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Without a word the hologram vanished. He would send his orders of ceasefire to his apprentices individually. He had no more desire to speak with Tarkin.

Sirejj was awake now and had gathered his wits about him. He was still being restrained by the one Inquisitor who felt it necessary to twist his arm into a very uncomfortable position. He was helpless to do anything. He could sense the bloodlust of the three and their uneasiness as their superiors discussed his fate. He could not help himself.

"I do wonder what those two are discussing, don't you?" The three looked at him, as if surprised he had the gall to speak while in his vulnerable position. "I wonder which one of you will be on the chopping block for being so completely disrespectful to your superiors." He felt the grip tighten on his arm, but a moment of pain would be worth it if he could break their focus enough to attempt an escape.

"You're the one who's going to end up without his head." One Inquisitor snarled, drawing himself up to his full height and stepping close enough to Sirejj to glare down at him. He was tall and broad, a perfect brute.

"Not if this Imperial has his way, I've got a feeling he's going to try and spoil your fun." He chuckled. "Imagine working so hard only to have it taken from you and given absolutely no credit whatsoever."

That struck a nerve, and suddenly he found himself shoved against the wall with the hilt of a saber at his throat.

"No one steals from us." The Inquisitor seethed.

"Does all of the empire function on mere threats alone? Your master has not yet given a verdict." He was dancing ever so close to the line that would get him killed.

"When he does, you'll discover that our threats don't do justice to the suffering we can inflict..."

"I suppose you expect me to quiver in my boots?"

Tarkin resolved to wait outside; it would be a good look if the three Inquisitors came out looking like kicked dogs to deliver his prize to him. He smiled to himself and exited the cockpit, stepping outside and positioning himself directly at the bottom of the gangplank.

What this Zabrak could do for him, he was not entirely sure. He had a feeling that the fellow would take some convincing, but his outburst back there suggested he was at least somewhat sensible. It was just a batter of convincing him that Tarkin was an ally now, not a new threat to be dealt with.

Force-sensitives were wily creatures. Tarkin had never been particularly fond of any of them--he liked to keep his thoughts to himself and many of them had the unsettling ability to know his feelings and deduce what was on his mind from there. It was eerie; Tarkin much preferred simpler methods to extracting information. Nothing was straightforward with Force users.

Sirejj was about to continue his taunts when the three inquisitors stopped as they received a message code on their individual communicators.

"I can't believe this..." The sister muttered under her breath. "The grand Inquisitor has granted custody of this cur to the Grand Moff. Let's deliver him and then get off this rock."

Interesting.Grand Moff Tarkin. The man had an infamous reputation, but Sirejj would see for himself how easily he may be able to intimidate him. Most imperials were spineless. He did not suspect that of Tarkin.

He was roughly dragged from the ship and brought once again before the Grand Moff, except this time, instead of being unconscious, should have straight with an air of dignity, but his eyes were still cold and sharp. He said nothing, deciding to wait on pressing his good luck until the three saber wielding brutes were a safe distance away

Tarkin met Sirejj's gaze and held it steadily, betraying nothing on his face and trying not to in his mind. He was excited, to say the least, but trying to keep that under control. He wanted so badly to be off and out of this minor inconvenience so he could start the real work.

"Such grace," Tarkin remarked of the Inquisitors, addressing them but continuing to look at Sirejj. "The Grand Inquisitor is lucky to have three courteous individuals such as yourselves working for him. I'll take it from here, thank you." He held out his hand for the staff.

Sirejj's eyes followed his weapon, he betrayed that much. It was more than a tool to him.

The sister curbed her tongue, if she wanted nothing more than to bite a retort. She knew there was no sincerity to the compliment. "The pleasure is all ours." She handed Tarkin his weapon.

Tarkin hefted it expertly, running his hands along the shaft and brushing his fingers delicately on the wood portion. His brow furrowed with interest; what tree had this come from?

The staff had a good weight to it, that much was certain. An effecting bludgeoning tool, perfect for sweeping under foes and keeping them at a distance. He'd always preferred this sort of melee, himself. But why didn't the Dathomirian carry a lightsaber? He glanced at Sirejj out of the corner of his eye; he had not missed that telling look. Either this staff hid a lightsaber in some part of its shaft or it was his only weapon, and a beloved one at that. He could see weathering where the Zabrak's hand had closed over it time and time again.

"You may go," he said, with deliberate detachment. He wanted to be alone to question this creature, now.

They wasted no time retreating. They had no more reason to stay.

Sirejj stood there still, his hand still cuffed behind him. He could attempt to run, but he'd not get far without his weapon. And he was not a coward. He waited, not going to be the first one to speak.

"This is fine craftsmanship," Tarkin said when the roar of the ship's engines had faded away. He turned the staff upright and rested it on the ground, putting a little weight on it. "Are you its maker?" If so, the Dathomirian had outdone himself. This was a meticulously cared for and thoughtfully constructed weapon, to say the least. It said a lot about a person if they could make a staff like this. Tarkin himself had not had the opportunity to make anything beyond the odd lance while in the Carrion, and that had strictly been for survival purposes. There had been no time for embellishment or care.

"I assisted in its construction, primarily the handle. Alas I am not a master metalsmith." He kept his words short. He didn't like having other hands on his weapon. The Dathomirian bone and wood was not to be handled by outsiders. It was bad luck for foreigners to try and control what was not theirs.

Tarkin's hands did eventually pause on the bone, and he gazed at it curiously. To what creature had this belonged, he wondered? Fascinating. He rubbed his thumb along the smooth, almost ivory surface, then turned his full attention to the Dathomirian.

"I have brokered a deal with the Inquisitors," he informed him. "Not in your behalf, but because I have a use for you. I think you will find it more agreeable; it requires your presence on this moon. I believe you had intended to stay here before the Inquisitors' arrival?"

"Now what could an Imperial of your esteemed status find of interest on a rock like this? With all due respect." He smiled, showing his teeth. He didn't appreciate being interrogated and it was time to level the playing field. This imperial may offer him an opportunity, but he wanted to ensure it was mutually beneficial. He was not about to become anyone's servant.

"There are old grudges to be resolved," Tarkin replied evenly. "I have need of your abilities; there are questions to be answered." He gestured beyond the landing platform toward the cathedral. "How much do you know of this system and its history, Zabrak?"

"I have a name." Sirejj said, his voice lowered to almost a growl. "But first, tell me yours? We have not been properly introduced."

He knew Tarkin's name, but many of the old teachings said that the giving away of a name was giving away a bit of oneself. Sirejj was subtly vying for the upper hand in the conversation.

Tarkin had no intention of asking the Dathomirian's name; he couldn't care less. He'd serve as a tracker, then Tarkin would probably dispose of him somehow and forget his existence.

"I am Governor Tarkin," Tarkin replied. "As I'm sure you're aware. Don't change the subject, or it will go badly for you." His grip tightened around the staff ever so slightly.

Sirejj's eyes flashed. A challenge. He recognized this man would have no qualms about killing him, but there was something he needed, otherwise he wouldn't have stopped the inquisitors from taking his head.

"Governor Tarkin." He was still smiling, satisfied he'd made him answer at least one question. "My name is Sirejj, Brother of Dathomir, but I assume you've gathered at least that much information." He glanced at his staff. It was made partly with the wood of his homeworld. It was almost comforting to hold it, as he could still feel the living spirit of his home within the weapon. In his hands it was a graceful tool. It was loyal to him and would not turn against him.

"I doubt you have much interest in magic, Governor. That is why I am here. But I sense you have something of much greater importance to uncover." He was lying, Tarkin's mind was like a steel trap. But one didn't always need to use the Force to tell what another was thinking.