[@Jorick]

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	Korriban always invoked an odd sense of familiarity in Kutar Zema’s heart, like a home returned to after many years apart. The Sith warrior hated this commonality with the red planet, the sense was almost a confusing annoyance in his mind, like an implant stitched to his soul. The force attached him to this world, an inseparable bond unwillingly or perhaps willingly forged by his own connection to the force. He did not know for certain. Unlike the new Sith that so populated the Empire, Kutar did not think of the ancient sith homeworld with the same ‘fond’ memories. The new sith recognized it as the origin of their powers. He however was trained and raised on the near aquatic world of Dromund Kaas, utterly forgien to the cold drylands of Korriban. Kutar could not recall a time when the planet ever gave him a sense of comfort, yet in his mind’s eye the world embraced him like a long lost son, welcoming him back at last. Seated where he was, cross legged on the floor of his Imperial Shuttle’s bridge, unease filled his heart. Not from the planet’s climate or the innate force connection, but from his reasons for entering Korriban’s atmosphere in the first place. Had it been his choice, he would have taken his orders and left straight for the rendezvous point, avoiding the capital and his master all together. However the Empire and his master had never functioned in accordance to his personal wishes and never would. He was summoned directly, and the reasoning behind the summons was what filled Kutar with dread.

	How long had it been? Years now seperated their last meeting, and after months of self imposed isolation Kutar found himself called before Darth Embrus for reasons unknown. After Savvory’s evaluation Kutar hoped to be back into his master’s graces again, a favored and loyal apprentice, yet it took months for orders to arrive, and they only to call him to Embrus’ dark tower. The implications Kutar thought, were not good. To many defeats, to many wounds and men lost to be ignored and forgotten by time. Embrus did not care to associate himself with such failures. Kutar had hoped that those mistakes be forgotten, so that he could collect himself from his slump. Apparently in vain.

	“Sir, we have been cleared for landing and are entering Korriban’s atmosphere now. It should be roughly ten minutes before our final approach.” Opening his eyes Kutar found the two pilots had swiveled in their chairs and were watching him, concern in their gaze. The one who had spoken was a balding man in his forties, the flight officer in command of the shuttle. His executive officer was a younger man, more curious but just as reserved in his questions. They had spent the last fourteen hours watching him, wondering if he’d died in transit, so silent and still had Kutar been in meditation. They had been ever so careful not to disturb him, gingerly stepping around his bulk to relieve themselves or refill their canteens. Kutar had ungraciously planted himself on the bridge, all but blocking the door with his long legs and broad shoulders making such a trip to the vessel’s small latrine difficult to say the least. The upcoming landing must have given the flight officer the excuse he needed to finally say something that might stir their quiet passenger. Giving only a silent nod to humor the man Kutar closed his eyes once again, dreading the their inevitable arrival all the more.

	The last stages of the flight were in essence as uneventful as the last fourteen hours. The Imperial shuttle made good time over the wastelands, dropping faster and faster until it was hovering over a venerable city. Ancient buildings of stone dominated the cityscape, irregularly marred by the occasional oddity structures that conformed to the whims of the Sith lords who resided within. A large glass dome here, a silvered spiral there and at last an intimidating tower of blackened steel. Orbiting the monolith twice Kutar’s ship swiveled on an invisible access before descending the final two hundred feet. The pilot was skilled in his craft, and the ship touched down gentler than Kutar ever could have managed. Pipes hissed and a spray of cool air wafted over the vessel’s inhabitants as the internal mechanisms adjusted the shuttle to Korriban’s atmospheric pressure.

	In standing Kutar nearly fell over. His legs were dead, having been tucked under his weight for so long. Grabbing ahold of the pilot’s chair to steady himself Kutar waited a moment, letting the blood flow back into his lower limbs.

	“Refuel and restock the ship, and then rest if you must.” He ordered once he felt he could walk again without stumbling. The younger pilot jumped at Kutar’s rumbling voice, he must have thought him a mute. “You may not leave the shuttle, I want it ready to depart the moment I return.” Leaving them to their ship-keeping the warrior crossed the platform, eating up the remaining distance with his long legged stride. Every step brought him closer to a confrontation, and Kutar did not know what to expect. Would he be praised, admonished, or simply given orders face to face? Praise was not likely, orders could be beamed across lightyears… Kutar’s hands curled into fists and he kept walking. Two guardsmen spotted him approaching, and made to intercept him before they recognized who he was, stepping smartly aside to allow the hulking apprentice to pass.

	Every obstacle, every barrier moved aside, nothing coming between him and his objective, an almost amusing situation for a man so used to overcoming hurdles, having them non-forthcoming in the one time he would appreciate something slowing his advance. It brought a grim and ironic smile to his lips. Across the stone plaza he could hear Tishombra’s mocking voice and the sound of whirring lightsabers nearby. Kutar did not sense his master’s presence there amongst the training apprentices. [i]In private then,[/i] he thought turning for Darth Embrus’ study. 

	Up and up he went, up the winding black stair his pace steady and resolved. Coward he called himself in his head. Coward who feared no man or thing but the stinging rebuke of his master. He needed no courage to face Darth Embrus, his master trusted him like no other. Kutar was his loyal servant, his strength and sword. Yet he feared the worst.

	At last he stopped before the study doors, a silent behemoth in emotional turmoil, a seemingly unmoveable boulder but crumbling inside. His master was within, Kutar could tell, alongside another whose presence he did not recognize. Taking a well needed moment to calm the storm, Kutar took a deep breath exhaling his worries and fears and doubts as he would before a battle, concentrating only on the meeting before him. Raising one large hand he knocked, announcing his arrival at long last.