A read-only archive of discourse.darkjedibrotherhood.com as of Sunday May 01, 2022.

The Feral’s Return


Bentre looked over the office. The desk laid overturned, pieces of flimsiplast littering the floor around him. The armory lightsabers laid forgotten beside the desk. His replacement had fled off somewhere shortly after the conflict. His fellow Corellian had been initially unwilling to part with the object at first.

It isn’t like it matters, the voice, both his and not his cooed the words in the back of his head, there is no question who is Alpha. Stahoes tried to ignore the presence. It was an uncomfortable sensation, like brain-freeze or a low-grade migraine. He would need his wits about him. In his absence the Clan had faced betrayal at the hands of Scholae Palatinae, elections had occurred within Kel Rasha and Muz Ashen had taken the reins as the Quaestor of Marka Ragnos. As a leader he felt out of place. The Clan was in a state of flux with the departure of Darius Tu’kul to unknown space.

So while he felt out of sorts, it was the time he had to step up as Aedile. Fishing his trustworthy datapad, the Shadow began taking down notes. His reception by Darkblade had been less than warm. It would take some time before the pair could work together as well as the Consul probably hoped but there were larger issues at stake.

A chiming noise resonated through the scantily furnished space. The sound caused the man to stiffen. “You may enter.” The command came out sharply, with the same authority the Versea Patriarch had tried to carry in past. As the door hissed open, the Sadowan was met by the stern gaze of a member of the Warhost.

“The Consul and Proconsul demand your presence, sir.”

“Oh is that right?”

“I don’t believe it was a request either.” The soldier’s tone had more than a hint of urgency.

Go on, see, the presence was less hissing, almost sing-song despite its raspiness, it must be fun to come at the beck and call of the man and his Jedi pet. Bentre scratched at the side of his head, his eyes cast down at the ground in thought. For a moment he wrestled with the idea of blowing off the summons before he looked up again. Locking eyes with the Warhost member, he gave the most sincere-looking smile that he could muster.

“Alright then, lead the way.” Bentre watched the man proceed out the door before following after. His mind started to reel. He hadn’t been back that long- so what did Locke have against him now? Was there anger stemming from his deposing the O’Maille-Versea as he had? Or was it anger that branched from his returning unannouced? Could it maybe be that word has just reached Locke that Bentre had left without checking out via Tasha’Vel? The voice in his head whispered almost inaudibly, adding to his irritation. With so many questions, the trip from Aeotheran to Sepros was going to be long.

Stahoes followed for several moments as he was led through the Lion’s Tooth. Lost in his own thoughts, Bentre studied the architecture. The sound of trickling water ticked at the Corellian’s ears, bringing him back to attention. He was now standing in the entrance hallway of the citadel, marching toward the entrance. As his eyes adjusted to the dark of night outside, the Shadow realized that the Consul himself was standing outside in the Courtyard.


“Thank you, Captain Telum. You are free to return to your normal posting.” The Consul turned as he spoke the last words as Bentre and the soldier drew closer. Locke’s green eyes studied the Sith standing before him.

“Nice trick. You didn’t even have to look backward to know I was coming.” Bentre’s tone was jovial.
“I hope you take your new duties more seriously than you seem to take authority,” Locke shook his head, “otherwise you-”

“Wait!” Stahoes’ voice was sharp as he interrupted his superior officer. “What do you mean new duties? Are you going to put more weight on me to keep the House afloat while Darkblade lives off of the accomplishments of others?”

“You opinions of the Quaestor are noted.” Locke wagged a finger at the snarky Shadow. “However if you keep making excuses for your own lack of performance perhaps you are not ready to take on the mantle of handling our Journeyman.”

“I have always been responsible for the Journeyman under my charge,” Bentre’s words became a growl, “or are you insinuating I am inept?”

Locke sighed, shaking his head as he grasped the bridge of his nose. “Perhaps Sang and I should have thought this through a bit more before we offered you this position.”

“By the Nine Hells, what are you talking about? What position are you offering.”

Locke made a dramatic sweeping motion. “Bentre Kairn’tel Stahoes, you have been selected to serve the Clan in a greater capacity. You broke out of captivity to assist your Clan during a period of unease for Naga Sadow. You have been nothing but loyal to the Clan, outside of certain indiscretions.”

“Oh, yeah,” Bentre grimaced, “I guess that backstabbing direct superiors is kinda frowned upon, huh?”

“I hope that kind of nonsense is behind you Stahoes. How are you supposed to serve as Rollmaster if you can’t help but stab your fellows?”

“Well, I guess I can’t argue with that.” The Battlemaster shrugged, looking at the ground. There was a long pause before the Corellian looked up, locking eyes with his Consul. “Serve as Rollmaster you say?”

“Darius has departed and the position is open. If you can keep from putting lightsabers, blaster bolts, knives, spears and other implements or weapons into your fellows the seat if yours.”

Bentre looked the man over, his eyes searching the Gray Jedi’s face for any signs of deception or falsehood. “Well, I mean if that is what you really want,” the excitement was barely concealed in his voice, “We can talk wages later, so I guess my first question is when do I start?”


One Week Later
Versea Family Estate, Ryloth

It had been a couple months now since Tasha had first stepped down from leadership as Quaestor of Marka Ragnos. When she vacated the position, she has seen the former Grandmaster Muz Ashen rise up to take her place and continue the work she had started in building up the house.

Currently, the Grandmaster was sending members of Marka Ragnos to help rebuild the once great cathedral and the world on which it stood. For a while, she had considered where she would go to assist the rebuilding. That was a moot point though. Right now there were other matters that drew her attention, and something else had been taking up Tasha’s time. She had managed to keep it a secret from her fellows and the family for what felt like ages, but the time came when all secrets must come to light.

Gingerly stretching out a finger, she traced a finger over the surface of her audio-visual communicator before picking it up. It was little more than a datapad that her husband had rigged up before his hasty incarceration, but it got the job done. She examined the rough surface, sniffing for a moment of bemusement. Like the device, Stahoes could be rough, crude and even frankly unkempt. However, like this little piece of tech, he came through in the end when he was needed- most of the time.

Compressing the button on the side, she listened as the device pinged three times indicating a connection being made. For several moments, the screen remained dark, but eventually the screen brightened before it focused. Hazel eyes gazed back at her, obviously annoyed at the interruption. The expression lasted only a moment, though in that moment Tasha’Vel recognized the backdrop from her stint under Sanguinius: the Temple of Blood.

“Hey Tash’,” the Sith managed a half-smile, “I hope this isn’t too, too important. Darius left things a real mess in here, and I don’t even have a Black Guard on the roster. I have been trying to organize the training area and of course that means I have to put in Acquisitions Requests to the Consul, and it feels like the whole Clan is breathing down my neck waiting for the new Rollmaster to slip up. Plus Sanguinius shows up on my doorstep at the Temple, wanting to talk about my duties or something poodoo.”

“Bad timing?” Tasha’Vel’s eyes sparkled with bemusement.

“The worst, wouldn’t you know.” Bentre managed a smirk as he ran a hand through his hair, bringing the extended hand back to scratch the back of his head. “Given you interrupted my meeting with the Proconsul, I assume you have something big, or did you just want to wish me goodnight?” The buzz of the screen cut off the last of the man’s words, but the sarcasm was not lost on the Twi’lek.

“Well, I had hoped to congratulate you on your new position my sweet Bentre, once I heard that you were appointed to serve as Rollmaster. I hope that you are able to enjoy your new role despite the fact,” her tone became harder as the Versea Matriarch’s eyes narrowed and anger flashed in her eyes, “you were being kept at home for a reason.”

“Ah, don’t worry your pretty worm-tails about it, Nechaska. A wave of static rolled over the display as the Corellian gave a wry grin. “I got better, didn’t I?” The Corellian gave the slightest of winks as he spoke.

She rolled her eyes and smiled. “Always Nechaska. Well, it does appear you have recovered quite a bit from whence I left you last. That bodes well, as I have something new I have actually been waiting to tell you, Bentre.” Just then a shrill wail could be heard over the communicator. The Matriarch quickly rose, turning as she spoke, “I will be right back.”

After a few moments of rustling and unintelligible words, Stahoes waited calmly for his wife to return to the device, his brow furrowed in a cross of concern and curiosity as his eyes studied from the other side of the battered display. When Tasha’Vel returned, she was bearing a bundle of blankets. It took a moment for Bentre’s eyes to focus. A few moments more passed before his wife spoke. “She has your eyes, sweetheart,” she unfolded the swaddle, revealing a blue-gray Twi’leki infant, “which means you are now a father.”

Stahoes studied the display in silence for several moments. Tasha’Vel felt her smile falter ever so slightly as she watched her husband. His eyes darted between her and the child. Finally, he opened his mouth, his tone sounding hollow. “I am a father?”

The woman nodded. “I still have not named the child yet. I was figuring we could think over some names.”

The Shadow nodded slowly, his eyes still going between the child and mother. “We are sure it’s mine?” His words were hushed.

“She is our child, borne of passion and love.”

Bentre nodded several times, as though he were still struggling with this revelation. His eyes slowly grew wide, and his face seemed to crack across in a wide smile. “Wait! That means I have a daughter!” The man turned away from the camera, yelling down the hall. “Hey Sang, guess what? I have a daughter!”

Tasha laughed heartily as she turned her gaze to the infant in her arms. “Well little one, I think your father is quite happy about you.” She began to rock the baby gently in arms as she could still hear Bentre yelling down the halls. “Are you going to come back, Bentre?”