Years From Now...

[Master s'Ilancy-Prent]

Now came the hard part. The revisiting of that hurried comm from Master Henning that she'd recieved. It was not something that she wished to dwell on, but it was a terrible portent all the same.

"We are... unsure."

Not the answer that the Director would want to hear she knew, but Lok felt it the only fitting one.

"I was unable to fully participate in the Council's meeting, so I do not know of its' full outcome. There was talk of war, of cutting Coruscant off from the rest of the galaxy, and of blockading Vortex. I do not know the final decision, and I wish that I did."

The Lupine paused, staring at the regal carpeting beneath her bootsoles.

"One of our Masters was injured on Coruscant already. Another is on Chandrila as we speak. We are so far spread out, and this has caught us badly."

[Director Belargic]

Her lips fell into a sad smile. "It seems we have a lot in common with the Jedi, for there is similar talk amongst the Alliance. They are still in meetings deciding our fate."

The Director fell into the chair behind the desk and sighed, the weight of this problem etching into tired lines across her features. "But it looks grim."

[Master Nytherciria]

Daria took her seat alongside Navaria, behind Amira. Once upon a time, the Jedi Master had been much like the blonde-haired Knight sitting before her – terrified of space-flight, but with time it was an anxiety that she had mastered. Yet, in spite of this, her hand sought Navaria's for a moment, squeezing it, taking some reassurance from the contact. Her features, however, remained a picture of resolute determination.

“Bryna is already awaiting our arrival. We should make haste.”

[Master s'Ilancy-Prent]

For a moment Lok was quiet, unsure of what to say or do. It'd been a while since she'd felt such things, and it was a distinctly unwelcome feeling.

"I am taking my children to Schwartzweld. It is the only place that I know for certain will be safe. For now at least.

"Beyond that I... " she faltered then, but only for a moment. "Beyond that I do not know what to do."

Now it was time for more intricate and deep family matters to surface, and talk of the Jedi was pushed to the wayside for those that dealt with the two women's Lupine heritage.

"Your brother; he has done a terrible thing. I feel that he is partially, if not fully responsible for this. It is... unfortunate such a thing as he is counted among us."

[Teagan Staedtler]

Cloud City

Teagan let Mac pull her along for the first ten paces or so, but it wasn't long before she felt her body easily fall into that familiar rhythm of a gentle lope. She dodged passerby and ducked around clumps of gathered folk all staring up at the holo-feeds. Already she could hear in passing their concerned mutterings.

Keeping pace with Mac though, the young Losstarot wasn't about to let herself fall behind. Seeing Feathers again meant that there would no doubt be some sort of message from her own mother, and Teagan figured that it'd probably be a good idea to check in with her. Last time they'd talked had been almost a week ago, and even that, that hadn't been for very long.

As they approached the docks, she slowed herself up, reaching a hand out to pull Mac with her down to a brisk walk.

[Director Belargic]

The Director's posture noticeably stiffened as she leaned back in her chair. Elbows at the arms, her thin fingers locked together while she looked deep in thought. The Jedi Master was probably right. Vega's mind had grown so insane over the years and the Dark Side only continued to twist his thoughts further. He was chaotic and unpredictable. The Empire was idiotic thinking they could control him. You would have thought they had learned from their mistakes when the former Executor Sevon failed to reign the monster in.

"Yes well," she waved off the reality with a hand as Grace sat upright, "That is how things turned out. There's nothing we can do except try and contain the damage he's caused again."

Sympathy washed over the Director suddenly. As a mother, she could appreciate Lok wanting to protect her children. Too bad she couldn't take Bryna with her, but the Force had other plans for her child, which was infuriating. She could never accept that an unseen power controlled dictated destiny. "At least you have a contingency for the children."

[Director BlackOps]

"Black Man got 'is frackin' wish. Helluva person t'take after...Kid."

As usual, Kazaar presumed to know what he was talking about, but, as so often was the case where bitter feelings were left to fester in a person's psyche, he did not have all the facts. Russard contemplated setting the record straight, once and for all. But, even now belting him across his thick skull with the undiluted truth, she suspected, would be a waste of time. And counter-productive to her own ends. Aurelias was the kind of man who needed to hold a grudge - it gave him reason to wake up in the morning (or mid-afternoon, as was probably more his habit). It provided an inner drive that remained when all that fighting for the cause had devolved into couldn't-care-less, who-gives-a-damn apathy.

No, better a Kazaar fueled by a wrong sense of injustice and personal injury, than one meekened by self-abjugating regret. Besides...Estelle did not care to ease his sore feelings. She had quite a few of her own.

"You'll be happy to know Othniel left his office in very capable hands. Many of our old enemies could testify, or would, were they alive to do so." Cold words made even colder for their truth.

"I have brought you into this part of the arena as I recall you being up for just this type of agressive mission. You like to give the enemy a bloody nose every chance you can. It is my intention to do just that, and worse, the Force willing. And I know you are the one person who will not be afraid of the fallout from on high." She dropped sticking it to the Belargics as an added incentive. Not a proud moment for her, but she'd gotten used to such moments in her life.
Estelle also knew Cimmerian was utterly reliable, though their rift from the past is still very much an issue, her old partner would never, ever let her down. She needed his fearlessness. His resourcefullness. His hard-headed brute will to succeed.

She passed the slip of paper to her old partner, verbalizing as he read, his eyes squinting to filter the rising smoke of his cigar, "This latest Intel gives us the position of the Miranda".

Cimmerian gave an unhelpful shrug, "Never heard of it"

"Its a dungeon ship - a prisoner transport, among other things, no doubt"

"So?" Kal drew deeply making the cigar crackle loudly, insubordinately even, as it burned.

"....Sooo, it had been holding its position for some time" she explained. More crackling, more obnoxious cigar fumes. "..And it is taking on some of the fleeing ships. There's a good chance one of the occupants of these craft is the good Inquisitor, or perhaps Salem himself."

Cimmerian peered at her through the thin slits of his eyes, smoke curling lanquidly up the sides of his head making him look akin to a fierce dragon eyeing his prey before he strikes. All he needed do was lick his lips and the image would be complete.

Russard pre-empted his unspoken desire.

"We shall board her and take some prisoners of our own"