Fan Fic - Dying for your Approval

[Blue but beautiful]

Disclaimer: All characters mentioned are the property of their respective owners and LFL, the exceptions being Nif'rhi Hul who is my own. No money is being made from this fiction and no infringement is intended. Please don't sue me, I am a starving artist with no money to speak of.

Authors Note: This fic is rated PG-13 - 15 for violence, angst and some twisted imagery.
Multi-Chapter, Tsavong Lah vig.


Dying for your approval.

Now:

Deep within the confines of his private chambers aboard Domain Dal, slumped down upon a chair comprised of various living polyps and painful looking coral spine-like protrusions, sat Tsavong Lah.
Cycles could have flown by, battles could have been raging around his very person and he would not have so much as batted a scarred eyelid. The only battle the warmaster was focussed on for now, was the one that raged within the depths of his seasoned mind.
Weary as he was, he had not moved since the attendant, who had brought him Harrar’s villip, had left him alone to hear the priest out. The villip had long since inverted, displaying it’s self once again as the spherical, brown blob of its natural state.

Tsavong Lah shifted as though in discomfort. The spiteful coral spines of his seating place, raking his armour and cutting his flesh raw where he had left it bare.
Not so much as a wince of pain did he show. Even as blood began to drip and then flow from his slight wounds, the chair drinking its fill, he did not show any sign of irritancy. The warmaster’s eyes had not left the surface of the inactive villip, as though he were analysing it in disbelief.
Had he heard right? Harrar was one of the few people he could have actually called a friend, surely he knew the severity of conveying words to him that may be untrue?
And yet he had heard the dire tone in the priest’s voice. His words had been no word of a lie. His son, his own flesh and blood….Khalee Lah, was dead.
The concept sounded implausible to his dark, anger stricken mind. Implausible still when he had asked the priest how his son had perished. It was this fact that caused him to tense until he felt the tendons in his body ache pleasantly in comparison to the rage that burned furiously within his conscience.

Jaina Solo, one half of the twin Solo’s, had been responsible. The cause of it all.
That rage was a deeply rooted one, as his son would have been aware. Tsavong Lah’s right foot, the clawed foot of a Vua’sa beast, ached in sympathy. Jacen Solo had been responsible for the loss of his own foot after all.

Harrar had been a little over-zealous in emphasizing the fact that Khalee had died with honour. While Tsavong Lah was glad in this knowledge, a failure was still unquestionably a failure. And he had placed much faith in his son when bestowing upon him the task of accompanying Harrar as guard on his mission to find and then capture Jaina Solo. Supreme Overlord Shimrra was growing impatient with Tsavong Lah’s inability to make good of his word to make this ‘twin sacrifice’ so.

Khalee Lah had been the most promising of all Tsavong Lah’s offspring, barring none. The youthful warrior was well known in both his domain and caste, many fully expecting him to rise rapidly through the ranks and eventually become the next warmaster.
Tsavong Lah had always thought that he might rest a little easier in glorious death if he knew Khalee would succeed him.
The lad was headstrong however, short tempered and quick to act in the face of the unknown. Not entirely bad qualities, the warmaster knew, if they could be controlled and saved for the right moment.
Yes, while Tsavong Lah had fathered many children, Khalee was the only one he had ever deigned to get to know. Or at least tried.
He had reminded him much of himself at that young age. And the warmaster himself was only one of two that his own father, Czulkang Lah, had ever deigned to acknowledge too. As heartless as this seemed, many of the elite lived this way.
What was the point in getting attached to ones offspring if they never made it out of the crèche?

The warmaster remembered Khalee’s mother fondly too. In particular the rich darkness of her eyes, a trait Khalee had picked up along with her patience – or there lack of. Sadly, she had perished before reaching the infidel galaxy. A pity, Tsavong Lah thought, perhaps if she had been here, she could have clarified what it was that afflicted him now. And yet he knew, and was disgusted by it thoroughly.

He finally tore his gaze away from the inert villip. He would spend this time in the embrace of pain, perhaps that would purge the sickening grief from his being?

*****
Then:

Niif’rhi Hul watched the scene unfolding before her through a large wall of transparent yorik coral. This particular variety, had the ability to be used as an opaque screen or a transparent window depending on the desired use. Here in the outer-ganglia, the far spun ‘arms’ of the worldship, was housed the crèche of Domain Lah. She had often come here out of curiosity for her first-born’s progress. But today was different, today she had been asked to attend.
As to why, she was unsure, but it had been at the request of the crèche attendant that she and Supreme Commander Tsavong Lah attend this little meeting. If just for her peace of mind.

The warmaster’s son stood beside her proudly, his expression betraying neither curiosity nor impatience. Niif’rhi Hul would have done well to follow his example, and with that thought she ceased tapping her foot upon the living floor.

“ …As you can see, he is excelling in his training…” The attendant was explaining as the group of 3 looked on at the young would-be warriors. The crechelings were practicing their basic melee combat beyond the safety of the transparency. At the age of 5, they had earned the right to carry a basic coufee, the simplest of all Yuuzhan Vong living weaponry. But clearly many of the crechelings lacked the skills that those adept enough in, had worked out could be used against them. The results were akin to effectively eradicating the weak before they reached a position of rank. Perhaps this was why many referred to it as ‘weeding out’.

“ I can see that for myself” Tsavong Lah cut in, irritated at having been told the obvious. He was every bit as intimidating as his father.

As if on cue, two of the youths closes to the transparency were taken on by another that both Niif’rhi Hul and Tsavong Lah recognised as their son. The boy was quick to bring the first youth down with a simple, yet very effective leg sweep, following that up by thrusting his blade in a downwards arc toward the downed youth’s throat to finish the job he’d started.
Neither Tsavong Lah nor Niif’rhi Hul so much as blinked. Life was pain, death- an honour if attained in the right way.

As the remaining youth attacked, Tsavong Lah’s attention was drawn back to the crèche attendant.

“ If I may, Supreme Commander, I would like to recommend your son for more suitable training.” He paused, “With your approval of course!”

“Indeed?”

“ As soon as possible,” The attendant would not have liked to add his afterthoughts to that unfinished sentence. Keeping Khalee Lah here was reducing the numbers in his age group to a degree that had many of domain Lah up in arms, thus threats of death falling firmly on his own shoulders. None such gripes would ever reach the ears of the warmaster’s son however, to do so would be as putting your own head over the spatter-pit.

Tsavong Lah appeared to be waiting something rather than mulling this suggestion over. The lack of conversation caused an uneasy air to sweep across the trio of Yuuzhan Vong and the attendant cast a confused gaze at Niif’rhi Hul.
She remained silent also, as though she had seen this all before.
When at last the strangled cry and sounds of cracking, breaking bones could be heard through the transparency at their backs, Tsavong Lah cast his gaze over one shoulder, nodding once in approval at his son’s early triumph.

“You have my approval Attendant.”

[Blue but beautiful]

Chapter 2.

Now.

Bones popped painfully from their muscle-bound joints into a state of dislocation. Tendons stretched to their limits so as to cause immense pain, but not so as to inflict permanent or fatal injury. Tsavong Lah’s body was alive with pain’s burning caress, as he hung from the spindly tendrils of the embrace of pain. Every so often, a somewhat tormented hiss would escape his frayed lips, but nothing more. The embrace knew though, that the being it manipulated within its grasp, was in a constant state of purest agony.
Often, when the pain became so intense that even the warmaster could not keep himself in a state of consciousness, the embrace would sense this, lessening its torturous onslaught of torment until the threat of unconsciousness would subside. When the black spots, that had once invaded Tsavong Lah’s vision, began to fade, he became aware of the embrace ‘observing’ him via one of it’s white-hot tendrils. Almost immediately it resumed it’s task and fiery explosions of agony blossomed once again in his weary, pain-soaked limbs.

The sensation, while exquisitely cleansing, did nothing in the way of aiding him embrace the pain and torment that plagued his mind. And yet it confused him to such a degree that he would have gladly sacrificed several of his own implants just to gain the knowledge his mind desired. How could one embrace a pain that was so unlike anything he had ever experienced? One so devious and elusive, Yun-Harla herself could have breathed life into it. Not like the pain inflicted by the embrace, no. This ran deeper, if that were possible.

Tsavong Lah had come here seeking answers, a chance to purge these thoughts from his mind as he would relieve a Jeedai infidel of their life. But all he had found were more questions. Commanding the embrace of pain into releasing it’s hold on him, he pulled himself into a standing position. A fine vein of black blood trailed down his back, between his muscular shoulder blades. What must he do to embrace this pain? How best to unravel the secrets that Yun-Harla seemed to cherish close to her borrowed heart? Perhaps this was a test?

Tsavong Lah reached for his living cloak, hooking it onto his shoulder-barbs. He then made for the exit of the chamber, in search of the answers. If anyone would know, then this person was the most trusted he could ask. He had not run out of options yet.

******

Then.

Khalee Lah’s whole frame almost shook with excitement. The searing pain he felt ripple through his nerves, a testament to his ability to embrace it for the most part. He took it well considering the severity of the wound being inflicted upon him for the purpose of escalation. All around him scores of priests devoted to Yun-Yammka and Yun-Yuuzhan performed various rituals, one using the blood that seeped from the wounds of the warriors kneeling before the effigies to the two gods, which was then collected and poured over said effigies to a chorus of monotonous chanting. Seers raised their voices in exaltation, calling upon the gods to witness the passage of advancement these warriors would soon take. Their droning adding a slightly sinister edge to the whole ceremony.

A warrior’s first mark of escalation was a moment to be treasured; it marked the passage from barely trained crecheling, to the lowest rank of warrior. A status usually granted to warriors in their mid to late teens.
Indeed, the average age of the five warriors here today, was 16. It was this fact that sought to make 13 year old Khalee Lah feel extremely confident in his own abilities. He had had to fight claw and coufee – sometimes literally – to get to this point, so he had cause to make this day as a very honourable one indeed. Thus he had chosen the most complicated of all the implants that were on offer to the young warriors. One that would grow as he did over time. He had chosen the horn of the vicious Niikh’eqq. A creature popularly used in both battle and for entertainment by way of arena fights. Few, save for perhaps the Vua’sa beast, could match it’s untameable ferocity. Thus making it ideal in symbolism for his future among the warrior caste. Few Khalee Lah’s age lacked the confidence that came with inexperience, but caution would come in time.

From atop a large dais comprised of yorik coral, stood warmaster Czulkang Lah. Beside him his son, Supreme commander Tsavong Lah. They were required to attend such escalations of all warriors, but neither relished the idea at the best of times. Particularly if those receiving a new implant or scar were of a rivalling domain.
However, today was different in every sense of the word. Tsavong Lah stood tall, filled with a pride only a father could have for his son’s early, but speedy, progress. The young warrior’s upbringing had been out of his hands, as was the case with all Yuuzhan Vong of true caste. Yet here he was. Tsaving Lah could only guess at what ability his son could wield in battle if he were to be instructed in later training by one such as himself. Or better…the warmaster.
‘The gods smile upon our domain’ He thought with relish. Indeed domain Lah had produced some of the Yuuzhan Vong’s best warriors, it was an easy assumption to make considering this evidence in more detail. To one such as Tsavong Lah anyway.

“He is progressing swiftly, as you did, through his training.” Czulkang Lah spoke in hushed tones, so as not to disturb the rituals going on in front of them. “ Perhaps it is time, my son, that we met this son of yours?”
The aging warmaster steepled his talloned fingers as he thought more on the idea silently.

This was of course Tsavong Lah’s decision to make. But should he reject the idea to meet with Kahlee, Czulkang would take the opportunity to speak with the young warrior himself. The warmaster had an eye for those adept enough in physical skill to be of great use if trained also, in the theory of battle. He had seen that adept quality in only two of his own sons, and was not about to allow the somewhat frippant Tsavong Lah to pass this opportunity up.
Thankfully, that was not the case.

“I shall request he be brought before us after the shapers are through with him, warmaster.”

Czulkang nodded once in confirmation, resisting the urge to show his approval in his expression. A good warrior gave nothing away unless they bid it so.

Both warriors gazes returned to preside over the proceedings once more.

Knelt before the hideous effigy of Yun-Yammka, Khalee Lah allowed the last ebbs of a spiking pain to wash over him, as the shaper providing him with his new ‘addition’ finished her painstaking work.
Dark blood drizzled down his deeply scarred forehead, only adding to the increasingly horrific visage he hoped to one day complete with a series of high ranking marks.

The rather diminutive shaper stepped away, motioning for the next warrior to take up his place. Khalee Lah had been about to take his place with the newly escalated, when a particularly young subaltern pushed his way through the crowd towards him.
Unsure of this ones intentions, Khalee almost forgot himself and was about to snarl out a vicious bout of outrage at the interruption when the subaltern spoke up first.

“ Sir, Warmaster Czulkang Lah asks that you will attend an audience with his self and supreme commander Tsavong Lah.” He paused, then continuing “ You will attend immediately after the ceremony.”

Khalee Lah noted the edge in the subaltern’s voice as he had uttered the words ‘will attend.”

There were no if’s, but’s, or maybe’s in the higher echelons of Yuuzhan Vong society, but this one need not have demanded what he did. Khalee Lah was disgustingly curious, a notion he attempted not to show in his expression, but realized he had failed appallingly when a fresh pang of white hot pain shot through his skull as he frowned. The expression tugging at the fragile flesh around the newly bone-fused horn implanted upon his forehead. He embraced the pain well, showing no more than a slight eye-squint of discomfort. He was not finely attuned to every aspect of embracing pain yet, but given time, he was sure he would be.

In truth, Khalee had been a little lax because he could not help it. His father had finally requested that they meet, and not only that, his grandfather too. The great warmaster Czulkang Lah…
His every scar tingled with excitement. He had waited for this chance since learning of his heritage in the crèche!
As this was not a request, but an order, Khalee Lah merely gave a salute of acknowledgment, thumping both fists to opposite shoulders before allowing the subaltern to go about their business.

‘The chance I have been waiting for’ He repeated to himself, ‘to finally start to tread the same path the great warriors themselves have walked.’
And he was determined not to waste it.

[Blue but beautiful]

Chapter 3.

Now:

The image formed by the leathery pod of a villip, was that of someone who looked less than sleep shaken. This far into the sleep cycle for the worldship in question, Tsavong Lah had expected no less. But nor did he apologize for waking the haggard and ancient looking Yuuzhan Vong portrayed before him, even if the visage was that of his fathers. Tsavong Lah was the warmaster, and as such answered to few.

Czulkang Lah blinked a few times, as though to purge the remainder of sleep from his weary eyes. A weakness, Tsavong Lah noted, his father would never have shown in his glory days.

“Belek tiu” The villip conveyed the former warmaster’s voice near perfect, harsh, but whispery as though he had inhaled a lung full of ash.

“ The news has reached your ears?” Tsavong Lah intoned, quick to dispense with the usual protocol that went hand in hand with communications.

The villip’s newly formed features inclined slightly, indicating a nod.
“Indeed, the loss of your son weighs heavy on the warriors of domain Lah, many placed their faith in him.”
Czulkang Lah cut the sentence short, as though he had wanted to say more on the matter, but to do so would have been a fatal error on his part. Instead he added, “ There is discontented chaos in the ranks, with regards as to who shall take his place. His loss, while honourable, has not been good for morale.”

Tsavong Lah allowed a slight snarl to creep into his tone, “The Gods granted him an honourable death, you said so yourself, these warriors can only hope for the same when their time comes. Their morale should not be in question!”
To question this was to question the gods themselves in his opinion.

Czulkang Lah was sure to keep his voice from wavering upon responding, “ Of course. Any such concerns have been dealt with swiftly.” He neglected to add efficiently.

An awkward silence descended upon them, during which Czulkang Lah appeared to be observing his son as he would one of his students. Despite having been succeeded by his son, Czulkang Lah had bore little in the way of ill will toward Tsavong Lah. However, he may have grown to resent the fact that instead of besting him in battle – as would have been appropriate to attain the rank of warmaster- Shimrra had merely granted Tsavong Lah the advancement in light of his willingness to take the battle to the infidel galaxy, leaving the fate of Czulkang Lah entirely up to the now former warmaster’s son.
Tsavong Lah had taken the decision not to end his father’s life, nor did he keep him in the battle field, perhaps for fear of rivalry? The elderly Yuuzhan Vong would never be sure.

Tsavong Lah, had instead, made him a teacher of warriors, deeming his knowledge of battle too valuable to waste. Czulkang Lah despised this most of all, it was like a daily torment unrelinished, to be confronted with the theories of what you would rather be a part of.
But what sickened him more, was why Tsavong Lah had done this. It was an excuse, an insult to be asked not to die. It was his right! Yet Czulkang had taken it upon himself to do what was asked of him, though he would never forget the look he had seen in his son’s eyes the day he had made that decision. It was like a coufee to the gut.
That was exactly the reason he recognised it now. Now he wished he had been harder on his own sons. A mistake he had been sure to try to correct with…

“ Something troubles you, speak.” Tsavong Lah cut short his fathers thoughts, his words a double edged blade.

“Perhaps it is I who should be asking you that question?” He did not give the warmaster a chance to respond, “ You reiterate the point that Khalee died with honour, that it was the will of the gods, yet you contacted me to tell me something you yourself already know? I think not.”

Tsavong Lah felt his blood begin to boil at the audacity of his fathers outspoken words. The blue-shade of his eye sacs darkened to such a degree, the receiver villip could not have failed to pick it up. Eyes narrowing to darkened slits, Tsavong Lah growled out a low question,
“What are you suggesting?”
His father appeared, for all intense purposes, unfazed by his son’s blatant display of displeasure and continued to explain,
“I suggest that perhaps you do not fully believe your son died as reported. That you are seeking something that cannot be found within the truth as you claim to know it now.”

Czulkang Lah had expected an outburst of denial, perhaps several threats. But he was surprised – pleasantly – when for once, his son seemed to consider his words.

“It is true that I seek to embrace a pain I cannot fully understand, but for the reasons you are suggesting?” Tsavong Lah finally voiced, some of the colour draining from his fleshy eye sacs.

“Was it not a priest of the deception sect that Khalee Lah was sent to accompany? Was it not also the same priest who delivered the news of his death?” The elderly, gnarled Yuuzhan Vong furnished, upon seeing his son’s thoughtful gaze.

The warmaster took note of this suggestion, Harrar had always been considered a close friend of his. They had known each other since their youthful days just beyond the crèche, and Tsavong Lah had considered the priest of Yun-Harla one of the few people he could actually trust at one time. Therein lay the irony however, he was a priest of the ‘deception’ sect and he had trusted Harrar with the life of his own son. He had trusted that the priest could perhaps help curb the youth’s rather over-exuberant need to take action first without due planning or tactics.
The trickster goddess was often held in high regard along with Yun-Yammka, the slayer. It had seemed like an ideal solution to a growing problem. And yet Harrar had failed in that task. But this?

Tsavong Lah remembered well how calmly the priest had told him the news, but he knew better, he had suspected a lie but had wished not to acknowledge it at the time. He also knew his son Khalee.
If this was the case, Khalee’s death would be like a stain upon it’s name, to be forever tarnished like those of domain Shai!
This fact cut like an amphistaff through flesh, and the warmaster’s recent radank claw graft ached anew as if symbolically. Even now the fate of that limb still hung precariously in the balance.

“No, it was as reported, I know the actions of this priest too well. I would have suspected something.” Tsavong Lah responded rather suddenly as a decision formulated it’s self in the depths of his mind.

Czulkang Lah seemed uncertain though, but offered reassurance regardless, “Very well, then let not your son’s death haunt you. The pain from this experience is a pain embraced over time, perhaps sooner, when you bring the twin Solo’s before the gods.”

Anger, fresh and raw, burned in the warmaster’s eyes at the mention of the twins.
“It shall be so…”

Their conversation was brought to an abrupt end there, but neither party resented the other for it.
Tsavong Lah’s blatant lie had been to protect his domain, he told himself. The gods may frown upon this, but he was also certain Yun-Harla would smile in his favour as the details of his thoughts would soon become apparent. However, if he was wrong… No, he could not be.
The plot thickened it seemed, and he found himself with more than one question now. With these answered he would put this pain to rest once and for all.

******
Then:

“ He is both insolent and foolish, he cares not for the lessons I attempt to teach him, he questions where others know to leave well enough alone!”
Czulkang Lah’s voice echoed off the walls of his personal chambers, reverberating off it’s every jagged surface making his anger, saturated tones sound all the more menacing.

Before the aging Yuuzhan Vong, his son, Tsavong Lah, fought to keep his expression neutral. The subject of course, referred to Khalee Lah, now of 17 years of age and every bit the fist-full of trouble his father had been it seemed. If not worse.

“He has shown great skill and courage during his training, you said this also.” Tsavong Lah offered in defence, despite what his better judgement was telling him.

The elder warmaster actually scoffed at that, drawing out a low growl of disappointment as he did so,
“You speak of courage?” Czulkang Lah mocked, “Rage driven fool-hardiness should never be mistaken for courage….You of all people should remember that lesson!”

And remember it Tsavong Lah did, the small pit-like scars to his shoulders were a testament to that much, inflicted by his own father’s tsaisi baton. It did not make this any easier to listen to however, only adding to a plethora or disappointment that he reserved for his own son, Khalee.
He had thought that handing the young warrior over to the warmaster had been a good ploy. It had worked for him after all. Yet if the stirrings in the supreme overlord’s court were correct, soon Czulkang Lah could find himself on the raw end of a major decision. Tsavong Lah could not have that, he would not see such useful knowledge wasted if his father was demoted as warmaster. He valued him far too much to let him return to the gods just yet…

“Rage caused by devotion to the cause is one thing, but it must be controlled or it will lead to an ignoble death…it will blind him to all else and be his end.” Czulkang Lah was saying.

Tsavong Lah could see the logic in that, but to him, rage was more than a useful too, something he was reluctant to abandon and something he felt rise within him now,

“Are you saying that he is a lost cause? Are you aban-“

Tsavong Lah was cut short by a short, sharp bark from his father,

“You may be my son but you are also my subordinate! Do not think that you are beyond my wrath nor can you presume to know my mind!”

Within an instant Tsavong Lah had prostrated himself on the ground, forehead pressed firmly against the bone-coloured yorik coral floor.
“Belek tiu!” He uttered as fast as he could think it.

For what seemed like several painful cycles, he half expected his father to end his life here and now for his foolish outburst. But a fatal blow never landed. Instead he felt the raw sting of the tsaisi’s tail, whip across his back, leaving a fine – yet deep – line of welling black in it’s wake.

“On your feet, I have proven my point sufficiently enough.”

Tsavong Lah obeyed, rising, but he did not speak. He feared that was perhaps the wisest move. His fathers glare was like a whipsting upon him, and he was careful to break the challenging glare first. Though he did not like it one bit.
As suspected, Czulkang Lah nodded once in approval. So his son knew his place then?

Once the warmaster was content in the fact there would be no further outbursts, he continued,
“For your son to progress further, he will have to learn to keep a firm hold of his eagerness to engage. This may come with time as it did you to a certain extent, but it also has the potential to lead him to a fool’s death. “ The warmaster paused, “Time, I fear, we do not have.”

Tsavong Lah was still deeply outraged, more so at this addition to his fathers original statement. But to voice this outrage would be folly, that was all he needed, to give Czulkang another reason to bat him down as he would a crecheling. Hardly the example of one who would advance as he wished. Despite the burning desire to display his anger, Tsavong Lah did respect his father’s words.

If this was what the warmaster decided Khalee Lah needed in order for him to progress, then this was what he needed. Perhaps then, he knew of the perfect calming influence without straying from the doctrine of the true way? If this did not work, Tsavong Lah felt he would forever be left to languish in the disappointment his son seemed to cause him. If this were so, to this he could see no end.

[Blue but beautiful]

Chapter 4:

Now:
The heady scent of incense clung to the air more heavily than the noticeable tang of sacrificial blood. But its metallic after-scent was still rather obvious, depending on how close one got to the shallow spatter-pit, hollowed out of the yorik coral in the centre of the chamber. At the head of the chamber, upon a glistening coral alter, stood the horrific form of an effigy that portrayed the likeness of the cloaked goddess, Yun-Harla. Her features hidden from all, as she never revealed her true self, she was adorned with various unsavoury offerings, some more grizzly than others.
To either side of her, a variant of the blaze bug beat its wings furiously, creating a red-hued light from it’s abdomen as it did so. The only noise in the chamber being that, accompanied with the delicate sound of blood still dripping from the effigy it’s self.

Before the alter, seated cross legged on a polyp, Harrar, Priest of Yun-Harla meditated serenely on the events of the past few days. He had not liked the laborious lie he had told his old friend one little bit. But such was the tasks of one such as he. Still, he wondered even as he had seen the warmaster’s villip evert, had Tsavong Lah suspected? Certainly that had never been the case when he’d had cause to be frugal with the truth before now. Warriors saw what they wanted to see, and Harrar had merely offered a more favourable outcome. But also, he had to consider that Tsavong Lah, was a master of the multi layered deception through tactics himself….he’d learned from the best.

All of this by no means meant that Harrar would forget the task that Tsavong Lah had set him. Even now he was making head-way in the hunt for Jaina Solo.

The feint sounds of feet scuffing on the living floor brought him out of his silent reverie. He had asked his body guard, Neeka Sot, only to disturb him if it was something that was of great importance. This was why Harrar looked so surprised to see a subaltern standing before him, a grim expression set upon her features. Harrar motioned for her to speak.

“Forgive me eminence, the warmaster’s villip has everted, he requests he speak with you at once,”

The priest’s blood momentarily ran cold. Did he suspect more than he had originally thought? Harrar was quick to reign in his thoughts, outwardly displaying no change in his posture or expression. He was the perfect picture of severe calm.
“Then I shall be there at once.” He responded coolly, rising soon after.

Moments later, he found himself before the horrifically mutilated visage of Tsavong Lah.
The warmaster gave little in the way of a greeting as the subaltern left Harrar alone, sealed in a privacy chamber. Even via villip, Tsavong Lah commanded much of a great presence, so much so, that Harrar found it hard to believe that this was the same warrior who he had shared a youth with, who had once watched over the dormitories of the deception sect as one of his first duties as a warrior.
Those days seemed long gone.
‘Yun-Harla,’ he thought wearily, ‘smile on me now’

“I trust I do not need to explain my contacting you now?” The warmaster began, “How do you fair in the pursuit of the female twin Solo?”

He did not show it, but inwardly Harrar relaxed considerably.
“She has departed from Hapes, warmaster, I have requested that two of the warriors stationed here track her…we are in the process of following that up as I speak.” Not the most worthy of responses, Harrar knew, but some progress was better than none. It seemed enough.

“ I do not need to inform you of the importance of her capture, friend, you know this as well as you know the gods impatience regarding this matter.” Tsavong Lah intoned amid a deep growl.

Harrar noticed the warmasters down-cast glance and seized the opportunity to comment.
“You are still concerned about the fate of your graft?”

So that still hung in the balance? Either way, the comment caught the warmasters full attention, and his gaze snapped up as fast as an amphistaff strike to fix the slender priest in his sights.

“The gods shall have what they desire, then there will be no need for concern, will there?”

Harrar had not anticipated this somewhat multi-faceted question. Had he been of another sect, he would have undoubtedly shown his inner dismay. What did Tsavong Lah mean by that exactly? Was he reading too much into this? After all, Harrar had thought it himself when he’d made the observation of Tsavong Lah’s cunning. Was this denial speaking or was it doubt? But truly, how could the warmaster have guessed the true outcome of what had transpired far out here?

“I am not sure I understand – “ Harrar started, but was quickly cut off almost as soon as he started,

“Tell me again, ‘priest,’ of my son’s fate.” Tsavong Lah spoke Harrar’s title as though it were some foul infidel word, good for only spitting out of one’s mouth.
“I wish to have the details clarified for my own mind.”
Again, each word was spoken with such precise severity, that even to an outsider the priest imagined it would have sounded like a threat.

Harrar collected his thoughts, took a long deep breath and prepared to explain once more – in detail - the version of events as he knew them. The version Yun-Harla had provided him with.

******

Then:

Why?
That had been the young warriors first thought. Why had he been sent out to this worldship to ‘think’ about his recent actions, when he should be training with the other warriors in readiness for the invasion soon to come.
Why?
He most of all. He was the warmaster’s son, his place was in battle, not sitting out here like some cowardly brenzlit. What would his peers say if he ever returned? Could he return after this?

‘Even the keenest of warriors must take the time to pay reverence to the gods.” His father had said, but Khalee Lah feared those were not the words of his father’s making. Rather, they had come from his grandfather in some last moment attempt to assert a display of rank and power in light of his rather sudden, but recent, demotion from warmaster.

A hint of a silent snarl twisted Khalee Lah’s features more so than usual. If it had just been down to his father, he would not be here at all, he would have been escalated by now for his achievements, surely? And then he recalled the look he had seen in Tsavong Lah’s eyes, a look reserves especially for him, scrutinizing him, filled with disappointment. It had not always been like this, Khalee Lah thought. Once he knew only the look of encouraging pride each time he overcame an obstacle or excelled in his training compared to many of his peers.

In particular, he recalled the fiery pride his father had shown him, when he had bested a member of old rivals, domain Shai, in a training exercise involving amphistaff duels.
Naturally, he had been all but ready to finish his opponent, Shedao Shai – who Khalee noted, had actually put up one of the more worthier fights he had engaged in - but Czulkang Lah had stepped in, claiming that they could not afford to lose good warriors through foolish squabbles, that there were few exceptions to this rule, save for sacrifice and actual challenges.
Khalee Lah could be content in the knowledge that his father, now warmaster, would find no place for such pitiful ideals.

But for all his fathers past approval, he remembered the day that had chanced. Vividly so. The day his mother, Niif’rhi Hul, had died. He would never know the details of his mother’s death, only that Tsavong Lah deemed it not worthy of thought, let alone speaking of. He could not imagine what would have caused such a reaction besides heresy, perhaps a sub-form of this. His father was a devout follower of the true way, any deviation was punishable by death in his eyes. And as such, Khalee Lah dare not push the subject with his considerably fanatical father.
Whatever the cause, It had certainly hardened the warmsater’s resolve, he had come down hard on Khalee Lah at the request of his former tutor, Czulkang Lah.

“ – Ah, Khalee Lah,” A voice that sounded little more than a harsh whisper, filtered it’s way across the huge antechamber to reach the twisted and slashed ears of the young warrior.

Turning in the direction he had heard the words spoken, Khalee Lah’s eyes met the source of the sound, in the form of a tall yet slightly build figure. Dressed in the voluminous trappings of a priest, originating from the deception sect, Khalee Lah supposed from this and the multiple, intricate scarring the Yuuzhan Vong male was adorned with, that this was indeed the old ‘friend’ his father had sent him to meet with.
As if sensing his curiosity, the priest inclined his head slightly, in a motion of respect he did not necessarily need to show one of Khalee’s rank. Perhaps it was out of respect for his domain if nothing else.

“I am Harrar, “ He said, Palms turned outward, displaying deeply burned symbols in the flesh on each of his 3 fingered hands.

It was as Khalee Lah had suspected and everything about this priest screamed agony-born depravity. Had this one had a hand in his own father’s fanatical tendencies? Perhaps his own being here would put an end to the warmasters doubt?

“ Eminence Harrar, I am honoured, “ Khalee began as was required, but was soon silenced as the priest cut in,
“ Indeed? The warmaster has spoken much of your short but, interesting, career.” Harrar spoke the word ‘interesting’ as though it burned his tongue to do so, but his expression betrayed little or no vindictive or condescending thought behind it. Indeed, he was as important as he was, because Harrar was undoubtedly consummately devoted to his life within the deception sect. It showed in his every subtle action. And yet it did not, there was an art to that.

Being as young as he was and hardly having much to do with the priest caste, Harrar’s words were as perplexing as they were suggestive, it would not do Khalee Lah well to show anymore curiosity than he already had.
The young warrior lowered himself to one knee in a show of respect, duly noting the nod of approval from the priest, who then motioned for Khalee Lah to rise.

“ Your father has requested that during your short stay here that you will learn the following – “
Khalee made a short, sharp sound of annoyance, what could he possibly learn from a priest? He was a warrior, his place was not here! And yet he had heard his father speak often of the cloaked goddess’ hand in his tactics. The goddess that this one worshipped above all. Perhaps there was something to be gained here after all?

“ – You lack the subtlety that all warriors, who wish to advance, need in order to pursue and formulate the best of plans, with which to overcome their adversaries.” Harrar went on, ignoring Khalee Lah’s absent minded expression – he would learn or he would fail – there was no answer besides this.
Harrar has come to wonder if Tsavong Lah had reached the same conclusion? Else why send his son to him when Czulkang Lah had clearly dismissed the lad?

“ I will speak freely and honestly when I say that your father has expressed his concern that, while you have taken in battle, you have very rarely given.” Harrar Surmised.

Khalee Lah looked more than a tad vexed, confusion wrinkinling his brow around the horn-implant that protruded from his skull. The priest decided to explain rather than to let this one make his own mind up.

“ The gods have so clearly displayed their pleasure with your actions, by allowing you continual victory. But in recent times, others, such as the warmaster, have become concerned, as have I, that you have offered little in thanks for the god’s approval. Nor their granting you victory above all else.”

The young warrior stood motionless, his eyes narrowing slightly as a pensive expression crept across his scarred features. Was this really the cause of all his recent woes? Or was this something furnished by his grandfather and passed on to Tsavong Lah in order to eliminate rivals within his own domain? Such things were not unheard of. He certainly knew the former warmaster was displeased with being taken out of the direct battle field, especially with the imminent invasion drawing closer by the cycle. Still, Khalee Lah dare not question it openly, if Harrar spoke the truth, then best he not offend the gods further and land himself in the preverbal maw luur.
Either way, he would prove his domain wrong, he would exceed their pitiful expectations of him, to become greater than many in his domain ever had. That would silence their discontentment and foolish criticism. And just maybe, he would earn his fathers approval back.

“ What must I do?” Khalee Lah finally asked, a new found clarity shining bright and determined in his eyes.

Harrar pressed his lips into a thin line, before allowing a slight smile to adorn them. Progress at last,

“ All of Yun-Yuuzhan’s children must make sacrifices, even the elite.” He motioned with one gnarled, three fingered hand, toward the entrance membrane at the back of the chamber.
Noting the young warriors sudden hesitance, Harrar then made an ushering gesture adding,

“Come, it is through pain that we are brought closer to the gods, and if you are to understand the other lessons that I have spoken of, then you must first understand this.”

The warrior drew himself up to an imposing height, haughtily so.
“ I do not fear pain of sacrifice. If this is what the gods ask, then it shall be done.”

He then proceeded to cross the room in few large strides, standing before the entrance membrane as he waited for it to dilate fully before entering the chamber beyond.
Behind him, Harrar breathed a small sigh of relief. He had been dubious about taking on what would be a painstaking task at the very least. But this had been easier than he had imagined. There was still some hope of closing the painfully wide gap between the warrior and other castes then?

[Blue but beautiful]

Chapter 5.

Now:

Tsavong Lah did not look best pleased. From the deathly cold look in his black as vonduun crab eyes, to the way a pre-emptive snarl twisted his grotesquely scarred visage, there was no mistaking the raw anger that raged within him. It had almost been a full cycle, and the priest had not yielded any new information. He had evaded the warmaster at every turn, as was to be expected of someone who gave his all to the true way – in particular, to Yun Harla.
Short of having Harrar interrogated under suspicion of a form of heresy, Tsavong Lah was going to have to rethink his approach to this matter. And interrogation was out of the question, especially if his suspicions were falsely placed. The gods may show their scorn by worsening the condition of his new graft more so. He could not afford to let that happen.

“ Warmaster, if I may say so, you worry needlessly, while the gods might grow impatient for the twin sacrifice promised to them, I personally have confidence that their wait will soon be at an end.”

How did this one always seem to see right through his very thoughts? It both irritated and astounded him sometimes. But even Tsavong Lah could not claim to know the secrets of the priest caste. Nor did he wish to appear curious, he merely allowed Harrar to continue with a simple nod of allowance from himself. He would analyse his every word, scrutinizing the image before him. It was often hard to gage much from a villip’s representation of anyone’s features, particularly when the ‘transmission’ was being received over a long distance.

“ Do you not think that if your son had died dishonourably, the gods would have made this known to you? That his failure to exact the orders and task you yourself bestowed upon him would not have been reflected somehow in your limb’s precarious state?” Harrar went on, his mind racing but he still managed to keep a close check on his lies, there was nothing worse than someone who ill used deception and proceeded to then trip over their own messy lies.

“ There has not been any such change.” The warmaster replied, the slight edge now slipping from his voice. “ Nor has its condition improved, what say you?”

Harrar knew he had very little time to turn this around. The conversation had been edging to a blades point all along, but never before now had it teetered so precariously.
With one last silent prayer, Harrar took a deep inhalation of air and then plunged into the conversation that could well spell his doom if he had – and he hoped he had not – judged this incorrectly.

“Then it is as you suspected fearsome one. The gods await what is owed to them, the jeedai twins. “ He paused as if for effect,
“ Your capturing one has appeased their full wrath, but they will not wait forever.”

There was a notable look of interest upon the villips representation of the warmasters face and so the priest continued along his chosen path.
“ You must act swiftly to bring the other to bear, only then will your fate be decided by the gods.”

For what seemed like an eternity, silence befell them both. Harrar became keenly aware of a dull thumping in his head above the gentle sounds of the living vessel that contained him. It never really registered with him that this was the sound of his pulse through the stresses of rising blood pressure, nor that his body next began to protest through lack of oxygen, not until he began to feel eerily light headed. How long had be been holding his breath? And how long had the warmaster noticed?
Flustered, he breathed deep once more, he was not afraid, he’d know this might have come to this and it was not becoming of one as high a rank as he to fear much, in particular, death.
Yun Harla had smiled upon him thus far, if this was to be his last conversation with his old friend, with anyone, he would die willingly and safe in the knowledge that he truly believed he had done the correct thing. If he survived? Then it seemed he would have much to contemplate come the next time he sat before the effigies of the gods.

“ The gods will not want for anything that is owed.” Tsavong Lah rumbled, shattering the silence with his words, the fringed flesh of his lips spreading into chevroned segments to form a very intimidating smile.
“ It is as you say then…”

Harrar must have visibly sagged upon his seating place, because he felt the fleshy polyp shift beneath his weight to compensate.
He was not about to count his Vua’sa’s however, there was a notable look of something shadowy that lurked beneath the surface in Tsavong Lah’s eyes. Perhaps this would not have been visible to the average eye, but Harrar knew this one well, too well.
All that diminished for a brief moment, when it appeared the warmaster was interrupted by something, or someone, nearby. Something that warranted his full attention too and Harrar noted no hint of anger at the fact Tsavong Lah had been turned away from his current task.
When the warmaster returned to focus on the priest, Harrar braced himself, retaining all the poise one would expect from someone of his status.

“ I must depart for domain Lah. I will have need for you to soon rejoin part of our fleet above the world the infidels call Borleias.”

That had been unexpected, and the priest could not hide the small hint of trepidation from seeping into his voice.
“ Was not the situation at Borleias being dealt with by Commander Wyrpuuk domain Cha?”

“ It was.” Tsavong Lah responded in an irksome manner. Obscured from the view of Harrar due to the Villip forming only the facial features, the warmaster tensed immensely until he felt the tension put pay to the underlying anger that he wished not to show before Harrar.

“ This has changed I see.” The priest offered, somewhat reservedly.
“ You will await my orders.” Tsavong Lah cut in curtly and Harrar had little time for formal endings as the villip reverted back to it’s natural, globulous state.
Left alone in the organic privacy chamber, Harrar at first felt relief. He still had his life, Yun-Harla had indeed answered his pleas, but in typical fashion, the trickster never failed to surprise. She was, he thought, everything you wished her to be, but never predictable and to second guess Yun-Harla was at ones own peril.
A flicker of a smile played across the ashen priest’s painfully cracked lips as he remembered his old friend’s words.
‘You will await my order’
So he was to depart for Borleias then? And what he would encounter there he was certain would surprise him. No one second guessed the trickster, not even he.

*****
Then:

It had been too many years since he had stood where he did now. Deemed for all intense purpose to have been too immature and inept to grace these halls or attain any position of higher rank than he held. At the time, Khalee Lah had considered many theories relating to underhanded tactics and petty deception as the reasons those around him would not grant him further escalation. But he had spent much time in the company of those who revered the spirit of deception herself, to know that this was unlikely. It had become clear to Khalee Lah during his time with the priest Harrar, that here was only one way to find the path he now stood so precariously upon. He only wished that he had learned those lessons sooner.

At 23 years of age, he had lost the crèche-like attitude toward most situations, which often saw him rushing into the fray too soon, irreversibly ill prepared.
Skill in combat was one thing, but without due caution, you could end up misfortunate. And misfortune often, if not always, spawned failure.
His grandfather, Czulkang Lah, had not been lying when he had said that it was important to know your enemy.

The private quarters of Tsavong Lah, now aboard domain Dal, were somewhat sparsely furnished. Save for the absolute essentials, there was little in the way of embellishments. Varying types of amphistaff lay formant in hibernation behind a membranous covered cavity in the yorik coral wall. Khalee Lah recognized this as a form of nourishment tank, to preserve the living weapons until time or absolute need caused them to be awakened.
The young warrior supposed that the warmasters belongings, if indeed he kept them, had been destroyed with his flagship, the sunulok. But by all accounts, his father had little need for possessions other than those he carried with him, or more aptly, on him.
While Khalee’s own grafts and elaborate scarification seemed the source of many of his subordinate’s curiosity, Khalee Lah himself had to wonder and admire, the suffering the warmaster must have embraced to endure each and every one of the scale-seeds being fused to his very bones and allowed to grow over time, to form the armoured layer atop his flesh.

The wet sound of the entrance membrane to the chamber dilating took Khalee Lah by surprise, causing him to pivot immediately in the direction of the sound. Upon seeing Tsavong Lah enter the chamber, the young warrior emphatically snapped his fists to opposite shoulders in a salute that received a slight nod of approval from his father in return.
This was it. The definitive moment.

“ So you return? I would say I was surprised to hear the news before I summoned you, but this is not so.” Tsavong Lah seemingly mused, and Khalee Lah wondered if all this had really been for nothing.
“ I knew, as did one other who once shared the same insight, that you had the makings of a great warrior, that the gods smiled on our domain.” That had not been what Khalee Lah had expected to hear, and he had to wonder also, if this other his father spoke of, was in fact his mother?
Wonder, but not deign to ask.
He had been invited to listen and the warrior caste above all others, were consummately literal.
Instead he waited, seemingly patient, to hear the warmaster out.

“ And they smile on us to this day.” Tsavong Lah intoned as he faced his son, clapping his hands down firmly on each of his son’s Vonduun crab armoured shoulders.
Khalee Lah noted the intent glint in his father’s eyes and knew this to mean something more than the simple wish to express pride in his offspring. He was not to be disappointed.

“I am sure that you are more than aware of the task I left to the Executor, Nom Anor?” Tsavong Lah inquired, allowing a mere hint of disdain to seep into his tones as he was forced to speak that wretched name.
How many more failures would he have to endure at the fault of that one? His time would come.

Khalee too, echoed his fathers disdain in his response,
“You sent him to persue and capture the twin Solo’s warmaster. A task in which he failed you abhorrently.”

Tsavong Lah was pleased to hear his son say that it had been a failure, rather than a half completed plan. Not for the fact that it actually had been a failure, but for the fact that Khalee recognized it as such.
True, while they held Jacen Solo captive, Jaina had lived through the chase, long enough to escape. One twin would not please the gods when promised two. Therefore, this was an abysmal failure. He expected no less from Nom Anor.

“Indeed,” The warmaster growled deeply enough to rattle his own lungs, “ I cannot afford failure this time, the twin sacrifice must come to pass!”
He raised his ailing left arm for emphasis and Khalee Lah restrained the urge to recoil at the sight of the suppurating flesh on the join of the graft. So the rumours were true? This could have disastrous results for their domain.
He was yanked from his thoughts as his father began to speak again.

“I am sending you, commander, to accompany the priest Harrar in a pursuit to capture the female twin Solo. Harrar had often leant me invaluable and divine insight into the minds of both the gods and the enemy. Unlike the Intendants, he has only the interests of the mighty Yuuzhan Vong at heart.”

Khalee Lah had not heard much of the latter half of his father’s words. His attention was focussed like a dovin basal was on absorbing enemy fire, on the first half of his words.
Commander?
He could not show his sudden joy. Nor the fact his pride threatened to swell and consume him. This truly was a great day to return to his kin. It made the tedium he had suffered through inaction somewhat bearable. But he would never have let on that much either.

“I am honoured warmaster.” He could not hide the excitement in his voice it seemed, “ I will not fail you, I swear it as the gods are my witness.” And he would not, not so soon after earning his fathers approval, he would see to it personally that shame and disgrace would not befall the one that many looked up to, or his domain.

“Go, my son, and I trust in your ability to keep your word. You will not fail me.” Tsavong Lah’s words were needlessly harsh, but pride swelled in his heart. He had always known that his son was destined for greatness. Perhaps one day he too would find himself in the same position his own father had been in before the invasion of the infidel galaxy? Tsavong Lah wondered if he would so graciously step down from the pedestal of warmaster, just as Czulkang Lah had from his? No, perhaps not in the same way, but he could think of no one else he would rather owned the title than Khalee Lah, his son.


Now:

The sharp edge of the coral-shard coufee, glinted ever so delicately in the dim, bioluminescent green glow of the lichen that adorned the walls of his private chambers. He had never really been one for material possession, deeming them pointless or as an excuse to distract from self sacrifice. They were a complete distraction sometimes, but one that held, for some reason, sentimental value. Perhaps akin to a new graft or scar? A status symbol portraying ones achievements and devotion. He had little need for that he did not carry with him, on him or within him. And his memory was certainly sharp.
However, the coufee that he held now provoked – for him – many memories he could appreciate. It had been given to him by his father, then warmaster, upon his leaving his domain’s crèche to become a true warrior.
The crude living weapon had taken many lives, or so his father had explained, and was handed down to him on his auspicious joining to the ranks of domain Lah.
Tsavong Lah had found as much use in the weapon as his father had claimed. In his early days he had often slept in the on board grashals of worldships with the coufee within close reach. It had served him well through those times so full of petty rivalry. And eventually, many had fallen by his hand that he was considered one to be both honoured and wary of. He could have said the coufee brought good fortune. But Tsavong Lah did not believe in luck.
Still, he wondered if he had passed this to his son as he had wished, would not Khalee Lah be….No, it had been the will of the gods, a warning to domain Lah as Harrar had suggested.

All he had done did little to fill the void inside himself that had been left vacantly wide by his son. Khalee Lah, A bright hope for the future of the Yuuzhan Vong warrior caste, was gone forever. And it was Tsavong Lah alone, who had been left to shoulder the doubt aimed firmly at the door of his domain.

He had perhaps, Tsavong Lah thought, lost sight of things. Sight that could be regained only by rectifying the situation and doing so swiftly so as to take all by surprise.

He would take from the infidels what they had taken from him. Their hopes for the future, and in doing so he would seal the future for his own kind. Even if that meant hunting down every single last Jeedai himself. They would taste the pain that had stained him for so long and through it all, he would finally be able to embrace his own.




END.

[Blue but beautiful]

admin said:

Disclaimer: All characters mentioned are the property of their respective owners and LFL, the exceptions being Nif'rhi Hul who is my own. No money is being made from this fiction and no infringement is intended. Please don't sue me, I am a starving artist with no money to speak of.

Authors Note: This fic is rated PG-13 - 15 for violence, angst and some twisted imagery.
Multi-Chapter, Tsavong Lah vig.


Dying for your approval.

Now:

Deep within the confines of his private chambers aboard Domain Dal, slumped down upon a chair comprised of various living polyps and painful looking coral spine-like protrusions, sat Tsavong Lah.
Cycles could have flown by, battles could have been raging around his very person and he would not have so much as batted a scarred eyelid. The only battle the warmaster was focussed on for now, was the one that raged within the depths of his seasoned mind.
Weary as he was, he had not moved since the attendant, who had brought him Harrar’s villip, had left him alone to hear the priest out. The villip had long since inverted, displaying it’s self once again as the spherical, brown blob of its natural state.

Tsavong Lah shifted as though in discomfort. The spiteful coral spines of his seating place, raking his armour and cutting his flesh raw where he had left it bare.
Not so much as a wince of pain did he show. Even as blood began to drip and then flow from his slight wounds, the chair drinking its fill, he did not show any sign of irritancy. The warmaster’s eyes had not left the surface of the inactive villip, as though he were analysing it in disbelief.
Had he heard right? Harrar was one of the few people he could have actually called a friend, surely he knew the severity of conveying words to him that may be untrue?
And yet he had heard the dire tone in the priest’s voice. His words had been no word of a lie. His son, his own flesh and blood….Khalee Lah, was dead.
The concept sounded implausible to his dark, anger stricken mind. Implausible still when he had asked the priest how his son had perished. It was this fact that caused him to tense until he felt the tendons in his body ache pleasantly in comparison to the rage that burned furiously within his conscience.

Jaina Solo, one half of the twin Solo’s, had been responsible. The cause of it all.
That rage was a deeply rooted one, as his son would have been aware. Tsavong Lah’s right foot, the clawed foot of a Vua’sa beast, ached in sympathy. Jacen Solo had been responsible for the loss of his own foot after all.

Harrar had been a little over-zealous in emphasizing the fact that Khalee had died with honour. While Tsavong Lah was glad in this knowledge, a failure was still unquestionably a failure. And he had placed much faith in his son when bestowing upon him the task of accompanying Harrar as guard on his mission to find and then capture Jaina Solo. Supreme Overlord Shimrra was growing impatient with Tsavong Lah’s inability to make good of his word to make this ‘twin sacrifice’ so.

Khalee Lah had been the most promising of all Tsavong Lah’s offspring, barring none. The youthful warrior was well known in both his domain and caste, many fully expecting him to rise rapidly through the ranks and eventually become the next warmaster.
Tsavong Lah had always thought that he might rest a little easier in glorious death if he knew Khalee would succeed him.
The lad was headstrong however, short tempered and quick to act in the face of the unknown. Not entirely bad qualities, the warmaster knew, if they could be controlled and saved for the right moment.
Yes, while Tsavong Lah had fathered many children, Khalee was the only one he had ever deigned to get to know. Or at least tried.
He had reminded him much of himself at that young age. And the warmaster himself was only one of two that his own father, Czulkang Lah, had ever deigned to acknowledge too. As heartless as this seemed, many of the elite lived this way.
What was the point in getting attached to ones offspring if they never made it out of the crèche?

The warmaster remembered Khalee’s mother fondly too. In particular the rich darkness of her eyes, a trait Khalee had picked up along with her patience – or there lack of. Sadly, she had perished before reaching the infidel galaxy. A pity, Tsavong Lah thought, perhaps if she had been here, she could have clarified what it was that afflicted him now. And yet he knew, and was disgusted by it thoroughly.

He finally tore his gaze away from the inert villip. He would spend this time in the embrace of pain, perhaps that would purge the sickening grief from his being?

*****
Then:

Niif’rhi Hul watched the scene unfolding before her through a large wall of transparent yorik coral. This particular variety, had the ability to be used as an opaque screen or a transparent window depending on the desired use. Here in the outer-ganglia, the far spun ‘arms’ of the worldship, was housed the crèche of Domain Lah. She had often come here out of curiosity for her first-born’s progress. But today was different, today she had been asked to attend.
As to why, she was unsure, but it had been at the request of the crèche attendant that she and Supreme Commander Tsavong Lah attend this little meeting. If just for her peace of mind.

The warmaster’s son stood beside her proudly, his expression betraying neither curiosity nor impatience. Niif’rhi Hul would have done well to follow his example, and with that thought she ceased tapping her foot upon the living floor.

“ …As you can see, he is excelling in his training…” The attendant was explaining as the group of 3 looked on at the young would-be warriors. The crechelings were practicing their basic melee combat beyond the safety of the transparency. At the age of 5, they had earned the right to carry a basic coufee, the simplest of all Yuuzhan Vong living weaponry. But clearly many of the crechelings lacked the skills that those adept enough in, had worked out could be used against them. The results were akin to effectively eradicating the weak before they reached a position of rank. Perhaps this was why many referred to it as ‘weeding out’.

“ I can see that for myself” Tsavong Lah cut in, irritated at having been told the obvious. He was every bit as intimidating as his father.

As if on cue, two of the youths closes to the transparency were taken on by another that both Niif’rhi Hul and Tsavong Lah recognised as their son. The boy was quick to bring the first youth down with a simple, yet very effective leg sweep, following that up by thrusting his blade in a downwards arc toward the downed youth’s throat to finish the job he’d started.
Neither Tsavong Lah nor Niif’rhi Hul so much as blinked. Life was pain, death- an honour if attained in the right way.

As the remaining youth attacked, Tsavong Lah’s attention was drawn back to the crèche attendant.

“ If I may, Supreme Commander, I would like to recommend your son for more suitable training.” He paused, “With your approval of course!”

“Indeed?”

“ As soon as possible,” The attendant would not have liked to add his afterthoughts to that unfinished sentence. Keeping Khalee Lah here was reducing the numbers in his age group to a degree that had many of domain Lah up in arms, thus threats of death falling firmly on his own shoulders. None such gripes would ever reach the ears of the warmaster’s son however, to do so would be as putting your own head over the spatter-pit.

Tsavong Lah appeared to be waiting something rather than mulling this suggestion over. The lack of conversation caused an uneasy air to sweep across the trio of Yuuzhan Vong and the attendant cast a confused gaze at Niif’rhi Hul.
She remained silent also, as though she had seen this all before.
When at last the strangled cry and sounds of cracking, breaking bones could be heard through the transparency at their backs, Tsavong Lah cast his gaze over one shoulder, nodding once in approval at his son’s early triumph.

“You have my approval Attendant.”