Whoo, have I been a bit lax with the old posts lately - Sorry! :(
I have been busily working away at several things (ala status) so have been spending a lot less time than i'd like, on the old internet. I am itching to catch up with everyone (No, not itching plague), so first let me catch up with what I was going to post.

So as I have been a bad BAD shaper, and haven't shaped a chapter for quite some time, I now bring you...one and a half - (because the other half I am still writing :p )
All those nasty question marks - please excuse them - I will be sorting out as soon as I have readjusted my maa'its and have spent a considerable amount of time putting my nestbunk to the use for which it was designed.

For past chapters, please check my blog history :)

AS I DIE

CHAPTER 9:

Nom Anor turned to face the many eyes he could feel burning into his back, each pair betraying a sense of curiosity, or wide eyed amusement.
In reflection, it had been a drastic and desperate move, to disfigure himself to this extent, such disfigurements were not common among the intendants, who saw it as arrogant and self appreciative to do so. Yet he had been quick to gouge out his own eye, when ceremony had required that he give some form of blood sacrifice.
This, though, had not been about ritual, his burs were what he saw as a necessity. Without them, he would be languishing in self loathing, locked away in some cramped, darkened and sterile Galactic Alliance prison cell, no doubt awaiting his own execution.

"Yem-zi, come and sit with us,"

The words startled Nom Anor enough to be almost visually torn from his reverie,

"Shaah has brought some i'ffii, you should eat, there will be a long day ahead of you, should they wish you to join in the shaping of this settlement." This from one of the twins, Tinu, who beckoned Nom Anor over gingerly, with an all too smooth-skinned hand.

Swallowing a shiver of revulsion back into the black-hole that seemed to encompass his mind, whenever he encountered such detestable situations, the former prefect stepped forward, crossing the chamber to reach the thickly piled carpet to sink down onto it's fronds with aching limbs.
Despite the fact that he was now well enough to be mobile, his joints had been immobilised for so long, they had almost forgotten that they could be moved, and each one seemed to sing it's own song of agony with every step he took.

The three extolled ones gathered around while Shaah, the other twin, who's ungodly symmetrical features made Nom Anor want to retch, handed him a bowl fashioned from some kind of seed husk, full of the nutritious - yet relatively tasteless -glop, i'fii.

Accepting, Nom Anor nodded in a silent thank you, still puzzled as to how both Tinu and his twin had managed to survive for so long, un-sacrificed. They were both well above the age where both should have been forced to fight the other to the death, yet it was clear to him that these two had been born into shame, they should have been killed outright - their birth would be taken as a bad omen by the priests, who would have taken heed of such a significant event with detrimental consequences.
Yet here they stood.

Tinu smiled wryly and glanced sidelong at Shaah,

"We know what you are thinking," He said, and Shaah, too, nodded for emphasis.

"Do you?" Nom Anor asked, idly making a small ball of i'fii with one, sore hand before popping it in his mouth, it tasted like bile in comparison to what he had become used to at the prefectory.

"Yes, why would Yun-Yuuzhan allow extolled twins to come into being?"
This time Shaah smiled slightly, in an expression Nom Anor had not expected, they were a tad arrogant for ones who should have long since been put to death, still, he would listen. Information was, after all, power.

"We were never shamed, only oppressed, our survival is both testaments and proof that, not only did we survive that oppression, but that we were meant to."

Now it was Nom Anor's turn to look unexpectedly incredulous,
"Meant to?"

Tinu answered this time, happily taking the lead from his twin brother,

"Indeed, Yun-Yuuzhan no more wished for our sacrifice than our fellow shamed, we are a sign, a symbol of freedom from our oppressors, to all extolled. The priests have ordained it."

Nom Anor almost forgot himself and laughed, scoffing at the very idea of it all, oh how far his species had fallen. Was he truly prepared to dig this deep and do something about this? How could he be certain that when all came undone, he would come out on top? It was a risky business, this game he played. It was a good job that scoff of a laugh had been reined in and had merely come out a cough then.
So why was it he had heard a bark of harsh laughter over the sound of his coughing?

"Truly?" A scathing voice, full of venom, mocked from behind the small group.

Standing in the doorway, that lead away into the sleeping chambers, stood T'arlann Shoolb. Arms crossed and brow furrowed, he leaned upon the edge of the membrane's frame, in an all too haughty posture, one that he must have thought better accentuated his air of superiority. It only made Nom Anor want to roll his one good eye, but for whatever reason, this old Yuuzhan Vong male brought a sense of dread and authority to those who looked upon his heavily lined face.

"Pah! So some of the priests have said, those who have turned their backs on our true doctrine, the true way!" T'arlann Shoolb spat, and he was not done yet,
"Your words should earn you a pitiful death! Can you not hear yourselves? You are dooming us all to eternal unrest!"

Sae, the only member of the group that had not spoken a word since Nom Anor's arrival, began to edge sideways towards the exit, a calm expression painted her rather obscure features, as though she had seen all this before. It then occurred to Nom Anor, that this must have been witnessed by many before, all over this settlement too.
T'arlann Shoolb could not be the only one who still felt some allegiance to the old ways, much of the high ranking members of the true caste would have been forced to conform to this new way, or face a life of incarceration and perpetual rehabilitation, at the hands of lesser beings. No matter who you were, or what you had been, that notion was not enticing to anyone.

Somewhere deep inside his fractured mind, Nom Anor felt the inkling of an idea spark to life, a spark that could well ignite his plans into a burning inferno of brilliance, should he will it. It was just utterly perplexing to him, why nothing along the lines of his thoughts had come to fruition before now.
And yet the answer had to be simple, the settlements were so widely spaced out around the world, there was - as yet - no means to unite or breed such ideas when loyalists were so vastly spread out. So silent in their convictions, any talk of the old ways would oust them and they would be outnumbered -what they needed, was a way to speak freely, something that could unite them and most importantly, someone to unite them.

He grinned then, subconsciously unaware of the fact his features were curling sinuously into a smile, but T'arlann Shoolb was all too aware.

"You find this amusing sniveler?! Pray that the gods find your reactions just as amusing, for were it not for these invisible claws about me, I would drag your pitiful excuse for a carcass to the spatter pit and flay your skin myself!"

-Would you indeed? Nom Anor mused inwardly, disgruntled by the insults he had heard so many times before.

"Psh!" Sae's voice split the air like the bladed wings of a nang-hul, "Enough of this bickering! We have all lost and suffered much to be here today, can we not set this aside and just be?"

"You just be, some of us with more honour would rather eat blhor ichor than embrace your new ways!" The old prefect scoffed in response, he was clearly not backing down on this matter - nor would he have, under the old doctrine.

Sae's next actions, however, shocked Nom Anor to the core. She ignored the elderly prefect, taking up her place, back on the thick carpet and continuing on with her meal. A move that he knew, should tip the hand of death. The shamed one's silent challenge, would mean that Shoolb was now required to kill her, yet he did not move to do so.
Instead, the old Yuuzhan Vong stood there, openly flinching as if being prevented from moving by giant, invisible hands, ones that prevented him from exacting a just punishment upon Sae. He would growl, low and threateningly, eyes narrowed to dark slits of malice, before he began to pace.
So he wasn't immobile after all then?

T'arlann Shoolb finally left the chamber in a muted grumble of insults and curses, visibly shaking with the anger that must be coursing through his entire body. But he had not struck, he had not slain the shamed one where she sat.

Nom Anor supposed he had to admire the old intendant then, had that been him in his position, the shamed one would have lain dead upon the grashal floor. The retreat must have taken an immense amount of restraint and self control, not to mention the damage it must have done to Shoolb's sense of honour.

The twins were the first to exchange nervous glances in the general direction of Sae, who was continuing to eat the stodgy contents of her food bowl without a second glance.
-Saving face, she had to be, yet something about all this seemed incredibly false - a falsification that all but Nom Anor seemed to be aware of, for when he looked hard, he could see that her hands were shaking.

*****

"You are certain?" Danni Quee, the more than humble, dusty-blind haired scientist asked, incredulous.
She sat, hunched over a makeshift work-bench examining the medical read outs, provided by her counterpart, on the datapad she held in her slender hands.
The light outside was fading, and the fire that licked the stone-boundaries at the centre of their hut, caused light to dance across the surface of her pale skin, lighting up her eyes softly.

"There was no mistaking that kind of injury," replied the rather diminutive, softly spoken voice of a chadra-fan, the Jedi healer, Tekli.

The pair sat in one of the many ferroan built huts that pick-marked this area of the settlement. Primarily created from large throngs of thick tampasi thatched together, the huts were as ideally camouflaged of complimentary to their surroundings, as they were weatherproof - and Danni Quee in particular, found it perfect for conducting her research in, whilst the heat of Zonama's day cycle harrowed others.
Today, however, she was not alone, she had been joined by Tekli, who had been spending time at this settlement, as part of the Jedi promise to keep an eye on things upon this relatively new world. At least until her services as a healer, were required once more.

Motioning with one minute, furry hand, the chadra-fan pointed toward the datapad.

"This contains the holos taken during the patient's stay with the ferroan healers." She explained, with a chirp of insistence.

It was with some trepidation, that Danni began to scroll through Tekli's notes, diligently pausing as the first, rather gruesome, image appeared as a small holoprojection.

"It is possible that he was shamed, but not a follower of the heresy?" She asked curiously, poring over the information that came with the image, then moving onto the next holo.

What she saw was unmistakable, even before the image fully focussed, Danni knew what she was looking at.
Before her eyes, rotating silently on the holo emitter's axis, was the full holo-scan of a cauterized wrist-stump. Where the hand there was nothing, and the precise nature of the wound told her analytical eyes much - much too much. This was the handiwork of someone who knew how to wield a blade, and not just any blade either, a lightsaber.

"It is possible, but why would he not mention this? In the recollection of events he gave me, the patient said he was trapped aboard a Yuuzhan Vong vessel during the battle. There were no Jedi aboard those ships." Tekli responded gently.

Danni seemed lost in immeasurable analysis, but Telki could sense her attentiveness through the force, brimming with curious suspicion and much caution.

"Perhaps he was afraid, that if we knew he was one of the enemy, he would be forced to face punishment?" She suggested - though her knowledge of Yuuzhan Vong society was not as adept as it should have been, she had learned much during her time since she had been a captive of theirs. The shamed ones, were still much of a mystery to most.

Tekli let out an uncomfortable squeak of a sigh, "With all the warriors who's war crimes are surely worse, just walking around Zonama freely?"

The blonde woman flashed the diminutive chadra-fan a wry smile, running a hand through her wavy hair soon after, she had run through this so many times in her mind since hearing it, and still the finger of suspicion pointed firmly at the individual in question.

"Good point" She conceded, "So this begs the question then, what does this 'Yem-Zi' have to lie for? If indeed, that is his true name."

Tekli snuffled in agreement, wide eyes blinking as she winced, observing the still-rotating image once more.

"There is no way of telling. All domain records wipe those who are shamed, clean from record, cast them out completely and treat them as non entities."

"So even if he was speaking the truth, there would be no record of him to check it against," Danni realized aloud with a shake of her head, "Have you spoken to Tahiri? Perhaps she could make a few subtle enquiries, see if others have heard of him?"

Tahiri, the young barefoot Jedi, had once been a captive of the Yuuzhan Vong, had been shaped by them - almost - leaving her with a certain unpleasant affinity for their kind, their language, their ways and more importantly, a force-like ability to sense them. Something which few Jedi had achieved to date, vongsense.
Tahiri's skills were perfectly suited to this purpose.

"I was unable to reach her via comlink, I am concerned she has gone offworld." Tekli explained worriedly - the young Jedi had been doing a lot of soul searching lately, coming to terms with the consequences of the war, trying to find herself again. As a result she had become quite introvertive, even secretive.

Again Danni ran a hand through her hair, sweeping strands of it away from her eye line in exasperation. They were all alone in this then? And at such a tenuous time too!

"Then we should inform Jabitha - if anything, Sekot can keep an unseen eye on this guy."

Tekli nodded solemnly, large dark eyes unblinking as she accepted back the deactivated datapad from her counterpart. Resolutely, she nodded in agreement.

"I will go to contact her now, if anything happens in the meanwhile, the ferroans have been instructed what to do."

*****

He had hardly needed to lift a finger, Nom Anor thought smugly, as he leaned high weight tiredly against the ovoid frame pertaining to an entrance membrane. The previous night?s events had unfolded with particular ease; the extolled had been more than forthcoming with their stories of oppression to eventual absolution, then to the point of arriving on Zonama Sekot.

As expected, the tale the twins had to tell was particularly interesting - Born into the shamed caste, their mother had considered them a bad omen - after all, twins were a rare gift among the Yuuzhan Vong and would only be born to the true caste, surely?

Nom Anor recalled biting down on the fringe of flesh that must have once been a lip, when he had heard that - these beings were fools, fools doomed to repeat the mistakes of their ancestors, in a never ending cycle of tragic and dogmatic ways.
To survive this, one needed to adapt. It was as simple as that, it was as simple as heresy, and even Nom Anor could see the irony in that.
He had been adapting his entire life, it was the only way he knew...and he had long since survived many of his peers as a result, it was a tried and tested method.

Yet he had found some sense of common ground with these twins - their mother had sent one to be with their father, among his work detail, while she had held onto the other, the plan being, to offer them up to the priests when they felt that the time for their redemption was close. A death pact of sorts.
The unexplained deaths of each parent, had not surprised Nom Anor in the least, he had seen as much infighting among the shamed - during his time as the prophet - as there was among the true caste.
Indeed, he had almost become a victim of such events himself, when one of his own flock of acolytes had turned against him, vying for his place.
Shamed ones clambered over one another to get to their goals too...they were, after all, still Yuuzhan Vong.

Nom Anor was counting on that.

He had, however, wisely feigned ignorance, but the time would soon come, when he could use this information to twist them to his will.
Time for phase two - he thought all too cheerfully, today was going to be highly productive, he could already tell.

So he waited, watching Zonama?s dawn fade into the early stages of the day cycle, propped up against the intendant grashal - he did not have to wait long either.

T?arlann Shoolb, old and wizened, but by no means decrepit, was ambling over a small grassy knoll, tampasii waving around him like an ocean of stalks in a storm. The wind whipped up his voluminous robeskins of office, slowing him down ever so slightly, but he did not stop.
When he was close enough to see clearly, the elderly prefect scowled darkly at the figure he saw waiting for him, evidently as pleased as ever, to see Nom Anor.

This was going to be a challenge.

Nom Anor schooled his expression from a sarcastic smirk into one of complete seriousness as he stepped in front of the membrane, preventing the Prefect egress.

The older Yuuzhan Vong?s expression darkened immensely,

?You are in my way, move.? He demanded, reaching instinctively for a weapon that he was no longer permitted to carry with him.

Silently, Nom Anor wished he still had formal possession of the plaeryin bol, that had once occupied his eyeless eye socket, it would have been easier to defend himself with and twice as effective as the makeshift coufee he had concealed within the folds of his robeskin.

?All in good time - I know something you may wish to hear.? He offered boldly.

The older and more imposing male, slid a doubtful glare in his direction, issuing a growl of dissent.
?There is nothing that could spring forth from that mouth, that I would wish to hear, safe for perhaps your final breath.?

?Or perhaps the final breaths of those who chose to exile you here?? Nom Anor interjected, ceasing his chance.

T?arlann Shoolb, who had been in the process of trying to shove Nom Anor out of the way, pivoted slightly on one foot towards the faux extolled one, collapsing and twisting the fragile flora and fauna beneath his foot with an audible wet squelch.
?You speak nonsense.? He responded flatly.

Nom Anor sighed, mocking and almost scathing in such an action, behaving as a crèche master might to a crecheling who had just stepped out of line.

?Ideas, especially when accompanied by well constructed plans, are never nonsense, Prefect, they are what you make of them.? He answered with a flourish, reverently spreading his one palm wide in an open handed gesture that looked oddly strange, when you only owned one hand.

?Do these ideas spawn from your mind?? T?arlann Shoolb was quick to ask, paying the pitiful theatrics no mind at all.

?Of course -?

?Then they are nonsense, now...guvvuk!?

?A moment of your time, prefect, nothing more -then, if you do not like what you hear, you may eject me from this settlement, permanently.?

Nom Anor had no intention of honouring that agreement, should T?arlann Shoolb wish to seal it, but then he was not sure he could remember the last time he had intended to keep his word on such an agreement.

Something akin to rolling thunder broiled across the old prefect?s expression, to the point where he visibly began to shake, and Nom Anor wondered if his persistence was in vain. That would be a pity, because he would need to dispose of the prefect, and he was far more useful alive.
But as suddenly as the prefect?s blood had begun to boil, it simmered down again, and finally, he relented with a grunt of frustrated exasperation.

?A moment then, nothing more!?

This time, he succeeded in shoving his way past the slighter frame of Nom Anor, pushing his bulky self through the slowly dilating membrane and into the large and relatively empty chamber beyond.

T?arlann Shoolb would not ever see the self satisfied smirk that adorned the face of the one he had just granted entry to, though one day, Nom Anor thought, he might live to regret that.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
CHAPTER 10 PT 1

T'arlann Shoolb was not quick about his sweep of the room, checking every nook and cranny for signs of sensislugs and signal villips, any kind of biot that could be altered to observe all that was going on here. And finally, he turned to Nom Anor, gesticulating with an open palm as if in silent askance for whatever he may have on him.
When Nom Anor returned his silent question with a rather confused expression, the prefect gave voice to his concern.

"Are you adorned with a chilab?"

Nom Anor shook his head, but when he witnessed the prefect's gaze darken, blue eyesacs turning a sombre shade of deep blue, he raised his one hand to block one half of his nasal cavity, exhaling in one short, sharp snort - nothing fell from the cavity, as would have happened if he had indeed been using the tiny neural grub, specified by T'arlann Shoolb.

Satisfied, the prefect did another quick circle of the office chamber, before finally turning his full attention on Nom Anor.

"Speak and be quick, the Jeedai say Sekot see's all, but even a world could miss something in the blink of the minds eye."

That particular notion served to unnerve Nom Anor immensely, not least of all because he himself had somewhat of a chequered past with this living world. He had, after all, tried to destroy it - people seemed to have a terribly good memory when it came to those who had almost killed them.
So much against him, he pondered, yet that had never stopped him from doing much in the past. Besides, even the myriad eyes of a conscious world, could not look upon all, all of the time...the prefect had a point.

He prepared, taking a deep breath before arranging the words that rested upon the tip of his liars tongue.
"You are familiar with the shamed prophet, Yu'shaa?" He asked rather forwardly. "His heretical ceremonies and teaching, giving the shamed ones the power they needed to rise up against the true caste?"

The prefect waved off the latter half of the statement, face remaining somewhat darkened by shadow and annoyance, his eyesacs now a sublime shade of indigo.
"Yu'shaa was a farce, the priest, Harrar, told tales to many in this settlement of the prophet's true identity."

Nom Anor waited, insides knotting again.

"He was that skulking traitor, Nom Anor - all his words were filthy, pointless, lies within lies - everything that brenzlit did, was for his own benefit!"

T'arlann Shoolb's hand made a fist, which he proceeded to shake in the direction of Nom Anor, threateningly.

"If he were not already dead, I would demand his sacrifice and that of his entire domain! It would still never be enough to pay for what those of us who still live must face now!"

"-And if I were to tell you," Nom Anor interrupted, filing the petty insults away to the back of his mind for now, "that the true caste could indeed pay penance to the gods? Could gain back their honour and rank? Could be....restored?"

"You wish to tell me that you could find a way to sacrifice a whole domain? Unseen?! This is pure neftahh'n!"

At this, the horrifically burned Yuuzhan Vong, vented a deep momentary chuckle of amusement.

"Prefect, you are missing my point." He explained, "My reason for bringing to light, the subject of the prophet - false or not - is but a simple one..."

T'arlann Shoolb ceased his angry twitching, gaze narrowing with interest this time.

"He united the casteless, all we need do, is unite those who remain loyal to the gods, those who have access to the resources needed for revolution-" He made another elaborate flourish in the air, with his remaining hand and his voice gained unusual intensity. This caused the elder male to arch a brow curiously. This was no mere shamed one - curious was hardly the word.

"And how do you intend to unite us? The warriors morale lays shattered, in ruins, the blood of the true caste is all but scattered among the fields of Zonama! How could any of this come to pass, when day after day-cycle Sekot and her chosen ones keep so close a watch over us?"

The prefect had begun to pace now, heavy footed upon the chitinous floor, loud and echoing. Nom Anor, however, remained the picture of perfect calm, though inside, he felt invisible hands grip his gut and twist mercilessly. He would need to deliver his suggestions flawlessly.
Raising his arms slightly, he motioned as if to lace his fingers, he felt no resistance as his one, good hand landed harmlessly against the stump of his wrist though - so much for trying not to look foolish.

"I propose a network, passing the word via shaped villips only, those grown from the seeds of Zonama are too much of a risk, we would need villips that respond only to the bio signature of the intended recipient - the shapers still have access to the Qang qahsa?" He asked, smile turning into a beaming, lipless grin when he saw the prefect nod in the affirmative.

"They do."

"Excellent, and it should not be hard to locate one disgruntled master shaper in a settlement this size, should it?"

"No, it should not. Though the Qang qahsa is being treated as somewhat of a relic, it is held within the main temple here, it will be difficult to acquire." T'arlann Shoolb informed, though he had stopped pacing now, clawed hand stroking the jagged coral nodules, that protruded from the seeds fused to his jawbone, pensively.

"This will not be a problem." Nom Anor assured arrogantly, he had fully anticipated this being an issue.

"And the inspiration? We will need the support of all castes if we are to rise up and conquer-"

Nom Anor's gaze narrowed ever so slightly, that twisted, needle-toothed grin spreading wider still, inspiration from very little, was his speciality.

"-Through cause and effect shall come their inspiration." He interrupted and T'arlann Shoolb took an audible step closer, unknotting Nom Anor's insides with that motion.

He could see that the prefect's eyes shone with curiosity and a veracious lust for the old ways, it would have been his all, when rank and status were everything to ones such as he. But Nom Anor was surprised, he had imagined the prefect to be a lot harder to convince.

"Go on..." T'arlann Shoolb prompted, voice a low harsh whisper.

"How many attendants do you currently hold under your command?"

The question seemed to perplex the prefect for a second, but he answered truthfully all the same.

"At least twenty in this settlement, with seven of them being extolled - the ferroans wish to reintroduce them to -"

"Could you spare one?" Nom Anor cut in impatiently, leaning back on his heels as if to gain a better perspective.

"I could, but I would need to agree to this, endeavour of your's first."

So the old one was not as blunt as an amphistaff grub then? This was good to know, especially if he were about to become an ally. He had seen enough of fools like the ill fated shamed one, Shoon-Mi Esh, during his time in the guise of the prophet.

"A pact, for now at least, to restore the true glory of the Yuuzhan Vong, for you to gain rank upon our ascension, High Prefect T'arlann Shoolb - we will finish what was begun with the invasion, for the glory of the gods."

The prefect was still, but only for a second before slowly, mockingly beginning to clap his hands in mock appreciation.
"Oh very inspiring," He continued in sarcastic tones, "And may I ask what, exactly, your motivation for this is?"

Nom Anor remained silent, chances were, the old prefect was about to absolve him of the situation anyway.

"You may have fooled those pitiful, snivelling brenzlits that I am required to share space with, but I have heard the way you speak, seen your gestures and the way you hold yourself - You are no more one of the shamed than I am a Jeedai!"

It wasn't quite time for anyone to panic yet, Nom Anor had expected, no, counted on T'arlann Shoolb reacting to his true demeanour, for he could never expect anyone to take him seriously as a shamed one. Not if it were the true caste he wished to use.
Even now, the old prefect's eyes bored through him like a coufee's point, daring Nom Anor to prove him right.
He would indulge Shoolb for a while.

Open palmed, he spread his arms wide, inclining his head slightly in a sign of consignment to his fate.

"Indeed you are correct, all is not what it appears - I am not what I appear." He began, pausing just short enough to catch his breath, and so that T'arlann Shoolb would not have enough time to answer.
"I was required to take up the guise of a shamed one, when the Jeedai assumed I was one. I realized that far less suspicion fell upon the shoulders of the extolled, that I would be able to move more freely as a result and hopefully...slip their minds."

"Then who are you?" The prefect demanded, his prior anger was returning through confusion and Nom Anor would need to work fast to avoid his ire - and to avoid risking the loss of all his hard work.

"I am Yem-Zi, this much is the truth, my domain name is domain Skell."

At this, T'arlann Shoolb issued a loud snort and a scoff of laughter so sharp, that Nom Anor was afraid he was about to lose it all.

"You will forgive me if I find your profession of 'the truth' a little hard to believe." He snarled.

But to the prefect's utter incredulity, the other Yuuzhan Vong male merely nodded.

"This I understand, but I intend to go through with my plans, one way or another, with or without you. So perhaps you should ask yourself, truly, what do you have to lose?"

This was it, they had come to the turning point and once passed, there was only one direction to go, onwards. T'arlann Shoolb would only have to agree to this and Nom Anor could set the plans into motion. But if the prefect was unwilling, he was a risk too far to let him leave this grashal alive.
His hand sought out the pommel of a coufee, hidden beneath his dark and voluminous robeskin. Procuring this had not been problematic, but the body of the worker he had hidden amid the rocky cave region, a few miles from the villip fields, would become a problem if found before Sekot's wildlife began to devour it.
If only the headstrong youth had just handed the weapon over, he may have yet lived. But in these times of revolution won, everyone just had to be a hero. Nom Anor found the notion pitiful.

"Hurr..." The prefect let out a bedraggled sigh, "You still have not told me what you stand to gain." He wasn't going to drop this easily.

Nom Anor loosened his grip on that coufee a tad, "Everything in good time, all we need to focus on now, is that our goal is the same - to restore the true caste to their rightful place, to venerate the true gods, the true way....are we agreed on that much at least?"

Finally, and with a great deal more silence and effort than was necessary, T'arlann Shoolb nodded his large head,

"Tell me what I must do."

TBC