Official Brotherhood Storyline Updates

There was blood everywhere.

Muz saw it on the cold stone of the floor, across the iron of his throne, soaked into the warbanners that adorned the hall. He saw it in the symbols of the clans, carved into the stones. He blinked it away and saw the Red Tower still standing there, at the end of the carpet that led to the throne. He raised his eyes to meet the Elomin and the bloodskin wordlessly stepped back a few paces, then turned to leave.

Muz paced the floor in front of the raised dais that the simple throne sat upon, shooting a glance at it ever few turns, then back toward the closed doors, heavy wood inscribed with ancient Sith and Krath runes that seemed to glow in the halflight of the chamber.

A thin and pale human appeared behind the throne, the grating sound of stone on stone heralding his arrival. The praetor looked at the master cautiously, holding still until he was absolutey sure he had been seen. He knew too well the folly of surprising the Kyataran.

It was three more laps before the man raised a hand to beckon Xander forward, stopping in front of the throne.

"Master?"

Muz nodded at the holodisk that sat on the arm of the throne. Xander stepped up the dias quickly, nimble fingers snatching up the transparisteel-encased magnetic ore wafers. Retreating off the dias, he opened his mouth to ask questions but found them already answered within his own mind.

Xander backed away slowly as the Lion of Tarthos began to pace his cage again, slipping through the secret door which he entered through, crouching through the open stonework, wrapping his mind around the slab that served as the door. The heavy stone slid closed as he moved down the hidden tunnel back to the nerve center, the communications and control room of the Dark Hall.

Raising an eyebrow as he shifted hiz gaze around the room, eyes adusting to the dim lighting cast from the various monitors and holoprojectors, the Praetor made sure no one else was present before slipping the disc into a reader. Tapping on controls, he took in the information, watching the strange symbols as they projected into the air before him. Slipping into a chair, the former thief leaned back and rubbed his chin.

Tapping another command string into the console, he opened a communications link.

---------

Nekura Manji stared at the hologram with his good eye, his arms pulled into the wide sleeves of his robe. The Consul of Naga Sadow had been awake for thirty hours now, and was operating on adrenaline and caff more than anything by now.

"So, what are you tring to tell me?"

"I..." Tsaenemoto's voice was plain as he admitted his own confusion. "I'm not terribly sure. It's not like how it was with Caerick. With him, things were obvious."

Manji nodded slowly, the unspoken acknowledgement returned as Sai closed the link, his form dissipating into swirling blue mist. He turned from the comm array, shrugging his arms out of his robes and resting a hand on the saber hilt in his sash. "I need to get a hold of my nephew."

---------

Muz knew he wasn't alone in the throne room. He felt the other man's presence, subtle as it was. The resonance of his personality, the Force imprint, was faint, but recognizable to the wild scope of his senses.

"Kaek." The name was flung at the corners of the room, his voice enhanced by a thread of the Force.

He stepped from the shadows like a million Sith cliches, his eyes kept hidden by the thick hood of his cloak as he slipped into the light. "You know that you can't trust him."

Muz nodded, turning to look at the throne again. Kaek briefly debated drawing his saber and striking down the Krath where he stood, taking the Throne for himself. His mind's eye played it out, the image of the Dread Lord's body seperate from his head vibrant to him before it shifted to seeing the Krath standing above him, his own body collapsed on the floor several meters away as he blinked it away, seeing the Dark Lord half-smiling at him. Kaek hated the man for his Krath devilry.

"I can't trust anyone, Kaek." Muz shifted his weight, putting his thumbs behind his belt, precariously close to his sabers. "That's one of the benefits of this job."

Kaek shook his head, continuing despite the interruption. "He's already made contact with his allies in the Core. Word will get back to them, and then things will get ...complicated."

Muz nodded, watching the blood drip down the walls. "How much blood must I bathe in before I am clean?"

Kaek just looked at him sideways before turning to leave.

---------

The man with the white hair lifted the glass to his lips but did not drink, watching his compatriot across the table in the noisy cantina. He looked disheveled, his clothes in rags, and thought he saw actual fungus growing on parts of it. Putting the glass back down on the grimy table, he levelled his gaze at the human. "So, why did you want to meet me here on Corellia?"

"They tried to kill me." The human muttered, drowning the words in a draught from his own cup.

The white-haired one let the words hang in the air for a moment. "This surprises you?"



(From the GM report dated 10/4/2009)

"Sashar?" The Proconsul tapped his fingers on the desk, looking at the Erinos with a quizzical gleam in his eye. Sashar blinked, re-reading the transmission from Antei again.

"Braecen, we need to get to the dock, and now." He rose from his seat quickly, the chair grunting as it was shoved back by the backs of the man's knees. "We're expecting the Spear."

"Spears?" Braecen stood with him, following the Arconan Consul as he made his way down the hallway. "I thought the old Gen'Dai was retired?"

"Not Spears." Sashar continued, increasing his speed and pulling a commlink from his belt. "The Fallen Spear. The Grand Master."

Braecen grumbled to himself, keeping pace with him as he followed. Sashar nodded, the unsaid acknowledgment of the man's history with the Dark Lord. Flipping open the comm, he keyed the coded frequency that would send his message to all of the Arconae and many of the Shadesworn, letting them know to meet them in the docking bay.

Turning down the corridor, he listened to their bootfalls echo off the durocrete walls. The chirp of his commlink demanded his attention, and he clicked it into the power-on position, the holographic Anzati hovering above his arm as he moved. "Sashar, Boral Control just cleared the Spear. I took the liberty of getting an appropriate reception ready for them."

Sashar narrowed his eyes. "Define 'Appropriate', Legorii."

"Well, I figure that he's not here to kill any of us, otherwise he'd just glass us from orbit." Legorii snorted. "So, since there's not much notice, he's probably here to give us something."

"Or to fire us." Braecen spat, and Sashar raised an eyebrow at him before he turned the commlink off. Stopping in front of a door, he tapped the console, watching the heavy blast doors slide apart, revealing the rows of guards that flanked the carpet from the door. Legorii nodded at them as they cleared the door, stepping to his side as they moved from the doorway.

Sashar lowered his voice as he watched out of the airlock as the Kyataran's ship approached. "Where is Etah?"

Legorii shrugged his shoulders. "It was short notice, after all."

The ship set down quietly, the hydraulic landing gears venting gas as it landed, a ramp rolling down the front of the forward-facing bay of the ship as the airlock slid down, revealing a row of dark-armored guardsmen. They moved quickly and quietly down the ramp, lining up along the carpet as the Dark Lord stomped down after them. Two more guardsmen followed him, carrying ebony chests with engraved metal furniture.

Muz motioned for them to place the chests in front of him, wrapping a tendil of the Force around the locks to open them, revealing the ancient metal artifacts within as the Guards joined their brethren. "Consul Sashar Kodiak Erinos."

Sashar stepped forward, bowing his head slightly.

"To the victor, goes the spoils." Muz motioned to the artifacts, lifting them from their cases with his mind, letting them spin slowly in the air. "As such, Arcona is granted first choice of the spoils."

Sashar watched the holocrons swirl in the air between the Dark Lord and himself. He had heard that they had found a cache of holocrons hidden in Crask's personal effects, but it was just a rumor until now. The Force leaked from the artifacts as they orbited each other, Sashar enhancing his eyes with a thread of Force before reaching out to claim Arcona's Prize.

---------

"Is that all you have for me, Pavan?" His greasy hair moved slightly in the breeze. They didn't get much wind up this high, despite the high premium that his contact paid for a balcony office. The hundreds of skyscrapers served as a buffer against the wind. He stared at the information broker, waiting for the man to get over himself.

"They didn't tell me any more than that, mister Loira." He straightened his suit, giving the older man a look as dirty as his clothes.

"Well, how do I know that it's not some sort of trap?"

"Hey, I'm just here because I was paid to arrange the meeting." Pavan stepped back another step from the man. He had asked to meet him on the balcony in case his appointment smelled as bad as he looked. Of course the bum would have to be paranoid, too. "If you want to meet him or not, I still get paid."

He raised his hand, chewing on filthy fingernails and watching Pavan squirm. "Where did he want to meet?"

---------

He looked up at him with burgundy eyes, knowing well not to let his posture speak fear. Dark eyes regarded him as he rose from the bow required by tradition. The green eyed Arconan did the same to his left, her scent wafting across to him. He smelled the essence of Corellian Black Lillies, Rojos and something else that he could almost identify. He shuffled the thought to the back of his mind, waiting for the Dark Lord to finish speaking.

"I need them alive." Muz turned from them, pacing slowly in front of the throne. "You will not fail."

Xathia shot Arion a quick glance, her own Krath mind trying to dissect the wisdom in sending Dark Jedi from different clans on this perversion of the Great Hunt. Arion nodded slowly at her as if to say that he understood.

Muz stopped in front of them, staring at them with his nightmare eyes. "May the Force serve you well."

The pair bowed quickly, stepping backwards down the dark carpet before they turned to leave. Muz watched them leave before turning on his heel to pace again. The doors opened, two leaving and one entering. Muz shot the throne an angry glance before turning his head toward the new interloper continuing his path on the cold stone of the Dark Hall. The interloper moved with confidence, his gait marking him as an Obelisk as much as the blue trim of his robes.

He moved quietly toward the Grand Maser, stopping a few paces away and dropping to one knee, his warm green eyes locked on him. "What is thy bidding, my master?"

Muz stopped in his step, a cruel smile erupting from the corners of his mouth.


(From the GM report dated 10/25/2009)

He slunk along the wall, sliding aside the vent grate as he cursed himself silently. Juda's helmet flickered up, the HUD showing the schematic for the Bothan Assault Carrier that he had made after studying Arcona's own The Darkest Night. The Ventilation system would lead him past three doors, and while he could slice them, he would much rather attack from a direction that the traitorous Captain would not expect.

He crawled silently, a difficult task as his armour could clang against the durosteel vent walls at any second. The training he had received at the Obelisk's Black Pyramid was brutally effective in teaching him to move without sound, a wonderful addition to his Mandolorian training. Deadly and silent, he pressed on, the light from the Captain's chambers filtering in through the grate.

The Anzati sat silently, staring at a holoimage of a woman and child, his hand resting casually on an armory saber from the Herald's stock. Juda sneered beneath his mask, flicking the switch on his gauntlet just as the air started to pressurize, masking the metallic sound as the blades swung outward. He had been told by the Grand Master to bring him this anzat's head, and he would do so without fail.

---------

The blast rocked the prefabricated base, and Tremil swung himself back toward the window. It had been thirty minutes since the enemy had retreated back into their battle-hives. He had heard the order for forward artillery to pummel the earthworks, and everyone had expected that the enemy would have gone deeper in the ground, buying them at least a few more hours until they would be able to mount another attack.

He scanned the barren grounds from his observation post, vaguly aware of the other soldiers snapping up next to him, the triple daggers insignia of III legion on their shoulders almost glowing in the flickering light. Tremil lifted the electrobinoculars to his eyes, switching optic modes and zooming in, seeing the insectoid setting up another mortar-like device. He chirped out the directions, spotting the beast for the sniper to his left. A second later, a wave of heat bloomed on his face for a second, and he saw the creature crumple into a pile of broken chitin.

"Confirmed." Tremil zoomed out one setting, spotting another of the aliens as it was setting up a similar device. He hoped that they were just mortars or something like that, but they seemed a bit bulky for just that purpose. No matter, he just knew that if they were dead, if they did their job, it wouldn't matter. He called out the direction and watched as the sniper ended another one.

---------

Korras tapped his fingers on the table, looking across the meeting room at the Dark Lord's Praetor. He was a bit of a nervous man, a Krath that had seen more books than battles, a bit more in-line with the stereotype than the Master himself. Korras smiled inwardly, remembering the simpler days when he and Muz had been sent on missions by elders that no longer graced the Brotherhood with their presence. Both himself and Muz had come into their own, growing past the confines on Tarthos and fighting their way up the ladders of power.

Paladin stood nervously in the corner of the room, stroking his beard as he stared blankly at he wall. He wasn't often seen outside of the private halls of the Dark Hall, but his influence was felt almost any time that one had dealings with the Dark Lord. Korras watched the older man carefully, trying to sense a glimpse of what he was thinking, an echo of what he might have been called for.

The door opened at the far end of the room, and all eyes shifted to it.

---------

The old man snorted as he put his glass down, staring down Pavan with a vehemence he had previously only reserved for his brother. He waved away the bartender as he hovered nearby with his bottle, opening his mouth and closing it again as he chewed the thoughts into something he could actually say.

"Dead?"

Pavan just nodded.

"So..."

The weasel of a man shrugged, his eyes explaining how his involvement in the matter evaporated when the money did. He angled for the door, plainly uncomfortable being in close proximity with him, despite the crowd. The old man reached into his pockets and tapped an Aurum credstick on the bar, drawing Pavan's eyes in a heartbeat.

"I need to get ahold of someone..."

---------

The whirring sound of cheap pneumatics echoed off of the walls of the Holocron Centre of the Brotherhood. Muz paused in his step, his head lowered and his eyes framed by long tendrils of dark hair. The Force whispered to him, and he knew all he needed within a moment.

Vexxtal pushed the fresh power coupler into the backup circuits, the red optical sensors reflecting the teal glow of the Brotherhood archives. Metallic fingers released and the servos were commanded to turn the torso around. Spinning slowly, Vexxtal cursed the jury-rigged combat droid he was forced to utilize to interact, to move, to do what needed to be done. Shock racked the Shard's senses as it saw the bright purple glow of a lightaber.

"You're no droid." Muz snarled, a cruel glint in his featureless eyes.


(From the GM report dated 11/22/2009)

Oberst cocked his eyebrow at the creature before him, a small ball of fluff that would better suit as a pet for some spoiled noble on a soft planet. Droopy ears on the creature wiggled and it looked up at him with expressive eyes.

Muz shruged off the tendrils of the Force he had summoned to execute the ritual to move the journeyman's spirit. The ruined remains of a human body smoked slightly a few meters away, the scent of charred flesh and burnt ozone heavy in the throne room. The effort had stained the Kushiban's fur a dark crimson, a more appropriate color for a dark jedi, even one in so deceptive a form. The grand master's warcoat spun wide as he turned on his heel, regarding the Consul of Tarentum with a nod, restraining a laugh at the aristocrat's irritation.

The famed general narrowed his eye at the master. "Seriously?"

---------

Kaek sat back in the chair, his boots resting casually on the desk. Rolling the lightsider's saber in his palm, he smiled. It was sublime to have ended his old foe's life, upholding the Long family's deathmark on the traitor.

His datapad beeped again, marking yet another message from his predecessor that he would ignore for the time being.

Korras waited for the door to fully open before stepping through, the last of the Obelisk High Commanders nodding at the Dark Councilor and his praetor as he took a seat. Anshar leaned against the wall, his eyes locked on his own datapad.

"I leave tomorrow." Kaek threw his feet back to the floor, leaning forward in his chair as he slammed the saber onto the desk. "So, I will need you both to keep order. Korras, you'll be in charge of the effort on Salas V."

Korras blinked, staring at the lightsaber hilt for a moment before standing up. "Understood." He turned to leave, his proximity to the door sensors commanding the doors to open as he stepped through it.

Kaek cleared his throat, Anshar snapping to attention and making his way to the door as well, sliding his datapad into a hip pouch quickly. He waited until the door sealed shut again before sliding open a drawer in his desk, pushing aside the datachips and pulling the tab that exposed the hidden chamber beneath the false bottom.

He retrieved the weapon slowly, careful not to bang it against the walls of the drawer, holding it up in the light as he examined it slowly, the culmination of three years work. He would actually need it on this next mission, even if things went as planned. His datapad chirped again, the alert he set himself for time reminding him to head for his ship. It was a long journey, and he had to time it just right for there to be any real chance of success.

---------

His white hair splayed out sharply from within the dark hood, marking him immediately as soon as he stepped into the cantina. Loira leaned forward, trying to make eye contact from his booth on the far end of the room. It only took a few moments before he noticed him and made his way towards the dingy little booth, drink in hand.

He slid across the seat, the soft fabric of his robes gliding across the synthetic leather. "Mr. Loira..." The word was rich in sarcasm as he settled in.

"Pavan delivers yet again." The old man let his body language relax a bit, but his darting eyes betrayed his true intentions to the white-haired one.

"I wasn't followed." He offered. "Matter of fact, I have't been at Antei for months."

Loira sneered, tapping filthy fingernails on the table. "What happened to the Admiral?"

"Assassinated."

"And the damn fool Anzat thought he could survive anything that they could throw at him." Loira sighed, raising a hand to massage the bridge of his nose. He had warned Nekaka to use a double, but his advice went unheeded, and now his head would adorn the Dark Hall of Antei. Loira dropped his hand from his face, looking up at his companion's dark blue eyes. "What else have you heard?"

"He was summoned." The white-haired man leaned forward, his words taking on a conspiratorial tone.

"The admiral?"

"The Lion." He answered in hushed tones, biting his lip as he debated telling more.

Loira shook his head, his filthy hair rattling against his tattered and moldy jacket. "By who I think?"

The white haired man merely nodded. "It's getting too deep, old friend. You have to make the decision. Make your move, or let things lie."

Loira took a few healthy swallows of his drink before setting it down. "Is it time?"

---------

"Our ideas, our ways are the same."

"Do you know the difference between you and I?" Muz spoke slowly, deliberately, looking at the armoured man from across a small table. He gave no response, save for the steel and crimson of his eyes, so Muz continued. "You became what defeated you."

There was a moment of stillness as the other man contemplated the words. "And you?" His voice was as gravel in a grinder.

"I refused to be defeated." Muz answered without emotion, cold as the void that lay three feet away, through the ship's hull where he had agreed to meet the man. "If your belief was strong enough, the Embrace would have changed nothing in you."

The other man seethed beneath his helm, knuckles cracking as his fists clenched. Muz's expression did not change as he looked at him.

"How did you..."

Muz only smiled.

{From the GM report dated 12-08-2009}

Silence is precious to many. The calming reprieve from scheming and idle chatter is treasured by every leader in the Brotherhood. Muz counted his blessings with cursing language as he paced the floor in front of the chair made of wrought and cold iron. He inventoried the massive building in his own mind. Every Force Sensitive creature had left Antei, save for those few locked in the bowels of Codei Prison. His decree that the Dark Council could return to their home clans to vy for Salas V had emptied the hall, except for Kir, Paladin and Kaek, and even those three were off on their own errands. Alone with the gravel-voiced ghost his mind created, Muz paced for hours on end, focusing himself as it spoke half truths and conspiracy theories in ways that only he could hear.

He eyed the throne warily.

He always did.

From the GM Report dated 12-29-2009}

Silence drummed in her ears, the beat of her pulse rocking her senses as he realized what it was she saw through the viewport. She shifted her head slightly, trying to focus in with her good eye. It was no model of star destroyer she had seen, not even in the databases, but it was huge.

"Hold position." Ji barked at the crewman standing closest. They repeated the order and the ship's engines cut, retro rockets firing to stop their movement in the void. She looked at it, ignoring the itch of her breath mask on the bridge of her nose. Stepping back from the transparisteel, she kept her eye locked on it. "Open up a channel to the Consul."

---------

"How long will it take?" He looked up at the old man through white hair, blown by the wind that swerved through the crumbling walls. He waited for the answer, constructing a path or escape from the building, from the plot, from the known universe should this plan fail.

"It's a subtle working." Loira coughed quietly, putting a glass to his lips and swallowing before continuing. "I have it down to some specific trigger words."

"The elders, the Dark Council..." The question went unfinished.

Loira smiled at him. "Even the Lords would be affected. And they'll be too busy fighting each other to get beyond that."

The white haired man shrugged. "They say that when rancors fight, the ground is what loses."

Loira paused, looking into the man's eyes, a shocking blue with a grey star pattern in the center. "What do you care?"

---------

Kaek grimaced at the blinding sun of the backwater planet as he stepped out of his transport. Another desert world, poor and uncivilized, and Kaek immediately hated it. He checked his belt, making sure that the canteen was still where he left it and pulled up his hood, wrapping a scarf around his face to keep the blowing sands from his throat.

His agents kept disappearing when he sent them here, and normally that would keep him from ever setting foot on the forsaken dustball, but curiosity drew him in, a whisper on the Fore that sang to him of untold power, of control beyond even his formidable reckoning. He waited as the droid unpacked his speeder bike, a custom job with silenced engines. Swinging his leg over the chassis, he mentally took inventory of the surrounding terrain, his mind racing as kicked the bike to life and bolted forward, his boots working the rocker pedals as he held on.

Bolting through boulders, he came to a cliffside and let the bike slide across, pressing down to the canyon floor a half mile below. As the wind tore back his hood, he felt the wind scream past his ears, his short hair, the ends of his scarf flapping wildly as it held to his face. Pulling the stick up, the bike all but bounced on the canyon floor as he pulled from the wall behind him.

---------

Taigikori watched as Aabsdu's transport left the docking bay, the stylized helmet logo on the wing marking it as one of the newest house's property. Taigikori scratched his chin, amused by the changing loyalties of those who left the Dark Council. Turning from the bay, he strode with purpose to the turbo lift, placing his hand against the biometric scanner.

The lift's computer recognized him with a beep and the man smiled. The Seneschal must have already changed his position in the security clearances. He felt his stomach flutter as the lift barreled down, through countless tons of rock, his mind counting how many layers of library and training halls he was descending past to get down to the offices.

The doors opened, the pale light of the secure chambers of the Headmaster of the Shadow Academy bathing his features in a cool glow. He stepped from the lift, the doors silently closing behind him as he moved forward to the large and rounded desk, his eye catching the hidden display controls, buried and concealed in the accents of the architecture. He pulled the seat from the desk, his hand caressing the fine grain of the leather, wondering if it was bantha.

"It's Ewok." Muz spoke, appearing as if from nowhere, leaning against one of the walls, staring at one of the ancient Sith friezes. "Specifically, the Gondula tribe. Their fur is remarkably soft when harvested correctly. I have a few blankets made of their hides."

Taigikori didn't know if he wanted to cringe or not, and decided to just sit down, instead. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, my Lord?"

Muz turned slowly, a half smile crossing his lips. "We're going down to the Vault."

{From the GM report dated 05-25-2010}

The speeder screamed as Kaek held on, the repulsordrive shooting in through the canyon, between the statues of long dead Sith Lords, dusted over with dust from a few thousand years of Korriban's storms. He summoned threads of willpower, the invisible hand of the Force wiping the grime from his goggles as he plowed through another dusty plume.

The Force cried out to him, the feeling of danger echoing up from the base of his skull, the lizard brain trying to tell the old spymaster that something was very wrong.

The sound of a tenloss rifle told the story better.

The disintegrating bolt tore through the fuselage of the speeder, taking out the stabilizing foils. Kaek reacted efficiently, his old frame deceptively nimble as he launched himself from the bike before it spiraled out into a column of fire and shrapnel. He landed on the ground, sinking to one knee as his saber flew from his belt, waiting calmly in his hand.

"You call yourself a Sith?" Kaek sneered at the heavens, eyes flitting around for the attacker, his other hand stretching the will of the force into a protective bubble. "You must have forgotten what that means."

---------

Korras laughed at the datapad in his hands as he disembarked from his ship, nodding at the lone tech as he made his way down the hall toward the Consul's office. He folded the datapad and stuffed it inside his robes, making his way down through the corridors. His eye caught the floor. Gone was the polished sheen of the old days. Even the carpeting was old, tired, in need of a deep cleaning. He paused, his mind recalling the similar conditions on Caina, on Yridia, on Sepros. He paused in his stride, looking through the viewport out onto the plains of Karufr. Everything was quiet, save for the distant hum of the energy plant.

"Like the seasons, Korras." Muz's words echoed in the Obelisk's ears. "Even the Dragons sleep."

He resumed his path, stopping in front of the Grand Office's doors. The sigil of the Clan that has won more Vendettas than any other was etched into the metal before him, separating as the doors slid apart to reveal the Twi'lek Consul.

"Master at Arms..."

Korras inclined his head a degree. "I'm afraid this is not a social call, Vodo."

---------

Explosions rocked the ship sideways as Ji struggled to hold herself together. "They frelling followed us!" She snarled at the hologram of the consul, the blue of the holoprojector casting an eerie pallor over her face.


"Who are they?" Ronovi calmly asked, her mind working the angles, trying to sort out if this was another ploy by the Church, some random mercenary force, or another clan's idea of taking out the competition.

"If i knew that, don't you think I would have reported it?" Another salvo shook the ship. Ji turned from the display, bellowing at the ship's crew to turn portside and return fire.

"There's not much more I can send your way, Ji. You know how the situation here went."

The hologram flickered, the last image of Ji pointing angrily at the viewport held in the air as the system tried to reconnect. Ronovi cursed under her breath. This was far too close, and she knew that Ji would try to retreat, rendezvous with the Task Force Piranha, and try to beat back whatever this was. Ronovi slapped the desk at the thought. Incomplete intel, she knew, was the beginning of a bad year.

{From the GM report dated 06-28-2010}

It had been years. That was all Kaek could really think as his sabers pressed against his opponent's. Years since his guile and cunning could not defray the situation from obvious violence. Years since he had needed to actually press the ignition switch on his sabers. Usually, the old spymaster could arrange a death, assassination squads at his beck and call. But today was different. This was different.

The Chagrian bolted back, away from his bisecting blade, the lethorns that draped the side of his tattooed head wobbling as he came to an abrupt stop.

"We know why you are here, False Sith." There was no malevolence in his voice, stating the epithet as if it were just another fact. Kaek let it add to the furnace of his hate. "Therefore, you should just return home, beyond the Caldera, until He is ready for you."

Kaek relaxed his arm, letting his blood flow normally, calming his heart. "Until He is ready for me?"

The Chagrian nodded solemnly.

Kaek snapped forward, his blade searing the air at the red-skinned alien's face, the blade sizzling against flesh and bone, horn and sinew. The Chagrian howled as his hands flew up, his saber clanging to the ground with the horn that was cleft from his skull. Blood crumbled under his fingers, fresh blood breaking through the cauterization to flow deep and blue across the red tint of his tattooed hands.

Kaek didn't laugh, even though he wanted to.

"Where is He?"

---------

Vodo looked up at Korras, the emotions crawling across his face. Inevitability, sadness, understanding. Korras nodded as he turned away, a half bow before the Obelisk would leave the way he came. Vodo could not ignore the truth. The almost constant warring since the Vong arrived had taken it's toll. The agents in the core, responsible for bringing him fresh recruits for the Shadow Academy haven't been heard from since Coruscant fell. The few new recruits from the Academy were all but fodder for the Taldryan War Machine.

Once the stuff of legend, many of the elders in the Clan called for them to retire, to resign themselves to their fate and leave the Name of Taldryan on a high note. Vodo had balked, even as Arcona bested them on Antei, even when Revan surpassed them on Salas V. The Brotherhood within a Brotherhood would not fall. He remembered the oath to the Taldrya that he had made. He stood slowly, watching the doors close behind Korras as he left.

It was time to return to their roots. To recall their former glory. To rebuild. To be reborn.

It was time for Ektrosis again.

---------

Ma'ar waved Robin onward, the hand-speak loaned from the Obelisk serving the Fist well in his missions. The beasts that crawled over the half-demolished prison and laboratory on Mount Ashfire were posing a problem for them. They had recruited as many people from the clans as they could, but they only could spare so few. They needed their own people to maintain their huge empires, empires nearly unsustainable without the ponzi scheme of more recrits coming through the Academy.

Robin clucked her tongue as she reloaded the magazine, slamming it into the rifle and charging the barrel as her back felt the crate that was her cover for the moment. Maybe we needed to be less harsh on the recruits, she wondered. Every death in the halls of the academy was one less Sensitive to bolster the Brotherhood, to lead soldiers and carry a saber. She snorted the idea away, for the weakness it was.

Sith are forged in blood and death. Surviving the training is what made them powerful, tested, dangerous.

She squeezed the trigger, a fountain of gore erupting from the neck of one of the alchemically mutated...things... deep in Codei. She watched the thing slip on its own blood, thumping on the ground as its life seeped out onto the tiles.

Something had to change.

{From the GM Report dated 7-23-2010}

Loira coughed up something putrid.

His companion cringed as he watched the old man debate if he had actually ate it earlier or if it was some byproduct of his immune system. This was not the greatness he had seen before on Coruscant. This was not the paragon of faith he had expected, wrapped in the humility of the broken. Loira was broken.

He looked up at him, and the man wondered if he was reading his thoughts.

"I have one other to contact." Loira tossed the disposable handkerchief on the floor of the rented room. "If he still hunts his apprentice, he will prove quite...beneficial to our cause."

"What about the Ubese?"

Loira waved his hand in dismissal, paying more attention to the discarded tissue. "The trigger's already been pulled."

The cloaked man slid back his hood, the stark white of his hair framing his pale face as he studied him with eyes flowing with Force. "Why haven't I..."

"Because it's frelling subtle, that's why." Loira cut him off, and he tried to regain his composure. "It has to be, otherwise there'd be no chance of it working."

He watched Loira pace, the dirty circle of his pace marking the shoddy carpet. The man seemed to be bleeding filth through his pores. He felt a tinge of the old and familiar seethe across his skin. How dare he talk to him that way, when he could crush his windpipe from where he stood, use his lightsaber and carve burning bits of flesh from his body. He envisioned a small pile of gently smoking fingers sitting on the table before him, and he repressed a chuckle before realizing that it was not his way. Not their way.

Not any more.

---------

"Failure is not your way. Not any more."

Ma'ar paced in front of the recruits. Cut from the best cloth that the Brotherhood had to offer, they were a mixture of new faces, some hard from war, some stiff fresh from the Academy. He had Taigikori pull them from those who showed distinct promise, and from Korras' Obelisk trainers. They were a mottled crew, even in their new brightly colored uniforms.

He stopped in front of one of the troopers, noting a smile creasing the corner of his eyes.

"Trooper, why are you smiling?"

"Sir, I am merely proud to be wearing the uniform, sir."

The Kaleesh sneered beneath his mask. Some of them wouldn't learn. The bright and almost nauseating training uniforms were a throwback to the old days, before the Empire fell. They were supposed to encourage them to earn the more protective and all-around better looking uniforms of the next echelon.

Ma'ar moved with preternatural speed, his hands smoothly wrapping around the recruit's head as he kicked him in the stomach, knocking the trooper out of his own helmet, sending him crashing into the far wall.

"Be proud after you have done something to be proud of."

---------

Night had fallen upon the moon of Lyspair, the borealis of the Dark Star shining through the stain glass ceiling. Candles burned throughout the night, leaving the smell of burnt wax and incense in Aabsdu Dupar's nostrils. This was old, a place of learning from before any of them were born. Before even their ancestors were conceived.

Someone else was there.

The deep purple of the Dread Lord's formal robes caught the faint light, the embroidered runes casting shadows onto themselves. Aabsdu barely noticed his successor's entry behind the Kyataran, tall and garbed in blood-red.

"Do you know why you're here?", Muz asked as he stepped closer, signaling the figure behind him.

Headmaster Taigikori Aybara Dupar followed, his arms wrapped around a triangular obect, tightly wrapped in an old piece of cloth.

"No." the former Headmaster's voice carried throughout the endless rows of book cases.

Muz smiled thinly. "Aabsdu...you have been an incredible ally to the Brotherhood. Your work as Headmaster has paid off immensely. Now, Taigikori and I feel you should be justly rewarded. Taigikori, if you please."

Allowing a curt bow without taking his eyes off of the Grand Master, Taigikori let the fabric wound about the object loosen and fall from his fingers. Aabsdu's eyes visibly brightened as he saw the small yet ornate holocron in Taigikori's palms, and it gave off an impressive glow as Taigikori approached his fellow Dupar.

"There..." Muz said, "...is a holocron going to its rightful owner." Muz stepped forward, Watching the former Headmaster watch him with uncertainty. The Dark Lord pulled the power from the holocron, the twisting ethers of the dark side funneling through him, pouring into his target at his gesture.

"This will hurt."

With those words, the Grand Master bore his ebony eyes into Aabsdu, chanting the words of the Sith as the former Headmaster felt the energy of the holocron inundate his senses and mind, flooding his psyche, burning away his ego. Aabsdu smiled, the feeling was wonderful, the gift intense. And more power moved beneath his skin now than even before.

"Arise, Aabsdu Dupar...for you have earned the highest degree the Shadow Academy has to offer." Taigikori smiled. "Congratulations, you have earned it."

{From the GM report dated 8-24-2010}

The Kaleesh silently rose from his knee, watching the Dark Lord through the eyes of his mask. He slowly stepped back three paces, pivoted and left the chamber, his bootfalls deadened by the lush purple carpet that led back into the hall. He repeated the order back to himself in his head. The remnants of Crask's forces still held sway in some spots of the desert world. Somewhere, there had to be a factory. The few Obelisk that could spare time away from their houses and tried to access the temple reported it over-run.

Over-run, and within spitting distance of the Throne.

No wonder the Lord was cross.

Ma'ar felt the pressure of the huge doors closing behind him, breathing out a sigh of relief. Now, the hard work of marshaling the response would begin. He turned toward the turbolift, the modern equipment seamlessly integrated into the ancient building.

---------

Pavan took the money and smiled. "Master Ollie, it's been a pleasure doing business with you."

The white-haired man sneered at the moniker, but nodded anyway. Now was not the time for transparency. Not with so much at risk. He hated dealing with mercenaries, but with what he had planned, what they had planned...

He watched Pavan leave, waited for the magnetic lock to snap shut behind the information broker. He paced the rented suite, listening as the shower in the other room turned off, the hum of the ultrasonic growing quiet. He paused, looking out through the window at the lines of speeders stretching out toward the horizon, weaving through the buildings.

"We're all just as connected." Loira's voice broke the silence, appearing at the doorway behind him. "Threads in the tapestry."

Where had he heard that before? The white-haired man scratched his chin, returning to the window, scouring his memories. Loira stepped toward him, his hair an entirely different shade of brown, now that he was clean.

"Pavan came through for us?"

Ollie nodded, still watching the people flow through the city. "The meeting's in a week. We'll need at least a hundred thousand credits for retainer. It'll take them some time to get together the resources we'll need."

"But well worth it." Loira smiled. Even his apprentice could not see all the ends.

---------

The shuttle circled the Academy, slowing down as it approached the landing pad. It banked slowly, coming to a gentle stop as landing struts descended from the chassis. The hiss of hydraulics and the grinding of gears heralded the landing ramp's opening. Taigikori stood out in the perpetual twilight, the light within the ship bathing his face.

He dropped to a knee, seeing who stepped from the transport. "Welcome back, Master."

The man once known as Aristan Dantes stepped from the craft, heavy boots clomping onto the bare metal of the landing pad. He stepped toward the Headmaster, a swift gesture of an armoured hand communicating his will as surely as words. Taigikori stood swiftly, the codes punched into the access panel in a heartbeat to open the doors toward the private turbolift.

"Has Halcyon arrived yet?" Sarin's voice was slow, rough as gravel.

Taigikori nodded, gesturing at the turbolift at the end of the hall. The doors opened, and robes the color of forest were exposed to the fluorescent lights. He patiently waited there for the other two sith to step into the lift.

Rocketed down, Taigi counted the layers in his head. He tied not to look as Sarin pulled the key from his neck, turning it in the hidden lock, accessing levels that he had only seen when accompanying the Dark Lord himself. It bothered him, being the Headmaster and still not having absolute access to his whole facility, but e buried it behind his curiosity, his desire for more power.

The turbolift finally came to a stop, the doors opening. Sarin stepped first, Halcyon and the Headmaster following the deputy down into the very bowels of the vault. At the end of the hall was the ancient lock. Sarin came to a stop, his hands raised as he focused his willpower. The resonant clicks within the metal answered the call of the Force, the doors sliding apart.

And found something that they did not expect.

{From the GM report dated 9-25-2010}

(The events of the Vendetta: Disorder occur immediately before this update.)

---------

The white haired man recognized the mercenary's armor, thought he saw something familiar in his pattern, the glimmer behind the T-shaped face-screen familiar to him. The Master set the datapad down, sliding it across the table at the man.

The mechanical sound of his vocoder sounded distant. "What is our timeline, Loira?"

He smiled.

---------

Pavan stared at his newest client. The man had an interesting accent, his voice deep and calm. He let his hands fall on the parcel that the man had pushed his way a moment ago, slipping the knot off the top of the pouch and letting his eyes fall upon what lay within.

If Pavan was talking, he would have stuttered. He had expected currency, not ingots of precious metal. There was more than what his fee was by ten times over. Pavan closed the flap quickly, looking up at the man.

"I don't know what kind of services you thought I would offer, Fastblade, but I'm just in intelligence..."

He turned his head slowly, long hair sliding off his shoulder and onto the table in front of him. "I have assassins, Pavan. I need the best intel. I need it accurate, I need it detailed, and..."

Pavan leaned back in his chair, waiting for him to set down his glass and complete the sentence.

"...I need it before anyone else."

---------

Nightfall. The entire courtyard was nearly empty save for the few initiates who remained meditating below. Beyond that, the port teemed with droid patrols, marching back and froth along a steel floor. Underground, the libraries continued to thrive with activity, as newer and older Brotherhood members alike pored over texts and experimented with their own powers.

Taigikori was back in his office at this point. He was on his fifth cigarra, the stump burning into his fingers as he looked out of the viewing portal. His Praetor had left the vicinity a few hours ago and was still on a long journey back to the Yridia system. His Magistrates and Professors were attending to their duties, teaching evening classes or tending to special case members who had disobeyed the rules of the Academy. How the Headmaster loved the vibe of punishment.

In the corner of his mind, he thought of his wife. Jendan had recently become an Assistant Professor, working under her husband for the sake of darker education. He smiled at the thought of the Aybara family influencing the ways of those who would seek the Iron Throne in their foolish route to power. And how many of them would fall.

He was disrupted in his thoughts when a violent rush of power seemed to race toward him like a speeder bike. The intensity nearly caused him to duck, as if a dagger were being thrown at his head. The Force pulsed around him, disturbed and paranoid. Taigikori exhaled. The threat had arrived.

---------

Already the metal corpses of four magna droids lay at Liu's feet as he circled the remaining security forces, their blasters mechanically aimed at his head. The bright green blade of his saber did the dirty work - the master of the weapon was unfiltered, unnerved, undaunted. The Jedi smirked at the sight of barrels threatening to shatter his skull into several pieces. He couldn't take this seriously.

This is the best the Brotherhood can come with? He thought as he swung his saber outward and caught three blaster bolts before they finished their journey toward his face. In a majestic jump, he sliced another droid into two long halves like a log, its scrambled metal innards serving as the splinters. He slammed the butt of his hilt against another droid's head before dismembering it, then just as fluidly decapitated three more. It happened so methodically, so rhythmically - how Jedi always loved to dance.

"We-ask-that-you-cease!" a droid attempted to command in a tinny voice. If it had had any emotions, Liu was sure it would've been fear. Dark Jedi always succumbed to that, and he smiled as he lifted his saber upward and nonchalantly jammed it into the droid's chest.

"No one tells me to stop," he said, "until the deed is done." He then jerked the blade out of the metal, leaving a cauterized abyss of melting steel and wires as he moved like a blade among weeds.

---------

The Headmaster was already descending the stairs of the tower when the Force swelled in a massive crescendo around him. The intruder was already on the move - he knew now it was a someone, not just a something, that disturbed his Academy. He briskly leapt from the final step, his robes swishing violently around his ankles, as his hand instinctively fell across his belt.

Always there.

Taigikori hesitated as he stepped to the door, allowing his eyes to settle on a small viewing portal. As the Force pounded against his skull, he saw a tall man moving about the courtyard, eyes darting to and fro as a lightsaber's green light danced about the area. Those initiates still outside quaked with terror - the Headmaster could sense it, even without having to see them flee. The man did not move to strike them. Instead, he moved in another direction, toward the very place that Taigikori bemusedly expected he'd go: The Dark Vault.

Now he knew that Dacien had been right in his report of this man: Nothing like a rogue Jedi to tend to and do away with him. Unlatching his saber from his belt, Taigikori allowed the hilt to grow warm in his grip as he silently stepped out of the tower, attempting to mask his presence as he went to greet the newest arrival.

---------

The Gand moved silently from the Dark Hall, a retinue of Guardsmen in colorful uniforms escorting him to the waiting transport, the paint of the logo upon it still moist. As hi moved up the ramp, he watched them turn with military precision and file back into the building. Ji let himself relax a moment as the metal airlock sealed. He reached within his robes to produce the small ovalish communicator.

"Solari." The Gand's voice sounded odd through his breathing apparatus.

"Consular Ji." The synthetic voice was barely garbled by the transmission at all, and Ji quickly attributed it to the digital origin. "You survive."

"As I told you I would." Ji nodded. "As Master It'kla said, Even the most corrupt soul seeks redemption somewhere deep within."

---------

Shikyo stared at his brother, his mouth open.

Muz turned slowly, noticing the look upon the Herald's face.

"{Why.}" Shiyo spoke slowly, clipped words in Kyataran. "{Did. You. Not. Kill. Him.}"

Muz tilted his head, a touch of cruel glee curling the end of his mouth upward.

{From the GM report dated 11-25-2010}

Taigikori was losing patience. He had been stalemated against the Jedi in front of him for what seemed like ages, even though most likely only seconds had gone by. The blur of red and green moved back and forth like a pendulum, both men trying to gain the upper hand. The Headmaster saw sweat drip from Liu's forehead. Most likely he was sweating, too.

Letting the Force pulse around him, Taigikori feinted pulling back and then unleashed a flurry of Force energy toward the Jedi. Liu responded with the grace of an acrobat, letting the shove flip him through the air as he landed on the balls of his feet a few meters away. Nearly crazed with fury, Taigikori charged, his saber pointed directly at Liu's chest to trick him, before swooping down and aiming for his legs.

He missed, and badly. The saber cut through mid-air, and suddenly Liu was above him. Taigikori raised his head, only to realize too late that it was the wrong thing to do. The upward angle would cost him, as Liu parried a block from the Headmaster's saber and then let the green flash across the lower part of Taigikori's face.

The bellow of pain echoed off the deeply hollowed out walls of the Vault, as Taigikori slumped to the ground clutching his face. His fingers traced his upper lip, then descended down to empty space. As his eyes watered in the agony, they flickered toward the lump of flesh now lying beside him - his lower lip, jaw, and chin torn from his face. He heard a clatter as Liu retrieved the Headmaster's deactivated lightsaber hilt, twirling it in his hands. He did not reprimand Taigikori, or admonish him. He simply looked upon him with an expression of pity and remorse, just as another hum emerged from the ensuing silence and the Headmaster's saber flew from Liu's grip as if it had been torn from his fingers.

Liu turned quickly before his eyes widened, his face losing a few shades of color.

The Lion of Tarthos.

There could be no victory here.

He held the saber in his hand, turning it over and examining the etching in the metal, the tightly wound fabric around the grip. It was familiar to him, the resonance of the creator combined with skills plainly learned at his own elbow. Muz let a smile crease the corner of his eye for a moment before looking up.

Taigikori rasped on the ground, the wound at his jaw tearing down his throat, clumps of coagulated blood sloughing off. The blood beneath poured across his vocal chords, bubbling and frothing with each of the Headmaster's exhalations.

Liu stepped back slowly, like a man backing away from a wild beast. Muz tilted his head, watching the Jedi curiously. He flattened himself against the wall, slinking away, his saber blade evaporating back into the hilt as he moved, careful not to make any sudden movements. Muz blinked, looked down into his hand and abruptly threw the hilt at the Jedi.

It flew quickly, pausing midair mere inches from Liu's head. The Jedi flinched, then let his eyebrow rise before grabbing the hilt. He watched the Lord's eyes carefully, and inclined his head a degree before deciding not to second guess Fortune, bolting down the passage with Force assisted legs.

Muz stepped toward the Headmaster, the breeze of his warcoat's motion blowing cool air into his wound. Cold, shark eyes regarded the Aybara, before the voice, came into his mind.

"I didn't command you to die."

---------

The tiny ship slipped past the sensor array, the satellites that relayed the holonet from Lyspair and Antei to the Houses. Liu resisted the urge to take an opportunistic shot at them as he passed. His heart started slowing down, his breath returning to normal. He looked down into his free hand, the saber hilt of the Headmaster of the Brotherhood. His students never would have believed him, that he survived a meeting with him. Not the scared apprentice running from his master, but the Lion.

He let the word pass his lips.

"I survived."

He leaned back as he punched in coordinates for the spot where he snuck through the Stygian Caldera. The words returned, a mantra of courage that had more and more mirth behind it with each iteration.

"I survived!"

His sensor array exploded in blinding color and a violent squeal. Liu bolted upright, frantically flipping switches to see what it could be. The comm blared to life, and he flipped it on instinctively.

"...is Commodore Blackwind of the Fallen Spear. Praetorian Tavisaen requests communication from unidentified craft."

Liu sneered at the idea.

---------

Ronovi glowered at the viewscreen. She had little understanding as to why the Lord had commanded her to his ship until the moment that the strange fighter was within visual range. She turned to the Autochthonian, gesturing for him to fire. He stared at her blankly before she realized that she was not aboard a ship manned by Tarenti.

"Destroy him."

Blackwind nodded, waving a hand at the tactical stations. A half dozen concussion missiles tore through the space between the two ships.

Ronovi just smiled as she felt the heat across her face.

{From the GM report dated 12-23-2010}

There wasn't even any screaming.


The headmaster stared at the ceiling as he lay on the operating table, the doctors, yes doctors instead of medical droids, cut away the necrotic flesh at his cheeks, the soft tissue that flapped where his jaw met his neck. The sizzle of cauterization left a wholly disconcerting flavor in the air, mixed with the bitter tang of antiseptic.


The pain was brilliant.
He felt the man enter the room long before he could see him. The table was set so that the victim could look out the window at the sprawling megapolis stretched out before them, the door behind his head. He dared not crane his neck. He knew who it was.


The Dark Lord sat the prosthetic down on the stainless tray to his right, then sat down a small plastisteel container, a screw-top lid keeping the contents secure.


The green eyes of the Headmaster flinched in momentary pain as one of the doctors sliced through the end of a nerve. recovering quickly, he looked at the sleeve of the Dark Lord, waiting for him to step into his line of sight, willing it with his desire.


Searing white light flashed behind his eyes, the whir of a drill boring into the side of his skull, next to his ears. The anchors for the new prosthetic were not small or cheap. If he had use of his mouth, Taigikori would have sworn.


Muz watched as they worked on Aybara with passive eyes. The damage was intense. He had lost his jaw and tongue as well as part of his throat. They had already stabilized his throat with transplants from some poor accident victim, but the jaw prosthetics hadn't progressed since Malak, the same sort of bandage that his own half-brother had over the wound that Eojin wrought. Muz pondered the commonality of the wound, and came to the conclusion that the Jedi thought that the Sith talked too much.


Another labcoat entered the room, a man carrying his own tools and a set of ceramic-coated metal teeth. He watched him maneuver to the front of the pack of professionals, preparing to remove the half-burned upper teeth and replace them with something that would put up with grinding against the artificial ones he had installed in his own invention.


Tears welled up in the Headmaster's eyes as the pliers broke free, a bit of enamel and blood in their steel grip. Muz nodded at the doctors, then at the prosthetic he had brought. One of them pulled away from the patient, examining the device and turning it over in his hands.


"I've never seen one of these before." The doctor spoke in a Coruscanti accent.


Muz turned on his heel, heading for the door.


"Has it been sterilized?"


Muz looked over his shoulder, pausing for a second before leaving.


---------


Korras read down the line of responses, the reporting for duty orders and how many of the Dark Jedi of Revan had been accounted for. A twist at the corner of his mouth betrayed him, and the masked Knight thought about asking the inevitable question. He knew that his house was made up of upper equites and elders, Dark Jedi who had come to what they saw as the end of their potential, and spent more time in pursuit of personal goals than in the pursuit of Brotherhood ones.


He held his tongue, watching the last Obelisk High Commander as he scanned through the list, noting a few names in particular, his finger highlighting them on the datapad.


"So, you'll be needing a new Aedile, I see." Korras' voice was subtle, but held gravity with the words.


Eiko just nodded, offering neither excuse or explanation. Neither was requested or needed.


Korras nodded, placing the datapad on the desk in front of him. "There's only a few days left for this audit, Quaestor."


He knew what that meant. He would have to make sure that as many of his members would make contact as possible.


---------


"A year and two months?" Ollie snarled at the master as they walked away from the bar. "How long do you think they will last? I'm surprised they've made it this far."


Loira stopped in his stride. "How quickly can you amass an army worthy of this foe?"


He thought for a moment. About all of the things he had seen over his time with the enemy. All of the brigands and mercenaries dispatched with such abandon that it was like a game to them. Only the Vong gave them pause...


"...And they don't take commissions, my friend." Loira winked at him. He hated when he went in uninvited. "So, we have to go about it in a different fashion."


---------


Taigikori grimaced as he sat back up slowly. His legs were asleep from too much time in the chair, and his head was woozy from fatigue not only on his mind but on his bones. He lifted his arm to his jaw, feeling the cold metal there and trying to get an approximation of how it looked as he waited for one of the doctors to bring him a mirror.


They prattled on about synthetic flesh covering to conceal the damage, and how it wouldn't be able to grow hair, how it would take him some time to relearn how to use his mouth, since there would be a slight delay in servo function. He ignored the words, storing them away as he felt the ridges along his throat, the sides of his face.


His tongue felt heavy, dry. He flicked it around, and experienced what they were talking about. It was slow. maybe only a fraction of a second, but it was enough to be wrong. He cursed Liu silently, before considering the alternative of eating through a nutrient tube for the rest of his life.


The mirror placed before him, Taigikori picked it up, glowering at his own visage within.

{from the GM report dated 1-24-2011}

Omnia mutantor.

The oddly named Shaevalian slid the familiar chair out slowly, quietly admiring the interwoven strans of Tarentum's seal that was pressed into the wood. He had used this chair before, under Dantes and Cotelin. And from the discussions over whisky with his old ally from Corellia, Ashen was a very different sort of creature.

The discussion had gone quiet, conspiratorial tones tinging the Oracle as he abruptly continued. He would brook no dissent, no distractions would be tolerated in his drive, his pursuit of his goals for the Brotherhood unfettered by political concerns. Caerick thought it was a liability, but Bloodfyre knew better. There was an economy of action behind the Lion's methods, not unlike his namesake. He knew precisely what he was doing.

Bloodfyre settled into the seat, leveling his eyes across the table at the young Quaestor of Revan. Youth and energy guided the masked human to lead a house where he was possibly the least senior member aside from the new recruits. He pushed aside the rumors, relaxing as he leaned back into the chair, his head sweeping across Quaestors and Councilors alike as the door opened.

Dark hair topped the human's head. He was largely non-descript, but the emblem of the Cocytus Empire adorned his robes. Several sets of eyes shifted to him as he found his way to one of the few empty seats around the Council table. The chair pulled back, scraping against the stone of the floor before the newly appointed Emperor slipped into the seat. The other houses would sneer at the titles, feeling smug about their hidden rule, hiding behind shell corporations to hold power in their home systems. Scholae ruled in the open, even if their true powers were kept quiet.

Two seats remained open, and the big doors at the end of the chamber opened, all getting to their feet as their Lord entered, unaccompanied. The silent question had been in the air for months now, unspoken concerns about the lines of succession peppering the minds of many. Muz sat down, the rest returning to their seats as was custom for decades, predating the Brotherhood's move to Antei.

"The time has come..." The Dark Lord started.

{from the GM report dated 2-24-2011}

He snuck through the reactor, eerie green lighting casting odd shadows on his face, his suit, his blaster. Rog ducked beneath a pipe that transported...something... that was so hot that steam rose off of it as it sat there. He narrowed his eyes, letting the bright color slip out from under his heavy lids as he tracked the sound beyond.

Rog let the half smile cross his lips as he spotted the shadow of his pursuer. Leveling the blaster, he squeezed the trigger and a row of bright lights erupted across the room, tiny explosions and a man sent reeling.

The response was quick, a barrage of explosions erupting all around Rog. He watched, almost as if it were slow motion, as a bolt tore into the steaming pipe. It exploded, his shirt catching flame as he felt himself rocketed away. Tucking and rolling to his feet as he landed, he tore the flaming shreds from his sculpted torso and sneered.

"Is that all you got?"

"CUT!" The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, thanks to hidden speakers and a megaphone.

The human was so pale, he could almost pass for rattataki. "More emphasis on the *that*, Derc. We need more intensity. The girls won't be paying attention... too busy watching your abs, but the guys want to see the rage. Give them the rage! We'll try again after lunch."

Derc tossed down the prop blaster with the personae of Rog, heading for the caterer's tables. He waved at one of the aides as he moved, motioning with his hand as one brought him a new shirt.

"Derc Kast!" The woman shrieked, shoving past a security guard and running toward him with a holocamera, a dozen security professionals hot on her heels. "Derc Kast!"

Derc turned on his heel, watching the young girl with too much makeup barreling toward him. He dropped his weight, stepping back and turning his body sideways out of habit.

It was only a second later that they caught her by the arms, the holocamera slipping from her grasp and skidding to a rest at his feet.

"Just one question!" She screamed, kicking at the guards. Derc crouched for a moment, picking up the camera, then stood and strode over to her and the two huge guards. One was human, the other...well, human-ish. Derc smiled at her, and let his thoughts soothe the three of them. She stopped struggling and the guards quit dragging her.

The sneaky reporter regained her composure. "Derc Kast, you've been out of the public eye for almost twenty years and you've been signed to one of the biggest budget holofilms of the year. Where have you been? Are you going to be acting more? Are you back for good? How much are you being paid?" She paused for a second, taking a breath as she noticed his physique. The final question rushed past her lips in almost a hushed whisper. "How do you look exactly like you did twenty years ago?"

Derc handed her camera back to her. "I thought you only had one question, pateesa."

The gutteral and deep voice of the guard interrupted her wordless protest. "We'll put her back outside with the others, sir. It won't happen again."

Derc smiled, dismissing the guards with a hand wave. "I think she'd rather have an interview." The charm oozed from him in palpable amounts, moistening the reporter's mind.

---------

Loira sneered as he slid into the booth across from the white-haired man. His apprentice barely looked up at him, focusing instead on the glass of ruddy liquid in front of him.

"Ollie?" Loira almost growled the name, barely audible ove the sounds of the busboy at the next table clearing spent glasses and plates of unfinished food.

The white haired man looked up, strands of dark hair obscuring his forehead, half his face. Loira tilted his head, his mind weighing what he had seen, what he percieved around his apprentice. Too many years in the dark, languishing among the shadows. The taint may never wash completely off as he had hoped.

"They say that they'll be ready." Ollie picked the glass up, mumbling the words over the top of it.

Loira nodded, pausing to wave off the waitress as she walked past slowly. "When do we move?"

Ollie leaned forward in the seat. "Now, it is my turn to preach patience, master."

---------

Taigikori would have sneered if the connective tissues weren't cut off at his jaw. He didn't pretend to understand all of the Grand Master's plan, but he had hoped to at least understand the parts where he was involved. This was one of those parts. The Headmaster moved through the empty walls, watching droids plaster over the durasteel frames with flame retardant materials.

The sound of repulsor-carts hummed up from below. His ear could barely make it out, but the sound was unmistakable. He reached out, feeling along the ties that bound the universe together. There wasn't another living being for miles, the fear of radiation from the war a few years back keeping people at bay. This wasn't as remote as Lyspair, not by a far shot, but Taigikori couldn't sort out the rationale for out-of-region construction. He didn't even have the blue prints for the building yet.

The Headmaster sighed as the repulsor-cart got to his floor. He stepped closer to the droids pushing the materials around. These crates were very different from the building materials. Magshielded and heavy, the crates were locked with triple keys until the Headmaster wove a strand of the Force into the tumblers, popping them open with savvy that any thief would desire. He lifted the lid and pushed aside some packing materials to see the contents.

Taigikori grunted. Now he had no idea whatsoever.

---------

Halcyon motioned to the pilot, bidding him to pull back on the throttle, slowing the transport as it made another pass on the site. He turned back to the transparisteel, peering down on the curved construction. The ancient site was cleared out three months ago, and the droids were working on it constantly since. The Sith Lord understood the need for secrecy in such matters.

The transport arced back around, pivoting high in the sky over Antei before swinging back toward the elongated walls that led to the coliseum.

"Lord?" The pilot's vocoder was tinny in the confined quarters of the transport ship. Halcyon waved him off, dismissively. He wanted to inspect the progress at this stage in the game. There wasn't even a month left.

{From the GM Report Dated 3-27-2011}

The blood cooled within him, the man running his hands back across his head, smoothing down the emerald hair. The plan was convoluted, but brilliant. Halcyon turned on his heel, pacing slowly in the small room.

"Then there's the matter of the Games." Halcyon reminded the Dark Lord.

"The construction is finished?" Muz responded, watching his Shadow Hand move.

Halc merely nodded. The new Coliseum was built upon ancient ruins of what they had assumed was a similar structure several thousand years ago. At great cost that Halcyon understood and yet did not, the structure was fortified, modernized, rebuilt and made to gleam like a crown jewel. Halc had bit his tongue before in wondering if this was the Krath's way of building a legacy. While such opulence usually foreshadowed the death throes of an overly indulgent culture, he also knew that it was a show of power, considering how spartan the last dozen years had been. It was either brilliant or futile, Halcyon could not tell which. And he wasn't sure that Muz could tell, either.

"The Games..." Muz started, a hesitation in his voice giving away a measure of uncertainty. Would the Brethren enjoy the distraction, or would they ignore it without blood on the line? Muz stopped. There was more. Other reasons for celebration besides the complete reclamation of their Throneworld.

Muz smiled as he thought of it.

---------

The Coliseum was brightly lit, an outcropping of chrome stone, jutting from the monotonous dark dust of Adas. Floodlights circled the installation, waiting for the perpetual dusk to graduate into full-fledged night to illuminate the curved splendor. Rows of shuttlecraft lined the pavement less than a kilometer away, the awkward assortment of house ships unique except for the universal addition of their house insignias. In other times, they would have preferred armed ships, but that was forbidden.

Tsainetomo stepped down the ramp of the triple winged transport, a blue-haired Zeltron woman and a blind man stepping closely behind. Methyas and Masika were well known within Sadow, and their careers had just begun to make a mark within the Brotherhood entire. Another Miraluka, this one without eye-coverings, clomped down a few paces behind them. Venator, another one of the Pepoi bloodline was in the same boat. Sai chuckled, wondering what it was about Sadow that inspired such powerful bloodlines to join them. His own had reached out into the Brotherhood, seizing control of Dark Council positions, and ultimately the Iron Throne.

Another ship landed across from them, this one bearing the thorned crest of the Arconans. Sai watched as the landing ramp extended fromt he slowly opening airlock. They looked a bit uncomfortable wearing normal robes instead of their customary mandalorian-inspired armor kits. The woven sigils of their shadesworn caste wrapped around many of those that disembarked first, the arcane icons used as their uniform rather than the customized armor plates. They moved with strength, not lingering on the ramp, and filing out to the paved footpath to the Coliseum. Their eyes moved quickly, ascertaining any possible threats with military precision. It was only a moment later that Zandro and Sashar erupted from the door, and it all made sense.

Without the troops to serve as guards, they would use their own Dark Jedi. Sai debated if there was a need for that, considering the situation. One could never be sure on Antei.

Moving toward them from the coliseum, a Krath priest in formal robes stepped with measured gait. The wind caught black hair, tossing his cloak back. Sai narrowed his eyes, his hand twitching at his side to put his house-mates at high alert. One never could be sure on Antei.

He grew closer, and somehow more familiar. Sashar and Zandro did not let down their guard, several of the Arconan's nervously moving hands closer to their sabers, the only weapon permitted to be carried at this event, and only by those who had earned Knighthood, a departure from the battlefield law of 'everyone goes armed'.

The man stopped between the two groups, dropping to a knee in a bow.

"Quaestors, your personal presence is requested by Lord Keibatsu." He stood slowly, making no sudden movements to inspire violence.

It clicked in Sashar's mind. "Praetorian Anderson, lead the way."

---------

Fireworks bloomed in the night sky, an elaborate grid of lights and explosives bathing the upturned faces of the crowds below in color. Sparks flew from the arena floor, gouts of flame reaching high into the air as servant droids wheeled hundreds of tables lined with food into view.

To the side of the arena, the enclosed seating of the Elders shifted downward, the lights of the sky reflecting off the transparsteel as the motorized boxes moved to the floor of the Coliseum. Doors opened, and Dark Councilors filtered out from them, the last of the fireworks cracking in the sky.

Blinking displays on the backsides of the headrests gave directions to the membership, mapping out a route to the feast being laid out. Many got up from their seats immediately, others holding still, watching and waiting rather than fighting with the crowd of dangerous people. Those were surprised by droids bringing around trays filled with goblets, insisting that each take one.

The form of the Grand Master was soon seen, moving from the Elder's box, surrounded by crimson armoured guards and the dark robes of his closest advisors. The Lion of Tarthos had his own glass, and raised it to the crowd, a gesture mimicked by most.

"To the fallen." The toast was simple.

After lowering the glass, he looked out across the brethren, his sable eyes glinting in the lights of the nighttime stadium. Halcyon stepped forward, unmistakable with his green hair.

"Today we mark another year of Independence." The Taldryan paused for the applause. "We celebrate the reclamation of our Antei, and the defeat of our enemies. We honor the dead, the steel upon which our steel is sharpened."

Muz raised his glass again, Halcyon doing the same a moment before the gesture flooded across the rest.

Tonight, we remember.

Tonight, we celebrate.

{From the GM Report Dated 4-13-2011}

Shuttle Obsidian
Alsakan System
Dentination: Archais Corporate Banking District

The Fist checked his equipment one last time before donning an unassuming overcoat. They were landing during the local winter season and temperatures, especially for extended assignments dealing with the elements, would be uncomfortable to say the least. The jacket looked new because it was. There was little need for such heavy insulation in the nearly ubiquitous twilight of the Anteian desert.

Beside him, a seasoned man did likewise. The old Imperial measured his weapons with a calculating glare steeped in years of pre-combat ritual. They said little, having already exhausted what conversation could be made during the first hours of the trip. The chartered shuttle left plenty of room for the two to spread out, clean equipment, check their inventories and don their kits in complete isolation from one another.

Fremoc assessed his co-operator on this mission. He was a long time soldier, having served years in the Imperial Legion as a Stormtrooper, then a Storm Commando, and finally as an Obelisk Centurion. The man’s service record to the Empire, then to the Hammer’s Fist Legion, and finally to Scholae Palatinae’s prodigious ground forces read like a novel. Despite it all, he still found time to visit his family on Judecca.

Angelo Palpatine Dante noticed the assassin eying him and returned the glance. Fremoc was a man many years his junior. He had never commanded more than a small group of men and had by all appearances worked alone for much of his career. His tall, lean build told Angelo much more of the boy’s history. He recognized the tell-tale signs of over-training, signs he’d seen in himself for many, many years prior as a Storm Commando. From all accounts, the Fist of the Brotherhood was as capable an assassin as the Grand Master could have appointed. This mission did not require an assassination however. Their weapons were merely precautions.

“This is Captain Hillok. We’re making our final approach to Port Archais. We’ve been cleared to land in the public sector. We will be returning tomorrow afternoon per the contract arrangement. Thank you for choosing GalSat Charters for your flight.”

The Son of Palpatine holstered his blaster as he stood and felt the ship accelerate to the starboard slightly, “Friendly lot, aren’t they?”

“They came highly recommended to me by Lord Halcyon. They are his… preferred service?”

-------------

0800hrs
Alsakan Planetary System
Archais Corporate Banking District
Top Floor, 1st Alliance Bank Tower

Infiltration of the tower had been simple. Fremoc’s dark hair threatened to stand on end as he ran through a list of precautions he’d taken to get them here undetected. There was no way they had arrived here so quickly without assistance. Was it a trap? Was it an ambush? Dante opened a hardened suitcase near to the hole where the transparent durasteel window would normally have sat and removed the three pieces that would assemble the slugthrower rifle. He didn’t show any signs of concern or suspicion, a small comfort to the FIST.

“I’m going to double-check my traps. I don’t want to be interrupted while we’re here.”

Angelo watched the Prelate leave and shook his head in disapproval. There was a time and place for concern, especially when one’s life was in the balance, but he could sense the insecurity within the Dark Councilor. If age and experience had taught him one thing, it was that fate played as great a part as preparation in the success of a mission. One could check, double-check, and re-check the same piece of equipment for it to only fail when you needed it most. One’s greatest defense was vigilance. Vigilance required calm however. Mistakes were made when someone became emotionally excited.

Fremoc walked the hallway outside the unfurnished office they had set up camp within. This entire floor, and the ten below it, were under renovation and were unoccupied. Work crews had ceased their renovations due to a local Union strike, promising that they would not likely be bothered. In case someone did happen to find themselves nearby however, the chief-assassin had set various traps and quiet means of impediment to maim, confuse, and slow an intruder.

Normally he was composed and fearless, the consummate professional. Years of combat, training, and field work had hardened him. He just couldn’t shake this feeling though. It was as though the Dark Side was warning him. Or maybe he had become too comfortable in his office and was experiencing an especially bad case of the butterflies. Whatever it was, it was foreign to him. It was only natural however to be fearful in the presence of a worthy adversary.

He shook his head, clearing it of that last thought. Where had that come from? His prey was certainly dangerous, but nothing more than a courier from the dossiers the Grand Master had given him before assigning Angelo Dante as his backup and second. The man had proven his battle-worthiness once again in the pit of the newly refurbished Coliseum during the recent Independence Games. Fremoc had been hesitant at first to accept the appointment of the Centurion to his team for a simple recon mission to Alsakan, but bowed to the Grand Master’s insistence: Especially when that insistence had come at the tip of a sharp verbal threat.

-------------

2350hrs
Alsakan Planetary System
Archais Corporate Banking District
Top Floor, 1st Alliance Bank Tower

Their surveillance of the building across from the 1st Alliance Bank had been uneventful so far. The meeting they’d been sent to recon had yet to take place, though it was three local hours overdue. If nothing happened within a few more hours, they would be forced to pack up and leave to catch their shuttle. Their target was rumored to be an arms merchant, a man who had his fingers in nearly every organized smuggling operation this side of the slice. This man supposedly had links to the Brotherhood’s prime threat, Michael Halcyon.

The Grand Master did not wish to tip off his adversary how deep his intelligence sources really were, but needed up to date information on the movement of his resources, colleagues, and contacts. If this meeting didn’t happen tonight, as the dossier had described, then the mission was a scrub. Halcyon’s time table was speeding up and he didn’t have time to wait up on a single individual’s mishap.

Lying prone, Angelo cocked his neck back from the scope of the slugthrower and cracked the vertebrae between his shoulder blades by stretching. Age was taking its toll on him and his back muscles had become stiff from lying so still. He looked up at his partner. Fremoc’s eyes met his and without a word they came to an understanding. Pushing himself to his feet, Dante offered Fremoc the light blanket that had covered him from view and provided a small measure of warmth. Fremoc accepted the offer and took up a position behind the rifle.

The anxiety he’d felt earlier had subsided little during the day. Another cup of caf would have done wonders to sooth his stomach, which had reduced itself to twisting into knots in the last few hours. What he needed was to blow something up. He noted how the target’s building was supported by several large columns at the ground floor. Two or three well placed charges would bring the whole thing down in a spectacular show of fireworks and rubble.

“Pepoi… Did you feel that?”

The fist snapped back to attention, his hearing suddenly keen, “No, what did you sense?”

The snap-hiss of an igniting lightsaber blade told him. In a single fluid motion, he was on his feet reaching for the saber at his belt, activating it as it came up. Dante had done likewise. Fremoc’s emerald blade joined with Angelo’s amethyst to bath the room in a gentle glow. From the single door they heard the echo of a lone pair of boots hitting the uncarpeted floor beyond the walls of the room.

As the clacking grew nearer, the glow of a white light grew stronger until the tip of a single, silver blade was visible. The intruder stopped, letting the silence between him and the Dark Jedi dissipate among the thrum of their weapons. Angelo glanced at his partner, suddenly aware of the power behind that silver blade and understood the source of the assassin’s omnipotent dread. It had been planted there.

The intruder stepped forward and moved into the entrance of the room so that his shape was clearly visible, though his face was still hidden beneath a heavy cloak. He drew his lightsaber out to his side and whipped it up before his face, a mocking imitation of a duelist’s salute. The two Obelisk ignored the gesture and pounced simultaneously.

Their two blades came down at different heights and angles, yet their opponent still batted and deflected both as though he had another weapon. His cloak maintained the privacy of his identity as he turned the table on his attackers. The silver blade snapped through the air with a practiced ease of motion which Angelo deflected away from his body. Fremoc pressed his advantage with a powerful downward stroke which he found instantly parried with a horizontal guard.

The combatants disengaged before beginning their carefully choreographed ballet. Attack, parry, defend, block, thrust, pirouette. Glimpsing the future showed a saberist where the next strike would come from and allowed one, with enough agility, to bring their own weapon up to defend while preparing their next strike. It was akin to a game of Dejarik as the players planned three moves ahead.

Angelo seemed to be holding his own well enough but could be seen to be visibly weakening. His strikes came slower, and with less precision as the battle continued. Their opponent did not. Fremoc, seeking to find an end to the combat looked for a chance to decisively end the duel and saw his opening. The man in the cloak committed to a low guard as Dante swept to his knees. The Fist roared triumphantly as he gripped his hilt with both hands and drove the blade down vertically to cleave the assailant in two.

It happened in an instant. Emerald crashed into silver, and as the silver blade angled lower, so too did the momentum of the powerful attack. Before he could do a thing to change the course of his blade, Fremoc recognized a classic maneuver from his own training in the third form, Soresu. Angelo’s eyes grew wide as the glow of the emerald lightsaber blade filled his field of vision before biting deep into the tissue under his ear. In all likelihood, he was unconscious before the fast moving blade moved through the Primarch’s jaw, down the meat of his neck, and through his chest.

A single stroke was all it took to fell the Son of Palpatine.

Not missing a single beat, the intruder brought his blade to bear at Fremoc’s own neck once again. The assassin deflected the blow only to find he was flying backwards and out of the protective enclosure of the office. Wind rustled past his ears as he saw the man’s out-stretched palm willing the force to repel the surviving Obelisk. Fumbling for the grapple on his belt, Fremoc sensed the ground racing toward him at an ever increasing rate.

-------------

Antei Planetary System
Great Hall
Throne Room

Fremoc tugged at the hem of his black shirt, ensuring it was tight against his body before he tucked it in. He straightened his hair before taking a deep breath and entered the room housing the Iron Throne. He could feel the seething hatred, the ball of realized emotion. The Grand Master, Lord Ashen, was furious. It was a miracle the Royal Guardsmen at the entrance to the hall had not killed him on the spot. He wished it was because he had trained each one of them himself.

The throne sat at the far end of the hall and atop it perched the Dark Lord of the Sith. Even from this distance, he could see the man’s dark eyes. They seemed bottomless, as empty as the vacuum of space. Behind the throne stood two other Dark Councilors: the newly appointed VOICE and the Justicar.

Fremoc stopped as he came within five meters of the Grand Master and knelt, his eyes glued to the crimson carpet, “You summoned me, my Lord?”

The Grand Master said nothing for a moment and instead gestured to his vassals to leave. The Justicar, Kir Katarn, and the Voice of the Brotherhood, Vodo Biask, nodded respectfully before leaving the room through a dark portal behind them. The hall was deserted save for the Dark Lord and the disgraced assassin.

“You failed me”, the Grand Master’s voice rasped.

“Yes, my Lord. We encountered…”

Fremoc was unable to finish his sentence as he found his airway cut off by the invisible tendrils of the Dark Side. Muz Ashen stood to his feet, fury plainly visible across his face. With a violent gesture he sent the Fist sailing through the air. The Obelisk hit the ground and rolled until his forward momentum was killed by a stone pillar. Without laying a hand on him, the Lion of Tarthos lifted the assassin from the ground, up the pillar, till his feet hung limply. Fremoc grasped at his throat for air, seeking to peel away that which wasn’t there.

Muz approached the man with a deliberate malice in his eyes as he drew a single saber from his belt and ignited it. He pointed the tip at the heart of his chief-assassin and held it close enough that the fabric there began to peel and burn away. The flesh grew red and then blackened before sizzling and peeling away as though it were another layer of synth-cotton. He pressed the tipped of the blade closer, micrometer by micrometer until the frantic maiming of the Fist suggested he had one last thing to say.

Muz released his mental grip on Fremoc’s throat, “You had better have something damned good to say”.

Through sharp breaths the Prelate managed to whisper, “My Lord, Lord Ashen… I discovered something”.

{From the Voice Fiction Update dated 05-10-2011}

Regret.

Regret, father had said, was a dull and rusted blade. The man paced slowly inside of his own ship's bridge, watching the other ship land on the rock. The transport was poorly appointed. Nondescript being the nly characteristic. It wasn't even ugly salvage. He watched it set down and let his Father's words echo around inside his head for a moment longer before heading for the ramp.

The steam from the hydraulics obscured all but the dark form of the other man, a long cloak, a hood, and a vague impression of a face.

"Eiko." He sneered, resting his hands on his belt, the weight of his weapons a soothing comfort to him.

"Master Herald." The mask wasn't any less vague as he stepped from the steam. "Here to take delivery directly, this time?"
"Some things require more...protection."

Eiko nodded quickly, then produced a small and ornate wooden box from deep within the folds of his cloak. "I suppose you're right."

Shikyo took the case, letting the carved wood rest on his fingers for a moment. So like this box were they all, carved out into intricate patterns by the experiences of life, decades of war, the tracery of regret's knife.

Or maybe that wasn't what father had meant.

---------

Ji stood up slowly, thanking his host for the hospitality, bowed slightly and turned away. The world spun slightly in his head as he made his way into the street, vanishing into the throng of people.

The man's words held weight in his mind, weight that he didn't want to bear. This was not his plan, not what he wanted to do.

Extermination was never his way. It never was their way.

"Perhaps he is lost, then?" The voice was low, only for his ears. Quejo hid beneath the hood of his cloak, appearing as a Chiss this time. His mastery of disguise had kept the Brotherhood guessing as to his species for decades.

"He has his moments." Ji responded with a measured tone, threading his way through the sprawl toward the waiting starport. "How much could you hear?"

Quejo spat. "None of it. He had...something that I couldn't get my senses around." He scratched his chin as they walked. "But you didn't stay, and I assume that he wanted you to."

Regret drank deep in his flesh, painting another scar across the canvas of his psyche. "Maybe I should have."

---------

Korras stood between the Lords, his gaze shifting from the emerald Halcyon to the sable-eyed Lion of Tarthos. The report flashed across the screen, drawing their attention as the images transmitted from across the Galaxy appeared. Fremoc smiled as the blue hologram bathed the four of them.

Stills of the weathered man flashed across time and space, the static taking out frames of the video. It moved oddly, glitching across the screen before them.

"Confirm Target?"

The voice was tinny as hell, a anonymizing vocabulator in the transmitter. Safety's sake.

Fremoc looked to Muz, then Halcyon. The Deputy narrowed his eyes, focusing on the grainy image before recognition bloomed in his face.

Halcyon nodded.

Fremoc all but grinned. "Confirmed."

The video feed snapped to a long-barreled Verpine Shatter rifle for a moment before refocusing on the back of the short-haired man's head. "Engaging."

The video feed went dead.

Silence enveloped the room. Muz turned to look at Fremoc, then back at the evaporating plasma of the deactivating holotransciever before turning on his heel to leave.

{From the GM report dated 06-05-2011}

The Spike
GMRG Sparring and Training Facility
Antei System

The hole in his chest still ached despite considerable healing from his wife. Bless her, he thought as the image of his wife came to mind. Teu Pepoi’s hands were now well practiced in the art of healing and her tongue well tempered as she continually scolded him for straining the wound during training. As much as Fremoc loved his wife though, his duties included training the Grand Master’s Royal Guard. That meant regular sparring, arduous activity, and the occasional re-injury of the lightsaber wound over his heart; the Grand Master’s merciful reprieve.

Sweat dripped off his naked torso as the previous class of initiates exited the room. He nodded with respect to the Quaestor of Revan as the man departed with the others. Next he would head a class of more advanced students, all at least Echelon II or higher. Cooling himself off in the small pool of water in a nearby podium he observed the next class enter. His gaze locked on Cado H’Darr. The Jedi Hunter was nothing short of a nuisance, a constant thorn in the Master Assassin’s side. What the Chiss lacked in personality and social skills, he seemed to make up for in the martial arts.

“Everyone, pair up”, Fremoc sauntered to the center of the room as per his routine and awaited the one trainee brave enough to spar with him.

Cado walked up, his training saber in his hand, “I request the honor of challenging you, Your Excellency”.

Something seemed off in the young man’s tone but Fremoc brushed it off. There was no love lost between them so it was no surprise the Hunter felt he had something to prove. The FIST hoisted the training saber off his belt and ignited it, saluting his opponent. Cado stood motionless for a moment before drawing his cloak aside to reveal two lightsaber hilts. In an instant he clutched both, dropping his training device, and charged the Assassin. Fremoc reacted with pure instinct. He parried the first blade, wriggled through the Hunter’s defense and plunged the training saber at the Chiss’s chest. The weapon, too weak to pierce the alien’s skin, burnt through the cloak and pushed his attacker back.

“What is this Cado? You think that because I knock you about every few days you can walk into this hall, my hall and attack me!?”

Cado glared at the Human man with his red eyes. His voice was flat, and full of contained emotion, “You’re hardly worthy of a hall when you slay allies as you run from enemies”.

Fremoc foresaw the renewed attack and reached out through the force, summoning a force pike from the wall to his hand. The Chiss’s charge carried him forward into the sharpened point of the pike. Cado’s momentum was killed as he looked down in surprise at the weapon emerging from his sternum before he keeled over and died.

-----------------

Councillors’ Chambers
Dark Hall
Antei

“The Grand Master has made himself abundantly clear on the matter. His hands are tied. There’s no evidence that Vismorsus ordered the attack, no evidence that Cado H’Darr was acting on anything but his own accord. No one would be stupid enough to order an attack on the Dark Council. You know my Brother’s stance on that sort of thing”, the Herald walked slowly beside his friend, speaking as though he were trying to convince himself, “He’s been in conference with Xen’Mordin all day anyhow. They will have discussed this at length I’m sure.”

Fremoc was nearing his wit’s end. First it had been the Chiss in his training facility. Then a lone mercenary missed his one shot back on Tarthos. He’d been found dead of poison before anyone had caught up to him. How many assassination attempts could an assassin survive?

“Come now! It’s obvious who’s behind all this? No other clan has any reason to attack me!”

Shikyo sighed as he buried his hands in the deep pockets of his jacket, “Listen: Just take it easy, watch your back and this will all blow over. I’ve been in contact with Tsainetomo. Between Methyas’s capture and your attacks, he’s just as irritated about this as you are.”

“Irritated!? You think I’m irritated?”

“No, I think you’re frightened, enraged, and nearly ready to explode. What I mean is that you’re a Son of Sadow and we will not let anything happen to you. Mark my words.”

The two friends ceased walking the corridor as they approached the chambers assigned to the FIST. Fremoc could sense the presence of his eldest son, Thomas, within. He couldn’t sense Teu or the other children and supposed they were out at the moment.

“Would you like to come in? Thomas is practicing his forms I believe”

The Keibatsu nodded politely and followed as Fremoc activated the sliding door. Inside the modestly furnished main chamber Shikyo recognized the face of Fremoc’s 13 year old son.

“Hello Father! Master Keibastu!”

Shikyo smiled, “Thomas.”

Thomas bowed slightly to the Herald and turned to his father, “Teu told me to tell you to leave your explosives in the workroom when you leave.”

It always bugged him when his son referred to his step-mother by name, “Explosives?”

Thomas bent down and picked up a box from the ground, “These.”

In an instant their world turned upside down. The contents of the box exploded outward, shredding the boy into mere molecules. The Dark Councilors were far enough from the blast that the shockwave merely hurled them into the wall. As the dust settled and his eyes began to focus, all Shikyo Keibatsu could see was red. He saw the bloody chunks laying about the room, how the FIST lay beside him motionless, eyes blankly staring at the darkened crater at the center of the room more in shock than injury.

The Herald raced from the chamber, down the corridor. The Force propelled his feet ever faster as he raced for the Great Hall’s exterior landing pads. He rounded the last corner at a full tilt, knocking aside the honor guard posted there just in time to see the Scholae Palatinae entourage file into their shuttle and the ramp close shut. He roared viciously as he charged the shuttle in mid-take off. With little thought he reached for his left handed saber and hurled it with as much power as he could manage. The blade activated as it spun into the sky and tore through a landing strut.

-----------------

Jedi Council Room
New Tython System

“Master, you know it’s what we must to do in order to secure our own safety from those… Sith.”

The Gand peered through the room at the conclave before him. Their anxiety was palpable, “I have faith in their Grand Master for now. For all his philosophical misdirection, I believe him to be a man of his word. He will prevent the Dark Jedi from attacking us.”

The Jedi sat quietly for a moment in deep contemplation before Master Xylar, a redeemed Dark Jedi himself rose to speak, “With all due respect Master Ji, I know these Dark Jedi. I know what they are capable of, their motivations, and their practices. Muz may be honorable to his word, but his word carries only so much weight. I implore you to instate this practice. If not for our sakes, then for the sake of the Harakoans.”

At this, the Jedi Master paused. The Gand rose from his seat in the conclave and paced the floor in silent conference with the Force. Truth was that while he held no trust in the Clans and Houses of the Brotherhood, a masked man claiming to be the humble leader of a hidden house had approached him and passed along information; information that had profoundly disturbed the wizened Jedi Master. Not only had the man known the location of New Tython, but he had revealed that others, with less benign intentions, may as well.

Ji took a deep breath before speaking, “Very well. All unknown vessels operating in our sovereign space will be subject to search and seizure. You will destroy all confiscated vessels without proper registration pending a full and thorough investigation of its origin and purpose. You may recruit the militia for this cause. Maintain one squadron in orbit at all times.”

-----------------

TAR Rhapsody
Converted Lambda-class Shuttle
New Tython Space

The interior of the shuttle was dark and quiet as the ten man team went about its business professionally. To all exterior appearances, the shuttle was nothing more than an Imperial model transport entering the system from its outer reaches. It was in-fact the newest acquisition of the its House. The shuttle’s interior was packed to capacity with sensitive electronics, ECM suites, and surveillance equipment. The freighter was in all actuality a spy vessel.

It had been three days since they’d entered the system and begun their operations. All sensors were directed at the planet dubbed New Tyhon by the Jedi of House Odan-Urr. Its location, normally kept a carefully guarded secret from the Houses and Clans of the Brotherhood had recently been divulged to the Quaestor of Tarentum and they had seized upon the opportunity.

A black-clad man peered across his screen, recognizing no new information or anything out of the ordinary. He looked up. The normally spacious bay of the shuttle was packed with equipment, bunks, and temporary refreshers. Stretching his arms and waving to his comrade for more Caf, the man rotated his shoulders to relieve the stiffness. Suppressing a yawn, he lowered his head again to gaze at the monitor to see twelve small dots rapidly approaching the shuttle.

“Contact! Bogies incoming; twelve-count”.

All hands raced into action. The ship powered to life and began to maneuver for an emergency jump to hyperspace, “Deploy electronic counter measures. Evasive maneuvers. Thirty seconds to jump.”

The fighters closed in at high speed. They were a motley crew of assembled fighters from various ends of the Galaxy. T-65 X-Wings, Y-Wings, a TIE Fighter, and at least two aging Eta-2 interceptors.

"Unidentified Lambda-Shuttle. You are in violation of New Tython Space. Stand down from hyperspace jump preparations and follow us back to base.”

The shuttle made no acknowledgement of the order and continued its preparation to jump. Sensing that the ship was nearly ready to depart, the squadron leader of the fighters ordered the hyperdrive disabled. A deft shot from one of the Y-Wings using its Ion Cannon overloaded the systems of the shuttle rendering it dead in space. The fighter pulled up along side the shuttle before the cockpit cracked open and a suited human male floated out. He rummaged around in a utility case for a moment before drawing out several cables. The man attached the cables to various points of the shuttle and floated around to the blackened windows of the cockpit. He peered through the transparasteel barrier and saw the pilot and co-pilot frantically trying to remedy their situation. It wouldn’t do them any good. The ship would require repair before it would fly again. Till then, it was in the possession of House Odan-Urr.

-----------------

Quaestor’s Throne Room
Castle Tarentum
Yridia II

Bloodfyre paced the hall deliberately. His fury was tangible to all in the room, who all seemed to have moved to the walls attempting to remove themselves as far from the man’s anger and rage as possible. He couldn’t believe the insolence of the Jedi: that they would dare fire upon and capture a vessel of his Navy. That they would dare challenge the might of the Sith King’s House.

He’d received word from Questor Eiko of Revan in person days ago that the Jedi were up to something. He’d dispatched the spy ship to confirm the details of Revan’s intelligence. Now, here they stood. Bloodfyre held no love for the Jedi of House Odan-Urr, he was still somewhat puzzled that Darth Ashen, Lord Khyron’s seat warmer, had not crushed them outright. Was the Brotherhood in such a depression that it could not afford to destroy its enemies? No, the lesser Houses and Clans were. Tarentum was strong, and he would remind them of that fact.

The Grand Master had been clear in his warnings to Scholae Palatinae and Naga Sadow however, even if it was evident to all that the Sith Lord held a bias towards his brothers Sadow. The two’s bickering had erupted into near war after the recent explosion in the Fist’s chambers. There was to be no open conflict between the Houses and Clans. Bloodfyre recognized he needed to step carefully. Odan-Urr could not be allowed to disrespect Lord Khyron’s legacy in such a manner without consequence, but he could not openly strike at them without incurring the Grand Master’s wrath.

“Admiral Scion.”

An aged man, clearly in his later-half of his days, presented himself. His crisp naval uniform was highly decorated and impeccably maintained, “Yes, My Lord Tarantae?”

“You will move Battlegroup Piranha into orbit around the Jedi’s world of New Tython. You will initiate an immediate blockade of their world. They are to receive no supplies, visitors, or communications. No one is to be allowed to leave. You are to disregard all communications from their Council. Should the Jedi be foolish enough to challenge your blockade, you will use all available means to defend yourself. Am I clear?”

“Perfectly, My Lord.”

-----------------

Herald’s Office
Great Hall
Antei System

The office was never a dull scene. Requisitions of the materials, supplies, and the logistics of their dispersal among the Clans and Houses occupied much of the goings-on around here. Ekeia managed much of that work under Master Keibatsu who had been noticeably absent since his reactionary attack on the Palatinae shuttle. Whispers and rumors spread like wild-fire as to the fate of the Grand Master’s favored brother.

In her Master’s absence, the young Krath maintained the office’s focus on efficiency by personally overseeing the arrival and departure of all shipments, logging each on her datapad. The work was strenuous, she wasn’t quite sure how the Herald managed it so well, but recently things had become worse.

News from Kr’Tal was sour. Taldryan was emerging slowly from the depression of the last few years, a funk induced by rival Arcona’s preternatural ascension to its current status. Perhaps it had been the Grand Master’s reward of their progress by restoring their status as a Clan that had her Quaestor so uptight, but Shaz’air Taldrya had been pressing her to do all that she could for her adopted home.

It was not in her nature to be underhanded. Ekeia preferred to be blunt, upfront with her problems, and deal with issues out in the open. It was part of the reason the Herald had taken her on as an Apprentice all those years ago. But things were different now. The Brotherhood seemed to be tearing at the seams. If one didn’t pick a side, one would be left without a safety net. Choose the wrong side, and one would suffer the consequences. Perhaps it had been the kind words of the masked man she’d spoken to days ago that had really reached her.

She looked at the datapad lying before her. Taldryan was her temporary home, but her time there had been comfortable. Arcona may have been on the rise for many years, but it still paled in comparison to the legacy of the great Taldryan. Perhaps picking a side wouldn’t be such a bad idea, she mused, if she picked the winning side. A shipment of infantry rifles, ammunition, and supplies, as well as capital ship parts and replenishments were scheduled for routine delivery to Dajorra. No one would notice if she shaved a few percent of each shipment off and sent it flying in another direction, namely Arcona’s longtime rival and adversary. Taldryan may even see her contribution as worthy of reward. Time would tell. She signed the order and sent it off.

-----------------

Throne Room of the Grand Master
Great Hall
Antei System

The air was dark and heavy in the presence of the Iron Throne. Many of the Galaxy’s most powerful Force users had sat upon its obsidian surface. The matter that constituted it seemed to radiate the very power of the royal bodies that graced its contours over the many millennia. In its presence, the Dark Summit stood silently, awaiting the arrival of their Lord.

Quaestor Taldrya stood confidently, a single hand resting on his hip, holding aside his dark cloak. A saber hilt rested there, easily within reach. The Miraluka eyed Consul Erinos Arconae carefully as though he were measuring the man up against his age-old suspicions and prejudices. Zandro stood beside a tall, muscular man. The mysterious figure, masked behind an enveloping hood and helmet, was the leader of the unseen House Revan. The two were close in conversation, whispering so lowly that the crisp figure of Quaestor Bloodfyre standing nearby seemed not to notice. Bloodfyre kept his own company in the presence of the Dark Summit and his follow Councilors, casting glares of mistrust and disdain their way.

Quaestors Vismorsus of Scholae Palatinae and Kaeth of Plagueis stood shoulder to shoulder, presenting a united front as they glowered at Consul Keibatsu of Naga Sadow. Tsainetomo stood near enough to Shaz’air to make it clear who had his back, should the individual tensions of the room erupt at once. No one was daft enough to move against their adversaries in the Grand Master’s sanctum though. To do so would be to sign their death warrant.

A loud creaking noise temporarily dispelled the tension in the air. A towering, robed figure emerged from a portal behind the throne and approached the edge of the raised dais upon which the throne rested. The Twi’lek stopped as he reached its terminus and announced clearly, “My Lords: the Grand Master, Lord Musashi Keibatsu, Dark Lord of the Sith, Lion of Tarthos.”

Though no one was speaking, it was as though a hush fell upon the assembled as the Dark Lord entered the room and took up a position before his throne without sitting. As one, they all bowed. Majesty radiated from his very being. His dark eyes conveyed little emotion, yet cut daggers of ice into the hearts of the House and Clan Leaders. From behind the throne, the various officers of the Dark Council filed into the Throne Room and stood at rest behind the Grand Master. The FIST of the Brotherhood, Fremoc Pepoi Sadow appeared sullen, as though a great weight had been hefted upon his shoulder, yet he stood proud and tall in his dark cloak. Beside him, a disheveled Herald glared at Xen’Mordin with a measured stare. It was hard to discern, but it appeared to his cousin Tsainetomo that Shikyo was having trouble standing without quivering as he stood beside the Headmaster, Taigikori Ayabara Dupar. The Voice filed back from the front of the dais and found space between the Seneschal, the Grand Master’s Chamberlin, and the Master-at-Arms. Noticeably absent were the Deputy Grand Master and the Justicar.

Lord Ashen peered at the assembled Dark Jedi, sensing the combined power of the trained men standing before him, noting that it was all his. He was not like Sarin, a man consumed with a lust for power, but this did not keep him from fully appreciating what one had when one had it.

“Gentlemen, please rise”, he watched with pleasure as they did as he commanded, “No… Something is wrong. On your knees.”

There were some looks of confusion but rather quickly the Quaestors and Consuls fell to their knees, “No, no. This will not do. Rise, my Lords.”

Yet more confusion as the Dark Lord of the Sith addressed them as equals. Several rose falteringly, while the rest stood to attention swiftly, “I can see this will take some work.”

The Grand Master paced before the throne before marching down the steps to the floor before them. They immediately moved to create a semi-circle around their Lord but were halted by an invisible hand that kept them from moving away.

“No, no. Please, remain as you were. Here.”

At that, the Grand Master took a deep, sweeping bow and lowered himself before the Quaestors. Clearly unable to discern what to do, the Dark Jedi stood motionless.

“What is it, Quaestor Vismorsus? Does my formality insult you?”

Stammering the Palatine crashed to his knees and lowered himself as far to the floor as he could muster, “Not at all my Lord! I… we are merely confused.”

“As am I Xen’Mordin. As am I. How is it that a Dark Lord of the Sith, the Master of this Brotherhood, must lower himself to your level for you to understand a simple truth?”

Bloodfyre, annoyed by the theater act cleared his throat, “Which truth would that be, Dread Lord?”

If looks could kill, the Tarantae would have blown away in the wind as a cloud of ionized particles, “That I am the Law. I am your Master. I command and you obey. Bow. All of you!”

In an instant seven figures prostrated themselves before him, “Bloodfyre, you will remove your blockade from around New Tython. All records of the system’s location will be purged from your navigation, library, and combat files.”

The Shaevalian looked up at the Keibatsu, “My Lord! The Jedi have captured twelve of my men, have hijacked a sovereign vessel of my Navy and had violated the prestige and honor of the Sith King.”

“You will find your men and your ship safely returned to you by days end. You will remove the blockade or the Sith King will be the least of your concerns.” As he finished that line of thought the Grand Master then turned his ire on another.

“Xen’Mordin, you will conduct a thorough search and purge all rogue elements from your House. There will be no further attempts on the lives of my Dark Council. An attack on any member of my Dark Council will constitute as an attack on Me! Am I understood?”

“Yes my Liege. What of your Brother, the Herald? My shuttle bares the marks of his attack”.

“The Herald has been disciplined and it is no longer your concern. As for my Cousin, Tsainetomo, you will draw your forces down from Priority Alert. My Brotherhood will not be fractured by civil war.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

“Zandro, Shaz’air”, the Grand Master approached the two, conscious of the long history between Arcona and Taldryan, “I’ve heard disturbing reports of economic sabotage and espionage. There wouldn’t be any substance to these rumors, would there?”

Shaz’air thought he saw the Grand Master glance at the Revanite, Eiko, but dismissed it as Zandro answered, “No, Master Keibatsu. Arcona has suffered some minor set backs recently in the galactic market; nothing serious enough to concern the Iron Throne.”

“And what of Taldryan?”

“We continue to recover from a minor slump, My Lord. As you well know, our great House has seen something of a downturn. Machines age, and so do parts. I cannot say that foreign agents caused the explosion at Altur, Master.”

Again, Shaz’air thought he saw the Grand Master look towards the masked Revanite. The Grand Master turned away from the Dark Jedi and returned to his throne, “Do as I command, and you will find my mercy generous. Disobey me…”

He let the gravity of his meaning sink in. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed them.

Outside the Throne Room the Quaestors and Consuls dissolved back into their little parties. They went their separate ways as they spoke.

{From the Voice Fiction Update dated 6-10-2011}

The familiar beep had woken him up. He rose from the bunk, slowly making his way forward into the cockpit and settling into the pilot's seat. With practiced ease his hand rested on the levers at his side and pulled back, the view in front of him turning from a tunnel of energy into a blank canvas filled with pinpricks of white with a deep-orange ball hanging in the midst of it all. He took full control of the custom Lambda shuttle, guiding it skillfully into the upper atmosphere of the planet.

It had taken years of work to arrive at this moment. Many of his sources were utilized and decades of favours called in to piece together the tangled web of information that had been drooped in front of him. Rumours and innuendo had coalesced into a location. It took a vision, an aspect of his power he generally ignored, to lead him in the direction required after having first hit a dead-end. He was a pragmatic man who had others do what he wanted. Yet this had been different; a finality to what he had seen. He was a realist and knew the paths he had taken in his life may one day take control of his actions. The trade-off was worth it for what he had accomplished. There were no regrets. He would ensure the end would be on his terms.

He brought the shuttle to a perfect landing and shut the craft down except for a handful of systems that would be biding their time. He rose from the cockpit, taking a moment to glance at the cabin before moving on. He donned his complete Brotherhood robes, ensuring the played the part expected of him save for one exception. Again he took a moment to look at his surroundings; the years spent with the craft passing through his vision before he moved on. The lightsaber was the last piece of his ensemble to go on, the black hilt hanging at his side. With a simple press of a button the ramp lowered before him and Dark Jedi Master Syn Kaek strode onto the Sith world of Korriban once more.

"Welcome home. I do believe we've been expecting you".

As the ramp closed behind him Syn turned to the lilting voice. A woman of ruby face and indigo hair faced him; the clothing she worse, or lack thereof, clearing showing off the tattoos that littered her body. Kaek could almost smell the pheromones that wafted into his pores, trying to distract and lessen him.

Zeltron he thought to himself, his time spent around other Zeltrons in the Brotherhood making him immune to these temptations. Another time and place and he would have allowed the woman to have her way, for a time.

"You can stop with the seduction and take me to your actual leader", the former Master-at-Arms bluntly stated. The woman allowed a moment of surprise to cross her face in the form of a single blink before composing herself.

"He's still not quite ready for you, hun", the woman responded, moving toward him gracefully.

Kaek met her in an instance, the hilt of his saber already in his palm and the sapphire blade ignited. The woman had barely time to register the attack as instinct too over, her own red blade springing forth to intercept the incoming attack. She was barely able to deflect it away before feeling the sole of a boot meet her ribcage. An audible crack resounded in her ears as she felt the air from her lungs escape through her lips. She felt herself propelled backward as an invisible force enveloped her. She felt more of her bones give in under the unexpected strain as she landed prone onto the sandy ground.

Syn walked over to her, stabbing his own blade through her saber before kneeling down beside her head. He grabbed a fistful of hair, yanking her face next to his own.

"Your leader. Now".

With a pained grimace she spit in his face. He never once removed his grip, instead holding even tighter as he drew her even closer.

"Scream, bitch".

The tattooed woman did scream as she felt every repressed memory torn to the surface. It was another life; one she had made to remove coming back to haunt her, amplified beyond comprehension.

"I'll take you", she managed to croak through tears, her head hitting ground as Syn let go and stood over her.

-- |o| --

The path was simple, without much given away. Kaek recorded it all however, his cybernetic eye taking in every detail in every spectrum. What regular senses of Force-enhanced senses could not find, technology would. A simple dark jedi he was not and a lesson soon learned by others as his telemetry was sent back to his shuttle in real time. The woman ahead of him staggered onward, using the walls to hold herself up as she led him further inside. They finally came upon a large opening, guards at each side barring entrance.

"I bring him before our Lord", the woman managed to say without showing the pain that roiled within.

"He awaits you inside, my Lady", one of the guards responded, both of them standing aside and admitting them entrance.

Syn followed her into the large room, his actual eye adjusting to the increased lighting that bathed the area around him. The light also helped keep the edges in shadow, indistinct figures standing just outside his normal vision. He could feel a handful of others in the room outside the two of them and all of them powerful entities. A large Chagrian stepped out from the shadows, his eyes boring into Kaek although he addressed the woman instead.

"You have disappointed us greatly, Darth Demagol. Such actions cannot be tolerated".

Before she could speak another ruby saber flashed out from the darkness and separated her head from the remainder of her body. Kaek did not flinch or move from his place as the body collapsed to the floor in front of him.

"I had seen such promise in that one", a voice ahead of Syn spoke. "Perhaps you can replace her, stranger".

The only response from the former Councillor was in the sound of his blade igniting once more as she sprang toward the voice. The forms around him, including the Chagrian, moved to intercept him, but he was too quick and unpredictable. He could now make up who had spoken, the man covered in familiar armor. He didn't bother to raise a saber in response instead rising to his feet and grabbing the attacking saber with an open hand and pushing it aside. Kaek was thrown off-balance by the unorthodox defense; his body left open as tendrils of energy exploded from the armored-man's fingertips and sent the once intelligence officer sprawling to the floor.

Syn's breath was laboured as he lay on the ground, surrounded by what appeared to be other Sith. He felt a part of his mind scream out, yet he stifled his own scream that begged to follow. He could feel another grasp at his thoughts; sifting for what lay there. Finding what he wished him to see; something all but forgotten in the sand of Korriban.

"This was your grand plan, False Sith? Come here, with none knowing your fate? I thought more of you and this 'Brotherhood' of yours".

Kaek allowed himself a satisfied smile. He knew that this group had learned much about the Brotherhood. Their secret was out there, even if just in the hands of other Sith. He had given them nothing they did not already know. Yet now, the Brotherhood would be on even footing with the knowledge he would give them. The smile never left his face as the Chagrian's blade came down at his throat.

The moment the feed was cut the shuttle encrypted all of the information that Kaek had collected over the years, including the recent recordings, and sent it to a pre-determined recipient. With it's final duty completed the shuttle set itself to self-destruct. Within moments it exploded, erasing all trace of its existence.

Antei
Dark Hall
Grand Master's Office

The Grand Master rose to his feet as he felt a sudden surge in the dark side before feeling the office floor shake beneath him. His hand rested on the hilt of his saber as he heard a commotion just outside his doors. The presence he felt was familiar, yet twisted into something far more malevolent that was normal. The doors burst open as a man, face twisted in anger and hair flailing around his head, came storming in. Muz could see two bodies laying just outside, members of the Royal Guard currently incapacitated

"Have you finally come to take this office from me?" Ashen asked, his hand still on a hilt. The question stopped his Shadow Hand momentarily, a scowl etched on Halcyon's face.

"Trouble", came the clipped response as he tossed a data-chip at the Krath before turning and leaving the office in the same manner he entered.

{From the DGM report dated 7-3-2011}

Montellian Serat
Deveron
Deveron System

Where ever she went, heads turned; unless she didn’t wish to be seen. The assassin moved as one with the crowds of Devaronian men and women; the hood of her war-coat shielding her azure eyes from the throng. A slight aura emanated from her, exuding a sense of belonging. To any passer by, she appeared as nothing more than just another woman going about her business on this chilly day, though none would ever remember even seeing her.

As she walked, she passed street-level advertising. Eye scans allowed the ads to be personalized, asking individuals by name for a moment of their time, to consider a new product. One such ad, targeting a man beside her, asked if he longed for the days of his youth, if he wished to be forever young. It implored him to seek out the nearest Eternal Youth Councilor.
“…endorsed by Derc Kast, galaxy famous Holo-Movie actor and model.”

“Remember kids, don’t be a tool…”, she passed out of range of the ad before the familiar voice of the Son of Palpatine could finish his tagline.

Ashia Kagan Keibatsu was in-fact going about her business. Business that required care and precision, but business she welcomed with a joyful heart. The Dark Lord of the Sith trusted these assignments to her when he wanted them kept quiet.

Everything was in place; her tracks had been well covered; her execution of this mission had been flawless and her prey would die an agonizing and slow death, a traitor’s death. Her connections to Revan provided her with her prey’s exact location, only one thing left to do….the one known as Robin Hawk would die.

------------

YCHT Expedition
Altur Orbit
Kr’Tal System

The Quaestor gazed out of the view port beside his aide. Shaz’air, a Miraluka, could not ‘see’ as his human counterpart could, but could discern the extent of the wreckage all the same. The twisted remains of the planet’s primary orbital fuel refinery lay before them, floating haphazardly, kept at a safe distance by the pull of the Gas Giant’s core and the ship’s extensive shielding.

Shaz’air turned from the view port, resting his weight upon its transparent surface, “This was no malfunction.”

“It appears, Master Taldrya, that TalSec recorded an unknown drive signature leaving the system moments prior to the explosion.”

“Then why wasn’t it discovered before this happened?”

Mistakes happened; they both knew that. Senior officials in the Naval Service were pouring over records, asking these questions to their subordinates, and attempting to come up with an answer to that very question. How had saboteurs not only entered the Kr’Tal System, but manage to destroy a full 30% of the House’s capability to extract and refine fuel from the planet? Perhaps there was some weight to the information his contact in Revan had given him. He would have to gather more intel on that.

Shaz’air too turned from the view port, “See to it that the appropriate actions are taken, but bear in mind the Grand Master’s ultimatum.”

Returning to the cockpit, the aide assumed the helm and plotted a course that would take them on the quickest possible sub-light route back to Karufr. He had hardly engaged the drive systems when a priority alert popped up on their shared message terminal.

Allowing the Questor read it to himself, he busied himself with the flight controls.

“Contact Admiral Slaxton. Naga Sadow may need a friend by their side.”

------------

Equitorial Jungle
Ptolomea
Cocytus System

Vismorsus put the slip of flimsy down on the table prepared for him by his ushers. Outside his tent, the sounds of the alien jungle fell silent; a sure sign that the creatures of the night could sense a dark storm brewing within. Several voices bombarded the Quaestor with demands, yet he withheld himself. The fury that had been steadily building was directed at the Grand Master, as well as those who would force him to take action.

The news was one of personal joy. Robin Hawk was dead. He forgot all about his excursion, the hunting trip in the depths of Ptolomea’s jungles, and instead fantasized about how he would have enjoyed killing that woman himself. Several voices chimed in their agreement. One however reminded him of his dilemma. Another long time Palatinae was dead at the hands of a Sadow and on the orders of the Grand Master none-the-less. That is, supposing the intelligence he received was correct. Those too stupid to understand the value in patience would demand action. The death of another comrade would be the straw that broke the Bantha’s back.

Suddenly a sharp pain in his right hand brought him out of his reverie, giving him a moment of relief. The man looked down to see blood seeping from his palm where he’d clenched too tightly in rage; his razor sharp nails leaving half moon cuts in the skin. Shaking the blood from his hand, the Quaestor summoned one of his assistants.

------------

Council Chamber
Antei
Antei System

The room was brilliantly decorated; Golden trim, onyx inlay, rich lighting, a real Kriin-wood table from Alderaan, and Nerf-hide seats supported upon intricately wrought electrum stands. The bodies that graced the room were among the most powerful in the Galaxy, in terms of military power, financial strength, and connection to the Force. It was from here that the day to day business of the Brotherhood was decided, run, and carried out. Only one seat, grander than the rest, remained empty though all others were filled.

“My Lords”, the Deputy Grand Master rose, “I call this meeting to order. Previous minutes are displayed before you. If you have any questions, please voice them now, otherwise, onto new business. We’ll begin with the Justicar”.

Kir Katarn straightened his Imperial-style jacket and glanced around the room.

“I have very little to report. The recent troubles between houses have been dealt with behind the scenes. I haven’t had to raise my hand to anyone.” It was hard tell from the steel gaze he held whether he was annoyed or relieved at this.

Halcyon bowed his head in thanks to the Justicar as he jotted some notes, “Next… we will hear from the Seneschal.”

“Brotherhood finances are becoming stronger my Lord. Revenue from the Tempest Omega accounts have begun flowing in earnest and I’ve begun investing it in various interests in this sector and region. The Master-at-Arms informs me that the Navy has requested additional personnel to fill its ranks and I have seen fit to supply him with the necessary funds to commit a recruitment drive in the Outer-Rim territories.”

Each Dark Councilor, in turn gave their report to the Deputy until it came time for the FIST to speak. The Son of Sadow remained in his chair, eyes affixed to a dark spot in the grain of the table before him. He was only shaken from his concentration upon a gentle force nudge from the Deputy Grand Master.

He looked up at the inquisitive stares of his peers, “Yes? Oh… I, uhh…”

The Fist cleared his throat as he sat up in his chair. “I’ve been combing over the records and files of the Royal Guardsmen I’ve been training, attempting to identify individuals who may pose a threat to our Grand Master or this Council. Additionally, I’ve seen fit to assign Cethgus Entar of Arcona to be the Headmaster’s personal guard. Lastly…”

His voice trailed off as he lost his train of thought. Things had been rough for the Assassin in the last few weeks. The loss of his eldest son and the trauma of the explosion had taken its toll on the man. The grief he shared with his wife had begun to strain their once stable marriage and union. He found it hard to show affection for his two infant children let alone his beloved wife. What point was there if they could be taken from him in mere moments?

Halcyon Rokir rapped upon the oaken table impatiently, “Lastly?”

Again snapped back to the present, Fremoc regained his line of thought, “Its nothing my Lord. It’s something that would be better suited to the ears of Darth Ashen alone.”

------------

Tosche Station
Tatooine
Arkanis System

There were three of them in the party. It had been difficult to arrange the trip between them seeing as though they had all belonged to different Houses and Clans, and that the nature of their journey was one that their brethren would be none-to-happy to hear of. Their disappearances were likely known by now and to those sharp enough to read between the lines, their ultimate destination was likely known as well.

The sun bore down on them as they entered the small outpost on the outskirts of Anchorhead, the planet’s oldest continuously populated settlement. Their robes were dark and offered little to no protection from the omnipotent heat of the twin suns that hung in the noon sky. With hoods pulled over their faces, they were at least spared from the visual glare, but that did not reduce the burden of the heat building up under their garments.

A tavern at the end of the lane they had entered seemed cool and welcoming, its adobe exterior shedding the yellow-white light of the twin suns as if to say to the weary three, “Welcome”.

They entered and cast off their hoods. The tavern was dimly lit, a reactionary habit of the locals to the brightness outside. A classic Max Rebo Band hit played on a music box, setting the ambiance succinctly. It was as though the sojourners had stepped back in time 35 years into one of the holo-vids made about the early adventures of the Jedi Luke Skywalker. The tavern looked every bit as wretched and villainous as they could have imagined, only that this was not Mos Eisley. That was 200 miles south on the edge of the Dune Sea.

The three stood out from the patrons already drowning their individual sorrows, regrets, and misfortunes in their drinks save for one, who sat in a corner slowly drinking a glass of blue milk. They recognized him as their contact by the brown robe adorning his shoulders, similar to their own in all ways but the fiber and thickness. They joined him, filling the seats placed around the table in anticipation of their arrival.

No one spoke for a few moments as they all locked eyes with the man in brown. He took a deep breath and placed his glass on the table.

“Are you sure you want to do this? What reason do we have to trust you?”

The tallest of the travelers looked the Jedi in the eye, “Reach out, you can tell we are here for one reason only. There is no darkness in my heart or any of ours. The longer we remain in the Brotherhood, the greater the chance we’ll be identified. Odan-Urr is our only hope.”

“Very well”, the Jedi finished his drink and raised his hood over his face, “We leave tonight”.

------------

Dark Hall
Antei
Antei System

Vodo Biask skulked down the halls, silently musing to himself. He mulled over plans for the next week, those already in action, and those that had failed. His thoughts drifted to that of his duties; his oath-bound duties to the Grand Master and the duties of loyalty to House and Clan. He took little notice of the chamberlains and officials scurrying to and fro. They knew not to break his concentration. It had been a mistake perhaps, but the last man to interrupt his thoughts had been hurled into a nearby sculpture of the Warrior-Emperor Okemi…and into his sword.

The Deputy Grand Master, fully aware of the Twi’lek’s defensive nature, cared little and stood in the path of the VOICE. Vodo approached, nearly up until they collided and stopped. Now aware of the fellow Taldrya standing before him, the Voice bowed calmly, tilting his head with difference. A slight smile crossed his visage.

“Master Halcyon, what do I owe this pleasure?”

“No need for formalities here, Biask.”

Vodo’s smile faded, “Very well. How can I help you?”

Years of history colored the interaction of the two councilors. Both, long time leaders of Clan Taldryan, each held a healthy respect for the other. For Vodo, feelings of familiarity and mentorship manifested. Halcyon had been his role-model for years now. As for the other, Halcyon saw the Twi’lek as one of his best projects, a creation worth its labor and effort.

“Ashen has been receiving word of the goings-on in the Clans and Houses. He’s been receiving them from a source that I cannot identify…”

Though they had begun walking slowly Vodo again stopped and looked to the Elder. Halcyon, a former Imperial Intelligence Agent, had always maintained a healthy network of informants and spies.

“I’m…at a loss for words”. Vodo’s eyes searched those of the Elder momentarily.

“As am I. I have my suspicions of course, but nothing duracrete as of yet”, Halcyon stroked the green goatee adorning his chin, “There are two possibilities.”

“And those would be?”

“One: Revan. Sarin’s pet project is essentially one giant intelligence factory if put to use properly.”

Vodo knew what was coming next, “And the other?”

“Two: A well connected individual, with ties and access in every unit of this Brotherhood, with regular travel to and from their systems. An individual uniquely placed to have both the private ear of the Grand Master, but also to remain so visible as to be invisible…”

Halcyon knew. The Voice grew stiff, his chest filling with icy cold, “I assure you, Master Halcyon that such an individual may exist, but I cannot say that the individual you suspect is your culprit.”

Sensing duplicity in his student, and yet the truth, the Deputy Grand Master nodded and dropped the subject, “Oh, and there is one other thing.”

“Yes?”

“Syn Kaek is dead.”

------------

Staging Point Theta-2
12 light years from the Lorta System
Off Corellian Trade Spine

Commander Miros closed the holo-message. Admiral Simonetti had been clear in his directions. If Scholae Palatinae made a move in light of the death of their Housemate, the Recon Fleet was to mobilize immediately to the Cocytus System. Her black hair was pulled neatly under her duty cap which added a certain sharpness to her normally beautiful face. She pulled at her uniform, straightening it, as she stood and paced out onto the bridge of the Overseer.

The child of a moisture farmer, here she stood on the command deck of one of the Dlarit Corporation’s largest warships. She was proud of all that she had accomplished in her life up to this point and was not fearful of the consequences of taking her small fleet into battle. She was concerned however of what she could hope to accomplish in the enemy’s home system alone with a Frigate and two Corvettes. It would be hours before one of the Home Fleets would be able to mobilize for offensive war should the moment of truth arrive.

“Ma’am! Ships decanting from Hyperspace!” an excited voice rang out.

Alarms went off in her head, as well as around her. They were not expecting anyone here, period.

“I need information. What can you tell me about them?”

“Three ships: Two Heavy Cruisers and one Gunship. They’re Palatinae!”

Another officer piped up, “Incoming message for you, Commander.”

The bridge’s PA system crackled to life as the gravely voice of the Palatinae Line Captain boomed. “Lower your shields and prepare to be boarded. This fleet is under orders to open fire on you if you do not comply.”

Miros became livid, “Open a channel for reply!”

“I… They’ve cut me off, Ma’am.”

“They’re powering weapons! Fighters inbound!”

It was all moving so fast. She would respond in kind, “Launch our fighters, shields to maximum. Send a signal to Fleet Admiral Simonetti. All hands: battle stations!”

Two squadrons of dated but capable Z-95 Headhunter fighters launched from the decks of the Enforcer-class Picket Ship to meet the incoming wave of TIE Defenders, a much newer, faster and more agile craft. Weapons from the two Majestic Heavy Cruisers baring the Sword and Dragon of Scholae Palatine opened on the small recon fleet. Flanked by a single gunship, the ships comprised Line Delta of Task Force Starstealer.

The bright blue-white turbo laser blasts collided with the forward shields of the Overseer as the two Assassin-class Corvettes, Adjucator and Exile, moved forward to engage the enemy fleet at close range. Though no match for the heavy cruisers, they would tear through the TIE Defenders as they passed and would be a much larger problem for the Corellian Gunship, Relentless.

Space became filled with the passing hulks of capital warships and fighters, brief flashes of laser fire, and concussion missiles. The Overseer turned its bow to the enemy fleet, presenting the smallest possible profile while bringing its turbo lasers around. It unleashed a heavy salvo against the Adenn which was returned two fold by the Majestic and its sister ship, the Basilisk. The Overseer reeled under the attack, its shields flickering for a moment before restoring their resiliency. The commander of the enemy line smelled blood and ordered a follow up attack.

The Overseer continued to absorb fire until its shields failed all-together. The Exile moved to use its mass as a shield for the flagship but found itself similarly exposed to the heavy cruisers’ barrages.

Miros was hurriedly issuing commands, attempting to get her ship back into fighting condition when her Sensor officer again reported, “Ships emerging from hyperspace!”

Her mind raced. It had only been twenty minutes since she’d ordered Simonetti be made aware of their situation. There was no way in the Nine Corellian Hells that he could be here already.

“Who is it? More Palpatines? Plagueis?”

Again the PA came to life, “This is Rear Admiral Saiff Hessan, Taldryan Security Force. Scholae Palatinae ships: stand down and make ready to jump to hyperspace. You are in violation of the Grand Master’s peace and have provoked an attack on the Great Clan Naga Sadow.”

Miros raced to the transparasteel viewplate to her left and gazed at the magnificent grace of Taldryan’s Bothan Assault Cruiser, Dark Prophet II. It was flanked by two gunships and a small mass of fighter craft. She could only guess at how they knew to be here, but she wasn’t about to complain. She looked through the forward viewplate to see the Royal Navy of Scholae Palatinae hesitating, unsure of what to do. A few incredibly long seconds followed as she watched until the masses of Majestic Cruisers began to turn and made to leave before vanishing into the black of space in the blink of an eye.

------------

Residence District
Tepasi
Tepasi System

Sleep was such luxury that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d awoken so rested. Methyas took a slow, deep breath and yawned. He felt the warmth of sunlight dance across his face. He was at peace; a feeling so foreign to him that it was almost unnerving. He was soothed though at the thought. No more conflict, no more turmoil; only peace.

Something picked at his mind though every time he thought of that word. Peace. It was foreign to him, now that he thought about it. It was inconsistent with what he believed. He believed that…what did he believe? Methyas rose from the bed, holding his head in one hand as he did so, unsure if it just hurt, or if he was frustrated by something. Something wasn’t right. The more he thought about it, the more he was sure of it. He didn’t have time to be sleeping in; there was something important he had to do.

Something, he was sure, that was vital to the survival of… Again he drew a blank. Where was he? How did he get here? The Prelate began asking questions that anyone would have asked given a complete lack of foreknowledge on his current situation.

‘Think back’, he hit the back of his head as though that would jar the memories he sought loose, ‘Just think. I am…Methyas…Pepoi L’eonheart. I am…’ Again, stymied, he shook his head and walked to the refresher. No need to work himself into a fury just now. ‘Wait! Fury…Passion…Strength…Power…’

Like a flood, the images of his life crashed back into his mind. It was all there; the recon mission, his brother Mirado falling, Michael Halcyon entering the room. His heart rate suddenly accelerated as he realized the terrible danger he was in. Years of training manifested in the form of instinct. He searched for his equipment, his clothes, anything his captor or captors had missed. Nothing. The room was bare except the few items one would expect from a mid-grade hostel. There was a lamp, but it was bolted into the bedside table.

Leaning against the sink Methyas shook his head and sighed. Suddenly, the Force tingled around him. He spun into a low combat stance, ready to react to an attack that never came.

“There’s no reason to fear me. In fact, this is not the first time we’ve spoken.”

The man moved to the bed and touched it. The Force tingled throughout the room as the full-size bed, the only real furniture in the room, transformed into a chair upon which the man seated himself.

“This is not the first time you’ve fought my illusions, not the first time you’ve clung to your misled beliefs in the Brotherhood’s ways, and not the first time you’ve had to be re-educated.”

The surroundings before the Miraluka flickered momentarily as the Sadowan fought the cloud that started to form in his mind. He could 'see' the Force throbbing around the man as the rest of the room shivered slightly, as if it wasn't really there.

His brow furrowed, Methyas demanded an answer.

“Who are you?”

“Your new Master. I am Michael Halcyon.”

{From the Voice Fiction Update dated 7-10-2011}

The holonet receiver chirped at him. He ignored it at first, piloting his ship through the murk of the Caldera. The shroud kept almost everyone out, kept Antei safe like a blanket made of dead stars and gravity shadows. It tested his skill to fly through it himself, despite his strength in the Force.

It chirped again. Shikyo blinked at it, letting an invisible hand activate the comm. The sound of Mirado's voice filled the bridge, the Chandrilan lilt behind the Miraluka's voice pronounced. The herald processed the sound quickly, knowing full well that he was distressed for his old accent to come out.

"Still, no sign of Methyas." Mirado spat, and with good reason. The newly re-organized clan needed leadership from it's Consul, and theirs had vanished. "And we've had two more defectors."

Shikyo sneered as he maneouvered around a sizable asteroid, probably part of some long devastated moon or other. "Defectors? Where'd they go? Arcona?"

"They went to join Odan-Urr." Mirado grimaced in distaste before continuing. "How long is your brother going to allow..."

Shikyo cut him off. "There's elements in play that I am sure you haven't seen yet. Like Tsainetomo used to say 'All things will be revealed..."

"...in the fullness of time, yeah. Still, we need... direction."

Shikyo shrugged. "Turn to the Sons."

"Drunks, madmen and egomaniacs, all." Mirado sneered. "They are too busy with their own pain and plans to help the clan raise the banner again."

"And yet, the banner will soon need to be raised, the battle drums sound once again." Shikyo paused for a moment. "And you'll need them, more than ever."

---------

The Lion of Tarthos snarled at the information before him. It had been corroborated twice now, and he had wondered how it could have evaded his agents. Deep cover agents in the clans and houses weren't able to suss out the truth of things, yet a Taldrya could. Kaek's work to build a network had benefited that house severely, yet somehow it was not yet enough to survive the winnowing of late years.

He pushed the datapad aside on the desk, standing while pushing the heavy laroon wood chair away. He paced for a moment, then turned toward the back of the office, the heavy drapes in the regal purple of the Krath swept away from the stone behind a pedestal. He stood before it, dark eyes boring into the ornately carved box, eyes tracing the fine lines and crafted corners. There was no hinges, no seams, no latches. Yet he knew what lay inside, dormant.

A tone interrupted his meditation. Blinking, the Grand Master turned and stepped away, finding his way through the hidden door that led to the ancient throne. Ringed by torches, the dull metal shone in the firelight. He circled the seat of power, waiting for the obfuscated door to close behind him before signalling to the Guardsman to allow the visitor entry.

The human came in quietly, hood lowered in deference, green eyes carefully set on the floor before him. Respect, not fear. Muz could taste the difference in the air. It wasn't really a sense on his tongue, but that was the only way to describe it. Kal Vorrac was smart, not frightened.

The Coruscanti dropped to a knee, placing a fist on the ground with his head bowed.

"What is thy bidding, my master?"

---------

"The fleet is all but assembled, Master Loira." The armored man didn't even take his helmet off for the holo. It irritated the Jedi, but it was something he could live with. If the fools under the son of Vader refused to help him, he would make do with what he could. Loira shrugged off the sneer, little motes of dust flying from his shoulder.

"I'll have coordinates for you in a month. Have them ready for a protracted engagement, and ready to move on a moment's notice." Loira fired back, turning to see Ollie nodding his head, the door locking behind him.

"Be not concerned with my men's ability to fight, sir. We will be ready for wanything you throw at us." The helmet again. Loira wondered if the general had ever let someone else talk to him instead of himself. Witht he vocoder and the helmet, he'd never know the difference. "We are awaiting the final payment."

Loira nodded slowly, eyes drifting to a durasteel case on the desk. "You'll need to pick it up in person."

"I wouldn't trust it to anyone else, sir." The holocomm closed out.

Loira turned from the projector, resting a hand on the case, feeling the cool metal beneath his fingertips before flipping the catches and letting his eyes rest on the item inside.

"It wasn't easy." Ollie smiled.

"Yet here it is." Loira chuckled. "Was it where we thought it would be?"

"No, that would have been impossible." The white-haired Jedi laughed. "It was on his ship, so it was just really difficult."

Loira arched an eyebrow. "How did you do it?"

Ollie smiled at his plan. "Everyone has Praetors, and the more people you hire, the higher a chance that one of them can be bought."

Loira crossed his arms. "Was his man killed?"

"Who cares? Another Sith dead only would add to the cause."

Loira rubbed his chin. "We wait for the three hours for him to come get this," He gestured at the case, "Then we are on the move again. Find us a spot on Mimban."

"Why so soon?" Ollie questioned. The ruitine had been to change locations every three days. It used to be five, but things kept happening. He wondered if he missed something.

"Because I don't want to die before our plans are fully in motion." Loira closed the case, taking a final look at the durasteel cylinder inside as the lid snapped into place. "And it sounds like it was too easy."

"You think..."

"I think it's a trap."

{From The GM Report dated 7-27-2011}

Residential Block
Tepasi City
Tepasi System

Methyas was deep in meditation. He explored his emotions carefully, knowing full well the potency of their poison. The past weeks had taught him much of the true nature of the Force and how wrong he had been for all those years. The force was not a tool, as he’d been told, but rather an ally; a friend when in need. It was a powerful entity that permeated his entire being. It surrounded him, enveloped his world and tied everyone and everything to all else.

He explored its tendrils as they wrapped themselves around his body, felt it blow through him as wind through a thin cloth. He followed it as it lead him to other places and other times, let it show him the nature of both the seen and unseen. Though he was now at peace, mostly, there was one place he dare not go. Where the Force shone brightest, white hot, he could not venture. His core was aflame with the power. It frightened him, caused his mind’s eye to turn away for fear of what he might discover.

With the gentle assurance of his Master, the Miraluka cast his gaze upon the ball of white-hot energy that swirled about his center. Its bright light was painful at first to look upon, but within it he saw himself as he could have been all those years. Without pain, without loss and at peace. Forgetting his sorrow, he let those emotions dissolve, he embraced the Force entirely and felt it spread through his body as a hot liquid filling his veins and very being.

With a deep breath he emerged from the meditation renewed and with purpose. Michael Halcyon sat beside him, cross-legged on a cushion much like his own, like-wise emerging from his own trance. The elder man smiled warmly at his Padawan, “I’m pleased Methyas. You’ve shown tremendous growth in such a short time.”

“Thank you, Master Halcyon. I feel better than I can ever remember.”

The man stood and helped his apprentice to his feet, “As well you should! However, I think the time has come… You must return to the source of your pain and help me destroy it.”

“I don’t know that I’m ready.”

Michael smiled at the Miraluka, “You are. You will need this however.”

From the depths of his robes he pulled a single, graceful hilt. With no eyes Methyas didn’t see the beauty of the saber as much as he could feel it. Reaching for it hesitantly at first, he grasped the weapon. He felt the dual crystal arrangement within its focusing chamber, the extended capacitor charge, and the temper of its cool metal surface.

“Thank you, Master.”

--------------

Throne Room
Great Hall
Antei System

The throne room, normally shrouded in black and darkness, was illuminated partially as the great wooden doors to the hall creaked open. The Royal Guardsmen strained under the weight of the two massive edifices as the wrought iron hinges groaned under the load. Firelight from the artificial torches in the entry cast their orange glow across the first third of the Throne Room, giving very little in the way useful illumination to the sole man who entered.

The man, covered in a distinctive black cloak and an enveloping plain metal mask strode into the hall. His stride suggested confidence and professionalism, but hinted at a sense of caution and uncertainty. The Grand Master’s summons had been short and succinct, much as they always had. As his eye adjusted to the dark he could see the Dark Lord of the Sith standing before the throne, not sitting. The man’s dark eyes pierced his soul leaving a distinct chill. Behind the throne he could only just make out the shape of an abnormally tall Twi’lek in regal attire. His fearsome prosthetic legs were only visible as sharp contours beneath the Councilor’s robes.

Approaching the raised dais of the Iron Throne, Eiko stopped the appropriate number of steps from the Grand Master and took a knee, “What is thy bidding, my Master?”

Without a word the Grand Master reached out and grasped at the man’s throat with the Force. The mask-clad man struggled, snatching at the invisible hands cutting his air-supply short but to no avail. Soon his spasms ceased and the corpse was flung into a small pile of bodies similarly adorned. It was as though the Grand Master was building a small pyre clones.

Darth Ashen’s eyes searched the darkness, seeking the face of the man he could sense clearly enough though he was dampening his force presence, “Eiko, come out.”

From behind a pillar stepped a black-clad man wearing a simple metal mask, “How did you know, my Lord?”

Muz considered the pile of bodies wrathfully in the corner and then the approaching Quaestor, “I didn’t…”

The real Eiko smiled beneath his mask, his eyes flicking over the place the Voice had been standing only moments earlier.

--------------

Royal Intelligence Centre
Judecca
Cocytus Sytem

The Lieutenant dutifully sat at his desk, reviewing the incoming and outgoing data that had piled up during his recent Leave. Playing catch up seemed to be all he was ever doing since the Fleet’s embarrassment four weeks prior. His superiors had put pressure on his unit to increase its vigilance where Taldryan was concerned. Naga Sadow may be their enemy first and foremost, but the Taldrya had played their hand and shown their allegiance. He had to admit though, if there was one thing that House was good at, it was keeping a tight lid on its information.

His office was littered with documents pertaining to Tarentum, Plagieus, the Dark Council, even Arcona! Taldryan was a vacuum sealed caf-pack as far as his intelligence capabilities were concerned. They say however that fortune strikes those least expect it. He didn’t recite those words insofar as he wordlessly took the rushed dispatch from the courier and skimmed the report.

Suddenly aware of what he held in his hands the Lieutenant activated the com in his desk, superseding the usual chain of command, “This is Lt. Arma Hiljak, ThX-11738. I have a prior communication for the Quaestor.”

The voice on the other end seemed unconvinced, “Inform him that Taldryan has mobilized a unit against Arcona”.

--------------

Unlos Tagge
Tepasi System
Rhezoi Sector

They were finally were they needed to be. Fremoc's contacts and alliances, forged over the course of the previous year with a couple shady members of the the criminal underground had finally paid off. All had pinpointed where his cousin had been taken. And just like he had promised, the Fist of the Brotherhood had grabbed his cousin Mirado and Lynyrd, along with his Praetor Araxis. Three men the Fist trusted with his life, as well as being members of his family, and knew the three would be able to complete it.



They had left in the middle of the night on Tarthos, not letting anyone know where they were going, except for the words, Road Trip, left on the table in the middle of Fremoc's home for his wife to see, and promptly shut her out of the connection they held. He didn't want her to find him, or for her know what was going on.

Their shuttle had landed outside of Unlos Tagge, several kilometers from the coordinates the Fist was given. Each man had grabbed their weapons of choice and armor for this mission, not knowing who would be guarding Methyas, and all agreed to keep their lightsabers in concealed compartments in their armor unless absolutely needed. Mirado, the scout and most experienced man with wooded terrain, led the group through the forest. The datapad in the gauntlet on Fremoc's arm showed him they were getting closer.

Mirado, 700 meters in front of you should be the entrance, Fremoc said through the Force meld he had created with his three cousins. The youngest turned and nodded, his pace quickening as the other three kept their weapons at the ready, keeping pace with the scout.

With the Force aiding his eyesight, Mirado saw the opening and waved to his cousins to move up to him. He thought he could feel his older brother's presence below them. It felt as though something had changed in the months of his capture, but he shrugged it off as pre-battle jitters. There were also about six or more other presences that he couldn't figure out who they were but guessed that they were guarding Methyas.

The Fist reached down and brushed off the entrance to the underground bunker that held Methyas. He pulled a small shaped explosive from a pouch on his belt and set the explosive with a ten second fuse before placing it on the sealed entrance. The four members of the team moved away from the entrance, watching it explode, pushing the durasteel inwards. Fremoc was in first, his boots making a loud thud but was met by a large fist square in his face. The Son of Sadow took two steps back, pulling the DC-15s from its holster on his hip and opened fire on the large man in front of him. The blue bolts hitting the armor that the man was wearing, barely affecting him as he continued moving towards the Exarch.

He's wearing durasteel armor, my blasters have no affect on him, growled Fremoc over the Force meld.

Lynyrd was through the hole next, launching himself at Fremoc's attacker. The Zabrak pulled his verpine scatter gun off his back, and putting the business end behind the man's head. Without a moment's delay, the gun sent fragments of the guard's head everywhere.

Figured you needed a hand, said Lynyrd.

I had him, you shoulda given me some time, replied Fremoc.

Yeah yeah, kill em quick and lets get Methyas.

A second guard hearing the noise of the shatter gun going off, came around the corner of the hallway, and brought his blaster rifle up, opening fire on the two Pepoi in the middle of the hallway. Araxis came through the opening, followed closely by Mirado, and pulled his lightsaber from the concealed compartment in his hip, deflecting the bolts that came at the four man team.

You ladies gonna stop bickering and fire back already? fired Araxis over the link. Lynyrd automatically stood and opened fire with the shatter gun, pumping shells down the hallway, and was followed immediately afterwards. The guard ducked back behind the corner, giving him some cover as blue bolts and shells pelted the wall behind the spot he had just vacated.

Reloading, said Lynyrd as he pulled new shells from his ammo pouch.

The guard turned the corner again, this time with two other guards, one on the other corner of the hallway, and another running straight at Araxis. The Praetor to the Fist stopped providing his cousin's protection as he engaged the guard, slashing at the sword that was drawn. Fremoc pulled his own lightsaber from the concealed compartment in his chest plate, igniting the emerald blade to provide himself cover from the bolts sizzling at Lynyrd and himself.

We're going loud, said Fremoc. More guards had appeared, pushing Fremoc and Lynyrd backwards. Without thinking, Fremoc shut down his lightsaber and threw it at Lynyrd who caught it, after dropping his shatter gun and continued to provide cover as the Exarch primed the second and last shaped charge. With the aid of the Force, he threw the charge and caused it to attach itself to the cieling above the guards. The explosion caused the cieling to cave in, blocking the intersection off from more guards. The guard that Araxis was engaged stumbled forward with the shock of the explosion, allowing the Templar the briefest of moments to cut the guard's head off.

---

Mirado left his cousins to deal with the fighting, and began silently moving towards his brother's position. He came to the end of the hallway and peeked around the corner, before moving down the hallway towards his brother's presence. The Templar looked around the next corner, seeing two guards on either side of the door that lead into the room Methyas occupied. There was a loud thud, followed by a rush of wind and dust coming from the hallway Mirado had just left.

Found Methyas. Two guards outside the door, Mirado said over the Force meld. Everything okay back there?

Fremoc used the last shape charge on the bastards, replied Araxis.

Coming up on your six now, came Lynyrd.

"Think we should go see what the commotion is?" asked one guard.

"Our orders are to stay here while the prisoner stays put no matter what is going on," replied the second.

"I'm going to check it out."

"Fine, you'll meet the business end of that Jedi’s agent then". As if on queue, the other three members of the team came up next to Mirado.

This one's mine. Mirado and the team stepped back as the lone guard walked around the corner and before the guard could say anything, Mirado had jammed a knife straight through the man's chin and into his brain, killing him quietly and effectively. The body slumped to the floor with the help of Mirado, but the guard's blaster rifle hit the floor, followed by a discharge of the weapon.

"Gavin, you still checking things out?" The second guard began to walk towards the corner, alerted by the rifle's discharge.

I got him, said Lynyrd, raising his shatter gun up to watch the corner. The guard turned the corner and was immediately met by a slug to the left portion of his face. A spasm went through the guard's body as he fell, causing his finger to depress on his rifle's trigger, lighting up the entire hallway. Bolts sprayed from the muzzle, catching Araxis between armored plates on his bicep. He gripped at it painfulfully but noticed the Fist staring at had once been his right hand. In its place was a mess of meat and bone, the result of a chance hit by a stray bolt to his saber’s powerpack.

Fierfek, Frem’s hit!, Araxis forgot the searing pain in his arm and rushed to the Fist’s side. This is a mess, I’m applying a turnaquite.

Mirado, get that door open and let's get Methyas out of here. The alarm in this place might go off any moment, Fremoc grunted through gritted teeth as he bent down and down to his knees in pain. Mirado and Lynyrd had been using their lightsabers to cut through the metal door, giving the four enough room to enter. Mirado was first to enter the room, followed by Lynyrd and Fremoc; Araxis opting to stay outside while they got Methyas. The Proconsul of Naga Sadow was sitting cross legged in the middle of the room, his eyes shut as if in deep meditation.

"Methyas, let's get you home," said Mirado, reaching down to pick his brother up.

"Lynyrd grab him and lets get home," ordered the Fist of the Brotherhood, his anger pouring from his body as he grabbed his hand and totalled lightsaber.

*Rescue written and provided by Fremoc Pepoi Sadow*

--------------

Menat Ombo
New Tython
Yhi System

The council sat in round, as was their custom. The mood was somber as Ji finished his resignation speech.

“…and that is why I must step down from this honored position. I thank this Council for its support over the years and its trust in me. I pray that you will find a suitable replacement quickly as time is of the utmost importance. For now, I ask that you allow my deputy, Kaira Rohana, to stand in my place.”

There was murmuring around the room as the councilors consulted one another. A notable figure among them stood and bowed his head respectfully to the Gand, “We assent to this. We also thank you from the bottom of our hearts and wish you well on your journey. May the Force be with you.”

Ji bowed from the waist, “And you all.”

--------------

Detention Block AA-69
Orbital Gas Refinery
Dajorra System

The room was bleak. Grey walls, no windows, and a powerful energy barrier tinting everything a harsh red. It was not a pleasant place to be trapped and was made nearly intolerable by the wailing sounds of the harmonica played by what could only generously be called an inexperienced performer.

Shadow Taldrya took one more look around the cell and dropped to the ground with a long-suffering sigh. Missions like these were the worst. Having drawn the short stick, he was trapped in a small hell with fellow Old Folks' Home member, and resident "eccentric", Howlader. Despite having been searched, disarmed, then probed for good measure, the old man had somehow managed to inexplicitly pull the small instrument from somewhere within his robes.

Just as the Obelisk leaned back to rest, he sat back up, having heard the sound of a set of footsteps over the noise produced by his cellmate. A moment later, the cell door opened with a soft whoosh to reveal an overly attractive and unfortunately male Hapan in finely tailored, black matte armor. Cool eyes gauged the captured Dark Jedi as a small, smug smile stretched across the man's lips.

Marick Del'Abbot. Arconan. Quaestor of Qel-Droma. He had been given a nigh-impossible task and had succeeded. He had managed to capture and subdue two of Taldryan's most infamous warriors with hardly a struggle. Marick knew that, despite the difficulty the mission offered, he could achieve his task as long as he was armed with the most potent of weapons—information.

Another Hapan appeared behind him, blessedly female, and handed over a small datapad. The two whispered together quietly for a moment before the young woman offered Marick a small kiss on the cheek and disappeared down the prison corridor. Marick returned his attention to his waiting captives, ready to address them, but was interrupted before he could get the first word out.

"Aren't you a little straight for an Arconan?" Shadow asked, head cocked to the side with an overly puzzled look across his face. He was desperately trying to understand the scene he just witnessed… it did not fit with what he knew about men from Arconan.

"Charming...," the Hapan's azure eyes hardened imperceptibly at the slight, but otherwise he did not rise to the bait. It was, after all, to be expected from members of Taldryan.

"Why have you imprisoned us?" Shadow suddenly demanded, his voice rising over the shrill piercing note of the harmonica. "I swear, she told me she was eighteen!"

The "note", if it could be called such, ended abruptly as Howlader sniggered in the corner. Marick, clearly unimpressed, cast a withering glare at the old Sith before redirecting his ire at Shadow.

"You have been imprisoned," the Arconan explained, "for conspiring to launch an unprovoked attack against this facility, in violation of the forms of vendetta. Or at least, that's what my report to the Council will say. In truth, you've been imprisoned by me because you were too arrogant and far less skilled than your reputation.

Shadow turned from the Hapan to Howlader, who looked sheepishly at the ground. "I told you not to tell them you were the 'Great and powerful Mejas'," he scolded.

Howlader shrugged meekly. "I thought they'd fall for it?"

"Like any of these newbs even knows who Mejas is," Shadow rolled his eyes. "Plus the arm waving and fake horns were a little much."

"That's beca—"

"Silence," the Arconan commanded. "Is this really the best Taldryan has to offer? It's no wonder you've lost your position as the most powerful unit of the Brotherhood," Marick sneered. "This failed endeavor will be just one more black mark on your ever-diminishing record."

Silence. Marick waited patiently for the expected show of bravado, the false truths that would spill from his captives mouths but, instead, Howlader picked up his tiny instrument and started playing again. Ignoring the insults to his House, Shadow turned towards the venerable Sith with a curious frown on his face. "Where did you get that thing anyways?"

---
3 Hours Earlier…
XS-800 Senility
Nearing Ereboros
Dajorra System

"This is not going to work."

"Why didn't you say so before?"

"I did say so before."

Benevolent Taldrya Whiner muttered darkly to himself as he tried to painstakingly repair the prototype droid he had been working on for the last month. He wasn't sure which was the culprit, but one of his team members had managed to find the droid, hack its systems, and install a protocol called "Hooker1" which overrode all other commands. It was decidedly not the best start to a mission.

"Seriously, how hard can it be?" Shadow asked, as he shuffled the Sabaac deck with practiced ease. His opponent, Howlader, had already fallen asleep across the table and was currently drooling over his stack of chips. It was fairly typical behavior, which explained why the table was covered in so many stains. Well… it was one of the explanations.

For the last ten minutes, Shadow had been trying to sell Benevolent on tackling the first stage of the mission and he felt he was close to succeeding. After all, Benevolent was basically the team's whipping boy. As long as he took care of the first part, Shadow could be the big hero in the second.

The mission was simple enough. Shaz'air Taldrya, leader of Taldryan, had sent orders to the Old Folks' Home, the notorious "care center" for aging Taldryan members. The objective was clear: destroy the gas refinery orbiting the Arcona-controlled planet of Ereboros. Aside from that, no other command or protocol was given, which made sense as Shaz'air knew the Old Folks' Home tended to play by their own rules. It was one of the things that made them so special… and such a headache for their de factor leader, Benevolent.

"I really hate it when you say that," Benevolent growled as he continued to tinker.

The three Dark Jedi were only a short distance from their destination, flying comfortably in the bowels of Senility, the flagship of the Old Folks' Home. The team had deemed the mission "simple to the point of boring", which was why they had drawn straws to see who would go.

Benevolent tapped at the droid's sticky holoprojection port.

"Oh yeah, baby," a sultry female voice unexpectedly yelled. Benevolent blinked in surprise as a holographic image of a scantily clad Twi'Lek female appeared before him. The tiny figure began gyrating in front of the Primarch's eyes as peals of laughter came from the other side of the common area.

"Geeze, Ben," Shadow laughed, "I think she likes you. But, you know what they say—'Good with remotes is one thing,'" he quoted with a smirk. "'Good with the living, that's something else.'"

"Damn you people," Benevolent tossed the corrupted droid away. He had no intention of ever touching the thing again. "That's it. Just for that, I'm making you two take the first part of the mission!"

Howlader awoke with a loud snort. "What?" he demanded, incredulous. "Since when do I leave the ship?"

"Since one of you bastards violated my droid," Benevolent barked back. "You two are going and that's final."

This declaration was met with a barrage of whining and increasingly un-witty sexual innuendos. Another ten minutes passed before the two Elder Jedi, finally out of material, acquiesced to the Primarch's demands. Still, it appeared as though Howlader was very close to throwing a tantrum.

Benevolent merely shook his head in exasperation. "I love it when a plan comes together," he sighed.

---

Meanwhile, at the Legion of Doom (Arcona Headquarters)…
The Citadel
Selen
Dajorra System

"My lord,"

"Enter, Marick."

"Scholae Palatinae Intelligence has intercepted a series of coded communications between high-ranking members of the House Taldryan.

"Coded?", the Proconsul sat up in his chair, suddenly very interested.

"It was an older code, my lord. I theorize that the Summit was forced to rely on old practiced to get in contact with these… particular members."

"Oh?"

Marick deftly removed a data file from his belt and placed it on the Proconsul's desk, nodding slightly at the device. "This contains a dossier on each member of Taldryan's "Old Folks' Home", an obvious cover for a far more insidious black ops team. I believe the orders were sent to these men."

The Proconsul's raised eyebrow betrayed his interest in the surprising roster. "I still don't see how a coded message helps us, Marick."

Marick smiled. "A former member of Taldryan, from many years past, was able to decipher the message. Here," he slid another file across the table's surface, "are the orders the Home received."

"I see Taldryan no longer believes itself above the use of treachery."

"No, my lord."

"Still… with so many of our resourced tied up in other affairs, it will be difficult to counter the power of a twice former Grand Master."

"That won't be a problem, my lord. I have taken the liberty to leak certain… details... about an operation that will be of great interest to the leaders of Taldryan. My people have confirmed that Jac Cotelin has been dispatched and is… unavailable for the planned attack."

"Indeed, Marick? Then I will leave this mission in your hands."

"Thank you, my lord."

"And Marick."

"Yes?"

"Don't underestimate them."

* * *

Marick Del'Abbot walked briskly through the corridors of The Citadel, making his way towards the shuttle prepped and waiting to deliver him to Ereboros. With the information he had gathered, he could assume Taldryan would send some of their oldest, most powerful members to accomplish such a mission. Fortunately, he had had plenty of warning to prepare.

A shrill beep sounded from his belt and he smiled, taking out the communicator with expectation.

"Yes?"

"My lord, the plan has been set in motion. Everything will be ready by the time you arrive."

"Good."

---
Present
Orbital Gas Refinery
Orbiting Ereboros
Dajorra System

Benevolent Taldrya Whiner slipped silently through the unpatrolled halls of the Arconan refinery, covertly making his way towards his objective. Thirty minutes had already passed since his comrades had been captured and time was rapidly running out.

Benevolent took a quick peek around the corner and saw the coast was clear. With a cunning smile he dashed forward, needlessly rolling and slipping in and out of cover.

"There's a man who leads a life of danger. To everyone he meets he stays a stranger." The lyrics rolled off his tongue as he ventured deeper into the enemy facility.

"With every move he makes, another chance he takes. Odds are he won't live to see tomorrow. " The device in his hand chirped, indicating he was nearing his target. Just a little bit further to go. "Secret agent man. Secret agent man. They've given you a number, and taken away your name. "

"Hey, who the hell are you? What are you doing here," a pair of armed troopers demanded. They had obviously overheard his off-key singing and come to investigate.

"Let me see your identification." A pair of rifles were aimed square at the Primarch's chest from less than a yard away. Benevolent knew he'd have to improvise.

With a bit of effort, Benevolent reached out to the Force and pushed himself into the feeble minds of the small-time security guards. "You don't need to see my identification," he informed the pair with a slight wave of his hand.

The troopers blinked in confusion and repeated in unison: "We don't need to see his identification."

" I'm not the guy you're looking for."

" He's not the guy we're looking for."

" I can go about his business."

" He can go about his business."

Now that that's out of the way, Ben mused under his breath. He had to get rid of these two somehow without tipping off any of the other guards stationed here. Something normal that would be seen as a regular, daily activity. "Aha! Go tie a bow around yourselves and wait in Dash's quarters."

"Let's go—wait, again?" The pair ran off do fulfill their Arconan obligations leaving Benevolent alone with the controls to the tractor beam array.

With deft fingers, Benevolent overrode the consoles safety protocols and re-positioned the tractor beam to aim towards the nearby asteroid field. A few simple commands later and the generator powered up, a great cacophony of noise as the beam emitted a pulsing energy that captured the nearest asteroid and pulled it rapidly towards the defenseless station.

With his work complete, Benevolent activated his lightsaber and slashed it across the control panel to prevent anyone from altering his sabotage. In a matter of minutes, a three ton ball of ice and ore would collide with the station, obliterating it and everyone aboard. It was nice to finally be able to play the pivotal role in a mission, the Obelisk thought to himself as he resumed his secret agent song.

---
Prison Cells
Orbital Gas Refinery
Dajorra System

"Let's try this again," Marick Del'Abbot commanded. It had been only twenty minutes since the interrogation of the Taldryan duo had begun, but already he was on the verge of a massive headache. The Taldryan Jedi were proving either well-skilled in resisting his interrogation techniques or, far more likely, were just complete and utter fools. Weariness was beginning to weigh and he had already sent someone to bring more caf.

Marick turned expectantly at the sound of the door being opened and was confronted with one of the younger members of the Clan, anxiously holding a mug out to him. He quickly grabbed it from the girl but, before he could take a sip, a warning klaxon rang throughout the facility as emergency lights activated.

"Another headache?" he pinched the bridge of his nose. "You," he turned on the frightened Journeyman. "Remain here and wait for my return. I shall see to this." The Prelate stalked out of the room, leaving the young woman alone outside the cell of the two Elders.

Shadow turned to Howlader and winked.

---

Hangar Bay
Orbital Gas Refinery
Dajorra System

Benevolent slipped quickly through the chaos wrought by the oncoming asteroid, making his way swiftly towards the team's rendezvous point in the hangar bay. If all had gone to plan, Shadow and Howlader would be making their escape at any moment and would meet him before the facility became nothing more than bits of debris orbiting the planet.

Hopefully…

Before reaching the hangar, Benevolent stopped to scan the room ahead. Officers, troopers, and a few random Jedi were in the process of escaping, but no one seemed to be actively looking for the saboteur. The coast was clear for him to procure a ship and prep their escape.

"Going somewhere?" a cold voice as he stepped into the hangar.

Benevolent turned to see a young Hapan standing before him, the hilt of a lightsaber already in hand, and a look of intense displeasure marring the otherwise attractive features.

"Was planning on it," he replied off-handedly. There really wasn't time for this.

"I've already captured your friends. You may as well join them no—"

The sudden impact and explosion threw both Jedi across the floor, sprawled haphazardly as the asteroid finally arrived. Screams could be heard in the distance, amidst the sound of metal being torn under the massive onslaught. Benevolent pulled his lightsaber and jumped to his feet, just in time to meet Marick's blade.

* * *

"Damn, that was worse than I thought it would be," Howlader exclaimed as he and Shadow made their way through the panicked crowds towards the rendezvous point.

"Yeah, I guess Ben can handle things once in a while," Shadow admitted.

"I was talking about the girl."

"Hey," Shadow growled, "it beat escaping down that garbage chute,"

"The chute was probably less dirty," Howlader laughed.

The pair made their way unmolested through the crumbling corridors to the hangar bay in time to see Benevolent dueling with their former captor. "Ben!" Shadow shouted in greeting, arms opened wide in invitation. "I knew you'd come to rescue me."

The Primarch rolled his eyes and parried another flurry of attacks. "You see?" he asked,

"This is how things are supposed to go when you actually follow the plan."

"Plan?" Marick demanded, jumping out of reach of Benevolent's counter attack.

"Of course," the Primarch explained. "We knew Scholae’s spies would uncover our Quaestor's plot. I mean, I love the guy, but a master strategist he is not." He gestured with his offhand to the two Elders waiting in the wings. "So I sent Howie and Shad ahead to keep you entertained. Judging from that murderous look on your face, you didn't find them amusing?"

Having been their "leader" for so many years, Benevolent knew well how aggravating the pair could be. He was enjoying this turn of events… for once he was not the one with a massive migraine. As an added bonus, it looked like Marick was near his breaking point. The Prelate took two running steps and leapt towards the Sergeant, his cyan blade flashing in an arc of pure, murderous intent.

Benevolent stood as if frozen, looking slightly fazed. He nodded to himself and disarmed his weapon, leaving himself wide open to the Arconan's attack. With a furious shout of rage, Marick slashed through his enemy. Benevolent disappeared in a pile of robes.

"Nooooooooooo!" Shadow couldn't believe it. Could Benevolent really have succumbed to the Force? Marick smiled grimly, pleased with himself, then grunted in pain.

Benevolent suddenly re-appeared behind him, naked, having phased through the floor at the last second. In his hand he held a dagger which was lodged deep into the Hapan's back, between the shoulder blades.

"Well, that's that," Benevolent withdrew his weapon and dusted himself off. "By the way, Shad, a few minutes ago I felt a great disturbance in the Force, as if millions of voices suddenly cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced. I feared something terrible had happened..."

"Dammit, she wasn't that bad looking," Shadow snapped to the intense amusement of Howlader. "And that's beside the point, Ben. Naked fighting is MY thing," he complained as Benevolent jogged over to reunite with the team.

Howlader pulled a top-hat from some hidden place within his robes and tossed it to the birthday suited Primarch who used it to cover his shame. "I never agreed to this."

"I had to improvise, Shad. I felt it added a bit more gravitas to the scene."

"Ass."

"Whore!"

"Damnit. Just who the hell are you people?!" Marick demanded, lying in a pool of his own blood, but clearly well enough to be annoyed by the ridiculous bantering.

Howlader turned back to the fallen Hapan and calmly raised the sunglasses he was inexplicitly wearing, "We’re the Old Folks' Home."

The three Old Folks' members suddenly broke out in a jumping high five as explosions rocked the refinery.

---

With no more time to waste, the trio boarded the nearest shuttle and took to the air as the refinery began coming apart around them. "Can't get out that way," Benevolent warned, pointing out the destruction of the hangar bay's exit.

"Nice work, Ben. Looks like you've managed to cut off our only escape route," Shadow pointed out smugly.

Sarcastically, Benevolent countered, "maybe you'd like to go back to your cell, your whoryness."

Howlader quickly pulled back on the shuttle's controls, aiming the nose of the ship towards the center of the crumbling facility. "Don't worry, guys. I've got this."

"Oh god no," Benevolent whispered. "An 'Oh Howie'?!"

The "Oh Howie" was the technical term used by members of the Old Folks' Home to describe the insane, dangerous, and often suicidal piloting maneuvers Howlader would often attempt in the face of overwhelming odds. Though his gambits generally paid off, the stunts were easily terrifying enough to shave a couple of years off anyone unlucky enough to be a passenger.

"I AM A LEAF ON THE WIND," Howlader suddenly yelled as he closed his eyes and accelerated. In his mind, he pulled on all his power and cunning to fly the ship perfectly through the carnage, obtaining nary a scratch. Or, it seemed that way to him because he had fallen asleep.

In reality, Benevolent and Shadow were desperately combining their powers to push objects out of their flight path with telekinesis. The low thuds that constantly sounded against the ship's hull were the poor facility staffers who had been unable to move out of the way fast enough. After several terrifying minutes, the ship cleared the wreckage of the facility and blasted into space leaving its own trail of death in its wake.

"Mission accomplished," Benevolent exhaled in relief.

{From the Voice Fiction update dated 08-09-2011}

"You know, of course, that he's moving against you." The hooded figure broke apart for a moment before the rolling blue lines recaptured his image.

Muz nodded at his old mentor, now relegated to a footnote in the Brotherhood's history, a wanderer of the dawn, treading the line between darkness and light. "I counted on it."

"I don't need to tell you to be careful, then." The man smiled for half a second, then let it fade.

"No, you don't."

---------

"Master Loira..." This was a new face. Loira stroked his chin as he debated whether or not to open the hololink. Paranoia was not unwarranted, given the past few months. Given what he planned.

Ollie shot him a sharp look, then rose from his seat, offering silently to take the communication for him. Loira motioned him back with his hand. The Former Sith made a brutally loyal apprentice, even if he lacked in subtleties and grace. Then again, the switch had been pulled by his own deft hand to make him that way.

Loira flipped the switch, opening up the channel. "Whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?"

The man chuckled. "I should have guessed that it was a false name. I am Jonuss Rai."

Loira sneered, finger hovering over the killswitch. The man was known to him, a Son of Sadow. One of the honored among the Clan named after a Sith Lord that almost tore apart the Old Republic. "What do you want, Sadow?"

"I am a Son of Sadow, no longer." Jonuss paused, letting the Master feel that the words were true.

"Where is Ji?"

"Preparing for your arrival." Jonuss smiled. "He has left me in charge of certain other obligations to the people of New Tython. I just had a few details to iron out with your retinue, if I may."

---------

Vodo waited for the hidden door to open, slipping through the rumored passageways of the Dark Hall. The smell of burnt air and cold stone crept through the still air toward him. It wasn't the Throne room. This was to a special room, one that few dared ask about, let alone ask for entry. He felt his way along the passage, pausing at the exit to make sure that he would not be surprising the man.

The Lion paced the carpet in front of a stand, an ornate wooden box displayed prominently on top of the carved stone. Muz paused and cast a sidelong look at the Voice. "You've found more?"

Vodo bowed and moved forward, dropping to a knee in formality. "Yes, my master."

Muz turned and moved closer to the man. He'd only been his mouthpiece for a few months, and yet had proven himself a very capable addition to his Dark Council. "What have you discovered?"

"The Gand." Vodo sneered as he thought of it. "He's been in contact with the Betrayer."

"And the agents we have had infiltrate?"

"They confirm this."

"There's more?" Muz blinked at the Krath.

Vodo looked up at the Lord.

{from the GM Report dated 08-29-2011}