Hope I didn’t mess up Aristheron’s bit in this one! Had some fun here, gave Murlesson some initiative, indirectly introduced a new side character, poked fun at the fact that the final boss battle cutscene is all like “YOU CAN’T USE THE FORCE” and then you can totally use the Force in the actual fight. And the one and only time Murlesson will fall on his silly face and has to get picked up by someone not directly working for him.
Cult leader Murlesson uses Aviators: Angel of the Dark as background music.
EDIT: fixing Sabran’s pronouns to something more standard.
Part 6: How to Start a Cult
He walked through the dark places of the planet, the deepest slums on Nar Shaddaa – not the deepest accessible locations, no, there were things deeper and far worse somewhere below. But this was pretty far down, the farthest down sentient life had been squeezed. He was alone – no sense in Khem terrifying those he wanted to recruit.
But what he was looking for wasn’t there, and he was directed back up a dozen levels, to where there were still such amenities as convenience stores. He entered one, a dingy, shabby hole in the wall selling candy and sugared beverages and probably cheap spice out the back, and paused. There were five men and women of various species gathered around the counter, brandishing clubs threateningly; he could barely see the male and female human attendants behind it. Imminent violence and fear wavered in the air.
“Lord Paladius sends his regards to his dear departed children,” growled the leader of the belligerents, a human female. “Any last words?”
“He never cared about any of his ‘children’,” answered the man, clearly terrified, and furious because of it.
“We don’t need a tyrant for a father,” echoed the woman, cringing back.
“Lord Paladius, hmm?” Murlesson said, before things got carried away. He swung his unlit lightsaber hilt to rest on his shoulder, meaningfully. “So you would happen to be Rylee Dray and Destris Veran?”
“Who’re you?” demanded the hostile cultist woman, pointing her club at him.
He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to you, since you’re about to die.”
“Get him, boys!” cried the woman.
His lightsaber flashed with a slash, a stab, and two enemies were down already with hoarse screams. One of the rest had a gun; a zap of lightning exploded it in his hand. He howled while the other two lunged at Murlesson, who ducked, flowing around their powerful but clumsy strikes. One of them overreached, stumbling into a shelf full of chips and send it crashing over into the next one. Murlesson snapped his neck with the Force, almost without looking, blocked a swing from a club swung by the man formerly with the gun – cutting it in half in the process – and killed the attacker with the backswing. That left only the leader, who hadn’t yet noticed that everyone she’d come with was dead. She kept low, looking for an opening. He didn’t care, hauling her into the air with the Force, choking her until her eyes rolled back in her head and she fell limp.
He tossed the body carelessly out the door and turned to the two servers, who were staring in fear and awe at him. “It’s all right. They won’t hurt you.”
“W-who are you?” demanded the man, shaking, looking like he wanted to attack him too. Murlesson hoped he wouldn’t. The man was bigger than him, but he was also one of his objectives.
He nodded, trying to keep a soothing, earnest demeanour. “My name is Murlesson. I’m a friend. I’m glad I found you. I’ve been looking all over.” Acting was kind of fun, when it wasn’t his life on the line.
“What for?” demanded the man. “What are you going to do to us?”
“Nothing that you don’t wish for,” Murlesson said. It was difficult, this first, sensitive step – to entice without promising anything, to invite without giving away too much information. “I’ve come looking for people who want to make a difference in their lives, and simply lack the opportunity to do so. I’ve come looking for those unjustly cast out. I’ve come looking for those who want to be free of these depths. And you two are reputed to be intelligent and strong.” They’d managed to find and hold down part-time jobs in Nar Shaddaa’s underbelly, while surviving reprisal from the organization they’d fled up until he arrived. If nothing else, they were tenacious.
The woman gaped at him. “But why? Who are you?”
“Because I used to be like you,” he said, putting back his hood, fixing them with an earnest gaze. It was close enough to the truth. “I used to be nothing, and now I am something. I have seen the suffering on this planet-” only a bit, while searching for the malcontented rejects of Paladius’s cult, but it had been enough- “and I know you are meant for more than this.”
“All right, then, why us?” asked the man, still suspicious. The woman, Rylee, was already falling under his sway, he could tell.
“I believe Lord Paladius was mentioned?” Murlesson asked, slightly dry, and watched them both react with angry expressions. “I sense your feelings, and I agree. I do not believe he is worthy to lead his followers.”
“You can say that again!” Destris exclaimed. “He’s cruel, and unfair! He lords over us to make himself feel good!” Rylee shushed him, but he was still fuming.
“Exactly,” Murlesson said. “You see… I am Sith, like him. I have only just begun to rise, yet I already have more power than him.” He had no idea how much power Paladius had, but he was confident that he was cleverer than him; he’d fake it if he had to. “I intend to steal every one of his followers from under his nose… and reunite them under you. How does that sound?” He leaned casually on the counter and smiled warmly at them.
Rylee and Destris exchanged a glance; there was determination and no small amount of vindictive anger in it. “That sounds real good,” Rylee said. “What do you want us to do?”
“I’ve prepared a place for us: a headquarters, if you like,” Murlesson said. Revel had found an unused office space in the nearby industrial district and Murlesson had already signed a lease with the Nautalan landlady. “But first, take these, if you would follow me.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out two bracelets of braided, knotted red and black string. Give them a uniform and a personal salute and your armies will cohere swiftly, was the condensed advice of Naga Sadow. He didn’t want to give uniforms, at least not yet – he didn’t have the budget for that, once he started getting more followers, and he didn’t want them to stand out. But this he could do. It was distinctive, it was simple, it was easy to pass off as nothing, and easy to replicate for new members. He pulled up one sleeve of his robe, revealing a bracelet exactly the same. “It will mark you as my followers, yet not obviously. Only like shall know like.”
They both took them and put them on their wrists. “What shall we call you, master?” Destris asked.
“Master is fine,” he said.
Rylee peered at him. “How old are you, master? If I may ask? I don’t want to offend…”
“Old enough. It’s not age that counts. It’s strength. And I am strong.” He smiled at them, putting his hood back on, and they tentatively smiled back. “Now come. There is much to prepare.”
Oh, the things to prepare! The office had begun to transform, but with more hands it went quicker. One hall became a dorm, with a separate room for Rylee and Destris, already giving them perks above the rest. The manager’s office became his, of course. One room became a communal dining area. Besides the reception in front, he left the central area bare. “What are you going to do with it, master?” Destris asked.
“I’m still considering,” he said. “For us all to grow, you must have a purpose – and a job.” There was only so much in the budget Zash had given him, and it wouldn’t go a long way towards the rent – and the food they were going to consume. And the utilities. And anything else he might need on his current mission. He had to make them self-sufficient as soon as possible. He might need that space for something related to that.
“You work so hard, master,” Rylee said. “We will work just as hard!” She thought for a bit, then came out with, “You’re not how I expected you, master.”
“Why’s that?”
“When we first saw you, in all your power and anger, protecting us…” And he’d barely gotten warmed up in that fight. She hadn’t seen anything. “I still feared you might be like Paladius, self-absorbed and cruel… but you’re kind.”
He blinked. He was still a Sith, they were self-absorbed and cruel by definition, but he’d been certainly offering them gilded promises, of revenge, of leadership, of a better life – he could see how that might be construed as ‘kind’, even if it was all ultimately to serve his purposes. Not to mention working beside them as an equal as they dragged in salvaged furniture and cleaned out trash, though of course he cheated and used the Force. “Paladius never deserved you.” She looked up at him with a kind of admiration in her eyes that made him uncomfortable. “Why are you staring at me?”
“All right, Rylee, stop bothering the master,” Destris grunted, herding her away hastily. What was that all about?
For all they had grown up on the streets, their ignorance manifested in a kind of sweet naiveté. He wondered how they would view him if they could have seen him on the flight to Nar Shaddaa, hunched over his computer terminal with his mouth full of salted chips. They would probably have lost a lot of respect for him, but that was why they weren’t going to be his best friends, even if he was going to be their best friend.
He introduced them to Revel and Khem; he intended that his employee and minion should be as known to the following as he was, that they could come and go as they pleased, if they needed to. The first wisps of a long-term plan were already occurring to him. They liked Revel, but Khem disturbed them – as he’d known would be. They themselves were becoming more familiar to him – Destris was purely muscle and violence, and not all that interested in others besides himself, but Rylee was actually quite clever, especially with computers, even if she was shy and found it difficult to look him in the eye most of the time.
He taught them a ‘personal salute’ as Naga Sadow advised, but what he taught them was more of a secret handshake – the Chraemmeft Scukri, an ancient hand gesture once used by most Force users meaning ‘unity’, but then abandoned by the Jedi and adopted exclusively by the Sith, until it had fallen out of use a thousand years ago. No one who hadn’t read Ajunta Pall’s autobiography’s Second Analysis by Perr Kusta down to the endnotes would recognize it. If Zash ever met his following, perhaps she would be amused.
And he’d recruited a dozen more initiates off the streets, sound in body but simple of mind. He’d picked them carefully – perhaps at some point he’d take in anyone who wished to join, but right now he needed relatively competent help for Rylee and Destris, but not those smart or ambitious enough to take leadership from them. Goodness knew they’d have their hands full anyway. Especially with the influx of recruits he was expecting once he made his main offensive.
And none of this had anything to do directly with getting close to Paladius. But he was working on that, too. He’d found the place where Paladius’s cult congregated, had scouted it out carefully, weaving together a plot for the theatrics he would need to grasp their attention, their loyalty. The weak followed the strong; this was building up to nothing more than a giant Force pissing contest. He was confident he’d win, trickery or no – Paladius didn’t even appear to the bulk of his subordinates in person.
He hardly took a moment off, hardly resurfaced from the underworld except when he needed something from the upper levels. About a week after he’d arrived, he had to, to contact a building contractor about a small factory in the vicinity of his cult headquarters. What exactly he was going to do with it, he didn’t know yet, but manufacturing was a steady investment, especially in weapons, and that particular factory was already outfitted to produce computer chips. He needed an edge on the future; he’d already gotten a good handle on the past. At any rate, the contractor had ‘standards’, which meant he wanted to meet at the Slippery Slope on the Promenade, which meant travelling all the way up for this one errand…
He entered the bar, Force-suggesting away the server who was coming to check his ID, scoping out tables, when – “Aristheron?”
“Ah, Murlesson. I did not expect to see you here. What brings you here?”
“Business for my master. You?” Vany waved enthusiastically at him, and he waved back.
“The same. A thorn in his side needed removing.”
“I am glad to see you,” Murlesson said, honestly. Being without his social shield was slightly stressful, mitigated only by the fact that the proportion of Sith to non-Sith was far smaller on Nar Shaddaa than Dromund Kaas. “But I have a meeting to attend. Will you be here long?”
“I have time. I can spend another half-hour here.”
“I’ll make it quick,” Murlesson promised, having caught sight of his prey – an Ugnaught who probably didn’t know what he was getting into. “I’ll be back.”
He made good use of his most ruthless and toothy grin in that meeting, toying with the Ugnaught until he had what he wanted, and more – not just use of the factory, but ownership as well. And all it had really cost him was his remaining budget and a couple fancy drinks. While he might have to ask Zash for an extension, it was money well spent, in his opinion. Not glamorous, certainly didn’t have the same appeal as crawling around dusty old tombs away from living people and surrounded by old stories, though watching people squirm at vague threats was fun too.
He rejoined Aristheron as himself, slouching at the table with one knee tucked up by his chest, no false smiles, toothy or otherwise, bringing his iced caf with him and slugging what was left of it. “So what are you up to?”
Aristheron raised an eyebrow. “Hello, Murlesson. It has been a little while.”
Murlesson grimaced. Manners. “Hello, Aristheron. It’s a surprise to see you here on Nar Shaddaa.”
“I can’t say I enjoy the locale terribly much,” Aristheron admitted. “I much prefer… more refined, disciplined populaces.”
“All populaces have their vices,” Murlesson answered with disinterest. He didn’t know about it much from personal observation, after all.
“True, however: most populaces keep it decently muted, not gleefully on display as if proud of their filth.”
This was boring. “Why would you come, then?”
“There’s a certain Jedi I’ve been hunting down, but… they’re… proving elusive.” Aristheron frowned. “Sabran Kentalon, have you heard of… them?”
“Them?”
“No matter how I research, I cannot find out what gender… they are. They seem content to be that way. They’re human, if it matters.”
“Irrelevant, anyway,” Murlesson said. “I’ll keep an ear out. What’re they doing that’s such a problem for Lord Emment?”
“Apparently… they have been sent to harass Imperial convoys in such a way as to cause us trouble with the Hutts. And they do it all with a smile. I’ve crossed blades with them once… and since then they have been much more wary. If you do find anything, I’d appreciate it.”
“I’ll get on it,” Murlesson said, adding it to his mental to-do list, after ‘inspect factory’ and before ‘smoke and mirrors for stupid cultists’. “What human uses ‘they’? It’s a plural pronoun.”
“They referred to themselves that way,” Vany said. “They pointed out that singular ‘they’ is normal too. I think they’re cool.”
“Put on a jacket,” Murlesson said. He was no judge of ‘cool’.
Vany giggled. “Funny you say that, when you and Aris are both pretty cool yourselves.”
Murlesson felt embarrassment warming his neck and ears and was grateful when Aristheron asked: “What business are you on, then?”
“Retrieving an artifact for my master,” Murlesson said. “But to do that, I need to strip the Lord who holds it of power, that I may enter his base and be able to leave it alive. Would you like to come, when I get him isolated?”
“Perhaps I could be interested in being present,” Aristheron said. “Let me know when and where, and I might make an effort.”
“Lovely,” Murlesson said. He stood, and Aristheron followed. “I’ll send you a comm when it’s set up. Or if I find any news about Kentalon.”
“I will see you later, I’m sure,” Aristheron said, clasping his hand as an equal. Murlesson nodded to him, and set off.
“There is only one law, for the weak as well as the strong, and that is power!” Paladius’s overweight, armoured holoprojection boomed through Meridian Hall. “For too long, the weak of Nar Shaddaa have grown soft in the luxury of their towers, while the strong have wallowed in chains. But I tell you: united, there is no law that can stop you. Take back what is yours!”
“Indeed,” Murlesson murmured under the cheering, screaming acolytes around him.
“There are those who would tell you lies. Who spread rumours and false promises!” Oh good, Paladius was his biggest fan. “Already some among you are lost, having chosen the path of weakness. But you must shun this false messenger. The weak fear your growing strength and have sent him to break it.”
“And what makes you worthy to be their leader, then, Paladius?” Murlesson called. The crowd rippled with surprise, drawing away from him, leaving him in an isolated space.
“Ah, the deceiver shows his face!” Paladius cried. “Behold, my children! Look how pathetic, how easily crushed by your collective might!”
But they hesitated to rush him, uncertain of the outcome, perhaps dimly sensing the Darkness rolling off him. ‘Sith throw flesh endlessly at that which they cannot control,’ his grandfather’s words occurred to him. If the cultists around him attacked, he’d have to murder a large number of them, and that would be less than ideal. “What Paladius said is true,” he said, beginning his own speech. “There is only one law, and that is power. But Paladius has very little real power. He is a dangerous man, it is true. But he can’t do this.”
He bowed his head and clenched his fists, concentrating, focusing all the Dark Side within him, his black hatred. A relatively gentle Force push blasted out from him, throwing the nearest cultists back into those behind them, and then he began to levitate, fists still clenched at his sides, but focused on looking even more concentrated than he really was. He could feel the tendons standing out in his neck.
Right on cue, there was a rumble, an explosion from below, and the building began to quake violently, throwing the remainder of the cultists from their feet. Two enormous statues on either side of the hall snapped, the hidden charges going off in sync, collapsing to the ground – yet not in a way to land on anyone.
When he judged a sufficient amount of time had passed, he let himself float back to the ground, relaxing his stance, revelling in the cries of awe and fear about him, the wonder radiating through the Force. The ground was still shaking, though it was subsiding. Revel had done his demolition work perfectly.
Paladius guessed, of course. “Don’t be fooled! It’s a trick! Attack the deceiver! Attack!”
Murlesson restrained an eyeroll and dropped into a crouch as a dozen or so cultists rushed him with clubs, pistols, even just fists. Did they truly hope to survive, or even slow him down slightly? He had a lightsaber. A dozen, twenty, fifty – there were hundreds of people in the hall, he didn’t care how many attacked him. As they dove at him, he slid aside, swift as a coiling snake, then counterattacked. Though the Force told him where and when they would attack, the future spooling out through unspoken warnings in his hearts and gut, there still too many for him to take them down bloodlessly. He didn’t want it to become a bloodbath; he was there nominally to ‘save’ them from Paladius. But if he let down his guard to spare one person, they would be all over him.
So heads rolled and bodies fell in the first wave; he pushed the rest all back and sprayed a relatively weak lightning across them, keeping them down. They gaped up at him as he stood, tall and boyishly slender in his full height, looking down upon them… almost benevolently.
Sith. He was Sith, and all Sith were arrogant in their strength. Show them that and they would fear and follow him. Show them the face of a visionary, a mystic, and they would worship him.
He gave them a small, gentle smile. “Do you see now? You cannot defeat me. Paladius cannot defeat me. But I do not wish harm to you. Join me.”
Paladius roared from his holoprojector. “Trick! It’s all a trick!”
“It’s no trick,” Murlesson lied smoothly. “The ground and sky obey me.”
“Do it again, then!”
Murlesson frowned at him. “Why should I? Do not test me, Paladius. My patience grows thin with you. Can you match my strength? If you can, do it yourself. If not, have done with this unseemly mewling. If you had not ordered them upon me, these unfortunates would not have died. Their blood is upon your head!”
“Yeah!” yelled someone in the crowd, quickly shushed… but then another called out, and another, and pretty soon the mob was howling against Paladius, the Force thick with outrage.
Murlesson raised a hand, and they quietened.
“Very well,” Paladius said, his voice slightly ragged with anger and pretended regret. “My children, I will miss you. But this is not over, boy.”
Murlesson raised his chin pridefully. “As you say, Paladius.” Paladius pouted one last time, and then the holoprojector shut off.
“My lord!” whispered a cultist near him. “We are not worthy to be in your presence. We’ve never seen anyone like you. What must we do?”
The headquarters was going to be crammed, that much was for sure, even if only half of them came along. “I will give you purpose. I will give you direction.” And a five-year economic plan in the bargain. “You will reclaim your lives for your own, and in serving me, you will lift us all to new heights.”
“That sounds like what Paladius was saying,” grumbled one near the back; Murlesson lifted an eyebrow, and that one was quickly shushed by those around him. They hadn’t forgotten how easily he’d beaten them.
“My lord, we will do as you say,” said one of them near him, and a chorus echoed him.
As he guessed, only three-quarters of the crowd came with him; the rest disappeared along the way, either still loyal to Paladius, or just uncertain about him. The ones he had were more than enough. Returning to the headquarters with his new following was a little awkward, especially when some of the new cultists recognized Rylee and Destris. “How come they’re here!? They’re weaklings, Paladius said!”
“And why should you believe anything Paladius said any longer?” Murlesson told them. “Do not blame them for having the wisdom to recognize his lies a little sooner. They are my right hands here. You will obey them.” Hopefully Rylee and Destris didn’t do anything stupid with their new power… he didn’t want to have to replace them after all the grooming he’d given them.
“Yes, master,” said the cultists.
He left the other senior recruits to help the new ones settle in with food and bracelets, then took Destris and Rylee aside. “Ask them if they know anything about a Sabran Kentalon. I wish to know more of this person.”
“Yes, master!” Rylee chirped.
Within an hour, he knew a little more about Sabran Kentalon, most of the information useless and all of it second-hand. But apparently they had only arrived on Nar Shaddaa a month ago with their master, and often frequented a certain rooftop in the Corellian sector. He passed the info on to Aristheron and began planning his next move in more detail. While the cultists became acquainted with the factory and its current automated production of targeting computer processors, he needed to enter Paladius’s lair and acquire the artifact that all this rigmarole was for.
There was the nominal clean-up work; he had to send someone, probably Revel, to shadow the inevitable investigation into Meridian Hall’s explosion, and alter the record so it showed no sign of bombs. He’d already intimidated and Force-persuaded his way into the hall’s subfloors to allow Revel to place the explosives in the first place, and he didn’t want his cult to find out the truth too quickly. He wondered briefly if it would be worth it to murder the investigators, or at least track them down and try to wipe their memories, but the whole event would probably not become a major news item. Unless someone from his cult was very suspicious, and the investigators’ integrity very strong, his time and energy were best spent elsewhere.
And he had to spend a lot of time with his people, but not too much – enough that they knew him, knew that he ‘cared’, yet not so much that they ceased to fear him or grew too close to him. He certainly didn’t need them bowing to him, though it was rather nice, actually. But right now he was rather busy, and Rylee and Destris could probably handle things while he was off working for Zash.
He was interrupted from his musings by a commotion from the front, and came forward from his office to see one of the new converts kneeling in the midst of a crowd of others, shaking, panting, looking fairly terrified out of his wits. “M-my lord! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. They said they’d kill me. They said they’d kill me if I didn’t.”
Murlesson knelt before him to get on his level, and heard several cultists gasp in respect. He bet Paladius never did that. “Who said they’d kill you?”
“P-P-Paladius’s men. They said they’d kill me if I didn’t bring you this.” He held out a small metal object, which after one panicked moment, Murlesson recognized for a harmless holocommunicator.
He leveled an unimpressed look with the unfortunate man, who cowered. Or maybe he was cowering away from Khem, who had also taken the item to be a threat at first and was considerably scarier. “I’m glad that you’re alive, but do be sure that whatever you’re coerced into bringing in isn’t a bomb, yes? You could have killed everyone except me.” Actually, everyone including him, but he had a reputation to keep up.
“I-I-I’m sorry!”
“Don’t be sorry,” Murlesson said gently. “Just don’t do it again. Now let’s have that.”
He took the holocommunicator from the shaking man, and strolled back to his office, inviting Rylee and Destris along with a wave.
“You wanted us, master?” Destris grunted as Murlesson closed the door behind them. Revel was already lounging in a corner, flipping a coin over and over. Khem stood guard by the door.
“Paladius wishes to talk,” Murlesson said. “I thought you might wish to show him how much you’ve grown without him already.”
“Thank you, master,” Rylee said.
“Now, let’s see…” He placed the holocommunicator on the table and activated the frequency it was tuned to.
Paladius’s holo sprang into being above the device. “Ah, Sith – Murlesson, wasn’t it? Good evening. How good to talk to you again. I’m sorry to use such an unconventional method to contact you, but I had to be sure you got the message. You understand.”
“You have my attention,” Murlesson said coldly. “For now.”
Paladius smiled jovially. “Wonderful. You see, I’ve had a bit of a revelation. When you first attacked my cult, I took it very personally. And then I realized: you’re Zash’s apprentice! All this trouble is just about some silly artifact. Let’s let bygones be bygones, hm? We can meet at my place, in Network Access. We’ll chat, I’ll give you the artifact, and all will be mended.”
“I’m not particularly forgiving,” Murlesson said to him. How stupid did he think he was? ‘All will be mended’? What did Paladius get out of it? “You lie, you pay.”
Paladius nodded. “I promise, no tricks, or may I die creditless on Tatooine scrubbing a Jedi’s back. Take time to consider my offer. But not too long, or my good mood may sour. And go ahead and bring your friends.”
“Lying son of a Hutt!” Destris burst out as soon as Paladius hung up. “You’re not seriously considering it, are you?”
Khem huffed in bloodthirsty anticipation. <Do not listen to the little coward. We will devour this Sith, my master.>
Murlesson snorted. “I know it’s a trap. It can’t be anything else. But you really think me so weak as to fall before him?”
“We’re just worried,” Rylee said soothingly. “You’ve been so good to us, we don’t want to lose you.”
“On the other hand, it won’t be as easy as that,” Murlesson scolded Khem, who blinked in uncaring. “Well, we have coordinates. Shall we?”
“Right now?” Rylee asked, eyes wide.
“Why wait?” Murlesson said, texting Aristheron. “There’s no more need to prepare. He’s isolated. He has no particular special abilities. Khem and I together should be more than enough to take him on. Destris and Revel can hold the rear against any remaining loyalists, can’t you?”
“Just let me at ’em,” Destris muttered.
“After you,” Revel said, standing and bowing them out of the office. Murlesson didn’t know what that was about, Revel was still driving the rental car.
An hour later, they pulled up outside of a certain door in the Network Access neighbourhood. Murlesson got out first, surveying the door with distaste. It was fairly elaborate for Nar Shaddaa, but he supposed that was the point. A few cultists were lounging outside, and they glared heatedly at the little group as they approached. Murlesson ignored them entirely.
Inside was a lavish palace, with bright blue and gold lighting, massive viewscreens, and crystalline trees. His own place was a dump in comparison. On the other hand, he shared it with his followers. This place was clearly only for Paladius’s use. The way Rylee and Destris gaped in wonder reinforced that assessment. He raised an eyebrow at them. “You want pretty lights and big displays?”
“Ah, er, no, master,” Rylee was quick to deny, looking down. She was lying, hard, trying to say things that would please him.
“Maybe a little,” Destris said, looking away.
He smirked. “Maybe when we’re more financially stable.” Material goods were a good recruiting draw.
They walked down a sweeping staircase to a lower floor, where there was an elaborate lounge and bar. Paladius was there, bustling behind the bar, still in his armour as a Sith; two Weequays stood at either end of the counter. He blustered as they approached. “Murlesson! Destron! Rachel! I’m so glad you’ve come. You have made a wonderful decision. Can I offer you anything? A drink? And don’t mind Var-Nok and Shar-Nok; they never leave my side.”
“Just the artifact, thanks,” Murlesson said, sardonically polite. He was starting to feel strange. Was there something in the air? All the more reason to get the artifact and out, quickly. He’d have to decide what to do with Paladius permanently later…
Paladius turned back to the bar anyway, pouring himself a drink. He gulped it, then turned, with a look on his face that had Murlesson reaching for his lightsaber. “So confident. So amazingly confident. But I dare say, you’ve gravely underestimated me.” Murlesson stared at his fat smug smirking face, wondering why he felt so weak. Paladius continued. “That painful twisting you feel in your gut is your essence draining, rather rapidly. And that hollow, sinking feeling? Your connection to the Force being severed. Soon you will be no more powerful than little Denton here, or Ramona. Oh! Except you’ll be dead, too.”
Murlesson fell to his knees, feeling light-headed, his gut churning as Paladius had said. How was- He’d- He was dying. The artifact! Was this its power? He hadn’t done enough research beforehand. Frakking Force! Rylee and Destris had backed away as if whatever was being done to him was catching, but Khem was standing over him protectively, and Revel was toying with his blaster, just waiting for a signal to shoot or run.
He forced himself to lift his head with through pure willpower and hatred, glaring daggers at his enemy. “I can still kill you.” He could barely feel anything, numb to the Force and to his skin, but he thrust out one clawing hand to blast Paladius with telekinesis, lightning, anything. Nothing happened except he looked rather foolish.
Paladius chortled. “Ha! Not so powerful anymore, are we?” He stepped out from behind his bar, adopting a lecturing tone. “Greater Sith than you have fallen before me. Did you think you were the first to try to steal my cult? I could choke the life out of you right now, but since you seem so very eager – let’s settle this with lightsabers.” His lightsaber appeared in his hand, malevolent red, and he strode forward.
Khem dragged Murlesson a little back by the scruff of his robe and tossed him in the direction of safety. The assassin was being overconfident; he still wasn’t at his full strength. Murlesson floundered, struggling to stand. Rylee ran to him, pulling at his arm, helping him up. But once he was up, could he fight? The pain in his body was spreading, scorching his hearts, or that was what it felt like.
One bodyguard was down, shot in the head by Revel as everything started. The other was crouched behind the bar, trading shots with Revel and Destris, who were crouched behind a corner of the stairs. Khem reached Paladius, swinging with his broadsword, and Paladius blocked before Force-pushing Khem away. “Go hide,” Murlesson ordered Rylee, thumbing on his lightsaber, but he couldn’t fight like this, barely able to stand without her support. His hatred was surging, simmering, but for once it did nothing.
Paladius was nearly on him, laughing gleefully, and reaching out his hand to knock him back down again. Murlesson tumbled head over heels, skidding painfully over the metal floor. His lightsaber clattered somewhere a few metres away; might as well have been kilometres for all the good was to him now. He didn’t have the strength to get up again, could only breathe and focus on the fat man advancing on him. For once he wasn’t even afraid, though his death was before him, only frustrated that it should have come so easily, that his power had been denied him. Maybe that was how he made others feel. That just made him angrier.
A black and gold figure dropped from the upper level with a commanding shout. “Lord Paladius!”
“A-Aristh-theron,” Murlesson breathed, disbelief and relief flooding through him in equal measure.
Paladius spun. “And who are you?”
“Aristheron Laskaris of Talcene. I will not permit you to harm my ally. Put up your weapon, and I will spare you my wrath.” Aristheron’s saber was vertical before him in a guard position, steady, unwavering, solid as the earth.
Paladius barked a short laugh, clutching at something inside his robes. “You would save this child, Laskaris? It is not worth your life. But if you insist…”
Vany, up above still, took an experimental shot at Paladius, who reflected it back in her direction. She squeaked and ducked. “Vany, keep back,” Aristheron ordered, his expression changing – he was beginning to feel the same thing Murlesson had felt when he entered. Revel and Destris, finished with the other bodyguard, had their guns trained on Paladius uselessly. Khem was up again, stalking more cautiously around their enemy.
Murlesson twitched his fingers. Was it just him, or was feeling returning to his extremities? He could feel a trickle of feeling, of power. “Aristheron! The artifact – he can only target one of us at a time!”
“Understood,” Aristheron said, sliding forward on the attack, lightsaber flickering forwards. Paladius turned towards him fully, barely raising his saber to block in time, instead channelling his intent into the artifact no doubt in his hand at that very moment. Aristheron faltered, falling to one knee, jaw clenched in anger.
And Murlesson bolted into action. He could still only partly feel the Force, as if he were half-deaf and half-blind, but it was enough. His hatred finally erupted, boiling through his limbs like molten metal as he sprinted towards his target, his lightsaber raised to kill.
Paladius reflexively threw out his arm to Force-push him back; he blasted through the wave and slashed. His strike fell just short, severing Paladius’s arm. The Sith screamed and fell to his knees, dropping his lightsaber to clutch at his shoulder. Behind him, Aristheron raised himself to his feet again, his face stern.
Murlesson stalked towards Paladius, feeling his full power envelop him. He reached out and lifted him into the air. “Rylee, Destris, care to have your revenge at last?”
Rylee stayed crouching behind her potted fern, but Destris came out from his corner slowly. “Aye, I think I would.” And he shot Paladius in the gut.
Paladius sobbed. “Pl-please… Great lord… P-powerful lord…”
“I never asked what he did to you,” Murlesson said, casually. “But it must have been something pretty bad for a gut shot to seem like reasonable revenge.”
“When we said we wanted to leave, he tortured us with lightning before throwing us away,” Destris growled. “We had to dodge his men for a week before we found a place to hide.”
Murlesson tutted. “Tortured you with lightning?” He turned to Paladius, heedless of Aristheron standing there. He laughed and it wasn’t entirely stable. “Don’t you know? That’s how you get monsters like me. But I’m their monster.”
Aristheron took a step forward. “This is unseemly, Murlesson. Finish it quickly, or not at all.”
Murlesson cast a glance at him, the Darkness in his belly nearly overwhelming his judgment at being checked. But it was Aristheron, his friend, one of the few people whose good esteem he valued, and he forced the Darkness down. “Very well.”
“Pl-please,” Paladius begged. “I want to live…” Murlesson snapped his neck. Rylee winced.
Murlesson turned to his cult leaders. “Thank you for being here. Would you wait outside for me?”
“Yes, master,” Destris said, and turned to go. Rylee hurried after him. Revel shrugged and followed, though Murlesson hadn’t said he should, but it was a good idea – the more people together, the safer they were.
When they had gone all the way upstairs, Murlesson turned to Aristheron. “I… apologize.” He bowed his head with a tired sigh. “I got carried away.” Though, both Destris and Rylee had appreciated the display of his power and the closure they’d been given, he had felt it. But that wouldn’t fly with Aristheron’s honour.
“He was about to kill you, and your feelings got the better of you,” said Aristheron. “But that is what it means to be Sith – to let your emotions give you power, without letting them control you. You must do better next time.”
“I must,” Murlesson agreed fully. He’d gone into the situation inadequately prepared for the artifact, for his enemy, for the room, for everything. “It won’t happen again.” But he felt Aristheron’s haughty coldness evaporating after his apology, so one thing was mended, at least. “How was the fight with Sabran Kentalon?”
“Inconclusive,” Aristheron said, frowning. “When I received your message, Vany mentioned Paladius’s name aloud, and Kentalon escaped, urging me to go to you. As I was unable to follow, I did so.”
“What an odd person,” Murlesson said. “I can’t decide if I like them or hate them.”
“They saved your life,” Aristheron pointed out. “But I’ll admit they were smiling in a most aggravating way the entire time.”
Murlesson stepped towards Paladius’s corpse and retrieved the Eye of Tulak, holding it up to the light. It looked like a simple silver octahedron on a chain, but he could feel the Force moving restlessly about it. He certainly wouldn’t underestimate that again. Whatever Zash was doing with it, he didn’t want any part of it. He wondered if he’d get a choice. Probably not. “I’m done here, then.” The others followed as he climbed back up the stairs. He glanced about at the top. “Rylee thought the trees were pretty. Maybe I should send some people over for them.”
“’Some people’?” Aristheron inquired. “Who were those two, anyway?”
“Do you like her?” Vany put in, smiling cheerfully, like she hadn’t just seen a powerful fat old man murdered horribly.
“She’s all right,” Murlesson said, wondering what Vany was getting at. “She’s rather clever, in her own way – more than Destris, at any rate. Why are you grinning?”
“Oh, nothing!” Vany looped her lekku about her neck, put her hands behind her head, and began to strut towards the doorway.
Murlesson blinked at Aristheron. “She means to ask if you have… romantic feelings for her,” the older man explained.
Murlesson blinked harder. “What. No? No. That’s not something I think about.”
“Aww,” Vany said. “I bet she’s nice. She looks like she’s nice.”
“That has nothing to do with anything,” Murlesson said. Yes, he supposed Rylee was… ‘nice’. Not that he was going to say that in Vany’s earshot, anyway. Or Rylee’s. “To answer your question, Aristheron, I now have my own… personal fan club on Nar Shaddaa.” That was what Revel had called it, wasn’t it?
Aristheron massaged the bridge of his nose. “You started a cult.”
“Technically, most of it was Paladius’s and I stole it through superior wit and planning,” Murlesson said.
“Why am I not surprised that you started a cult.”
“I need resources beyond what Zash gives me, Laskaris. And is this not what the Empire strives to do? Give purpose to every citizen?” He tried not to lace his words with too much sarcasm.
“Treat it with care,” Aristheron warned him.
“I will.” Murlesson looked at him, unguarded for once. “They won’t become like me.” And that, at least, he meant.
Aristheron fell back slightly. “That wasn’t quite what I meant,” he said under his breath. Murlesson pretended not to hear, he wasn’t supposed to have heard. He knew what Aristheron had meant, but he couldn’t promise that. He wondered how badly he’d damaged his trust, and how long it would take to mend. He needed Aristheron’s alliance. These idyllic days of being unknown apprentices wouldn’t last forever.
He ate dinner with his cult that evening as they celebrated Paladius’s fall; Rylee was enchanted with the crystalline trees, though Destris pointed out – accurately – that they didn’t match the rest of the decor in the shabby renovated office. Murlesson shrugged. They were their trees now, and that was all that mattered. He didn’t know anything about style, anyway. And another cult member had found a prospective buyer for their computer chips, and Murlesson looked into it that evening and approved it. Things were progressing.
He spent another day before returning to the Viper, giving his followers a speech about duty and strength and greater good before he left, stretching his acting muscles in one way a little before returning to the Empire where he had to stretch them very much another way.
He called Zash once on the Viper. “I managed to obtain the artifact from Lord Paladius.”
She smiled approvingly. “And you gained your own cult in the process, or so I hear.” Well, he supposed word of that might get about a little bit. He just hoped it wasn’t Revel who told on him, even if Zash was paying his bills. “Well done! Building your own power from nothing is not easy, and you can credit your cunning for that. But there’s still the artifact on Balmorra to pursue. I’m still trying to locate the other two. I feel I’m close. I fully expect to have good news when you return from Balmorra. But there is no time to rest. Power does not favour the slow.”
“Yes, master,” he said. “I’ll be off at once.”