Dumb Kriffing Luck (Ongoing Story)

On board the Avenger, still in orbit of Nar Shaddaa, Darth Ragious stood looking down at the stasis coffin containing his wife's body. He had spent two tireless days scouring medical facilities on the planet below to find her. He hadn't slept, he hadn't stopped to eat, he refused to even take communications. When he finally found her, the urge to tear the facility down had been so strong, but he had subdued it within him, and simply made a donation to the clinic contained. The poor people there had been through enough and did not need a Sith furthering their suffering.

The wound his wife had sustained had been repaired, expertly. She could have been sleeping, and as much as Ragious would hope for that, he was a realist. His wife was dead. Killed by a woman he could not deny that he had been so tempted to leave Kiabe for. He held a hand on the forcefield maintaining the body in stasis, then turned and left it, the only object in one of the Avenger's massive cargo holds, an honor guard of his most loyal shock troopers stationed to keep vigil on Kiabe's body until she could be returned to Dromund Kaas for a proper farewell.

Returning to his quarters, he stripped off all of his armor, and returned to the simple black tunic he had worn so often when Aittera and he were together. He stepped into view of the holocommunicator and activated it, sending the message out on all frequencies, but having learned enough from both her and from his technicians to mask the point of origin. He was almost unrecognizable, he truly was Kol Arren in this moment, from his posture, to the way his face seemed much more worn.

“I know everything. What I don't know is minutiae that doesn't matter. All that matters is that I need you to return. I need you. If you're worried what they might do, I swear to you that you are protected.”