betrayal came sooner (and with Quinn-like subtlety), Baras and Draahg succeeded the first time, DS Jaesa went completely over the edge, and the Hand recruited her as Wrath. Having put the last part of the SW story in a blender, I almost have to wonder how it would turn out.

As an aside, my head-canon always included a love-triangle among Varrel, Jaesa, and Quinn. However, Quinn being Quinn, his feelings for Jaesa vacillated between unrequited love and abject terror. She’s a Sith, his ticket to the upper echelons of Imperial society, but she’s also mynock-sh*t crazy and unpredictable. He didn’t do anything but pine for her.

So here I made him less passive, getting rid of his obstacles in one fell swoop. Or trying to, at least.