RPlog:Danik and Sandor Talk

Danik Kreldin's office shouldn't be entirely unfamiliar to Sandor Woden. It has not changed much at all since the defector's last visit to the lavish private quarters. The only thing different about it is its prime occupant: its owner, Danik Kreldin. Whether it be that he's a Grand Admiral now, or that he's finally tapped into his Force potential, there's definitely something different about the Old Man of the Empire. Not that Sandor would know Danik's secrets with the Force. And he's certainly not about to divulge that bit of information.

Sitting back in his throne, dressed in ceremonial black robes rather than his white Grand Admiral's uniform, Danik clasps a glass of Corellian ale, half-full. His eyes are directed at the doorway as Woden is directed inside by two Stormtroopers from Danik's personal guard. It's good to see his young friend again. It's certainly been a long time. Danik puts on his warm, fatherly smile, and raises his left, free hand. "Leave us," he says, to which the Stormtroopers respond by exiting the office. The two are left alone in the office. Tibor nor Sethas are anywhere to be seen. Just Danik and Sandor. "Please, Sandor. Sit down." He points to one of the four available seats positioned in front of his desk. "Sorry about the stun-cuffs. But I've heard what you did to poor Corporal Fleming," he says with a chuckle, his eyes falling to the stun cuffs around the rebel's wrists as he lifts his glass to his lips and takes a sip. He finishes off the rest of the ale and places the empty glass on his desk. "Would you like a drink? Chandrilian whiskey? Corellian ale? Dantooine's special?"

In truth, Sandor has more than enough information from Darth Malign to have the ability to develop a strong suspicion that Danik is fluent in the ways of the force; however, blind by his own pride, having served underneath Kreldin for so very long, it's simply impossible to believe that he might be anything more than a very powerful man. Indeed, if Sandor had known that there is more to the Corellian than just a keen grasp of tactics and some of the best reflexes humanity has ever seen, he might have taken up Malign on his offer, and risked another attack on the elderly man. Only in this case, there would be no sympathy, or attempts to bring change to Danik's position. However, still viewing Kreldin as a soldier, albeit one who has lost touch with his roots and true purpose in life, he had declined, and has come to terms with the fact that even if he had the ability to kill Danik, he probably wouldn't.

"No, that's fine, I might try to use the glass for things I shouldn't," Sandor lies, having no intention of throwing his life away when there remains a hope, however slim, that he may again see Ai'kani. That all is not well in the Empire had come to him as a very welcome surprise, regardless of the fact that far more is worse in the traitor's present position. Sandor's eyes narrow at Danik's glass, and remain transfixed upon what had held a liquid only moments beforehand, drawing strength in not looking his hero and demon alike directly in the face. "When are you going to get it over with? I don't know anything valuable, there's only one thing rank and file soldiers are good for. You know that better than I do."

Danik seems somewhat let down by Sandor's reply. "Nothing at all? Well, alright then," he says, shrugging his shoulders. "At least take a seat. No need to be all tense around me, Woden. It's only me, after all." He grins, rubbing his chin with his hand. "Get it over with? Oh please, Sandor. If I thought you were nothing more than a "rank and file soldier" with little use, do you really think I would have pulled you from death row twice? Stood up for you in your worse of times? Advanced you through the Army ranks, assisted you along your career. I've always been there for you, Sandor. But you turned your back on me. You betrayed me," he says, looking somewhat sorrowful. "Do you really think you're fighting the good cause by leaving us? By joining those ragtag rebels who can't keep themselves afloat? You must realize this war is drawing to a close, and twilight has befallen the so-called Republic."

He stands up from his throne and moves around the desk, approaching Sandor. "But I think I know why you left. Not for a just cause, not out of hate for me or the Empire. But it's for Ai'kani, isn't it? You have some affection for that Jedi? Love blinds, Woden. The Jedi has clouded your mind... poisoned you, and turned you away from your true friends, your true path. The Jedi are nothing but treachery. Don't you remember your history lessons? The Jedi rebellion. Their instigation of the Clone Wars. You've allowed yourself to be tricked, to be used as nothing more than a tool. I treated you like a human being. You were like the son I never had, Sandor." Danik places a hand on Sandor's shoulder, and grips it tightly. "Come back to me. Come back to the Empire."

It's Sandor's turn to be disappointed - in retrospect, he might have preffered hearing of his execution than hearing that he isn't going to have one at all. But, the aches still present in his face, in his body, in his shoulder; all of these things serve as reminders that while Sandor once served the cause of the New Order, the camp he has chosen is not one he can go back from. "I used to hate you so much for keeping me alive. For Farlex, for Yaartsek, even for that tramp, Kyokusha. Do you know how it feels, waking up and knowing that you live because thousands charged to their deaths in your place?" Sandor shakes his head, set firm in the belief that of course, Danik does not. While he may be the best officer the Empire has ever seen, in the end he's still just an officer, a man that orders people to die so that those he favors may live.

"But I'm not fighting for the Republic, or for the people who took the ultimate price in my place," he continues, eyes finally coming up from the glass to look at the Grand Admiral. In Sandor's eyes there is surprisingly no hatred, nor the sorrow that one might expect to be an equally likely emotion for the man to hold. There is nothing but defeat, and a small glimmer of an unlikely hope, that what he fights for may not be lost just yet. "As much as I respect the lives you've saved, and the men I've served beside, I've cut my eyes and don't want them back. I love her, Kreldin, even if that means my death." Perhaps, just perhaps, Danik should have asked the questions and done the talking to begin with, given how much the Marine is saying, and how quickly he's doing so.

Danik isn't having as hard of a time understanding Woden than the soldier may think. While he may be a powerful and influential man, he didn't start off as one. Enlisting in the Navy to fight the war, Danik worked his way up - by surviving. By being the best. By killing the enemy. Not so much different than Sandor, really. There were many times when Danik's entire squadron was wiped out, and he was one of the only few survivors. Was it luck? Pure skill? Or fate? "I was like you, Sandor, once upon a time. But I dealt with it in a different way. But I wallowed in my sorrow, turned to depression. Yet, I still fought for what I truly believed in: justice, peace, security, freedom. The New Order. Palpatine. The Empire." Danik takes his hand off of Sandor shoulder, and he takes a few steps back. Reaching to his side, he removes his Corellian Rapier from his sheath, wielding it in his right hand as he examines it.

"Fighting for love. I wouldn't understand it, I suppose. I've never been in love. There's just the Empire, to me. I suppose I can't blame you for this decision of yours - but, Sandor, you are not truly in love." Danik attempts to tap into the Force well that lurks within him, unleashing his anger, hatred and rage out into the office, bringing a dark cloud over the entire room. His hatred of the Jedi burns with a raging intensity, until he could bear it no longer - he lashes out, unleashing his rage, bringing his Rapier down to bear on the connecting bind between the stun cuffs around Sandor's wrist, slicing them cleanly in half. "I can offer you death, Sandor. I can also offer you a rebirth. I offer you one final chance, too - open your eyes, see the truth. The Jedi are treacherous dogs who are using you. Join me again, Sandor."

Maybe Sandor had simply never seen it before, but there is an element that does not sit well with him, in Danik. The manner in which the Grand Admiral is speaking, the rumors of which he has heard about him, and even his actions in general all seem different, and in a way, dehumanized. Could the Imperial legend have always been this way, and simply hid it away from the world around him? Could it even be possible that Sandor blinded himself long before he blinded himself, to escape the lies within the Empire, as well as the selfish nature of his defection? And yet, somehow, everything seems so familiar to the traitor that for a split instant, he nearly considers just how bad a return to the New Order might really be. In the Empire, after all, Sandor had the love of millions. In the Republic, he only holds the love of one.

The soldier's teeth clench together, tense from the display, as well as the fact that up until Danik's ceremonial cutting of his bondage, offering Sandor the ability to choose his destiny one last time, he'd been thinking about it. Forgetting about Cochran is so easy, after all, given that he hadn't been awake to see it. Farlex, however, is an entirely different story. "Join us, Danik, we need you," Sandor reverses, in a voice that isn't at all mocking, in spite of how many deaths Danik is responsible for. "I'm being used for freedom, and to promote the cause of peace. Ai'kani wasn't even alive for the betrayal - why should she have to die because of something she could not have even been part of? If I can help save her, then death is just something I'll have to endure, if you can't finally come to your senses about the sheer cost we're paying for this war."

Fortunately, as the years went by, Danik was able to cope with his depression. As he grew more and more powerful, influential and notorious, it all just subsided. He became comfortable with his position, with what fate was bringing him. It was only allowing him to further his cause, after all. Why should he get depressed over it? He brings the Corellian Rapier to Sandor's neck, the blade moving against the skin - gently enough to only cause a little cut and some stinging. Sandor's reply is one he did not expect, however, and it causes the Grand Admiral to shake his head in sorrow.

"I'd just as soon kill myself, Sandor, then join the 'New Republic.' It's a real shame, Sandor, just how blind you've let yourself become. Being used for freedom? For peace? If I recall it was your Republic that started this war in the first place - your precious Jedi that attempted to overthrow the Old Republic. There would be no conflict, no loss of life, if it weren't for you rebels. And whether or not Ai'kani was alive at the time of the betrayal is of little importance; she's devoted her life to the Jedi, to their legacy. And she's going to continue to pass on that legacy unless she's dealt with. As far as I'm concerned, she and every other Jedi of modern times are just as responsible." Sandor seems truly loss. It'll pain Danik to have to kill his old friend. He brings his rapier away from the neck, stretching it outward and making a motion as if he were about to slice off the neck. Instead, he brings it in toward himself, and then stabs it forward towards Sandor's right shoulder, attempting to cut cleanly through it.

First the left shoulder, and now the right! Perhaps it had been brave to tell Danik everything that he did not wish to hear, and it definitely had been to punch Agent Fleming in the face, but sitting still as he loses either his neck or his shoulder is simply not something that the traitor is willing to do for heroism, for his legacy, or even if he can avoid it, for Ai'kani. The words echo in his mind, although he is no longer certain just which words she used to say it. If Sandor dies, the Jedi will move on, no matter how great the grief is. Although the Marine is practical enough to understand that her words are simply the way of things in war, at the moment, he has no intention of testing just how much the words hold truth, months after they were initially said.

In his position it's rather difficult to dodge in any elegant sort of way, which Sandor would have thrown aside for practicality in any case. Throwing as much weight as he can toward the left, he attempts to get out of the way in time, knowing all too well what will happen if he does not. A thousand faces flash through Sandor's mind, and a thousand voices mock him for having squandered their sacrifice. A thousand faces scarred forever, even though their bodies are now only dust. And a thousand voices that Sandor had truly hoped he had left behind forever, along with his Imperial heritage, and former legacy.

Sandor throws himself to the left, and Danik's blade misses. Rather than follow up with a second attack, Danik simply pulls his rapier back, and he himself takes a few steps back to put Sandor in his full line of sight again. "Impressive, Sandor. I see you still have some fight left in you. Perhaps the Jedi hasn't sucked it from you completely. Do you like my Rapier, though? It's Corellian. Beautiful, elegant - only a few ever made," he says, shifting subjects rather abruptly. "It reminds me of you, somewhat. You were a rarity in the Imperial military. You stuck out like a sore thumb. You had personality, a powerful drive, emotion - and above all, the skill." He continues to admire his Rapier some more. "This Rapier cost me a lot. 100,000 credits." He then shifts his eyes back over to Sandor. "You cost me a lot, too. All the times I stood up for you and pulled you out from the firing squad's line of fire... made some powerful figures suspicious, and not so happy when you defected again."

"Love is only temporary, Sandor. She can die anytime. You can die anytime. She'll move on, you'll move on. She'll find someone else, or you'll find someone else. There will be no lasting impressions - when all the love is dried up, what will you do? At least here, in the Empire, you can make a lasting, permanent mark - your mark - on the galaxy, on history. You can be a part of something so much more, and change the galaxy." He steps forward towards Sandor, bringing his Rapier to bear once more.

"Only until someone decides I shouldn't exist. Or that some part of me, like my love for her, shouldn't exist. And then it - I - will be wiped from history forever", Sandor hastily cuts in, his body tensing for another jump, which looks as though it will be to the right until he actually does it. No, he can't jump back in the direction that he came, as that would put Danik between himself and the one thing that might be able to take him from an immediate execution to one that is still several hours away. An empty glass upon Danik's desk; hardly a match for the Grand Admiral's expensive rapier, but still more than a bit deadly with only one bash against the hard form it now rests upon. The jump is only a spring, however, as Sandor breaks into a run toward it, hoping that he can get around Danik in time. Indeed, perhaps he should have not been so blind, and taken up Darth Malign on his offer, killing Kreldin when he had the chance.

That's it. There's no helping Sandor now. Sure, he can have ISB or the BofO spend weeks re-educating him, but what's the point? It wouldn't be Sandor's own decision to return. It wouldn't be the real thing. Danik doesn't want programmed robots. Especially not a programmed Sandor. So Sandor has to die. But not here. Not now. As Sandor erupts into his spring toawrds his desk, Danik opens himself up to the Force. The Darkness engulfs him, much as it did the night before during his meeting with Malign, and the entire room seems to blacken out: save for Sandor. It's all he focuses upon. It seems like slow motion, watching as Sandor leaps for the glass that he was drinking out of earlier. As Sandor prepares to attack, Kreldin is on the move: he rolls to the floor, escaping harm's way, and in moments he's back on his feet and prepared to follow up with a counter-attack. Instead, however, he stops.

"You're letting your rage get the best of you, Sandor. You should calm down and think about your actions; do you really want to die before Ai'kani arrives? She's on her way here, after all. Don't you want to see her one last time before your life ends?" This, of course, brings that same warm, fatherly smile to the old man's face.

A lie. Those two words are plastered all over Sandor's features, much like the trace of dried blood that still exists here and there; two harsh realities contesting the traitor's right to youth, which has long since left his mind, if not his body. "Malign was right. I should've killed you when I had the chance," the soldier shoots back, in utter disbelief. He doesn't really recall picking up the glass, much less actually preparing to strike at Danik with it, although both had really been the idea. Perhaps he'd simply lost track of what he's doing in the head of the moment, which isn't entirely an unrealistic conclusion, given how often the soldier has done so in the past. "It'd only take you a word to get your bodyguards in here, if that's what you're concerned about. Just don't insult my intelligence, there's no way you could capture her twice."

Danik stands at the ready, his Rapier pointed forward towards Sandor in a fighting stance. "You should have. Compassion is an attribute your enemies will never share, Woden. You shouldn't have hestitated to kill me." Of course Danik has little idea of what Sandor is referring to. Had Malign offered Sandor a chance to assassinate him? Might explain why his recording devices in the room had blown out... interesting. He'll have to take his 'Master' up on it later. For now, however, his eyes remained glued upon Woden. "I don't have to capture her again, Woden. She's coming to me. She knows you're here, I told her. She's coming to rescue you. I can feel it," he says, stretching out with the Force once more. She's definitely coming. No doubt about it. "How romantic. Though usually it's the knight who rescues the damsel in distress; oh well, I'll let you two share one last kiss before it's game over." Come, Ai'kani. Right into Danik's trap. He remains smiling, waiting for Sandor to make the next move.

Sandor remains in place, knowing that while mercy can be a sin on the battlefield, trust in an enemy's ability to be virtuous and binding in his word is just as shameful. It only takes one opportunity for an enemy to stab into a man's back, and while the Marine knows it would be just as easy for Danik to simply have him stunned and stab him in the front, such as in the case of having him executed, he's still a bit reluctant to part ways with his glass at first. "You should listen to your own words. If you really did save me from the firing squad, you must have been why I lived through Barida. You didn't 'invent' the training I recieved, and Cantrell nearly paid the price for your arrogance," Sandor replies, simply looking for some way that he can keep his mind off of the possibility that Danik is in fact speaking the truth. If he is, and the traitor does have an opportunity to see Ai'kani one more time.. reluctantly, Sandor tosses his drinking utensil to the side, where it safely shatters against the floor. Maybe, just maybe, he'll be able to warn her in time.

"Cantrell is a soldier, Woden. A damn good soldier. Far better than you'll ever be. He accepts and recognizes the fact that war means death. He's ready and willing to die for the Empire - you chose the wrong career, Woden," Danik says, pacing back and forth in his corner, though his eyes never gaze off of Sandor. I may not have invented the training you received, but I certainly kept a watchful eye over your career. Do you think you made it all the way to Sergeant Major without me?" He shrugs his shoulders, and he watches as Sandor tosses the glass to the floor. "Very good, Sandor. Now, if you will..." he says, stretching his hand towards the chair he presented to Woden in the first place, "take a seat. I'm sure we can act like gentlemen."

Sandor simply shrugs, and takes the seat. In his view, Cantrell is much too hot-headed to make a very effective soldier, but then his 'views' have led him to defect to the New Republic, and clearly can only be taken at that value in determining just what makes a good Imperial soldier. He does not, however, voice any of these concerns, keeping his mouth locked tight, and his eyes as cold and as still as death.

Danik lets out a deep sigh, allowing himself to calm down and his rage to subside. He tucks his Rapier into his sheath and he walks back to his throne, sitting down and facing Sandor. "Sure you're still not thirsty, Sandor?" Danik asks, his eyes casually gazing over to his cabinet, where dozens upon dozens of beverages are lined up in an organized manner. "We can talk about politics and the war over a drink of brandy, what do you say?" He allows himself to bring back his warm, fatherly smile. "I am interested to know how the Republic is faring these days - especially the military. I was at Coruscant a few weeks ago, at the Palace. Didn't see you there, but I saw the special report on IGNews. Too bad we didn't meet there..." he says, tapping his fingers against the throne's arm rest.

"So you were there, after all," Sandor reasons, not sounding especially surprised. Several eyewitness accounts had placed Danik at the scene, but no security camera had ever caught a glimpse of the man; at any rate, Cantrell and Danik being in the same place is hardly a new concept for the traitor to mull over. "I think I'll take the brandy after all. I don't really know what to say, though, because the military is so diverse that you'll see units that are more than a match for most anything the Empire fields, and some so horribly under-trained and equipped that even CompForce wouldn't take casualties routing them." Surprisingly, Sandor doesn't hesitate in speaking at all - either he'd come up with quite a few lies on the subject, or otherwise has no objection to being a bit more open to Danik than he had been to Cantrell.

Which is a little bit odd, given that both men wish to see him dead, but not impossible to understand, either. It's nothing that Kreldin couldn't learn by simply going through AARs from various engagements, after all, and it's mostly common sense, given just how many aliens exist in the armed forces of the New Republic. "It's the same on both sides, though, just with aliens thrown into the mix. And better fighters, to better dominate CAS roles," he adds, much less truthfully. There's a world of different between the Imperial Army and its counterpart on the other side. And as well as space superiority fighters of the NR have performed in close air support roles on the ground, few could argue with a straight face that the Republic has learned that they're meant to be used in such a role.

Danik nods his head and stands back up, working his way quickly to the cabinet. He takes two glasses from his drawer, then opens up a new bottle of brandy. "Imported from Thyferra," he says, pouring the brandy into the two glasses. "It's wonderful stuff." He walks back to the desk, carrying a glass in each hand, and he passes one on to Sandor before returning to his throne and taking a seat. "But, yes," he says, after taking a quick sip. "I was there. Shot up a bit - but I walked out with what I came for. However," he says, locking gazes with Sandor. "I'm already well aware of what you are saying, Sandor."

"I've seen it first hand, and in reports. However, I'm more concerned about the psychology of the modern Republic - that is something I cannot get from a report. What's the morale like these days? General attitude of the average Republic soldier?" Funny, just a moment ago Danik was about to lob off Sandor's head. But Kreldin is a gentlemen, if anything. And Danik still holds some level of respect for the young man.

"The morale is much better than the training," the soldier admits, before he takes a sip of the brandy, which is hopefully not poison. Immediately, though, Sandor feels a bit silly for entertaining the thought that it might be, as if Danik wishes him dead, he wouldn't need to be sneaky about it. "Every time a POW is executed, a hundred volunteer. Every demonstration crushed, a thousand. Every planet wiped away from the galaxy? It's incalculable how many people will quit their jobs and fight to the death to keep that from happening to their loved ones," Sandor elaborates, with a bit of pride that might explain just why he's discussing this with Danik at all. He is, after all, such an individual himself. Taking another sip, he adds; "Just as enlisted morale in the Imperial Army dropped a bit by winning so much, the Army of the New Republic gets stronger with every loss."

"Good, isn't it?" Danik says, commenting on the brandy as he takes yet another long sip. "Thyferra truly is a beautiful planet." Danik listens with careful attention as Sandor goes on about Republic morale. Is it really so good, or is Sandor blindness so bad he can't see the awful condition the Republic is in? "Quite surprising. I suppose the will of the people is truly a force to be reckoned with. Although I'm not sure how valid your words are, given the lies you're spewing; I haven't seen Imperial morale so high since we liberated Coruscant nearly six years." Although it was eventually lost again. What a shame. "But, whatever you say, Woden. I believe we're just about out of time for small talk; your woman will be arriving soon, and I want to look good." He finishes off the last of his brandy, stands up and taps a button on his desk. Immediately two stormtroopers enter the room. "Take Woden to a cell. I'll call for him in several hours, to take him down to the capital. In the mean time... give him some fresh clothing and some food." He looks away from Woden and steps out from the desk. "I'll see you soon."

Then again, Danik hadn't served with the soldiers at the bottom in over six years, either. But it's better for Sandor that Danik suspects him to be a liar - a tangible change in how the enemy carries out his affairs is not in the New Republic's best interests, regardless of how far Sandor's own interests are from those, in most areas. Downing the rest of the drink in a gulp, knowing that he'll need the extra buzz to really deal with the wait to come, the Marine stands and doesn't struggle in the least. "Thanks for the drink," he remarks, before setting down the empty glass and being escorted away.