The Harcey Palatinate

"May the Force be with you." Said Nem, offering a crisp salute to a very confused looking Jedi Lord he had just passed on his walk through the castle halls. He was joined by another of his kind, Lilith Zun-qin, shaper adept under Mira Yim and a handmaiden of Yun-Ne'shel. The two made for an odd pair. By this point in time the Jedi Lords were largely used to seeing the presence of Yuuzhan Vong shapers all over Ossus, performing various works as they tirelessly slaved away at repairing the ill stricken planet. They didn't tend to visit the castle that often, though Lilith was a recognizable public figure, having been involved in several projects thus far that had brought renewed growth and vitality to the wounded world. In appropriate expression of her significant role, the female shaper adept was wearing a form fitting sleeveless oozhith gown over her slender grey form. The long skirt swept the ground as she walked, concealing her feet and making her evenly balanced stride appear more as an ethereal glide, as though she were weightless. Despite her raven hued locks being tied back in a tight bun that was secured by a rainbow shelled clip beetle, a single loose strand had managed to escape and swayed in front of her cerulean blue mqaaq'it ocular implants. Her butterfly wing shaped ears fluttered as they walked together, with her unaltered hand resting on the Executor's elbow.

As for Nem, well, he had dressed a bit more absurdly for the occasion. You see, it was the intendant's understanding that the Jedi wore robes. While he was aware that the more militant faction of Jedi Lords also incorporated armour into the mix, robes were still rather traditional and frequently seen. So 'when in Coruscant', or so that infidel expression goes, he had opted to wear a set of robes as well. However, somewhere in the doing so the translation seemed to have broken down. There in the middle of the Jedi Lords fortress monastery, the Executor was clad in a robeskin bathrobe. He wore it loosely over his corpse pallor grey flesh, with the front lapel spread widely enough apart to reveal his naked neck all the way down to his navel. Fresh ink had been needled into the skin of his chest, each a Yuuzhan Vong character representing a name of a Praetorite Council member that had been lost on Shili-Secondus. Sadly, the list was quite long. Beneath that Nem seemed by all accounts to be as naked as the day Mira had transplanted his brain into a fresh body. He kept the hood of his bathrobe pulled back to expose his bald scalp ridges and give him an unrestricted view of his surroundings. Another Jedi Lord passed and once again Nem was quick to raise his arm, press his hand to hairless brow, and offer a sharp salute before saying... "May the Force be with you."

Another odd look was returned before Nem and Lilith found themselves alone as they walked towards a spiral stairwell. "You know you don't have to say that to everyone we pass, right? Also, the Jedi don't salute." Lilith's melodic voice captured the intendant's attention away from his inspection of everything around them. He looked up from a brick his ocular implants had magnified to study, the dark pupils in the centre dilating as they zoomed out. "I'm just trying to be polite. Besides, I probably just made that guy's day. These Jedi love hearing about that Force stuff. They're always rambling on about the Force this, and the will of the Force that. Trust me, I saw the way his chest puffed out from his robes when I said it. I guarantee you the first thing he does when he gets home after his shift is tell his ugly wife all about the weird alien man who said the company slogan."

Lilith shook her head slowly, patting Nem's arm as she led him up an ascending staircase towards the castle roof. She smiled warmly, her heavy heart finding a moment of peace in the Executor's jovial attitude. She knew he was just putting on a persona, another mask to hide his pain. "It's more of a religious platitude than a slogan." Her eyes adjusted to the dimmer lumens on the walls as they climbed the stone steps.

Beneath the intendant's eyes, dark purple eye sacs inflated in obvious concern. "Religious? Wait, does saying it mean I've converted? My plate is rather full as it is; I'm not certain I could take up the Jedi cause on top of all that. Not to mention there is my amphistaff's feelings to consider. I can't imagine Shem-Veesu would be pleased to be replaced with a lightsaber."

Lilith snorted, then swatted the intendant for making her lose her composure with his ridiculous train of thought. "No, you big dumb rakamat. Saying it doesn't make you a Jedi. Nor does wearing robes, which I might add you did not need to do. Plus, that's not even the right type of robe. That's a bathrobe, Nem. Jedi wear utility or travelers robes."

"What? I'm just trying to show respect for their culture. Plus, it's incredibly comfortable. I get it now why they wear these things. Very airy underneath. Keeps things fresh, if you know what I mean." He winked.

"And..." She pursed her lips in contemplation for a moment, then continued her thought. "...you would think it is alright if the Jedi Lords showed up at one of our functions wearing Yuuzhan Vong cloakers or perhaps a set of vonduun skerr kyrric, hmmm?"

Nem shook his head. "No, of course not. That would be cultural appropriation. Totally different and most certainly not acceptable." He finished turning his head from side to side and let out a sigh. "It's only okay when we do it. And maybe the gungans. Those floppy eared frogs have suffered enough."

Finally they emerged onto the roof, just as the sun in the sky had reached its noon time location. Fifteen feet from the stairwell access door was the Executor's faithful chazrach manservant, Scab, in the process of setting up a large conical tent. The tent was actually a singular living organism, consisting of large membranous flaps and long flexible hollow bones. When the reptoid had finished securing the temporary shelter on the roof, it appeared a similar greyish hue as the stone brick roof it was sitting upon. A twenty foot tall cone, there was an opening for smoke to escape at the top, which was fortunate as Scab was beginning to set a fire in a coral brazier. They weren't alone on the roof, there were several other non-Yuuzhan Vong present as well. A few were locals that worked the palatinate lands, cultivating crops to feed their families and fill the granaries belonging to the nobles. There were even a few Jedi Lords that Nem had convinced he had received Lucien's permission to perform this ceremony on the roof. Technically he hadn't gotten permission, of course, but the way he figured it they would be done before the High Lord was any the wiser. It's why he chose this specific time of day to do so, when the High Lord was usually meticulously grooming his magnificent mustache. There was also a harlot in attendance from one of the nearby taverns. The Jedi Lords present currently refrained from looking in her direction, but Nem could tell at a glance that they were previously acquainted. Hey, not judging. You gotta release those excess midi-chlorians somehow, right?

"Thank you all for coming." He said in an audible tone, addressing all those gathered on the roof. "May the Force be with you." His mqaaq'it narrowed, intensifying his emerald green glare as he locked eyes with the Jedi Lords, seeming to stare into their very souls. "No, I'm not just saying it. I'm serious. May the Force be with you, and thank you for your service. Lets give em a round of applause people. The Jedi Lords!" The intendant smacked his calloused palms together in several meaty claps, which encouraged the others to do so as well. The Jedi Lords looked a bit embarrassed, but mostly nodded politely in thanks or simply said "hello there". Finishing his show of appreciation, the Executor turned towards the organic teepee and motioned towards it with a wave of his arm. "Alright, everyone inside so we can begin."

Nem peeled the outer layer of the cone shaped hut open with a wet squelch of parting membranous lips, waiting courteously as all those assembled began to gather inside, seating themselves around a smoking brazier that was filling the cramped space with stifling heat. Several of the villagers stripped off layers they were wearing, as did the harlot much to everyones excitement, though the Jedi kept their robes on for now. As for the Executor, he stripped out of the robeskin bathrobe he had been wearing to reveal his near-naked flesh, garbed only in a glistaweb loincloth that preserved his modesty. When all were seated, the intendant reached to a pouch of dried ingredients and retrieved a handful of sacred herb. There held in his palm were several large nuggets of Ossus Kush. The intendant added the dried herb to the burning brazier, which signalled Scab to begin beating his scaled hands on the back of a hollow shelled drum-beast. The chazrach created a rhythm of deep bass that they could all feel in their chests, just as the euphoric effect of the herb's medicinal properties began to take effect. Unbeknownst to all save Nem, this was a very special strain of Ossus Kush that the Executor had cultured himself. Extra potent, to the point where it caused hallucinations.

As expected, the world around Nem and the occupants of the tent seemed to swirl together, merging into a random soup as the background fell away and each descended into the depths of their own subconscious. To put it scientifically, they were tripping balls. For the Executor who masked the pain held so closely to his heart with humour, he was forced to relive those worst moments, suffering them all anew. The death of the Yuuzhan Vong homeworld, the millennia of madness in the endless night sky between galaxies, the atrocities of the war, Uzas unjust death, and Xarl... Those moments in time tore away at his soul more completely than the bite of a thousand amphistaffs, whittling down at his spiritual essence until there was little to nothing left, strengthening the ennui that promised the sweet release of oblivion. He cried and he roared, frothing on the ground around the brazier, just the same as all the others. Lilith entered the tent, but not before donning a starfish shaped gnullith breathing device over her mouth and nose. The shaper adept walked amongst the writhing hallucinating bodies on the floor, monitoring their health to ensure everyone was alright. Each was suffering through the worst trauma they had endured in life thus far, forced to face it, so they all might gain strength in overcoming it.

For Nem it was a release. As he relived those moments, he released them and the hold they had over his heart. In the end it was all just pain of a different sort, and there was nothing that a Yuuzhan Vong was as good at as overcoming pain.

Four hours later, the tent flaps opened and the occupants of the sweat lodge emerged. Whatever clothing they had brought with them was soaked through with sweat and most were incredibly parched. Lilith was present to pass around bladder-flasks of 'Vongorade' so that everyone might rehydrate. Oddly only Nem remained inside the tent. The shaper adept said her thank you and farewells to those that had attended the ceremony, seeing them off before finally checking on the Executor inside. Upon stepping into the tent she could see Nem kneeling on the ground, hands resting in his lap, eyes closed. He was breathing slowly in through his stub like nose, then exhaling through his mouth. Each time he drew in a deep breath, his eye sacs inflated, then shrank again as he released a breath of hot air. As though sensing Lilith's presence, the intendant's eyes snapped open, and Nem looked at the handmaiden with a look of utter certainty.

It appeared first as a single speck in the sky, a barely discernable dot on the horizon as it flew over the Eocho Mountains and descended towards the lush forest that surrounded the Harcey Palatinate estate, growing larger and more visible the closer it got. The gliding airship was an unusual design, a living creature in fact, shaped by the skilled hands of none other than Mira Yim. Overhead was an encapsulated cupola with a large bladder sac of membranous tissue inflated with a lighter-than-air gas created by the blimp-beast's stomach. The inflated sac was about ten meters long, just large enough for the two seater yorik-coral cupola adhered beneath it, currently piloted by the Master Shaper alone. Her elegantly tattooed face was hidden away behind a tall-yor, more commonly referred to by the infidel races as a cognition hood, that formed a symbiotic connection between the Yuuzhan Vong and the vehicle. Mira was able to see through the eyes of the blimp-beast, as it were, using its visual sensors to help her guide the organic vessel in for a landing.

Spotting the Kom'rk on her descent, Mira manipulated the control reflex and guided her living air-ship down on the roof of the castle. A number of spindly segmented legs extended from the cupolas underside as it set down on the stone work, gently rocking as it dropped anchor and the gas bag began to deflate. A wet squelch sounded as the tall-yor's bone hooks receded from the naked flesh of the Master Shaper's shoulders and the biot retracted back into the ceiling. Mira gave her neck a quick crack before rising to stand and exiting the cupola through a hatch-sphincter in the side. She was greeted by a cool spring breeze blowing in off the forest nearby. She inhaled fresh air, scrubbed clean by the massive terraforming operations of her people. Approaching the edge of the roof she was on, the Master shaper focused her glowing pink mqaaq'it on the Mandalorians down below.

For Mira and the Handmaidens of Yun-Ne'shel, the Yuuzhan Vong War was a distant memory, but the same could not be said for everyone they had encountered in their travels. There was still a great deal of animosity towards her people in the galaxy, much of it directed by the Mandalorians, so it was fair to say she was cautious. Many refused to accept that her people were now pacifists.

Turning away from the edge, Mira made her way inside and down towards the main level where the landing pads were located, sweeping the ground as she walked with the long skirt of her crimson oozhith gown. The form fitting layer of second skin was symbiotically adhered to her figure through tiny cilia inserted into the pores of her corpse grey flesh. Her feet were completely concealed by the low hanging fabric to the point where it almost looked like Mira was floating. It rose up just below the arm-pit, exposing her naked and elegantly tattooed shoulders. The Master Shaper's raven hued locks of waist length hair were held up by a number of insectile-biots threaded through it, making it appear animated or weightless at times when they took flight.

♪♪ "Everything is fine. It's all fine." ♪♪ Sang Mira in a less than confident voice as she paced back and forth just inside the main entrance of the castle. Outside beyond the shut main doors was the landing pad where the Mandalorians had set down. Despite her words, it was clear she was nervous.

The Master Shaper would continue to pace inside the front entrance until Lucien arrived, having no intention of greeting the Mandalorians without the High Lord present.

Acklay nodded to Ksenia when she told him to take charge of the discussion. "I get it. Let's hope they find me more charming than my trainers back on Kamino..." Grumbling as he remembered his training days for a few seconds, he motioned for the other clones to fall in behind him. It was a rather large party for a peace delegation, ten ARC Troopers, along with nine more standard troopers. Though Phase I was present in their group, Phase II had been also mixed in, sometimes in full sets or a few pieces here and there. It seemed, in the face of resource shortages, reusing old equipment and extreme personalization had taken the crew of the Victores hard.
No doubt, by the end of the war against the Plague Lord, their appearance will only get stranger and more cultured still.

"Thank you," the Lieutenant replied to Yar Sho's warm greeting. Though Acklay had somewhat wished for expediency - anything for the rush of following a true Jedi into battle - he was not against waiting. Perhaps, even, he might detach Sticks to catch one of these merchant-men on their way out, and get to talking about trading with them. After all, any friend of the Jedi would make for a good friend with the clones, and if they weren't friends but instead upcharging the Jedi enclave here...there were other alternatives. Acklay reminded himself he didn't know these Jedi yet. Even the old order had good and bad Jedi, and depending on the leadership here, these men might be the heroes the clones loved so much, or the sort who followed the letter of their codes, not the spirit.

"Sticks, when those merchants exit the meeting, try to catch the friendliest looking one and get working on something," Acklay asked the trooper, and he nodded in acknowledgement. Other than this, Acklay and the troops remained quiet while they followed Yar Sho to his master's lair.

Acklay noticed little different from the Jedi of his age - there were few places more opulent than the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. It had been a few years since he had seen the grand temple, but it was a sight that was hard to forget. Every time he remembered what happened to it - burned, by his own brothers no less - he winced just a little. All that history, all those younglings, guards and aged Jedi, slaughtered and put on the pyre in the name of tyranny. He swore he'd get the chance to punch an Imperial square in the nose before he died, on the way to Lucien.

The crowd was unique - the furry selonians, the people of Duros, a smattering of humans and near-humans in elegant clothing showcasing their rank and wealth - and of course, a few Imperials. Mission comes first, he reminded himself. Give it a year.

Acklay took off his helmet, sizing up the Jedi Lord for a moment, before gaining a toothy grin and taking the man's hand. "Nice to meet you. I'm Lieutenant Acklay, 447th Legion, 71st Battalion, first company." The clone comfortably retracted his hand. "That all translates to 'guy next to the guy in charge.' Good to see a Jedi again, though I got to admit," he said, leaning in and raising his hand to cover his mouth in mock conspiracy, "I'm surprised to see Imperials here. Given their role models are the guys who chipped us to kill all of you a couple hundred years ago or so."
Acklay leaned back, chuckling as if the gossip he had shared was entirely harmless. "Weird times. Anyhow, friend, we're in a bit of an ootoowerg in the Mandalorian territories, but in a way the Captain thought might interest you. There's a man going around calling himself the 'Plague Lord', doing all sorts of things to take over Mando-Space, but he's not just stopping with a military-on-military conflict. It's a fight for survival, not politics, he means it when he says 'Plague.' Now, if that weren't bad enough, it sounds like these people are working for, the New Order of the Eye I think it was, or some splinter group. And, to make matters worse, they're looking for some ancient, ancient tech called a 'hyper-gate' so they can strike from any other hyper-gate. First they'll probably take Mandalore, but any other planet unlucky enough to have a hyper-gate on it could be next.
"So, anybody you can spare? I'd love to fight beside a Jedi again."

"I understand," the lieutenant admitted after Lucien explained Ossus' strange and delicate position. When one was reconstructing an entire world, it would require plenty of different backers, regional and galactic, to pull off, even if one was luxuriously wealthy already. "I'm sure I wouldn't like the policies of the guys who made our ship and our gear."

Acklay looked at the shaper curiously, though not with any prejudice or disgust. They were about as alien as near-humans got, in his book. The facial structure, the eye placement, the nose and the cheekbones all screamed human, but the pale and almost artistically curved skin on their face was clearly alien. He wasn't quite sure how to describe it. Like a very interpretive painting of a weequay. "Sure, people and species can be forgiven, but its the philosophy that causes the big issues. I'm sure you know what you're doing though. I'm no governor."

The lieutenant soaked in the information about the Sith. It all seemed to track, especially with the history he remembers. The Old Sith Wars, The Jedi Civil War, the three consecutive Galactic Wars, the New Sith Wars...it seemed the galaxy couldn't be rid of those dark sorcerers, no matter how hard it tried to exorcise them. When Lucien mentioned General Endor and a rebel alliance, Acklay's contemplative frown shifted to a very pleased grin. He waited for Lucien to finish, however, and he thought for a moment on his final question. Why the Mandalorians? Why these Jedi?

"Sir, you've proven yourself selfless, forgiving, and understanding just in this conversation alone. Aiding others who need it, not letting old grudges get in your way, but not letting more apprehensible people steal your will or force you underground. You're as much a Jedi in my book as any from back home," Acklay said, obviously impressed. "I was hoping you'd prove me right for coming here, and you did. As for why we're helping the Mandalorians...the clones had about three homes, not counting amongst ourselves. We had Kamino, our birth-world. From how it sounds, it's not really the same place anymore, and I doubt they'd care much for us beyond muscle. Everyone we knew is gone anyway.
"Then there was the Republic. It was a large, pretty dysfunctional home at times, but we were raised to defend it. And honestly, having had a little time to reflect chipless, I prefer it a lot to the current regime. Any place that has an emperor means somebody took that place over, one way or another. Our Republic is gone, and has been for some time.
"That leaves us with option three, the Mandalorians. And, you gotta love them for it, if somebody's gonna be the same after all this time? It's the Mandalorians. And hey, while they might go overboard...a lot...it's still home, in a very, very different galaxy. Home is always worth fighting for. Turns out it does need fighting for, a whole lot of fighting for, hence why we came here. Clones and Jedi, we make a potent force. The Mandalorians need that kind of force in their favor, else they might capitulate to some whack-job Sith and their schemes, just like the Republic and the old Jedi. I don't want to go through that a second time. None of us do."

Hapens, huh? Might need to file that away for later...
The lieutenant was a little taken aback, visibly startled...but he didn't snap into a rage. It seemed the reaction was more instinct than pure hatred. "I guess if we can find a new home, the clankers can too. I'd rather the old Separatists than an Empire, though I'd prefer neither. I look forward to meeting your strike team."