Young Writers Society

Tarkin regarded Sirejj in silence for a moment, gauging how much to reveal and how much had already been revealed simply from the Dathomirian reaching out with the Force.

"Come with me," he said finally, gesturing. "In front of me, if you don't mind--I want to show you something."

"Must I stay handcuffed? I've no interest in killing you if that's what you're worried about." He stepped a little closer to Tarkin, his curiosity beginning to get the better of him. He certainly wanted to see what Tarkin had to show him. He doubted it was a trap, that wouldn't make sense.

Tarkin turned, then sighed and dipped his head. He approached with measured steps and pressed his thumb to the cuffs, keeping the staff out of reach as he did so. They dropped from Sirejj's wrists.

Sirejj slowly pulled his arms back in front of him and rubbed his wrists. "Many thanks." He hadn't once changed his ever so slightly taunting tone. "Point the way, Governor." He wanted his weapon, but he would have to earn that back.

Tarkin pointed with the staff, down toward the cathedral. "That way, if you please." He scooped up the handcuffs as well, hanging them on his belt. He'd opted to stay in his Imperial uniform this first day; he had stopped in at the outpost since they'd clocked him the second he entered the atmosphere, but after today he would be dressing in less eye-catching attire.

Sirejj's clothing was far less crisp and clean. He wore a reinforced vest and had light armor on his lower body but was otherwise dressed in drab colored clothing beneath his armor. His tattooed arms were mostly bare and he wore no gloves or vambraces. His hands were calloused and hard and his arms bore many scars both from fights and life in the wilderness. He wore these proudly.

Back at his ship he did have a quite nice imperial cloak he had stolen, but the weather had to be truly terrible for him to wear more than what he had now, and he loathed to cover his head. He was dressed to move quickly and carried no more on his belt than what he needed to get the job done.

He began to move in the direction tarkin indicated. Though he could feel every step of the Governor behind him, he had to resist the urge to turn around and look. He kept his eyes forward and searched the landscape as they moved, on the slim chance there was some sort of trick involved.

Tarkin's eyes never left the back of Sirejj's head. He held the staff crosswise so that it guarded his front, thinking perhaps after the Zabrak's work was done he'd kill him and hang this weapon on his wall somewhere. Maybe take a horn as a souvenir to show to his uncle.

"This," he said as they neared the cathedral. "You came out near it earlier; I assume you and the Inquisitors did battle below it. What did you feel, down in the caves? Did you sense anything?"

Sirejj chuckled. Sense anything.. It was so much more complicated than that.

"Those caves were ancient hiding places, long before these cathedrals were ever built. The locals believed that the moons magic was stronger the closer you were to the core. They are quite beautiful down there, actually." He had not gone near the cathedral yet. The inscriptions of the ancients remained intact in the caves, but the cathedral was all but dust now.

"And the events that took place there in recent years?" He paused beside the spot he'd been sitting when he heard the fight. This places history didn't interest him at all. He'd seen Vader pick up on emotions felt by long-dead people in a place that had a strong enough aura. Either Sirejj was deliberately skirting around that or he simply misunderstood. Whatever the case, Tarkin would try to be patient. This was a lead he couldn't pass up.

Sirejj stopped before entering the main center of the cathedral. He seemed reluctant to go further.

"Those who rest here are not at peace, it's not wise to meddle with the dead."

Tarkin gave no visible reaction to this revelation. He wasn't one to believe in ghosts, but he also didn't discredit the senses of a Force-user. Not after the things he'd seen Vader do.
"Elaborate," he said measuredly, stepping forward so he was abreast with Sirejj.

"Elaborate? I do not have the ability to commune with the dead." Who did Tarkin think he was? That was a very powerful magic that he never had the chance to learn before the Nightsisters were destroyed. "Perhaps it is you who should elaborate, Governor. You know what happened here, I can only guess." He looked Tarkin in the eyes, unwavering.

Tarkin huffed. "The problem is that I don't know. Not exactly. Can you sense who is present? Perhaps any animosity?" Any signs that Garoche had been in a hostile environment, that what Vader said about the attack was true.

Sirejj was beginning to get irritated. "You don't just sense all those fine details. They must choose to reveal themselves. And I am not well equipped." He looked at his staff in Tarkin's hand.

"I'll hang on to this." Tarkin tightened his grip on the staff. "This is your area of expertise, then; tell me what you can do. What can you deduce besides the presence of some angry spirits?"