Fear and Loathing in the Orian System

((This is a pure character development runon meant to supplement other activity within CNS. Participation is open to anybody in the Clan, or those outside and friendly to it. No overarching plotlines or secret villains, just plain writing for the fun of it.))

Longnecks
Kel Rasha
Aeotheran
Orian System

The newest episode of Jedi Fights played on the large holoscreen in the corner, the sound on maximum but the audio drowned out by the din of swoopers, most of them gambling on the outcome of the current fight. At the moment, the odds seemed stacked, but for one patron, the outcome was anything but a guess.

“I got a thousand creds on the Purple Wizard.” A baritone voice said, his words quiet but carried over the noise. To prove it, the man in sunglasses and leathers tossed a short stack of hundred cred chits on the bookie’s table, the coins spilling across to mingle with bottles and glasses.

“Must be a fool,” the Devaronian said, his outer teeth clicking up and down over his inner set. “Purple Wizard’s been on a losing streak, and he seems outmatched by the Jeweled Menace, but it’s your money friend.”

In response, the gambler shrugged. He knew the outcome to this fight because he’d seen it over a year ago, in the Combat Center. Indeed, this was Mirado’s favorite kind of gambling, the kind where he couldn’t lose. Certainly, the money was a bit large, but higher stakes games were beyond him. Simple sports betting was certainly the way to go.

Several minutes passed as the match wore on, Mirado lamenting that the display wasn’t full holo, so he couldn’t see the exact point of the fight, but the crowd reaction was something of an indicator. Given the held-breath pauses punctuated by groans and shouts, this was the moment the Purple Wizard gave up using the Force and just grabbed his opponent by the throat. The move was unexpected then, and it was unexpected now. The Jeweled Menace, some Arconan woman of little note besides being blessed with a desirable figure, had no idea how to react, so she wound up flailing and jerking away from the Krath who had hold of her throat. When she fell, the Krath still held her larynx. It was a magnificent end to the fight.

“How’d you know, friend?” the bookie asked, his hand snapping out to grab Mirado by the forearm. His tone spoke volumes of annoyance. A thousand credit bet at the odds the bookie was running was enough to buy a new landspeeder, and he certainly didn’t feel like paying. “There’s no way that fight should’ve gone down like that. You know somebody at the network?”

Mirado almost answered with an honest yes, seeing as how he was responsible for Kresshian studios, but the damn devil-man had to go and lay hands on him. That kind of stupid never goes unrewarded in the world of the Dark Jedi.

With a simple roll of his arm, working against the Devaronian’s joints, Mirado had broken the creature’s grip, and then followed through with the movement by grabbing its arm and turning it completely the wrong way, the entire motion a fluid circle. In an instant the bookie was bent to the table, with the Assassin’s face mere millimeters from his ear.

“Call me a cheat again and you better hope you got a squad of stormtroopers backing you up, got it?” Mirado said simply, in no mood for clever banter. Behind him, the bartender looked prepared to get involved, but seeing that no real combat was occurring, decided to see how it would play out.

“Fine friend,” The Devaronian said as disarmingly as possible. “Enjoy your winnings.” he added. The threat of “while you can.” Mirado believed was supposed to go at the end of the statement, but in his predicament, the bookie just didn’t have it in him to say it right.

Calmly, the Miraluka collected his winnings, running his thumb over the chits to verify the denomination markings. He almost took all of the money, but then a real fight would break out, and while well trained, the Obelisk wasn’t certain that he could put everyone in the room down without resorting to the Force. Besides, there was more than enough money for him to accomplish his mission.

Oshairana Beach
Kel Rasha
Aeotheran
Orian System
3 hours later

Her lips and nails were painted a shade of red that came dangerously close to prostitute, though the several hundred credit dress she wore, like a satin sheath, spoke of class and dignity. She wore it beautifully, and her hair, styled only a few hours ago to keep the look fresh, accentuated her entire being. She was, in a word, beautiful.

This wouldn’t be so bad, but her husband was blind, and not just blind, but his skull contained no eyes at all. Even if he could see, his attention was still focused solely on her.

“Somebody’s coming,” the woman said, her delicate countenance shifting from loving wife to territorial animal in the beat of a heart.

“It’s Mirado,” Methyas said to his wife, shaking his head. “He’s stomping like a ronto.”

“You only say that because you know what he’s thinking,” Naomi accused playfully.

“And believe me when I say it’s a curse I wouldn’t wish upon my worst enemy.” Methyas retorted.

From behind a dune, a shadow rose, black on black skyline. A few more nimble steps and he was standing near the married couple, a large bag in hand. “I heard that,” he grumbled, before handing his brother and sister-in-law the contents of the bag.

“One magnum of Mandalorian Narcolethe, two boxes of take-out from that Kytaran joint you two like, and the keys to the Senior Director’s beachfront bungalow.” Mirado said. He was a truly sour, angry man, but there was still some small sense of altruism within him, somewhere, hidden amongst the excess stores of brooding and scowling and hate. “Happy lifeday Naomi.”

Tarthos
Remnants of Markosian City
Former Yellow Sector

An icy wind blew like a wolf’s howl. Snow was constantly falling and adding to the already immensely thick blanket that covered everything in sight. A large cloaked figure adorned with bulky clothes to fight the weather crawled from an igloo and stood before walking toward what used to be an active and lively place, full of music and drink. The fur covered hood was slid to the rear to reveal glowing red eyes and a frost covered beard. The Mandalorian exhaled with the chattering of his teeth. He crouched by the door of what once was the only place that he called home in the Orian System and dug the snow away. He entered and quickly shut the door.
Looking around, everything was unharmed and fully intact except for the power, which would have kept the place warm enough to roast a gungan. Roxas walked to his large safe in the back room and removed his helmet from a satchel with one hand and opened his large safe with the other. The helmet was tossed in with a clank and Roxas removed his outer layers to toss in the rest of his armor. As the job was completed, he quickly redressed himself because he had started shivering.

Roxas grabbed his old NR2S and a few other bits of equipment before closing and locking the safe. The Templar then abruptly changed the code to the lock to ensure that it couldn’t be hacked. His datapad chirped loudly, so he dug into his pocket to retrieve it. Seeing that he had a text message he opened it. A smile crept across his face. Guess I’m off to Aeotheran he thought excitedly. He quicly typed a reply that he would be there as soon as he had tied up a few loose ends. His datapad chimed again, so he answered, but this time the message said that her parents wanted to meet him.

He hesitated for a moment as he thought Oh…um…what am I nervous for? I’m a Mandalorian I can handle anything…but what if they don’t like me…Wait why do I care? I’m not dating them

He replied again that he would be there and then stuffed the datapad back into his pocket. He exited the crossroads and then forced the door shut for what he hoped wouldn’t be the last time. As he walked down the street toward the building that he had left his transport days before, he looked over his shoulder at his now abandoned and frozen home. He was angry that the elf looking obelisk couldn’t save the city and couldn’t help, but feel as if he could have done something about it. He turned back around and continued toward the small transport.

Roxas entered the transport and attempted to start it. The ignition whined and sounded to frozen to turn over. The Templar tried again, but received the same result. The Alchemy experiment walked back out of the small ship and ignited his cyan lightsaber. He walked over to the engines and waved the blade close in an attempt to slowly warm the motor enough to start. Bits of ice began to melt and fall off, so the failed apprentice reentered the ship and pushed the ignition. The motor started and the Mandalorian sat down.
The entrance hatch closed and the ship slowly gained altitude. The landing gear retracted and the transport roared through the air to gather speed before crossing through the atmosphere.

An hour or so later

The ship crossed through the atmosphere of Aeotheran and descended to a landing pad in the center of the city of Kel Rasha. The city had grown exceptionally well; eventhough, it was being constructed by a blind man.

Kel Rasha, Aeotheran
Transport Center

Setsuna sat near the Kel Rasha transport pad with a sullen look on her face. Locke had joined her on her little expedition to insure that she didn’t cause too much trouble. She fingered her necklace of newly acquired ears as she scanned the ebb and flow of those around her. She vastly preferred the city of Kel Rasha currently since Markosian was still far too cold for her taste.

Locke glanced at the girl every so often and shivered imperceptibly as she always seemed to be playing with that ghastly necklace of hers. Shaking his head slightly, he finally spoke in soft tones to her.

“How long will we wait here, Setsuna?” he inquired politely.

She stopped fidgeting with her necklace and looked at him from the corner of her eye. The Assassin’s features were flat and almost unfriendly. “If you must call me something you will address me as Lady Sakurazaki, Mr. President. We are not close enough for you to use my given name. Also, we’ll move along when something interesting catches my attention.”

Teach them to think I need a babysitter... Setsuna pouted inward. The look on her face turned to one of petulant glee when Roxas exited the hangar and began to walk off on his errands. “Now isn’t that curious?” the Assassin asked as she grinned impishly at Locke.

The Consul sighed inwardly at the Obelisk’s glee and shook his head. The girl moved fluidly through the crowd, gently brushing people aside as the larger man followed her just as gracefully. Neither one seemed remotely capable of disturbing the denizens of the city any more than necessary to follow the currently unsuspecting Mandalorian.

Entering the street, Locke glanced down at Assassin who seemed to be making absolutely no effort to hide herself from Roxas if he happened to turn around. She even seemed to think it was nothing more than a game played between small children. Locke instantly understood just how damaged young woman next to him truly was. During the previous conflict, he’d received reports of her ferocity and even her moderately disgusting habits of dealing with the newly deceased.

Setsuna twirled and danced through the street, behaving much younger than she truly was, but her demeanor hinted at the darkness roiling just beneath the surface. Roxas got the disturbing sense that someone was both watching him and following as he stopped and turned to see the towering Consul and his diminutive partner who was simply dancing down the street.

Shaking his head, the Mandalorian wasn’t about to let the elf-like assassin’s presence ruin his night. Roxas turned away from the bizarre pair and resumed walking toward his destination.

“How long will we follow him?” the Consul mused to his tiny charge.

Setsuna simply shrugged. “Until I get bored. Besides, I have something he might want back. Let’s see where he goes, hm?”

The girl’s innocence seemed genuine, but Locke knew better. It was simply an act to get close to people and he wasn’t buying it for a second. She gave him a serious case of the creeps and he fell silent in an attempt to reconcile that very fact.

As Roxas continued to look over his shoulder and spot the pair, Setsuna simply smiled even wider, casting her features into a twisted demonic visage. There was enjoyment in her eyes, but her body language clearly stated that she expected a fight. Unbeknownst to her companion and to the leading Mandalorian that was the farthest thing from her mind. She was simply enjoying her little game.

What the hell are those two doing here... Roxas wondered. More importantly, what is THAT little bitch doing?

He tried to push the two as far from his mind as possible and simply focused on the task at hand while the sprite-like Assassin stopped her dancing and began walking normally again.

The Mandalorian stopped at a house and Setsuna looked up at Locke. “What do you think is going on here, Mr. President?”

Locke simply shook his head and remained silent.

Kel Rasha
Aeotheran
Orian System

"Some things should remain private."

Locke jumped at the sudden intrusion of the icy voice while Setsuna didn't so much as flinch, her gaze never wavering from the house and the Mandalorian. The Consul turned to gaze upon the large, cloaked form at their back and met with cold, grey eyes.

"Don't you think?"

Atra's tone was flat but the warning was clear. The Krath was taken aback at first before anger flushed through him. Next to the two giant-like men Setsuna seemed every bit the imp she portrayed, shifting impatiently as sparks of tension filled the air. The girl perked up as she let out a breath. "Finally!"

Both of the men shifted their gaze back to Roxas, watching as the entryway opened to reveal a golden haired woman.

"Who's that?" Curiosity rang true in the Assassin's tone as she made to move closer.

The Consul reached out reflexively, grabbing Setsuna by the shoulder to halt her advance. As if a beast unchained the child-like killer spun about, her features suddenly aggressive. A blade was already in hand as Locke took an instinctive step back.

"You're ruining my game."

Neither Atra nor Locke moved as Setsuna turned back. The Mandalorian had already made his way inside and the door was once again closed. The elf-like assassin whined audibly as she ran off, trying for a better vantage point.

Locke's hand tightened into a fist as he glanced towards Atra. "When did it become commonplace to disrespect the Consul?"

The Quaestor flashed a rare grin before answering. "Rank and respect do not always come hand in hand, old friend. Especially with the likes of her."

"How are you so sure?"

Atra grinned wider, his enlarged canine teeth revealing themselves. "Because I'm the likes of her."

Locke sighed heavily, putting his back to the house and turning to face the Quaestor of Shar Dakhan. They had been through much in a relatively short time, so much so that the term 'old' seemed fitting. Theirs was a friendship born out of hardship and necessity. That in no way meant it was weaker for it.

"How do you stay so detached from it all?" Locke inquired quietly.

"A part of me is missing."

Locke winced slightly, forgetting for the briefest of moments Atra's past at the hands of the Mad Alchemist.

"When you aren't whole... When you are fractured... It is natural to stand apart."

The Consul merely nodded, knowing enough of Atra to realize words were meaningless.

"As for the little one, I don't think she needs an escort." The Quaestor turned to leave as he spoke. "Let her play her little games... Chaos abhors restraint."

Atra's cloak shifted as he shroud his face once more, taking surprisingly light steps as he lost himself to the flow of the crowd. Locke remained, however, lost in his thoughts as his mind worked through matters on high.

Kel Rasha
Aeotheran

She does need someone to keep an eye on her. Locke thought, looking between Atra and Setsuna’s distant form. He knew the Dakhani Quaestor didn’t require an escort, and honestly Locke hated babysitting anyone, but Setsuna could easily cause trouble. The Consul didn’t even want to begin to think about what Roxas must have been thinking about Setsuna following him, but Locke surmised it would end in a fight. Those two had volatile personalities, and it was inevitable they would clash.

As Locke thought about what Roxas might be thinking, he heard shouting and laughing from down the street and looked beyond Atra to see a group of jovial people heading their way. Somewhere in the throng of people the stabilizers of a closed-top land speeder were visible. When the group got close, Setsuna leaped back against a building wall, a grim smile briefly crossing her lips. Locke tensed, taking a step forward, thinking he might have to pull her out of a pool of blood at any moment, but she didn’t move. Maybe she’s slightly more mature than she looks, Locke thought. He saw a knife flourish in one of her hands and then disappear. “Slightly, “ he mumbled.

As the crowd passed Setsuna’s position and got closer, a big man came up to Locke and shook him by the shoulders. “We’re free!” he said excitedly. “Dlarit actually saved us from those bastards!” The man moved on before Locke could say anything. He apparently didn’t recognize the Consul, though Locke was wearing a nondescript flight suit and probably looked like the average spacer.

When the crowd began to pass by Locke’s position by the door to the building Roxas had entered and the speeder approached, someone walking next to it leaned into it and grabbed a bottle of something or the other, pushing it into Locke’s hands. “Here you go, “ he said, “thank Dlarit for our freedom!”

“Wow, “ Atra mumbled, stepping back away from the crowd to where Locke was.

“I’ve never seen people so happy with Dlarit, “ Locke said. “Do you want this, Atra?” The Krath held out the bottle.

He took one look at it, but didn’t move his arms. Locke almost thought of apologising for a moment. “You’re not going to drink it? Aren’t you the Consul of Clan Naga Sadow? Are you an imposter?”

Locke laughed a bit. “And Setsuna wears the emblem of a rival Clan, think maybe she’s a spy?” .

“You never know, “ Atra said.

Locke chuckled. “I was joking, but yeah, you’re right. Have to be careful.”

“You’re really not going to drink that?” Atra indicated the bottle.

“Nope, here, “ Locke handed it to Atra. “I have to stay in control at all times.”

“Funny choice of words, “ the Obelisk replied. “Uh oh, “ he nodded toward Setsuna, who was starting to climb the side of the building.

“You’re kidding me, “ Locke said. “How is she...?”

“Assassin, “ Atra said. “I think she’s ok.”

“Come on, you know how Roxas is. This is a recipe for disaster!”

“Well, “ Atra took a sip of the bottle Locke had given him, “what do you want to do?”

Locke thought for a moment. The crowd was getting thicker as more people filled the streets in celebration. It would be difficult for anyone to get anywhere fast, now, except by air, or across the tops of the buildings.

“Maybe there’s a fire escape on the side of the building, but I want to keep Setsuna in sight as long as possible. And I may need your help if this gets ugly.” Without waiting for an answer, Locke began to push his way along the wall toward the side of the house, keeping Setsuna in sight.

Aeotheran
Kel Rasha
The home of Pacifica Angelus

The door shut as the Templar pulled some roses from his coat and handed them to Pacifica. The red contrasted her deep blue eyes, but looked inviting when coupled with her lightly sun kissed skin tone. She pounced on him, full of passion. They kissed and she could tell that something was on his mind, so she looked into his glowing eyes as if asking what the problem was. His red alchemic eyes would dim greatly when she was around, almost allowing her to see their original color.

“I was followed and don’t know if there will be trouble.”

Setsuna peeked in a side window to get a good look, to curious for her own good. She couldn’t see to well, so she clmbed back down and went back around to the front, all the while sticking her face to random windows.

Locke palmed his forehead as he hoped that there would be no trouble then spoke his voice slightly muffled “Let’s give him some privacy.”

The words were completely ignored as the imp-like woman strolled to the door and rang the doorbell several times in a pattern as if playing a song.

“No! Let them be.” Locke almost shouted with his hand outstretched as if to jerk the Assassin away, but they were too far apart.
She turned saying “Stop being boring.”

Roxas flung the door open with his NR2S in hand. She heard the cocking of the pistol and the words “Don’t move”, but instead of following the threat she turned around to face him. She pulled a metal cylinder from her back and tossed it in the air toward the Mandalorian, who instinctively reached out and caught it.

His glowing red eyes widened when he saw what she had just given him. The elf-like assassin had just returned the weapon that she took from him when the Sons had turned against the Clan. What kind of trick is this? Is it a bomb? I’ll ignite it and see her reaction. he contemplated while racking his brain.

The NR2S was slammed back into its holster and the lightsaber was ignited with the roar of a cutting torch. The white blade erupted out of the emitter before humming almost silently. The grin on her face widened further before she turned and skipped away from him wordless, swinging her arms with each step. Astounded all he could think was Guess she is being sincere.

Roxas spoke loudly to make sure that he was heard “I still don’t trust you as far as I can throw you.”

The reply he received was a tonge stuck out with a pbbbbbbbbbbt sound.

The Mandalorian turned around and shut the door after flatly saying “Whatever.”

He couldn’t help, but wonder why she had given it back. The weapon wasn’t exactly special in fact he had already made a replacement. He decided the weapon would make a wonderful fallback and a unique one at that because its white blade wasn’t very common among someone of his rank.

Pacifica asked curiously “What was that about?”

He replied scratching his head “I have absolutely no idea, but I got my old lightsaber back.”

“…Lightsaber?”

“Oh, guess it’s time I tell you a few things about DSOG. I’ll tell you while we get ready, we have to meet your parents for dinner right?”

Dlarit Park, Public Core
San Korinar, Amphor
Orian System

The sounds of the reconstruction efforts could be heard faintly in the distance while the laughter of the local children enjoying their time in the sun filled the area nearby. The Cloud City had been a chaotic mess since the attack from the pirates, the Corporation's efforts to restore the city being a guiding light in the eyes of the citizens here, however small that light might be. Still, the former Consul had come to visit the city and evaluate its progress for many months now and his ties to SHADOW allowed him access to even the most heavily secured sectors. For today though, Methyas had come out to the city for more personal reasons.

Sitting comfortably upon a neatly folded blanket, Methyas was nestled within a meditative state while Naomi and Arcturus laughed while playing at the nearby park a few meters away from him. A smile crept across the Miraluka's face as the pair enjoyed their time in the sun, their love and happiness seeping through the familial bond and embracing Methyas as though he were right beside them. Things had been frustrating since the joint forces of Plageuis and Scholae Palatinae had attacked, though Methyas had offered his wisdom to his Summit when they required it and mostly keeping to himself when they didn’t. The time away from the Clan business had been a bit of a boon, Naomi loving the extra time with her husband while the Summit directed the Clan with the help of the Sons of Sadow.

A small wave from the Miraluka's love prompted a response from him, although he was still deeply focused, the returned wave and smile would disrupt his thoughts. Another presence however, "You're not one of us, Bothan. Why so bold in your approach?"

A deep voice responded, an eerie calm about it, "Because you are not one of them, L'eonheart. Though I suspect that's becoming harder for you to contain, son of Lucien."

As the Bothan's last words leapt from his lips, an image shot through Methyas' head; his father playing with him upon the islands of Aquilaris. The air about the pair began to bristle with energy as a weight began to fall upon some of the nearest Force Users, the Bothan freezing in place as Methyas locked him within a stasis field, his thoughts leaping into the man's head, "Speak quickly and explain before the weight of the Corporation falls upon you."

Almost immediately the Bothan's voice responded, "I am not here to harm you Methyas, meet me later tonight and I will explain everything. Besides, amongst this many...Sith...I'd prefer to avoid a conflict."

A pregnant pause passed between the two before the air seemed to return to normal and the Bothan began to move away, "Enjoy your time with them, young one."

As the Bothan walked away, Methyas rose to his feet, turning to watch the strange Jedi leaving the park as Naomi walked up behind him. As she neared, she wrapped her arms about her husband before giving him a small kiss on the neck, "Who was that darling?"

"A family friend..."

Undisclosed Location
Orian System

One would normal expect a knock at the door, but amongst those who could hear the whispers of the Force; sometimes you just know when a guest arrives. Opening the door, the Bothan motioned for his arrival to enter, "Please, Methyas, take a seat."

The Miraluka simply nodded in response, moving to take an available seat in the quaint apartment as his host shut the door and moved towards what appeared to be a kitchen, "Would you like a drink?"

"I'd prefer to know more about why you're here and how you knew my father." Methyas responded curtly, the Jedi's voice still as serene as usual but with an air of hostility within it.

"I see, straight to the point then. You take after him more than you know. Although I am surprised you remember him, given how long its been."

"It doesn't take much to jog my memory, though it seems like there's more to this story than you're telling me."

The Bothan simply nodded before he began to tell his tale, explain his past with the Miraluka's father and mother as their Master and how he had helped them escape the planet of Aquilaris before the Imperial raid. The Jedi had long been a part of the Old Order and had avoided the growing Skywalker order since before the return of the Emperor. As he sat here now answer the questions here and there that Methyas posed, he steadily approached the largest question at hand, "So how did you find me?"

At this a smirk crossed the Bothan's face as he leaned back in his chair, stroking his snout slightly before he spoke, "I trained your parents, I would recognize their signatures anywhere..." He paused, just long enough to ensure Methyas was paying attention, "...and I'll explain the rest later. For now though, I'm curious why you're in the company of these Sith."

Methyas sighed for a moment before responding, "They taught me what the Arcturi could not and took me in during my darkest hour. I have helped restore these people. They're a...family...to me."

The Jedi simply nodded in turn, "Interesting, and yet you walk a Jedi's path? That seems..."

"Unlikely, yes. I had never been able to completely follow their ideals, I was sort of placed upon this path by a rogue Jedi master; he's unfortunately been slain."

"You seem to be carefully dancing about the subject of these darksiders. I suppose I'll leave it for the time being, though you must be mindful of your emotions and attachments. Let us speak of your knighting."

Methyas' eyebrows furrowed slightly at the mention of emotions and attachment before responding, "It was completed, by the darksiders."

"Yes, but you have never officially completed the any of our trials. You may be a Knight in skill, but not in spirit. I believe it is time for you to complete them."

"If you haven't noticed, the old ways are virtually dead. Besides, what purpose do these trials serve for my training if the darksiders remain unaware and my skills still improve?" The Miraluka spoke plainly as an eyebrow cocked in interest.

"These trials will help hone your skills and guide you towards a greater purpose. Besides, as I've said before, there's too much in your parents in you, child." The Bothan paused, only for a second as his eyes narrowed slightly, "I suspect I've already piqued your interest; and in that you remind me of your mother. You will need to complete five tests: Courage, Flesh, Insight, Skill and Spirit; each strengthening your current talents and confirming your devotion to the tenants of the Order."

Nodding sagely, Methyas considered what the Jedi had said before responding, "I will try my hand at these trials, but you still haven't told me your name."

"I am Aren Shey'lya, Jedi Master."

Dig site
Sepros

A young Elomin, perhaps late teens, hurried through the dig site with the latest geophys report for the Oracle. Master Trevarus was not to be kept waiting, and Nydo Kor kept his head down as he made his way through the crater where the Plagueian star destroyer had crashed. In silence, he passed a couple of the other archaeologists who had been drafted in to help with the excavation of the ruins that had been recently exposed during the failed invasion by Scholae Palatinae and Plagueis.

Nydo nearly walked straight into a security guard as he climbed up a slope toward the corvette where the Oracle’s survey tent was pitched. The security guard raised a hand to stop him.

“You there, hold on a moment.”

The Elomin lifted his horned head to the Dlarit guard but did not speak.

“One of Caerick’s people?” The guard’s tone hinted at his reservations with sharing the dig site with the Oracle’s personal archaeology team. When Master Trevarus had insisted upon it, however, there had been no question of Nydo and his unit not taking part in the excavation—it had been the Oracle, after all, who had personally led the survey teams on Antei itself back after the Exodus.

Nydo may have been young, but he knew better than to rise to the Dlarit guard’s bait. Instead, he remained silent and kept his own eyes locked on the guard’s.

After a few moments, the guard looked away and shrugged. “Run along then, carrier boy.”

Nydo grinned as he stepped past the guard and continued up the hill to the small clearing where the Sanguinus was set down, the roof of the Oracle’s tent flapping in the wind next to its landing struts.

His grin was to be short lived when he spotted the Falleen outside the tent.

A chill hung in the air around the Lord Prophet and the grey-green humanoid —these days it seemed more grey than green—turned to look at Nydo as the Elomin approached the tent. Xanos was in the act of injecting himself with another dose of whatever it was the Falleen had procured from Macron Sadow from the Alchemist’s lab in Sadow Palace back inside the forest proper itself. Nydo averted his gaze and did his best to pretend that he had not noticed anything as he headed inside the tent, though it would have been hard not to hear the growl as Xanos injected the contents of the syringe.

Inside the tent, Trevarus Caerick was quietly seated at a small desk, his mind absorbed by another report and seemingly oblivious to his apprentice’s pain outside. Nydo laid the geophys survey down at the opposite end of the desk and studied the chart behind him as he waited. The chart showed a series of catacombs, some familiar, but most entirely foreign, at least to him—no doubt the Oracle would have been accustomed with more than the Elomin, but Trevarus’s interest betrayed a curiosity that went beyond sheer nostalgia.

Finally, the Sorcerer lowered the document he was reading and looked up at Nydo.

A broad grin spread across Trevarus’s face. “Ah, Kor, you have another report for me?” The Oracle held out his hand and Nydo picked up the survey again and handed it across the desk. “Fabulous.”

It only took a few moments for Trevarus to peruse the main details. “Curious, very curious.” The Oracle did not look up as he continued to scan the geophys readouts. “Did you know the temples were all connected?” The Oracle’s head rose to face Nydo’s. “Of course you didn’t. Well, even though I may have, I never realised it was this extensive.” The gemstone in the middle of the Oracle’s Amulet had begun to glow brilliantly violet. “Remarkable, truly remarkable.”

Another chill ran down Nydo’s back as the door to the tent brushed open behind him.

“What is remarkable, my Master,” the Falleen began, “is your endless capacity for distractions.”

Trevarus glanced over at his apprentice and smirked. “As is your impatience, my apprentice.” The Oracle stood, apparently indifferent to Nydo’s continued presence. “You and Sildrin are eager to continue your little quest, I know, but as both of you these days appreciate, preparance is everything.”

“You can tell him that when we finally find him.”

The Falleen turned and left and Nydo felt the warmth return to his blood. A strange hardness had come over the Oracle’s features at Xanos’s parting words, and Nydo stood there for a few moments as Master Trevarus’s gaze remained locked on the empty doorway. Eventually, the Oracle waved his silver-encrusted hand dismissively, and gestured for the archaeologist to get back to work.

Normally with my Padawan, I would prefer to send them to face their trials within the Chambers of the Temple.
However, Skywalker has reclaimed many of the Temples of old and I doubt he would appreciate the pair of us arriving just to complete these trials; especially given your history with these Sith.
Instead, I will let the Force guide you through your trials. Take some time to meditate on them. Coruage, to face near certain death without fear. Flesh, to experience great pain without falling to the dark, many have lost limbs or family. Insight, to see past the lies before you and divine the truth behind it. And lastly, Skill, a true test of your talents which will push you to your limits and beyond.
I have no doubt that you will find these trials on your own and once you have completed them you will have but one more to face. I will administer that test when the time comes, son of Lucien, though you will not like what you will have to face.

Empty Chamber, Sunken City
Undisclosed Location
Several Weeks Ago

Sabers clashed amongst the empty chamber, Methyas holding back the Fist of the Brotherhood's saber as it swiftly slammed against his waiting defenses. The appearance of the Pepoi Primarch had been largely unexpected this far away from the heart of the Brotherhood's dominion, especially given that he hadn't felt the elder man's approach in addition to how much time and effort had been put into maintaining his veil of secrecy. As the duel began, Methyas had attempted to learn why Fremoc had attacked him in the first place but had been ignored with every question asked. Still the attacks pressed on, the strikes seeming to strike with every intent to kill.

Again and again the sabers clashed before Methyas leapt away from his cousin, the Primarch attempting to follow before he froze on the spot, almost as though an unseen hand were restraining him in place. In the slight reprieve the Jedi spoke quickly, his brows furrowing as he focused on his cousin, "Why Fremoc? What's this about?"
A low laughter began to fill the chamber from Fremoc as he remained within the stasis field, the Fist's voice following quickly, "You think I'd come alone?"

As soon as the words left the Primarch's mouth, additional figures stepped out from being the pillars around the chamber, each closing the circle around the lone Jedi. Araxis, Atra, Kalia, Kano, Locke, Mirado and Teu; all of those closest to him stepping out to complete their entrapment, ensuring that the Jedi would not escape with his life as each had their sabers drawn and ready to meet the Miraluka in combat. The younger L'eonheart speaking swiftly as he stepped into Methyas' line of sight, "Miss me, brother?"

Without missing a beat, Methyas swiftly shifted into a low defensive stance, the air immediately bristling with the air pressure growing heavy as he tapped into the Force. Immediately the chamber degraded into utter chaos, the Force flowing freely through Methyas as he fought to snap his family and allies back to their proper state of mind, or die trying. Sabers clashed and bodies refused to listen to the commands of their owners as they flew across the chamber or froze in spot; the Jedi's grasp of the Force far reaching compared to that of those against him. Yet still, with the odds stacked so heavily against him, the battle would only last a few minutes before he would inevitably fall.

Sabers fell upon the Jedi from multiple directions as his precognition screamed out, yet the all stopped in an instant, a barrier taking the brunt of the assaults before Methyas leapt out with a beam of energy from his hand. The trademark Force Blast of Naga Sadow leapt forth with the Jedi's energy, his frustrations lancing through the chamber with an arcing sweep of his hand to clear away the encroaching attackers as he spoke firmly to the assembled group, "ENOUGH!"

"Not yet." A baritone voice seemed to echo throughout the chamber as the others stood down.

Methyas spun on his heel as soon as he heard Mirado's familiar voice, the Exarch's blade meeting his Brother's weapon before it could cleave him in half, the Jedi already panting heavily from the stress of the lopsided battle. Were it not for his superior skills in the Force, the Sadowan Assassin would've quickly overwhelmed his brother with his speed and skill of blade. As it were, Methyas had already reached the edges of his reserves with the sheer amount of control he had needed to exert over the group and now he had driven himself to the point of exhaustion to compete with Mirado.

Against the sabers clashed swiftly, but the Assassin's speed and strength were too much for the Jedi; a swift kick to his chest sending him reeling before he felt the moment of excruciating pain. Falling to his knees, Methyas reached for his right shoulder, the heat of the cauterized wound reaching his hand before it got near the joint. His sight falling upon the trail of Force energies receding from the dead limb upon the floor still grasping his saber and into his core, all the while the heat of Mirado's saber waiting by his neck.

"Any last requests, Jedi?" Mirado's voice rose swiftly as he focused upon his kneeling brother.

As the assembled group waited for a response, Methyas' pained and heavy breathing seemed to slow to a steady pace and the air seemed to stabilize once more. As the Jedi seemed to slip into an almost meditative state he spoke, "You know; you almost had me believe it."

"What?"

"None of you are here. None of you are my family or friends..." Methyas paused, seeming to focus slightly harder before continuing, "...you're a program, a simulacrum of sorts, part of the city designed to test me. You simply drew upon my memories. It was your disarming strike that gave it away."

Raising his sightless gaze and almost seeming to look "Mirado" in his eyes, Methyas continued, "My brother would have gone for the kill if he had been given the opening. No remorse, no hesitation, no disarming strike."

The figure seemed to smile for a moment, an odd appearance on the typically stone-faced Mirado, before the hologram wavered and the supporting figures disappeared leaving only the figure of Naomi before him.

"Just because you saw through the illusion doesn't mean that you're entire safe, darling. I could still kill you on the spot if I wished." The hologram spoke plainly with his wife's sultry tone, her hand moving to pass over the Jedi's shoulder before it passed through it harmlessly.

"If you had wanted me dead, I would be dead. No, I think I passed your trials."

The woman seemed to kneel next to the figure of her husband, leaning against his good shoulder and speaking into his ear, "You've intrigued us, Jedi L'eonheart. We know why you've come...leave in peace now, knowing that you've succeeded at least in our eyes."

As the words seemed to echo throughout the chamber, the hologram vanished and lights throughout the chamber awoke to create a more comfortable glow. With a deep sigh, Methyas called upon the Force and wrested his saber from the grip of his dead arm, clipping the weapon to his belt before grabbing the limb and starting back towards his shuttle, it just didn't feel right leaving the limb within the chamber.

Undisclosed Location
Orian system
Present Day

"Still you hide some thoughts from me, son of Lucien? No matter, I have seen enough from these memories. You have successfully completed the Trials of Courage, Flesh, Insight and Skill. Once you have recovered and feel you are ready, I will administer your final test." Master Shey'lya spoke methodically.

With a simple nod, Methyas left the room, the right arm of his robes folded and pinned neatly at the shoulder as he left to speak with Locke and Teu about recent developments.

Country Club
Kel Rasha
Aeotheran

Roxas and Pacifica stepped out of her speeder and handed the keys to the vale. Her hair was crimped in loose curls and she was in a long silk dress. Her beauty made every man at the club watch every move. Jealousy flowed through them, when they saw who she was with. Roxas was adorned in his formal Dlarit uniform with his medals pinned to his chest. He was hoping that it would help to impress Pacifica’s parents when he finally met them. He was glad that he and Pacifica had showed up early because it would give him time to pick the best table for the meeting. The blonde to his side found it funny that he could handle life or death situations, but the meeting of her parents made him extremely nervous.

Pacifica pointed to a table before jesting “That one should be good you scaredy cat.”

He spoke up urgently with a small amount of desperation in his tone “I’m not nervous. You pick the table then I can’t go wrong.”

She giggled as she took his hand and lead him to a table in the middle of the room. He held out her chair, so she could sit. He got a whiff of her perfume as he slid her chair toward the table. The smell heated his blood. He bent down to kiss her neck. As he did her parents walked into the restaurant. Noticing their daughter, they headed straight toward her and the Soldier standing behind her.
Her father spoke first “So, you are the one that saved my daughter.” His tone was flat and emotionless.

Roxas stepped forward with his hand out to shake her father’s “Yes sir, I am Colonel Roxas Buurenaar with the Dlarit Special Operations Group.”

Her father grabbed the Mandalorian’s hand, but didn’t say more until helping his wife with her chair. The two men then sat down themselves and began talking. First they talked about Roxas’s past, then his wanting to avenge his Mandalorian Clan, and finally his saving of Pacifica and how they feel for each other.

“Well Colonel…” Pacifica’s father spoke “…I think we should let the ladies have time to themselves and we go speak outside.”

They two of them walked outside to speak further. Roxas lit a cigar upon exiting the door.

Her father inquired “Do you plan to marry my daughter?”

Roxas coughed and almost dropped his cigar before replying “I thought about it, but I would need your blessing.”

“You have it, but if you hurt her…”

Roxas cut him off “There is no chance of me hurting her. I would die for her. And if anyone tries to hurt her, there is no power in heaven or hell that can stop me.”

“Congratulations then…” He stretched out his hand and Roxas took it “…treat her right.”

“I swear it sir.”

Later that evening
Pacifica’s house

“What did you and daddy talk about when you went outside?” Pacifica inquired while brushing her teeth, in the refresher.

Roxas chuckled lightly “Oh, nothing special.”

She rinsed out her mouth and then ran into the bed room to pounce on him.

“Don’t play, tell me.”

“You’ll have to torture me cuz I’ll never tell.”

“Oh, come on!”

“No way Paz.”

She slid into the covers saying “Fine, be stingy.”

He laughed as he turned out the lights.

Cockpit of the Shuttle Vigil
Orbit around Sepros
Orian System

The stillness of space surrounded the decrepit shuttle orbiting the lush green world. To any spacefarer that would’ve happened by, it seemed to be a piece of wreckage left from the strange war that had recently ravaged through the Orian system, or perhaps earlier, considering it’s decidedly imperial origin. If not for the fact that it had came out of hyperspace ten minutes ago, it would’ve been considered abandoned. The thought almost brought a smile to the shuttle’s lone occupant as he worked on restoring the communications, his body lying on the cockpit floor, arms covered by wires. A battered and beaten shuttle with a battered and beaten pilot to match, he thought. Glad to know that my sense of irony has not left me.

Noktar Jameki was not the same Falleen that he was when last he was here. He vividly remembered himself as a refined being, egotistical to a point, and having an air of superiority about him. Always dressed in the latest fashion, always seeking to impress, and always seeking knowledge for the power that it would give him. He looked back upon those times and was envious. He knew of fear, anger, and hate back then. At the time, it was what fueled him in the Dark Side of the Force.

Yet none of that mattered against the scourge upon the galaxy that was the Yuuzhan Vong. It was under their imprisonment that he learned the missing element in his quest for dark side mastery. Pain. Pain was something that he had never truly experienced before in his life, and as such, never fully understood. When the VSD Covenant had been boarded by the Vong during that fateful day in the Shroud, he had been recuperating in the medbay. And I still did nothing. I turned into my father after all, he thought.

“....ease respon....forc....on you...”

Noktar awoke from his reverie at the sound of his comm unit. Quickly, he fiddled with a few more wires before hearing, “Again, unidentified shuttle, please respond to our hail, or we will be forced to fire on you. This is your last warning.” The Falleen dislodged himself from the mess on the cockpit floor and sat down, reaching for the comm station He quickly punched in the code that he had memorized so long ago, knowing that it had changed since then, but given his circumstances, he had no choice.

“This is Protector Noktar Jameki, identification number 6507, requesting mechanical assistance. My engines are down, and i only just fixed communications. Please send help.”

Static filled the cockpit as he waited for an answer. He contemplated what they were doing with this new set of information, whether or not he would simply be blasted into a million free floating molecules in space. The thought was strangely comforting, though he didn’t know why.

After a minute, he heard, “We are sending a shuttle to dock with yours, Protector. ETA 10 minutes, out.” The Falleen sighed and waited.

***************************

Alchemy Lab
Sepros
Orian System

The air was filled with the shrieks of Ewoks as a lone figure moved from cage to cage, administering some sort of toxic green liquid into a simple food bin. A slight giggle emitted from the armor clad man, as he watched each crazed Ewok scrape as much of the sticky stuff as they could into their dry, hungry mouths. The effect was immediate, their tiny bodies wracking with convulsions as each subject went through an enormous amount of pain. The Ewoks then started to calm, a glazed look adorning their eyes before settling into a comatose state.

Macron laughed loudly as he watched them. It had been awhile since he had given them their last dose, his mind elsewhere during the last few weeks. That was usually how it was anyway, but combatting the Horizon Plague had pushed back the disgusting little creatures’ regimen of poisons. When he had returned, he found the beasts strength had increased, as well as their temper. Addictive qualities, eh? Perhaps this could have actual use for me, he thought as he typed into his datapad.

His personal comm unit rang. “Oh, for frakk’s sake! Can’t a guy get a couple months of peace?” he said as he put down his datapad. He raised the unit to his lips and said, “Mac speaking, go for me!”

“Macron, would you be kind enough to join us at the Temple of Sorrow?” came the voice of Locke.

“Oh, I suppose. All play and no work. What’s this about?”

“I need your help with identifying someone. Someone the records state that you know.”

“Oh?” the madman questioned, his eyebrows raising. Normally, if you can put normal in the same sentence as Macron, he would’ve simply told them to establish a holonet call, but that last statement made it a mystery. And he loved mysteries. “I’m on my way, hold the party. Mac out.”

Evacuation Point
Taras
Yridia II, Yridia System
Less Than One Hour following Zorran's Death

"Blind man to Red Rose, I've acquired a transport to return to Orian and have a few Sadowan assets aboard ready for home. We'll be at the following co-ordinates in five and will dust-off shortly after, get the Dark Wind and any other assets you can there quickly; we've got a small window." The Miraluka's voice spoke swiftly as he guided the Tarenti ATR-6 Transport on a course towards his target, the sound of the laser turrets screaming echoed through the hull as another voice shouted to be heard over them.

"Are you sure they'll be there?" Roxas asked with his attention focused on the crosshairs of the transport's turret as he harassed the enemy fighters with the help of the other Sadowans aboard.

"Have some faith, my friend. The Quaestors have been through worse, I'm sure."

As the transport grew closer to the ground, the flak grew worse and Methyas' influence in the surrounding area blossomed outwards as he quickly assessed the area through the Force; his mind touching those of the turret gunners as he spoke, "Clear the LZ and focus on the AA. I want those not on a gun on the ground ASAP to begin spreading the cure."

No words were needed for their acknowledgement as the weapons fire shifted and the sounds of boots on the deck started towards the ramp, the hydraulics whining in response as they prepared to make landfall. As soon as the transport was low enough the first responders were gone, moving as swiftly as they could to locate the Sadowan Quaestors were they not already waiting, the method was also to secure their LZ with "trusted" soldiers. Moments passed as Roxas and the other gunners continued a steady watch of the surrounding area, the transport was too easy a target just sitting and waiting for their cargo; especially with the enemy air support.

"Come on, he's still breathing!"
"Hurry, the transport's just over there!"
"Move it soldiers! We don't have all day!"

The last voice was instantly recognizable to Methyas as it grew closer, Kalia's no-nonsense mentality pushing the Sadowans, and likely Tarenti, to their limits.

"We're aboard, drop him anywhere. Methyas, get us out of here." The woman's voice barked again, her Force signature having touched upon his own to ensure she had made sure the orders had gone to the right person.

Almost as soon as the order had been issued, the boarding ramp was being lifted and the transports thrusters screamed to life before Methyas' voice rose up over the local channels, "Sadow Liaison to Magnus Kaerner, what's the status of the hostile Interdictor?"

A pregnant pause passed before a response came, "Sadown Liaison, the fleet is striking the Interdictor as hard as we can muster. Won't be much longer before they raise shields or perish."

A slight smile crossed the Miraluka's face as he pushed the transport's thrusters as far as they'd go to break atmosphere, they'd need a clear shot for the Hyperspace lane to return home and the Tarenti forces would be more than capable of turning the tide with the help of the Iron Throne; or so he hoped at least.

"Magnus Kaerner to all Liaisons, hostile Interdictor has taken heavy damage with its field failing; you're clear for an escape vector."

A brilliant ball of flame lit up across the hull of the Interdictor to the transport's left, only for a small moment before the cold vacuum of space tore the remaining oxygen from the vessel's hull; a reminder that the Force of the Iron Throne were not to be trifled with amongst the thoughts of returning home to protect their own. A sobering thought on its own, the chaos Orian must be in, as Methyas swiftly keyed the co-ordinates into the system and hoped above all else that this bucket had a powerful Hyperdrive.

As the drive accepted the co-ordinates, the view outside the viewport blurred into a tunnel of stretched stars and their wake as the shielding protected the transport. There would be enough time to focus on the others now and to prepare them for whatever might be waiting when they drop out of Hyperspace. Spinning his chair about, Methyas found himself facing Roxas, the young Mandalorian seeming to have changed ever so slightly since he had last worked alongside him. A moment passed, Roxas seeming to want to say something to Methyas but he couldn't muster up what it was he needed.

"Speak with me when you are ready, Roxas." The Miraluka's voice swiftly passed through the Mandalorian's head before Methyas continued into the main hold to look upon his apprentice, prone upon the floor.

"What happened to him?" Methyas asked openly, hoping someone had seen the events on the surface.

"No idea, one minute he was there fighting as hard as the rest of us and the next he was on the ground. Maybe Archangel would know?" Kalia commented almost offhandedly, while she tried to maintain her air of indifference, there was a part of her that voiced her concern over her fellow Quaestor's state.

Few would notice though, something Methyas himself set aside as he knelt next to his apprentice's form and set upon his examinations the way he knew best; through the guidance of the Force. The source of the issue came to the Miraluka's attention swiftly, almost lighting up like the morning sky: Atra's throat region having been struck by some sort of energy burn. A slight grimace crossed Methyas face, only for the briefest of moments, before he breathed deeply, "If I had the skill, I could repair this damage..."

Instead, the Miraluka repaired what he could, healing the burn to the best of his ability took time but the damage itself...even the Exarch didn't have the power to regenerate that kind of carnage. As the Force finished flowing freely and the pressure of the Jedi's fountainous signature faded from the hold, Methyas spoke softly, "I've done what I can. He should wake in a bit and in a tonne of pain."

The moments passed and Methyas waited in a state of meditation as the rest of the Sadowans went about their own methods of being "calm", or at least what passed for calm amongst Dark Jedi. It didn't take too long before Atra returned to the world of the living, his eyes shooting open wide and hands balling into fists as the pain at his throat came startlingly fast. It only took a moment for him to feel the comforting call of the Force, to grab it and wrap his pain within it as his eyes scanned the hold. Opening his mouth he tried to speak, a slight rasp escaping and being met immediately with more stabbing pain.

"Easy, Atra. I've done what I can but I'm no doctor. The wound at your throat is quite severe though so I'm not surprised you can't speak." Methyas' voice rang out throughout the young Corellian's head before it continued, "We're aboard a transport en-route to Orian and the plague's been cured."

"How?" Atra's cold voice responded likewise, not really questioning more than a demand.

"I'm sure Macron can explain in great detail if you'd wish, but somehow it's spread through us. Regardless, try to rest and prepare yourself for more war. We broke the Yridian blockade to get out but I don't know what will be waiting for us in Orian."

With that Methyas rose from the hold's deck and started towards the transport's cockpit, settling in the pilot's chair and once again meditating, waiting for the ship's Hyperdrive to shunt off and Orian would be before him in all its majesty.

Orian Space
Several Hours Later

As quickly as the transport had disappeared, so too did it appear in real-space, the opposing fleet facing the combined might of the fleets of the Iron Throne before the small transport, Roxas and other gunners already in position in their turrets as the sheer firepower of the Dlarit and Council fleets slammed against the shields and hulls of Zorran's invading fleet. Even without their leader the invaders sought to eliminate the Clan, a foolhardy attempt with the Sadowans regrouping swiftly. Enemy fighters scrambled to meet the newcomer in the fray as Methyas keyed in his priority channels, speaking into his microphone succinctly, "Naval Command, this is Senior Director L'eonheart aboard a Tarenti ATR-6. I have members of the Board with me and require fighter assistance ASAP. We are on course to link up with the Harbinger, please respond."

The profile of the assailing fighters began to grow as they grew nearer and nearer to the transport, the ATR-6's sensors sending up warnings as Methyas could feel the gunners growing eager for the impending fight.

"Harbinger to Director L'eonheart, you've been cleared for docking and we've scrambled Aurek Squadron to bring you home. Good luck, sir."

"Alright everyone, hang tight, this could get messy."

Tarenti ATR-6
Orian Space
Several Hours after Zorran's death

Pain.

Once more the world faded to the agonizing clarity wrought by the fiery sting at his throat. Is that all there was to life? Pain and torment? Time and time again, Atra found himself surrounded by the dark shroud of evil's taint. His thoughts and memories were filtered through blood and marred by sorrow. An explosion rocked the transport as the Quaestor's grey eyes fixed upon the durasteel panel before him. Time stood still as the lids of his eyes closed, opening to find only darkness.

Memories. Lost to memories.

The world before the Corellian took on a red hue, illuminating the water at his feet. His head cocked to the side as Atra's eyes looked around for something, anything. The slow churning of the water pierced the shroud of silence, barely perceived by the Quaestor. Still, the man's mind screamed that something wasn't right. A sense of dread filled him as the water began to rise, slowly seeking to claim him. No, not water.

Blood.

Atra stood in a pool of blood. The blood of tainted memories. Images flashed around him as the methodical liquid seemed to reach out to pull itself ever closer. His family, lying dead on the floor seared through Atra's head as the vicious scar upon his chest ignited in pain. Next, the sorrow and emptiness that followed. So many years, so much lost time.

Pain and blood once more claimed him, five years of 'tender' care at the behest of Macron Goura Sadow. The Quaestor held his head back and let loose what would have been a blood curdling scream, had his throat not erupted in pain and silence.

Life is pain. Suffering. We are all bathed in blood.

Or are we?

A voice rose from afar, echoing faintly before disappearing, Atra focused his senses, clutching at the strand no matter how hopeless it may be. Slowly, the sound grew louder and formed words.

"Sir, here are the results of the test you ordered."

"You may go."

"Sir."

Light penetrated the darkness, chasing it away with invisible hands. Atra's eyes were filled with the sight of himself sitting alone in his office. Nothing had changed since the previous Quaestor's tenancy, a clear sign of how rare it was for Atra to be there. Cold, grey eyes scanned the datapad at hand as the information sunk in. Though the doctor hadn't known it, he had just provided the Quaestor with an analysis of Atra's own genetics.

A small smile spread on the man's face, revealing his animal-like canine teeth just past his lips. The briefest of sensations filled him, foreign and unknown.

Hope.

Atra's family was dead, but he may not be alone, if he were lucky. The results before him were quite clear. The unknown subject, as far as the doctors were concerned, was the product of two separate genetic legacies. Based on the prominence of the Corellian strain, that was offered from the mother as the dominant qualities. The other, provided via the father, was identified as Firrerreo.

Suddenly, where there was only pain, now, there was a drive for answers. Who exactly was his father, and were there any others alive? Perhaps, there could be more to Atra's life than constant struggle.

"Sir!"

Atra blinked, the cold durasteel of the transport once more filling his gaze. The Sadowan trooper stood at the ready, knowing better than to pry. The Quaestor nodded his consent, knowing the man was awaiting permission to continue.

"To better expedite your recovery, the medical staff wishes to have your consent to prepare the cybernetic enhancements to... well..."

The soldier struggled to finish his statement, clearly uneasy with the prospect of cyborgs. Not that Atra could blame him, as the concept was far from enticing. A slow, painful sigh escaped from Atra's lips before being cut short with the sudden image of a lab table. Reaching out, the datapad hovered slowly, taken by invisible hands as the Quaestor's hand clenched into a fist. The datapad exploded into sparks and debris, the soldier taking his opportunity to depart.

Never again will Atra be a lab rat, even if it meant becoming mute.

Another explosion rocked the shuttle, bringing the man's attention back to the situation at hand. With focused steps the Quaestor wrapped himself in the comfort of the Force, numbing himself to the pain that fought to claim him. Slowly, he came to stand side by side with his old master, the Miraluka acknowledging his presence without turning.

"How you feeling?" Methyas' calm voice seemed to reverberate within the tight quarters.

"Ready..." Atra's unspoken words resounded within the Blind Man's thoughts, filled with a cold purpose.

A small grin spread over the man's face, a slight betrayal of pride as he felt a distinct lack of rage in his old apprentice.

"Good."

Nachzerer cockpit
Inos Orbit
Orian System

"Approaching the Inos Moons, sir." The Verpine's strange clicks seemed to echo in the small helm area. "Inos Moon 42 onscreen."

The yellow eyes of the ship's owner never blinked as they flickered back and forth across the readouts. "It appears the remnant of Zoraan's fleet in this system have ignored Inos. It is a tactical error." During his reign, Macron knew that redoubts of supplies, baradium, and weapons were stashed deep inside caves in various Moons. Much like had been in the Cenota Facility... and under the Temple of Steel... and elsewhere. There were certain advantages to being paranoid.

"Yes Marshal Commander. It does. I have report of the enemy fleet near Sepros across the DSOG channels." The ship lurched as it entered the cold atmosphere of the moon. "We've landed."

"That makes sense, Engineer Zzzclk'ik. Zoraan is dead. I saw him fall to Lord Ashen's blades myself... but the Clan is still besieged by the dogs that followed him. Contact the Governor General and his staff and let him know we are in-system and ready to assist. We carry the Cure in our blood, as do all who fought at the Dark Hall. I will be traveling to the Tombs of Urias Orian to commune with the Dark Side. My exposure to the Horizon Virus changed me somehow, and I must know the answer. Things are... different."

Masters- do you hear me? Thoughts of both Lord Vexatus and Manji Keibatsu Sadow crossed the Alchemist's mind.

The loading hatch opened as Macron closed the faceguard on his helm with a puff of gas. He straddled a hot-rodded Sith speeder bike and zoomed off into the foggy cold towards the yawning mouths of the Tombs.

Tarenti ATR-6
Hyperspace
En-route to Orian System
Roxas began repairing his helmet. The only damage Coop Ter’an inflicted on it was destroying the visor. Repairing it would give Roxas some alone time to think of what he needed to say. He first removed the eye guards and then the face guard, setting them aside on the small table that he had pulled to his lap in the hold of the shuttle. I guess I should just come right out and say it, but it wouldn’t be tactful with others around. We have to be alone, so it isn’t a huge thing.

Tarenti ATR-6
Orian Space
Several Hours After Leaving Yridia
The Mandalorian was sitting in the seat of the turret with his newly fixed helmet on. He heard that Atra had gotten up and was ready to fight, so he offered the fellow experiment his seat at the turret. Atra nodded a thank you as he sat down. Roxas walked to the blaster rack and grabbed a Baragwin heavy repeating blaster. The Templar walked to the rear of the ship and clicked his comm before stepping into the vacuum compression room that relieves pressure for spacewalks.

“Methyas, open the top service hatch, I’m going for a walk.”

There was a pregnant moment of silence before Methays spoke “I don’t think going out there is a good idea, Rox. You’ll be an easy target, just floating around.”

“Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

There was nothing, but silence for a moment. Then Methyas spoke “Don’t get yourself killed for nothing.”

The door of the compression room closed and sealed. Roxas quickly engaged the seals of his helmet, so his brains wouldn’t be sucked out of his ears. All the air was sucked out of the room and the service hatch opened. Using the lack of gravity the Mandalorian bounced out of the service hatch into the space battle waging around them. As he left the hatch he turned on his magboots. The electrical field pulled him back down to the shuttle until his feet were firmly planted on its surface.

The Templar swung the large repeating blaster around himself and began to fire at passing enemy fighters. It had been so long since his last spacewalk that he expected to hear the sounds of the weapon, the ships, and the explosions. It is an eerie thing watching large metallic objects full of life explode with large fiery bursts and never hear a sound.

“COME ON YOU UGLY BASTARDS! SHOW ME WHAT YOU’VE GOT! HAHAHA!” He yelled happily to himself in the soundless vacuum of space.

Transport Shuttle
Sepros

The passengers from the transport shuttle disembarked and made their was through the various lanes to the identification control booths. Hundreds of shuttles like this one arrived from either Aeotheran or Tarthos every day, today was different as two passengers coming from Aeotheran were looking to reconnect with old friends.

"It feels so strange to be back here," the youngest of the two said, "it's almost like coming home."

"Well, we've been away for a long time and I would have brought you back sooner, if I felt you we're ready to face the past." The eldest of the two replied. He placed his hand on her shoulder in a reassuring gesture and then sighed.

It had been a long journey to the Orian system but it had been done in way to reduce the ripples of their presence within the Force. By now the Elders and the upper echelon of Equites would be aware of the identities of these individuals, but as the line progressed the two mysterious passengers were finally at the front of the line.

"You go first snips." The elder said.

The young woman walked up to the booth and held out her identification card to be scanned. It read:

Name: Ruoxf, Aleho
Species: Togruta
Age: 17
Profession: Archaeology Student, Urd Nathan Imperial University, Vardor.

The young man inside the booth eyes started to go wide as his screen suddenly read:

...WARNING - D-SOG Level Classification In Effect...
...Processing...
...Approved...

Aleho Ruoxf just smiled at the young man as if nothing was the matter, but she knew the truth behind the Dlarit Corporation, she knew the dark masters the corporation answered too even if the boarder officer didn't.

"Thank you for cooperation and please enjoy your stay." The young man said as he handed Aleho's identification card back to her. The young woman simply kept the sweet smile on her face and replied, "Oh, I will do."

The boarder officer felt a slight shiver go up his spine as he watched her walk through and hoped that was the last shock of the day. No such luck, as the next person handed over his card to be scanned. His read:

Name: Isradia, Ashura
Species: Human
Age: 36
Profession: Dlarit Corporation Special Operations, Marshal Commander (deactivated)

...WARNING - D-SOG Level Classification In Effect...
...Processing...
...ALERT - D-SOG Activation Required...

The boarder officer stared at the screen and after a moment he spoke, "I-It says."

"I know what it says. Now, give me back my damn card." That cold and heartless voice of a man who seemed to regard the young officer as dirt on his boot cut him off. The boarder officer was practically frozen on the spot by those cold blue eyes. Ashura Isradia, Sith Warlord, gestured for his card back which the young man was only to eager to give him back.

"T-thank y-you for co-co-cooperation a-and pl-please enjoy your st-st-stay."

"Kark off."

When the young officer superior arrived five minutes later after complaints that the boarder control booth was unmanned, he found the officer on the floor shivering and muttering "those eyes" over and over, he decided it was time for the young man to head to the funny farm.

Meanwhile, Aleho Ruoxf was laughing like Macron Sadow on sock whisky as she found what her father had done to be the funniest thing in the world, and declared. "I think I peed myself."

"That will be day." Ashura replied dryly with a half smile. "Snips, I need to go and get my rank reactivated. Do you think you can find a pit to fall into while I sort that out?"

"There called digs, not pits, and I'm sure I can find something to do while you play soldier." Aleho knew her adopted fathers tendencies to mispronounce words which he knew as part of his affection for her. "If you see any of the old gang." She then cut herself off due to her insecurities about what had happened years ago.

"Go." Ashura said and watched his daughter run off. Despite what she thought, he knew she was ready to face the dark happenings in her past, in order for her to grow strong she needed to face her fears and overcome them. Ashura had failed as her teacher, he will *not* fail her as her father, he knew his attachment to his former student was part of his nature as a Sith. She was his legacy.

Dlarit Special Operations Group Headquarters
Temple of Steel

As he walked through the main doors he knew he was expected, it had not taken long for him in fill in the necessary paperwork and even then that was just a formality, he was after all a member of Clan Naga Sadow and in such he knew how to keep up the cover as a "good officer". He watched the unfamiliar faces of the Dark Jedi.

"Oh hells bells. I was hoping it was someone's idea of a practical joke." The familiar voice suddenly cut through the air which made Ashura grin.

"Hello Araic. How have you been." Ashura replied and turned to look at Araic Simonetti, the commanding officer of Special Operations Group. His long time rival and verbal sparring buddy.

"I would have been better without you and your side-kick scaring the boarder control officers. You know that young man had to be committed." Fleet Admiral Simonetti could have done without that incident. Bloody Dark Siders. Especially this one! "Where did Ruoxf get off too?"

"I told my dear daughter to find a pit and throw herself in." Ashura replied with his usual dry sense of humour.

"Pit? Daughter?" Araic half whispered.

"I adopted her, after everything she been though, Aleho needed stability." The Sith replied. He was not going to go into details for the old war horse to listen through. "She's studying to become an archaeologist of all things."

"I suppose that's harmless enough?" The older man asked.

"Not really. Aleho wants to study under Trevarus Caerick, after all it was his books that inspired her to take up archaeology as a hobby years ago, which had her join the expedition into the Inos tombs and led to where she is today." Isradia grinned as he everything was going full circle.

"Bloody mad... All of them are bloody mad." Araic muttered as he decided to walk back to his office and pull out the bottle of scotch had for emergencies. He thought things were crazy enough without a wannabe archaeologist with desires of madness.

Meanwhile, Aleho Ruoxf sneezed and wondered who was thinking about her, as she looked up any information regarding dig sites on Sepros.