Unrest in the City Part 2

City Ruins
Kar Alabrek, Tarthos

There was much between the group. They were a unit. Each had trained with the other in some aspect over the last several years, and each knew the other's strengths and weaknesses. Fremoc, the original master of Soresu between the four, trained Teu and Araxis in the style, and through Teu, Methyas picked up on the form as well. All four stood so their backs were to each other, cutting the Vongspawn and Ekind as they came at them. There was one missing. One that completed the team.

Kano...

"Teu..." Fremoc's voice was just loud enough over the cutting sounds of the four lightsabers. Fremoc sliced through the heads of several oncoming Vongspawn. The Templar pushed his senses out trying to sense where Kano was, if he was alive and well. He could feel that Kano was alive, but no where near the Orian System. "What happened to Kano?"

The question perked up Methyas and Araxis. They had completely forgotten about the Mandalorian. Teu and Kano had left with Tsainetomo to help the Shadow Academy on Lyspair with some sort of droid problem, but only Teu and Tsainetomo had returned to Naga Sadow. The two Dark Jedi Knights strained to listen what Teu's words next were.

"He left us," said the woman softly. The first apprentice of Fremoc, gone. Fremoc had trained Kano since he had joined Naga Sadow and Marka Ragnos and was one of the original Night Raptors under Fremoc. He had left the House, and ventured elsewhere. "He left us for Arcona."

Anger surged through the Templar once more. He didn't have words for a response. Pain coursed through his body once more, the feeling of being betrayed, but also the loss of one of his most trusted friends and even then there were only a few. With another sweep, Fremoc cut through several more Vongspawn. His lone gray eye slowly turned into its blood red color once more. Methyas' head turned as he felt the increase in his comrade's anger.

"Fremoc..." warned Methyas.

"Don't do it..." continued Araxis.

"Control it..." finished Teu.

He fought it, controlled it, and unleashed it upon the Ekind. The massive Force Blast that ensued ripped through the swarm that was coming towards the group. The group was able to relax for a moment as they waited for another swarm to come around the corner.

Where did I go wrong in his training? Why did he leave us? What caused him to forget about coming back to his rightful spot in Naga Sadow? Questions filled his mind, but there was no use. The former apprentice of Fremoc had left the house in search of something else in Arcona.

Child, the voice of Trevarus filled Fremoc's head once more. I am bringing my troops through the hidden back entrance of the Cathedral. Move everyone into the main entrance.

It will be done Lord Caerick, replied Fremoc. Silently he moved towards the Cathedral's entrance, no further than 5 feet did another wave of Vongspawn and Ekind ran towards the group.

"Push towards the entrance!" yelled the Templar as he rushed towards the oncoming swarm.

City Ruins
Kar Alabrek, Tarthos
Inside Cathedral

Roxas and his group of soldiers were already inside the cathedral. The soldiers had been giving him cover while a medic tended to the Mandalorian’s wounds. The Guardian was sitting in the corner with his helmet sitting on the floor exposing his face and a medic crouched down ,hovering over him.

“Go outside and help our comrades. They need us to be strong and supply them with support.” the Sith ordered.

The medic looked at the Mandalorian and with a frustrated tone spoke to Roxas. “Sir, I can’t do much more. You need to be admitted to a hospital, this is beyond my training. Please allow me to send for a medical transport.”

The Guardian looked up at the man, “I’m fine I can and will fight these Vongspawn. These wounds are nothing.” he said with conviction.

With that he attempted to use the Force to heal his wounds, but it was ineffective as he was completely exhausted. The Mandalorian tried again, but still his efforts were in vain. The Guardian grabbed his helmet and returned it to its rightful place on his head. Roxas grabbing at the wall to balance himself stood up, barely able to stand he looked at the medic and said “See I’m fine.”

The wounds were mostly healed, but he was so tired that he could barely move. With his continued attempts to continue he risked his injuries getting worse, and they were ,ever so slowly. Roxas signaled for more troops to head outside and aid the four Dark Jedi, while signaling others to go with him further into the cathedral to make sure that it is clear of enemies. As the Mandalorian walked down the hallway his spurs made a small clanking chime which echoed through the empty halls. As the group rounded a corner they saw a large number of Vongspawn standing in the middle of the hall.

The Vongspawn spotted them and charged the group. Roxas struggling to use the Force sent out a blast of Force energy knocking the Vongspawn in the front over causing the rest to trip and stumble to the ground. The troops standing behind him used this opportunity to kill as many as enemies they could, firing there blasters accurately, crimson bolts hitting the Vongspawn tearing them to shreds. Five more vongspawn rounded the corner, Roxas seeing this ignited his armory saber. The weapons vibrations still odd to him, but he was at least average with the use of the weapon. The vongspawn charged snarling and swing their clubs.

The Guardian swung the crimson blade, cutting one of his enemies arms off just as another closed on his left. The Mandalorian ducked barely evading the club. He then slashed upward cleaving the creature in two. Some of the troopers turned around and began firing cover fire for the Sith. Almost overwhelmed by the enemy, Trevarus and his troops showed up and quickly eradicated the vongspawn. The enemy defeated, Roxas turned toward him and kneeled showing respect.

“Thank you, my lord.” the Mandalorian said "How may I be of assistance?"

Ritual Chamber, Inner Sanctum, Great Sadow Library
Beneath the ruins of Ragnos Cathedral, Castle Alabrek
Wastelands of the Forgotten City of Kar Alabrek, Tarthos

The Master Shaper envied the natives.

Other the lone Yuuzhan Vong, everyone else was arranged in formation around a ritual circle that the High Priest had drawn on the floor. All eyes were fixed, watching the Ekind – no, the Ombi chieftain commune with their ancestor, the one called Lady Hafalia.

Aeratas stood in the center of the circle, hands outstretched, speaking in a tongue unfamiliar to Nal Yin. Nonetheless, the words had a distinctly musical quality, almost as if the High Priest was singing to his people’s gods, the ones Nal understood were apparently collectively known as ‘Ombus’. The three Elders, Antheia, Gerome and Celene stepped together to create a ring around Aeratas, linking their hands as the High Priest continued his queer chanting.

Nal Yin glanced away in thought for a moment. Had the Priest Caste been like this? Other than the Supreme Overlord, they were always meant to have been the link between the Chosen Race and the Yun’o... but where had that got the Yuuzhan Vong? Shimrra was dead and the Children of Yun-Yuuzhan with him. Varesh Shai might have been a Heretic in the end, but had the final Warmaster not been right? Had the Yuuzhan Vong not been disowned?

Looking upon the Ekind, unable to share in what they shared, Nal Yin could not help but wonder. These Ombi, these Children of Ombus, were they not the true Chosen Race?

[center]* * *[/center]

The fabric of creation was thin here, the threads that held it together fraying apart. Aeratas could hear it in his ears as he continued the incantation to draw the princess back from the shadows beyond. As he chanted, he could not help but feel for her, feel for the purgatory she had been trapped in all these millennia, renouncing the place waiting for her in the gardens of paradise. All for them—the Cursed Ones—the Ekind. Their Guardian Spirit. Their Protector.

Yet, despite all the anger boiling through his veins, the High Priest could only laugh with ecstasy as he recited the words. ‘By the will of Ombus, I draw you back Hafalia Seprosin Chunasca, Princess of the Ombi, Defender of the Accursed, Saviour of the Alabrek!’

Nearby, only hours earlier someone had tampered with the cosmic tapestry. The timing was almost too perfect. Destiny, Hafalia had whispered in Aeratas’s ears. That it was. This was the reason he had been born. The reason he was the Chosen One, born to hear the Gods’ Song, born to free the Ekind from Damnation.

And so he did.

‘Flesh of the chosen... willing given... you will revive... your queen.’

[center]* * *[/center]

In a move too fast for the Yuuzhan Vong’s eyes to follow, the four central Ekind swung the jewel encrusted daggers they had withdrawn from some previously unseen fold in their ornate cloaks and slashed their own wrists. The four rivulets instantly pooled together in the centre of the circle, following the pattern the High Priest had scribbled on the stones.

The Ekind stepped back, causing Nal Yin to stoop forward in order to make out what was happening. Then the liquid turned, instantly blindingly white. Nal Yin had to cover her eyes. She opened her eyelids ever so slightly, only to be blinded again by a white form rising in the middle of the room, and having to shut them again.

A soft, feminine voice chuckled. ‘You can open your eyes again, Mistress Shaper.’

Nal Yin did as instructed.

In the centre of the ritual chamber was standing a woman of near-ethereal beauty, even to the eyes of a Yuuzhan Vong. The figures eyes shimmered violet and the air itself sparkled, as if she was standing within a cloud of diamonds. The reborn Ombi turned to the Master Shaper. ‘You have my people’s eternal thanks, Mistress Yin,’ said Hafalia Chunasca with a smile. Behind Hafa, Elder Antheia had procured a spare robe which she draped over her shoulders.

The other Ekind had all dropped to their knees, heads bowed.

‘My lady...’ Aeratas began, his voice unsteady for the first time.

Hafalia turned to him and tilted her face. ‘Don’t be afraid,’ she said gently, ‘I am in your debt, not you mine.’ She took a step closer to the High Priest, gesturing for him to rise.

Aeratas stood slowly, but shook his head. ‘My lady, I—we would not have survived without your intervention. The Seethai...our brothers and sisters on Sepros...Orian’s heir, he—’

Cutting him off, Hafalia cupped the High Priest’s face and pulled him into an embrace. ‘Hush, my prince,’ she whispered, ‘our enemies will get what is long overdue.’

Entrance Hall, Ruins of Ragnos Cathedral
Wastelands of Kar Alabrek, Tarthos

Storm clouds began to gather, visible through the broken skylights. The soldier from the Obsidian Cohort holstered his rifle as Lord Caerick and the scout from the Sadow forces conversed; they were too far away to make out the words, but it was obvious from the masked Mandalorian’s body language that Trevarus still inspired fear.

Inside his armour, the soldier laughed. How ironic that they should need to call on the one they had for the past four years labelled ‘The Traitor’ for aid.

Overhead, lightning flashed as the clouds grew nearer. Were they accelerating? It was not unsurprising, what with the chaotic weather patterns that had plagued the Forgotten City for two years, but... something was not right. Weather patterns did not fall like rain.

‘Sarge,’ the Cohort soldier said cautiously, stepping away from the rest of the group in order to get a better look out the window, ‘have you seen what’s going on up there?’

That was the last word the soldier ever said. The skylights blew inwards, the ceiling coming apart as the lightning storm encircled the Cathedral, blasting inside and turning the soldier to ash.

‘Force Storm!’ cried the sergeant. ‘Pull back! Pull back!’

- City Ruins
- Kar Alabrek Cathedral
- Tarthos

The one peculiar thing about warfare is, eventually, if you’re involved, it’s going to catch up to you one way or another. For many of the people involved in the warfare raging across Tarthos, it had caught up to them well over 30 to 40 hours ago, and it was probably 20 more before that since they’d slept at all. Exhaustion leads to sloppy actions and less than stellar decision making, and coupled with injury, thirst, and hunger, and you’ve got an army which doesn’t require the enemy to defeat them, as they’ll run themselves into the ground.

Of course, whoever thought that up most likely didn’t have the Force on their side, but mystical energy field or no, even them who wield it can feel exhaustion, frustration, anger, all sorts of things. Things which the Jedi warn can turn people towards the Dark Side.

But then again, these weren’t Jedi in the Kar Alabrek cathedral, not in the strictest sense. These were Krath sorcerers, Sith tacticians, and Obelisk special operations. One thing these three groups of people had in common was there was no fear of falling to the Dark Side of the Force. After all, they’d already been to the edge of that precipice, and more than a few had dove in headlong of their own volition.

This made these people dangerous. Their hunger and fatigue didn’t make them sloppy, it made them spiteful, and their spite, that’s what made them dangerous. Most probably to themselves as well as others, but nobody ever said the path of the Dark Side wasn’t treacherous.

All around them, the Force Storm raged, lightning arcing unnaturally across the sky like a violent testament to the hate that someone carried, aimed like a precision rifle at the heart of their foes. Inside the relative shelter of the cathedral, people were still fighting, seemingly unmindful of the fury of such a supernatural storm battering their battleground, hewing stone and shingle from the ancient roof.

Among them was a Miralukan who was called Venator, though that wasn’t his name. No, his name, the one his mother had bestowed on him upon his birth, was Mirado, but he didn’t use that name, not anymore. Not in a very long time indeed. He was currently rear guarding a section of the DSOG Special Operations troopers being led by one Roxas of the Mandalorians.

Venator hated blaster fire. Almost phobic of it, the loud noise and the hiss of ozone foreign to him, except one deep seated moment where it rained like a hailstorm, so long ago. He’d carried that shock with him for 18 years, and he wasn’t losing it anytime soon. He was just getting better at dealing with it.

Roxas flicked the selector switch on his assault carbine and lined up a shot. Inside his helmet, he was counting the seconds until his target crossed the lead zone in his sights, doing battlefield trigonometry he’d likely never be able to explain. It was second nature to him, a combination of training and upbringing. He squeezed the trigger smoothly, and a vermillion bolt lanced out and sped across the hall, catching an Ekind in the face. He, along with the rest of his troop moved as they fired, and even as Roxas took a step, he flicked the selector back to burst fire, triggering rapid shots, the kind that mowed the Vongspawn ghouls down when combined with fire from his teammates.

Stepping backwards behind the Mandalorian, Venator grabbed an E-Clip from Roxas’ belt and handed it to him. Some might call it battlefield awareness, but it was more that a Miraluka didn’t need to look in any one direction to see, and the charge in Roxas’ blaster magazine was running desperately low.

“Reloading,” Roxas said simply, turning sideways and kneeling down to slap the new E-Clip in, while his teammates closed the gap he’d created. Roxas slapped the assist on his weapon, cycling the charge through the focusing array, and was back up and firing, only taking the time to tap the DSOG trooper to his right-front, a signal to make room again.

As they moved, their rear guard took the moment to survey their situation. Down below, there was a veritable maelstrom of energy. Already Fremoc, Araxis, Teu, and Methyas were heading that way, their group tightly phalanxed by way of Harmony and Stormreaver, as well as two other lightsabers, all working their Soresu patterns. Most certainly they’d get to their goal.

There was one thing that caught his eye though, proverbially in Venator’s case. That was the redundant number of pillars within the cathedral. Each one only carried a small burden of the greater structure, an obvious way to make sure the structure lasted for millennia, and a wise one too. Perhaps some redecorating was in order.

Venator flicked his lightsaber off after giving a Force Push down the hallway. The rest of the troopers that were pulling rear would be able to handle it for a while, so he felt he wasn’t leaving Housemates in any greater jeopardy than they were already. He tapped Roxas on the left shoulder and said simply. “Cover me. I’ll go high, follow me low.” As he pointed towards one of the columns near the wall.

Roxas nodded, and began informing the shooter to his right, while Venator made a dash for it, rolling, leaping and running like his life depended on it. As expected, he’d drawn fire from the blaster equipped Ekind, but with Force borne speed, their accuracy was diminished. This momentary lapse of attention was enough for the DSOG to light into them with grenades and blasters, tearing their portion of the battle line to shreds in short order.

Noticing it, but not really concerned, Venator just darted to the wall, and began a series of back and forth wall jumps. Each time he sprung from the wall to the column, he gained more height, until he was near the top of the vaulted ceiling of the cathedral. Below him, Roxas had followed the lead and was heading towards that same column, lightsaber already in hand.

Venator lit his saber at the apex of his last jump, and sliced through the stone, using the friction it caused to hang into the pillar while it cut. Down low, Roxas was already driving his lightsaber down at an angle, another piece of battlefield mathematics, forcing the pillar to fall the way he wanted it to, like felling a tree.

As soon as the cuts finished, Venator disignited his lightsaber and held on as the pillar began to fall. He gestured towards Macron Sadow, who’d just dispatched a mob of Vongspawn with what appeared to be a single swing. The Quaestor saw the weapon that he’d just been given, and with a single gesture, took control of the falling column through the Force. Venator leapt off at the moment the column shuddered under the Equite’s control, and watched as he backflipped off into a mob of ghouls as Macron tossed the thing towards the onrushing lines of the enemy, using the several ton column as a rolling pin, crushing so many into a less than wholesome mass on the stone floors of the cathedral.

Venator re-lit his lightsaber as he landed into the mob of ghouls, spinning his body in K’thri patterns both to dodge foes he could barely see, as well as getting his lightsaber in as many directions as possible. Still, the weapon was uncomfortable to him, confusing as well, but his practice was showing. He cut his foes down quickly, but by no means cleanly, and came to a stop as the DSOG forces marched that direction.

Anxious to get moving, he ignored a DSOG Sergeant’s half-finished warning, and turned towards the lower levels, only to see a blaster bolt incoming. He brought his lightsaber down and across like a blastball bat’s swing to stop the bolt, but fatigue and hunger were catching up to him, and the bolt tore into his stomach, punching a hole just to the left of his abdominal muscles.

The Miraluka crumpled, his knees hitting the stone floor hard before he keeled to the right. Immediately a pair of DSOG were on him, both firing one handed while they drug him back behind their firing line. They propped Venator up against the wall, one reaching for a medkit while the other moved towards his team.

“Through and through.” She muttered grimly while she inspected the wounds. “You know your own anatomy?” She asked of the Obelisk.

“Only from pictures,” Venator said, his sarcasm lost on the woman.

“I don’t think you’ll die in the next few minutes then, but you’re bleeding. Blaster bolts don’t fully cauterize thanks to their speed. Ever been shot before?”

“First time,” Venator said, coughing. The pain from it was unbearable. Just then, another DSOG soldier took a blaster shot, this one in the lower chest.

The medic looked behind her, then looked at the Miraluka. “Only enough kit for one, so don’t die while I’m working him.” She said, tossing another glance as she gathered her things. She was up quickly, moving to save a life much closer to ending than his own. Venator felt the wound, which in retrospect was a horrible mistake, because it hurt like hell. Scowling and snarling, he leaned forward and pulled his pack off his back, and dug around for a moment. His hand hit upon a can with a short tube attached, which he pulled out. It was the foam sealant he’d scavenged from the refueling station near Orian manor, and just the thing he was looking for.

Steeling himself while he pulled the tube from the clip on the can, he shook it up, and held the nozzle just inside the wound before squeezing the sealant. Immediately the exposed nerve endings lit up like a sun going nova, eliciting an involuntary scream. After it had gushed for a moment, Venator put his hand behind his back, on the exit wound, and held the sealant there while it expanded into the wound, plugging it temporarily.

He caught his breath for a moment before slipping out of his ruined coat. He was going to have to kill another Nexu to get a new one, and he blamed this on every one and every thing in this cathedral. He rose to his feet, unsteady, but furious, and unsheathed his razors. He was hurt, he was hungry, and he was tired, and there wasn’t a power in the galaxy that was going to stop him from killing everything responsible for all this inside this place.

Back on the hill at Mucenic, the animal had poked it’s head out of it’s den, mostly to gnash teeth and intimidate. This time, the animal was wounded and backed into a corner. This time, the animal was out for blood.

Outer Chamber, Great Sadow Library
Beneath the ruins of Ragnos Cathedral, Castle Alabrek
Wastelands of the Forgotten City of Kar Alabrek, Tarthos

“Back to Hell!” Macron screamed as he crudely stuffed his Armor Fist-clad fingers into the eyesockets of an Ekind leader. Mac’s hand squeezed as he laughed with battle-lust. The Mandalorian steel fingers rudely burst the alien’s orbits and cranium, spraying salty gore and bloody grey brains across his victim’s agonized face with a crackling sound. The body dropped and twitched satisfyingly.

As the Fist crushed the Ekind warrior’s head with a sickly pop of putrid gore, his body was telekinetically flung as a spinning weapon against the Vong-spawn. The body flew like a whirlwind, spinning like some necrotic top as it mowed down two or three spawn with smashing weight. “Frack yeah,” laughed the Warlord in full rage. "KILL!"

“Ha! Kill you ALL!” screamed the mad Sith as he ducked a spear. Some evil force had driven others from the inner sanctum. Macron did not care. He focused his ire upon the remaining foes. Especially the Ekind. Astronicus wanted them exterminated- and so they would be. All of them would die, and if need be the Sith Warlord would die trying. Either way this moment would make history. Personally.

Macron’s off-hand orange blade flickered on, precisely at the point to impale an Ekind woman through her adam’s apple as she approached with a stolen thermal detonator . She dropped with a death gurgle as Macron laughed heartily. Another dead foe was a blessing. The Trakata enabled him to slash and burn two more foes as the blade flickered in and out with the madman’s force-borne acrobatics. The inevitable blast threw him backwards as he conjured a hard telekinetic barrier to protect himself.

The horror that was Astronicus raged by his side. The chosen of Sadow had come to this place and Hell was to be paid in blood. The Overlord’s twin sabers rent limbs, heads, and torsos from their rightful owners. Waves of Force borne Hatred literally blasted the limbs from the spawn and Ekind that opposed them as the Adept used the Dark Side. Oddly enough the worst of the Force Storm seemed to pass them both by, perhaps by the Overlord’s doing.

The numbers of Spawn and Ekind were increasing. Astronicus spoke to Macron. “Your apprentice is in trouble,” he said with a frown. “And others are on their way. Save the Miraluka. He will be useful to us later.”

Ritual Chamber, Inner Sanctum, Great Sadow Library
Beneath the ruins of Ragnos Cathedral, Castle Alabrek
Wastelands of the Forgotten City of Kar Alabrek, Tarthos

With smoke still rising from it, Antheia’s body crumpled to the floor.

Aeratas’s eyes widened in shock as the woman who had raised him, nurtured him, shaped him into a candidate for the high priesthood – as she shrivelled up, her skin ageing decades in a matter of second, her hair greying, eyes glazing over. He looked up into the twinkling eyes of Lady Hafa, which were now ablaze with a violet ferocity, as the violent torrent of electric devastation roared up through the roof, spilling across the rest of Castle Alabrek in a cyclone.

This was... not what he wanted.

What was Hafalia doing? She was their lady, their would-be queen – this was not the Hafalia spoken of in legend, the warrior princess who had stood up to Urias Orian and slain him, who had joined with Lord Okemi and led the Ekind in battle against the chains of the Dark Lords of the Sith enforced by Marka Ragnos. Lady Hafalia was a saviour, a liberator.

He looked once more into the eyes of the woman before him, and coldness shivered up his spine. Behind the violet brilliance, her eyes were bloodshot; behind the immaculate features, her veins pulsed, dark with blood. He turned away, looking back down at Antheia’s corpse which had been sucked dry, the oldest of the Ekind’s body consumed to fuel the waves of destruction presently being unleashed upon the dark ones elsewhere in the Castle.

His princess had become Sith.

Aeratas shut his eyes and began to turn away – but was stopped by a hand before he could.

‘What’s wrong, my prince?’ asked Lady Hafa.

Her prince? He swallowed and turned back to Hafalia, his expression falling as he did. ‘My lady, I...’ What could he say? That she had forsaken them? That she had turned away from Ombus? That she was no better than what they fought?

It didn’t matter. She could read his thoughts. ‘Is that what you think?’ Hafa slowly let out a breath. ‘Do you judge me? Judge what Orian made us?’ She practically spat the demon’s name. ‘What he made me?’

‘I know—’ Aeratas said, glancing back down again at Antheia’s body. ‘But we are better than—’

Hafalia sighed, and the sceptre hanging on the wall floated over into her hand. ‘Aeratas,’ she began, cutting him off, as her eyes fell to inspect the gem affixed atop the sceptre, which she rotated between her hands, ‘I have spent five thousand years trapped in this prison, trapped inside the Rod of Ombus, cut off from the Gods, cut off from their Song.’ Her voice became hard as the fire in her eyes grew more intense. ‘We turned to Orian because we mistook him for Ombus. I will not allow us to make that mistake again.’

Aeratas frowned. ‘That won’t happen. The Ek—the Ombi have learnt from our past sins.’ He gestured over his shoulder at Nal Yin, the Master Shaper. ‘Like our Yuuzhan Vong ally, we have once again found strength in nature... in the balance and harmony of all things. We are attuned to the elements – we no longer want for anything more than to hear the Gods’ music again.’

The Ombi princess reached over and ran her fingers down the side of his cheek. ‘You remind me so much of my dear Matih,’ she whispered, her expression suddenly softening, but she did not elaborate. ‘But, my young prince, history has taught me much, also.’ The angry lines returned to her face. ‘That, to free our people, sacrifices must be made.’

And with that, she turned back to one of the other Elders.

[center]* * *[/center]

Outside the ritual chamber, Warlord Akrellum Peirus listened to the screams within. Two of the honour guards standing with him on guard outside the door flinched.

‘Keep it together,’ Akrellum snapped. ‘I won’t have any of it on my watch. You are the elite of the Tribe of Alabrek. The personal guard of High Priest Aeratas himself. Whatever he and the Elders are doing inside, it’s for the good of the Ekind.’ He snorted an amused laugh. ‘Your mothers would be ashamed of you if they saw you shivering at a few little screams.’

Celene Peirus had raised Akrellum better than that, but then, that was why he was the Tribe’s Warlord and not the others. Certainly, like anyone would, he wondered what was happening, however he could ask her later – such was the benefit of one’s parent being a tribal Elder.

The screams rang through the Inner Sanctum again – joined by the sound of battle upstairs.

Entrance to the Great Sadow Library
Underneath the Ragnos Cathedral
Tarthos

The battle had been intense all the way up to the door way. Many Ekind and Vongspawn had been killed in their conquest towards the library, all the while dodging blasts from the Force Storm. They were now at a standstill as Fremoc put his hand up to the door. He tried to will it open with the Force but each time the door would not move. He turned to the trio behind him.

"We need an Elder to get in there," the Templar said. He pushed his senses outwards, searching for every Dark Jedi in the Cathedral, before igniting his Force presence to create a beacon of light for the rest of the Dark Jedi.

Regroup. He said through his mind to every Dark Jedi. They needed to regroup. Everyone had split into a million directions and the only group with Fremoc had made it to the objective. He knew that behind the door way was one of the most horrid beings he would ever encounter as well as possibly the most powerful being. Come to me. The door way is here.

The Dark Jedi of Naga Sadow began to move towards the four Dark Jedi outside of the Library. The first to arrive was the wounded Roxas followed closely by Venator. Immediately Araxis and Methyas went to work to heal the two wounded Dark Jedi. Roxas began boasting about how he had killed over 300 hundred Vongspawn and Ekind.

Arrogance.

Fremoc only chuckled as he stared at the entrance to the Library, still sealed shut. The Guardian reminded Fremoc of himself years prior, thinking he could take on the world and be invincible. Sarconn, Ekeia, Kalei, Bal, Locke, Arian, and Seti bound down the stairs meeting the rest of their comrades. Fremoc could sense two groups coming their way, both with large Force presence's. Macron, Jade, Ashura, Tsainetomo, Aisha, and the House Overlord Astronicus Sadow, moved into the room outside the library. Tron aided his abilities to help rejuvenate the Disciples of Sadow, already wary from the constant fighting. Only those who had spent years of training knew how to cope with the stress.

Fremoc stayed facing the entrance. Jade moved up next to him. "Not opening?"

"No."

"Let me try."

"It won't work for you either," came a voice behind them. Trevarus along with Raistlin and Kharon stood at the bottom of the stairs. "It only opens for an Elder."

Jade moved away from the door, and towards the back towards Macron as Kharon, Raistlin, and Trevarus moved in front of the Templar. The Dark Jedi Master placed his hand on the door. Moments felt like hours, as the assembled members of Naga Sadow waited. The door seemed to have forgotten the Krath's presence but finally there was a loud click as the door began to move. Trevarus turned to see Fremoc right behind him, anxiously waiting.

Ready child? The voice of Trevarus filled his mind, like it had been over the last several hours.

The Templar's eyes flashed into a demonic deep red. Always am.

The door rose, exposing the Ekind Honor Guard, waiting to defend their leaders. Easily the Honor Guard was double the strength of the Dark Jedi and each Ekind was a near match to the Disciples of Sadow. Guttural roars came from the Ekind as they charged towards the now open door. Trevaus ignited his lightsabers as the rest of the Dark Jedi behind him did so.

Entrance Hall of the Great Sadow Library
Cathedral of Ragnos, Tarthos
Domain of House Naga Sadow


A war cry echoed through the hall. Ekind Honor Guard; the Master smirked. They brought swords and daggers to a lightsaber fight. How droll. Two of the ceremonial clad warriors charged at him with weapons flashing, eyes ablaze with raw fury. Scales of their replitian heritage reflecting in the dim lighting and flare of lightsabers. The Master slashed foward, charged with his evil lightsabers, quickly parrying a blow.

They have alchemincally treated blades. Fascinating. He pushed them away with a nod of his head, a Force Blast throwing them against the throng of their fellows. Trevarus cast his eyes to Eosara and Raistline, arrayed with the other eleven of Zeta Cabal. "Find Hafa Chun. I can feel her presence, but it is not yet fully awake. If she has taken a new body, bind her. If not, you know what to do."

Eosara nodded, a small crystal glowing whitely in his hand. It merely awaited a twisted soul to Obtenebrate the matrix. Eosara could use it to bind a spirit, awaiting the ritual desecration.

Cobalt lightsabers flashed to life in the Prefectus Dominus' hands, Raistline's cry answered by black armored warriors weilding electrostaves. They charged forward, working around the perimeter to break the lines of the Honor Guard. A carrel of books toppled to the floor, followed my an immense shelf bearing countless scrolls. Dark Jedi and soldiers moved in an erratic pattern of war. Trevarus stood back to back with Macron Goura, both fighting in the tradition of the Kirili, perfect for the brutal style used by the Ekind Warriors, who seemed to fight in a bastardized Makashi.

"I need to break the center, Mononoke. The ancient witch is here... if I can enslave her soul, this will end." Trevarus hissed, through gritted teeth, locked in a grapple. As he forced a break, Macron shouted back. "Break ranks! Fall back and regroup!"

- Entrance Hall of the Sadow Library
- Ragnos Cathedral
- Tarthos

The very unique thing about killing is, it gets into the blood. It’s hard to quench the tide once it begins, which was the downfall of many Jedi during the Mandalorian Wars. Once it started going, for many, it never, ever stopped. They fell to the Dark Side, consumed by their own insatiable desire for war, victory, power, and the adoration and respect of their peers, souls who would later become their lessers, or their foes.

The very unique thing about the killing being done in Kar Alabrek, it was being done by people already consumed by the Dark Side of the Force, people comfortable in it’s bleak and barren embrace. For them, there wasn’t much left for them besides more killing, more warfare, and more power. The kind of power that more killing and warfare could bring.

We join these open hostilities already in progress.

Macron Sadow called for the regroup, consolidating the Sadowan forces at the Cathedral. The Ekind, though perhaps these were more Ombi, didn’t seem interested in allowing this tactical maneuver, and rushed to intersperse themselves in what appeared to be a measure of self sacrifice so that their queen could muster her own power.

Of course, flowing through a mob of lightsaber wielding foes like water through the reeds wasn’t likely the most wise tactical decision, alchemically treated weapons or no. The downfall to these weapons though, were that they might be murder against a lightsaber, but they weren’t any more effective against carbonite infused durasteel alloys.

Venator swung his vibroblade in a reverse-gripped slash, mimicking the Shien style strikes, shredding the microserrated blade through the abdomen of one of the Ekind. These weren’t the ghoul-squad leaders though, they were praetorian guards, perhaps not much better trained, but more zealous. It made them dangerous, made them willing to kill themselves to kill their foes.

The Ekind took the wickedly curved sword he carried and rolled a shot into Venator’s face with the cupped hand guard. The strike staggered the Miraluka a moment, and it almost cost him his head, but Venator managed to duck the shot and strike a lightning fast Broken Gate punch into his foe’s ribs. He felt the shattering of bones under his fist from the impact, wishing he’d had an angle into driving the floating ribs into the Ekind’s liver. Still, it was better than nothing, and he followed it up with an uppercutting swing up into the Ekind’s groin, nearly severing his leg.

That kind of massive blood loss prevented any kind of zealotry though, arterial blood spraying everywhere and killing the Ekind in under 20 seconds. Behind him, the rest of Sadow had made their push and clustered in, forming a rather impromptu phalanx. The Dark Jedi made their push, the Soresu trained fighters on the outside of the formation, tanking the tidal wave of Ekind.

Inside, Macron grabbed Venator’s shoulder and pulled him close.

“Venator, do be so kind to draw some attention at the back of their line.” the Equite giggled. “We will meet with you presently.”

“As you wish,” Venator muttered, and drew in a deep breath, grateful for the healing ministrations he’d received before the door opened. He summoned forth his will, through the Force keenly aware of his body’s limitations and how to go past them. He was a natural being in the Force, but moving unnaturally.

He ran then, and took a flying leap over the lines as the more acrobatically inclined fighters flitted about in front of the phalanx, softening the lines so that the organized forces could more easily crush their foes. Macron was among them, along with several others, not content from leading from the middle of a column. There was something respectable in that.

Venator continued his leap, and felt a hard shove at his back as a web of Force energy gripped him and hurtled him at ballistic speed, the hand of Astronicus Sadow aimed at him. It was certainly a bracing feeling, exciting and terrifying all at the same time, but like most thrill rides, it ended all too soon.

Venator went feet first into a wall, bending his knees and using the Force to absorb the shock before he shoved off hard at an angle to land at the back of the Ekind militia. He ignited his lightsaber, more for distraction than for it’s combat properties, and went out on a limb by drawing his vibroblade as well. He whirlwinded into the back line, trying to mimic the movements of some of the paired saber fighters belonging to Sadow. Again, it wasn’t combat effective, but it was horrifically distracting, forcing the Ekind to break ranks to avoid being mowed down by accident.

He combined the movements with the dancelike K’thri martial arts, allowing him to travel about, pushing to meet in the middle with his allies. Around him, other Journeymen were being lofted, performing similar tasks to his own, sewing chaos into the organization of the Ekind lines.

As he moved, he took several cuts, most superficial, but some deep. You didn’t go into something like this and hope to come out unscathed. At least, not as his level of training.

Blood trailed behind him as he moved, and he began feeling uneasy, what with the large level of power brewing up behind him. Whatever the Elder’s goals were, he hoped they reached them soon.

Great Sadow Library
Beneath the ruins of Ragnos Cathedral, Castle Alabrek
Wastelands of the Forgotten City of Kar Alabrek, Tarthos

White sparks flew and sounds rang out as battle was joined between the Children of Ombus and the Children of Sadow on the shattered earth inside the entrance to the Great Library. The remains of ancient fountains circled the warriors of Warlord Akrellum Peirus and Overlord Astronicus Sadow, the broken stones overgrown with alien mould and fungus from another galaxy. Vines and insects skittered across the floor as Sith lightsaber and sword collided.

Cloaked in shadow and high above the battle, atop the shelves a hundred feet high, a lone figure skipped and danced from row to row, leaping from one five millennia old stack of ancient lore to the next. Behind, a team of figures trailed, the party of Ekind priests draped in grey and brown torn and faded robes, the once majestic whites and reds of their gowns long faded, now plastered in dust and ash from the lightning storm enveloping the ageless castle.

‘Positions,’ whispered the Cleric, as he came to a stop.

Around Othalo Keram, his fellow clerics halted – the dust from the ancient bookcases brushing free as their bootless feet skidded to a dead stop.

Othalo looked down, focusing his gaze on the flashes of battle. The dark ones’ swords of light blazed in sharp contrast to the holy arms of the honour guardsmen. Cut off from the gods’ song the Cursed Ones may have been, but their swords and spears chimed and resonated with the music of creation, vibrating as if blessed by Ombus himself.

His eye caught one among the dark ones and he felt his heart stop.

No.

The dark warrior shared the black trappings of all the rest, but on his wrist – on his wrist he wore the silver gauntlet emblazoned in every Ekind’s mind; the mark of every evil of every witch in every child’s fairytale; the source of all darkness in the kingdom of Sepros; the violet hand of destruction that had devoured the spirits of the gods; the Hand of the Demon; the Amulet of Orian.

Othalo raised his hand to signal and the clerics all leapt as one, drawing their sacrifice daggers as they descended the hundreds of feet into the midst of the great duel. Othalo himself made for the butcher... for revenge.

After five thousand years, it was time the Ombi righted the sins of the past.

‘Death to the Demon!’

The dust moved. Swirling in miniature tornadoes and flowing in gusts, the antique detritus particles swept from the stone floor to the walls of the inner sanctum. The guardsman narrowed his vision, stepping from his post at the doorway to the ritual chamber, pale eyes regarding the unnatural indoor wind.

His eyes followed the gust to polished black boots. Stumbling backwards into a defensive stance, his eyes swung up. The door to the inner sanctum hadn't opened, the sound of battle still rang beyond. The Priesthood were still holding the Library fast. The man appeared from nowhere.

The last answer his eyes saw was the sable eyes of he Dark Lord.

The body crumpled and discarded, Muz stepped toward the enormous doors of the Ritual Chamber. Ashia moved at his back silently, hands filled with her hilts in anticipation. The scion of the Keibatsu raised a bare hand, the clicking of hidden mechanisms within the ritually locked door echoing across the Inner Sanctum. This would not be a surprise attack.

Heavy doors ground against the tone of the floor as it opened, revealing the occupants.

"What are you doing in my cathedral?"

The scream of energized adegans scorched the ears as the violet and crimson spilled from his sabers. Their queen, the ancient one, the savior of her people looked up at the interloper.

And laughed.

Muz watched her with analytic eyes, dissecting her movement, the Force singing to him a million notes. She was strong. She moved toward him, her will sharpening into her own weapon. Whispers flew into his mind, and his thumbs flicked the ignition studs of his blades, the luminescence slurping back into the hilts. Ashia turned, eyes widening at her husband.

"You'll be too easy to end." Muz stepped forward a step. "Right now." He gestured with an open hand at the High Priest and the Vong as if to bid them continue, to make her a challenge for him. She stepped back, confusion marking her expression, debating if he was bluffing her.

Great Sadow Library
Ruins of Alabrek Castle
Kar Alabrek, Tarthos


The screams of the wounded and dying raged a storm in the once proud hall. Blood ran in heavy rivulets across faded marble, staining woodwork. A backsweep from his elbow caught an Ekind warrior full in the face, a cheekbone and jaw reduced to mash as his own life's blood splattered a broken fountain. Trevarus grinned in feral delight.

Only a handsbreath of movement saved him from the spear thrown from high above. Turning his attention, he saw the figure moving as if in slow motion, a curved and gilted dagger flashing in the dim lights, held fast in the Ekind leaping from a high bookshelf, mouth contorted in passionate wrath.

Reaching out with his right hand, flashing tendrils of silver metal lashed out, grabbing the figure in midhair and hurling him twenty paces against another bookcase. Dust and battered paper billowed around him. It rose quickly, recovering.

"I am Othalo Karem, demon. You wield the magic of hell against me, I shall destroy your soul."

Trevarus' grin broadened. In a crack of air, his lightsabers disappeared in a black-violet flash. He poised with his right hand, the Fragment of Ombus glowing violently in the dark.

"You're too late... I have no soul." Trevarus chuckled.

Enraged, the cleric flew at him, lashing with his dagger. Trevarus sidestepped, tripping the man with another snake of silver metal. Its amporphous coils trailing around him in a kind of halo. He drank in the Ekind's misery.

"Lady Hafalia, help me avenge my people." Karem spat.

He raised his dagger, a shimmering red light coursing up its blade, coalscing into a tight beam. Trevarus eyes narrowed as the man chanted for the space of a few seconds.

Red fire was unleashed from the tip of his dagger. Trevarus motioned faster than the eye could see, and four violetly glowing sigils appears in the air between them. He raised his hands, stepping forward. The red light stopped, pushing and straining against Trevarus' sorcery. The Oracle stepped into a tighter grapple, as two other Ekinc clerics added their magic to Karem's.

Trevarus began to chant himself, the sigils twisting and contoring, cords on his neck standing out as he held back fire from the other three. His arcane runes folded into a new pattern, then began to swirl. He stepped forward, his voice deafening the fire of battle in a language none present could understand. The cleric's fire began to swirl in time to his own signs, pulsing as water down a drain.

The battle seemed to have paused as all eyes turned to the sorcery of the four. They seemed in a deadlock, eldritch weapons against the twisted Will of the Oracle. Violet and red energies swirled in a miasma. Doubled again. The whole of the library was engulfed in brilliant, evil light.

Trevarus voice reached a crescendo, and three of his sigils latched onto the bodies of the three clerics. Evil light shined, fracturing into three beams that washed over the three in red flame. It seemed to soak into the runes, flowing around their bodies, just beginning to smoke.

A final, screamed word, and the fire erupted into pillars of released energy.

There was no light in the library for the space of a second, eyes blinded by the flash. When senses returned, there were but a few charred remains, smoking with latent heat.

"Who's next!" Trevarus snarled, leaping into the Vapaad, as his lightsabers reappeared and flashed to life.

- Entrance Hall of the Sadow Library
- Ragnos Cathedral
- Tarthos




The Ombi leapt down from the bookcases, hoping to look like diving hawkbats and looking a lot more like falling Bantha. All of them except one, that is. Their first mistake was to yell before they leapt, you didn’t want the attention of people you were trying to leap upon when they were armed with the Force.

As it was, one of them was caught mid-fall by a crushing grip. He was rattled like a rag doll and tossed to the side. The rest landed, some of them on top of people, most near others, but they were getting cut down, relatively quickly.

There was one though, one of the Ombi was tactically intelligent, moreso than the rest of the priesthood. He darted off, slipping among the bookcases and the rubble. The warriors of Sadow had most certainly noticed he’d slipped off, but the pressing of the other Ombi was, well, more pressing.

Except, there was one Sadowan who sported a fierce, predatory grin. This was his kind of game, a pure hunt.

“You good here?” Venator asked, raising his voice over the hissing of lightsaber blades.

“Yeah,” Methyas said, snapping his unorthodox lightsaber Harmony in a staccato pattern. “You leave the stove on or something?”

“No, got to see a man about a duck,” Venator said, and leapfrogged over Roxas’ head and shoulders while the Mandalorian reloaded. The Miralukan assassin paused only long enough to swipe his razors through sure, easy targets of opportunity, not wanting to waste any time.

He slipped past the main crush of the battle, and caught sight of his target, but he too had been spotted, the folly of haste rather evident. The Ombi, who to Venator’s eyes, was nothing more than any other, but the attitude of the man, the way he slipped about like an eel, that was worth the effort.

Venator ran towards the Ombi, but was intercepted by a pair of the would-be assassin priests. He scowled, and moved between them, one blade low, the other high, and as he slipped between them, he twisted, rolling his arms and shoulders, the maneuver less a psychological feint and more of a physical one. They moved to parry the attacks, but found themselves hamstrung and stabbed just behind the armpit. Both fell to the ground to die slowly. Usually, Venator would have killed them quickly, but he had a goal, and intended to achieve it.

Of course, even that action lost his attention on Akrellum , and at the end of his maneuver, the Warlord was already gone. Venator scowled, and climbed the bookcase he was near, hoping to turn their DFA maneuver around on them, and once atop, had the extra benefit of a better view of the battle. It was certainly raging, but Sadow was siezing the upper hand, what with all of the truly powerful on the ground. For them, it was like a game. There was no threat, no challenge to them. It was just going through the motions. For the Journeymen though, the stakes were higher, life and death like, and it was easy to tell they were fighting not to win, but to survive.

Just like the Ombi. With a few running leaps, he cleared the distance, coming to a skid on top of the bookshelf nearest the assassin priest. Below him, Akrellum waited with a dagger in a reverse grip, watching for someone to get close enough to him. Not wasting time, Venator let himself drop, silently, without a noise, to bury his own blade in the Ombi’s back.

It wasn’t until the very last moment that he realized he’d been set up. Akrellum twisted onto his back, his off hand pushing at the pommel of his dagger, aiming it for Venator’s chest as he descended. With a look of shock on his face, Venator made a swiping motion with his hand, using the Force to deflect the blade. It didn’t deflect completely though, and he felt the blade sink through the meat of his right shoulder and come cleanly through the back. The pain blossomed as surely as his own lifeblood, stopping the momentum of his own stabbing attack. Of course, the worst part, he was already feeling his arm go numb. The bastard had the nerve to poison him!

On the ground, Akrellum managed to get his limbs untangled from the apparition that had tried hunting him. The fool had fallen for the bait, and before long, his whole body would find itself paralyzed, to die from cardiac and respiratory arrest later. Still, he couldn’t resist the chance to hurt the thing before it couldn’t feel the pain of it all, so he twisted the knife, forcing the thing to snarl, like the animal it was.

With his good arm, Venator grabbed the priest by the face, his fingertips gouging into Akrellum’s face. With a strength borne of fury and the Force, he squeezed, pulling the Ombi Warlord’s head up off the ground, only to drive it back onto the cold stone floor, hoping for the satisfaction of a wet crunch, but instead, nothing. It frustrated him into another snarl, opening him up to another stab, this one into his low side, aiming for his liver. It missed, but not by much, and it hurt, considerably. It also carried more of the vile poison into his system.

Infuriated, Venator slammed the back of his skull into the floor again, and this time twisted Akrellum ’s head, there was a crack as vertebrae adjusted, not the break he was looking for, but he pushed his head down, his weight driving the knife further into his abdomen, and bit deeply into the Warlord’s neck, his teeth sinking into flesh, muscle and sinew.

Akrellum’s scream pierced the air even as his blood filled Venator’s mouth. He twisted his neck and yanked, pulling a large chunk as he went, even as he felt his body starting to slow down, his lungs and heart both slowing as well. He wouldn’t let this piece of poodoo have the smug satisfaction of seeing him die though. As the Warlord screamed, Venator pulled the knife out of his abdomen, and put it across the doomed man’s throat before drawing it across in a wicked slash.

“Not enough gun,” Venator muttered before pulling himself up slowly. He reached for his lightsaber, ignited it, and walked back to the fray, his right arm hanging limp at his side. Blood trickled from his abdomen and his arm, while his breath began to wheeze. With a fierce scowl on his face, he walked into the rapidly dwindling mob of Ombi, slashing hard and direct. He knew he was headed to hell, he was just arranging some company when he got there.

Inner Sanctum, Great Sadow Library
Beneath the ruins of Ragnos Cathedral, Castle Alabrek
Wastelands of the Forgotten City of Kar Alabrek, Tarthos

Thunder cracked overhead, bathing the inner sanctum in a ferocious dance of blue and violet flashes as lightning sparked, streaking in through the broken ceiling, and striking the ancient engraved walls and throwing clouds of dust and debris into the chamber.

Inside the maelstrom, Ekind guardians fell one by one, as warriors from Zeta Cabal charged down the steps from the Great Library. At their front, the Prefectus Dominus’s twin green blades weaved through the barbarian savages, Raistlin’s lightsaber cleaving through metal and flesh and bone. Alongside, the giant shape of Eosara Goratis fired off round after round after round into the aliens arrayed around the doorway on the far side of the room.

‘Advance!’ the Seneschal barked, then turned to Raistlin. ‘Prefectus, clear that doorway,’ cried Eosara over the roar of blasters, ‘we must breach the ritual chamber!’ He raised the white glowing crystal in his hand. ‘If the witch isn’t contained quickly, all will be lost!’

Raistlin signalled his acknowledgement with a leap that sent him over and above the melee of Ekind and Cohort mercenaries, landing on the far side out of Eosara’s view – but for the near-invisible flashes of green light as lightsabers spun and dived in speeds impossible to follow with the naked eye.

The Lord Quaestor and I will be there shortly.

Gah. Sha—Trev—whatever – he knew how much Eosara hated when he did that. The path will be clear soon, Lord Caerick, replied the Seneschal.

An amused laugh echoed back, but that was all.

Eosara stashed the obtene crystal back in his pocket, hoisted his rifle again and descended the final steps into the inner sanctum. ‘Let’s teach these bastards the meaning of extinction!’

Inside the Ritual Chamber, Inner Sanctum, below the Great Sadow Library
Beneath the ruins of Ragnos Cathedral, Castle Alabrek
Wastelands of the Forgotten City of Kar Alabrek, Tarthos

The voices of the gods bellowed in the Dark Lady’s ears as the demon king postured before her.

‘Child,’ Hafalia laughed, ‘I have destroyed gods and demons. Unmade civilisations. Made war with Dark Lords. And weathered the fire of hell for two hundred lifetimes.’ The Sceptre of the Gods pulled free of its shackles on the wall and flew into her open hand. ‘What do you possibly think you can do to frighten me?’

With her free hand, she turned to the last of the Ekind elders and placed her palm atop the woman’s head. Already frozen, Celene Peirus could not even scream as the blood began to spill from her eyes, from her nose, her ears and her mouth. Hafalia could see the shock register on Aeratas’s face as if she were now his foe, too.

‘Hafa!’ cried the High Priest. ‘Enough! Please!’ Hafa glanced at him as the two darklings before her looked on uncertainly. ‘What’s happened to you?’ Aeratas continued, the darkness swelling in him as the elder’s body collapsed to the floor, motionless. ‘Can’t you see what you’ve become?’ His face tightened, the anger echoing through the music of creation.

The Dark Lady smiled. ‘That’s it. Give into your anger, my young prince. Embrace it!’ She took a step toward the demon lord in front. ‘Only by turning their own darkness against them can the Children of Ombus ever be free!’

[center]* * *[/center]

Aeratas staggered backwards, joining the lone Daughter of Yun-Yuuzhan at the edge of the room. Hafa and the man who had appeared – quite literally – out of thin air leapt at each other, locking arms as the Rod of Ombus and the demon’s swords of light connected. The pair spun and danced, a rainbow of explosions flashing every time their weapons collided.

After a few moments, the woman who had withdrawn behind the demon king to the doorway glanced back over her shoulder before turning to look at Aeratas and Nal Yin. She smirked at them before for some reason wrapping her arms around herself as if in a cocoon.

Sneering in return, Aeratas began to advance – but the next thing he knew a glowing red ring of light appeared behind the woman, immediately before massive chunks of the doorway blasted inside the room, as a series of charges detonated one after the other in a circle. For a moment, the High Priest saw nothing – then he heard a great crash as the door slammed to the floor, the impact sucking the dust back out into the inner sanctum beyond.

The woman’s lightswords snapped to life with a crack—

Joining the double green blades of the black-clad warrior standing behind her.

Great Sadow Library
Beneath the ruins of Ragnos Cathedral, Castle Alabrek
Wastelands of the Forgotten City of Kar Alabrek, Tarthos


“Macron!” A dim yell picked at Macron’s reverie. Perhaps it was an hallucination. They happened often... too often. Best to ignore the distraction. Much more important to get on with the Hurting. And he was happy to not be fighting Vong. Much better to fight those that could feel the Force.... and had dabbled. His only regret was that Manji and Tsainetomo were not by his side.

The alchemist counter-punched and stopped a kick from the Ekind before him with a riposted crushing femoral thigh-palm in the Echani sword-hand style. The hand crushed into the Ekind's femoral artery and [Expletive Deleted] down his sciatic nerve system instantly. Echani was an artistic expression and the synthetic human had hoped to compensate for his own inhumanity by studying it to the extreme. In reality it didn't help. It just made killing easier.

Mac's open hand closed like a bear-trap, servos whining as the Armor Fist combined with Force-borne strength to literally squeeze off the offending leg. It popped off with a loud crunch of shattered bone and splattered meat. Ligaments snapped like ragged silvery ropes on a sea-doomed ship. The orange light sword followed almost instantly and removed the other leg from the stunned Ekind. He fell like a toppled squirting tree.

The Sith’s free arm raised up, lightsaber parrying a blow from another Ekind’s alchemical blade. Then the madman bludgeoned the shocked Ekind to death with his brother's severed and still twitching limb. The mass was accelerated to a great degree by the kinetic mastery of the Sadowite. The mass of meat literally broke the hapless Ekind's neck with a crack as it rolled over. The stolen leg was flung at another Ekind cleric. The madman loved mobilizing bodies and severed limbs against their former owners and allies. The look of disgust and horror on their faces was priceless. The agony and fear tasted sweet. Especially with rocks and debris mixed in the telekinetic whirlwind.

“Macron!” the shout became louder, and annoying. No matter.

There was a job to be done and Macron relished his work immensely. Many more needed to feel the full power of the Dark Side. The Ekind would die, and by Lord Ashen's orders any who had violated the Sanctum of the Library were to be utterly destroyed. The holiest of temples of Naga Sadow had been violated. This was not to be tolerated.
As long as the Warlord drew breath their will would be done and he would enjoy the frack out of doing it.

It was good to have a goal and less to think upon. The voices were silent in the throes of passion. Passion was power to a Sith. The passion throbbed in Macron's veins as he reveled in the Dark Side. His heart beat in resonance with the screams of the dying. Each soul ripped from it's body made his heart beat faster.

The Sith spun, orange blade flickering on and off with a waspish blazing sting. It it left a neat perfect smoking hole between the up-turned eyes of another Ekind foe. The Ekind dropped compliantly as the Trakata strike had severed all his major brain areas in a perfect plasmatic hole. Trakata was like that. Quick, neat, and deadly. And quite a bit too tidy for a raving lunatic.

The stolen leg was flung at another Ekind cleric. Blood and gore splattered across Macron’s glaring faceplate as the homeless limb struck the Ekind hard in the chest and downed him from the impact. A wave of the Sadow's hand sent the lightsaber forth again as a hideous chainsaw of death. The orange disc removed the upper cranium of an hidden bookshelf Ekind assassin. The body crumpled with a dumbfounded expression as it's fully fried brains dripped down it's face like melted gray bloody wax.

A grunt of satisfaction left the madman’s blackened lips as his tongue ran over sharpened durasteel-clad Nashtah tooth implants. "Mmmm," he murmured. Jade would appreciate this moment of pure expression.

The Warlord leapt high with the aid of the Force and landed hard with a heel stomping Broken Gate kick as the thrown lightsaber returned to his off-hand. The hapless Ekind elder's ribcage caved in with a gurgling crack. His blued tongue popped out and bright lung blood spurted from his now-scarlet lips. A few more righteous stomps from the snarling madman's furious armored boots silenced his pitiful cries. “Die!” screamed the raging Quaestor. A final gurgle signaled death as the meat began to twitch mindlessly. "Yes!"

“Died like a punk bitch” chuckled the alchemist as Trevarus silently laid his hand on the armored Sith’s shoulder. Macron jumped nearly two feet into the air in surprise. “Eeayah.”

“I said break the center, Tertius. We did,” chuckled Trevarus. “That’s all of them out here. Your methods are... let’s say lacking in subtlety. They do inspire a certain amount of horror in your foes however.”

“Oh,” replied the Sith with a petulant disappointed look. He mopped the blood and gore from his up-sliding helm with a strip of cloth ripped from an earlier foe and slung it rudely on the spattered flagstones with a crude splat. “You have to admit they are effective. And I do so enjoy the Fear. I love it when they beg. I live to feel my enemies die.” He was tiring, and lied to hide it. Even a stalwart Equite had his limits.

The Dark Jedi Master understood completely. Sith thrived on fear like an unrefined liquor for their black souls. The Oracle knew of all the inner secrets of most. “Spoken like a true Sith. Come, let’s join the main group in the Inner Sanctum. Eosara and Raistlin have penetrated the wall and it seems Lord Ashen is dueling the witch inside.”

“By Gorm,” muttered the Naga Sadow Quaestor as he looked about. “Sounds ugly. That old bag is almost equal in power to a Grandmaster from what I have read. I hear she mastered Orian's draining abilities....” His yellow eyes spotted a wounded Venator as he coughed. “Still alive, my Apprentice. Good,” snickered Macron. “Very good.” The synthetic Sith lived within the Dark Side but he was also very sick. Organs and glands could be replaced. For some time.

Others grouped around them quickly as they all took stock of their remaining assets. Astronicus, Jade, Ashura, Aisha Qifaxa, Ventor, Fremoc, Roxas, and Araxis all stood near. Tsainetomo entered from parts unknown with the stink of battle on his robes. Macron nodded. “With your permission Lord Astronicus I say we go in there and give them Hell.”

“Granted,” said the Overlord as all of the assembled Naga Sadow Dark Jedi hefted their respective weapons. “Let none of the Ekind live.”

Inside the Ritual Chamber, Inner Sanctum, below the Great Sadow Library
Beneath the catacombs of Ragnos Cathedral, Castle Alabrek
Wastelands of the Forsaken City of Kar Alabrek, Tarthos

The Sadowans had fought long and hard to get to this point, breaching the Inner Sanctum to assist the more experiences and skilled members of the Brotherhood in subduing this uprising and committing gross genocide of a species. The sounds of combat still made the blood of the many figures present boil and adrenaline still pumped wildly through them. Taking deep and steady breaths, the Miralukan Knight near the rear of the group couldn't help but feel some sympathy for the creatures he slew today; many of them fought simply to live, to not be the last of their kind or wiped from the face of the galaxy...had that not been what many Miraluka had fought, slain and hidden from during the Galactic Civil War? Within this chamber stood two figures that had been fortunate enough to be living today and they were happily committing an atrocity, well maybe not completely happily. Methyas sighed as he took in the sounds of combat, the Sadowans pushing their way towards the surviving members of the Ekind tribe, their Queen and the Vile Vong Shaper.

He had slain enough this day and it was beginning to show on him, he would take his chance now and try to separate the Shaper from the rest of the group. He needed to know where he was hiding, where he could finally have the confrontation he longed for. The Knight moved quickly and as quietly as he could, skirting the large group of Sadowans and the Oracle's Cohort to try and stealthily challenge his opponent. It was unsurprising to him to feel some familiar signatures trailing him, their presence would be well worth their troubles and would not be turned away as much as the Knight may want this challenge and victory all to himself. He paused for a moment in a darkened edge of the room, the torrential downpour cascading through the mammoth hole that had been torn through to the surface giving the Knight a vibrant vision of his usually cloaked target.

The sound of steady breathing to his left broke his focus on the Shaper while his "eyes" never left it, the sounds of combat flooding through the chamber from his left in addition to the low rumble of Fremoc's voice, "So what's the plan?"
A smile smile crossed the Miraluka's face before he responded, "The Shaper is the target, how we take it down is up for everyone to decide, just make sure it doesn't die until I get the information I seek from it."
He heard the quiet confirmation from Araxis and Teu as Fremoc placed his hand on his ally's shoulder, "Alright, let's get to it then."

The small team moved slowly, quietly and delibrately towards the center of the Ritual chamber and their target. Memories of his time with the Night Raptors flooded in, their silent stalking of their prey reminiscent of the Battleteam's doctrine under his command and its surprising effectiveness at the battle of Mucenic. With so much noise and might pushing from the lone entrance into the chamber towards their Queen, the Ekind warriors had their focus on the bulk of the Sadowan force, a small group of would-be assassins went unnoticed by keeping a wide berth along the outer walls. As they closed in however, the task became more difficult as the sounds of battle grew closer and threatened to reveal their position should one turn at the precise moment and spot them. Weapons at the ready but not yet armed, the group scaled the small staircase to the upraised platform used for the intricate ceremonies and rituals before their sight began to fall upon the slimmer shapes of the Ekind High Priest and slender curves of the Vong Master Shaper.

The rainfall was a godsend for the Miralukan Knight as he could actually see the Shaper before him as the rain stuck the woman, slowly snaked down her body and around her curves; the form fitting Oozhith throwing the young Knight off a bit as he had only ever seen Vong warriors before. Did the Vong really look that similar to humans? A sudden shout to his left woke him from his attentiveness on the Shaper, the High Priest had spotted them and was making their presence known to anyone nearby. Quickly Fremoc and Methyas bellowed at the same time, "Weapons free."
A series of quick hisses announced the team's sabers lighting as they began stalking closer to their targets, Methyas steadily working towards the Shaper as Fremoc moved to attempt to distract the High Priest. The woman before Methyas chuckled a little before speaking, "You Jeedai are far too slow to stop us."

With a sudden thrust of her slender hand towards the sky the Shaper seemed to be pointing at something, not to be distracted the Knight thrust his lightsword towards her as the woman bearly stepped aside allowing the weapon to graze her side. With a sudden quake, Methyas turned to see large creatures with rain water drenching down them; their arachnoid stature causing the Knight to curse as the creatures seemed to loosely surround the group upon the raised platform, the High Priest fleeing to a safer position behind the creatures with a handful more of them seemingly scaling the walls of the Ritual chamber to contend with the bulk of the Sadowan force.

Methyas cursed as he quickly stepped into a masterful modified Soresu stance, his lead foot pointed directly at the Shaper as his rear foot sat at a ninty degree angle to the leading heel with his sword raised high, the former Aedile's voice speaking angrily, "You will give me the answers I seek, even if I have to destroy any army you send at me. Tell me where he's hiding!"
The Shaper seemed to have a sly smile cross her face as she started flicking her finger suggestively in a 'come hither motion', "Come get me young one, and I may give you the answers you seek."
A sudden shout from behind the Knight caused a start, Fremoc and the rest of his allies fighting to stay alive against the mammoth Vong arachnids, the taunting laughter of the Shaper causing further conflict in the Miraluka, "What will it be Jeedai? A chance at the answers you seek or your friends?"

Inside the Ritual Chamber, Inner Sanctum, below the Great Sadow Library
Beneath the catacombs of Ragnos Cathedral, Castle Alabrek
Wastelands of the Forsaken City of Kar Alabrek, Tarthos

Spiders rained from the ceiling, stopping the Sadowan advance into the Ritual Chamber. Teu and Araxis both engaged their own arachnid, cutting into the beasts. There wasn't much Fremoc could do, as he engaged the High Priest. The alchemy treated blade of the High Priest blocked the emerald lightsaber of Fremoc. The Priest was was far more skilled than Fremoc, spinning his blade for another strike on the Templar.

"What will it be Jeedai? A chance at the answers you seek or your friends?"

Screaming over the sounds of battle, Fremoc yelled to his former Aedile, "GO! We'll be fine here." The Templar looked over his shoulder, and saw the Miraluka nod. In a sign of respect for the older Pepoi, Methyas switched his lightsword to his other hand and raised his right hand. The former Aedile pounded the spot over his heart with his closed right fist. "GO!" Methyas turned and ran after Nal Yin, leaving Teu, Fremoc, and Araxis to fend for themselves. The rest of the Sadowans began to rip into the arachnids, while Muz fought Hafa Chun.

Let the anger control you... Let me free...

The demon inside him rose, consuming his body, changing his presence into a red flare of light through the Force. His senses stretched out touching every Sadowan there, including one he didn't expect. One that he thought was gone to another House. He focused his presence to form a connection between the two. As he weaved and dodged the High Priest's blade.

You've returned, said Fremoc.

I found an old Raptor and was following him.

One of my boys?

Yes, vode. One of the original Raptors. I felt you go nova before and thought you needed help ASAP.

There's a lot that had to do with that. I could use some help here. The emerald blade of Fremoc stopped Aeratas' sword, pushing the two ever so closely to the Templar's neck.

Remember that time at the bar?

You still owe me for that. Before another word was said between the two, a fist with the fingers cut off flew through the air and knocked the High Priest on his heels. A blue hue illuminated the area in front of Fremoc with a man in black Mandalorian Armor with dark grey trim. There was only one person known in the House to wear such armor.

"Now we are even."

"Welcome Home."

"I'm never doing that again," said the Mandalorian, as he pulled off his helmet revealing the face of Fremoc's first apprentice. Fremoc quickly punched the man in the jaw before turning his attention back to Aeratas. "I deserved that."

"Now you won't leave. High low?"

"High Low." Without another word, the Mandalorian put his helmet back on and both men moved in on the Priest. Kano took the high approach while Fremoc went low, lashing their blades out at Aeratas. The Priest stepped backwards, blocking Kano's then Fremoc's. The two Templar's moved in tandem, keeping the Priest on the defensive. One would strike high while the other stayed low, before they would change where the other would strike high and the other low.

The Priest stood, blocking the emerald and sapphire lightsabers, in one single motion. The teal sparks caused by the collision of the two lightsabers showered over the 3 combatants. The two Templars felt an attack coming, and backed off quickly and simultaneously raised their left hands, fingers splayed. They both sent a massive Force Blast towards the Leader of the Ekind, who sent his own wave of energy towards them. The combined Force energy hit in between the 3 combatants causing an invisible blast of energy knocking the High Priest and the two Templar's off their feet.

Fremoc and Kano landed on their backs and immediately rolled to their feet. Kano looked over at the former Quaestor and coughed, "Let's not do that again."

"Agreed."

Teu sapphire blue blade swung around, she stared at the arachnid she fought. Sweat glistened on her forehead as she ducked and dodged around the beasts many arms. The beast, even for its size was fast and agile. It avoided the Templar’s blade over and over again.

"Where is the giant bug squishier when you need one?'' Teu screamed at the beast.

She brought her saber up again, this time she managed to but off one of its eight legs. It screeched. Teu dove to the side as the spiders pinchers came down at her. However she was not quick enough and the animal got its pinchers around her upper arm, the bone snapped.

"Arrrggggh"

Teu felt the skin tear, she didn’t look down at the arm, not wishing to see the damage inflicted. Instead she changed the grip on her saber and rushed at the arachnid. The Force flowed as it helped speed her up. She flicked her blade three times, legs fell from the beast. It collapsed and before it knew was happening Teu stabbed the beast in the chest. It gave a hearty shudder and fell still.

Teu turned around her lightsaber held loosely in her grasp. She saw the fighting going on through out the room, everyone was in the midst of a fight. Blaster bolts flew, lightsaber’s flashed. She felt something running down her arm, she looked down she groaned. The bone stuck out of the arm at a odd angle. She knew the force wouldn’t fix it until she got the bone set again. For the moment she just hugged it close to her body.

As she moved, pain radiated through her body and the Force. She groaned and pushed through the pain. Every step the arm was jarred, she groaned softly. She threw up a make shift wall to keep her pain from reaching her husband. He didn’t need any distractions.

She moved to the next spider, she grimaced as she moved. Her grace gone as she tried to not jar the arm. She felt herself slow was down, she was tiring. There was only so much the Force could do. She pushed on though, ignoring her arm and the pain. She flurried her weapon, the spider fell onto the ground in two halves.

The rod sizzled beneath his parry, and he tried not to smile. The woman was using old Obelisk skills here, taught to Ferran by Tiamat millennia ago. She called him child, as if it would bother him, letting her words try to enrage him, to fool the Dark Lord of the Sith into making a foolish mistake.

He flipped a hilt in his hand, pressing the attack almost casually. This was textbook dueling to him, and he was irritated by her overconfidence. It would not be a good test of his skills and he would learn nothing from her rage and clumsy attacks. Not after Sarin, not after Paladin, not after Cotelin.

She continued to prattle on, her mouth moving more than her sword-arm as Muz batted away another strike, edging his body sideways to avoid another stroke. Muz waited, patiently letting the woman create her own doom, letting her over-extend herself, as he knew she would. She should have taken advantage of his grace, finished her rituals, made herself a real test of his skill.

The opening was tiny, but the master's saber found its way through anyway. The coruscating violet violence of his weapon separated hand from wrist, the smell of cauterized blood rising to their nostrils. A flicker of the Force erupted into fullness at his command, the ancient relic she used as a weapon evaporating from this world, her clenched hand falling naked to the floor with a dull and moist thud.

It took a second for Hafalia to register what had just happened. She had been through hell, fought in countless wars, and challenged every great one that crossed her path, and yet she was dispatched out-of-hand because of her own hubris. Hafalia made a terrible sound. Equal parts pain, horror, humiliation and disgrace tinged her voice as she yelled her monosyllabic denial of what had just happened.

Muz turned off his lightsabers, turning his head sideways as he looked down at her, his response quiet. "Yes." He turned from her, stepping toward the crater that once was the doorway.

Hafalia snarled at the disrespect. She drew her magic to her chest, felt the power surge in her veins, and pressed outward. Her remaining hand found a dagger somewhere in the rubble, her mind idly recognizing it as one of Nal Yin's creations as she threw herself at he who dared turn his back on her.

In the history of the Brotherhood, there have been many great duelists. Many great men that had spent lifetimes learning how to hold a blade, how to use their weapons in combat, how to cause the most suffering with as little effort as possible.

Muz had beaten them all.

Yet still, Hafa's blade tore through the leather of his warcoat, and drank of the flesh and bone within. The reaction was swift and smooth, his fist spinning to crash against her jaw, a wall of Force to lift her from the ground before she could hit the stone. Blood fell from her lips as she dangled in midair, feeling the itch of regeneration coil around her missing hand.

Muz gestured as he made the Force bounce her body against the walls like a pinball game, the ripping of fabric underscoring the percussion of flesh being battered against ancient stones in place of arcade music. Her mind focused, trying to grab hold of her power despite the pain.

Finally, her will found purchase, pushing back at the man, holding in the air as she poured her hatred into the world, into a weapon... into him.

Muz moved back a step, the gale-force winds tearing at his coat, his wound. The fiery sensation at his shoulder caused him to look down at the ruined leather, at the blood that dripped down onto the ultrachrome and rarer metals of his synthetic arm. He looked back up at her.

And Muz smiled.

He wrapped his mind around her leg, dragging her from the wall and throwing her behind him, her body crashing through foot thick stone walls and beyond. She was his projectile now, tearing through another stone wall and then through the ancient bookshelves of the Library, a path of destruction and ruined parchments as she finally came to a rest. Muz followed, walking with renewed purpose as he tracked her through the litter of Ekind corpses and carbon scoring.

Finally, Muz thought, a challenge.

Ritual Chamber
Great Sadow Library. Tarthos
Domain of House Naga Sadow


There were perhaps no words to be expressed. Through resounding rubble, he saw the Lion engaged in deep combat with the Ghost. Hafa Chun. The long dead Apprentice of Urias Orian. He understood the implications immediately.

Trevarus waved his hands, his lips opening the words to the Ritual of Binding. He could not do this alone.

He screamed the chant, his lips enveloping five decades of sorcerous training. His will poured through the Force. He willed the spirit to be chained.

"Ashen, I need you!" Trevarus screamed mid chant. "You must empower me!" The Lion nodded, and for a moment all might have seen the glimmer of a third eye in the middle of his forehead. The Lion of Tarthos gave his will to the Overlord of House Marka Ragnos.

Raistlin struck down two more of the Honor Guard as Lord Ashen and Trevarus engaged in combat with the spirit of Hafa Chun. His emerald lightsabers flashed, the bulwark of Zeta Cabal defending him. Yet it was someome blind to the Force that stepped in.

Eosara Goratis had witnessed many of his insane Master's rituals in the Observatory of Kalekka Tower. He had been at Lehon. He knew what to do.

At the moment the combined Wills of the Grand Master and the Oracle collided to the spirit of Hafalia Chunesca... he brought the crystal. He began to scream as energies tore through his hand, the powers of a Dark Lord and a mad Krath sorcerer sealing a soul. The purity of the the crystal now shown with a darkly violet hue. It had become an Obtene.

"I will take this with me, Trevarus"

"As you will, My Lord", the Oracle replied

Ritual Chamber
Great Sadow Library. Tarthos
Domain of House Naga Sadow

Roxas charged, the blade of his red saber humming as he ran. The Sadowans were spread out, all fighting the enormous arachnids. The Mandalorian stopped advancing as one of the spiders jumped in front of him. He was amazed by the size of the creature, but focused his mind so he wouldn’t be distracted.

The spider took a step toward the Guardian. As it did Roxas slowly stepped back, watching the monster closely. The Guardian ran toward the giant arachnid using the Force to increase his speed as he ran. As the Mandalorian reached the spider he swung his light saber in an attempt to remove one of its enormous legs. The spider saw the attack coming and kicked Roxas, causing him to hit the wall.

As the Guardian slammed into the wall, the spider spit webbing from its spinnerets sticking Roxas’s right arm and light saber to the wall. The Mandalorian started trying to get his arm free, pulling on it as the spider walked closer. The spider once again shot webs, but this time sticking the Guardian’s torso to the wall.

The spider reached Roxas and reared back and stuck at the Mandalorian, trying to bite his neck. As the spider’s mouth got close, the Guardian punched his left arm forward and into the spider’s mouth, causing it to bite down on his armored gauntlet. The arachnid began shaking its head back and forth trying to rip his arm off. Roxas gritting his teeth in pain, ignited his gauntlet mounted flamethrower, setting the inside of the monster ablaze.

The giant arachnid screamed, letting go and stepped back. Roxas turned his arm, the flamethrower still ignited and set the giant arachnid on fire. It let out an ear piercing screech as it flailed around in pain, slamming into the floor and pillars as it did.

The Mandalorian returned to trying to free himself from the spider’s webs, as the creature flailed around until its fiery death. Roxas switched on his light saber, burning the webs off of his arm and leaned forward cutting the rest from his torso with the crimson blade.

Roxas free of the webs, noticing the bone was protruding from Teu’s arm he walked toward her. This caught her attention, and she looked at him, watching him closely wondering what he is doing. The Mandalorian saw the puzzled look on her face and knew why it was there. They have had some bad blood between them, but now was not the time for that. With more important things at hand the both of them knew that their differences did not matter, they had to work together. Roxas looked at Teu and said, “I have your back, lets help our allies.”

Inside the Ritual Chamber, Inner Sanctum, below the Great Sadow Library
Beneath the catacombs of Ragnos Cathedral, Castle Alabrek
Wastelands of the Forsaken City of Kar Alabrek, Tarthos


Kano had missed a lot during his quick time in Arcona. It was a time that had pressed feeling on him that he had never felt before. While he was there something was missing and it didn’t take long for him to realize what it was that was missing, family. Naga Sadow had become something that the Mandalorian had gone nearly his entire life without, it had become his home. A place that he would fight for or even die for if that is what it would take to ensure the safety of his brothers and sisters. That matter was being put to the test on his return to Naga Sadow as the Mandalorian stepped in the save and fight side by side once more with his former master, Fremoc Pepoi.

The emerald and sapphire blades swung through the air in a highly random manner as the two Dark Jedi continued their assault on the Ekind leader.
Kano would swing high and the Priest would knock the saber aside while simultaneously dodging Fremoc’s blade. The pattern continued back and forth as the two Sadowans switched up who attacked where on Aeratas until the Ekind sent his foot out and caught Fremoc in the hip. The Prelate twisted oddly and slipped to the ground.

Kano swung his saber high at the Priest head only for it to be knocked aside once more. Aeratas sent a backhand out and caught Kano in the visor. The Mandalorians HUD instantly failed as the screen shattered and the glass fell from his buy'ce. Kano’s real eyes looked on the face of the Ekind leader as a fist slammed hard into the buy’ce once more. The Templar’s vision blurred from the force of the hit and he could feel a sharp pain in on his eyebrow from where his helmet was now bent inwards and pressing against his skin.

Fremoc was already back to his feet and reached his saber out just in time to stop the Priest’s blade from coming down on the dazed Mandalorian’s neck. As Kano came around he pulled the helmet from his head, ripping the skin above his eye, and tossed the damaged item away.

As the two Equites jumped back into full attack on Aeratas Kano began muttering something under his breath.

“Ke nu jurkad ti Mando'ade, burc'ya!”

- Sadow Library
- Ragnos Cathedral
- Tarthos

It was a blur of color and motion, even to a man without eyes. Lightsabers clashed and whirled against alchemical steel, while Sadow warriors pushed against the ill-fated ombi. In one corner of the room, one of these Sadowan warriors wheezed, straining for breath against lungs that were ignoring his commands and inflating less and less with each passing breath. His heart rate was dramatically reduced too, close to 25 beats per minute.

One arm was totally unresponsive, the muscles and nerves damaged from a vicious stab at high velocity, while the rest of his limbs were becoming numb from the venom that same blade carried. Of course, the person who wielded that blade was dead, and that knife was tucked securely in Venator’s belt.

There was nothing helpful near him, so Venator pushed against the wall to get momentum going, before dragging himself towards his allies. His steps, usually graceful and liquid, were shuffling, dragging and uncoordinated. In his left hand was a blue lightsaber, which he used to slash at wounded Ombi, too stupid to know they were dead. He hated scavenging, but it needed to be done. One of them might get heroic, and the combined forces of Sadow couldn’t have that.

As he moved, he saw his master by the flickering of orange, signifying Trakata, one of the most classic Sith forms. As an Obelisk, there was a certain distaste in Venator’s mouth concerning that form, but he couldn’t deny how effective it was.

Things were going swimmingly actually, until the damn spiders started dripping from the roof. One of them landed at Venator’s feet, it’s front legs splayed up and out in a threatening gesture. Venator frowned and slashed at it weakly. It hopped back, and then darted at him. It was in a moment of pure luck that he brought the tip of his saber in line with the thing’s leap, causing it to impale itself and then fall away, neatly bisected as it died.

Of course, that was a little one. Teu had tangled with one of the biggest ones there, and she was nursing a broken arm for her trouble. At least Roxas had decided to cover her back as they moved forward, ever forward. It was both a blessing and a curse of them who serve the Sadow name. Once you woke them up, you’d play hell getting them back to sleep.

He drew close enough, finally, to try and make himself heard.

“Boss!” He said, at his highest volume, though it came out more like “Bssss” in a stage whisper.

“Boss!” He said again, looking at the back of Macron’s head as hard as he could, lamenting that his skills in telepathy were near nonexistent. It didn’t work, unfortunately, but after a moment, one of the mad alchemist’s magical murder leaps brought him face to face with his apprentice.

“You look like hell,” Macron giggled, eying the Miralukan assassin up one side and down the other.

Venator nodded, unable to really speak, instead offering the Warlord’s blade as explanation. Macron studied it a short moment, and simultaneously flickered his blade under his arm, impaling an Ombi without much thought.

“You were poisoned, weren’t you?” He asked, almost amused by the situation. He reached for a vial at his belt, and offered Venator that plus an auto injector. “This should fix it, or else it’ll throw you into severe tachycardia and possibly explode your heart. Either way, you’re better off than you are now.”

He didn’t wait for a reply, instead just throwing himself back into the battle. Venator shuffled off, killing more helpless targets, even as he was hitting 15 beats per minute on his heart rate, and there was a rushing in his ears. He loaded the vial into the auto injector, his one arm fumbling with the lack of dexterity, and nearly dropped it. He would have scowled if his facial muscles would have allowed it.

Finally! Venator slipped the vial in, felt the auto injector charge it, and he shoved the needle into his right thigh before hitting the trigger, which itself required the use of the Force to do with adequate pressure. He felt the chemicals flood into his body, and it burned like pure hatred. He howled, muffled by the poison and exhaustion, so it was more a moan, and sunk against the wall.

He used the last of the rapid expansion foam sealant on his fresh injuries, and taped these down as a bandage, grateful at having some feeling back in his arm. He then sat and watched, his lightsaber in one hand, a knife in the other, and waited. He’d level out eventually, and just hoped that nothing truly vicious came for him before this thing was over.

Inside the Ritual Chamber, Inner Sanctum, below the Great Sadow Library
Beneath the catacombs of Ragnos Cathedral, Castle Alabrek
Wastelands of the Forsaken City of Kar Alabrek, Tarthos

His wife was hurt. He could sense that through the bond he had reopened to her. But there was something more, he could sense a great connection between Fremoc and Kano. Their movements were near choreographed, as if the two had been training for years and had done the routine thousands of times prior. Aeratas stayed on the defensive as the two Dark Jedi pushed their energies to their maximum. The High Priest hit the wall to the room, and began to panic. He was trapped with two blades inching ever closer to his body.

Aeratas tried to push the two Templars backwards, but was met by Kano's sapphire lightsaber, holding it steadily over his helmet. Fremoc plunged his emerald lightsaber into the Priest's heart pinning him against the wall. Kano flipped his lightsaber and cut the hands off of Aeratas with the sword still in them, before shoving his blade into the Ekind's Leader as well next to Fremoc's.

Their blades moved as one, with Fremoc's blade going up and Kano's going down. The High Priest fell to the floor in two as the Dark Jedi stood over him. There was only one enemy that remained, one that Methyas had gone after. Everyone else in the Inner Sanctum were moving through the Sadow Library to make sure there was none of the Ekind and Vongspawn remained.

"Go after Methyas, I need to rest," lied Fremoc as he sat down against the wall. Kano only nodded and ran off to find their fellow Dark Jedi. The Templar was far from exhausted, the Sadow Library made him feel near reborn and fully energized. The walls were covered with texts from older members of the former Clan. Some from even Trevarus Caerick and Xanos Zorrixor.

Read us.

"Read who?" whispered Fremoc under his breath.

Follow your senses. The Templar stood and began to walk the halls of the Sadow library, listening for the call. Over here. Fremoc turned to his left entering a row of books, hearing the chant of read us get louder and louder. He finally stopped in front of two books, the Collected Mysteries of Tio Azurd and Words of the Seven Enigmas. He slid both books off the shelves and hid them under his armpit as he began to walk out of the Library. He walked by Trevarus Caerick as he left the Library silently nodding to the Dark Jedi Master. Pepoi saw Caerick's eyes flash quickly before turning back to blue and watched the Templar leave the Library.

Just as he turned the corner to go up to the upper levels of the Ragnos Cathedral, he began running. The two books called to him, wanted him to read them. He knew of a place that he could go for time to himself, time to read the books, to understand them. He turned another corner, and entered the corridor of his former quarters. He punched the code to the door, and entered the old living space. A memory of the past flashed before him, remembering how his son, Thomas, had been standing in the room, practicing his lightsaber skills. He pushed the memory of the past to the side as he sat down cross legged, and placing the two books on the floor.

His mind began to race as he opened the Collected Mysteries of Tio Azurd. Time went on, before he finished reading the book and picked up the Words of the Seven Enigmas. The words in the books confused the Templar as he read through them. Read us...

"I have read you."

Read us.

"I've read you, show me what you mean!"

Read us.

"Teach me! Let me learn from you!" As he said those words, he felt dark energies surround him, and pierce through his body. Only once before had he been around dark side specters, but this time it was different. They hadn't take a physical form. Their voices were inside his head, in his body, in his very essence. The man stayed strong as they consumed him, their knowledge filling his brain, helping him understand the books that were in front of him. They spoke to him of the Marked of the Wanderer. How Tio Azurd was one of the marked, and discovered Antei. How Trevarus Caerick considers himself the Herald of Sorrow and that he was the Final Enigma. But as soon as the Ancients' knowledge had filled him, they had stripped it away and disappeared, leaving the Templar hungry to learn more about the Marked of the Wanderer.

He sat there, begging to through the Force to the Ancients to give him the knowledge they had once given him.

Somewhere beyond seen and unseen,
Within the threads of the Weavery

The chill winds of the Tempered Wastes tore into the naked apprentice’s skin as he climbed over the remains of the latest lost soul he had crossed paths with. This was what his life had amounted to, watching the galaxy pass him by as he forever fought the loneliest of lonely battles, only his Master’s wisdom for comfort as he trudged ever onward, through the dull, grey mists that penetrated him on all sides, unable to see no more than five feet ahead.

Once, battle had been an art, battle had been something savoured. Once, in his hand had he held the elegant weapon of a more civilised age, the symbol of the Jedi Order. Now, battle was nothing more than a way of life. One battle after the next after the next. There was no time to prepare, no time to rest; there was only the endless everlasting war between Sword and Shield.

Long ago, his Master had said how all life begins in darkness, in the embrace of a mother’s womb – and from which light was then born! The Jedi, like the Sith Lords and their Brotherhood, they had all been oblivious to the truth: that their orders did not matter. It was just a shame that it was only at the end when he himself awakened from the blind dogmas that all bar one man lacked the courage to open their eyes and renounce for the lies they were.

‘There is a secret not even the Star Chamber will tell you,’ Trevarus Caerick had once told him, ‘a secret so dangerous it would unmake all that has been built.’ His eyes—all three of them—had flashed with a violet hunger when he whispered the final words, ‘There is no difference between the light and the dark; there is only Will.’

He had not understood the lesson back then for he had still been but an apprentice, whatever title the Jedi or the Sith might have already given him. There was no Mastery in the fickle lies written by fools hungry for the days of empire and their own private kingdoms.

An arm appeared out of the shadows—
[center]* * *[/center]
—he kicked the hundredth body down the newly built mountain of skulls.

He no longer knew how long he had been here; it could have been a few years; it could have been centuries. Heartbeats stretched on for eternities, wars came and went in an instant.

They had denounced him a heretic, but none knew what it really meant to prepare oneself for the final battle that was to come. They called themselves the stewards of the Final Way, building up their iron thrones and their civilisations, but all of it would be washed away in the final darkness to come – when the galaxy would be remade anew. When light would extinguish the darkness.

‘From darkness will come creation,’ said Trevarus Caerick.

He and his Master had sought to be that new creation, that new Will. There was no rite to prepare for it, no magic words to pray before the day of Culmination, no spirits of the dead upon whom to call. There was only Will and the strength to wield it.

Another army came and went, more lost souls to be forgotten at bottom of the mists. From time to time, he saw their faces looking back up at him, staring up from the lightless depths, the horror etched forever on their expressions. Their sorrow might have broken weaker men.

Again, this was what those who called themselves the lords and masters did not grasp. They clung to dreams of brotherhood and family, of order and kin, only to one day discover that it all merely flowed back into the Essence and became one. There were no boundaries, no divisions – there was only the infinite tapestry of interconnections that joined each and everything.

He stared down at one of the faces whose hands clawed at the surface, never to break free. ‘Those who cannot free themselves will suffer most beyond death,’ Trevarus had once said. Looking into the eyes of the man below, no truer truth had ever been uttered. The man faded away again into the depths, joining those countless others warring over temples and libraries, honour and pride, all throwing their souls away over pointless vendettas and petty gains.

Looking up from the forgotten wastes, the Wanderer continued his march onward toward the end. Rituals, orders, brotherhoods, what did any of them matter? They were all nothing but mortal attachments. Empty tokens of an empty shell that eventually faded away.

However, at the Culmination that was to come, nothing else would matter. Only Will.

Note: As I know some people still want to write about some events that occur before the RoS, feel free to regard this as taking place in early 33 ABY – it’s fortunately abstract enough that it could refer to anytime.

Inside the Ritual Chamber, Inner Sanctum, below the Great Sadow Library
Beneath the catacombs of Ragnos Cathedral, Castle Alabrek
Wastelands of the Forsaken City of Kar Alabrek, Tarthos

The young Miraluka had a pit in his chest as he left his bretheren to chase after the Shaper, but it was the only way to get the answers he sought. The wretched Vong simply laughed with her chilling little chuckle as the "blind" man followed her; he was hers to toy with as she saw fit and manipulate. The two were an odd couple on the field of combat, one who could not hear the call of the living Force and one who relied on it for their very well being. This place though, as dark as it were, offered little safe haven for the extragalactic creature who slowly and steadily lured her prey away from his allies; the walls, floors and other various objects within the chamber heavily saturated in the Force from the years, decades and perhaps even centuries of powerful Force users lurking within these very halls and performing their ancient rites. To the young Knight, his supposed hunter was now turned quarry by a blind man that could see her figure very clearly. With a haunting, yet taunting laugh once more the Shaper stopped and spoke with a sultry tone, "We're alone now young Jeedai, no-one to help you have your way with me..."

A smirk simply crossed Methyas' face, this Vong was far too confident in her abilities and he himself had a few tricks up his sleeves. While only Knight in title, the Miraluka had been able to research and study much beyond his rank during his time as Aedile. While unable to access certain knowledge banks of the Brotherhood itself, the House had it's own share of knowledge hidden in tomes and on redundant servers that the Aedile would offer to the Equites and Elders under his care; knowledge that he would partake in from time to time if he could understand it. While only Knight in title, the former Aedile was a Templar in skill; sparring matches with the likes of Fremoc and the others in his House had strengthed his skill with blade and Force, indeed few in his House could state that he was not ready for the title...only that he had not yet earned it. As Methyas leveled Harmony for combat, he knew that this would be his trial and the moment he would define himself as a Templar of House Naga Sadow.

With a sudden venomous snap, the Shaper had an amphistaff in her hand, the creature hissing menacingly as the woman threw herself at the young man's defenses. While his form and skill in Soresu was masterful, the woman had years of experience over him. A few carefully placed strikes tore through his sleeves and pant legs leaving long gashes across his outer thighs and forearms, the pain searing through him as his muscles convulsed and spasmed from the short jolts of electricity the creature emitted. Backpeddling for a moment, Methyas focused and another quick lash from the Amphistaff was directed at him, the creature never stood a chance as the unique shape of Harmony cleaved it in two before continuing towards the Shaper. The woman let out an angered shriek as she narrowly escaped the young man's blade once more, her baby had been slain in her grasp and this Jeedai would pay for it. The two of them each bore many gashes, scrapes and burns from each other's weapons but the Shaper had more tools at her disposal than the Jedi; as she quickly stepped back she flung a series of darts at him, Methyas releasing a burst through the Force to knock the Shaper to the ground unknowingly saving his life from the poison within the unseen projectiles.

Most of the darts struck stone or the various Amphistaves working their way towards their mistress, a task they would never accomplish as the poison quickly set in, a few however struck the Shaper herself as she tumbled to the floor from the seemingly powerful wall of air. A sudden gasp of horror escaping her lungs as the darts slammed into her, pain was not something her caste enjoyed recieving but dispensing. She started to push herself backwards in a almost crab-like scuttle on the floor, trying desprately to escape the Jeedai warrior as he stalked towards her with the tip of his sword bearing down towards her. The effects of the poison would be lessened and far slower on her than the creatures she had created it for, but the pain would still be excruciating; the Jeedai seemed to stop over her frail body before he entered a low crouch over top of her, his sword angled towards her throat as he spoke, "Your breathing betrays you. Fear for your life has consumed you, the heat radiating off your body says it's an internal threat..."
An mixture of a hiss of anger and a cry of pain escaped the Shaper as she reached and beckoned for an Amphistaff or anything nearby she could use upon her assailant, but the Jeedai continued as he placed a hand upon her abdomen and a cooling sensation seemed to flow through her, easing her boiling blood, "I need the name of the planet, where is he hiding?"
There was still plenty of fight in her, especially with whatever the Jeedai was doing for her, she spit in his face before trying to wiggle out from underneath him before stopping as his soothing hand pushed hand against her abdomen, the pressure pushing painfully against one of her organs as the searing pain screamed through her veins once more, his voice rising up menacingly as he stopped the pressure only long enough to wipe her saliva from his face, "I know you've spoken with him or else you wouldn't be toying with me. Which means you know where he is or is heading...." Methyas paused only long enough to apply more pressure on her abdomen, forcing a cry of agony from the Shaper, "...now, where is he?!"

Methyas could feel the presence of Kano behind him as Nal Yin seemed to look at the Mandaloran with distaste but a plead for him to end it. The lack of response irritated the Knight, a forceful push provoked another cry before he swiftly moved from her and tore her from her prone position on the ground to helplessly levitating in the air, the pressure simply on her abdomen was now all across her body as the Knight's voice nearly bellowed his command, "SPEAK!"
The Force itself may not flow through her, but the living Force surrounded everything and flowed endlessly onward, something the Miraluka now used to his advantage; while he could not physically grasp her his healing had sought to sooth her and now the very air around her was being manipulated for his biding. Nal Yin gasped for air as Kano closed in on his ally, a shriek escaping the Shaper as Methyas glanced towards his Mandalorian bretheren, "What is it Kano? How goes the battle?"
The Mandalorian seemed to cast a glance over his shoulder, before he spoke, "Maybe one or two Spiders left but they won't last long...everyone else is dead, except for her. Seems we're waiting on you, Fremoc thought you could use some help."

The silence between them was enough, Kano could see that Methyas didn't need any help, but he didn't want to leave for fear of what the Knight might do. As Methyas shifted his gaze back towards the Shaper, he spotted another strange gold wisp-like tendril between himself and Kano; a barely visible strand that seemed to connect the two like what he had spotted between himself and Fremoc earlier. He shrugged it off for the moment, now was not the time for it. With a violent shout from the Miraluka, the Shaper found herself nearly embedded within the thick walls of the chamber, the stone around her crunching horribly as the pain accross her body seemed to leap past her threshold and a horrible shriek of pain errupted from her core. Methyas stood before her as she opened her eyes, she could feel her life fluid dripping down her body from various places but that soothing cool was once again upon her, as the man spoke once more, "You will feel the cold embrace of death soon and be with your gods, vile creature...give me the name of the planet."
Nal Yin was about to deny the Jeedai her answer when she started to doze off, she could feel death's cold embrace and was happy to see the faint sillouettes of her gods when suddenly everything returned with vivid clarity: the firery excruciating pain, her hot life fluid steaming down her body, the sound of crunch stone and the face of the man controlling her fate. Methyas spoke once more, "I may not be able to return you to perfect health, but right now I'm the one who controls if you live or die. Now, the name."

Fear gripped Nal Yin as her options were lain before her, she knew how these Jeedai operated. If she were to refuse, this Jeedai would keep her alive and give her to their scientists to do experiments on much the same as she had experimented on his kind. If she were to give in.....
She knew her choice, her voice raising up hoarsely from the pressure and devastation to her body, "Alright...I will tell you..."
Methyas leaned in close enough for the Shaper to not have to strain herself to speak, just quiet enough for Kano to not be able to hear what she was telling his ally, before Methyas stepped back and quietly responded, "My thanks, go to your gods in peace..."
With that the Knight quickly ignited his sabre and plunged it deep into her throat before slashing to the right, the blade carving through the stone before Methyas disengaged the saber and returned the hilt to his belt and started towards Kano.

The Mandalorian had never seen his ally like this, speaking just loud enough to ensure Methyas had heard him, "Are you alright? What did she tell you?"
Methyas smiled weakly before it grew into an actual grin and he patted Kano on the shoulder, "I'm perfectly fine my friend, welcome back. She told me exactly where I need to go."
Kano stopped midstep as Methyas kept going, a little frustrated with his friend's responce, "Really? That's it smartass? I'd expect that kind of responce from Fremoc or Manji but...."
The Miraluka simply smiled as he spun about, walking backwards towards the others and interrupted, "We've got a lot to clean up here and our housemates would appreciate your strength, we'll talk about it later."
A frown crossed the Mandalorian's face as he moved quickly to catch his friend, this topic was far from over but the House did have a lot of cleaning to do.

Hidden Chamber, The Bastion
Vigrian Rainforest, Aeotheran

With a sigh, Robert Fett slouched back in the high-backed reading chair and slapped the last sheet of flimsiplast down hard onto the desk. It was impossible—impossible. What he’d read could not—not be true. Gulping, he rolled up his sleeve and looked upon the tattoo:

Omega Three.

This changed everything—or maybe it changed nothing. He didn’t know. He couldn’t know. His entire life—the lives of everybody he had ever known had been turned upside down in the space of a single month. He could not have fought those two assassins more than a few weeks ago, nor locked himself in this abandoned bastion which for some reason had called him its master. He had not understood. It had made no sense.

Now he understood. Now it made sense. But that didn’t mean that he understood why this had happened. His daughter, Cessa, was twelve years old—that’s what the data-stream implied, judging by the celestial movement of the two suns, even if the galactic HoloNet appeared to have been cut off five years back for reasons that were unexplained. What was he supposed to tell her? That she was the offspring of a—a—that her father and mother were—were not real? Or were they real? He didn’t know anymore!

Images of his life flashed before his eyes. The spice mines of Arrakis. The cloudcutters of Coruscant. The immense shipyards of Narg. The permanently sad look that for some reason was always etched on his mother’s face.

Had it all been a lie?

With its usual ethereal sparkle that Robert had by now become accustomed to, the fortress’s strange ‘consciousness’ shimmered into existence on the far side of the table. Bob had not understood the ghostly manifestation’s origins when he first arrived, nor why it had defended him from the two—who at the time he had wrongly believed to be false—Disciples of Sadow. Regardless, the presence had been a constant companion over the past weeks, during which time he had been forced to acquaint himself with over a decade of lost years.

A decade. It scared him to think how long he had been a prisoner of Installation 7—and even the Bastion’s records only filled in a small fraction of the time he and the others had missed. From 18 ABY to 21—and then from 31 to now. That still left an entire decade to find out.

The grey-green spectre nodded its head sorrowfully. ‘Much has happened,’ said the shade of his then-consul, ‘albeit this study’s records,’ it gestured around to take in the forgotten, dust and cobweb-filled library, ‘are incomplete.’ It spoke with that same lofty tone of the facility’s administrator. Robert couldn’t help but grin.

‘I suppose I’ll have to return to the Installation,’ Robert said. ‘The Administrator will want to know the truth.’ The shade of Sith Battlelord Xanos Zorrixor nodded as Robert spoke. ‘It—it will explain a lot, I’m sure.’

‘It indeed does resolve to reason,’ Not-Xanos began, its brow creased in contemplation, ‘that a seer’s blood would prove more susceptible to complications.’ Robert could not be sure whether the technical jargon was the Bastion’s intelligence speaking or a sound replica of Xanos. Truth be told, he doubted there was any difference. He laughed.

‘Thank you,’ Robert said, standing. ‘Your—I mean, the Battlelord’s records have been a great help to me. If you could—please remember to return control of the Bastion to the last man who you had called Keeper. I would not wish to keep the rightful Warriors of Primus Goluud from their home any longer.’

The false shade of Xanos Zorrixor bowed its head and vanished again, leaving Bob alone in the study once more. It was time he headed back to the Nifokalija Mountains—he had been gone far too long, and the Administrator would be needing his help. The mad ones would not be contained much longer. At least now he knew the truth. Now there was no need for games.

Whatever the mad ones said, it was time to end this charade.

‘Cessa, I’m coming home.’

And with that, Omega Three left the hidden library for what would be the last time.

Former Pepoi Quarters
Ragnos Cathedral
Tarthos

Fremoc gathered the two texts and walked out of the burnt room. He needed to head back to Mucenic, to his home where the entire campaign had begun. He reached out into the Force, and tapped the minds of Teu, Kano, Methyas, and Araxis. Each were on edge when he entered their mind, but calmed when they sensed it was him. Their meld that they had established throughout the campaign made it far easier for the five to create a link.

I'm going to Mucenic to pack my things. Come when you all can, said Fremoc through their connection before shutting his mind to them. He walked to a waiting gunship, where he informed the pilot of their destination of Mucenic. The gunship lifted off the ground as soon as Fremoc sat in the open cargo hold, and sped towards the home he had created for his family there.

Within the hour, the gunship landed outside the small walls of Mucenic, allowing Fremoc to step off and onto the ground before lifting off. The tranquil Monastery still had the aroma of battle in the air, while the bodies from mere days before had been removed to a far away hill by the members of DSOG. The monks and other civilians had begun their lives once more in the monastery, despite the scars of bombs from Tie Bombers scorched on the mountain side and the foot prints of thousands of troops that had trampled the meadow outside the walls. The sounds of laughter filled his ears as children ran around playing, in the town center. Walking through the monastery, monks and some women would stop and bow to the Templar, some even thanked him for stopping the assault on their homes. He felt like he didn’t deserve their thanks, especially after bombarding Green Sector. He felt he needed to be incarcerated, locked behind bars away from the people of Mucenic. He finally turned into the home where he lived to find his daughter Darra walking around while his son, Thomas, sat watching using the Force to make sure she didn’t fall or hurt herself. Bandit brought his head up from his curled up position to look at the man entering the house before nestling it back down to go back on sleeping.

“So much for a guard dog you are,” grumbled Fremoc towards the Vornskyr.

“Dad!” yelled Thomas as he leapt from the floor to give his father a hug.

“Da da,” said Darra from her standing position on the floor. Fremoc crouched down and scooped her up in his big arms before walking into the master bedroom that Fremoc and Teu shared. He dropped the two texts onto the bed while still holding Darra, who had wrapped her one arm around his neck and was watching where they were going.

“I’m only home for a little while, because I’m going into exile from Tarthos and all of the Orian System for a while.”

“Why dad?”

“Because I did something that is near unforgivable.”

“What do you need?”

“I need my AWOL bag, demo kit, first aid kit, rifle, knives and food for 4 weeks.” Thomas nodded as he began laying the equipment on the bed, as his father lifted Darra up in the air by the Force before letting her fall slowly back into his arms. He softly placed Darra on the bed as he sorted out the gear, and placed it in his bag with the two texts he stole from the Sadow Library in the middle of it all. He could feel his wife’s presence getting closer, as well as Kano, Methyas, and Araxis. The Templar sighed as he slung the bag on and picked up Darra once more. Thomas followed his father and Darra out the door, as Teu with the other three men tailing her, her arm in a sling after being broken. Darra immediately started crying for her mother and began reaching out for her. Fremoc gave the child over to Teu, before kissing her softly on the lips. Kano behind the couple grunted to announce their presence as well.

“Give me a break, I’m not going to get that for a while,” said Fremoc.

“Well, Trevarus is waiting for you in the Hidden Hangars with a shuttle,” said the Mandalorian Templar. Fremoc only nodded and began to walk towards the entrance to the Hidden Hangars, secretly messaging Macron about one last thing before he officially went on exile. The group was quiet as they entered the Hidden Hangars, Teu was biting back tears as they entered. Trevarus’ eyes pierced into Fremoc’s at the same time the Dark Jedi Master’s voice filled his head, Say good-bye to them now, and have them leave. For where you are going, they cannot hear.

Fremoc stopped and turned towards them the group. Teu’s eyes turned glassy as she knew what was going to come. “This is it. Methyas, I’ve got one last surprise for you.” He pulled out a spare datapad with a copy of the recommendation for his promotion. “I, along with the approval of Macron and Korras, hereby am promoting you to the rank of Obelisk Templar.” Methyas’ jaw dropped as he took the spare datapad. Fremoc then took his lightsaber that he had been using since he was promoted to Templar, and gave it to his son, Thomas. “Use it well, and protect your sister no matter what.” Araxis gave his former master a nod and a firm handshake before Fremoc looked over at Kano, “Protect her,” he pointed at his wife Teu, “You are her bodyguard, and I’m trusting you to make sure nothing happens to her.”

“Nothing will touch her, master.”

Fremoc came to his wife and kissed her once more, longer than he did in front of their house before breaking the kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you too, be safe,” she said as the group turned and left the hangar. Her sobs were more audible as she left, and nearly made Fremoc cry himself before turning towards Trevarus and walking towards him.

“Such a grand show there,” Trevarus said out loud. The Hangar was completely empty except for one shuttle. “To begin your exile, I’m going to send you to the Kathol Rift, where a derelict Nebulon-class Frigate was sighted some cycles ago. Investigate it. Once you’re done, you’re free to move to wherever you wish to go except here.”

Fremoc nodded and moved towards the entrance ramp before dropping his bag in the co-pilot seat. He quickly started the engines and lifted the shuttle, breaking through the waterfalls as he sped into space. As he got away from the planet, he punched in the coordinates and entered hyperspace.

Marakith
Seng Karash Orbbit
Two weeks after the events on Tarthos

Soolin paused for a second smoothing down here robes, and ran a hand through her short dark hair, then pressed the door button. A second later it slid open revealing the simple chamber inside. "Come in," a voice told her. She entered and regarded the robed figure sat in a simple armchair in the corner.
"You sent for me Battlelord?"
"Have a seat," he told her and suprised by the informality she walked over and sat opposite him. He drew back his hood to reveal his scarred features and looked at her intently. "I would congratulate you on your promotion to Priestess."
"Thank you Battlelord," she replied simply. She was unsure what this was about. Following his abrupt resignation as Rollmaster the Sith had withdrawn himself and hadn't been seen around the Skyhook. She was curious why.
"I have watched your career with interest Soolin," he told her, "you obtained the rank pf Knight remarkably quickly for one so young, and without a Master to guide you. Your progress is pleasing. In addition you have been an exceptional agent for the Clan, Tsainetomo and Dyrra spoke highly of your services behind the scenes in the city below, as did Jade Sadow during the C.A.R.E infiltration. You have served well."
"I have always sought to fulfill my assignments quickly and efficiently Batttlelord."
"You have." He turned as Senth entered, the DAC carrying a tray with two glasses of red wine and placed them on the table.. Malisane nodded and the commando left them. He took a glass and Soolin did likelwise. "I have noticed that you seem to have few relationships in the Clan Soolin."
She took a sip, "Battelord?"
"According to your file you never sought a master, never seemed interested in joining any of the families, and appear to have no particular close friendships with any member."
She shrugged. "I have always considered myself part of a larger entity within my bretheren Battlelord, and have sought advice where needed and it has been forthcoming. That has always seemed enough."
He nodded. "I was much the same. For that reason you can be of use to me Soolin."

She waited curiously for him to continue. He did so. "What I am about to tell you is highly secret Soolin, and you can imagine the penalties for not respecting that, Do you understand?"
She nodded, feeling a shiver of fear she quickly supressed. She didn't want to know the penalties. "I understand."
He paused. "This Clan has faced many threats Soolin over the years since I joined and before, and we have dealt with each one adequatley. We do however tend to be reactive rather than proactive, this makes us vunerable. One day maybe a threat will come along we will not be able to react to in time, and we will loose much, perhaps everythiing. This is of course unacceptable."
"Of course Battelord,." She still had no idea what he was talking about.
"So we must look for patterns. Seemingly isolated events that have links which however tenuous point to something larger. Eventually if we have enough questions we will find an answer. I believe one such pattern is begining to form, though I believe we are far from the answer."
She frowned. "Could you be a little more specific.
He nodded. "You are aware of the attempt to destabilise the Clan by the Underworld, the band of scum we wiped out on Refuge?"
She nodded. "Yes Battlelord. Unfortunatley I had duties here to attend and was unable to join the mission."
"It matters not. You are also aware of the mutations and chaos several years ago on the island resort of Lor Zatean. What you will not know because we covered it up is that Macron Sadow traced the source of the mutation to an manufactured biological agent someone planted in the water supply. The biological agent was of a complexity he has never encountered before."
She frowned. "I can understand why that was kept a secret."
"You will be interested to note then that a simular DNA signature to the mutated creatures was found in blood samples left by the vastly more powerful creature we encountered recentlyy in the Aeotheran jungle. The one we seemed unable to kill. and now have my Sith Ewoks attempting to contain. Oddly enough a simular DNA signature was found in the remains of the renegade Deliverance "
"Finally the attempt to destabilise the Dlarit Corporation by Dastari and Deliverance, an entire setup created under the collective noses of our intelligence services that unsettles me."
"So a pattern has emerged?"
"Someone or more likely a collective is targetting us, However though they inadvertently left us the pattern we know little beyond that, and are far from a solution that will allow us to see the whole. We have one lead though. The setup on Refuge and likely activites here were supplied by an innocent looking freight company called the Aridas Corporation They are a simple organisation on the surface, a dozen medium sized freighers, only commercial contracts and they pay their taxes promptly to the governments of the systems they are based on. However they are a place to start."
"Sounds sensible," she replied. "I do not see why you are tellng me this however?"

He stood suddenly, and strode over to study a simple portrait on the wall depicting Usharak Keep on Kangaras. "We have another threat closer to home Soolin which disturbs me almost as much. Within hours of the events on Lor Zatean Deliverance's head was stolen from the quarters of our former Consul on Marakith, by someone who was able to gain access to his quarters and then smuggle it off the Skyhook. You can imagine he was imensely displeased We also know that while most of the Clan was busy on Tarthos the Cetoa cloning facility on Gamuslag was destroyed and my investigation leads to an infiltrator who covered his or her tracks. Finally my attempts to trace deliveries by the Aridas Corporation to Seng Karash were thwarted by wiping of records from the databanks by one of the few access codes high enough to do so, my own, which certainly ought to be impossible."
She frowned. "You believe we have an infiltrator?"
"I do."
She took a deep breath. Did he suspect her? If so she would not leave alive. "Who?"
"I do not know. I have spent a great deal of time over the past week profiling members and no one fits. You will be pleased to know you scored exceptionally lowly on the list of possible suspects due to your lack of any affiliation or alliances, which is why I am talking to you, I need an agent, someone who has demonstatied an ability for working behind the scenes and who though you keep yourself aloof alos appears to get on well with most of the other members and is thought highly of. For this reason you may be successful where I have not been. Study your fellow members and note any strange behaviour, beyond the strange behaviour of your average dark jedi at least."
She nodded. "Very well."
"We will speak later. You will speak of this to no one. As I said before the penalties for betrayal will be severe, more severe than perhaps you can imagine."
She took a deep breath. "I understand."
"Good."

Antechamber, Temple of the Void
Sepros, Orian System, Esstran Sector

Thousands of corusca gems glistened along the hijarna and obsidian walls of the resurrected Temple of the Old Ones which had been rechristened for the Void by its newest master. The echoes of the now extinct Ekindu race sung out in disharmony, having finally joined their Ombian predecessors in the eternal mists beyond both that which was seen and unseen.

Eosara Goratis felt a cold chill run up his spine as he approached the shimmering vortex of nothingness at the heart of the chamber. As he neared, the faces of the countless thousands drowned within its depths rose to the surface, their begging mouths wide with silent screams.

‘The exile brings news from Triton,’ Eosara said to the man floating in the sphere of dark energies, ‘he should be at the outskirts of the Rift inside the week.’ A sneer formed on the giant majordomo’s lips. ‘That is, if the remnants of the Minos Cluster do not delay him.’

The man suspended within the vortex turned his three eyes upon Eosara. ‘Christine informs me,’ Trevarus began, ‘that the shuttle in the Moring Asteroid Plane was a dead end.’ The surface of the sphere rippled, the countless faces cascading like a waterfall as the Dragon drifted down to the surface of the midnight-lit chamber, his limbs unfolding like the arms of a newborn as it emerged from the embrace of its mother’s womb for the very first time. His feet touched the floor, and he stepped out into the antechamber—black tendrils trailing after him as if many sets of hands trying to draw him back inside—or perhaps hoping to be pulled outside to freedom. ‘That leaves the Auspicious.’

Eosara nodded solemnly. That meant the Unknown Regions. ‘I shall have the Sanguinus prepped should the exile’s mission prove unsuccessful, my lord.’ Eosara had hoped it would not be necessary, but knowing Trevarus as well as he did ‘hope’ was never a consideration. ‘Epsilon will be flight ready should the need arise.’ Eosara was not a timid man; he had stared death in the face a hundred times and would likely a hundred more. Still, he did not exactly relish a return to the galaxy’s outback—not after what had happened to Alpha and Beta Cabals. Trevarus had been playing this galactic game of cat-and-mouse for too long.

And, moreover, Eosara hated not knowing what he was being sent to find. ‘You will know when you see it,’ Trevarus said, interrupting his thoughts. Eosara cursed back—he hated it when the man did that! Man? Trevarus’s mind echoed back mockingly, You flatter me with your simplicity, old friend.

Shrugging, Eosara nodded respectfully at his master before he about-faced, marching briskly back out of the otherwise still abandoned temple. For reasons that escaped Eosara, the structure seemed to still be held a taboo to everyone other than Caerick himself. ‘Man—Dragon—Ascendant,’ muttered Eosara under his breath as he passed under the immense wroshyr gates, ‘before this day is over, Trev, you’ll probably be calling yourself God.’

Don’t I already? a voice laughed back inside Eosara’s head.

- Tarthos
- A day after the events at the Cathedral

The world was tinted an awful pink for most of the residents of the medical ward, as they floated in the tanks of bacta. For one of those residents though, it was more the annoyance of having the viscous fluid gummed up inside of his empty eye sockets. He could see the others floating in their tanks, many of them sedated, many others in hibernation trances. Venator was just happy the 2-1B droids here were able to recognize the vital signs of a force user within a trance, so he wasn’t doped to the gills like some of the other poor saps in the ward.

Speaking of one of the 2-1B’s, one of them approached his tank, and tapped the intercom.

“Sir, you have a Hypercom transmission, are you feeling well enough to accept this?” It said in it’s mechanical tone, preprogrammed to sound soothing and caring. Very few, if any here, cared.

As far as it went, he was actually feeling pretty well ok. They had to actually open him up to pull out all the sealant he’d used to close his wounds, as well as to remove the dead infected tissue. From there, he’d soaked in bacta until the chemical cocktail Macron had given him had metabolized, as well as the remaining poison. He’d mostly just been floating to take care of the surgical wounds.

Venator nodded to the droid, and watched it patch the transmission through to his breath mask. Almost immediately, the mastoid receiver in the mask keyed up, tuning the Miraluka’s skull into the speaker for his caller’s voice.

“Ven, you alive?” Came from the caller. Across the Hypercom net, it was hard to tell who it was making the call. “It’s Fremoc.”

“I’ll fight another day,” Venator said plainly, feeling more and more disgusted at the humidity in the breath mask. “I felt you leaving earlier. Everything ok?”

“Not really, but that’s not important. I need a favor from you.” Fremoc said, not so much asking but more stating a point.

“Shoot.” Venator replied as he absently kicked his legs to get better blood flow to them.

“I’ve got Kano, Araxis, and Methyas looking after Teu and my kids, but I want to keep a less public eye on things. I’ve got no doubt they’ll be safe, but if I’m wrong, I want to be covered.” the human man said, his voice carrying controlled concern. “I need your account routing number to deposit some money for this.”

“Don’t worry about the money. I don’t even have an account. I just make, borrow or steal what I need.” Venator replied. “We’re all Sadow anyways, all you had to do was ask.”

“Thanks Ven. Just keep it quiet. I don’t want everyone thinking I don’t trust them, but…”

“It’s the rest of the galaxy you don’t trust.” Venator replied, finishing Fremoc’s statement. “Don’t worry, it’s their job, I’ll just make sure I’ve got their backs.”

“Good. Fremoc out.” The Obelisk equite said, and terminated the transmission.

The 2-1B moved back towards Venator’s tank. The Miraluka cut him off and pointed up to the hatch, signaling he wanted out. The droid checked his vitals on the screen and opened up the hatch. It was about damn time for this. Venator kicked himself up, pulling off the breath mask as soon as his head cleared, taking in a deep breath of non-canned air.

A bothan medical tech grabbed a hose once Venator hopped down from the tank, and began spraying him off, a task made a bit more onerous by the sheer amount of hair on his head. Once that was finished, he took the hose from her, dialed down the pressure a good deal, and hosed his sockets out. He, like many Miraluka, hated this more than anything. Despite not having eyes, the interior socket walls were still as sensitive as if he did, so even gentle pressure hurt. He scowled away the chilling ache and dried himself off when he was done.

He was just finished getting dressed when he felt a most familiar presence. A chill ran up his spine out of reflex, causing the tribal spider tattoo that covered his back, arms, and legs, to shiver of it’s own accord. Nonetheless, he pulled the plain shirt on, and turned to face his Master.

“You’re alive,” Macron said with a giggle. “This is good.”

“Ain’t found a way to kill me yet boss.” Venator replied as he pulled on his boots. “What can I do for you?”

“Occasionally, Mirado, a master can show some concern for their apprentices.” Macron said sourly, using Venator‘s given name on purpose and sounding a bit like a scolding parent.

“Master, I’ll probably have to kill three people in self defense before I leave the medical facility.” Venator said plainly, clipping his lightsaber to his belt.

“You are learning, my apprentice!” Macron said, sounding pleased. “I do need something from you.” When his Miraluka learner remained quiet, the mad Sith continued. “I require a list of things, and with Markosian city in near ruins, you will have to go to Nar Shadda to acquire them. Blinky will accompany you, to ensure you’re receiving the correct things.”

“Am I representing the Iron Throne, or am I just another spacer?” Venator asked as he stood up and stretched.

“The Iron Throne should do I imagine. This isn’t clandestine, you’re just doing my grocery shopping, as it were.” Macron said. “Keep your lightsaber handy. The Hutts still think they’re some kind of power in this galaxy. It wouldn’t do to let them keep thinking it.”

“As you wish my master.” Venator said, and excused himself.

Once out of the medical facility, he took a swoop and made his way back to his quartering in the old Consul’s apartments on Mucenic. He ditched the throwaway clothes from the medical facility, and threw on more comfortable and familiar clothes before arming himself with his blades. He was going to have to hunt a nexu for another coat. He might be able to get a lead on that while on Nar Shadda.

Haulage Depot, Aridas Corporation Warehouse
Ession, Lucaya System, Corporate Sector

It was night on Ession and the sky above Ession City was a never-ending show of colour as an array of private transports and commercial freighters whizzed through the ecumenopolis in a vibrant sea of blues and greens, reds and oranges, yellows and purples. Situated at the hub of the Shaltin Tunnels and Lucaya Cross hyperlanes, it was the city that never slept; in its glory days, back before Ession sold itself to Warlord Zsinj during the Galactic Civil War, some had said Ession had been a rival to Coruscant itself.

Linora leant on the barrier at the edge of the landing platform and gazed out upon the night sky. She’d just finished a meeting with Councillor Five and was now waiting for an air taxi to take her back to the residential district for the night. Footsteps neared behind.

‘Linora!’ It was Rundo. Linora swallowed a groan and turned round.

‘Rundo, hi,’ she said but didn’t elaborate. Were she not used to this, the disappointment on his face would have made her laugh—but she was too good an agent for that. Nevertheless, there were limits, and the lecherous advances of the lowly ground-crewman was one of them. It was not necessarily that he was unattractive; Lenora surmised that he probably was judging by the number of women he bedded on a regular basis—it was simply: he was Gran.

Rundo stopped—far too close for the Zeltron’s comfort—and gave her a wide smile, which for a three-eyed horse-faced Gran could have challenged a bantha for the size of his teeth. ‘So, Maxx tells me you’re not doing anything tonight...?’ Rundo asked suggestively.

Agent Fifty-Two sighed and shook her head. It served her right for being a Zeltron—you always got stereotyped a certain way no matter what you did. And it was especially bad for her, with constantly having to throw out pheromones to carry out her mission. But that was just part of being an employee of Aridas. Forcing a sweet smile, she filled the air with a mist of sympathy to soften the blow—not that Rundo hadn’t tried this before—many times. ‘Sorry, Rondy, honey,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a business trip offworld early tomorrow morning, so was hoping for an early night.’ She tilted her head and did her best to look disappointed.

Rundo frowned for a moment as the pheromones did their work—it didn’t take long—the drugs the corporation had been supplying her seemed to be doing the trick in boosting her natural abilities; sometimes she wondered what Aridas’s scientists couldn’t do—finally, the Gran’s eyes dropped away to the cityscape outside the hangar. ‘No worry,’ he said, clearly trying to pretend that he wasn’t bothered about being turned down—again, ‘some other time, yeah?’

Inside, Lenora made another groan. ‘Sure!’ she said perkily and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Rundo’s surprised registered on his face, however he quickly hid it again. Giving her a final quick smile, the Gran turned and disappeared back into the bays of parked transport haulers. When he was gone, Agent Fifty-Two turned back to the railing before checking her chrono—anytime now. It hadn’t been a lie—she needed to get a decent night before the next day’s challenges. While life on Ession may have been dull, her new mission would call on all of her skills and it didn’t do to be unprepared—after all, if it wasn’t for the hard work of the employees of Aridas, who else would there be to bring to the people of the galaxy the next enlightenment? Tomorrow would be a long day—but in the end it would all be worthwhile.

Agent Fifty-Two smiled as her air taxi pulled into the depot before she headed home.

Kathol Rift
Shuttle Wanderer

Entering the Rift was troubling to say the least, it was pure luck along with aid of the Force had Fremoc been able to pass through it. The vibrant colors mystified the Templar, he thought that such a display would only be able to seen in the ultraviolet spectrum. The occasional burst of red or blue would fill the area as the Force guided Fremoc through the vacuum. His mind strained to keep himself focused as eventually reached a Nebulon-B Frigate.

“This must be it,” Fremoc said aloud. His hands moved over the controls, slowing the vehicle down even further from its already slow peed. He turned the flood lights that were attached to the front of the shuttle to allow him to see the hull. “An abandoned Nebulon-B... Drifting in space...” He maneuvered the shuttle along the hull, looking for any battle scarring, or pieces of the hull missing. The ship seemed to be completely unharmed, as he finished his scan of the hull. The fact that it was drifting lifeless made the Templar wonder what exactly was going on. He reached out with the Force looking for any life but found it completely void of any life presence. “That’s... odd...”

He had no other choice but to board the vessel, to figure out what exactly was wrong with the frigate. Fremoc piloted the shuttle closer to the bridge of the vessel, and rested it on the nearest airlock, before beginning the docking procedures. The Templar moved to the aft of the cockpit, grabbing his two pistols and assault rifle, as well as his first aid kit and demolitions kit. Finally he pulled his robe over his shoulders and wrapped it in such a way to cover his mouth and nose before opening the air lock between the two ships. He brought the rifle up to aim down the sights like his training had taught him before kicking the airlock’s door wide open, seamlessly entering at the same time. The corridor was empty and dim as the Templar moved his way silently and slowly towards the main doors.

“Hee hee hee,” giggled a child. The former commando whipped around, and stared blankly at an empty corridor.

“Who’s there?” yelled Fremoc. The silence was deafening as no response came. “Hello?” Nothing.

He turned around slowly, making sure he took in his surrounding accordingly. He turned the corner to the metal doors that separated the corridor and the bridge, and pressed the open button. The doors moved slowly, and then stopped. He depressed the open button harder, but the doors still didn’t move. Fremoc reached into his demolitions kit, and pulled out a shaped charge, before placing it on the door. Standing back, he depressed the firing mechanism, blowing a hole in the door large enough for Fremoc to walk into. He took one step into the hole, before he heard the child giggle again from behind him. The Templar rose his rifle and turned on the mounted flashlight, illuminating the entire area. Nothing. What is going on in this place? he thought to himself.

The bridge was completely black. No instruments were running, no lights except for the unusual display of lights from the Kathol Rift. Holding his rifle at the hip, with the flashlight still turned on, he began to see the remains of the crew. He got closer to the nearest body. There was no flesh, no organs, just a skeleton and its clothing that it had on before it had died. He began moving to the front of the bridge looking at every body that remained, finding each to be a skeleton of the person that had been.

What is seriously going on here? Is this place contaminated? Radiation? Airborne? Oh god, do I have it now that I’m on here? I need to leave this place now.

He started to move back towards hole he had created. He wanted to get off the ship before he’d suffer the same fate. The child giggled again at the front of the bridge as he was about to step through the hole, and turned around. He looked straight into the skull of the vessel’s Captain. Without even thinking, Fremoc pulled the trigger on his weapon, firing the entire clip into the Captain’s skeleton. The Templar dove through the hole, and turned again as he quickly reloaded, firing more energy into the skeleton. Each shot went through the fabric of the clothing, leaving no burn marks, and wound up hitting the plasteel windows. It wasn’t until the end of the second clip did the plasteel finally broke, sucking out all the pressure in the bridge, along with the skeletal remains of the bridge crew. The main door started to rip open even more, causing the vacuum’s pull on Fremoc to become even greater. After mere seconds of the plasteel window being blown out, a heavier set of doors emerged from the sides of the corridor to close off access to the bridge, and air pressure built again.

Fremoc ran to the end of the corridor and through the airlock, shutting the shuttle’s door quickly, and disengaged the locking mechanisms. He wanted to get away from the Nebulon frigate, as far and as fast as possible.

Space
Shuttle Wanderer

The trip out of the Kathol Rift, was more harrowing than he had expected considering he was going much faster than on his way in. There was a lot of cursing as he hit an object, or two, or three. Once he was out he immediately hit hyperspace and travelled away from the Rift, for a few moments before exiting again in the middle of nowhere. Panic was still in his mind as he went to the shuttle’s medical bay and quickly ran some tests, making sure he was uncontaminated by his time on the Nebulon-B frigate. Each test came out negative, allowing the Pepoi to breathe a sigh of relief.

He moved to the communications terminal on the shuttle and depressed the button to call Trevarus. The communication took some time to connect as he had set it up to bounce off of several relays.

“My Lord, I have returned from the Rift,” said Fremoc.

“Report what you found.”

“I found the ship you were looking for, there where no signs of battle on the outside of them ship, no scorch marks or explosions. Inside the vessel, I found the crew. All were dead. The only thing left of them was their skeletons. And...” The Templar’s voice drifted off.

“And what child?”

“One of the bodies tried to attack me. I wound up causing the plasteel on the bridge to blow out, sending the bridge crew’s bodies into the void.”

“Interesting report. I have a new task for you. There’s another Fragment of Ombus out there, as well as the Codex Vocatus. I heard Ossus was a good place find such artifacts. Retrieve those items for me.”

“It will be done my lord.” With that the communication call ended. “I have one stop I must do for myself first."

Cell Block R118, Cenota Facility
Gamuslag, Sepros Orbit, Orian System

Four years, five months, twenty-three days, twelve hours, fifteen minutes and counting...
Four years, five months, twenty-three days, twelve hours, sixteen minutes and counting...

Scratches covered Cell R118 where the days, weeks, months and years had been dutifully clawed onto the surface of the otherwise impervious neuranium walls. In places—in many places—the date and time had been scrawled atop previous dates and times—which had themselves been scrawled atop others still. Prisoner 3327, however, did not worry about such minor trivialities. You see, he couldn’t—because there was no light in Cell R118. Not now; not ever. Not since the door had been sealed four and a half years ago.

Prisoner 3327’s name was Vallen’dere. The Fosh who had once served the Disciples of the Lord Astronicus Sadow with the utmost valour and commitment. Unlike many, Vallen’s loyalty had been unbroken—untainted by the fickle struggles for power between feuding elders or families or the lust for power that so many wayward journeymen always craved. That was why he had chosen to become the Clan’s envoy, to operate in the shadows, distant from the petty squabbles and vendettas that plagued his fellow brethren. He had known the true path to mastery was not in teamwork and comradeship but in isolation and private study.

He screeched loudly when he tore out a fresh feather from his bare belly. Even though he could not see, he felt the warm blood trickle down the folds in his frail skin. It seeped down under his wings, running between his legs before dripping down his thigh onto his left claw.

With the feather, he resumed scribbling:

Four years, five months, twenty-three days, twelve hours, twenty minutes and counting...

Valdere winced as he etched the numbers into the floor. The pain was a reminder he still lived—though he no longer knew if it was a welcome one or not. Time was all he had left in this lifeless hole, trapped in the high security wing of the Cenota Facility on the wasteland moon of Sepros—not even the neuranium kept out the stench of the toxins which had once been discarded across the planetoid’s surface to create the poison lakes that were now legend. Oh what he would give to bathe in them—truly! To feel the burn of acid erode what was left of his flesh-plucked-bare! Freedom! Freedom and death! It was a release he longed for! To surrender to the Void and declare it his true mistress! That was the suffering they denied him!

And for what? A crime he did not commit!

Like a fool, the young Fosh had thrown himself in with the future betrayer—had aided in the sabotage of Dajorra! But was that not the teaching of the Brotherhood? The way of the dark side? The Betrayer had said so. The Betrayer had convinced him to hand the Arconans’ home to the Far Outsiders on a silver plate. So he had. And it had been monstrous. Watching the hideous organic ships of the Yuuzhan Vong vomit their slime across Selen’s innocents.

How Vallen relished to do the same to the one he had oh so briefly seen as ‘master’.

Sadly, no matter how much the Fosh may have wished for these things, they would never happen—for he could not even think to desire them. His mind—his pneuma—had been lost longer ago than even his crude carvings recorded. For in the darkness, in the cold nothingness of the void, Vallen’dere had fallen to madness, surrendering all that remained to the phantoms beyond. In his cell, they whispered to him. Gave him comfort. Soothed him when all else had abandoned him to his fate; to die alone, with nothing left to dream. In a way, perhaps he had—perhaps this was what death—true death—really was?

Again, he did not know—but then, he was beyond knowing.

The ghosts of the void tittered in the back of the naked and bloodied avian’s mind...

Four years, five months, twenty-three days, twelve hours, thirty minutes and counting...

Temple of the Void
Sepros
Domain of House Naga Sadow


He sat on the floor, legs crossed in a meditative position, two eyes closed yet one open. The Oracle swam in the depths of the Weavery, seeking insight. He dove deeper, feeling the hesitation and horror of Fremoc Pepoi. This was good. The young one would travel far, see much, and die a hundred times. Then would he begin to understand.

Yet, in the Temple Trevarus was restless in his meditation. He craved insight, and the Weavery was blinding him. As if a hand from beyond the void was clouding his vision. Not wanting to be found.

His communicator chirped, and when he had received the report, everything became clear. He knew.

Words revealed his emotions, his goals, he dialed a particular signal: "Eosara, ready the Sanguinus, and head to the last known sight of the Auspicious. He is there. "

"Who is there, Trev?" Eosara answered in blue-white holographic light.

"Never mind. Disable the ship if you can, blast out its engines."

"A CR90 Corvette agaist a star destroyer?"

"Do what you must. My intuition tells me the ship is unmanned."

"Then how is it jumping around wild space?"

"You'll understand later. Find that ship. Take the Oraculus Crystal with you... if it shines blood, you have found what I seek"

"As you command, Lord Caerick. Eosara out."

Trevarus sat back on his haunches, projecting his will into the ether, he craved answers, but expected none. All three eyes opened for the space a moment, violet glows filling the chamber.



CR 90 Corvette Sanguinus
Flagship of Trevarus Sadow
Wild Space
Denaolian Asteroid Field


The craft bucked under her hands as its shields deflected an impact from a massive chunk of space rock. Its captain swore through pursed lips as she deftly manuvered her ship. Behind her stood the grim mountain that was Eosara Goratis.

"This is bloody crazy, even for him!" Christine shouted, admirably juking the ship past another asteroid. "Why are we out here?"

"You know better than to question his motives." Eosara grunted. "We just do a job."

Breathless, Eosara shouted, "There is is!"

Through the viewport, they watched the massive hull of a Rejuvenator-class Star Destroyer, appear in swift motion. Yet almost as quickly, its docks opened and trash spewed out, before it shimmered and vanished into hyperspace.

"I'm going down to the receiving bay, tractor what you can of that trash in." Eosara said.

The Oraculus crystal had already become bloodshine before he even stepped through the airlock. He knew what it meant. A dozen score of bodies were frozen into a cube by space. They had suffered a violent death at the hands of a darksider. Bodies ripped apart by forces unseen, that could not be fought against. Eosara grimaced.

Yet he began his report to Trevarus anyway.


Temple of the Void
Sepros
Domain of House Naga Sadow


"We found what you seek." Eosara's image reported. "It dumped trash, and hypered out as fast as we could run an indent check."

"And the result?" Trevarus asked cooly.

"RSD Auspicious, flagship of some Jedi Master."

"Do you have an exit vector?"

"Yes."

"Good. Come back, and we'll venture forth."

- Tarthos
- Three days after Venator’s return from Nar Shadda

“Venator,” Macron giggled as he sat in front of his personal computer. “I have need of you. Come quickly.”

“My master?” Venator said as he picked his way through the lab/office, filled with all manner of flora and fauna, all of it mutated beyond even extreme need and into the level of unwholesome. He’d actually been in the room the whole time, sitting off to the side, pondering a small tree which bore a strange fruit. He’d been racking his brain trying to figure out if the plant was carnivorous, poisonous, or there for decoration. The summons was actually a relief from trying to decide.

“I need you to go into the city. There’s somebody there I want you to find.” Macron said, finally turning to face his Miralukan apprentice. He was absently petting what looked like some kind of ferret thing, but it didn’t look happy with the attention.

“Master, does it entertain you to send a blind man after people?” Venator said, not at all tired of the job, just amused by the situation. It had never failed to amuse him really.

“You’re still here?” Macron asked, looking back at Venator. “You have everything you need in your quarters, get to it. Aisha will fill you in on the rest.”

“Yes master,” Venator said and excused himself silently from Macron’s lab. Just as carefully as he’d approached, he left, and made a beeline for his quarters. Standing outside, Aisha was waiting with a small holocomm unit.

“Here you go,” Aisha said as she handed it to him. “The Master just wants her scouted, nothing else. If you have to make contact, make it short and sweet.” She said as she sashayed away, hips swinging. Venator paused to watch her go for a moment before entering his quarters.

It was dark inside, sparsely furnished, and with a distinct lack of decoration. It’s not because Venator didn’t care, but it’s not like he could actually see a painting, and he didn’t need lights to see anything at all. He sat on his bed and activated the holocomm unit.

Immediately it sprang to life, showing a miniature hologram model of his target. Now this, this he could see, and since the image was a recording and not a transmission, he could dial up the detail to a very fine level.

And a fine level it was. She was curvy in just the right places, the clothes she was wearing when the holograph was taken didn’t do much to hide it either. Her hair was braided, and about as long as he wore his, only hers twisted a serpentine curve down her spine, the tip ending at the top of her behind like it was pointing to draw attention.

“Venator,” The recording on the Holocomm unit said once he’d activated the message. “Your target is known as Masika. She’s been seen in the city, last in a nightclub known as the Black Nebula, working as a singer for a jazz band. She is Zeltron, so show utmost caution if you must confront her, as her species is known for pheremone control and emotional projection.”

While the recording spoke, Venator was undoing the braids in his hair, letting each of them loose before taking the time to brush his extremely long hair out. This itself took a while, but he’d need clothing that didn’t scream Brotherhood enforcer or special operations personnel, and the tight braids he wore were certainly memorable, considering the unique pattern he kept them in.

He stripped and stepped into the small shower stall in his equally small washroom, and washed quickly, actually taking the time to use scented soap and shampoo. Generally, he preferred a sonic shower to just vibrate the dirt off of himself, but again, maintaining the disguise was necessary. He did use the sonic function to dry quickly however, taking more time to brush his hair to prevent frizzing.

Stepping out of the washroom, he opened his closet, and selected an ottegan silk suit, which the tailor had assured him (at knifepoint) was solid black. He dressed quickly, frowning at the low cut hard soled shoes, and turned to his weapon’s cupboard.

There would certainly be weapon scanners, and even the simplest could detect durasteel knives, so he chose a rarely used piece he’d brought with him all the way from his youth on Dantooine. It was 8 inches of bone, taken from the thigh of a Kath Hound, and ammonia hardened (a process you don’t want to inquire about) before being honed to a keen stabbing point. It wasn’t great for cutting, but it could pierce flesh and cloth without much issue. The handle was wrapped in braids of red linen, a trademark of his handmade pieces, and rested in a simple leather sheath. This he slipped into his trousers at the small of his back before tying his hair into a fan and tail.

To finish the ensemble, he opened a small plastic case, and picked up the pair of orbs resting inside. He tapped the button labeled with an embossed letter “G” to shift the color to green, and then inserted the orbs into his eye sockets. It took a moment to adjust to them being there, but these, coupled with the bone restructuring in his face, allowed him to look like just another human.

Venator put his suit jacket on, and stepped out the door. Aisha was waiting outside again, and like all her species, was smelling rather nice. She offered him the key cylinder to a land speeder, a small stack of credchips, and eyeballed him. “Forgot your cologne and cravat.” She said as she adjusted his lapels.

“I never wear ties,” He answered while he pocketed the key cylinder and the credchips. “And I don’t own cologne.”

“It’s ok, it’s easier for a man to attract a woman when they smell like another one,” Aisha replied and embraced the Miraluka, rubbing herself against him like a cat marking territory. “There, now you‘re ready for a night out.”

“Uhm, ok. Thank you,” Venator said, shaking his head and sniffling, trying to clear his nose, but failing.

“May the Force be with you,” Aisha replied “and good luck. You know Macron doesn’t take kindly to failure. The losers tend to end up looking like ferrets.”

Venator made a face and walked away, heading towards the motor pool. Once inside, he looked at the collection of vehicles, and saw one aimed facing out the garage door. It was a hard top semi luxury model, what color Venator might never know, but the identification plate was well embossed enough that he could read it, making it easier to find in a lot.

He got into the vehicle, and with a slight gesture, he triggered the door opener with the Force, and drove off.

It was a half hour of driving, with almost no traffic on the speeder roads and only the radio for company. It was at the least, peaceful. The night was getting a bit rainy, but the sound of the rain striking the windshield of the speeder coupled with the intermittent swish of the wipers added wonderfully to the music.

Upon arrival, Venator grabbed the energy field umbrella and activated it as he opened the door. He stepped out and handed the key cylinder to the valet, along with a credchip, and stepped inside.

It smelled of liquor, smoke, and perfumed people, and the Black Nebula was to Venator what the depths of Kashyyk were to these city folk. It was scary really, all these people doing what city people do, but Venator choked the fear down. He was one of them now, camouflaged among their finery.

He took a seat at a table and waited while the band set up. It was just barely sundown, so their set wasn’t quite due yet. Getting here early was helpful though, as it allowed him to start filtering people out. The weapon scanner had done it’s job though, there were very few people armed, and the ones who were were all dressed similarly, all male, and all large. Definitely security personnel, and they all moved like trained fighters, but none of them shone through the Force, meaning Venator still held the advantage.

A waitress came up, took his drink order, and by the time she’d returned, the band had finished tuning up their instruments. He sipped it, using the Force to purge the alcohol from his body. He’d never been one for much drinking, so for his size, he was a serious lightweight.

She stepped on stage then, his target, and he could immediately see why his master had tasked him to look for her. Her presence in the Force was far brighter than anyone else in the room, save Venator himself. She wasn’t a target, she was a potential recruit.

At the table beside him, he heard a Twi’Lek woman mention that the singer’s dress was a lovely shade of purple. Trivial, but useful.

On the stage, the target began singing, her voice sweet but sensual and entrancing, with a husky tone. Her face was inviting as she sang, to fit the lyrics to the song itself, a song about love and longing and desire. Clearly, it was working too, as many of the men in the audience were relaxing with smarmy looks on their faces, the kind that accept the invitation the singer was offering.

It was then though, that something dawned on Venator, while he burned her image and presence in the Force into his memory. He’d hunted this one before, back when he worked for Olhel Noona, and in all technicality, she still owed the crime boss money. Well, money to his estate.

This mission was going to get interesting fast.

- A Few Years Ago
- Corellia

Rain fell hard on the ferrocrete streets of Corellia. The citizens and visitors out for a night on the town were soaked to the bone. On street level, people hustled towards whatever sanctuary they could find on Treasure Ship row. Above them, like a Gargoyle, Venator squatted amidst the decorative structures on the fifth story of a building.

Olhel had sent him here, in the hopes of finding the woman who’d grifted him for well over half a million credits, posed as a representative of the Errant Venture. Truth be told, Noona was never a bright example of the Devaronian species, but he was violent, and you could get more with a kind word and a blaster than you ever could with just a kind word. What he’d do with her once Venator got her home was anyone’s guess, but there was a certainty that it wouldn’t be pretty.

“There she is,” Venator thought to himself as she walked down the street. She was keeping herself covered by way of a long cloak and hood, and she moved with a definite purpose. The neon lights washed the world in their colors, and she headed directly towards a place who’s sign declared the place the “Great Corellian Holoplex”

“A cinema?” Venator wondered. It didn’t matter though. He’d only visited a few, the big scale ones that show their films in full holo, the flat screen stuff was lost on him. Still, they were big, and they were dark.

Venator slipped to the side of the building and let himself drop, He free-fell, his longcoat billowing out around him as he picked up speed, using the Force to cushion himself at the moment of impact.

He landed on his feet, and didn’t break a stride, moving his way through the hustling crowd trying to avoid the rainstorm. The fact that people would avoid something so simply pleasurable was just beyond him. Back on Dantooine, he would run across the plains in even the worst of storms, ducking into shelter only if the winds turned cyclonic, or the lightning began hitting too close. The rain here on Corellia was nothing compared to that.

At the box office, he made a show of looking for his money while he pushed his senses into the holoplex. Once he found the correct theater within, he purchased a ticket by asking to be surprised. This drew an odd look, but credits were credits.

Once inside, Venator made his way to the theater his target was sitting in, and slipped into the theater. The trailers were showing, obviously an action picture from the narration and the over cranked volume. This made it much easier to slip in and get a seat behind her.

In front of him, she sat, sipping a drink. Her legs were crossed comfortably, and she shook her foot in what was either anticipation or impatience. Near the end of the picture, it was clear it was impatience, because she moved her handbag to allow somebody to sit down next to her. He was humanoid, but what species Venator couldn’t be sure of, and he’d come armed with a small pocket stun baton.

“Took you long enough,” She muttered to him, annoyance in her voice. “What’s so important?”

“Olhel Noona knows you rooked him. He’s looking to get his money back.” The man said, his command of basic was pristine, too good for most born speakers. This was a second language for him, and his accent placed him as either Chiss or Anzati.

“Well, he can’t have it.” She said in an almost amused tone. “I already spent it.”

“How did you spend a half million credits in three days without leaving a trail?” He asked, and the more he spoke, the more Venator wanted to choke him. His accent was grating, and his tone was patronizing.

“I paid Banhexas the Hutt what I owed him, then stuffed the rest in a secure location.” She said, and as annoying as the man’s voice was, her’s was silky sweet, a lilting soprano.

“You owed Banhexas a million Masika darling.” He said to her in a scolding tone.

“I dropped cred on Serica Hone. She was working the cocktail lounge at the starport in Procopia. He had a bounty on her head so he gave me half it’s value for the lead. Of course, I had to stay there until one of his hunters brought her in, but once he did, I paid the rest and walked.”

“Nice work,” He said to her, his tone suddenly soothing and gentle. “Where’d you stash the rest?”

“I’m not telling you,” Masika said, her voice shocked and hushed all at once. “You’re a two bit hustler with delusions sweetie. I like you alright and all, but we don’t go that far.”

Venator watched as her company reached into his pocket slowly, all the while feigning injury and offense. He pulled out the small stun baton and thumbed the switch.

“Delusions and all dear, but you weren’t the only one in deep with Banhexas.” He said, moving to tap Masika with the stun baton. He never completed the movement, as Venator took the monologue as an opportunity to slip a very fine vibroshiv into the base of the man’s skull. Immediately dead, his body shut down completely, going totally slack. In the same motion Venator clapped his hand over Masika’s mouth and torqued her neck back to prevent her from moving.

“You’re coming with me, now.” He said simply. “There’s nowhere in the galaxy you can hide from me either, so don’t bother running.”

Masika went slightly slack as well, and once the credits were over, he hauled her towards the in-theater exit. Outside, the rain had let up, leaving only an autumn chill in the air. Masika pulled her cloak close to her, but Venator ignored the cold.

“You’re the hunter Olhel sent for me?” She asked, moving to get closer to the black clad Miraluka.

“MmHmm.” Venator said, less a word and more a noise.

“You know, we could work out a deal, you and I.” Masika replied, looking pouty at him for pulling away from her. “You’re the Miraluka that Noona’s organization keeps around. I’ve heard of you wild man. They owns you the way he wants to own me.”

“He’d just find another hunter. I’d kill them, and the cycle would continue. Eventually he’d either run out of hunters or kill me, but I’ve got better things to do.” Venator said darkly.

“You could always kill him,” She purred, and felt a glimmer of hope when Venator shook his head slightly. Being Zeltron had it’s benefits. “We wouldn’t have to worry about him anymore. Between you and me, we could make ourselves quite a life out there.”

Venator scowled, sneezed, and shook his head again. “Stop it.” He said angrily.

“Stop what?” she asked, slipping closer to him. As she did, her hands moved into his coat, one sliding up his chest and the other reaching for a weapon, any weapon. Her fingers closed around the handle of a throwing knife in an underarm sling, and when she did, her body jerked in triumph reflexively. It was just enough to throw Venator out of his pheremone induced daze.

He grabbed her wrist and turned it a direction it wasn’t meant to do while simultaneously lifting her off her feet. She whimpered at the pain but found herself turned around and slammed into the wall by way of his free hand at her throat.

“Enough tricks witch.” Venator said, his voice a baritone growl. “I’ve had Jedi training. It won’t work.”

“I don’t know, it was working pretty well I thought.” Masika said, her voice gurgling under the pressure of his grip.

Venator tossed her to the side, letting her hit the ground unceremoniously. As he did, his commlink chirped. He used the Force to hold her down to the ground, pushing her hard into a mud puddle, all the while she still choked from his grip.

“Go ahead,” Venator said.

“Olhel’s dead! You need to get back here, there’s some guy with a lightsaber here, he, he’s killin’ everyone!” Came the mortified cry of one of the organization’s sycophants. There would have been more, but the sound of a lightsaber arcing through the air cut off the person speaking, most literally.

“You got yourself a pass,” Venator said, turning off his commlink and letting Masika up from the mud. “Revenge might not be the best idea.”

“Don’t worry,” Masika said, her eyes narrowed into slits. “You’ll never see me again.” Her tone full of malice.

-The Black Nebula
-The Present Day

Venator sat there quietly, listening to Masika sing. When he’d seen her last, she’d been a very lilting soprano, but since then, her voice had become a more middle alto, though if this performance was any indication, the actual quality of her singing hadn’t been hindered. As the waitress walked by, Venator signaled for another drink, tipped her fairly, and turned back to the show.

As she sang, she swayed her hips in time with the music, her hands holding onto the microphone like a lover. She leaned into it, her lips brushing the metallic mesh of the mic, streaking it lightly with her lipstick. It’d be a few minutes before any of the more humanoid males could politely stand up.

Of course, they didn’t have a mission to finish, or a dangerously insane master they were terrified to displease either.

Corvanni

Home.

Three years since he had been on his homeworld of Corvanni 4. Even more since he had visited the house that he had called his own. And there he was. His hood up covering his eyes from the sunlight, staring at the place he had called his home before it had been destroyed. In the years that had past, the home had been rebuilt and subsequently abandoned during the Vong attack. Today the home still was abandoned as the homeowners after the Pepoi’s had yet to return after the mass exodus. There was much to be done, and he didn’t have a lot of time before someone noticed. With his boot he kicked in the door, and quickly set the door back in place along with pulling a couch in front of the door.

Pulling the small sack off his built, he pushed everything away from the middle of the living room, giving him a large amount of space. He sat on the floor, before opening the sack and extracting each part, placing them on the floor in a semi circle. The parts from the Herald and his staff, including the emerald crystal, were given to Fremoc during his short time on Antei as a Magistrate to the Fist of the Brotherhood. He didn’t spend much time on Antei, as he knew he needed to continue his journey to Ossus as well as continuing his exile.

The newly made Obelisk Prelate, closed his eyes, and reached out into the Force, focusing his thoughts to construct his new lightsaber. Each thought that went through the Prelate’s mind, created a new connection. The Prelate began to levitate the parts, allowing the connections made to form itself, until finally the entire internal being of the lightsaber was complete. The shell of the new lightsaber was unique, giving Fremoc maximum grip but also having four dagger points on the emitter’s end to be used as a knife. The internal components slid home into the hilt, and marked the completion of the lightsaber as the emitter locked itself into place. It was then that Fremoc opened his looking at the hovering weapon, before grabbing it with his right hand and depressing the activation switch. The emerald blade erupted from the silver hilt with a loud snap-hiss, filling the now dark room with emerald light.

He murmured to himself, “Death’s Revenge.”

Fremoc shut the blade off and hid the newly made lightsaber in a pouch on the back of his belt. He made his way to where the Xev Corporation had continued its business and met the young female receptionist. He pushed the Force into the woman’s mind, making her think he had told her his name, a fake name no less, to allow him to access his father’s files. She told the Prelate that Zane Pepoi’s personal files where in the basement that Fremoc could have all the time he needed in the world.

He moved quickly through the building to the basement, to the storage room where Zane’s files had been kept after his death. Zane loved to keep important documents on filmsi so that he had a hard copy of the document as well as a digital document on his datapad. Fremoc began rummaging through his father’s files, finding everything that had related to Fremoc and removed it. But during his rummaging he found a rather large file marked, THE FAMILY RECORDS. At a brief glance, he saw the names of Thonas and Ronium, as well as Carsis and Serenity Pepoi. He stacked the large file with the rest, before picking the entire stack up and leaving the Corporation’s basement.

Ossus

On his way to Ossus he had plenty of time to read the Family Record files, it detailed all of his father’s efforts to stay in contact with the members of the Pepoi Family, including his bastard son. Kano, the first apprentice of Fremoc, had turned out to be his half brother. The news had shocked Fremoc to his very core, leaving him sitting in the cockpit chair unable to move for hours.

Now he was staring at the Galactic Alliance controlled Ossus, from a couple thousand kilometers away. The trick was getting onto the surface, and then getting back off again. His thoughts wandered, trying to compute a way to get onto the surface, past the GA Forces, and most of all, not be noticed by the Jedi that were training at their new facility.

“Right... Jedi means no Force usage what so ever, but how to get down there...” He turned the power to the shuttle back on, and headed towards the planets at full speed. Just as he got in range of the Galactic Alliance sensors they began to hail him.

“Shuttle Cathedral, what is your nature here?” Fremoc had changed the shuttles transponder codes prior to entering the system instead of the primary ones that had been assigned to it, and smiled at the fact the new codes worked.

“Just a tourist wanting to visit,” Fremoc replied.

“Head to docking bay 82 in the starport. You should have a marker on your screen now for where to go.”

“Thanks. There any cantina’s near the starport?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thanks again.” The comm channel clicked dead as the conversation ended. “Well, that was easy...”

The Prelate’s shuttle went through the atmosphere at full speed towards the starport slowing it down as he neared. The repulsor’s kicked in as he began to lower the shuttle and with a thud, the shuttle touched the ground. He armed the security code as he exited the shuttle, before moving out of the starport. He didn’t need someone to get onto the shuttle, especially with his lightsaber on board as well as various other equipment. Fremoc was almost out of the starport when the Starport Supervisor stopped him.

“My starport is providing you fuel and supplies and you aren’t paying for them. I suggest you pay,” said the Quarren.

“I didn’t order fuel and supplies,” replied Fremoc. “But if its part of the standard procedure I’d be happy to pay.”

“It is standard procedure since you are using our dock. Cost is 500 credits per day.”

“Can you give me a discount rate for an old soldier?” He pulled the cloth covering his cybernetic eye, showing the scar that ran to his ear from his left eye.

The Quarren chuckled at the human, “Fine, 400 credits, or I’ll kick you out.”

Reluctantly Fremoc handed over a credit chip. “Should be all there.”

The Quarren nodded, “Thanks. If you’re looking for the local cantina, its to the right, down road about 300 meters. You can’t miss it, its always got old soldiers hanging outside it.”

“Thanks.” Fremoc chucked a 50 credit chip to the Quarren. “A tip for your good services.” The Quarren went back to his office as Fremoc exited the building turning right onto the road. As he walked he could see few men hanging around outside a building, until he got closer he could see the blasters on their hips. The Prelate turned into the building, and was greeted with the smell of alcohol and cigarra smoke. Fremoc chuckled to himself as he remembered the smell Fred’s Lair back in Mucenic, the place that Robert Sadow had created with the help of Fremoc and Ekeia.

Fremoc made his way to the bar and ordered a drink next to drunken patrons on either side of him. He began nursing his drink, before turning to the patron to his left tapping him on the shoulder. “Anything interesting on this rock?”

The drunk Twi’lek turn his head towards Fremoc, “Your guess is as good as mine. I’ve been here for a week and I can’t find anything fun to do except drink.”

“Sorry to hear my friend.” Fremoc took another sip of his drink, and turned to the drunk on his right. “Anything fun on this planet friend?”

“There’s a bunch of canyons down south,” grunted the drunk human. His eyes remained forward starring at the drink in front of him.

“Share your troubles with a friend?”

“My squad and I went down there to see about some sort of loot down south. We heard rumors of lightsabers and holocrons and other artifacts the Jedi had yet to find and we wanted them to earn a pretty large credit.”

“What happened to your squad?”

“When we got there, we were starting to find those artifacts, and then these creatures...” his voice drifted off. Fremoc looked to the bartender and waved, asking for another drink for the human. The man took a long pull of the drink, before continuing on. “These creatures came out of no where. Ripped apart everyone in my squad. I was lucky to get back to the shuttle before they got me.”

“Can you show me where you where?” The man pulled his datapad out and showed Fremoc the map of the planet, and the navigation point that had been used for the squad. Fremoc pulled his datapad out and was able to get a copy of the map and nav point for his use. Fremoc placed a credit chip in front of the drunk survivor, “Barkeep, keep the drinks coming for this man.”

The Prelate turned away from the bar after finishing his drink, leaving the building and headed back towards the starport to get his shuttle. The Quarren Supervisor nodded to Fremoc as he walked past towards the docking bay. Fremoc deactivated the security, and picked up the supplies that had been left for him before entering the shuttle. He turned the power to the vehicle on, checking the various equipment as well as comm messages. He copied the map from his datapad into the shuttle’s database and activated nav point. The Pepoi activated the repulsors lifting him out of the docking bay, before turning the engines on, sending him down south towards the nav point that was now on his display. He followed it, pushing the engines to their maximum speed.

Fremoc brought the shuttle lower to the ground to escape the radar of the Galactic Alliance and Jedi. He could feel the Dark Side pulling him towards the canyon, wanting him to come closer, and grew stronger as he got closer. His hands slowed the vehicle down to a stop before turning on the repulsors, hovering the shuttle to a safe point in the canyon. The smooth surface of the rock held the shuttle’s weight as Fremoc shut the shuttle down. Fremoc moved to the exit ramp, making sure that his gear was ready, while the ramp touched the surface. The Pepoi moved down the ramp and scanned the area for life, finding none. He began to ease himself over the edge of the rock surface, feeling with his foot to find a rock to hold his weight. He found a solid rock, and did the same with his other foot, as he began to ease himself down to the canyon floor.

“Oh, how I wish I could use the Force...” he whispered to himself as he continued his slow descent. The canyon floor grew closer, and also darker. The planet’s sun could barely reach the canyon floor, casting a large shadow over the area. He finally touched the bottom of the canyon floor, and without a thought pulled one of his pistols out of its holster before whipping around to check the area once more. The area surrounding him and above him looked devoid of life, as he began to move forward. Fremoc believed that his first clue to finding the Codex Vocatus and a fragment of the Ombus would be somewhere in front of him. He kept his pistol up as he ventured farther into the canyon, the sides of the canyon beginning to scrape against his shoulders. The Dark Side’s energy grew with each step that Fremoc took deeper into the canyon. The scrapes annoyed him, but he kept moving forward until the canyon opened to a wider passage way. The area was large enough to have been a long forgotten tomb of a powerful Force-user, but during the Cron System's destruction and the Vong War, the ceiling had collapsed crushing what had been there.

On the ground lay several holocrons, a few crystals, fragments of old documents, and various other objects. The Prelate moved to each object, checking each for the possibility of information but still took the objects, and placed them in his pouch. Fremoc ventured to the center of the circular opening, where the Dark Side was at its strongest. He kept trying to resist using the Force as he stood in the center, but the swelling energy made his entire body felt amazing. The Pepoi finally let go of his restraints, his mental wall breaking down letting the Dark Side consume him. The energy coursed through his veins, as he stood there embracing it his head tilted back. The Force gave him the answer he wanted as he completely opened himself to the Dark Side.

“Dxun,” the Force said through Fremoc’s vocal cords. Fremoc shook his head as his mind began to wonder why he had said that out loud. Dxun was the place he needed to go, and he figured it was time to leave. As he began to turn to the exit, three large claws lashed out cutting a gash into Fremoc’s face along his jaw bone and several smaller gashes on his neck. Instinctively the Prelate reached for his lightsaber as he backed away from the large creature but instantly remembered he had left it on his shuttle.

“Frak!” he cursed as he found he didn’t have his lightsaber. It stood almost a meter taller than Fremoc and covered with short tan fur. Each hand had three claws, and the entire beast screamed with muscle. The beast came at Fremoc, who dove to the left to dodge it as he pulled his pistol out once more. Blue energy erupted from the muzzle, catching the beast through the shoulders and chest. The beast let out a roar as it began to charge the Pepoi once more. Fremoc pulled out his secondary pistol as he unloaded into it, catching the beast in the chest and face. The beast lashed its claws out at Fremoc’s hands, batting his hands away, sending the two pistols crashing to the floor. He pulled the knife from its sheath, and stabbed it through the shoulder of the beast, leaving it lifeless. The beast howled as pain coursed through it, before Fremoc ended its howl with a cut through the beast’s neck. The beast crumpled to the ground its blood matting down its tan fur.

The Prelate wiped the blade off on the fur of the beast cleaning it before putting it in its sheath. He moved to the side and grasped his two pistols as he heard rocks move and hit the floor behind him. Fremoc turned to find nothing, but saw more rocks hit the ground causing him to look above him. Crawling down the canyon were more beasts, wanting to see what its fallen brother had found. Two of them dropped to the floor, finding their brother and angrily roared into the canyon together. They turned towards Fremoc, blood oozing down his neck.

“Frak this,” he said as he turned, running out of the large opening and back towards the shuttle. Fremoc splayed his hands as ran past the narrow opening sending two large Force Blasts into the walls, causing the narrow point to cave in on top of the two beasts. He leapt, without the aid of the Force onto the rock wall below the shuttle as he climbed. More beasts let out a howl as they stood below the Prelate as he moved quickly up the wall. They began to follow him, and had nearly caught up to the Pepoi as he ran up the shuttle’s ramp. Without even thinking he turned the ship on, and blasted out of the canyon, burning the beasts that had followed him to black charred bodies.

He broke through the atmosphere into space, and sped away from the planet. He knew the Jedi had sensed him and needed to leave immediately before they began to chase after him. Fremoc punched random coordinates into the navicomputer before launching into hyperspace.

Hyperspace

He sighed as he entered hyperspace, and opened himself completely to the Force. He sent waves of energy to heal the gashes in his jaw and neck. But he also felt another presence on the shuttle.

A very large presence.

He grabbed his lightsaber, and activated it, belching emerald out of its emitter. A growl filled the shuttle’s main hold, and immediately Fremoc knew what it was. One of the creatures had entered the shuttle while he was in the canyon. Unhindered by letting the Force flow through him, he moved quickly to kill the beast, cutting its legs and arms off with his lightsaber. The beast howled in pain, as Fremoc stood over it, his hand splayed over the beasts face, his own face rock solid. The Prelate sent a wave of energy into the skull of the beast, crushing it.

“Fraking things,” he cursed at it as he began to move the body parts into the airlock making a mental note to eject the body parts once he exited hyperspace.

Home...

Rejuvenator-class Star Destroyer Auspicious
Flagship of Jedi Master Renko Yast
Denaolian Asteroid Field, on the borders of the Unknown Regions

The destroyer groaned and raged at the immense strains being forced upon it, this far out in the voids on the edges of the known galaxy, at the precipice of the infinite blackness beyond. Fragments of whatever worlds had been turned to ash hammered at the ship’s superstructure, obliterating whole decks of durasteel and casting the remains off into space, where they were then swallowed by the nearest of the many black holes that stretched full across the expanse of the galaxy, forming the impassable corridor that cleaved in two the known and unknown.

Few made it across this stellar no man’s land, fewer still made it back again, and still fewer were those who even wanted to venture into the cosmic nothingness on that marked the very brink of civilisation and divided it from the terrors that had long ago been sealed off – and for good reason. Whether Denaolia had been a planet, a moon, a stellar graveyard, none knew. All that was certain was a battered and broken cruiser that should have been decommissioned was lumbering, slowly, towards oblivion, its bruised and dented hull crying out to pull apart and tumble into a singularity, where it could die, be forgotten, and rest in peace.

Peace, however, was a lie.

The bridge of the Auspicious was barely holding together. The central viewport had been struck and blown open by a wandering asteroid from another asteroid field two dozen jumps back along the road from the Ssi-ruuk Star Cluster. Somehow, in defiance of known starship mechanics, air pressure had not emptied into the void, held together by some unseen force. Blood painted the walls crimson and warnings were daubed on the floors and walls to Stay Away!, Please Make The Voices Stop!, Kill Me!

The last survivor of the Jedi flagship stepped over the rotting flesh of the dead and swallowed hard as he reached out to the invisible jets blazing from the black holes. Tradis Caelen had put out his own eyes a year ago to block the horror that now inhabited this ship, this ghost ship, but blindness did not blind him to the screams of space burning just beyond the nose of the starship. They had reached the end of the road. There was nowhere left to go. Even the corvette which had been tailing them for several weeks and had pursued them across a dozen hyperjumps had finally turned round and turned back. No sane pilot plotted a course to sail through that which could not be sailed.

No pilot that wished to live, that is. But the Auspicious, of course, had no pilot.

None but the nameless voices of the void itself, that is.

Another asteroid detonated on the battered hull, and the man who was once to be groom and apprentice both to Jedi Taraeis Alaviel heard a low, throated groan rise up from the forgotten bowels of the ship, and the air became thinner as all power and life support was rerouted once more to the hyperdrive which slept in the gore-stained halls far below. Painfully, the holds slowly creaked open, spilling waste into the void, feeding the forever gluttonous singularities as if in payment to whatever dark mistress ruled the nothingness that lurked in their depths. Tradis felt his own stomach fall out with them, his breathing heavying as the bodies reached back at him from outside the windows, as if reaching for their last chance for salvation.

Tradis shut his eye sockets, cutting the link between him and the outside, and retreating back inside himself again. There was nothing he could do. The groan deep below became an unearthly rage as the entire ship bent and stretched as the pressures of deep space pulled upon it as it leapt once more into the black and white nothingness beyond reality.

Home, the voices cried, they were going home.

And the Auspicious disappeared into hyperspace, the asteroids forgotten as it passed into the wall that separated known from unknown.

L'eonheart Family Homestead, Temple Grounds
Mucenic, Tarthos
Three months after the Ekind Uprising

"So that's it? You're really leaving?" Naomi's soft voice faultering as she nearly squeeked out the last word. She simply stood there, looking at her newly-wed husband with a pained look on her face, her hands hanging loosely at her side. Regardless of how prepared for it one could be, there was still no way to anticipate the pain when the reality of it all sets in. He stood with a hand covering his eyes, his tattered white scarf tied loosely about his head keeping his eyes blindfolded. He couldn't bear to turn to look at her, her emotions flooded the room and made his guilt tenfold worse. His voice rose quietly, the pain was apparent in him as well, "I need to, they need to be at peace and I need my peace as well."

The Miraluka turned slowly, looking upon his wife through the Force and admiring her beauty amongst her sullen emotions; her aura was a deep blue with tinges of grey dancing amongst it. A smile crossed his face as she seemed to brighten at his movement, his voice rising up a bit, "This doesn't have to be a sad occassion, I won't be gone forever and I'm not leaving until the morning."
Naomi brightened again as he spoke, her mood seeming to lighten as the truth of his words sunk in and he continued, "I have given myself to you, wholly to you and you alone. I promise I will stay safe and I will return to you. Now, let us save tonight so we don't spoil our last moments together."

The smile on her face spread as he finished, her signature becoming much brighter than it had been moments ago although still a shade of blue, her voice steadily changing from a calm to sultry tone as she spoke, "Oh Methyas...I can think of some ways we can definately leave a lasting impression of the night on each other."
He could hear her bite her lip as she finished speaking and the space between the two lessened as they pulled each other close in a sensual embrace, their heads leaning in together for a slow passionate kiss. As the moments passed Methyas cursed himself for ever wanting to leave, he wanted to stay with her forever and forget his past. Pulling away from each other for a deep breath of air, the two looked at each other in disbelief that they could have that much of an effect on each other. Naomi smiling for a moment as she exhaled deeply and spoke up, grabbing Methyas' hand and pulling him close to her curvy body, "Maybe we should take this somewhere a little more private..."

The next morning was rather somber for the two, their highlight waking up in each other's arms, as Naomi escorted her husband quietly towards his starship with her hand tightly gripping his own. Methyas smiled at her, eliciting a wonderful smile from her as Methyas pulled her closer to him and wrapping his arm around her, placing a hand on her hip. The two knew they'd miss each other, but last night would tide them over for a time; Methyas feeling her discontent with the situation as much as he was. Stopping next to the small fighter craft, the roar of the thunderous waterfalls threatened to drown out all sound near them. "I don't want to see you go..." Naomi's voice echoed in his head, Methyas' teachings allowing them to communicate silently. An awkward smile crossed his face for a moment as he responded, purposefully placing his left hand on her heart, "I know my love, I don't want to leave but this will be the last time...and you'll always be able to know I'm still perfectly fine, just looking deep into your heart will give you the answers you seek. The Force binds us together."

Another smile crossed her face as she tried not to roll her eyes at him, she quickly grabbed him by the head with both hands and pulled him in quickly for a deep passionate kiss. Her speed caught the young Templar off guard as he nearly melted at her touch, her passion and dedication to him strengthing his resolve to return in one piece. As she let go he stumbled backwards in a daze, Naomi pointing at the fighter as she screamed to be heard over the thunderous baritone of the falls, "You have your incentive, now get out there and come back to me in one piece!"
With a sly smile, Methyas nodded for a second as he bowed low before her, his voice resounding in her head as reinforced his decision, "Yes, m'lady."

Moving swiftly into the single-man fighter, Methyas engaged all the systems he could and burst out from behind the falls while rocketing out of the Tarthosian atmosphere as quickly as he could. It hurt leaving her behind, but he would return as swiftly as the Force would carry him. Putting his attention to the co-ordinates the Shaper had given him, Methyas already knew from much digging that the Hyperdrive's systems wouldn't be able to plot a course to it. Overriding the system, Methyas took a deep breath as he focused on the co-ordinates and his little fighter with the Force, inputting the co-ordinates into the nav-computer. With a sudden shrieking lurch, the vessel saw the stars stretch out before him before the inertial dampers kicked in.

Unknown System, Unknown Regions
Several Hours away from the Orian System via Hyperspace

The trip was rather intense and extremely harrowing for the young Templar as his Instinctive Astrogation allowed him to plot a Hyperspace route he never had believed possible; his survival had to have been complete and utter dumb luck but he thanked his skill in the Force for at least part of it. Completely exhaused, Methyas leaned further back into the cockpit's seat with a massive sigh; using the Force for that long of a period uninterrupted had never been something he had wanted to do, let alone prepared for. As the craft lazily drifted through space, it moved away from the darkside of a planet and out where Methyas could get a closer look at the system the enormity of the Star shocking him as the Force seemed to dance across the system from a point he had yet to discern. With a simple sigh, the young Templar couldn't help but mutter to himself, "This is unexpected..."

Tarthos
Pepoi Residence
Middle of the Night

Months had passed since he was home on Tarthos. Months without his wife, his love. Months of travelling, seeing distant worlds but now, he was home. Against Trevarus’ will, he returned to make love with his wife, his desire kicking in. He came under the shroud of darkness, landing the shuttle far outside the monastery of Mucenic. He had moved silently and quickly into his residence, sneaking past Kano and Araxis, who had built two rooms adding onto the Pepoi household. His wife was awake when he opened the door, propped up on her elbows, the sheet covering her body.

Now they were laying on the bed, side by side, both naked and nearly exhausted. Teu’s naked body lay face down, sweat covered her body as it glistened in the moonlight, her breaths were slow and deep, telling Fremoc that she was asleep. He wasn’t tired, nor could he fall asleep, but he needed more of her. His finger tips ran up her spine, causing her to shiver and wake up, her eyes starring into his. The form of a smile began to cross her lips as she knew what he wanted, because she wanted it too.

Elsewhere

“The exile is on Tarthos,” said Eosara.

“I know,” stated Trevarus, his eyes closing tapping into the Force connecting his mind to Fremoc’s.

Pepoi Residence

What are you doing on Tarthos? I banished you from this planet. LEAVE! Trevarus’ words rang through Fremoc’s brain pulling away from the close embrace he had with his wife as he rolled onto the floor.

"TREV!" screamed Fremoc with out even thinking. Fremoc screamed through their connection in the Force, Get out of my head!

“Honey, why are you say Trev's name and not mine?” said Teu confused as she moved herself to the edge of the bed.

“Trevarus is in my head.” Teu looked at him confused wondering why Lord Caerick was in her husband’s head.

You’re on Tarthos. You’ve decided to die then. said Trevarus, as he sent mental needles into Fremoc’s body. Fremoc rolled on the floor as the pain that was caused was excruciating.

No! I’ll leave, I just needed my wife for a couple hours. I’ve had that. Teu had moved on top of him to calm him.

Leave now, and never return. I will tell you when you can return. Trevarus released his grasp, leaving the Pepoi to recover from the mental attack.

“I need to leave. Trevarus knows I’m here.” Fremoc stood and quickly began putting his pants on, his wife wrapping a robe tightly around her. “Tell no one I was here, except for Kano. I trust him fully.”

“Why just him?” her voice low and curious.

“Because he’s my brother.” He put his boots on.

“Your brother?” shock ran through her voice.

“Yes, I have information about the entire Pepoi Family, and he is my half brother.” He pulled his shirt over his head. “I’ll explain more when we are finally together again.” He pulled his gloves on, and finally his robe. He leaned down and kissed her fully, enjoying her scent and burning it into his memory to last him until he saw her again.

“I’ll be waiting for you, my love.” She fixed his pants. “Make sure your rested.” She giggled, as she followed him out the door. The full moon casted a pale blue hue over his body as he stepped out into the night, making him look almost like a ghost.

“I’ll return as soon as I can.”

“I know you will.” She watched him cover his cybernetic eye, and turn away, moving down the road at a brisk pace. She whispered into the night after him, “I love you.”

Kano had awoken, moved behind Teu, “Who was that?”

“Your brother,” she whispered.

Tarthos
Pepoi Residence
Middle of the Night

“My brother? But I sence… Fremoc?”

Kano started to step past Teu in the direction his former master had gone but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t go after him Kano, he said he will explain everything when he can return. Now as you can see I am safe, go get some rest.”

The Mandalorian walked off, not saying another word, and went straight to his room. Once inside the Templar removed his gauntlets and armor plates and set them at the foot of his bed. As he slid the plates under his bed they were stopped by something heavy, not remembering what he had tossed under the bed, Kano reached under and pulled out a worn out and dirty bag. For a second he didn’t remember when he had got the bag but then the memory flooded back into his mind.


The Dead Forest, Kshyyyk
33 ABY
Shortly after Operation Junkyard

Kano moved quietly through the forest. The sounds of nature filled the speakers inside his helmet and the micro computer actually had to adjust the flow of the sounds to prevent the Templar’s ears from stinging. It was hunts like this that always made the Mandalorian wish he could use his lightsaber a little more freely, instead he had left his on the ship he borrowed for the trip.

SNAP!

Kano tucked close to the tree next to him and pulled his Westar-34 from its holster. The Templar closed his eyes and focused on the other side of the tree, sure enough he had found what he sought. Just several feet away was a lone Sayormi monk. Kano activated the bounty list in his helmet once more for verification that any Sayormi would work. Sure enough the order said any and Kano twisted around the tree, Westar-34 pointed. The monk let out a scream and threw something at the Mandalorian. A bolt flew from the end of Kano’s blaster and struck the Sayormi in the chest, knocking him backwards and to the ground.

The adrenaline had kept the Templar from realizing that the monk had thrown a weapon at him. The thrown object was a heartstriker and it had missed Kano’s visor by mere inches and stuck into the tree behind him. Kano pulled the weapon from the solid tree and walked over to the dead Sayormi. Several hours later Kano had dropped the target off with a middleman and been told he could keep all the targets possessions.

Tarthos
Pepoi Residence
Middle of the Night

Kano now held in his hands the bag the monk had slung over his shoulder. Kano opened the bag and reached inside, pulling out the heartstriker and a large book. The book was leather bound and very heavy with what looked like a doll scratched into the leather cover. As the Templar opened the book and began to browse through its contents a single word caught his attention.

Voodoo.

- 800 meters southwest of the Pepoi residence
- Tarthos
- Middle of the night

Atop a small ridgeline, hidden in a tangle of shrub rested a form so still, so quiet, it was as nothing was there at all. Even his breathing was so shallow, it didn’t disturb the leaf sitting under his nose.

It was a peculiar scene below, made all the stranger by the lack of detail in anything he was seeing. For a sighted person, a pair of electro binoculars bought from any surplus or hunting store was more than enough to get crisp detail at this distance, but the person in the shrubbery wasn’t like any person.

Lacking eyes, the Miralukan couldn’t rely on such technology, and in an effort to keep his own signature within the Force low, he couldn’t push his senses out too far without being detected. The masters of the Force were capable of pulling a Star Destroyer out of orbit without so much as being noticed, but not capable of such tricks yet, Venator relied on the things he’d learned as a wild boy on the plains and in the forests.

No, he was just another living thing amidst other living things, sitting wrapped in a hood and cloak of rough fabric, covered in the leaves and grasses he found nearby. He didn’t really think anyone was actually going to be foolish enough to try anything, but he’d been put on the job, and he was going to see it through to the end.

This location, he’d scouted a week before, and considered it ideal for someone with sniping in mind. The morning sun would rise behind him in about four hours, it offered ideal cover, and easy escape down the back side of the ridge. Frankly, he would have preferred to tell Kano or Araxis, who’d taken residence there recently, but showing up out of the blue to point out a sniper hide almost a klick away would have probably raised an eyebrow.

So, it left him here. Really, it wasn’t so bad as it seemed, this was comfort, and serenity for him, but the desire to stretch his legs was near overwhelming. Still, he kept his hands busy, piecing together an anti-personnel mine from the kit he’d retrieved at the Mucenic armory. He’d leave it buried, well below the recommended depth, the leads out just enough to detect the weight of a shooter crawling over it or laying on it to prepare a shot. Venator had been working on it for over a day and a half, and it was nearly finished.

In the home below, there was a flare of light through the Force, bright enough that the Miralukan didn’t need to draw on his strength in the Force to detect. He had a decent idea of what was going on, so he drew his attention away from the house itself and towards the road that Fremoc had taken on his way in, silently wishing them the best in their attempt to breed again.

A few days before, he’d had another run-in with his master’s latest pet project. Each time, he’d come so close to her, it was nearly appalling that she hadn’t noticed him.

- Markosian City
- Tarthos
- Three days prior

She walked past, slipping through the crowd like an expert, totally and completely unaware she was being hunted. She paused at a vendor selling clothing at an outdoor stand, selected a few pieces, and excused herself into the tent to try them on.

A few minutes later, and she was out again, dressed in one of the garments. She gave the vendor money, and bagged up the other pieces, and her original clothes, and kept going. Venator tracked her through the crowd, more by scent than anything else. To tell the truth, he had the worse feeling Zeltron women were going to be the death of him, and he hadn’t the foggiest idea why.

She moved down the thoroughfare, pausing at this vendor or that, sometimes slipping into an actual store. Each time she came away, there were more and more purchases, more and more bags, more and more things hidden on her person. Petty shoplifting was exactly that, but there was an art to it as well. It wasn’t just grabbing and going, it was misdirection, fast-talk, sleight of hand, more a con game than simple theft.

After a half a kilometer of this, the temptation was too much. Venator slipped through the crowd, closer to the blue haired woman, until he was well within reach. He kept this pace for a time, until she came across another street vendor. She stopped, but he kept walking.

Masika felt herself get bumped into, and heard the plainly accented basic of the person when they said a simple “S’cuse me,” but it didn’t really click until a moment later, when she reached to pay for the fruit drink she’d ordered, and found that her money, and several stops worth of merchandise she’d helped herself to were gone.

Turning, she just had the time to look towards where the pickpocket had gone when a repulsor bus drove past. Once it had gone, she scanned the crowd, trying to pull out of her memory where a shape was, but wasn’t anymore, and coming up blank.

- 800 meters southwest of the Pepoi residence
- Tarthos
- Not quite the middle of the night anymore

There wasn’t another flash, but there WAS a feeling of intense dread that Venator noticed, nearly causing him to relieve himself then and there, but it passed, leaving nothing in it’s wake. Below, lights came on, the energy they cast reflecting in the Force as spherical pinpricks, and it seemed like the mood had changed there too. After a moment, somebody left, and again Venator cursed not having the talent to conceal himself in the Force and still draw on it. He’d only noticed Fremoc coming in because he’d been sitting there so long that he could tell you how many blades of grass there were, on average, in a square meter of their lawn, and that his signature was so familiar.

Of course, if the rumors were true, that was probably him leaving again, most certainly in something more of a hurry this time. Still, it wasn’t Venator’s place to ask questions. He just clicked the last piece into the mine assembly, set the weight sensor for 66 kilos, well over what the little Pepoi boy’s weight had to be, and buried it under the cover of his camouflage suit.

11 hours later, with his task complete, and the afternoon sun shining down on him, Venator allowed himself to slip into a Force Trance. He’d come out about the same time that the sun was going down, well rested and finally able to move freely once he cleared his hide.

It was times like this that he lamented having almost no use for money, because he had a nagging suspicion that he wasn’t getting paid enough for this.

Yammka’tar
Spinward Sector, Wild Space
47,000 light years from the Galactic Core

Sarna screamed as the black serpent snaked around her leg and constricted, cutting off the blood flow and causing her foot to rapidly turn blue and then purple. Another of the vile creatures slithered through the slippery mud as she stumbled, staggering, trying to get away before—too late. The beast coiled into a spring before launching itself off the floor of the sacrificial pit, the snake striking her neck hard enough that she instantly blacked out. That would have been thought a mercy had she still been conscious to watch what happened next.

Tsaak Shai nodded approvingly as the amphistaffs devoured the sacrifice. The Slayer would be pleased. ‘Next,’ said the Supreme Overlord, signalling to the warriors who stood guard over the blood red sphincter that caged the alien prisoners. One of the warriors knelt down and rubbed the sphincter’s surface and it dilated, spitting out a four-armed Myneyrsh from the world the infidels called Wayland, together with a hoof-footed Equine. Smiling hungrily, the once warrior-priest to the Warmaster Varesh Shai raised his hand, waving the combatants to begin. Less than a moment’s pause, then the infidels raised fists and charged each other.

As he watched the morning’s sacrifices duel, the leader of the Yammka Vong reached into the bowl beside his throne for a handful of ghazakl worms. As he chewed, yellow blood spilt down his lips—Tsaak did not care—he was the Supreme One now, God-Chosen by the late khattazz al’Yammka, Varesh Shai. Boring of the aliens as they fought for the right to a clean death, Tsaak’s eyes wandered past the gladiatorial pit to the forests beyond the Holy Citadel.

Amidst the trees on the far side of the Square of Sacrifice, a lone kavaavik dragged itself along one of the branches, its slow, heavy movements indicative of the fact it was not long for this world. Without the Shapers anymore, the Crèche of the Slayer remained difficult for many of the emigrated species that the Children of War had scavenged from the wreckage of the worldship of Domain Amnan, where it had finally been destroyed out in the Tingel Arm. It did not matter, however, thought Tsaak, for those creatures too weak to survive were evidently not worthy to live on the soil of Yammka’tar.

‘Supreme Overlord,’ a voice called to Tsaak’s right. He turned and saw Yakun, the warrior-seer who now advised him, as Tsaak himself had once advised Varesh. There was no room for the priests anymore—not since they had denounced Yun-Yammka as a lie. If the late Warmaster had ever been at fault, Varesh’s seduction by the false loyalty of Seef Lacap had been the worst. No more. At least the Warmaster had realised his error in the end, casting aside the shackles of the castes to pledge their allegiance wholly to the God of War.

‘Yes?’ replied Tsaak to Yakun as he swallowed another mouthful of ghazakl worms.

After sitting up the entire night reading through the strange book Kano decided it was time for a walk. As he left his room he made his way outside and across the hill on the property. Something didn’t quite seem right about the location and upon investigation the bounty hunter’s hunch was right. He instantly recognized a slight indention in the grass where a person had been laying for an extended time as well as a highly disturbed area of top soil. Kano knelt down and touched his hand softly to the area the person had been laying and spoke to himself, “This guy is good.”

About an hour later Kano found himself knocking on a door and waiting for a familiar face to open up. The door clicked open and a voice called from the darkness of the room, “Come in Kano.”

As Kano entered the room Venator recognized the man not only for his presence in the Force but also the outline of the unmistakable Mandalorian armor, only something was off.

“Do you mind if I ask where your helmet is Kano? It isn’t too often that a Mandalorian goes anywhere without one.”

Kano, still creeped out by the eyeless Miraluka, just moved closer and sat down at the table Venator was waiting at.

“It was getting hot in there, but onto business. Mind if I ask you why you were on the Pepoi Family property? And don’t attempt to deny that you were there, your good, but so am I.”

Venator didn’t move a muscle in his body as he replied to the Templar, “Of course I was there.”

Kano began to tense his muscles in anticipation for anything that could happen but relaxed slightly as Venator finished his statement, “Fremoc asked me to ensure you and Araxis had a bit of backup while keeping an eye on his wife.”

Kano sat for a second thinking about the situation, “Well that does sound like something Fremoc would do, have someone not directly connected actually be connected to the scenario. Let’s be sure that this doesn’t leave the between me and you that he was there.”

Kano stood and began to walk towards the door to leave but was stopped by Venator calling to him, “You mind telling me how you came to the conclusion it was me on that hill?”

The Templar only smiled and slid an disarmed mine across the floor, “This thing looks like it was assembled by a blind man. See ya around Ven.”

Personal Labs
Aeotheran Orbit
Miner's Brother

"Zandru's orbits," snarled the madman. "He didn't forsake his nature." The Sith Warlord pored over the compiled database. Harmonic resonances existed in the mathematics. The numbers never lied. Perhaps a 'slight' data drift existed. How pleasurable it would be to kill everyone that knew. A quick push against the droid control pod gave the desired effect. The IT-3 unit was on the prowl.

"Vexatus...." Macron's voice became low and hissed. "I suspect. Your ghost echoes in the Force and this data... lie forever in your hideous blasted grave!" The madman's obsessed yellow eyes twitched as he canted his insane reverie. Of course no one would listen, or even hear out here in the dark guts of space. The demons haunted him still and none took them seriously. He could spout gibberish all day long to no avail. And as the Mark had made it's work, he had done so for many days.

The Sith Warlord shrugged, shaking off invisible mental cobwebs. His current subject had few illuminating things to say beyond the ball-gag and gene-pumps. He loved the insatiable current that hungrily ripped into the Twilek's twitching flesh. Truly the madman cared not about gender or even species. It was the suffering that tasted sweet. Suffering leads to passion.... especially if they took a week to die under extreme stress.

"You will tell me of your time in Markosian," chuckled the alchemist. It was a forsaken place. Sparks popped all around the makeshift lab like swamp lights seeking death. "If you will not tell me, then you will know the pleasure of continuance.". A black ball-shaped droid hovered into view on pulsing repulsor coils. "You will tell me all about your employers... or I will make you live and die for days."

"Blinky, show our guest your love", chuckled the Sith as the interrogation droid set about it's grisly job. "Make her tell us everything. You will tell me everything of your time in Markosian. Scream for me. Oh... yes. Let me hear you beg!"

Tarthos
Pepoi Residence
Early Evening

Kano passed back and forth in his room, the single candle flame flickering each time he passed by. Memories flooded the Templar as he contemplated a massive decision he had to make regarding his life. A cool breeze entered from the open window, a breeze that the man would have never felt had he been wearing his helmet. The Templar let out a sigh as he looked into the reflective T-shaped visor of his helmet.

“I guess with these thoughts of stepping away from the rules of Resol'nare also comes the title of being dar'manda.”

Kano sat the helmet on the shelf above his desk and turned away from it for good. Before leaving his room the Templar opened his closet and looked for something to help conceal himself a little. The closet was almost bare except for the cloak he had received his first day in the Brotherhood. As he wrapped the cloak around his shoulders he could still smell the distinctive scent of a charred environment from that last time he had worn the garment, the day Tarthos suffered a surprise attack from the Yuuzhan Vong, those event seem like a lifetime ago with all the things the warrior had been through since and yet it was still vivid in his mind.

The Templar grabbed the leatherbound book from his desk and tucked it into a pocket sewn into the cloak. With a fluid motion Kano pulled the cloaks hood over his head and walked out of the room and towards Mucenic to collect several essential supplies he would need for the events that would unfold as the night progressed.

Tarthos
Unknown Location
Middle of the Night

Kano sat calmly on the grass intently reading a passage from the leatherbound book and using the fire he had started just moments prior as a light source. The smoke trailed off into the sky and vanished as the cool breeze pushed the cloud away. After going over the passage several more times the Templar got to his feet and removed his cloak. As he moved around the fire setting up an improvised stove from some of the supplies he had acquired earlier that night.

As the makeshift stove took its shape Kano set a small pot on the stove and began to toss items into the pot. As the pot began to fill Kano had problems moving around to find the various items. Wanting to be able to complete his task the Templar removed his armor plates and removed his jumpsuit. Kano picked up the cloak and wrapped it around his body. As he worked more with the pot the smoke rising began to change from a dark grey to a solid black. As a final step Kano picked his dagger up from the ground and cut a gash across his chest. He then took the blood soaked dagger and used the blade to stir the contents of the now boiling pot, instantly the smoke stopped rising from the pot and a light red glow began to radiate from within.

“With my own blood, the power to my life and key to my death, I now call the spirits to enhance the potency of the power within this pot before me. I demand that the powers be amplified. I order that the powers be driven to the greatest levels known in the dark world below. Let this be!”

The pots red glow flashed brightly and dimmed to a silvery glow. Kano dipped his fingers into the pot and coated then with the black substance that the ingredients had been morphed into. After he pulled his hands out of the pot Kano ran his fingers around his eyes, the substance sizzled on the man’s skin as he quickly made a predetermined design around each eye.

After finishing the designs everything went quiet. The sounds of nature suddenly silence and the Templar’s face began to burn. Kano screamed out in pain as the black substance sank into his skin, permanently burning the designs onto the man’s face. The substance continued burning downward until it settled onto the man’s skull. Another scream of agony left the Templar’s mouth as his eyes began to burn hotter than anything he had even felt before. The searing pain ate away the iris and the pupil in both eyes before causing the Templar to blackout form the pain.

- Unknown Location
- Out in the woods
- Tarthos

Three short whistles combined to make a short lyrical tune. Above, a hawkbat soared overhead, suddenly turning into a dive the moment the whistles completed. It struck a burrowing rodent, grabbing it with it’s back legs and biting into it’s neck before twisting it’s own neck sharply to snap the rodent’s neck.

Venator waited a moment, to see if Shrike would just eat the thing, or do as he’d been trained. After a short few seconds, the avian creature squawked a few times, and waited.

“Very good,” Venator said, walking to the rabbit-like creature. He picked the thing up and made a couple of deft strokes with a small utility knife and set to skinning and gutting the thing. Once the guts were out, he tossed them to the hawkbat, who waited patiently next to them.

“Go ahead, chow down.” He said, gesturing to the bunny guts. Shrike didn’t have to be told twice, and began devouring them greedily.

Nearby, there was a small pile of wood, already set up for a modest campfire. Venator walked towards it, and used the Force to build friction in the dry kindling. After a moment, a small flame sprang to life, and a little after that, a legitimate fire was burning.

By that time, he’d gotten his dinner prepared, and set it over the fire to roast a while. Shrike had already found his place hanging off of Venator’s back and shoulders, and had fallen asleep again, acting more feline than avian.

It was nights like these that Venator loved. They reminded him of being a little boy, before Dantooine. His family had lived with a kind couple who’d taken them in to hide them while the Empire was still hunting Miraluka, their goal pure extinction of a Force Sensitive race.

Chandrillan nights were a lot like this. A cool evening but carrying a warm breeze. Outside of the domes though, Tarthos was closer to Hoth, but inside, it was like he was a little boy again. There was no killing, no hunting, the only concern was just keeping himself under cover, and all that entailed was not going out when there were people outside. It got even better when the Empire had fallen, and he could meet the neighbors he’d grown up around. They were all nice people, and had accepted the Lhaan family immediately.

Not that it mattered anymore. Mart and Veila Lhaan were dead, Chandrila was so coreward that Venator had to have a good reason to go near it, and even if he did, he doubted that anyone would recognize the boy that he’d been when compared to the man that he was. Really, he wasn’t particularly sure he cared. If they’d never have gone to Dantooine, he probably would have just gotten killed along with almost everyone else in the Vong wars anyway, or else grown up to be a speeder salesman or something equally worthless and unnecessary.

His mood having turned bleak, Venator focused on the food in front of him, tearing at the meat quickly and efficiently. What he lacked in general manners, he made up for with a survivor’s cleanliness and hatred of waste. He was almost halfway finished with his bunny when Shrike stirred and squawked.

“What is it?” Venator asked, offering the hawkbat a bite of rabbit. It ignored the meat and began tilting it’s head, trying to find the source of whatever noise it was. While it did, Venator wolfed the remainder of his meal down. He doused the fire with another application of the Force, smothering it effectively, and shrugged his shoulders hard, to dislodge Shrike.

The hawkbat took wing, and circled twice before Venator was done concealing his presence at the small clearing. Afterwards, another set of whistles, different than the first, and Shrike banked and soared off. Below, Venator followed, running flat out and aided with the Force to keep up with the avian critter he’d been training.

It was a hard run, cathartic though, as he’d forgotten entirely about his dark mood, and instead just ran until his lungs burned, before hitting his runner’s high. By then he wasn’t following Shrike with his “eyes” and instead just followed by the natural rhythm of the Force and the world around him.

An hour later, he arrived, winded, at the small remains of a fire, and a most familiar and peculiar sight.

It was Kano, laying wrapped in a cloak, obviously passed out. Near him, a putrid smelling pot sat on a wire hanging assembly, it’s contents cooling and congealing while the embers below it slowly died out.

There were no signs of trouble nearby, no visible conflict of any sort, just Kano, apparently asleep. Venator silently slid Kano’s Westar pistol, still in it’s holster, just of out the Mandalorian’s reach using his toe, when the weirdness of it all finally hit. The man was totally and completely unarmored. That might have been the most frightening thing of all.

“Kano,” Ven said quietly. “Kano, you alive?”

The question was redundant really, the man’s life signs were as clear to Venator as the color of Venator’s curtains were to Kano. He was certainly alive, but it was still something to ask. There was no response though, just shallow breathing.

Ven tried calling Kano’s voice again, this time prodding him in the ribs with his toe. That didn’t provide a reaction either, other than a small grunt. Considering that might be something of a problem, the Miraluka rolled the Mandalorian over, and checked him for injury. Finding none, and more than a little baffled, the hunter just rekindled the fire, and sat there quietly out of the way. If Kano didn’t wake soon, he’d call the DSOG for a medevac pickup, but he had the feeling it might not be necessary

Overhead, a hawkbat circled in the night sky.

Dxun
Inner Rim
33 ABY

Dxun.

The word still rung in his head, like the day he had said them on Ossus. The planet was familiar to him and after a short visit on Onderon finding the next two leads for the rest of his family, he went to the jungle planet. He and his Night Raptors, the team he had created had came to this planet during 31 ABY, went to Dxun after being given a tip about a group of Jedi breaking into a forgotten tomb of a Sith Lord. Although it had been years since the team’s experience there, he still remembered their time inside the tomb. Arack Tavar acting near crazy, Ryuk wanting to kill everything, and Valorian wanting to kill Fremoc and take over the team. The Dark Side had tainted his team while they were on the planet and inside the tomb, and once they were off planet the members regained their composure, except for Arack.

The shuttle hovered over the same landing spot Fremoc had used two years earlier, the grass had regrown over that time, covering the imprints the landing gear had made. He let the shuttle hover for a moment more before he let the landing gear touch the ground with a solid crunch. The exit ramp crushed more of the grass as he walked down it, immediately working his way to the unknown tomb. He let himself embrace the Force fully on the planet, letting it talk to him, letting it tell him the subtleties of his movements. The abundance of the Force on Dxun was intoxicating, and with each step he felt the Dark Side grow more and more powerful. He was in a trance, completely enveloped with the Force.

The tomb had not changed much since his last visit. The structure, not standing more than eight meters off the ground with a fairly large opening for the a door, and almost a meter and a half surrounding it was devoid of life. He wondered if he would find the Codex Vocatus there, as he moved into the tomb, the Dark Side enveloping even further.

***

A pack of Boma followed the Prelate, slowly moving to not to be noticed. They took their time to follow him, but stopped as he went into the tomb and began to wait for the human’s return, if he returned.

***

The tomb he knew was empty, except for the corpses that he and his team had left behind to rot and decay. He was surprised that the bodies had not evaporated into the Force like lore had told. Instead it seemed like the Dark Side was holding the bodies captive to this world. Fremoc moved closer to where the Dark Side was pulling him, the hallway expanding into a large chamber. Dark energy emitted from a blacked stone box that stood a meter off the ground, a meter wide, and two meters in length. He moved closer to the lid, that was ajar and looked inside the final resting place for the Dark Jedi. Fremoc looked at the skeleton, noticing the arms were across the body as if to hold a rather large book against its chest.

“Son of a...” cursed Fremoc as he figured out that the book was missing. He began cursing the Dark Side for leading him there. Cursing the fact that no leads to the Codex, would mean more time spent away from his wife and family. But he faintly felt something emitting within the Force, from where the book had been. He reached in and touched the skeleton’s wrist, where the faint touch of a Force presence emitted from. The presence was familiar to him, even after not hearing or talking to the Dark Jedi in almost 2 years.

His anger coursed through his veins, as he stormed out of the tomb, his mind remembering the events and how Arack Tavar ran off from the Orian system after Operation Poison Stroke. Every day after the operation, Arack began to become crazier and crazier, until one day during an exercise Tavar shot another team member. The incident made the young journeyman run away from the planet, while Kano and Fremoc tended to their fallen comrade. Fremoc sent out scouts to find where Arack had gone, but none had spotted the journeyman until Kano had returned from his trip to the Shadow Academy. Kano informed the Prelate of Arack being a member of House Arcona, and that he actually went by the name of Talos d’Tana.

Fremoc moved through the opening of the tomb to discover a pack of boma waiting for him. He chuckled to himself as he pulled his lightsaber off of his belt, and lit the blade holding it away from his body. Two of the younger members of the pack ran out to meet Fremoc, who easily sliced his blade through their bodies, killing them instantly. The smell of ozone filled his nostrils, intoxicating his mind as his adrenaline kicked in. His movements were like a torrent of water cutting through each boma, their howls and the smell of their deaths fueling his adrenaline even more. He cut his lightsaber through the final boma, and let his breath out that he didn’t realize that he was holding. Each member of the boma pack either lay there dead or severely wounded and howling in pain.

There had only been two or three other times where he had completely enveloped himself in the Dark Side, making his movements, his actions, near impossible to beat. They were abnormal to him, yet they felt amazing at the same time, each time he wanted to continue that feeling. The Prelate deactivated his lightsaber as he moved back towards his ship, letting the beasts lie there, just as he had done years prior with the Jedi. He moved up the shuttle’s ramp and hit the shutting mechanism and moved to the cockpit. Fremoc activated the replusors and sent the ship towards the heavens, plotting his course into the navigation computer.

He knew where he needed to go.

Orbit of Selen
Dajorra System

“Shuttle Wanderer, what is your business coming to Selen?” stated the Giletta starport’s comm controller.

“I’m Magistrate to the Fist of the Brotherhood on a mission from the Fist to inspect the troops,” stated Fremoc.

“Yes sir, welcome! Docking bay 5 is currently available.”

“Thank you,” replied the Prelate as he piloted the shuttle through the atmosphere. His secret apprentice was on the planet, but he could feel a sense of urgency on the planet and knew he didn’t have much time to catch Arack. The starport came into view and quickly Fremoc slowed the shuttle down and landed it softly in the docking bay. He didn’t turn the shuttle off, because he needed to get on and get off the planet as soon as he could, since the members of House Arcona would be trying to contact Ma`ar on Antei. A group of soldiers were waiting for Fremoc as he exited the starport, with a speeder to accomadate everyone.

“Sir, your visit is most unexpected,” stated the group’s Sergeant.

“Well, I like to keep people on their toes, as does the Fist,” replied Fremoc. He needed to keep the charade that he was acting under Ma`ar’s orders by going to Selen and to House Arcona. “You gentlemen don’t need to come with me, I just need access to everything. I like to hide in places to watch, make sure that everything is being done the way it was supposed to.”

“Yes, sir. That will be sent straight to your datapad as soon as we can.”

“I’d prefer it done now.” He emphasized on the now and looked sternly into the eyes of the Sergeant. The man’s eyes filled with fear for the briefest of moments before looking away to his datapad. With a few presses of buttons Fremoc heard his datapad chirp.

“There, you have access to all of our facilities.”

“Thank you. I have one further request.”

“What is it sir?”

“Do you know where Talos d’Tana lives? He is an old friend of mine and I would like to visit him in my travels.”

“Yes, sir. But with your access you can find his apartment by just accessing your datapad.”

“Thank you again.” Fremoc took the speeder that was waiting, and sped off towards the center of the Estle City. The datapad brought up the location for Talos’ apartment, as it began to spout of directions for the Prelate to follow to get there. With only a hundred meters left to Talos’ apartment, Fremoc stopped the speeder and exited the vehicle, before walking to the building. He reached out in the Force to sense if Talos was in his apartment, but found no life emitting from it. The Prelate stepped back into the shadows, facing the Arconan’s door, and began to mask his presence in the Force as well as cloak his entire body. Within moments, Fremoc could not be seen as his body had become completely invisible, and his presence as small as it possibly could be.

Hours crept by as Fremoc stood waiting for his former apprentice. Darkness began to take the planet, when Talos walked up to his door. He fiddled with the door, before it opened and deactivated the security system. With a flash of movement, Fremoc was inside the apartment and had shut the door before drawing his DC-15s pistol, aiming it at Talos’ forehead.

“Where is the book, Arack?” questioned Fremoc, the muzzle to the pistol getting closer to the man’s forehead. “I know its not here.”

“Arack? Book? Who the hell are you?” Talos retored, not remembering Fremoc with his face half covered.

“It’s Fremoc, your old master.” The Prelate pulled the cloth off his face exposing the cybernetic eye.

“My lord!” Talos immediately fell to one knee, bowing his head, paying respect to the man that had train him in secret while he was a member of Naga Sadow. Fremoc’s pistol followed the Dark Jedi Knight’s movement. “What brings you here to Arcona, my lord?”

“This isn’t a social visit Arack, its business. Do you remember Operation Poison Stroke?”

Talos looked up at his former master. “Vaguely, I was beginning go insane if I recall. You can call me Talos, my lord. Arack was a name I was using to spy on other Clans until I returned to Arcona.”

“Fine. Talos, do you remember if you stole a book from the grave?”

“Yes, I do remember. I deemed that the source of my insanity.”

“Where is it?” Fremoc growled, he was beginning to become impatient, wanting to get the Codex and be off Selen.

“In our Archives.”

“Take me there.”

“I can’t. We are heading to the Yridia system to help House Tarentum with an internal problem.”

“Then tell me how to get there.” Talos explained how to get into the Archives at the Citadel, before finally standing and grabbing his gear.

“I’ve told you everything, now I must leave before my CO sends a search party.”

“Thanks Talos. Oh, and by the way, I wasn’t here.”

“Of course you weren’t.” Fremoc opened the door and began to walk away from Talos’ apartment before getting into the vehicle he was given. The vehicle sped down the roads towards the Citadel, the towering building that made Fremoc wonder who had actually made it. Upon entering the structure, Fremoc made his way to turbolift, his heart starting to pound as he knew he was getting closer. The turbolift slowed to a stop, and opened its doors. The Prelate expanded his senses, feeling the Dark Side pull at him, giving him the location of the Codex.

His footsteps clicked on the marble surface as he walked closer to the Arconan Archives. Two guards stood in front of the large door that entered the Archives. The Prelate could feel the tug growing stronger, as he stepped the closer but was blocked as the two guards stepped to block him.

“Authorization,” grunted one of the guards.

Fremoc pulled out his datapad and keyed his authorization, before bringing it up to eye level for the guards to read. “This should suffice. I am Magistrate to the Fist of the Brotherhood and have been granted access to this level.”

“No you haven’t,” chuckled the second guard, who looked sideways to the first. With a nod, the two guards lashed out with their fists. Fremoc ducked the punches, and returned fire with two his two fists ramming into their stomachs. He heard the two men’s air expel from their lungs as they doubled over in pain. The Prelate rose to his full height, grasping the back of both guard’s necks, as he slammed their heads together, knocking them both unconscious. The two slumped to the ground, as Fremoc moved towards the archives and as a second thought he grabbed the collars of their uniforms and dragged them in with him. His back entered the Archives first, before the rest of his body and didn’t notice the man standing behind him.

“What are you doing with these guards?”

Fremoc stood up straight as he turned around to the Archive Keeper. “These two guards where asleep, and I figured they would sleep better in here where its quiet.”

“They need to be guarding the entrance!”

“Then wake them up! I need to find a book.” Fremoc moved past the Keeper as the man moved to wake up the soldiers. The Prelate followed his senses as he tried to find the Codex Vocatus. The Arconan Archives was nothing compared to the Great Sadow Library that he had been in half a year prior. The room wasn’t that big, making it easy to find the Codex. He picked the book off the shelf, as well as a few that had enticing names. He pulled his knife from its sheath, using it to cut off a long strap from his robe, before sliding it back home. Fremoc tied the strap tightly around the books, leaving a length of the strap long, so he could tie the books to his belt at the small of his back. He started to make his way back to the door after securing the books, and found the Keeper and the two Guards to be blocking the door.

“You’re not allowed in here. Even if you are Magistrate to the Fist, you don’t have the authorization for the Archives,” stated the Keeper as he moved towards Fremoc. The Prelate chuckled, as he looked to his left and to the right, thinking of his next move. He had no choice. Fremoc raised his arms towards the doors and the three men blocking him. Dark energy formulated at the palms of his hands, as the three men smirked. “What are you trying to do? Curse us?”

A menacing laugh escaped from his lips, “No. This.” The Dark energy exploded from the palms of his hands, blowing the Keeper and the two guards backwards, shattering the door as they flew through. Fremoc stepped through the shattered door, noticing the pile of the men before moving towards the turbolift. The lift took him to where his speeder was waiting for him, and immediately turned the speeder around and began to head to the starport as two speeders filled with soldiers drove past. The drive to the starport didn’t take long but he could feel that the Arconan soldiers where onto him as he boarded the shuttle. Closing the ramp as he lifted off, he pushed the shuttle to its max speed, before leaving the atmosphere and entering hyperspace.

Space

He stood in front of the comm station as he prepared the message. “My lord... I have it.”

Tarthos
Unknown Location
Early Afternoon

The first thing to register in Kano’s mind was the smell of the grass that his face was resting in the second was someone’s presence. For a second the Templar forgot where he was and was worried that he wasn’t ready for any battles in his current state. Then something shocked Kano from pretending to be asleep. He could see.

“What the frak?”

Kano sat up quickly; causing Venator to grip onto the Templar’s Westar to make sure it was out of his reach. The Miraluka spoke calmly to Kano as he frantically looked around opening and closing his eyes, it was also at this time that Venator noticed a red aura slightly transuding from where the Templar’s eyes.

“Calm down Kano. It is only me, Venator. I found you passed out here and decided to watch over…”

Before he could finish his sentence Kano cut his off, “It worked! The gorram book wasn’t lying.”

Kano closed his eyes and turned 360 degrees, stopping when he was facing Venator once more, eyes still closed, “I can see you. I can see everything. No darkness anywhere. Shadows do not exist. The gorram curse worked.”

Venator still stood just looking at Kano, trying to understand what the Templar was going on about. After several seconds of thought the Miraluka spoke up with his conclusion, “Are you messing around with Krath sorcery? Is that what you have done to yourself?”

“Not even close.” Kano picked up the book from the ground and held it up for VEnator to see, “It is a voodoo curse. I placed it on myself. You see this book, well of course you don’t see it, but you know what I mean. It belonged to a Sayormi monk and now it belongs to me. I can see the power radiating from it now, with these.” Kano placed his hands on his eyes, “Ven, you gotta keep this a secret. I know that is the second time I have asked you that but I think once people see that I am no longer in full Mandalorian armor that will be enough of a shock. Can I count on you? One hunter to another.”

The Miraluka stood there soaking in what Kano had said about the Sayormi’s book and what had been done to his eyes. Before long Venator reached his hand out and shook Kano’s, “Yeah. It stays between us.”

Tarthos
Pepoi Residence
Early Evening

Kano snuck back into the Pepoi residence and into his room as quickly as possible. Once inside the Templar laid his armor on the floor and looked down on it. With a slide of his foot Kano moved the leg plates under the bed and with a second slide of his foot he kicked the cod piece under as well. Still looking down on his armor Kano reached down and picked up the chest plate, still attacked to its leather vest. Kano looked at the armor still laying on the floor and slid it under the bed as well, “This is all I need now.”

As he placed the leather vest back on Kan heard the sound of feet coming down the hall, they ended with a knock at the door. Teu’s voice came through the closed door, “You okay in there Kano? All I hear is metal sliding around. Try turning on a light and you won’t keep kicking your armor around.”

“Yeah, just getting ready to rack out for the evening.” Kano checked his gauntlet for a time readout and was surprised at how late it was. He looked out his window and the world outside was as bright as day, “This might be tough getting used to.” Kano laid down on his bed and closed his eyes, his room remained clearly visible with his eyes shut, “Aw, hell.”

Antei
Valley of the Lost
Domain of the Dark Council

The Triumvirate would be ashamed. From his place at the peak of the Kazak Plateau, he gazed across the barren wastes of the Valley of the Lost. Far to the east stood the Lorimar Mesa, and just to the North, the Dark Hall itself. He saw far, and knew much. Yet the flush of his cheeks brought a sense of shame. The Orders had drawn lines.

In a thunderclap of fire, an infernal eruption of flame roared just within his vision. A cabal of Krath Sorcerers had obviously failed in their efforts to summon demonic fire. Trevarus cringed, this was not the sort of war for the Order of the Krath. In single handed combat, the current generation were no match for the martial prowess of the followers of Ferran or the Sith. The greatest of the War Mages had all but faded to obscurity, or could not intercede in the conflict.

The Oracle, himself one of the last great Sorcerers of the Brotherhood, would not enter this conflict. Instead, he would plunder the archives of the Krath Order.

He turned his eyes to the sky beyond, and through the flashing storm of the Boundary, he caught a dark glimpse of the Star Ante, a deep pool of obsidian crowned by a swirling miasma of violet-white. During his incarnation as the Thunder Dragon, he had heard rumors of the Holocron of Taimat. That the Krath Order had discovered it.

He meant to discern these rumors, and take it for his own.

“Raistlin?”

“Trev” the Obelisk replied.

“Are you ready to die yet again?” the Oracle asked

A crack of energy and the shimmering emerald light of Juyo lightsabers signaled his reply.

“I’m ready”

Almost an anticlimax was the sound of a chime from the communicator in his pocket. Trevarus frowned, and retreived the device. He opened it to reveal the glowing image of Fremoc Pepoi in blue-white minature.

"My Lord, I have it"

The Codex Vocatus. Trevarus smiled in triumph.

"Excellent. Now, you will come to Antei," Trevarus keyed his coordinates to Fremoc. "We have much work to do. Make all haste"

"As you command, my master." The hologram faded.

Trevarus turned to Raistline, the Praefectus Dominus primed for battle. "Stand down, my old friend. This war will continue... the fates have shown me a way."

In a slither of sound, Raistline shut down his lightsabers, he stood in disbelief. "Trev, we need to get moving"

"Fremoc will help us, he's on his way." Trevarus grinned. "Two Obelisk, helping a Krath Master raid the seat of the Krath. I love a good splash of irony"

Antei

The shuttle broke through the atmosphere, and could sense the tensions rising. He noticed a group of soldiers guarding Temple Boyna, while a large group of other soldiers in red made their way to the Temple several kilometers away. He set the shuttle on autopilot to land a 25 kilometers away from the battle that was about to unfold, and made his way to the airlock. He opened it, launching himself out the shuttle and towards the surface of Antei. Fremoc used the Force to slow his descent as he grew closer to the troops at the entrance of the Obelisk stronghold. He landed on the ground in the crouched position, and rose to his full height, immediately noticing that the soldiers were actually members of the Obelisk Order. He recognized a face and immediately moved to him.

“Dante!” he yelled to his rival, yet still his friend. “Old man, what’s going on here?”

“The Sith are trying to take over the Temple and the Triumvirate library. We’ve got to defend this place,” stated Angelo Dante. The older man’s stormtrooper armor looked as if it was just made.

“Lovely... Have the Obelisk from Naga Sadow showed up yet?”

“Negative, but I think that shuttle is them now.” Dante pointed at the shuttle that was just landing mere meters away. Fremoc strode to the shuttle, noticing the Naga Sadow markings, and stood in front of the exit ramp waiting for its occupants to disembark. Tsainetomo, followed by the members of his family, Dyrra, and Venator.

“Welcome to Antei, Commanders,” stated Fremoc, his cloak fluttered in the wind of another shuttle landing nearby. Tsainetomo chuckled at the sight of the Prelate and extended his hand.

“Good to see you, Prelate,” stated the Quaestor as the two shook hands. “If you’ll excuse me I’ve got to meet with Kir and Korras.”

Fremoc nodded, but stopped as Teu lept into his arms, her stomach pressing into him, as she kissed him hard. “Hello hunny.”

“I guess you can tell?”

“Yes, we’ve got another one on the way huh?” She stuck her tongue out at him as the rest surrounded him. “Right, everyone inside, I’ve got some information to discuss with you.” The group of five moved into the Temple, and found a corner where they could have a quiet discussion. Without any word, Fremoc sat down, and pulled out a rather large file from his pack. The other four sat down as well, his wife sitting next to him. He began to pull out records, one stack in front of Kano, another in front of Methyas, and the last stack in front of Araxis. He noticed Venator standing against the wall, and chuckled, obviously knowing that the Miraluka was listening in. “In front of you are family records. Pepoi Family records.”

Kano began to flip through it, reading through it all, his voice shaky, “You’re... my brother?”

Fremoc only nodded.

Methyas and Araxis looked through their stacks, Methyas figuring it out first. “Cousins? The four of us?”

Fremoc nodded again, “We are family.” Teu’s hand slipped into Fremoc’s.

“I think we need a bigger house now,” joked Araxis.

“Considering there’s been two pregnant women running around the house? Dear lord we need a bigger house,” continued Kano, who had to deal with the brunt of it over the last couple of months.

Fremoc only chuckled as he stood up. “I’ll be home as soon as I can though. As for right now, I need to meet Trev.”

“Trev? Now? During this war?” questioned Teu, he could feel her anger rising.

“Yes, I have something he wants. I’ll be back here as soon as I can.” He turned to her and kissed her softly.

“Gents, do I need to explain?”

“Protect her with my life, got it. Brother,” said Kano. With a nod Fremoc left the group and back towards the entrance. The Prelate grabbed the Miraluka by the collar to help him move outside into the light.

“Orders?” said Venator.

“You know what to do, watch over them. They are my family now,” replied Fremoc.

“It will be done.”

“Thanks Ven.” Fremoc jumped onto a speeder that was nearby and sped off towards the Valley of the Lost, homing in on Trevarus’ presence in the Force. He maneuvered through the Valley, remembering the last time he was there, when he had blown up areas to protect the Disciples of Sadow. The explosions helped stop the Droid Army of Crask, but then had to fight off Ekeia when she attacked him inside the Hall of Immortals. The girl had injured him greatly, but eventually regained her own sanity. He snapped himself back into the present as the speeder he stole was mere meters away from Trevarus. He slowed the vehicle down to a stop and got off. He noticed Raistlin standing ready with Trevarus, as Fremoc pulled the Codex Vocatus out offering into to Caerick.

“As you requested, master.”

Kazak Plataeu, Valley of the Lost
Antei
Domain of the Dark Council


Harsh winds whipped through his cloak, but the smirk of triumph on his face could not be mistaken. He had searched for years, if not a decade for a copy of this book. Its words would help him unlock a mystery that had confounded a lifetime of research. It was in his hands.

"You're hiding something from me, Pepoi"

Unwillingly, Fremoc handed over four other leather bound books.

Trevarus scanned a few pages of the first, called the Opictus Diagrammus. He tossed it aside. "Attributed to Satal Keto himself, this is an obvious forgery."

But the other three. Trevarus' eyes carefully read a few words, and the books vanished into nothingness in a crack of air.

"Fremoc Pepoi"

"Yes, my Lord"

Thou has read the mysteries from the three mouths of the Azhi Dakai, and pondered the riddles."

"I know the identies of the Heralds, and seek to supplant then"

Then for all of thine days, carry this mark with thee, than none shall harry thine passage."

In a thunderclap, a broken jagged blade of obsidian appeared in Trevarus' hands. He carved the eye in the middle of Fremoc's forehead. From a small, frog-shaped jar, he rubbed in an oily coal-black substance.

"Rise Erronis. See"

Fremoc's eyes blazed with cobalt spendor, and when the tattoo parted, it shined with brilliant azure light. After a few seconds, he fell to Trevarus' feet.

"My Lord... I have never..."

"The Third Sight is overwhelming,... but come now, we have bigger fish to fry"

Temple Bonya, Antei

There was a flash, bright as the sun, which forced several of the assembled Obelisk to their knees. For a moment, everything went silent, save the laughter of a single Sith.

“They say Obelisk are such warriors, but see what a simple flash grenade can do?” She said, fighting hard not to completely break up in laughter. That was, until one of the Obelisk spoke.

“They say Sith are such brilliant tacticians, but you forgot to plan for this situation.” Araxis said, rubbing his eyes. “Get her.”

At that moment, two of the Obelisk leapt forward, their movements aided by the Force, one igniting a simple lightsaber, the other one lighting up one beast of a blade. She was put onto the defensive immediately, struggling to get her heavy repeater up, but before she could be struck down, she powered the weapon up and began spewing blaster bolts across all creation.

The unarmored Obelisk got pinned down quickly from her assault, while the other couldn't make the headway without his partner.

“Ven, remember the woods?” Methyas asked.

“Yeah, yeah,” The other said, and pushed a small Force Blast towards her. The distraction worked, allowing the two of them to tandem up.

Forests outside of Mucenic, Tarthos
Two Months Prior

It was a particularily brisk day, especially compared to that of a traditional day away from the heart of the former Ragnosian stronghold. It was comfortable for him though, he had needed to cool off after all he had been through. The cool air filled his lungs as found the clearing he sought, one he had grown accustomed to training in since arriving on Tarthos. Quickly igniting Harmony, the Miraluka began as he always had: reciting the code during velocities.

The clearing had been chosen easily, to feel the heat of the Orian stars upon him and to keep the plant and wildlife from distracting him in his concentration. Each movement of the blade in his hands was well practiced and precise, his drive to master the ancient form ensuring his success in combat. His selection of training grounds served its purpose well, his velocities returning to a traditional ready stance as the thin tendrils of the Force flowed from him to an intruder in his clearing. Even though the figure had been deathly quiet, little could escape the far reaching sight of a Miraluka. Methyas simply smiled as his blindfolded eyeless sockets turned to face the eyeless sockets of the wild hunter, his voice rising silently, "You've been doing a good job keeping an eye on us Venator, I have to admire the way you remain unseen."

If Venator was shocked he didn't show it, his response straight-forward, "How'd you know it was me?"

A simple smile crossed the older man's face as he turned, "Outside the Pepoi homestead you usually don't cloak your signature like you did now. I figured you'd be one of the few to follow me out here, and you can move more quietly than most of the wildness out here."

Venator simply nodded as Methyas chuckled and continued his velocities, the younger man watching Methyas carefully as he moved. It was subtle, but enough for L'eonheart to pick up on, "Would you like to learn Soresu, Ven? I could teach you if you have the patience."

Shrugging, the assassin and bounty hunter turned Dark Jedi unclipped the armory lightsaber from his belt. “Sure. Macron's been drilling me in Makashi, but every time I try to just move for a kill, he gets onto me for ignoring the elegance of the form.”

“It can't be that bad. He's not killed you yet, after all,” Methyas said, sweeping Harmony through a cadence, designed to help one learn how to protect against someone fighting in a very tight, arcing style.

Venator stepped clear of Methyas, ignited his own blade, and began mimicking the movements. “No, but I hear more of my name than I like to. He always calls me by my birth name. I wish I'd told him I didn't remember it.” He added, watching how tight Methyas kept his wrist to his body, but fluid in the postures. The other tough part was the footwork. Every swing was a step, and while not tied to organic vision meant he could see all of it, focusing on all of it at once was tricky.

“Where's the part where you kill the guy?” Venator asked, noticing a distinct lack of killing in the velocities.

Methyas finished up the movements, and cocked his head. “It's a form used for defense, but it has kill strokes as well. Watch this again.” He said, and maneuvered himself around to face the other Miraluka. He worked the kata again, this time twisting the tip of his blade at certain pause points.

“The plan is to have the blade here before your opponent has theirs. You throw off their timing the movement before, and you wind up taking them out at the knees and intestines. Not a pretty way to go, to tell the truth.” Methyas said, extrapolating on the chess game that Soresu can become.

“There's worse,” Venator replied. “Trust me, there's worse.”

The men worked a while longer on the velocities, which served the dual purpose of cementing them even further into Methyas' muscle memory, as well as helping Venator get more comfortable with the lightsaber. As the warmth of the day began to fade, they broke for a moment.

“You getting the hang of it?” Methyas asked as he opened his pack and tossed Venator a sandwich.

Venator caught it, opened his own pack, and tossed Methyas a bottle of water. “Yeah, a little bit. It's going to take some getting used to.”

“Everything does.” Methyas replied, digging into his cold nerf and cheese on whole grain.

“Did you get that report Fremoc tossed you translated into emboss?” Venator asked, talking about the emboss printing used for the visually impaired. Generally it was done on a plastic sheet with the aurebesh letters pushed considerably up, easy enough to run one's fingers over to read.

“I never bothered learning how to read. Couldn't see the letters, so I didn't bother with Emboss. There's enough signs I'd never see anyway, and besides, not every place uses it. Most just get cyber-optics.” Methyas said with a shrug.

“Well yeah, but it shadows differently in the Force. What are you missing?” Venator asked, and on an off chance, he drew a crude picture in the dirt with a nearby stick. “Can you see that?”

Methyas shook his head. “Nope, I know you did something though. I always figured that was more important.”

“Yeah, but...” Ven said, shocked at the other Miraluka. “We don't see the same way, I don't think. Your energy is blinding you.”

“I've gotten better about it, I used to bleed it all over the place.” Methyas said, slightly defensively.

Venator nodded and made a rude hand gesture while holding his hand to his body. If Methyas noticed, he didn't say anything. After a quiet moment, Venator thought he'd discovered the reason. While watching the Templar train, he pushed out with himself so hard it was almost painful. Not like overacheving, but it was more he didn't do much of anything small. It was go big or go home.

“Methyas, come here for a minute please.” Venator said, putting the last of his sandwich back on the wrapper, and walking towards a tree. Once the Templar walked over, Venator pointed to a small flowering shrub growing next to that same tree. “See those butterflies? Catch one and punch the tree.”

Methyas made a face, but went ahead with it, carefully scooping up one of the delicate insects, and driving his fist hard into the tree. Within his hand, he felt the thing crush, and through the Force, saw it's life extinguish. “What did that prove? All I did was kill a butterfly.”

“Yeah, you did. Just watch.” Venator replied, and scooped a praying mantis like thing, and held it in his fist.

“There's no sense in this, you're just killing insects.” Methyas protested. Regardless of their world, their training, their ideologies, there was no arguing that, simplistically, life created the Force.

“Am I?” Venator asked, and drew back, striking the bole of the tree with incredible force, driving his fist through it cleanly. He then withdrew his hand, and let the mantis hop back onto the shrub. As the amazed Templar looked, his mouth agape, Venator continued. “Teras Kasi, it means Steel Hands. Part of the training involves knowing when to strike, and when to relax yourself.”

“So, you're saying I can't relax myself?” Methyas asked thoughtfully.

“No, I'm saying nobody's shown you how.” Venator answered, sitting in a full lotus position on the ground. “You taught me how to handle a saber without killing myself with it, least I can do is show you how to focus yourself better. If this works, I'll get some Emboss books and teach you your letters too. Neon signs will become your best friend.”

Shrugging, Methyas pulled his legs up under himself, and began listening to the other Miraluka's instructions.

The basics were easy enough to understand as Venator explained the basics to Methyas, it was similar to the sort of "Battle Meditation" or "trance" he would place himself under in combat but something to be done at a moment's notice, almost a passive meditation. The premise behind Teras Kasi was simple for the elder Miraluka, "The art of Teras Kasi is about control and master of one's self."
And so, their training together went on like this for the next several weeks. Methyas would help Venator refine his skills in Soresu while Venator would help Methyas focus himself and teach him to read embossed scripts.

Outside Temple Bonya, Antei

The two sabers flashed in brilliant unison through the air, their crisp cerulean colours a stark contrast to the golden sand and red bolts lunging towards them. Behind the odd pair lie their team, the Obelisk forces steadily returning to their senses as the Miralukan warriors steadily approached their prey. Master and Student, Student and Master; Methyas and Ven worked flawlessly as repeater bolts were cast aside harmlessly with each step closer to the Sith who could feel her simple victory slipping away. A flanking attack, the woman was beginning to show fear as her sweeps with her repeater grew wider and wider to try and fend off the only kink in her plan. With a sudden lunge, Venator switched to Makashi, going for the woman's gut as she shifted her attention to Methyas. Bolts screamed away as a young Master of Soresu deftly stopped all threats to his body, swiftly shifting his defensive velocity into a high arching strike. The combined attack would've easily slain a less skilled opponent, the woman being more agile than expected, narrowly escaping the blades with a twist and roll of her body.

In one quick flash, the woman's blood red blades were ignited and she started at the pair with unbridled aggression. Her strikes were sloppy and her emotion affected too much of herself in combat, while her strikes were powerful she would miss an opening or a chance to use the Force because she was blinded by her rage and the blow to her ego. Assassin and Paladin worked together well; while Ven could keep her on the defense with his speed and strength, Methyas could let into her with abilities through the Force. With a sudden jerk out of combat, Methyas caused the Sith to stumble and miss her strike before being devoured by the sands around her. The Templar was skilled with the Force, much moreso than physical talents, that was where Venator came in. The woman was effectively blind, the sands whipped about her in a viscious sandstorm brought about by Methyas' whirlwind. She called upon the Force for aid, but the only figures she could see were either farther away at the Temple entrance or too small to be the Obelisk she had fought.

She stumbled about for a moment or two, trying to escape the sandstorm but it simply followed her every move. Without another moment wasted the two had set their trap, communicating through the Force alone to spring it. Sand rained down upon the Sith in a single moment revealing the two Obelisk on either side of her, at that point it was too late. Without a sound the woman fell to the ground trisected, Venator and Methyas had moved opposite directions to cleave her cleanly where she stood before she had notice. As their prey hit the ground, Venator chimed in quietly, "That never would've worked before, you would've given us away like the smell of Bantha poodoo."

Methyas sighed slightly as he patted his friend on the shoulder, "Yeah, yeah. Thanks...oh frak..."

Venator didn't have to respond, the sight before them was more than enough. The bulk of the Sith force marched towards them in a sea of vibrant lights as the pair stood alone atop the hill next to the slain Sith woman, an obvious scout or diversionary measure. Outnumbered as they were, other Obelisk had returned to their senses and began to climb the hill to aid them as they stood there, their friends and family among them as their number grew to match the Sith army. A smile simply crossed their faces as the sounds of combat began to errupt around them, this was as good a day as any for someone else to die.

Inos Moon 42
Tombs of Urias Orian

Ashura stood still as he looked around the lair of Curwen Sunei, the insane Dark Side Adept who had enslaved his apprentice. He knew that sooner or later Sunei would need to return here for one reason or another, and that was when the Warlord would strike him down.

The Dark Side washed over the Sith like a warm blanket on a cold winters night. This place was strong with Dark Side energies. The untrained and weak would become affected by such as Aleho had. The fate of his apprentice weighed heavily on his conscious, Isradia knew that without a doubt he had failed her. That was why he was here and on Antei. That was why he was not facing down the other Orders with his Sith brothers and sisters. That was why he remained in the Orian system.

His thoughts were suddenly brought back to here and now as he heard a lightsaber cut down a group of undead followers of Urias Orian. He remained calm and centred and allowed the himself become ready to do the forsaken deed if needed. To strike down his apprentice before she becomes a threat to Naga Sadow’s disciples.

<><><>

Kissai hated this place as she cut down the last of the undead with her lightsaber. She could feel her master watching her through her minds eye. There connection had grown stronger and stronger. Master Sunei had sent her on a mission: To recover a hidden book within his lair, one which he knew the Sith scum controlling this system would never find.

She silently moved through the dark tunnel with only her red lightsaber for a light source, it’s crimson glow only made the surroundings more terrifying. The Force cried out to her to defend herself and the Krath-turned-Sith was able to block and cut down another undead zombie. Anger pulsated through her being as it felt an outside force was forcing violent emotions on to her.

Turning the corner the tunnel lead into the lair of her master. It was empty and yet for some reason she had expected to see someone. Perhaps it was her mind playing tricks on her. Her blueish-gray eyes scanned the room and could see a lot had been removed since she had last been here. Her eyes settled on the stone table where she “birth” had taken place. The name Aleho Ruoxf seemed to had lost its meaning.

Returning to the mission at hand Kissai walked over to the stone table and opened herself up to her master. Words unknown to her began leaving her lips as she became the vessel of Curwen Sunei. Through her he chanted repeatedly and channeled his powers through the young Togruta. Powers beyond her control began moving hidden pieces built into the table and after a moment a hidden compartment had opened. Kissai reached in and took the old book.

‘Be careful my apprentice. That book is worth more that your life at the moment.’

‘I understand, my master.’ She replied.

Then master and apprentice sensed the hidden occupant in the room. Kissai turned round to face the man who had been her master in her former life. “Ashura Isradia,” she said, although the words did not originate from her, but from Curwen, “I should have known.” She grinned evilly and quickly burst into full Force enhanced run, the book clutched safely to her chest.

Kissai could feel Isradia close behind her. He seemed relentless in his pursuit as he master guided her through the labyrinth of tunnels. She used the Force to try and slow him down by ripping up stalagmites and stalactites.

Finally she ran out onto a wide cliff edge. There was no where else to run and somehow Kissai knew her master knew that.

‘Kissai. You must face your former master and kill him. I will aid you.’

Fear and anger were overwhelming but not as much as her master claiming her body again.

<><><>

Ashura had been injured slightly after getting hit by a Force propelled stalagmite. Blood trickled down his right arm as he walked out from the tunnel onto the rock platform over looking the icy mountains

Aleho was waiting for him. Her lightsaber ignited in a ready stance as he faced her. “Aleho?”

“That is not my name.” She replied. Anger flared in her eyes and Ashura could see nothing that resembled his apprentice.

“When what is your name then?” He asked coyly.

“Krissai. A name my master chose for me.” Even her voice seemed different.

“I am your master!” The Warlord hissed at her.

“No. You’re a dead man walking.” Kissai said and then the battle began.

Ashura was taken back by her skills as Aleho seemed to be far better than she should be. Every move and strike and block were performed by a skilled warrior beyond the skills of such a young girl. He then understood that Curwen Sunei was aiding her.

“You’re a coward Sunei. To use a child instead of challenging me face to face.” Ashura snarled and barely blocked Aleho’s attack. The girl laughed and just smiled in a way he knew Leho would never.

The duel was intense as Aleho seemed to be on even par with him despite know it wasn’t really her doing the fighting but that crazy old hermit using her. However Ashura was stronger and his body was far more trained for prolong lightsaber duels. In one violent move he was able to trip her up and disarm her.

Kissai fell on the icy floor and Ashura brought his lightsaber down on her.

“Master. Stop!”

The lightsaber stopped inches away from his face.

“Aleho?” He asked.

“Yes master, it’s me, he left my mind in fear of feeling pain when you kill you.” She replied with a smile that was hers. It was enough for him to question his own judgement and lower his weapon

It was a mistake. A mistake based on his relationship with Aleho. A young orphan he adopted of sorts, who was to be his protegee. A relationship like a father figure. He wanted to believe Aleho was saved. But the truth was she was lost to him as he learned it the hard way.

Her lightsaber was back in her hand and he was able to block her attack but then she gave herself to Curwen Sunei, who was able to outmaneuver him due to injured arm and strike. The pain sheered through the side of his abdomen.

“Leho.”

<><><>

Krissai deactivated her saber as the look of betrayal in Ashura’s eyes shocked her to the core, although not more that the feeling of dread from impaling him with her lightsaber. She watched as he staggered back to the cliff edge.

‘Finish him! FINISH HIM!’

She stepped forward ready to do her master’s bidding despite her own feels. However before she could get another blow in Ashura looked back and fell backwards off the edge of the cliff. Rushing forward she tried to reach out and grab him but watched as he fell downwards and out of sight.

Then she could feel him anymore.

Tears were rolling down her face as she looked around frantically. She noticed an DSOG shuttle which Isradia arrived on not far away. The pilot had watched everything.

‘Krissai. Return the book to me.’

Unable to resist her masters call the young Sith turned and reentered the tombs to use the passages back to where her shuttle was hidden. Her mind kept going over what happened. Krissai couldn’t shake the look on her former masters face as he fell off the cliff. Tears were still fresh as the undead felt her presence one more. Anger flared within her as some self hatred began to consume her. She let her fury on the zombie blocking her path. Her old life was now over as there was nothing for her to go back to anymore. The people who had once been her friends were now her enemies.

There was only Curwen Sunei. His will for her to follow despite her own feelings and thoughts. He was her life now.

Rejuvenator-class Star Destroyer Auspicious
Flagship of Jedi Master Renko Yast
Edges of the Denaolian Asteroid Field
The Unknown Regions

To call the trip through the Denaolian Corridor precarious would at best be an understatement. Fatal was probably a better term. As Tradis looked out at the nose of the Star Destroyer, he was reminded how impossible it was that this ship was even still holding together. In addition to dents, there were entire gaping holes were passing stellar debris had ripped through the hull, and the hyperdrive had given out twice, nearing sending the ship tumbling into the wall of black holes that divided the galaxy in half.

And for good reason, thought the man who would have once been a Jedi, only the Force had apparently ordained that his was to be another path. This path, so it would seem. Looking out the open maw that had once been the main viewport, now made up instead of a twisted mess of girders and blackened durasteel, the stars were utterly alien to anything Tradis had seen in his lifetime – both in the sky itself or in the star-charts back in the start-charts back home. The stars themselves out here seemed to bend and warp, ebbing and flowing in a rainbow of cosmic distortions. Perhaps they were actually nebulae or stellar nurseries, either way it made no difference. This place was alien, as alien as it was possible. There was a reason none but the forsaken and those looking to run away from their lives journeyed out this far.

The cold, chilling voice rang out through ship, making the Auspicious shudder.

RETURN...

Tradis shut his eyes and clamped his hands over his ears to shut the voice out. Images of the past flashed through his mind – Master Yast, Taraeis, Xora – that rotting corpse – the crew – their bloodshot eyes as the madness slowly overtook them, until they had finally plucked out their own eyes – but not even that had ended the madness – the blood on the walls – still on the walls – pleas for help torn into the walls with fingernails – or their bleeding stumps – MAKE THE VOICES STOP! – PLEASE! HELP US! – NO MORE! NO MORE! – it had gone on for weeks – months – years – then there was finally only him left, only Tradis – alone – trapped forever with the lost and the damned – never to escape... ‘SHUT UP!’

Tradis opened his eyes and saw the words on the wall in front. His hands were bleeding. How had he got here? It didn’t matter. It never mattered. Looking up, the sign – flickering, always only flickering – said this was the Engineering Deck. The coldness pulled him close and then squeezed. He felt as if he could die right there – he wished he could die right there. But no. The cold still had more for him to do. The Unknown Regions were but the beginning. The Denaolian Corridor merely the gateway to the great void that stretched out beyond.

‘In the void, my heart weeps,’ whispered Tradis as he – slowly, more than slowly – tiptoed down into the bowels of the forgotten starship, into the tomb of the forgotten. Were they his words or another’s? Was there a difference? All were one and one were all. And Tradis was but one of many. The bodies lining the corridor appeared to tilt their heads and look up as he passed, although he knew it was nothing but a trick of the light. The dead were in a better place now – a place where the illusion that everyone called life was accepted for the fantasy it was. No, all that were left were the shells – vessels – of those who had been granted freedom from the half-life that he was now forced to linger in.

The stench of decay filled Tradis’s nostrils before he reached the makeshift hospital ward that had been erected by the Falleen girl four years prior. Tradis swallowed, the reflex reaction sending pain shooting up his throat as like sandpaper the dry walls rubbed together. Entrails and gore still lined the floor. Faecal matter and vomit still plastered the walls. When he finally reached it, the doorway to the ‘ward’ loomed weightily overhead, albeit it was no more than a few feet taller than he was. Distantly, the reactor core whistled its ear-piercing scream as automatic gyros switched off, motors revolved, and power was diverted from life support to the doorway right in front of him. With a heavy, grating sound of strain, the rusted tombstone of durasteel dragged sideways through the thick brown sludge, opening.

Tradis stepped inside.

Wreck of the Miner's Brother
In Orbit, Amphor
Orian System


“Every Jedi, Dark Jedi, and Sith has their own personal ritual with their lightsaber, my
Sith Apprentice. And you shall find yours as the passion and hate consume you.”
~Darth Vexatus

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

Earlier....

It was cold on the Miner’s Brother. The ancient Old Republic mining hulk drifted in orbit
around Amphor Prime in the Orian System. Aging force-fields kept the space out of the
broken decks and helped to deflect the ion storms. There was no atmosphere in much of
the hoary wreck. It was literal tomb, an ancient baradium scow destined to haul masses
of the explosive nuclear mineral throughout the stars to be sold. It was a sad and lonely
demesne and rumors of hidden tritanium onboard.

The abandoned place was perfect for Macron Sadow’s sanctum. The madman had
renovated parts of the vessel, making relatively “safe” to work in. The cold did not bother
him in his armor, and it kept unwanted visitors away. One of the lower hangar decks and
attendant chambers had been set up with a laboratory. Crystallography fascinated the
Sith. In secret he had supplied stones to Muz Ashen’s Coruscanti dealers for a very long
time, ever since they had been Clanmates.

Macron Sadow peered into a red-lit lens, the inside of the device lit with a brilliant beam.
Inside rested the orange Corusca gem that was the heart of his lightsaber. A lightsaber
was part of a Sith’s body. It must be healthy and perfect at all times, ready to perform
beyond limits in order to wreak maximum destruction. Muz’s words rang in his ears still.
“Your weapon must always be perfect…” The Warlord had listened, and listened still to
the Kyataran Lord’s words.

The piercing beam swept back and forth as servos within the pod rotated the crystal
in three axes. Fine Angstrom level x-rays sought flaws within the crystal, seeking for
signals that it might be deteriorating. Such was the fate of generator crystals on occasion.
The Sith sought for signs of weakness on a molecular level. The analyzer machine’s whir
and hum stopped as the light faded. Inert gases wafted from the opened pod with a pop
of released tension. Macron reached inside with padded tweezers, gently removing the
dense orange crystal from it’s twinkling cradle. The data was negative. The Corusca still
held strong, true to it’s nature being fashioned in the crushing gases of Yavin Four.

The soft tongs deposited the cold crystal into the center of a disassembled lightsaber
placed on a workbench. The sides of the organo-plasteel and duranium shell clicked
together as the Sith’s finger’s twisted the parts. A cable was plugged into the butt end.
Macron studied the datapad readout on the wall as energy was charged into the diatium
batteries. He smiled to himself. Popular lore mentioned nothing of the need to recharge
one’s lightsaber, although it was a known fact.

Soon the readouts flickered green. The microcomputer within the handle of the weapon
was in good shape, regulating the power output and beam tension of the weapon nicely.
The crystal was in excellent shape and tuned readily to the harmonic of the diatium cell’s
full output. Earlier repairs and adjustments of the internal alignment and conduits had
already been performed. The Novae were correctly set, Nextor and Phond to greedily
caress the searing beam.

His lightsaber had been stripped, cleaned, and fully recharged. The madman’s thumb
pressed the ignition button, causing a tangerine colored sword of death to scream forth. It
had a buzzing whine like a swarm of raging metallic hornets. It had a strange light, dimly
lighting the gloom with a flat orange hue. The blade retreated with a sizzling slurp as it
was shut down. It sounded like it hated to be put away…

"Vexok Savaka! Derriphan! Jiiasjen! devourers!>" The old Sith words learned from Curwen Sunei in the Tombs of Urias
Orian rolled from Macron’s tongue. The vile baptism was complete, and now the weapon
lived again in his hand. “Indeed,” chuckled the alchemist. His deep personal ritual was
complete. It was ready for red slaughter. It’s hunger for blood would soon be slaked in
the name of the Sith Order as it had been many times before. It was time to bring ruin to
his enemies in the name of Sadow and the Sith. “Zhol kash dinora- ”


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

Now....


"Master, we have company," quipped Aisha Qifaxa from the hangar bay. "A Sith from Antei."

"Do tell," chuckled the Warlord. "They must want something. Interesting they do nothing for me, but yet when they need a stone-cold killer they come. Send him in."

The doors hissed open as a haughty figure strode into the hangar bay. The Sith appeared to be a Battlemaster from the cut of his robes, although not one that Macron recognized. "Warlord Goura, you are hereby ordered to come to Antei and support the holding of Temple Boyna..."

Macron cut him short with an evil laugh. "Who the hell are you?"

"Sith Warrior Gorak," replied the Trandoshan. "And you are hereby..."

"No." The flat reply echoed throughout the hold. "I will not. The Sith Order has done nothing for me. Only one Sith commands me- and I killed him already." The madman's tattooed face split in a grin as Gorak looked dumbfounded.

"Then I have orders to take you by force."

"Truly?" wondered the alchemist aloud at the insolent whelp's words. "Then you must be tired of living..." The snap and hiss of an igniting orange lightsaber followed the words as the madman launched himself at the invader. The battle took some thirty seconds. The bisected and Force-hammered body was shortly expelled from an airlock to drift down to Amphor in flames of re-entry.

"Too slow," muttered the madman. "Getting old. Aisha, prepare the Nachzerer. We are going to Sunei's pad. Ashura is in trouble. See if you can get a hold of Jade, we'll need her expertise as well."

"Yes, Master," replied the Zeltron via comlink. "As you command."

Inos Moon 42
Orian System

Kissai finally boarded the starfighter she had stolen to get here. As she sat in the cockpit she began to go over in her mind what had happened. She saw how her lightsaber had penetrated Isradia’s abdomen and how he fell of the cliff to his death. Her master could not sense him any more which meant Ashura had to be dead?

As she flicked the various switches the jets began to fire the starfighter started to rise up into the air. Kissai watched the landscape below shrink and shrink. Hitting the boosters the ship moved upwards and it wasn’t soon until she was breaking orbit from the moon. For a moment she looked back at the world and began to set co-ordinates.

Suddenly her sensors began to go off as it indicated a vessel had just entered scanning range. Tapping the scan button a picture of the Nachzerer appeared.

“KARK!”

Fear began to swell up as others must have sensed Ashura’s disappear from the Force. The last thing Kissai wanted to do was face the madman, once she had seen Macron as a mentor, but that was not who she was now. There was only Master Sunei.

‘You MUST return with that book. Let nothing stop you!’

His voice was clear in her mind as the apprentice nodded to herself to obey her masters orders. At full speed she began to move away from the Nachzerer, no doubt Macron would have spotted her.

Antei
Temple Boyna

Tsainetomo crashed his lightsaber against the opposing Sith, his duel was one that would mean the death of either of them. He focused on the enemy in front of him, pouring his hate into his lightsaber form. But suddenly there was pain. Pain erupted from his abdomen as his nostrils filled with the smell of flesh and ozone. His legs gave out from under him as they went numb. He looked down at the whole in his stomach, and looked up at his enemy. The Sith’s apprentice moved to stand next to the master, as the master swung his blade to cut off Tsainetomo’s neck. The Son of Sadow closed his eyes as everything turned to white.

Antei
Valley of the Lost

Fremoc staired at the ground, as his eyes trying to focus as they still saw spots from the white light.

A vision... A message of something that was about to happen...

“My lord... I must not come with you,” stated Fremoc as he slowly stood.

“Why?”

“The Lord Quaestor of Naga Sadow will die if I do not return to Temple Boyna.”

“I see.” Trevarus’ eyes flashed violet for a moment, “Go, save Tsainetomo.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Fremoc nodded to Raistlin, as he swung his leg onto the speeder. The Prelate turned his speeder and sped off to Temple Boyna, pushing the speeder to its absolute limits. He did not want his vision to become reality. Fremoc noticed the Sith Order stood on Temple Boyna’s doorstep, the intense battle resonating in the Force. With out stopping the speeder, the Prelate leapt into the air, and lit his emerald lightsaber. He could sense Sai near by, as he swung his lightsaber through a Sith journeyman. Ozone and burnt flesh was filling the air as the two orders clashed, the Obelisk overcoming the Sith attackers. Fremoc saw the movement. The Sith apprentice in his vision was beginning to move around behind Sai. In a flash, Fremoc cut his lightsaber through the apprentice. The two halves of the apprentice twitched in shock until the life energy faded.

A moment went by as Fremoc stood watching the fight between Sai, the two opponents evenly match. The Prelate smiled as he maneuvered himself around to the Sith’s back and deactivated his saber. In a moment, the Death’s Revenge dagger points plunged into the Sith’s neck, stopping him. The Son of Sadow stood back as he watched the Sith stumble, before the emerald green blade shot out of the Sith’s mouth. The Sith collapsed to the ground as Fremoc strode over to the Quaestor of Naga Sadow and stood to the right of Sai as they looked over the battlefield.

“Sorry I left before. I had some business to attend to,” stated the Pepoi.

“So I see,” replied the Keibatsu.

Rejuvenator-class Star Destroyer Auspicious
Flagship of Jedi Master Renko Yast
The Unknown Regions

The temperature fell sharply upon Tradis entering the ‘hospital ward’, a cold chill rising up his throat that threatened to drown him, to wrap him in its bitter embrace and drag him down with it into the underworld. It would not win. But Tradis would not win either. He stepped deeper into the makeshift ward, the steady beat of the hyperdrive thumping at the far end of the room, like the heart of the starship that it rightfully was. Or had been. Once. Long ago.

Before Tradis in the centre of the chamber stood a tall, thin glass cylinder that towered twice his height above him. The ground directly in front was flooded with red and green filth. An arm – just an arm – lay on the floor beside the large glass tank; the open wound looked to have been ripped clean off and was bulging with a mix of worms and an assortment of other now rotting carrion. To the side, an indescribable mound out of a nightmare was piled with... however Tradis turned away before he could make the image out. It was too much.

Looking back at the tank, the liquid inside was thick with brown slime and pus, making it impossible to see through to the other side, or to make out what was within either. Tradis heard a buzz. Then another. He turned his head and batted a fly away from around his ear, and then he watched as the fly flew in front of him and landed on the side of the tank, a few feet above his own eyelevel. It stopped. Tradis waited but nothing happened.

The sign on the side of the glass front read ‘BIOHAZARD’. Fitting, thought Tradis. The makeshift bacta tank had been put together by the Falleen girl – Xora – with whatever she had found around the ship – and that was not much. It had been a war, after all. Master Yast and the Auspicious had been dispatched to the Shiritoku Spur to help with the resurgent Ssi-ruuvi threat outside the Bakura sector. Resources had been short. On her pointless personal crusade, Xora had therefore been forced to make do with the little they had available.

And this had been the result.

Tubes which had once cycled the water now dangled from the ceiling, torn off during one of the forsaken ghost ship’s many failed jumps – or else shredded during the short-lived conflict that had seen the entire crew butchered when crewman had turned on fellow crewman. Tradis looked back down when the liquid started to move somewhere inside the tank. The fly still didn’t do anything other than aimlessly walking around in circles as flies were want to do...

Then the next thing Tradis knew was that flames were shooting his legs as his blood turned to fire and pumped up through his heart and then filled his entire skull. Everything went red as pain exploded through his body, his nerves overheating, his muscles and sinew glowing white hot as the dark energies of the ship overpowered him, enveloping him in the arms of the void.

As those arms reached out to grab him, three blazing orbs appeared inside the tank. Tradis’s throat roared involuntarily as the fire blew out of his mouth, venting the heat in a staccato burst of growls interspersed with words, ‘Steel ... my body ... Fire ... my blood ... My heart ... is of stone ... and in the void ... it weeps.’ The words were not his. They were from someone – something – else. Before him, as he barked out each word in ever hoarser cries, splinters began to form across the surface of the tank in what seemed not to be a random pattern but instead a series of arcane lines and runes, spreading out further as he recanted the verse again and again, his skin inside his throat peeling away as the energies surged through him in waves.

The fire withdrew and the tank exploded. Tradis collapsed to the floor, shards of glass and transparisteel pelting him as he fell, before a tide of water mixed in with bodily waste then hit him, blowing him back across the floor into the pile of bodies at the back of the room that he had previously refused to acknowledge were there. Their lifeless arms and legs fell on top of him, the smell filling his head and setting off an automatic gag reflex, causing him to try and vomit – not that there was anything left in him to come back up. His skin burned from the sudden change in temperatures, the heat replaced with the freezing cold of the filthy liquid.

When the wave finally subsided, Tradis was able to look up again. At the lifeless body now hanging inside the shell that had formerly been a life support unit. Wherever it had been recovered from, it was a ruin of a being. Missing an entire leg, a foot, an arm, a jaw, an eye. The corpse’s skin was riddled with burn marks, wounds and cuts, a hole having been punched straight through in the middle of its chest where its heart should have been, not that Tradis was in any way an expert on alien anatomy. It was in an advanced stage of accelerated decay, albeit the bacta appeared to have somehow kept it at least partially preserved like a grotesque sample that better belonged on the back shelf of a lab on some illegal backwater such as Vohai.

However, none of that drew Tradis’s attention. His eyes were fixed firmly on the corpse’s head, where two glowing red orbs hung in the air just in front of its empty sockets. Behind them, an intricate pattern spread across its whole face, lines and runes the same as had spread across the tank, all glowing, becoming increasingly brighter as they converged in the centre of the body’s forehead, where a third blazing sphere burned brighter still than the others, like a third sun. Tradis swallowed and heard the name exit his mouth, though he had not been the one to think it, he had never even heard it before. Like everything else out here in the Unknown Regions, it was alien to him.

‘Lehon.’

- Outside Temple Bonya
- Antei

The field was littered, filled with bodies spilling their blood into the blighted sands of Antei. Where the Sith fielded their journeymen as shock troops, the Obelisk replied with their finest, and they were in their finest form. They might have been outnumbered, but the Sith horde was horrifically outclassed. Apprentices and Novices in droves don’t account for Knights and Templars. They only account for notches on a lightsaber hilt.

- Outside the Triumverate Library
- Some time later in the night

They lay beneath cloaks which matched the sands below them, dug in and buried a good distance away. Kano sat next to a positive rancor of a sniper’s laser rifle, while Venator lay next to him acting as spotter. With all of the dark side energy surrounding the place, their signatures were washed out in the Force until they weren’t so much people on the landscape, but part of the scenery itself.

“You see those?” Kano said, nodding slightly towards a trio of shuttles making their way onto landing pads being guarded by mechu-deru droids.

“Yeah, full of people.” Venator replied, his Miralukan sight penetrating the hulls of the shuttles to reveal individuals packed in like tiny fish in a tin.

“Reinforcements most likely, they’ve been getting pounded by us and the Sith for a while now.” Kano said offhandedly while he gnawed slowly on a piece of jerky.

As they exchanged words, the shuttles finished landing, looking much like a lot of slackers being dropped off at boot camp. They were hastily lined up, and were sent scurrying off in short order. After a moment, one final soul was brought off the shuttle, in binders, and struggling.

For a moment, both men studied the scene and waited, before Venator took a quiet intake of breath and swore.

“Stang!” He said, under his breath. “Will I never be rid of her?”

“What?” Kano asked, zooming the scope in. “I can drop her clean right here if she’s that much of a problem.”

“No, no… long story alor'ad,” The Miraluka said, referring to Kano with the Mando’a word for captain, a rank the human hadn’t necessarily been granted militarily, but it fit the man. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“If you‘re running off to bring her back, Ven, I swear on Palapatine‘s black bones I‘ll probably shoot you for it.” Kano threatened, his tone suggesting he wasn’t just toying with the idea.

“I’d have it coming.” Venator replied, slipping out from under his cover like a serpent in the shadows. As he made his way down the dune, he channeled the Force into his body, breaking into a dead run at a pace that would take a speeder bike to match. He cleared the distance quickly, sliding into a hide behind some pallets of supplies stacked outside. At this distance, he could hear her using a level of language above and beyond the call of venom and vitriol.

He cleared his razors from their sheaths, and prepared to commence murder, when he heard a voice he recognized from his early time within the Clan Naga Sadow. It was Manji Keibatsu, a positive hell-on-wheels swordsman from reputation and demonstration.

“Why are you troubling with her? Kill her and be done with it.” He said to the two Krath priests dragging Masika along.

“I would,” the more senior of the two said to the former Consul of Sadow. “But your cousin put his pet Obelisk to tracking her, though why in the 32nd hell of the Sith they were doing it, I couldn’t tell you. All I know is, he scalped the first two people we sent after her.” He said, his accent placing him as from the core worlds, likely Coruscant.

“Leverage then, toss her somewhere nobody can hear her complain.” Manji said, and turned to enter the temple.

Venator scowled as they walked back in. Few, if any, could question his valor, courage, or commitment to his job, but suicide was suicide, and he knew when he was in over his head. He waited it out a while, and began making long movement back towards the hide he’d shared with Kano.

“Technically, I didn’t go get her.” the Miraluka said to the Templar, as he slipped back into his spider hole.

“I still oughta shoot you.” Kano grumbled.

“You’d miss me too much.” Venator replied, reassuming his spotter’s role.

“Miss you hell, I’d drop you on the first shot.”

- 2 days ago
- Markosian City
- Tarthos

It was a cold rainy night in Markosian City. It had been a long day, and little to Masika's knowledge, it was about to get even longer. She'd just finished a set, singing her lungs out to a crowd of over inebriated beings. So much drool left over on the tables a girl could drown. The smoke cloud was so thick in the room it could easily be mistaken as fog. If it wasn't for the stage lights, no one would have been able to see the Twi'lek girls dancing their little hearts out and doing their high kicks of the can-cans of the ancient days. The place smelled of cheap booze, dirty men sweat, and a vile mixture of after-shaves.

Masika took her seat at the bar in her usual stool. Not bothering to change out of her on-stage ensemble, she sat down to enjoy her lunch; two martinis, extra dry, six olives each, with a lime twist. She was wearing a slinky red number, low cut, backless, with a slit up the side of her leg to the middle of her thigh, with a crossed pattern across her waist so that her skin peeked through here and there, and matching 4 inch heels. The bartender set her drink before her as she kicked off her heels and slid them under the stool.

“Damn heels, boots are the only way to go.” she said as she devoured the olives so pleasantly skewered with a little black paper umbrella.

Masika finished the olives and tucked the umbrella in her hair. Just one of those things she does. She heard it's cute when a girl does things like that, apparently she would know. The Zeltron could feel a few sets of eyes on her, but that was nothing new. She'd been singing here for about a month, and she'd stolen the hearts of a few of the locals.

"Can't stay in one place for too long, I need to move on to my next adventure within the week." she thought as she sipped on her lunch and let the cool drink ease her sore vocal cords.

They weren't always this sore after she sang, but a previous run-in with a Miralukan Bounty Hunter took care of that for her, and if she ever had another run-in with him, she intended on getting her 300 credits back from him.

As Masika was enjoying her lunch, she could feel an unfamiliar presence coming towards her. It wasn't like the usual feeling of her customers watching her every move with their drunken eyes. No, this was different and very unsettling. She ate her last olive and downed the remainder of her second martini. She then proceeded towards the back of the place and headed for the dressing room. She knew this feeling, it was one she hadn't experienced very often, yet often enough to know it was time to pack up and be on her way, on to her next endeavor. Masika quickly changed into her everyday clothes, dark grey pants, dark grey stretch bustier, her spiked belt, and leather knee-high boots (flats, not heels). She braided her hair in a serpentine S shape as she always did, which mimicked the spiral tattoos that wrapped around her upper body. She put on her necklace with it's two charms, one of her mother's and one of her father's, all that Masika had and knew of her parents, and packed up the few belongings she always kept with her and headed for the back door.

As she walked out into the alley, she had the same unsettling feeling she'd experienced at the bar just moments ago. As she tried to cloak herself with the night, she put on her black cape and started making her way towards the space port. As she glanced out of the corner of her eye, she noticed two men following behind her and closing in on her fast. Hastily she picked up speed in her steps, not wanting to break out into a full out run, which would draw even more attention to her. Who knew if these guys had friends that were also looking for her. As she had suspected, the two men were not the type to frequent the local bar, so she highly doubted they were after a mere autograph from this Zeltroni lounge singer. Masika had picked many pockets and conned many people in her days, so she figured these men would be nothing but trouble for her. If they caught her, she would not go without a fight. As she kept her stride, and the crowd heading towards her exit began to thicken, she reached into the black leather pouch attached to her belt and pulled out four throwing stars. Holding two in each hand, she threw them at each of the two men to try and slow them down. One of the men took one in the arm and one in the stomach, while the other took one in the shin and one in the thigh. Unfortunately they seemed to barely phase them except for some slightly annoyed wincing. She ducked into a hallway and thought she had lost them. To her surprise she had not, they popped up out of nowhere and each grabbed one of her arms.

“Masika, you're going to come with us to Antei, and I wouldn't bother trying to put up a fight, one way or another, you're coming with us.” the smaller of the two said to her, and he wasn't small at all.

“Well, gentlemen, I hate to disappoint you, but I have a mag-lev to catch, so I won't be able to join you on this fine evening.” Her soft southern belle accent didn't seem to charm them in the slightest.

As she pulled away and got loose and threw a few kicks, the larger of the two men grabbed her leg, swung her entire body around in mid-air and she landed standing with her back against him, and before she knew it, she was bound in handcuffs. Before she could even attempt to force-push him or his partner, she was frozen, she couldn't move, she assumed he used a power which she was unfamiliar with. The next thing Masika knew, she was gagged, and her entire world faded to black.

Inos Moon 42
Orian System


The lines intersected in the second sight near the errant starfighter. Red lines of the Dark Side swarmed the pilot, indicating an outside influence. Fear soaked the female Togruta pilot in it's fetid clutches appearing as lines of sickly green. "Aleho the traitor," muttered Macron. "And in Sunei's power." The Mark showed him exactly what her intentions were. And she was about to piss herself in fear.

"She's going to try and run, Master. She'll outrun us if we don't act with alacrity. Want me to blow her to atoms?" Aisha Qifaxa grinned, her red Zeltron skin twitching in anticipation. The HLAF was a decent fighter, but it was no match for a heavily armed and armored transport with a turbolaser or two. Most of the Nachzerer was given over internally to a huge powerplant for the hungry weapons and shields. It was not much of a transport, really. More like a space-tank.

A single dual turbolaser popped out from the side of the Nachzerer. It was ready for destruction.

"Of course she is. I would, if I were her. We have no time. Cripple her ship and then we land to find Ashura." The Sith smiled as the ship rocked from the firing turbolaser.

Granted, Aleho (or whatever she called herself now) was a competent pilot. Unfortunately for her, Aisha Qifaxa had been a bounty hunter and was an elite pilot- and a crack shot. The sizzling red bolts from the turbolaser whined, stroking empty space until they found the HLAF's engine. The result was a satisfying splash of debris and vented energy. The HLAF yawed crazily and pitched hard, beginning a slow dive down into the atmosphere of Inos 42.

"Well done Aisha. Too bad we had no time to kill her, but space combat is so... unsatisfying." The Warlord waved his hands in front of the holocontrols of the weird craft. "Let's go find Ashura."

"You saved her- so he could kill her himself personally, no?" purred the Zeltron Sith Warrior. "You're a dirty bastard."

"Indeed," chuckled Macron as he smiled at the Zeltron. "You are learning well, my Apprentice."

Kissia was cussing her mouth off as her HLAF descended back into the atmosphere of the Inos moon. She didn’t have enough power to keep the starfighter in orbit and all she could do was use the Force the best she could to find somewhere to crash land.

‘Master!’

‘I know. I can see through you remember. Keep that book safe.’

The Togruta female nodded as she clutched on for dear life as she rocketed through the atmosphere downwards. With only one engine to use the trip back to Inos Moon 42 was more like a short walk and a long drop. The white mountains grew closer and closer as the HLAF started to weave through the jagged rocks, Kissai knew her luck would hold off as she clipped a passing mountain and nose dived

The vessel crashed on the slope of one of the snow covered mountains and the teenager lost consciousness. It wasn’t until her master dragged her mind back from the blackness did Kissai have any idea she had blacked out at all.

‘Get out my apprentice.’

Sunei’s voice in her mind was like the very air she needed to breath, even as more commands were issued Kissai knew there was no other way. Opening the cockpit the Sith apprentice got out with the book in one hand and her lightsaber in another. Collapsing to her knees Kissai opened the book to the specific section she knew her master wanted.

Through her eyes Curwen Sunei saw the ancient Sith writing. Kissai didn’t understand the words she was saying as her master gained the knowledge he needed. True it would be better to have the book and all its knowledge but it seemed that was not to be, so the mad old hermit used the enslaved Dark Jedi to get the most important piece of the puzzle he needed.

‘Destroy the book. Leaving nothing for the Marked One.’

Kissai brought her lightsaber down on it several times in the snow and watched it burned. By the time she cold to her feet half frozen the book was destroyed. Deactivating the lightsaber Kissai grabbed whatever she could from the wreckage and started to make her way to somewhere she could hide. The tombs seemed the best place, at least there she had protection of sorts. Undead Sith followers her master could manipulate.

The question was how to get off the moon this time around.

Somewhere seen and not seen

The Wanderer stared out at the mists of creation. Like a vast tapestry, the threads ebbed and flowed, light and dark intertwined as one, growing and beating with the shining white brilliance of life, then falling silent, withering away again in the black coldness of death. This was the truth. The Essential Construct. The answer that escaped both the living and the dead. There was no Balance, there was no Chaos. All simply was – or had been – or would be again.

For forty-four years he had run from the truth. For forty-four years he had lived in an illusion.

Then they had come. The Outsiders. Those who had been cast down and exiled for their inability to embrace the one truth. How close they had come, and yet how far they had fallen. Liberated. Then ostracised. And in their coming, they had exposed that truth for all to see: that all were just as blind, that the warriors of light and dark had all been equally deceived. Yet, like the Outsiders themselves, the truth had been denounced again. Ignorance had prevailed.

When the lost wanderer placed his foot on the beach, the sand between his toes felt warm as the surf lapped up and down the cove. Seashells were buried here and there, with only their spines poking up from the worlds hidden below the waves, where many forgotten sea creatures still dwelled, having long since outlived the purported ‘masters’ of this lost land. Some of the seashells scuttled out of the traveller’s way as he headed up the beach towards a small inlet in the face of the cliff that rose high above the sea. Up above, luscious green trees could be seen looming down from the top of the cliff, their thick and willowy branches dangling like threads from the skies. In spite of all the so-called ‘dark energies’ that enveloped this age old world, for all the dark power that supposedly brought death and decay, still the creatures here thrived, still the plants’ petals unfolded, still the trees blossomed.

Lies. All of it. However no more would they trap him. No more would he not see what was unseen. No more would the gatekeepers of the lands of the living or of the dead beguile him. He had faced the Culmination and emerged Ascendant. He would be fooled no longer.

For five years, he had journeyed. For five centuries, he had travelled. For five ages, he had wandered. In all that time, he had seen everything and he had seen nothing, he had seen the beginning and the end, the Sword and the Shield, ignorance and enlightenment. There were no secrets anymore. No more lines, no barriers, no orders or boundaries. He had transcended the trivial demarcations that those trapped in the lie they all referred to as life depended on to make sense of the dream they slept in.

The Wanderer reached up for one of the branches above and began the long uphill climb back to where it all began – and ended – and so would begin again.

There was a price that was yet to be paid. A final sacrifice yet to be administered.

A Nameless One yet to destroy.

Far away on a small planet -
a planet too far away, without many resources to be of any interest.


Wake up. Wake up now. You need to wake up.
Eyes opened slowly, the voice still lingered in the head of the gardener who was lying on the ground - bathed in the warmth of the sun. The soft light touch of something on the right cheek made the gardener twitch. A feather of pure white? A bird?
Wake up. Wake up.
Why am I lying on the ground?, the gardener wondered. And a robed person bent over the face of the puzzled gardener. "Wake up.", said the figure, pulling back the hood, revealing tousled long red hair that showed white strands. Grey eyes stared down at the gardener. Recognition flooded the gardener: "I... know you... You are my.. you.. are... " Sentences fell apart to words. Words fell apart to syllables. Syllables fell apart into letters. Letters fell apart like faded ink of ancient books on now empty pages.

The gardener opened the eyes again. Was I unconscious? Before the gardener could sit up hands stopped the motion. "Wait until all the memories have returned, my daughter", the robed figure said. Deeply hidden memories trickled back. A moment of silence until a reply bursted out of Sildrin: "I am not your daughter, father. Father of memories." Aurek remained silent for a while, thoughtfully locking his grey eyes onto her. "You look like her," he laid a hand on her cheek close to her complete white eyes, "even your eyes.... even your eyes are hers." Sildrin turned her head away from his touch, letting her long red hair fall partly over her face. "I don't know who I am.", she whispered, "For now I am Sildrin Sadow. The blind dragon Xia Long." Her voice showed a tone of annoyance: "I achieved this all by myself. Not her!"

"So you are one of the Dragons - a Long.", the father of memories leaned back, "so you have joined the ... dark side. Our family always was strongly gifted by laran." "The force. They call it the force - not donan nor laran.", Sildrin replied as she sat up. She felt the rising dizziness and rested her head on her hands. "Why are you here?", she asked, her blind eyes gazing into Aurek's direction. "Can't you guess?", Aurek replied, a gentle smile appeared on his face. Many wrinkles appeared, but yet his face looked nearly ageless. It was hard to guess his age and even if people were right they would not believe. "Because you want to know how much of your daughter is left in me.", Sildrin said. Aurek nodded slowly, his long red hair following the motion in a fluid way, making it look as molten copper.

"That is why I am here."




Valley of the Lost
Antei

"You were always good in manipulating people, my brother." a voice behind Trevarus said.

He did not need to turn around, he had felt her presence long before she had spoken. But the second presence was unfamiliar and familiar at the same time. A powerful presence, humming with the attunement to the force. Yet it was not pushed into a direction that distinguished the lightsiders from the darksiders.

Trevarus' blue eyes rested on the newcomers as he turned around. Both slender, graceful in their motions with copper hair flowing over the shoulders, though the woman's hair was way longer, going beyond her lower back. Sildrin was wearing black tight pants that showed golden, dark purple embroideries, on top a waistcoat with a deep cutout, high collar and the same embroideries and long tight sleeves of the pattern of a fishing net. The back of the waistcoat was going down to her knees, just to the top of her black high heeled boots. Trevarus' interest in Aurek rose. A heavily robed figure, tousled long red hair with white strands and deep grey eyes. He appeared to be young, yet very old. And Trev felt that this newcomer's age was way beyond his own, but there was no sign of affliction of age that betrayed it.

"Your father?", Trev spoke up, but a short moment of regret about those two words surged within him as he felt Sildrin's tension rising. "I am called Aurek or Father of Memories.", Aurek began to break the terrible tension. "Sildrin is of my blood.", was the elusive reply. The Oracle remained silent, and he started see beyond the words of Aurek, beyond the tension and found the answer within the blood and genes. And he closed his blue eyes. He knows it. By the ancients,.. he knows it, it struck her. And the blind dragon clenched her hands into fists, obviously angered that the first meeting of her and her dragon brother was overshadowed by Aurek's presence, by something else than the joy she felt to see Trevarus again. A gentle smile appeared on Trev's face, a moment where nearly every woman would have sighed about this handsome look: "It is good to see you again, sister dragon. Where have you been?" and his stunning blue eyes opened again.

"I, .. ", Sildrin started, startled by Trev's reaction, "I was taking care of a small farm, raising moonflower fruits to sell at the local market on the planet... ", she stopped confused. Trevarus' eyes shortly flashed up with interest: "Moonflower fruits? My dear.. hardly anyone manages those to blossom, and even less to get them to flourish. I hope you have brought some with you. They are rare, expensive and hard to find!"

Sildrin started to laugh at Trev's heavy affection for luxury food - all tension was gone. "Yes, Trev. I have some in the shuttle, that brought us here." Aurek quietly replied, having stayed in the background. "I have now other matters to attend to, my .. child. But I will return, there are still a lot of things to be discussed.".

Trevarus watched silently the temporary farewell between Sildrin and Aurek, chewing one of the delicious moonflower fruits from the latest of Sildrin's harvest. Thoughtfully he looked down at the fruit. This single fruit cost as much as a shuttle engineer earned in a ten-day on Coruscant - a small fortune. And currently Trev was sitting on a whole crate of moonflower fruits. Trev turned his gaze to the stars, seeing what was beyond the normal sight - the silvery lines of the force, the weave, the flowing and ebbing pulse of the force. There was still a lot to do, a first beginning was knit by his acquirement of the books. Tendrils of the force reached out and gently he plucked on the silvery threads, watching the reactions ripple through the aether of the force and it appeared like music to him - as if he played one of the air harps from Indari IV. An outer rim planet unknown to most.

After moment he realized that Sildrin was watching him, her blind eyes stared at him, but her force sight following each of his moves within the aether of the force. Something that was beyond her understanding as a non-marked, but still remarkable that she could still "see" it. He slowly inhaled, maybe the return of the Blind Dragon was a sign. And knowing her undying faith and loyalty, she would be a great asset in achieving his goals.

On the FCC Firefox

A small group of low ranked Sith Journeymen were chatting.

“Why is he wearing that stupid armor?”

“I hear that he is the apprentice of an Obelisk.”

“He thinks he is so tough sitting there in silence. I’ll teach that wanna be Mando.”

A Sith Journeyman walks toward Roxas and kicks his boot, catching the attention of the Mandalorian.

“What’s your number?” the Sith asked the Jedi Hunter not knowing that Roxas was to be his commander once the ship landed.

“11435” Roxas replied, already annoyed as he could hear everything the soldiers were saying about him.

“Is it true that you were trained by an Obelisk?” the Sith queried.

The Hunter spoke with an intimidating tone “What does it matter?”

The Journeyman chuckled replying
“Well then, that makes you one of them. And you know what we do with them.”

The young Sith laughed as he ignited his light saber and pointed it at Roxas. The Mandalorian had now had enough of the man, so using his mastery of Jakelian he knocked the man’s arm away and grabbed his neck, while shoving him into the wall behind them. The Hunter tightened his clutch on the man’s throat, choking him. The young Sith made a gargling noise as he gasped for air. A flight commander entered the room.

“We have landed.” He said before he noticed the Mandalorian strangling the young Journeyman.

“11435 let him go now!” He yelled, trying to take charge of the situation.
With a slight chuckle, Roxas replied “As you wish.”

The hunter squeezed and a loud snap echoed room, followed by the sound of the Sith’s body falling lifeless to the floor. The Flight Commander was dumbfounded by the Mandalorian’s actions.

“You idiot now we our numbers are decreased and we could use all the help we can get in this war!” the Flight Commander yelled.

“I don’t care” Roxas replied with an emotionless tone “He should have kept his mouth shut.”

The Mandalorian walked toward the exit ramp of the transport, passing by the Flight Commander. The man stood still knowing that Roxas was just as if not more powerful than himself. The Commander could feel that Roxas was determined to do as he pleased.

Antei
The Jedi Hunter exited the ship on to a world of sand and death. A foul wind blew that smelled of blood and rotting corpses. The sand being carried by the wind was rough and coarse. Roxas looked out over the world through his T shaped visor and he could feel all the death and destruction of the battles that were off in the distance. A strong wind blew that caused the Mandalorian’s cape to flap loudly. Through the sound of the flapping the Hunter could not hear the men sneaking up behind him. The currents of the Force told Roxas that he was being attacked, so with any hesitation he ducked as a red light saber whooshed over his head.

“You’ll pay for killing my friend!”

The attacker yelled, which let Roxas know that he was being attacked by the lower ranked Journeymen. The attacker swung his saber again and the Mandalorian dodged with a back flip. When he laded he drew his NR2 from its holster on his hip. The attacker charged giving Roxas the opportunity he was looking for. Using his mastery of Jakelian he caught the man’s wrist and used his own momentum against him, flinging him to the ground with a thud. The rest of the group ignited their weapons and began to charge.

The Hunter aimed his pistol at the man on the ground and threatened “Take another step and your friend dies.”

The group didn’t head his warning and kept on the offensive. Roxas squeezed the trigger of his pistol and all that was heard was the small sound of the round hitting the man in the head killing him. The group stopped their advancement immediately. They were appalled at what they had just witnessed.

“Tell your Commander that I have left and have more important things to take care of.” the Mandalorian said as he turned facing the area that the Sith Officers had designated as the landing zone.

The Jedi Hunter walked through rows of ship looking for one that would suite his needs. He chose a YT Series transport and walked up its ramp and entered the cockpit. The ship started up with a roar and lifted from the ground causing a large amount of sand to be blown out from around it on the ground, making a large cloud. The transport turned facing the position that the Obelisk army was holding and blasted off with great speed. Sith Commanders quickly received word or what had happened and sent star fighters to stop the Jedi Hunter. The star fighters lined up behind the YT Series transport and their targeting computers locked on. Roxas heard as siren coming from the computer informing him of the ships behind him.

The communicator clicked to life “ Turn around and land in the designated zone now!”

The Mandalorian sighed as he knew how to pilot a ship, but he didn’t know how to fight with one. The Jedi Hunter thought for a moment and then replied to the communication.

“Sure thing.”

The Mandalorian was lying, but they didn’t know that. He hit the accelerator and the ship’s engines screamed as they busted to new speeds. The Sith fighters did the same, keeping up with the transport. The Sith Fighters began firing upon the Mandalorian’s ship. Roxas began evasive actions in an attempt to avoid the shots, but he was unable to avoid a missile as it struck the wing and exploded with smoke and flames. Roxas struggled to keep the ship in the air, but gravity began to drag the ship out of the sky. The Hunter began punching in the information for the eject sequence. The computer screamed back with sirens and warning messages telling him that the escape pods were damaged and wouldn’t work. The ship slammed into the ground kicking up large amounts of dust and debris which covered the mixed troops that were fighting nearby.

“The ship has been shot down.” The Sith pilots reported as they returned to their base.

Outside the Vagar Praxut System

Little stirred on the outer edges of the Vagar Praxut system beyond a lone asteroid tumbling past, the crumbling rock probably destined to forever wander the lonely nothingness of the Unknown Regions. No starships flew by and no lights glowed in the celestial heavens. For all intents and purposes, Vagar Praxut was an empty, abandoned graveyard. Forgotten.

But nothing in Vagar Praxut was ever quite what it seemed. You see, Vagar Praxut was in fact the capital of the Vagaari Empire and the homeworld of the Vagaari, who put together with the Chiss and the Ssi-ruuk ruled a considerable expanse of the Unknown Regions. So for all Vagar Praxut may have appeared lifeless, that was only because the duplicitous Vagaari were masters of deception. Nomadic pirates and conquerors, the Vagaari had built their empire at the cost of many now long extinct races through lies and treachery.

This was why the denizens of the Unknown Regions knew to avoid Vagar Praxut. For one derelict ship exiting hyperspace, however, that message appeared to have fallen on deaf ears.

Rejuvenator-class Star Destroyer Auspicious
Flagship of Jedi Master Renko Yast

Tradis squirmed as he pulled himself up from the tangle of lifeless arms and legs that he had shortly before been thrown backwards into when the bacta tank in the middle of the engine room had split open. A foul redolence now hung on the air where the mixture of dead alazhi and built up bodily fluids had spilt across the durasteel floor.

He almost didn’t want to look up again at the former tank. He had done as he had been asked when he was back upstairs on the bridge. The coordinates the cold voice had asked him to enter had been unfamiliar to him—but then everything here in the Unknown Regions was unfamiliar to him. The Galactic Alliance had nevertheless had at least some records stored on the Auspicious’s navicomputer, but this co-ordinate, however, was not one of them. Stranger still, it was as if the entire region had been wiped from the Alliance’s star-charts. Tradis could only wonder about what the Old Republic had wanted kept hidden out here.

Not that any of that was likely to make any difference to him. Taking a deep breath – and trying not to gag in the process – he raised his eyes to look up at the decaying body hanging in the now empty tank. He had not noticed it before, but its skin glittered in some places, as if pieces of glass or some other substance had been imbedded in it across its body—however he did not have time to reflect on that thought, for the next second the ship shuddered violently.

The triangle of red eyes flashed into existence again, the central flame burning angrily.

Outside the Vagar Praxut System

The new arrival was clearly far from home. How it held together was anyone’s guess, for in the few minutes it had been in Vagar Praxut, the foreign vessel had already lost several hull panels from its port side. Not that that made any difference—there was always scrap value.

The asteroid that had recently been drifting listlessly through space shifted course, thrusters appearing on its stern as large chunks of rock simultaneously broke off to reveal disguised weapons emplacements and tractor beam generator nodes. The Vagaari frigate banked to starboard, then its main engines came online when it powered straight for the other ship.

Rejuvenator-class Star Destroyer Auspicious
Flagship of Jedi Master Renko Yast

Foreign voices came over the ship’s internal comm – which to Tradis’s amazement was still apparently working – barking what were clearly discernable, even in an alien tongue, as a series of hostile demands and insults. The Jedi-to-be could guess the rest.

the voices announced.

The message repeated. Even though Tradis did not understand the message, and even though the unknown aliens were probably coming to board the Auspicious to loot and pillage, likely killing everyone they came across, as all inhabitants of the Unknown Regions were claimed to do, Tradis strangely felt a wave of relief wash over him.

Salvation. He was going to be free.

For the past four years, he had lived aboard this ghost ship, doomed to serve the spirits that now lingered in the body in front of him. He had not known how long this would go on – or what awaited him at the end of the road. Now he knew: death by the hands of alien pirates.

And he had never been happier.

Outside the Vagar Praxut System

The dagger-shaped starship had not powered down. It had not so much as even deviated from its approach vector. Whoever the captain was—if there still was a captain, which the Vagaari were becoming uncertain about, judging by the way the ship continued to fall apart—if there was a captain, they were either stupid or suicidal.

The Vagaari did not take prisoners—not in the conventional sense at least. They took people alive, but only to use them as living shields, strapped to the exterior of their warships. It was the ultimate in intimidation and psychological warfare. Not that the patrol frigate itself had any such screens—it was rare for any warships to enter the Vagar Praxut system at all.

‘We are the Vagaari Empire,’ the Vagaari captain repeated. ‘Power down and prepare to be boarded. If you continue to resist, we will open fire. There will be no further warnings.’

The crew of the frigate waited as the other starship continued on its one-way trajectory. It made no sense at all. The ship had no shields. The weapons batteries on its bow seemed in a dire state of disrepair. No sane commander would carry on coming. It had to be abandoned. A derelict. There was no other explanation.

The only thing left, then, was for the Vagaari frigate to disable the ship and haul it in.

The captain issued the order for them to move in.

Rejuvenator-class Star Destroyer Auspicious
Flagship of Jedi Master Renko Yast

At last!

Tradis was beaming. The smile on his face was so wide it hurt his chapped lips. This was it. The Auspicious had no way of fighting back. It would all be over soon. Tradis’s shut his eyes and let his mind wander back to happier days, back when Taraeis had still been alive. I’ll see you again soon, he promised. For four years the lovers had been kept apart. But no longer.

The eyes of the spirit seemed to intensify as warning sirens blared through the ship.

Tradis opened his eyes and looked up at the monster that had killed everyone he had cared about. ‘This is what you get,’ Tradis snarled. ‘This is what happens to all who follow the dark side!’ He hocked back the few fluids he had left and spat up at the body looming above him.

A cacophony of laughter exploded inside Tradis’s skull. He screamed.

‘The voices! GET OUT OF MY HEAD!’

Outside the Vagar Praxut System

The derelict ship did not react as the Vagaari frigate swung past it, falling in behind its stern as the frigate readied its warheads. The Vagaari captain still had no idea where the warship had come from, but this was to be his lucky day—it had been such a boring month on patrol. Not even the usual Chiss scouts had strayed into Vagar Praxut to spy on the Vagaari Empire.

With luck, the profits from hauling in this derelict might earn the frigate’s crew enough to upgrade to a proper profiteering vessel. Then they could join the Miskara herself in the war against the insect colonies. But, first: to bring the immense battlecruiser before them home in one piece.

‘All hands,’ said the captain, ‘ready warhead launchers.

‘Fire.’

Three yellow pinpricks of light shot forward from either side of the Vagaari frigate. Their targeting vector would send them straight into the blue ion engines that filled the rear of the warship. In a few seconds, the six concussion missiles had left thin streams of white smoke behind them as they crossed the distance separating the two ships. Then an explosion. Red and yellow flames filling the frigate’s viewports and momentarily eclipsing the larger ship.

When the smoke cleared, the massive ion engines still glowed blue.

The Vagaari captain frowned. ‘I thought they had no shields?’ He shook his head. Perhaps they still had a lingering particle shield, even if their deflector shields were gone. ‘Switch to the turbolasers. It’ll take longer, but we just need to disable it before it can jump again.’

Rejuvenator-class Star Destroyer Auspicious
Flagship of Jedi Master Renko Yast

‘No...’

Impossible. It was impossible. Tradis did not know how, but the warheads had exploded several hundred metres out, before even reading the stern of the ship. This could not be happening! The voices laughed again. Tradis jumped to his feet, forgetting all about the pile of limbs that he found himself buried under. ‘Why! Why won’t you just let this end!’

‘WHAT DO YOU WANT!’

Outside the Vagar Praxut System

The Vagaari frigate’s warhead launchers retracted underneath it before its turbolasers then lifted into position and began charging. As they powered up, pieces of detritus continued tumbling from the warship in front. The captain was again reminded of how impossible it was that the warship was still spaceworthy at all.

‘Weapons charged, captain,’ one of the crewmen said.

The commander nodded. ‘Then end this. Fire.’

Lances of green light shot out from the Vagaari frigate, filling the nothingness of empty space around Vagar Praxut. The first shot struck the port engine of the warship in front, instantly turning the unshielded superstructure to ash, throwing out even more debris than before and blasting free chunks of durasteel as the engine either melted or fell apart.

Then something went wrong that could not possibly have gone wrong.

The next hit warped around the starship in front.

The Vagaari captain did a double take and rubbed his eyes. He must not have seen correctly. Glancing around the bridge, other members of the crew appeared to be thinking the same thing, as their heads had all turned to look at the person sitting next to them. ‘Fire again,’ the commander shouted, irritated that the gunnery crews had ceased firing on their own decision.

‘But captain? Didn’t you...?’

‘I said fire!’

Another flash of green shot forward from the frigate – this time a sustained barrage – and again it simply warped around the warship. This was impossible. Turbolasers did not miss a target that did not move out of the way. What was going on?

‘Shunt all power to the turbolasers and fire again!’

‘All, captain?’

‘Everything!’

The third shot hit home – however it was not the target in front that it struck. The turbolasers warped like the all the rest, curving around the derelict warship. The Vagaari captain barely had time to register what was happening before the viewport in front of him polarised and turned black, completely overcharged. Then all went green. The bridge, the ship, everything.

The Vagaari frigate had been destroyed.

Rejuvenator-class Star Destroyer Auspicious
Flagship of Jedi Master Renko Yast

Tradis stared in silence. There were no words. It had to be a dream. It had to. There was simply no way that light could be made to bend. He looked round at the three disembodied eyes. He swallowed and somehow managed to find his voice. ‘What... what are you?’

Tradis did not know how he knew, but he knew, when the eyes turned and gazed directly at him, gazing as if they were staring down at this very soul. For once, the voice did not come from his own mouth, but rather seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time, as if he might just have been imagining it, though he knew he was not.

‘We are voice to a thousand voices; the one of many; the stars and the heavens; we are Celestial.’

Tradis shook his head. ‘What... who are you?’

‘We are Vexatus.’

Tarthos
Pepoi Residence
Before Leaving for Antei

"You cant come Teu" Kano looked at the young women, who stood in the hall carrying her pack on her back. They have had this argument several times throughout the day. "I promised Fremoc to protect you and not let anything happen to you."

Teu looked at Kano, her blue eyes hard as steel. Her stomach bulged slightly but was hidden in the looseness of her attire. "You cant force me to stay behind Kano. I cant sit back here not knowing whats going on. I'll stay at the outpost like I did the last war."

Kano sighed. Teu's logic, while completely crazy, was true. He couldn't keep her from coming short of knocking her into a deep medicated sleep, which would hurt the child she was carrying. Plus he knew she wanted to see Fremoc, there was a possibility that he would be there. "Fine."

Teu smirked, she turned and walked back down the hall into her daughters room. She picked the toddler up and kissed her on her cheek once before in a motherly voice. "Be good for Thomas, Darra and the nanny driod." She placed the toddler back on the ground and walked out of the house. She felt a pang of saddness but soon the excitement of battle and seeing the man she loved won over.

Antei

Teu watched Fremoc move off again, her eyes blurred with tears that she silently swept away. As she had the last several months, she heard the men behind her talk in soft voices about the recently en lighted documents about them all being family. She stood up quickly, jostling the table by accident. This caused Methyas to look at his former master for a moment before going back into the discussion with Araxis and Kano. She moved away from the men, her eyes scanned the horizon swiftly. She had no idea what she was looking for but she wanted to get out of the watchful eyes of Kano, Methyas and Araxis'. While they were her friends and looked out for her, they always seemed to be watching her. It unnerved her. They had her best interest at heart though. She heard footsteps behind her and turned slightly.

She turned back to her own thoughts forgetting them men behind her, she meditated slowly she felt the bond that was formed between mother and child. The unbreakable bond that strength-ed more and more each day as the child grew in her womb. She slid effortlessly into the unborn child's mind. He had no thoughts, his mind untouched by the war outside. This blackness allowed Teu to escape for the moment, take a step back and explore the future with her newest child.

Teu slid out of her meditation when a hand touched her arm, she turned back and found no one was there. She shrugged and returned to the table where Kano and other were sitting. She pulled a small stick of jerky from her pocket and munched on it absent minded.

Inos Moon 42
Orian System

Jade stood up looking towards the sky, there was an incoming ship and judging by how it moved as though it had had a few too many drinks, she knew it would be Macrons ship. The coordinates in her hand of the approximate landing site of course helped, but there was no mistaking this ship. The Nachzerer moved towards the surface, she stayed a good distance away, not only for the debris, but also for the interesting landing the madman might pull off.

As the dust settled she moved towards the landing site. He had contacted her to have her meet up with him, something she was more then willing to do. It was always an interesting fight when you had the madman standing beside you, saber glowing with the same insane promise of death and destruction if crossed. But hearing about finding Ashura, well that was just added incentive. Both men like family, she wasn't going to pass it up.

The door of the Nachzerer opened and Aisha poked her head out first. Jade smiled. It had been a while since she had seen the apprentice, truth be told she kind of missed the Zeltron and fighting with her. It was going to be interesting to have her apprentice meet the Zeltron and Macron sometime. It was good to have an apprentice again, and Vishuss was showing great promise and skill, she could see great things for his future. Aisha's eyes matched her own and she smiled.

"Master, we have company?"

"Oh?..."

Jade smirked as Macrons tattooed face appeared in the doorway. "Always willing to search a planet...or moon for new victims, aren't you Macron?"

Between seen and not seen...

The earth did not feel particularly stable under him as the Wanderer made his way through the jungle that covered the small archipelago. Many of the plants stirred as he passed, their buds unfolding to reveal barbed petals and leaves, almost carnivorous. This planet may have been alive – it may have fed off the dark side in the way neither Sith nor Krath understood – but it was still savage and wild. At times, a vine would lash out from a nearby tree, either swinging out from the side or whipping down from the canopy above. Not that it troubled him. The wounds healed. And the flora and fauna retreated, knowing better than to try again.

For twenty-five thousand years this planet had largely remained abandoned, having briefly been rediscovered four millennia ago, only to be forgotten again shortly thereafter. The Jedi and their Galactic Republic had never understood. They had feared the answers the Temples of the Ancients here held. Even the Sith had learned not to return after their failed campaign. And so the world had sat, empty. Until five years ago. When it had been rediscovered.

The Wanderer’s mind flashed back to those days – although to him they felt more like centuries ago – for so long had he wandered the empty abyss, lost beyond time. He had been such a fool back then. So quick to anger. So driven by lust. Now he knew better.

          ‘Anticipation, my Apprentice. Savour it, let it temper your lust.’

          ‘You cannot deny the lust brewing in your own heart, my Master. However dead it may be.’

          ‘Two decades I have sought this end. And here, now... the conclusion of all my travels. I will succeed where the Sith have failed. There is no Empire... there is only Will. There is no rule... there is only Obedience... there is no freedom, only chaos. There is no Chaos... only Will.’

          ‘Even at the end, you speak naught but riddles.’

          ‘Nevermore, my Apprentice. Let's go.’

And go they had to the mountain that now stood before the Wanderer. Mount Kazinal rose out of the jungle, towering above the rest of the Archipelago of the Lost. Its fires had been tempered. Its fury contained in the ancient temple forged within. There the Old Ones had sacrificed many to fuel their empire which had had no end. Many had lost their lives. Kings. Emperors. Betrayers. The hunger the Ancients had bound in their service was indiscriminate.

It had been the heart of their kingdom... the Heart of the Force.

However, what the Wanderer saw rising above him no longer represented that vergence, no longer contained the secrets of the long forgotten past. Today, all he saw was a graveyard, a tomb in which many had lost their lives, lost to the Nameless Ones of Kazinal’s buried past.

And buried it was.

Tempered its fires may long have been, but in the end nothing could contain the elements of finality. Entropy came to all things eventually; the Temple of the Lost had simply stood for longer than most. In his past folly, however, the Wanderer had learned nothing from his Master – and like Urati Kazinal, the Temple of Lost Souls, he had finally faced his end, tearing the temple down on top of him and the brothers who had come to pass judgement on his fate.

          ‘Command, you must learn Command!’

          ‘Never... all is death... I am death... we are death... blackness... only blackness...’

And so the Wanderer had failed. Fallen back into the darkness from before birth. There he had been forgotten, to suffer a thousand deaths. Lost beyond time, forever to wander eternity, from the beginning to the end. All because he had failed to heed the Lord of the Marked.

          ‘You must control. You must command. Calm, or all is lost!’

Looking down at the ruined doorway to the temple before him, the Wanderer nodded solemnly. He had been forced to wander for too long. He had lost too much. The ghosts of the Old Ones had taken everything from him. His memories – his body – even his name. But no longer. The final mysteries of the Nameless Apprentice were about to be answered.

The lingering sentiment of what remained of Xanos Zorrixor made for the broken doorway. It was time. The Nameless One was nearly here.

Antei

An armored fist punches through the sand and dust that was stirred up by the crash. The hand reaches around and grabs a piece of wreckage, using it as leverage to pull the rest of the Mandalorian out of the dirt. As Roxas rises to stand, he pats the coarse sand from his clothes and armor. The Hunter began walking toward his destination, the Temple Bonya. Roxas trudges over dunes and through sand for hundreds of meters before he is even able to see the temple on the horizon. Roxas stepped and heard a snap. He was instantly dragged across the ground at high speed through the sand and the rocks of the desert and ended hanging from a tall boulder. When his crazy ride had ended the Mandalorian was surrounded by Obelisk troops.

“Frak me sideways” the Mandalorian said, impressed by the ingenuity of the device.

“What do you want here Sith?” one of the Obelisk’s inquired.

“I’m trying to reach Fremoc Pepoi. I have a question to ask him.” Roxas replied, knowing that he was outnumbered.

The troops started laughing and asked “What do you want him for?”

“I want him to train me.” the Hunter stated boldly.

The group went silent and the leader spoke again “So, you want to be an Obelisk do you?”

Roxas nodded. “I realized that I would be better off as an Obelisk. I can’t go back to the Sith; I just killed a couple of them.”

The Troops let the Jedi Hunter down and put his arm in restraints.

“We’ll take you to him.” one of the Obelisk soldiers said.

They loaded Roxas into a small troop transport and headed for the Temple Bonya. As they reached the temple Roxas could feel a large number of troops preparing for battle. The transport came to a stop and the Obelisk soldiers pulled the Hunter out and lead him to the meeting area for the Obelisk leaders.

“Sir, we have a Sith that wishes to speak with Commander Pepoi. He claims that he is from Naga Sadow.”

One of the leaders looked at the Mandalorian and with a wince queried “Why do you need to see Commander Pepoi?”

“I have discovered a truth about my self and only he can help me.” Roxas replied, realizing that the truth would be the best way to get what he wanted.

A soldier ran up and saluted “Sir, I have important information concerning this prisoner. Apparently he attacked his own men and fled from the Sith armada.”

The Obelisk leader thought for a moment and then asked “What did you find out about yourself?”

Roxas cleared his throat and spoke confidently “I realized that I don’t belong with the Sith Order; even though, I have Sith tendencies I am more like an Obelisk. I enjoy war to much to be one of the Sith.”

The Obelisk leader began laughing and said “Well welcome to the Obelisk order. I believe that Commander Pepoi is at the Temple Bonya right now.”

With that the Commander waved his hand informing the soldiers to remove the shackles from the Mandalorian.

“So, what exactly do you need Fremoc for?” the Commander asked as the shackles were being removed.

The Hunter with a smile hidden by his T shaped visor replied “I want him to train me.”

Once again the man started laughing, but this time at the Mandalorian’s boldness. The Commander turned at waved for a transport.

“Take this soldier to the Temple, so that he can speak with Commander Pepoi.” He ordered.

The troops saluted and lead the Jedi Hunter to the transport. The transport looked rickety and decrepit. Parts of the machine were rusty and others were barely attached.

“She may be a rust bucket, but she gets the job done.” The pilot assured the Mandalorian.

Roxas never replied feeling that if he did he might some how break the transport with is words. The entire thing creaked and screeched as he climbed on board. The Hunter was nervous as he fully expected the ship to fall apart in an instant. The pilot flipped the ignition switch and the ship clicked and whined, but didn’t start. The pilot jumped out and stuck his hand down into the motor doing something, but Roxas couldn’t see. The pilot withdrew his hand and landed a swift kick into the side of the machine and climbed back into his seat.

“What did you just do?” the Jedi Hunter asked nervously.

“Oh, nothing special.” the pilot replied ignoring the question.

Once again the man flipped the ignition switch. The transport screeched and clicked. The pilot shouting “Start!” hit the control panel and instantly the machine roared to life.

The Mandalorian stood up and said “Never mind I’ll walk.”

One of the men grabbed him saying “Sit down” as he dragged the Hunter back into his seat. Roxas didn’t think this would go well. The pilot hit the throttle and the ship launched into full speed without warning and thrusted the Mandalorian into the back of his seat. The transport was moving with incredible speed for a rusty piece of junk. It flew over sand dunes and around boulders with little to no problem, until aloud beeping came from the control panel.

“It seems the Sith are on to us.” the pilot shouted into the back at the passengers.

“Can this thing handle combat?” Roxas asked hoping the pilot would say anything other than no.

The pilot retorted “I don’t have a clue.”

That didn’t comfort the Mandalorian a single bit. He knew from the beginning that the transport was going to be a lost cause. The control panel beeped again signaling that the Sith fighters were locked on. The group knew that with seconds their transport was going to be blown to bits, so they bailed out. Each of them rolling as they hit the sand. They escaped in the nick of time as a Sith fighter had just fired a missile. The rocket flew through the air and hit the rusted transport with a loud blast. The shockwave of the blast stopped the men’s rolling and almost propelled them backward. The Sith fighter continued on their course and were out of sight in minutes. Roxas stood up patting the dust from his clothes and looking through his T shaped visor scanned the area to see if the other men had survived. He saw that all of them had survived. One of the men had already gotten up and was checking the others.

“So, which direction do I need to go?” the Mandalorian inquired.

The man helping the others pointed and said “That way.”

Roxas replied with a simple nod and was on his way.

Inos Moon 42
Orian System
Nachzerer Landing Site
Near Tombs of Orian


"Hssiss balls," muttered Macron. He shook his head as the three gathered themselves around the Nachzerer. Ironically several powerful Dark Jedi women had been his students. Jade, Siyavash, Aisha. These powerful women invariably gave him hell as a Master whenever they met. Rightfully so. He certainly deserved it. They kept each other on their respective toes.

"Okay then," chuffed Macron. "I cannot feel Ashura. He is.... possibly passed," remarked the madman. "But yet not? Such is the way of the Dark Side," he giggled. The place was cold. Refreshingly so.

"Transmigration of souls?" quipped Jade. "It has been done before with strong will and a suitable vessel. Palpatine did it. So did Set Harth." Krath knew some interesting things.

"I don't know," Macron said. "This is a Dark Side site. It's hard to tell, even with the Mark." Purple coils of evil boiled all around the ground below in the second sight. He knew full well something was wrong and lied to hide it, as any good Sith would. His friend and comrade was fracked.

Let them find out for themselves.

Aisha merely looked lost, and then began scouting the perimeter. Such subtleties were lost on the Zeltron Sith Warrior. Cold frost and blowing wind swept around her as she looked out at the icy barren rock terrain.

"Jade, I think we must find his corpse." Macron waved his hand towards the cliffs. "He is there."

"I agree. With a proper Rite," replied the Krath Archpriestess.

"Yes," nodded Macron as he peered about with the Sight. Lines of yellow, blue, red and green intersected with a black mass down below the cliffs. Red lines pulsed like intestines pumping energy to a black spot some hundreds of meters below on a granite parapet. A strong Darksider had changed states there. "Down there. Yes. His husk is down there." A tear rolled down Macron's cheek, whether of rage or sorrow. "He was a Sadow. His murderer must suffer. Horribly."

The Warlord didn't mention the other things he felt. Fremoc, a Erro now. Venator doing his Obelisk duty killing Sith. And.... And.... Macron turned, puking black bile into the pure white snow at this booted armored feet.

"The Betrayer Lives," ran his thoughts. "My Master exists. Must ask Trevarus."

"I have knowledge of the old Rite," remarked Jade coolly as she ignored his antics. She had seen results of failed experiments too many times. Macron acting weird was normal, ironically. The alchemist having a conniption was normal. "The old Sith one. Will you both be with me?"

"We will," came the quiet reply from the two Sith as they recanted the old burial rites. "We honor the Loved Dead. May they fight forever, and remain apart from Force in their passion. May their chains be broken."

Soon the Dark Jedi on speederbikes had found the disemboweled body. Curwen Sunei's host had done an excellent job, with Aleho as a puppet. Ashura had been betrayed and cut down. His love of his apprentice was his undoing. The irony was heartbreaking. Those that called themselves uncaring Sith shed tears quietly.

Two silent heads nodded as their fingers clenched lightsaber hilts repeatedly. Ashura's death was not at all popular with the Naga Sadow Sith that had met his passing. They both struck their chests with their blade hand and an unlit lightsaber. Jade spoke the Opening of the Door from an old Sith text. Krath knew their way around Dark Jedi lore.

"You will be avenged, I swear." Macron swore on his unlit lightsaber. "Your enemies will be made to suffer. They will scream in agony and despair. This I promise, my Brother." He tossed a thermal detonator onto the pile of scavenged wood and ship debris. "Power to You. Bogan be with you, Ashura!"

Ashura's blade and body were burnt in a hot atomic pile made from baradium grenades that came from the Temple of Fire. The yellow and white radioactive flames leapt hungrily, consuming the corpse and his lightsaber. Macron, Jade, and Aisha stood watch in the frozen wastes in their bodysuits until all was ash and the funeral fires were done. The sacred Sith Rite did not quell the anger in their souls. Hate flowed through them as they watched the pile through their cold-goggles.

"Call the Naga Sadow Elders..." Macron growled as they regrouped at the Nachzerer. "The traitor Aleho is around here. Now we go find her and show her our hospitality."

------

Between seen and not seen...

The tight corridors of Urati Kazinal – the Temple of Lost Souls – were grey and ashen in their understatement. Unlike the golden extravagance of the Sith on Korriban or Antei, there were no busts and statuettes to line the hallways, no ornate tombs and coffins. The only decoration at all was the inscriptions that adorned the walls, the floors, the ceilings, the doors – everywhere ancient wards that had been designed to keep caged the forgotten spirits that had been trapped at the heart of Mount Kazinal.

Then the two wanderers had come... and all that had been made had been undone.

     ‘He will steal it from you...’

The witch had warned him what would happen, however back then he had been too foolish, too arrogant to listen. Had his Master not told him up front how it would all play out? Had Trevarus not embraced his own end, even before they stepped foot over the threshold?

     ‘Shan Long murmurs... he seeks blood. Perhaps it best we explore this temple apart.’

     ‘Are you certain that is wise?’

     ‘Mark my words, Lord Vexatus. We both die this day.’

When last Xanos had been here, the heartbeat at the core of Mount Kazinal had filled his ears, but as he now wandered through the temple’s empty halls, its silence deafened him. If this had once been – as Urias Orian had claimed – the Heart of the Force, it was no longer. They had brought death to this place. Fools might give it ostentatious titles – the Way of the Dark, a Wound in the Force – he himself had once called it the Final Way. Today, he knew otherwise. It was simply the void. It needed – it deserved – no grander title. It simply was.

For five years, he had wandered – though in the netherworld those years might have stretched for centuries and he would not have known – in the fabric of the Weavery, time was without reference points such as birth or death. In those years – or perhaps millennia, who could say? – he had witnessed the birth of stars, watched as civilisations grew up on the rocks around them... but in the end even the stars themselves burn out. It was the way of everything.

Trevarus Caerick had known this all along. And thus he had become Ascendant.

As Xanos reached the end of the cramped hallway, it opened into a large ovoid chamber. On the far wall glistened a round whirlpool of liquid silver. A hypergate. Above him, a swarm of silver-shelled insects skittered overhead, almost like a mirror of the hypergate portal itself. At his coming five years ago, the creatures had readily leapt upon him, taking advantage of his distraction, sinking their fangs into his aged and withered flesh. This time, however, they paused – only slowly turning their heads to study him, uncertain. After a moment, the insects seemed to shrug their exoskeletons. Nonetheless, one of the orbalisks stood defiant – foolish, arrogant – and skittered over to him. Then it unhooked its claws and dropped.

And passed right through him.

Foolish creature... so like he had been all those years ago. Xanos bent down and cupped the orbalisk in his hand, picking it up. Even in its yellow compound eyes, the insect’s surprise was evident. The ghost shook his head and flicked the orbalisk back onto the ceiling. In his youth, he would have crushed it. Now, he knew better than to worship death for death’s sake.

There was much more to the void than simple death. He himself was proof of that.

     ‘I am the darkness in which all life dies.’

Darth Vexatus had been a fool – but Darth Vexatus was dead – lost to the spirits of the void. Now, all that remained was a memory – a nameless wanderer who had travelled the galaxy to understand – to finally see what none but his Master had seen. That death was only a new beginning. He had run from his for far too long... but it was now time to finally accept it and move on. Passing under the orbalisks which – unlike the first time he had been here – now skittered away from him and disappeared between the gaps in the walls, he made his way to the portal... and then stepped through – to the answers he had spent five lifetimes seeking.

For in the end, every life returned to the darkness from whence it came. His was no exception.

The galaxy turned and Fate smiled wickedly!

The news of Ashura Sadow’s death had spread like a like wild fire among the Dark Jedi in the House. The official records said he died in a training exercise, which was standard cover up tactics for the mundane to believe. The real cause of his death had been transmitted to Antei for to be filed away. Another Dark Jedi lost despite not fighting in the Order feud on the planets surface. How many members of House Naga Sadow were fighting each other down there, how many would be made aware of the loss?

As the digital version of the death certificate was transmitted out, one copy was sent to the water world of Kamino. In the heart of Timira City Cloning Facility where clones of all types were created. A Kaminoan technician by the name of San-La was working hard when she received the news of Ashura Isradia’s death. She was able to remember the name as the man himself had been awkward, and now he had died in a training accident. Typical for most people to end through a meaningless act, but then that was why they paid to live on, in a manner of speaking.

She walked over to a specific panel and pressed in the keypad and a moment later it opened. San-La took out the genetic sample marked “CLIM-AI”. The tall alien scientist took the sample and walk through the complex to a specific cloning chamber. She was greeted by another Kaminoan.

“Kar-Ma”

“San-La”

“I have this genetic sample from Deputy Governor Ashura Isradia, taken a while ago, his death certificate has been verified. It is time to start cloning process.” She said to him and handed the sample.

“I understand. We are starting cloning batch 6479 of the clone life insurance model in ten hours. I can add the progenitor’s DNA to the mix. He will live again.” The Kaminoan bowed to his female counterpart and left.

San-La watched as he departed to where the cloning chambers were located. It seemed to becoming more frequent for people to try and live forever, and the Kaminoan’s were very happy to take lots of money to try and cheat death. They knew that the essence of a person could not be persevered in a clone. Yet genetics was still something that held its secrets and even clones were known to remember, although most would go mad.

It did not matter much in the grand scheme of things. In three months time Ashura Isradia’s clone would be walking and talking. In a sense he would be living again.

Inos Moon 42
Orian System
Near Tombs of Orian
Approaching Nachzerer Landing Site

Lan Orsalan hadn’t seen anything, weather-wise, like what he currently trudged through on the far-flung moon that lazily orbited at the periphery of the Sadowan holdings. One moment, all was calm, the air still and coldly comforting as it filled his laboring lungs; the next, his face felt as it would be scoured off of his skull, so sharp were the ice-crystals that the wind blasted unmercifully into his path. Sharply-angled pieces of permafrost threatened to pierce his booted soles, and his eyes struggled to focus on the handheld tracking device’s display, but Lan pressed on, lest he face the wrath of the one who followed him, and who’s tolerance for failure was negligible, at best.

As if summoned by his fleeting thought, the rich-baritone that belonged to his Master floated, unhindered by the howling winds, to his ear. “That’s enough, Lan; make for the ridge ahead, and we’ll stop so you can catch your breath, boy.”

“Ye..yes…Mas..Master.” The cold and wind threatened to choke the response from his frost-touched lips, but he soldiered on anyway. The man at his back would expect no less. What he’d learned in the months since being accepted as an Apprentice was that, for every offered kindness, there was the unspoken promise of an exacted payment. Lan’s Master was a hard, but fair, man, and it seemed the Protector’s workload increased the more focused he was on a particular task. Such was the cost of being apprenticed to Naga Sadow’s Quaestor, and as both men reached the aforementioned ridge and peered over its edge, Lan suspected that he might have to pay with his very life by the time his Master saw this latest crisis through to its end. Besides, Lan thought without the slightest trace of irony, that’s how these sorts of things worked with the man with the tripartite gaze: a Life for a Life…and Tsainetomo Keibatsu Sadow was charged with finding the one who’d killed one of his own.

The Korun-Keibatsu stood confidently at the crest of the ridge, his eyes a heartbeat behind his ethereal senses finding the beetle-shaped craft a distant kilometer below them. In truth, he himself did not need the tracker that Lan had clenched in gloved hand; he’d felt the presence of his compatriots as soon as they’d touched down. The device was more for his apprentice’s benefit, so as to make the young man feel...useful.

Though a scowl seemed to have taken up permanent residence on his face since he took ‘The Chair’ – that is, the Sadowan Quaestorship – it softened just a bit as he recounted telling Lan about his dozens of minute tracking devices currently floating in the bloodstreams of nearly the whole of Sadow. The conspiratorial light that entered Lan’s eyes shortly thereafter was amusing, but not threatening in the least.

If Sai had any fears that Lan would betray this knowledge to others, the Son of Sadow didn’t show them. After all, Lan was well versed in Sai’s particular brand of quid pro quo, and he knew that his betrayal would not only result in his death, but in the deaths of anyone and everyone Lan might’ve crossed paths with.

Ever.

Not just friends and family, but merchants, fuel station proprietors, pet groomers, tapcaf baristas, people who owed him credits…anyone, and everyone. Tsainetomo’s retribution would be inexorable and brutal.

But, that didn’t mean that the Keibatsu was an unfeeling monster. Not at all. If he were, after all, he wouldn’t be on this Ferran-forsaken rock, and Lan would’ve been killed long ago. “…again, Master?” Sai’s reverie was broken by the aforementioned Protector’s shouting above the din of the elements.

“Hmm?” Sai’s eyebrows raised, indicating Lan should repeat himself.

“I said, ‘why are we here again, Master?’” The Protector marveled at how Sai seemed not to be affected by the gale, the cold, and the ice.

“Ah, because we are on the trail of a murderer. Someone has dared to raise a hand against one of my Brothers, and I suspect that they” – at this, Sai nodded at the Nachzerer - “will know where best to continue looking.” Tsainetomo drew back the hood of his robes as he motioned for Lan to follow him down the slope. He allowed his mane of hair – drawn back into a bushy queue – to blow freely in the winds, heralding his coming as a warbanner to the inhabitants of the craft, one of whom he was already familiar.

The Dark Side bent to his ebon will and plowed the snow and frost before him, making the trek easier, and Lan obediently followed in his wake. Sai allowed his mind to wander a bit as the Nachzerer began to fill his vision. Though the loss of a Son was troubling, to be sure, what concerned Sai was the rising influence of those Apostate Sons within the - his - House. Kharon had fallen to the Mark, as did Fremoc, his trusted Aedile.

Even his good friend Mononoke’s vision had been clouded by the Tapestry, and it was his Force signature that drew the Quaestor ever closer to the landing site. Loathe as he was to be in the presence of anyone who bore the Mark, the ‘Chair’ carried with it certain responsibilities and he let his affection for the Alchemist override his distaste. After all, an akk dog couldn’t be held responsible for the brand of fleas that rose up with it, could it?

“Hile, Nachzerer!” Cupped hands and the Force carried Sai’s voice across the expanse and Lan instinctively winced at the sonic onslaught he hadn’t time to prepare for. A strong and comforting hand on a shoulder was all that Lan got by way of apology; another quirk Lan had become used to, as he’d seen Sai’s tripartite gaze narrow as he honed in on some figures just beyond the freighter, and once Sai’s mind had become focused, the Protector knew that niceties were not the most pressing issue that needed to be addressed.

Sepros
Temple of Blood

Fremoc moved through the motions of Wampa Do, sweat was pouring off him. He didn’t know how long he had been at it, but was to the point where his clothes stuck to his body. His mind moved to the events that had happened a few days prior...

Antei
Weeks after the events Disorder

Fremoc stood next to Ma`ar as their Sergeants ran through the drills, created by the Prelate and Battlelord. The Iron Throne's army was recuperating after the Vendetta that had fell upon Antei. The Obelisk Order was triumphant over the other orders, even though it was determined that Michael Halcyon was deemed the cause of the order tensions. Trevarus had released the Prelate from his exile, but Fremoc remained to help the Fist of the Brotherhood as his Praetor as the rest of the Brotherhood returned to their home systems. He had promised his wife that he would one day be home, and the mark had shown him that the day of his return was coming.

"They need more work," Fremoc finally said. The Sith only nodded as they watched. The silence between the two was broken once more as Fremoc's comlink went off. The Elder Pepoi moved away from Ma`ar to gain some privacy before activating it. "Pepoi, here."

"Stand by for a message from the Quaestor," stated a droid.

"Fremoc?" Tsainetomo's voice came through the link. Fremoc was shocked to hear Sai's voice, thinking that it would have been Macron.

"Yes, Lord Quaestor?"

"I need you to return to Sepros. I am in need of your assistance."

"I will be there as soon as I can Sai." Fremoc put his comlink back on his belt and moved back to Ma`ar. "They need me back on Sepros."

"So I heard. Go. Help them." Fremoc nodded and left, heading towards the shuttles.

Sepros

The shuttle had landed just outside the New Sadow Palace, mere meters from where Sai was standing. The ramp lowered, and exiting the shuttle Fremoc extended his hand to the Quaestor of Naga Sadow. The Keibatsu grasped the open hand with his own, and shook it once before letting go. "Welcome home, Fremoc."

"Thanks. You said you needed some assistance?"

"Yes, I do. I need you to be my Aedile."

...his fist crashed into the stone wall, punctuating the end of his kata. The wall crumbled as his hand withdrew. Blood formed at the knuckles, but didn’t bother to take care of the wound. He chuckled at himself when he remembered where he was. The Temple of Blood, the training ground that Bob Sadow had brought the Order of the Black Guard to. Fremoc had never been a member of the Black Guard, but was willing to help his wife train them since she was pregnant with their second child. He pulled off his shirt that was stuck to his body, and began to stretch, relaxing his tense muscles. He felt Venator come up the stairs nearby and stand behind him.

“You are lucky that I’m not working on my kata’s,” stated Fremoc.

“I’d be able to defend myself,” chuckled Venator. Fremoc reached into a pouch on his pack that was on the ground nearby. He pulled out the piece of paper that Sai knew about, and approved of.

“Think you can read this paper?” Fremoc had made sure it was embossed, so that Ven could. Fremoc unfolded the paper, so that the Miraluka could read it and gave it to Venator. It was the notice of Venator’s field promotion to Dark Jedi Knight, signed by Fremoc, Sai, Macron, and Muz. Fremoc pulled a second paper from his pack in time to watch the newly made Knight’s facial expression turn into utter joy. The Prelate gave his Obelisk brother the second paper, informing Venator of his appointment to Prefect of Gamuslag.

“My... I... Thank you...”

“You earned it Ven. Now if you excuse me...” Venator nodded as the Aedile of Naga Sadow moved back into his training circle. The new Dark Jedi Knight silently moved away from the area. The loud belch of his lightsaber igniting filled his ears, the sound causing his adrenaline to ignite to the next level.

Perfection was his goal...

Tarthos
Pepoi Residence
After the events Disorder



The events on Antei were a massive strain on Kano and his new cursed vision. Sure he loved never seeing darkness and being able to see into shadows but he was still having problems getting sleep with the constant daylight vision. The man was proud of what he had done during the battle; he had done his Order well. As he sat reflecting on his past battles and skimming through the leatherbound book he had become highly attached to thoughts began to cross his mind. Those thoughts were of his past works with Naga Sadow.

Kano got off the floor of his room and went to a datapad on his desk. After several minutes of looking at stats and reading various bits of information the man had his plan and knew what he needed to do, the question was would his Quaestor agree with him.

Kano’s hand shook as he picked the small comm device up from his bed and linked it up with Tsainetomo Keibatsu Sadow, “Lord Quaestor, this is Kano Tor Pepoi and I have a very controversial but important proposition for you.”

Kano held his breath as he waited for a response, “What is it?”

“Lord Quaestor, as you know I am a former Sergeant of multiple teams in this great House and I have to say that recently the teams have become shadows of them former selves. They are not disciplined in the ways the teams once were, if this current path is allowed to continue there is no telling whether or not we will survive another battle.”

“And what do you suppose should be done about this?”

Kano took a deep breath, “I think we should dissolve all four teams and unite the best warriors into one unit. In that unit build a strong since of pride and discipline. Sir, another thing I would like to say is I would be more than willing to build this team from the ground up if given your permission.”

Pregnant seconds passed as the Templar waited for Tsainetomo's response. What he didn't know was that Sai's mind had already begun to tackle the issue, and now Kano had just handed him a solution on an electrum platter.

"Kano," began the Korun-Keibatsu, "I have watched you and yours for some time. It is no accident that we have been drawn together to solve this..conundrum."

Kano's sight shifted between color and glowing twilight as he blinked rapidly at Sai's response. He hadn't expected to get cooperation without some sort of fight; the House's assets were already strained beyond the breaking point, what with the events on Antei. The Templar swallowed hard as the tinny reproduction of Sai's voice through the comm device started anew.

"I believe, Pepoi, that you can help me with this problem. I leave it to you." With that, the comm went dead.

Kano could scarcely believe his good fortune. He'd literally been given the keys to the kingdom; why would the Quaestor acquiesce so quickly without knowing what Kano planned to do, or giving him any ultimatums or deadlines?

He didn't. The realization was cold and swift as it slammed into his brain. Kano realized that this could very well be his ultimate test, and that Sai already knew what price he'd exact from him for this luxury.

Kano also knew that failure could cost him plenty, too. The new Sergeant rose from his desk, and set to work building his team, moving as if he expected the Quaestor to appear any moment to call muster and bring him to a full accounting for his kindness.

Quickly Kano accessed his datapad and instantly it showed his new title of Sergeant with the team name being left a blank. For a second Kano thought about that problem and then accessed the databank and typed in the new team name, The Regulators. The next thing was a base of operations and the team itself. The later matter would be pretty simple. On Kano’s datapad was a full listing of all members of the House and he already had the first few members in mind.

Before departing his room to find these men Kano grabbed his leatherbound book and shoved it in the messenger bag hanging across his body. A quick thought crossed his mind about how he always mocked the Krath for being bookworms and now he carried a book everywhere he went, maybe they weren't wrong in their studies.

Kamino
Three weeks after the death of Ashura Sadow

The Kaminoan technician San-La was checking over the clones in the chamber marked 6479. Her slender longs fingers tapped as the datapad in her hand as she looked over all the clones. Her eyes setttled on one marked CLIM-AI-6479. Looking into the glass with her wide eyes she noted how the clone was proceeding nicely. Floating there the young adult of a man looked peaceful. His skin was clay white and no hair had yet to grow, by her calculations the clone would reach maturity within the next week, but then it still have a month until skin and hair colour could changed to the required genome.

San-La watched as eyes rolled beneath his eyelids. Like most clones he was dreaming, which were nothing more than fragment memories from whatever the gnome was producing.

“Dream child.” She said to CLIM-AI-6479. It didn’t matter that the clone couldn’t hear her. Her hands touched the glass for a moment and San-La lowered it and walked on to the next clone. The clone twitched in the water as a memory of magic swords flashed across his unconscious mind.

Location Unknown
Orian system

Kissai groaned and she tested the shackles for the hundredth time. The drug that mad old bastard had injected into earlier was doing it job, again. No powers to help her out of this and her master had not tried to rescue her yet. How long had it been now since they found her on that moon and captured her. How long have they questioned her for answers she didn’t know.

The door to her cell hiss opened and she looked up at the alchemist with eyes blazing of hate. His interrogation droid hovered by his shoulder.

“Shall we try again!” Macron giggled at the rhetorical question.

“How does it feel? To know you could have prevented Ashura’s death? All by simply care what happened to me. You knew what he did to me and yet you didn’t care. So how does it feel?” Kissai asked him. The fifteen year old had been playing this game since they brought her here. Trying to made them feel as if the death of Ashura Sadow was on their hands. Her hate vibrated from her but Macron would surely notice the self hatred as well. It was clear Aleho Ruoxf hated what she had become, hated what she had done, hated everything about this life of hers and yet powerless to not obey the will of her master.

Blinky hovered into the room.

“Does it made you proud, Master Macron, to torture a teenager for answers when that mark on your head hasn’t led you any closer to finding my master. Yes, you may have silenced him from my mind with that drug, but in the end you need to remember what I am to him.”

“Oh, what’s that Aleho?”

“Kissai!” She hissed with anger. “My name is Kissai. As named by my master. Poor Aleho is no more, thanks to your oversight.” A small smile spread across her face. “I am his slave, a tool for his will and whatever else he wants.”

The droid hovered around her.

“My master makes me... touch him... at times.” Her voice croaked for a moment and Macron was able to get a picture of Curwen doing things that just shouldn’t be done to someone her age. “How does that make you feel? Disgusted. Good. That’s my life thanks to you. Thanks to all of you!” Kissai shook with anger and rage, not only pointed at him but herself as well.

Blinky popped out a needle and some other sort of device that didn’t look very pleasant.

“Bring it.” Kissai said as the interrogation droid did what it was made to do. As her cell door closed her screams could be heard all the way up the halls as the pain was to intense to hold in.

Disorder
Antei

The dessert was hot and the sand was coarse, but the Mandalorian was determined to survive. I have to be lost. Roxas thought to himself after walking for hours and not finding any sign of life. Don’t tell me that I went the wrong way and got lost. The Hunter was furious as he had no clue where he was.

The Sadowan clicked on his comm link “Calling any member of the Dark Brotherhood. This is 11435. Requesting aid.”

Nothing, but silence came from the other end of the comm. I’m out of range. Roxas said to himself as he turned on the binocular mode of his helmet. The rangefinder lowered covering the area of his visor in front of his right eye. The device scanned out over the desert as the Mandalorian panned his head back and forth. The device showed that there were no signs of life in the man’s vicinity. The Mandalorian sighed and turned on his helmet’s GPS. After a moment the device chimed signifying that there were no radio towers or satellites to bounce a signal off of. The Hunter removed his helmet allowing the heat of the desert to hit his face. It was scorching hot. He took a drink from his canteen and wiped the sweat from his brow. A beeping came from the Mandalorian’s helmet, so he put it back on. The comm was receiving a signal, but not from the planet, instead the signal was coming from a ship. The Hunter immediately thought that it was a Sith ship until he noticed the Obelisk markings on the side. The ships engines created a large cloud of dust and sand as it landed. Roxas boarded and was informed that the war was over. The Mandalorian sat down in complete amazement.

“How long was I out there?” The Hunter queried.

“You were missing for around a month Sir.” a soldier replied as he handed Roxas rations.

Weeks after Disorder
Tarthos
Sadow Palace

Roxas was training furiously to prepare himself for his future. His armored body moving with great accuracy and power it followed the movement of the Jakelian Knife Dance. The Mandalorian wasn’t paying attention to anything other than his rigorous training regimen. Unknown to the Hunter, Kano was watching him. The former Mandalorian charged the Hunter using his mastery of Carinor to unarm Roxas. The Hunter threw a punch out of defense, but was distracted by the Pepoi’s eyes and stopped his fist in mid punch. Kano used this to knock the Hunter to the ground. Roxas’s body and armor hit the ground with a loud clanking thud, which echoed in the large room. Kano reached out his hand offering it to his former apprentice. Roxas accepted it.

"Your training is helping you greatly. You added several seconds to how long it would take me to kill you." Kano said as he helped the Hunter off of the ground.

“All due to your training.” Roxas replied as he got to his feet.

Kano replied "I have a new team. It will be hard and if you don't keep up you will die quickly.”

Kano pulls a black bandanna from a bag and hands it to Roxas, "These are your new colors. Their job is to protect this House at any cost. Do you understand that?"

Roxas laughed as he replied “You know I’m in. I don’t fear death, it fears me.”

"Good." Kano turns and begins to leave while talking over his shoulder, "I wasn't kidding when I said if you don't keep up you will die, I will kill you myself if it is needed."

The Hunter removed his helmet and smiling replied with a playful tone that Kano was all to familiar with “We’ll see about that.”

Just before Kano had left the room Roxas examined the bandanna that he was given noticing the symbol of the new team The Regulators. The Hunter tied the bandanna around his bicep with the symbol outward.

Coruscant Underworld

Inside of himself Rang knew he was fighting to better himself but also to punish himself. There was something dark inside him. Something he wanted to lay to rest but couldn't. Something brewing which drew him to fight. He constantly fought in these underground bars. He fought days on end coming back for more. He had yet to be defeated and for once was taking quite a beating from a Rodian who seemed to have an edge on Rang. This time though Rang was distracted. His mind elsewhere. The thoughts of the past haunting his every strike and footstep. He thought he heard a familiar voice. It was as if it was crying out at him to cease his nonsense. All of a sudden a strike landed and Rang spat the blood from his lips in the dark room as he was struck in the face by his opponent. He snapped back to reality.

“That all you have you di'kut?” asked Rang in defiance.

“You think you tough cause you a Mandolorian?” responded the Rodian fighter.

“I'm just getting warmed up you scum!” Replied Rang.

Rang fixed his stance and began to brace himself from the inevitable attack which he knew was coming from the purple pigmented Rodian who was the largest of any Rang had ever seen. He stood at 6'4 and made Rang feel quite inferior. Rang of course being a man who loved a challenge thought he could put the sentient to shame quickly, grab his spoils and head to his chambers for a night of well deserved R&R. As Rangs bruised body stood there waiting the Rodian began to make a taunting gesture with his hands prompting Rang to strike first. Rang struck the Rodian in the abdomen making him keel over. Rang instantly sprang on the Rodian using his weight against him and bringing him to the floor. He quickly attempted to subdue his oppenent using an arm-bar however the Rodian managed to stand up and slam Rang to the ground. Rang felt his air force out and instantly knew he bit off more than he could chew. The sentient began to attempt to stomp Rang, Rang rolled away and at the right moment surged from his back to the base leg on which the Rodian had all his weight. He forced the tall being to the ground and began to strike at his face. Rang could feel the power grow within him and just as he went to strike once more the Rodian flipped rang over him. Rang quickly recovered. The Alien quite upset began to strike blows into Rang, leaving a heap of damage on the humans body. Among the cheering crowd was a cry for it to stop. Rang zoned in on the sentient and again waited for a swing which Rang used to wrestle the huge being to the ground. With a loud thud Rang knew that he had to assault to attain victory. Rang put the sentient into a chokehold, instantly the Rodian stood and slammed Rang into the walls of the ring hurting his lower back. Rang loosened his grip and the sentient sent him flying into the opposing wall back first. Rang crashed like a ten ton brick. He struggled to regain his composure and again waited for the assault of the freakishly tall Rodian. It came. As he struck Rang once more in the face Rang fell to one knee.

“Have enough Human?” said the Rodian

Rang coughed and replied “Only when you kill me will I have had enough.” Rang smirked then let out a cackle which seemed to agitate the Rodian.

He went to kick Rang and just at the right moment Rang caught the leg of the tall creature and brought him to the ground once more. Here Rang assaulted the sentients abdomen and face switching after every few blows to the body. The sentient hugged Rang which ceased the assault, the stood and then slammed Rang into the ground. Using brute force seemed to be the only way to keep the Mando down. Rang attempted to get up just as a bell rang aloud signaling the end of the duel. Rang was angered that he would no be able to honorably defeat this creature. He thought to himself another day perhaps.

“And the winner is Zhun!” proclaimed the Announcer. The crowd let out a loud boo in favor of whom they thought fought the best.

“Looks like I can beat Mando” Said Zhun with a ignorant smirk on his face.

Rang sat at the bar and ordered a drink for himself. Patrons of the bar and his supporters patted him on the back in support but he felt ashamed of himself for losing the fight. For disappointing them and himself but most of all her. She walked up and sat next to him. He ordered her a drink and they began to talk.

“Do not be so hard on yourself, we all have to lose sometimes, so that we may learn to win with honor” She told him in all her wisdom.
“Well I have won, I have my trophy right next to me do you not see this you silly woman?” Said Rang with a smile on his bloodied face.
“Come let's get you home and cleaned up.”Implied Paige.

She was beautiful as any woman Rang had ever seen, he often told her that she was his inspiration. And that if he could not honorably win that she should seek another man as he was unfit. She had blonde hair with beautiful hazel eyes. A combination which he seemed to enjoy.

“Fine but after I finish a few drinks.”He said slyly to her with a wink.
She looked at him and then the barkeep and motioned for him to cease. Then went on to say “I don't think so Mr. Verda let us go.”
Rang paid for the drinks turned to her and said “Aye Ma'am as you wish, you will always have your way.”

They proceeded to their chambers. Where Paige cleaned and dressed his wounds. “My warrior” she proclaimed.
He smirked and said “Broken and bruised but loved”.
She walked into the bedroom and said “Come let us retire for the night, you can fight more tomorrow!”

Rang followed her and lay next to her. Rang fell asleep quickly. A cloaked figure approached him and startled him. Rang reached for his blaster pistol as he felt he was threatened. A voice rang out “Brother not here and not now. I am here it will be okay.” Rang looked at the eyes of the man and did not recognize them.”Kano?” Asked Rang. He then awoke to a loud crash which came from the door of the chambers. He reached for his blaster pistol which was his coveted Relby-K23 with a sound compressor and scrambled while whispering commands to Paige to hide in the washroom. Then five men came in ordering Rang to give himself up for illegal acts of gambling, fighting, and acts of violence. Rang sprang to attack the men and escape but not before they fired upon him and missing wide to his left which was where the bathroom door was. He heard the familiar sound of a blaster laser hitting flesh, he zoned in on Paige and the Force enhanced his hearing so he could attempt to hear her heartbeat. There was none. Rang screamed in anger as he then saw blood beginning to pool out of the bathroom door and into the bedroom. He began to violently take each man on. The first he shot twice in the head and once in the chest. Overkill most would think but he was filled with rage. They had taken from him the one thing and person who was the closest thing to constant he had ever had. The next man he swiftly broke the neck of. That left three men. He knew that the odds were in his favor but he knew that the force powers he had learned could not be used as to keep the Brotherhoods identity secret. He then went on the act as if he was surrendering by putting the weapon down at which point the three remaining men surrounded him. Mistake he thought to himself as he used the three men against each other and began to mercilessly beat them to death with their own selves. He picked up one of their blasters and shot each man in the head to assure they were expired. He moved the bodies into a corner and then went to the bathroom. He knew he hadn't much time. He kissed Paiges forehead and whispered his love and sorrow. He took the necklace around her neck and put her beside the other bodies. He grabbed his belonging and his Mandalorian armor. He put it on as to use it to disguise himself and get to his ship. Once he boarded his ship and took off from the spaceport he had no idea where he would go. He put his datapad next to him and put the ship on autopilot to nowhere. Then he looked at his datapad and opened saw that he had a new message. A message from Paige. He regularly checked it but in the recent days had become distracted from it too. The message read:


“My Rang,
My warrior, the love I have for you is one which no one can ever replace. Therefore I should tell you I am with child. I am grateful to be able to tell you this, I figured since you have been distracted lately this would be the best way to go about it.

Forever yours,
Paige”


Rang let out a loud scream of anguish and torment as if he were being tortured. He cursed the Gods and every damn being on Coruscant. He was filled with anger, hate, and agony. Rang began to meditate as this was all he knew to do in such a melancholy moment.

Location Unknown
Orian system


“Well, whatever you call yourself now,” chuckled Macron as Blinky dug in. The highly modified IT-3 had a plethora of interesting appendages. It was also a highly skilled medical droid, more than equal to any B series med-droid. It was busy at work monitoring a variety of Aleho’s life-signs as it manipulated her flesh and bones. “Reap what you have sown,” hissed the Sith. “Your Master will be next.”

“Still, perhaps a more vigorous approach is needed. Jade, ready the Apparatus,” giggled the madman. Nearby a gruesome machine hung from the wall. It looked remarkably like an Embrace of Pain. However, it was made of snaky metal tentacles, barbed clamps, and squeezing hooks. “Verpine design. Traded with them a bit you know, hee hee,” snickered the Sith as Jade Sadow lifted the exhausted Togruta into the animated rack. Blinky hovered nearby, injecting the interrogation victim with life-sustaining bacta and other stimulants.

Soon, the howls increased in intensity as Macron lost himself in blissful reverie. His thoughts faded back to Inos 42.

-----
Earlier
Inos Moon 42
Nachzerer Landing Site

“Hile, Nachzerer,” came the cry.

The hatch of the beetle-shaped craft dropped open, and three figures strode out. Frost-ridden wind whipped at them all, newcomers and those on the gangway alike. Motes of snow blew by, feathers from promethean birds of ice high in the freezing clouds.

“Lord Quaestor,” smiled Macron as he greeted the two. Jade and Aisha bowed as well.

The Korun-Keibatsu peered at the clouds. “Storm coming,” he noted calmly as he regarded the motley crew.

“Indeed,” replied Macron. “And a bad one.” He gestured towards a sealed cryo-crate. “He’s in there.We gave him the Old Rite. It was proper for a Sith.”

“Who killed him?” asked the Governor General.

Lan regarded the two Equite women. They were regarding the Journeyman as well, both with ironically similar predatory expressions. One hungry for blood, and the other for broken flesh. They were not exactly a nice pair of ladies. Beautiful- but deadly like poison. Certainly Bad For You.

“Aleho. You may distrust the Mark. But it did lead me here before anyone else,” commented the Warlord matter-of-factly. “We shot her down. Sunei’s influence is all over her. I see it in the Weave.”

“ I see,” Tsainetomo said flatly. “And you both agree?” he asked the Sith Warrior and Krath Archpriestess. Both nodded in agreement.

“He had been dead for at least half an hour when we found him. He was frozen solid.” Jade looked pained as she recalled the scene. “He had been eviscerated by a lightsaber and then fell quite some distance.”

“It wasn’t pretty,” agreed Aisha quietly.

“Then I say we go get her. Now,” ordered the Naga Sadow Quaestor. “Macron, prepare your tools and workshop for her. I want answers,” ordered Tsainetomo as he strode toward a speeder bike tethered nearby. “Lan, Jade, Aisha, come with Me.”

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

Now

Jade prepared an injection of Sith Poison mixed with a neuro-stimulator. One caused great pain, and partly born of the Dark Side itsself. The other heightened the ability to feel pain. The Togruta was about to learn a whole new definition of agony, one she could not possibly bear. Not many living beings could.

The holocom chimed, interrupting the rising cacophony of screams. Macron gestured to Jade. She nodded. Both had earplugs in.

The Sith strode to the door. As it opened he egressed and stood by the silent Aisha. The Zeltron looked slightly nauseated. “Your only failing as a student,” frowned the Warlord “Still. I’ll overlook it in nature of your combat abilities.”

He touched the wall-screen. “Yes Lord Quaestor. She’ll break any time now,” tittered the alchemist. “We gave her the Works.”

- DSOG Landing Pad
- Gamuslag Prefecture Offices
- Gamuslag

Once the Lambda class shuttle set down, the dome closed and the blighted atmosphere vented through the filtration system, purging the toxins out. The scrubbers whined for a moment before the ramp descended from the shuttle. Immediately, a squad of DSOG troops scurried to the vessel, rushing to greet their new commander.

Their wait was short, as he descended alone, without so much as a look to any of them. He cut an imposing figure, enough to give even the seasoned DSOG personnel pause. At nearly 2 meters tall, and almost 100 kilos, with shoulders broadened from years of upper body work and wasp waist from a similar time eating only to survive, their new boss had the look of a man who wouldn’t be trifled with.

“Commander, welcome to Gamuslag.” The DSOG Ensign said to his new boss.

“Thank you,” The Dark Jedi said in a deadpan. “You can send your squad away, I don’t need the fanfare.”

“Yessir,” the ensign said, and waved the rest of the personnel away. “I’m sure you’re anxious to get things going.”

“Whatever,” the Dark Jedi said, “Show me where I’ll be working and you can go back to whatever it is you do here.”

The Ensign paused, partly out of shock, partly because the man addressing him had no eyes in his head. “Sir, I’m your aide, this is what I do here.”

“Oh,” The commander said. “I suppose I should learn your name then.” The man said, still in that same soft spoken deadpan.

“Ensign Fitzk,” The young man replied. “Sir, we weren’t told anything other than to expect you. I don’t know how to address you.” He added nervously.

“Heh,” The Prefect said quietly. He followed the ensign a few steps further before answering. “Mirado,” He said at length. “Mirado Lhaan.”

- A while later
- Prefect’s Office

Venator sat alone in his office, scowling. The entire place was foreign to him. The planet was covered in filth, something he’d hated from the first time he’d set down here to meet his Master, Macron Sadow. He couldn’t walk outside without breathing equipment, and no kind of life aside of MAYBE a dianoga or two could be sustained. It was just a dead world, nothing more than that.

As he sat there, in the dark, brooding, there was a chime at the door. After a muttered invitation to come in, the door slid open, and a small droid entered.

“Good day sir,” It said pleasantly. “I am TZ-63b, I am sent by your colleague, a Kano Pepoi, as a gift.”

“What the hell kind of droid are you?” Venator asked quietly.

“I am a handicapped assistance droid, specifically programmed for the blind.” It replied.

It was then the small droid experienced it’s first Dark Jedi Facepalm.

- Some time after that

Once the assistance droid had actually made itself useful and brought in a holo-display monitor and embossed keyboard, Venator actually managed to get some work done. Outside, the sun had set, cooling his office off, meaning he could catch some sleep soon, but before he did, he felt he’d need some excitement, and that soon.

Venator fired up the computer, and visited a section of the ‘net he’d not used in over a year. Using his old ID and password, he accessed one of the more prominent boards for assassination contracting, and began the arduous task of decrypting the coded systems necessary to place a contract on somebody.

After an hour, it was done, and the quarter million credits he’d placed on his own head guaranteed that he’d have some excitement soon enough.

- Green Sector
- Markosian City
- Tarthos
- Three Days Later

It was evening on Tarthos, crisp, but not too chilly, just enough to call for his long sleeved jacket. The construction was almost finished, with the amount of credits that Naga Sadow had dumped into the rebuilding, it had better have been. Most of the crews had knocked off for the evening, leaving few people around. It was the perfect night for murder.

As Venator walked alone, he could feel the presence of somebody up ahead of him, watching him. He kept his hands in his pockets, walking nonchalantly, but with one hand on his lightsaber in the event he’d have to deflect blaster fire.

“C’mon, take your shot,” Venator muttered under his breath. His muscles were taut, ready to attack, his adrenaline on overdrive, all to shake the boredom out of his body.

He walked along, another few steps, passing the unassuming man who was reading the menu board on a late evening sandwich shop. Five more steps and he was being followed. Venator took the chance and strolled into a park, still looking landscaped instead of natural.

It was then that the assassin struck, slipping towards him quickly. Venator could head his steps quicken, and used that cue to turn, cutting it closer than he could have to continue the deception. He then turned to face his attacker, a man about similar of build, but a bit shorter, with shaggy black hair.

Venator backed off, holding his hands up, and watched as his knife-wielding assailant stepped in on him. “Don’t worry, this’ll be quick.” The human said, his tone saying it’d be anything but. He tossed the knife between his hands as he advanced on the Miraluka. He stabbed again, this time cutting into the plain coat Venator was wearing, but missing ribs as the more experienced assassin shifted his body in minute ways, owing to his martial arts disciplines.

Frustrated when his blade didn’t come back bloody, the assassin struck again, only this time, his movements were much faster, too fast for somebody without experience and sensitivity to Force to accomplish. He’d done a fine job of keeping himself down, but his annoyance had tipped his hand.

Feeling the bite of his assailant’s blade, Venator too kicked himself into overdrive, hopping backwards into a slide, before lobbing a Force Blast into his opponent. It struck the assassin by surprise, driving into his chest and bowling him into a tree. In a flash, Venator’s lightsaber was out and ignited, and he had the tip pointed at the assassin’s throat.

“Nice trick, but I think mine are better,” Venator deadpanned as he glared at the assassin. “What’s your name?”

“Dirk,” the human said, realizing he’d been tricked. “Dirk Valentine.”

“Ok Dirk,” Venator said, disigniting his sapphire blade. “I’m rescinding the bounty on my head. This is much more interesting.”

“You put a bounty on your own head?” Dirk asked, shocked. “You suicidal freak.”

“Not suicidal, just bored.” Venator said, glaring. “Now, you and I are going to have ourselves a sit-down.”

- Undisclosed Location
- Nar Shadda
- A few weeks later

The back alley entrance on Nar Shadda was filthy, with bums laying about drinking, and at least one corpse. The rain was dreary, causing the night on the sin-filled planet to haze, and the buildings to weep tears of grime.

Kano paused, his hand ready to turn the knob, when he heard a blaster power up behind him. “Credits big man, jewelry, whatever you got, I want it.” a voice behind him said in poor basic.

Kano just shrugged and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small handful of creds, and dropped them on the ground. Immediately, his mugger bent over to pick them up, which is when Kano turned and kneed him in the face. As the cloaked figure sprawled onto it’s back, Kano simply drew his Westar and shot the hapless moron twice in the chest, and one in the head.

“Stupid,” Kano muttered as he picked up his money and holstered his pistol. He then moved to enter the building. As he swung the door open, he could hear the noise from deeper within. He walked in fully, feeling eyes upon him, but sensing no immediate threat. As he moved towards his goal, he could more fully feel the lights, and smell the scents of battle, all sweat, and blood, and tears. While he’d forsaken the lifestyle, the blood in his veins was, and always would be, Mandalorian, and once he’d stepped fully into the arena seating, that blood began to stir.

There were countless types of peoples in the stands, cheering as two people beat one another senseless. It was, pure and simple, combat at it’s best. He walked deeper in, seeking one specific being in this crowd, and it wasn’t long before he found him. On the floor, he saw the Miralukan Knight he’d worked with on a few occasions, stretching himself out during the match. Near him was a human male, who Kano recognized as Venator’s apprentice. He saw Kano approach them, and went to wave, but a hand on his shoulder by Venator stopped him.

Kano walked up, and was stopped momentarily by a pair of armed guards. He pointed at Venator and the Miralukan nodded. Dirk walked up, and the guards let Kano pass once he was pronounced welcome.

Venator slid down into an easy split and laid his chest on the floor, causing Kano to make a sour face. “Is there a reason you‘re rolling on the floor like a Twi‘lek dancing girl?”

“I’m fighting in this tournament,” Venator replied.

“Why? You can go to Antei any time you want.” Kano argued, baffled as to why he had to fly all the way here from Tarthos.

“I owe the reigning champion a killing.” Venator replied before laying on his back and kipping up to his feet. “Oguandu Kaa. He’s been top of the food chain here three years running.”

“And?” Kano asked as he stopped a drink vendor and purchased a beer.

“I’ll put it this way, when a person who accepts payment to murder someone in the most unfair scenario he can possibly craft says this guy is dirty…”

“Then he’s scum, so what? You lose money because of him?” Kano replied, making a face at the warm beer.

“No, he just gives a bad name to paid killers, totally unprofessional and completely crude. I’m going to break every bone in his body, except his right arm from the shoulder down.” Venator replied as he pulled his robe off, exposing his tattooed upper torso.

“So he’s got one good arm to shoot himself with?”

“Yes, that’d be it exactly.” Venator replied, and stepped on the floor when they called the name Mirado Lhaan.

“If I was a betting man, now’s when I’d put my money down.” Dirk said to Kano, and gestured towards one of the walking bookies.

“Nah, got more work to do.” Kano said, and handed Dirk a bandanna carrying a shield with a skull crest. “Give that to your boss when he’s done, would you?”

“Sure,” Dirk said, taking his ticket from the bookie and stuffing it in his pocket.

Location Unknown
Orian system

Kissai screamed and screamed as it was all to much for her young body to bare. It didn’t matter how much pain they put her through as the slave was forbidden to reveal her master’s location. Even as every nerve in her body felt as if on fire it wasn’t something she could will herself to do. In the end her life was nothing compared to that of her master.

“And you used to think I was hard on you.” Said a voice that shouldn’t have been in that room. As she opened her eyes she saw the most impossible sight. Ashura Isradia Sadow was standing next to her as she hung on Macron’s self styled Embrace of Pain.

“Y-you’re dead.” She groaned.

“With out a doubt.” Ashura replied with a small smile. “At least in death I will not abandon you as I did in life.” He was dressed as Kissai had known him before her enslavement at Sunei’s hands. Respectable and traditional Overlord robes.

“I-I don’t understand.” Her croaky voice dry from the constant screaming.

“You must listen to me Aleho.” He said using her real name. “I forgive you but you must forgive yourself as well. A Knight of your calibre would not have defeated me as you did without being empowered as you had been by Sunei. That power still lives in you.”

She was about to talk when he placed a finger over her bloody lips. “You may be Sunei’s slave, but you are also my chosen apprentice. The bond we have can last beyond death itself. The time has come to release your burden my apprentice. Sunei has no power of you now, that link has been blocked and it is now that you must release all you anger. Remember what I taught you about?”

“Yes.” Kissai spluttered and whined as the pain exploded through her.

“You have become Sith, as I always intended, as I always planned you to be.” Ashura said to her. “All that anger my apprentice: at yourself and at them...” as he pointed to where Macron, Jade and Aisha were seemingly oblivious to Ashura’s presence “...All that anger cannot simply fade away it needs to transgress; it needs to be redirected to who does deserve it. Sunei!”

Her screams of pain echoed around the room as her body convulsed in the restraints.

“It’s time to be free Aleho. Time to transgress and evolve. Time to let yourself die and be born anew.” As Isradia said that the room grew darker from her perspective as she heard echos in the distance as Jade said something.

“She’s flatlining!”

Kissai/Aleho found herself standing in the dark as Ashura stood in front of her. He was smiling at her as he used to when she had done something right, when she had made him proud. He looked down at her as nothing but eerie silence all around and then he spoke.

“It’s time to let everything Sunei did to you die. It’s time to let Kissai die. Unless you don’t want it?” He said baiting her. “Don’t be afraid. Sith don’t know fear.”

“I’m not afraid.” The young Sith affirmed as she felt her life slowly slipping away.

“Then this is the moment. The moment you become what you are destined to be! Let all that hate go, let is disappear into the void and be replaced by unconditional hatred of Curwen Sunei.”

Aleho allowed all that negative hatred which Sunei had used on her against her family fade, and she became consumed by her own hatred for the man who had done so many things to her. That hatred began to grow.

“Use the pain you feel and amplify it using the Dark Side. Become that. Own that pain and anger, and that unconditional hatred. Become more than what is expected of you.” Ashura said urging her onwards with anticipation as he watched his apprentice flourish. “Sunei enhanced you, and now its time to use those enhancement against him. Become the instrument of his death and your revenge!”

The Dark Side resonated through Aleho and began to grow within her as she became consumed by it. Owned by that darkness!

“Remember who you are when the connection to Sunei returns.”

I. AM. ALEHO! I. AM. SITH!

“Die and be reborn anew.” Whispered Ashura as he and that voice faded into the ether.

Blueish-Gray with the hint of yellow eyes opened full of rage and uncontrollable anger. Aleho screamed and this wasn’t anything like before. This was a scream empowered by the Dark Side itself. As waves of energy vibrated outwards and Aisha (who was already suffering from nausea) was overcome with the urge to vomit.

“SUNEI!” Aleho screamed. “I’LL KILL HIM. LET ME OUT!!! LET! ME! OUT!!!”

There was real hatred there, not the half hearted hissy fits but the real thing empowering the young woman.

Macron saw the Weave and giggled to himself as the pattern had changed. Sunei’s connection to her was still present but something was preventing Aleho’s mind was becoming his play thing. There was hatred there now instead of loyalty and something more. A remnant spark that helped Aleho find her own power.

“Easy my little Sith warrior,” chuckled the mad man, “tell me where he is first.” There was clear anticipation in his voice

“He’s on Aeotheran.” Aleho hissed as she soaked in the pain her body was feeling with the anger running through her veins. “He’s exploring the Nifokalija Mountains. There’s something there he wants!” The Sith venom and her wounds were taking their toll but Aleho fought through it. She wanted revenge!

I'm coming for you Sunei. She thought with murderous intent.

Location Unknown
Orian system

Jade stood with the contraption in her hands, placing it as Macron had shown her so many times in the past. The voices in her mind began to whisper, holding back from their normal screaming, as if to see how she would help to slice and dice the Togruta. Though she was Krath she loved alchemy and the Sith arts, of course having Macron as her Master had helped to form such an interest, but she still had yet to develop the taste for torture. Though she had to admit, with the death of Ashura she was certainly tempted. The man was more then family to her, and she wanted blood for his death, as did many other dark jedi of the House.

It hadn't been easy to walk up to Tsainetomo with Macron and Aisha to report of his death. Tsainetomo was a kin to her brother and seeing the crushing blow on his face at the loss had pegged her with more rage and sorrow. Payment would be collected, and she was glad she was standing at the side of the mad man, willing to extract that information any way possible.

Yet on the table was Aleho. The girl and her had history, she was practically Jade's niece. Though she was using a different name, given to her by someone who had done way more harm than good. The power that was running through Aleho now, reminded Jade of fighting the beserker Tsainetomo had sent her after. The amount of control over it had been amazing, the power surging through the beserker had been one that presented a great fighter. It had taken her, along with Xander, to take the thing out. If she only knew about the side effect of the voices transferring to her, she would have tried to find another way out. As Aleho screamed in pain from the skilled programming of the droid, Jade couldn't help but feel a bit of the teenagers' pain.

The chime of a hologram went off and Macron looked at Jade. She nodded in response as he moved to answer its calls. Jade watched as the droid moved about it's work.

It was still hard to believe Aleho had murdered Ashura, well truth be told it wasn't really her. Not her rational mind anyway, her body yes... Jade hoped there was a way to separate the girl from the control she was under, it would be sad to lose another...suddenly the warning sounds on the droid went off as Alehos' vital signs dropped off. "She's flat lining!" She yelled it out to Macron who ended his call and moved over to see if there was anything he could join in on in bringing the girl back. She had yet to give him the information he wanted and he was going to be damned if he let her die before she gave him what he wanted.

Suddenly Aleho struggled against her binds and the droid. “SUNEI!” Aleho screamed. “I’LL KILL HIM. LET ME OUT!!! LET! ME! OUT!!!”

“Easy my little Sith warrior,” Macron smirked. She was back. He didn't know for how long, or if she was the kind to keep fighting against the injuries she just sustained, but while she was conscious again he was going press for what he needed. Especially now with the control from Sunei wavering. “Tell me where he is first.”

“He’s on Aeotheran.” The words seeped through her clenched teeth, pain evident in each word she spoke. The force radiated around her in anger. Aleho wanted revenge for what was done to her and rightly so. though Jade had to wonder if she remembered striking down Ashura, or if that memory had been put into the back of her head by some protective thought process. “He’s exploring the Nifokalija Mountains. There’s something there he wants!”

Jade moved to turn off the medical droid while looking at Macron. "I think we should teach him that you can't always get what you want in life...don't you?"

The evil smirk that crossed the mad mans' face spoke of pure death and revenge. "He will find out what real pain is."

Temple of Blood
Sepros

The emerald blade sliced through the air, sizzling as some droplets of sweat hit the blade. He had been at it for hours, every motion becoming ingrained into his memory. Each motion becoming faster, until he was near a blur of emerald green. His body felt great being able to train for so long. He hadn’t had such a long time to himself and in an open space for months due to his travels around the galaxy. With one motion, he stopped mere millimeters from cutting a brick in half, before shutting his lightsaber down. He clipped the Death’s Revenge to his belt and walked over to his pack.

With his back turned, he used the Force to take bricks that were laying on the ground, forming four areas for practice. Reaching into the pack, he pulled out his canteen. For those that knew him, it was a rarity that Fremoc was completely sober. His time training under Bob had taught the Prelate that it was always a good day when you were not sober, but had a nice buzz going on. He unscrewed the top of the canteen, which was filled with beer, and took a long pull from it before screwing the top back on. He turned back to the four brick “targets” that he had constructed, and stood in the center of them. Each one, was built to nearly as tall as he was, with one target at each side of him. He breathed deeply, pulling the Force into him, filling his entire body.

He pushed the Force into his right hand, and watched mixture of white, blue, red, and black start to form a small ball in the palm of his hand. He pushed more energy into the small ball that had formed, causing it to grow larger and larger. His mind began to think it as a hallucination due to him having alcohol in his system. The ball moved faster as it grew larger. He looked to the right and raised his hand, with the energy ball still there, and unleashed it. The ball flew into the target at his right, shattering it, in a loud explosion. Fremoc turned and look to the target at his left, and raised his arms, gathering energy at his palms, and unleashing it, destroying another target. He did the same for the final two targets before sitting down in the center. He closed his eyes, sweat still covering his bare torso, and began to meditate, letting his senses expand. He felt something nearby.

Someone was watching him...

Between seen and not seen...

Coldness swallowed Xanos as his essence was wrenched from the orbalisk-infested chamber and launched into the space between spaces, where everything was blue and white. The jump to the heart of the Temple of the Lost took no more than second; however, in that second the wanderer’s death flashed once more before his eyes:

          ‘You have failed, because you did not believe. You thought the Sith Code would save you. You learned the error of that way, and slipped into another. You sought power, but did not seek control. You looked for what you had not earned, what you could not keep. Thus, you became a child with an armed explosive. You will perish claiming too much. A blast you cannot control. Stand down now, Xanos Zorrixor... you cannot win.’

          ‘THEN I WILL DIE!’

‘Don’t let it control you...’ whispered Xanos to himself as his bodiless mind tumbled through hyperspace. He had tried to fight the darkness; he had tried to harness the spirits trapped at the core of Urati Kazinal. However, like his Master and the Dragon before him, Vexatus had been unprepared for the full fury of the void... and thus everything had fallen to blackness.

His mind returning to the present, Xanos emerged from the silver gateway into the cavern at the centre of Mount Kazinal. Kazinal Core had been the innermost sanctum of the Temple of the Lost, a giant, white claw-like altar, held above the volcanic fires by three walkways that led from the temple’s three hypergates. The destruction that had been caused by he and his Master was waiting to welcome Xanos home like a long lost son. Fist-sized chunks had been gauged from the white bridge that led from the hypergate in addition to it being blackened and scorched with hundreds of lightsaber burns. Rocks littered the path where the cavern walls and ceiling had collapsed under the joint sorcerous assault, entire sections of the facework having melted to glass. But that was not the worst. The heptagonal disc upon which the main altar had sat now hung parallel to the walls, the other two walkways having snapped in half and tumbled into the inferno below.

Xanos bent down to examine a black rock nearby his feet – nearly cutting himself on the edges of the jagged object. Picking it up, he noted it reminded him of a piece of broken glass. A fragment. He squeezed – and the object crumbled to dust. Shaking his head, the Falleen made his way across the bridge to the edges of the central altar. Far below, the fires of Mount Kazinal lapped at the broken claws, washing against the remnants of the cage that had once held the condemned prisoners of the Temple of Lost Souls. For decades, he and his Master had searched for this room. For decades, he and his Master had sought Lehon’s power. For decades, he and his Master had conspired, only in the end to cheat each other of the prize.

The apprentice shook his head again, recalling the lines of the prophecy of Alain Caer:

When does my scion resign
United the orders two
Know then at end is my line

If only he had listened. If only he had embraced the truth. All this could have been avoided.

Xanos looked down at the floor and saw the buckled remnants of the black and gold hilt of a now long rusted lightsaber. Memories flashed through his mind once again. Thunder and lightning. An explosion. Reflexively, he glanced at his left arm – flesh and blood. Not sinew and bone, as had been all that was left back then. He bent down and picked up the weapon, dusting off the ash that had settled over the surprisingly warm hilt. A crimson gemstone was set in the gold band. The weapon was beyond repair.

          ‘I think I just made him mad...’

          ‘I herald Chaos! All life exists to feed my power!’

Behind, somebody called Xanos’s name.

Spinning quickly, in front of the hypergate that he had exited moments before, stood the translucent form of a female Falleen, her blue eyes shining brilliantly in the dark cavern, black hair cascading to her waist, white robes flickering in the orange glow of the fires below. The sight stopped Xanos cold. He swallowed. ‘Xora...’

Xora Zorrixor smiled weakly before dropping her gaze. There were tears in her eyes.

‘He comes, brother... the Nameless One comes to end everything.’

Outside the Lehon System

Far out in the Unknown Regions, the spacelanes of the Tempered Wastes had lain undisturbed for more than a thousand years. For aeons, the only movement had been the abandoned wreckage from ancient battles that now drifted silently, listing backwards and forwards, forever wrapping the planet Lehon beneath it in a cloak of dust and ash, under which the galaxy had gladly seen the world forgotten.

On the outskirts of that lost kingdom, a lone starship popped into existence.

The darkness had returned.

Tarthos Bound, Platform Onyx
Tarthosian Orbit, Orian System
Several Weeks Ago
Crowded, loud and hopping; words the described Tarthos Bound on a regular basis. Today was no different, the overworked bartenders and servers darting between patrons of varying degrees of sobriety as a smooth jazzy music created a soothing aural atmosphere for the patrons to keep liberally spending their hard earned credits. He moved quietly through the crowds as though the establishment were empty, some of the younger employees envious of his skill through the crowd. Reaching his destination without much trouble, an empty stool near the stage doors, he casually dismissed the server as they greeted him. The target was easily within sight, definately a worthy prospect as he had been told; even this sparsely trained her signature in the Force exhuded promise. Amongst all the different bodies stuffed into the room, the Force easily shining around his target's curvaceous figure compared to everyone else in the room; he was happy he had chosen to surpress his own signature given the reports he had heard about her limited training, he wouldn't want to spook her before he had a chance to speak with her.

The song finished with everyone giving their various degrees of appreciation at the vocalist's talent as she excused herself from the stage. He took his chance, rising from his stool to greet her before she exited to the backstage but keeping his distance, "Excuse me, miss. May I have a word with you?"
She turned sharply, his space was welcome but there was something odd about how uncomfortable he seemed stuffed into this suit. He looked a little out of place, but something about him screamed Dlarit...especially with the blindfold tight around his head, "I'm sorry you'll have to excuse me, I really am in a hurry..."
The man responded quickly, a hand darting out to grab her wrist, stopping mere inches from it, "Masika, wait..."
"What did you say? How do you know me?" She spat as she spun, spotting his hand slinking back towards his body.
A slim smile crossed his face as he responded, his voice lowering so only the two of them could hear, "I'm from the Brotherhood, Naga Sadow to be precise."

She ducked into the backstage area quickly as the man quietly followed behind her. He stopped just inside the doorway as she spun on her heels, ready to attack when she spotted him standing a few meters away motionless. Anger flared up within her causing the tone of her voice to be livid as she spoke, "I get dragged into a war I didn't even want to fight in by a pair of brutes, laughably trained and then shipped to this station with no indication of what I was supposed to do! Now you claim to be here to help?"
Venator had been right, the pheramones were rather overpowering but not enough to stop him dead in his tracks, not at this weak a concentration or emotion at least. Her frustration seemed to simply bounce off him as he spoke quickly in return, "I apologize for whatever they put you through, but we're not about to abandon you here. I was sent to take you on as my apprentice and give you further training in your talents should you choose to accept it."

There was a pregnant pause between them; she obviously hadn't expected him to be so quick or understanding with his response, or the fact he simply waited for her response. She took a few steps away from him, half expecting him to follow as the others had on the Tarthosian surface...but he still just stood there. Was he delibrately screwing with her? First the other Miraluka, the hunter, had tried to capture her. Then she had been abducted to a planet called Antei, and now he stood here before her, unspeaking and unmoving...just standing there. With a small sigh, the man withdrew a small datapad and held it out for her, his voice rising up softly, "I can feel your hesitation, your anger, your worry and doubt...I'm sorry for whatever those men did to you, all I can do is offer you training to prepare and better defend yourself. This datapad has my information if you decide to take me up on my offer."

Weakily she held her hand out to accept it, once it was in her hands he turned quickly and silently started out of the establishment. Dropping her arms to her side, Masika shook her head. She could handle herself, but against Dark Jedi, her fight or flight had been triggered. She was ready to toss the datapad to the floor, to just get up and leave town once again when she took a glance at the information on the pad. "Templar Methyas Pepoi L'eonheart."
She had heard of the Pepoi name a good deal around the station itself, even more of this Methyas thanks to his work with Markosian as Governor. She turned quickly, her eyes darting between the pad and the doorway as her mind ran through the different options quickly. With a sigh she bounded towards the curtained doorway before switching to a brisk pace through the crowd, her eyes darting everywhere to try and spot the uncomfortable Miraluka before she reached the exit of Tarthos Bound to no avail. Disappointed, she turned back towards the club's interior resigned to contacting Methyas another way before bumping right into him, "Looking for someone?"
Smothering a yelp of fright at his sudden appearance, Masika swiftly slapped Methyas across the jaw before speaking with a harshness in her voice, "Yes...and I accept, you better not make me regret it."

A smile crossed the Miraluka's face as he shifted his jaw from the force of the impact, "Good, we'll start once your shift is over. If you feel my training is unsuitable or you've learned all you can, you can leave when you see fit."
His behaviour was unusual for Dark Jedi, causing a puzzled look to cross the Zeltron's face as she sighed and started towards the backroom again knowing she'd be able to find him again when she was done. He was unlike the others she had encountered within the Brotherhood so far, perhaps that was why she took up his offer.

Governor's Study, Orian Manor
Markosian City, Tarthos
"You've got to be kidding me! More of this cloak and dagger bull?" Tiberius nearly burst as he worked his way around the ornate wroshyr desk to the large and equally as ornate chair behind it. Captain Mactavish simply stood opposite of him, keeping quiet until the Tarthosian Governor seemed to simply fall into his chair.
"There's nothing you can do about it...sir. They assigned a Prefect to the planet, I take my orders directly from whoever it may be and was told to inform you of the changes. As far as I can tell, you're the public face and take care of the civilian aspects of the planet." John spoke candidly, his voice carrying a tone of displeasure at speaking with the young Governor.
A sharp glare was the initial response, the Governor speaking up again, "I still don't like it, it takes years for me to get this position and they errect me as a puppet before blowing a portion of the city to karking hell. I welcome the steps they taken and liberal budget they've given me for reconstruction. Hell, the silence I've been able to work in has been wonderous...but a Prefect to breath down my neck? Why not eliminate me entirely?"

A smiled crossed John's face as Tiberius finished speaking, the Special Operations commander putting a hand in front of his mouth to cover his laughter. The look that crossed Ma' Nacohh's face was one of disgust, his fists slamming into the desk as he rose to his feet. He was about to speak up when a voice rose up from behind him, "Now, now...you should keep your temper in check Tiberius."
Immediately the young Governor's face blanched, a combination of reasons causing the fear to sink in deep. The passageway the figure had entered through was a secret to all but senior DSOG members or the Governor's Security Force, and secondly the voice was immediately recognizable. It was a given now why Mactavish had started laughing when Tiberius was finishing his rant, he had entered the room.
"Sir, it's a pleasure to have you returning to Tarthos. My men are at your disposal, as are the men of the Security Force and the Police." John rose to his feet with a snappy salute as Methyas walked into the line of sight of Tiberius, he wore a more traditional "Jedi" garb today with a small band bearing a shield and skull wrapped about his right bicep. The woman at his flank was more of a distraction to the young Governor as Methyas snapped a crisp salute and spoke in return, "Thank you Captain Mactavish, at ease. I'll definately need your help in my coming projects. Tiberius, John, meet my apprentice. Masika."

The Zeltron took no time in playing it up; her looks, outfit and racial talents themselves more than enough to get the two men floored before Methyas intervened, "I think that'll be enough. Masika, this is Captain John Mactavish of the Special Operations Group based out of Kar Alabrek and Tiberius Ma' Nacohh, the Governor of Tarthos."
With a cross between disappointment and a devilish grin marking her face, Masika nodded as she spoke, "Spoil sport, charmed to meet you two."
As the two men tried to shake off the effects of the Zeltron's pheramones, Methyas started speaking, stepping between Tiberius' line of sight with Masika, "Tiberius, I have a plan to help revitalize Tarthos if you're willing to hear me out. Could spell a good deal of credits headed this way and more attention from the seniors at Dlarit."

Large deposits of credits were more than enough to snap the politician's attention away from the attractive woman, "Credits you say? I'm listening."
A smile crossed Methyas' face as he waved for John to step a little closer, Masika striking a sequence of keys on the datapad in her hand causing the chamber's holoprojector to spring to life as the Miraluka spoke up, "Kar Alabrek, former capital of Tarthos and home of the Dlarit military in Orian. With these plans and designs, we rebuild it."

A long time ago on a world far, far away...

There was no going back now.

The plague the essence itself had chosen to loose upon his masters had proven that their murderous empire’s time was finally at its end. The Kathol ran his spidery fingers through the dry pages of the ancient codex... rebellion was at hand. Finding the necessary rites, he opened himself to the flow of the universe, letting its warm currents wash over him, bathing himself in its rainbow beauty. Drawing on the Old Ones’ forgotten secrets, Zetous listened to the voices that began to whisper in his mind...

The final gate had been opened.

He saw the golden fires at the dawn of creation; the first sparks of life on that beachfront at the beginning of time; in that beautiful, majestic culmination of all things, he saw and felt everything; he heard the hopes and wishes of the galaxies; and thus he understood that all was good...

But...

The seeker fell to his knees and clasped the sides of his skull with his long, bony fingers. The codex slipped from his hands. Where one moment he was gazing warmly at the celestial fires and the birth of stars, the next everything collapsed into darkness, stars going out, a barren wasteland of cold and lifeless rocks rising in their place. The ghostly cacophony inside his head loudened, the voices growing in number, and pain shot through his every cell. He had been unprepared for such an assault – for such knowledge. They began tugging him, dragging him underneath the waves, where he could see thousands, no, millions, billions of bodies, all bobbing past him through the dead seas, their nameless arms and hands pulling him down further and further still, drowning him below the dark, nameless abyss...

          We are voice to a thousand voices...
          The one of many...
          The stars and the heavens...
          Celestial...

His blood burned as the fire of the universe filled him...

‘FOOLISH SLAVE!’ barked a distant voice right before everything turned to blackness...

And Zetous the Kathol was gone.

Tarthos
Pepoi Residence


Kano paced back and forth in his room, datapad in hand. He had been recruiting for several days now and had a full team assembled, all of them now recognizable by the skull shield bandanna that he had given them. Now he was onto the next big move for the team, establishing a base of operations. He had been going through Naga Sadow and Dlarit’s unused properties for hours and nothing had caught his eye. That is until he read the words Temple of Fire.

After some further reading Kano learned that the base was sitting on top of the Last Breath Mine and was seen over by the Dlarit Special Operations Group. The place was a fully functional base and its location was perfect with it being not too far from Sadow Palace. Kano activated his commlink and sent a direct message the port in Markosian City, “This is Kano Tor Pepoi, ready me a ship immediately prepped for a trip to Sepros.”

After a confirmation Kano ended the link and dialed in a secure commlink code, “Brother, wow, still getting adjusted to saying that. I am en route to Sepros to establish a base of operations for The Regulators. I will be at the Temple of Fire soon. I might stop by for a visit.”


Sepros
Temple of Fire


As the shuttle touched down Kano was greeted by four well armed D-SOG soldiers. One of the soldiers stepped forward towards Kano, “Welcome Commander, to what pleasure to we owe this visit?”

Kano, shrouding his eyes with a low hanging robe, only glanced around at the layout of the base. He took his datapad out and pushed several buttons on it before looking up at the soldier.

“Lieutenant,” Said Kano now looking right at the man, “This base is now under full my full control. Your duties of overseeing this place are complete. You and your men are to carry out your regular routines unless told otherwise by myself. Is that understood?”

The man hesitated for a second before answering the Krath Preist, “Ye-Yes. It is understood.”

“Good, you and your men are to clear out the storage building on the east wall and have it prepared for reconstruction into a residential building. Dismissed.”

The soldiers all turned and started towards the other side of the base as Kano walked back towards his shuttle. Once he got to the shuttle he grabbed a bag out and activated his commlink, “Venator, Camp Havoc has been established. You should see this place. Oh, and one more thing, I know you have a lot on your plate right now but I want you to head up The Regulators silent action team, Team Raptor.”

Rejuvenator-class Star Destroyer Auspicious
Flagship of Jedi Master Renko Yast
Lehon, Tempered Wastes, Unknown Regions

With the hyperdrive groaning in the background, the walls of the Auspicious creaked as she ever so slowly came to a stop in orbit of the lost world, Lehon. The recycled air had become lighter – more so even than usual – and the internal superstructure and girders squeaked and popped, as if the derelict ship had at long last reached its final destination.

Looking out of the viewport – in fact, it was merely a hole in the makeshift hospital ward, where a stray asteroid at punctured the hull, but who cared about technicalities anymore? Tradis most certainly didn’t – the abandoned apprentice could see stray debris ringing the world below in a thick, opaque brown blanket of corrosion and decay. Even with his untrained senses, Tradis felt the death of the world; the haunted voices stirred in his ears.

‘We are Celestial... We are Vexatus...’

At the mental intrusion, Tradis spun back round to the Falleen corpse. Celestial? Vexatus? The human was unfamiliar with these words. Were they names? Maybe titles? The answers made no difference anymore – the voices did not respond to questioning. And question he had. In the months – and countless hyperspace jumps – from Bakura, to Sarafur and Zaddja, the Denaolian Corridor and Vagar Praxut, to Crakull and countless other unheard of worlds – Tradis had vented his frustration, his fury, against the three red stars that burned atop the corpse’s head.

The Celestial – Vexatus – whatever its name truly was – had merely laughed, filling Tradis’s mind with its sick pleasure at his suffering. It fed off him. He understood that now. That was all it had kept him alive for – to sustain itself across the stars. Yes, it had already devoured the life of the ship’s crew, but that had just been the beginning – part of the whole. It lived – if ‘lived’ could be applied to whatever the creature or spirit was – off his agony, his torment. The dead could not continue to scream.

Tradis may have known this... but that didn’t change a thing.

‘I HATE YOU!’ the Jedi screamed and hurled Taraeis’s broken lightsaber at the corpse.

‘He can run no further... he is ours...’

Kazak Plateau
Valley of the Lost, Antei
Domain of the Dark Council


Harsh winds whipped up from the Valley of damned souls; currents of air that brought the scent of old death, malice, and a lingering craving for vengeance. Many years ago, he had stood in this exact spot, contemplating a task of similair gravity. Thirteen concentric circles of ever widening whitely polished stones were centered around a central altar built around a black cairn of stones piled to more than twice his height. Interspersed along various points of interest to those of sorcerous interest were even more cairns of black stone, piled to about half of the central monument. Though tough, hardy little grasses grew intermittently on the Plateau, nothing grew inside the geometric construction.

As before, Trevarus stepped across the outer most ring. The winds whipped his heavy longcoat around his body as he crossed each ring in turn, finally taking a meditative position seated on the basalt altar. His eyes closed, then reopened, three stars shining with violet intensity into the never ending midnight of Adas.


Tempered Wastes
Between seen and not seen...

Vibrancy was lost in shimmering corruption in the planes of the dead. Sensation was only the heat glimmer of latent fires of suffering, as the light is bent by invisible bands of radiant energy off a black pavement in the high of a desert noon. Indeed the Tempered Wastes were a desert, bleak and empty save for the cries of the invisible damned souls, locked in the bowels of a hell deeper than the nightmares of any religion. These astral tombs buried the souls of those who could not cross into the planes of peace, of anger, or even back to a corporeal existence. They were the nameless, the forgotten, the Lost beyond all memories.

The wind continued with him, generated by the spiritual backlash of so much torment. He could not hear his footfalls on what appeared to be sand, glowing faintly red in the obscuring smoke that drifted from deep pits of smoldering fire. The Oracle drank in the pain, allowed it to show him the way through the abyss. He walked forward, protected from the demons of the darkest netherworlds by the Will of his Way. They had no power over a Herald, who had died and returned from this inferno of damnation a thousand score times.

Time had no meaning, and there was no immediate perception of temporal passage. He measured progress by the ebb and flow of screams and cries of grief, lamentations of those who had fallen into helpless remorse, yet unable to claim redemption. He felt no pity, rather a smug satisfaction.

It was then that something caught his attention.

Some possible score hundred meters beyond, an obelisk stood shimmering in silhoutte against the red-orange darkness. Trevarus sensed something familiar. Considering, he willed his presence to investigate further. Passage to this point in the Wastes was achieved in moments, yet lifetimes. In the depths of hell, a single heartbeat translates to the biological time of a thousand species, or the span of an entire galaxy's existence.

The Obelisk was as tall and proud as any erected by the ancient Lords of Korriban and Ziost, polished black and reflecting highlights of the ambient energies of hell. At its base, a figure in wind-blown tattered shreds of once-proud robes crouched in a pool of black blood-ichor that bubbled and boiled in a noxious plume of vapour. The figure howled in despair and rage, a ragged chunk of torn flesh and viscera dangling from clenched teeth. A gaping hole in its wrist oozed more of the coal-black ichor. Trevarus watched fascinated as the wound sealed itself in a manner of second. Blood stained teeth roared open in defiance, looking obscenly sharp in the harsh unlight. Features vaguely familiar, but weathered from exposure to the spiritual battering of the depths of hell. Huge shackles bound the man's hands to chains that seemed unnecessarily joined to heavy bolts in the polished stone of the monument.
"How far you have fallen my brother", Trevarus said to Shan Long.

"Release us!" The Thunder Dragon cried out through a voice of immortal torment. "We suffer, we shall be unleashed!"

"It is not in my power to unmake what the Dark Lords have decreed, my old friend. Chained you shalt remain."

A scream tore through the winds and into the Force itself, a cry of deepest terror and dread, were Trevarus in a physical form, he might have wince through the chilling of his blood. Indeed, the suffering of the Dragon was part of his own pnuema. They were brothers in spirit, forever bonded. The Oracle's eyes traced down to a vibrant pattern of mystic sigils and an arcane pattern of interlocking lines, the Ward of Binding that he himself had cast at the Conclave of the Elder Sadows so many eons ago in that timeless place. He could not undo his own ward. That would require the word of the one who had empowered his will. Yet, he thought the punishment suitable, the Dragon had failed to uphold the honor of their standing, and had suffered Lord Ashen's rebuke. It would stand.

A chord drew him deeper, leaving the Dragon to wailing and mutilation of his flesh. He was called to the beginning of it all.

He blinked, and shapes shifted and swirled, slowly sharpening into focus. Familiar images floated into his incorporeal mind, filling his spirit with something akin to nostalgia. The broken and scarred stones, the ruined talons that once held a proud altar, the place of his death and the promise of rebirth into a deeper form. The Oracle had ascendened in this place. Now, he came back to guide the one he had taught and shown the way for three decades. It was time for his Apprentice to be reborn.

Indeed, there he stood, much as Trevarus remembered him. Tall, regal in simple robes of black trimmed with gilt crimson and silver. He carried no lightsabers, yet the braid of his topknot still flowed over one shoulder as it had always. Black framed a visage of green skin with tints of red. Even the scars and mutilations of the Yuuzhan Vong had vanished in this form. Yet, he still bore the psychic scar of the Rite that had made Xanos Zorrixor his Apprentice twice again. The Sign of a Secunda Marked of the Wanderer.

The Falleen seemed to be engaged in deep conversation with a female of his species. Trevarus read the pattern.His sister.

Or was it?

"Greetings, my Apprentice. Forgive my intrusion... but it is time for you to begin the journey from the Abyss of Nothingness."

Xanos' eyes widened for a second, then narrowed.

"My Master."

Valley of the Lost
Antei
Weeks ago
Only the sound of dripping water disturbed the silence within the first hall of a well-hidden temple-like building. Inside every color appeared to have been bleached out of the temple, drained by excessive usage of the dark side probably. Every visitor gained the impression that the walls, every pillar, every piece of stone and the numerous mosaics inside the building were covered by a greyish or black dull curtain. A quiet robed figure was sitting in front of the closed ornamented door oppositing the entrance to the first hall. On each side there was a door, but only this one was closed.


"You have spend days and hours countless staring at this door, my dragon sister.", Trevarus said quietly, resting a hand on Sildrin's shoulder. He continued: "Have you found the spell?". Even his words were dampened by the thick dark atmosphere of this room. She faintly smiled, nodding: "If you relax your eyes to the shadows, you can explore the depth of artistry of this ornamented door. Lines of powers are weaved into it's mosaic - some written in grey ashes others in black shale.", she lowered her face. "The spell is deciphered, but I yet could not find a way how to open the door."

The Oracle explored the sealed door with his mind - he could sense the strong force radiation behind the door, yet it escaped his direct grasp. Slowly he shook his head: "No - this door will not grant us access for now. It is not the right time.". Trev's gaze wandered around the room and finally locked onto the doors to the right and the left side of the hall: "What is beyond there?". Sildrin turned her head to the right side, speaking hesitately: "That side contains a library. Books filled with knowledge that are far beyond my powers. Unimaginable knowledge." Trev stepped boldly towards the right door, but halted as he realized the cause of her hesitation.

"Yes...", Sildrin whispered with sadness. "This books have become too frail for anyone of us to read. Decades of time and the air humidity destroyed what was carefully preserved. The makers did not think about such kind of destruction. One single step, one vibration, the smallest gust of wind will let them collapse into ashes." Trevarus clenched a fist, thinking about the possible loss of knowledge - knowledge that would never be his. "I assume it was at a time when holocrons were yet not invented or just about to.", he murmered, but then turned to the left side. A frown appeared on his face and his voice was a nearly inaudible whisper: "Death and decay..."

Sildrin took a deep breath: "That path is dangerous. I sense... the signature spells of ancient Tarenti sorcery. Forbidden sorcery that bore abominations beyond imagination. Something is slumbering down there and should not be stirred." The Oracle raised a brow: "You know of the Tarenti sorcery?" Sildrin moved wih unease: "Yes... after madness touched me as the Seneschal... I spent some time in the silent halls of Tarentum. To find myself within the storm of chaos within my mind. To deaden the ghosts within my head. Sith Bloodfyre granted me - even if limited - access." Trevarus nodded, murmering: "So the rumors were true about the Seneschal emeritus' shuttle being seen at the Tarentum headquarters."

Trevarus straightened: "It is time to go and prepare the ritual.", his words echoed undamped through the hall - for once on a rare moment the dull curtain was lifted. As if the temple itself was glad about the soon riddance of those two disturbing explorers that pried about for aeons hidden secrets.


Kazak Plateau
Valley of the Lost, Antei
Domain of the Dark Council
Sitting close to the ring of stones Sildrin carefully watched as mental guidance over Trevarus' performed ritual - one where most would perish already at the first step. Constantly she checked his life functions, steadying his heartbeat, keeping his body warm from the plateau's harsh winds. When Trevarus told her about a chance to bring back his first apprentice, Xanos Zorrixor, that he was still existing, she was shocked at the first moment - had she felt his death long ago. Afterwards something had tried to latch onto her, mentally, seeking for a steady hold. It must have been Xanos' spirit, seeking for salvation from within the maelstrom of consumed and tormented souls. A mental touch that had caused her to loose her memories or otherwise to face eternal madness. And thus she had become the gardener with no memories, working on a small moonflower farm until the Father of Memories woke her.

A tug of the force made her pay attention. Had Trevarus reached Xanos already? Trevarus' heart slowed, skipping a beat and with a gentle mental touch, Sildrin forced it back into it's steady routine. The tension on the plateau was getting unbearable, a thick atmosphere of the force lifted up ground particles, letting them whirl in a twisted dance. Sildrin fought for control and her breath quickened. Never had she participated in such a ritual, never had she gone so close to the limits of her powers. The pages of the Codex on the altar were flipped over by the harsh winds. Through Trevarus connection into the Maelstrom she felt Xanos' spirit. Relief and fear filled her at the same time. Xanos who often had given her advice, but yet the Vexatus who had betrayed them all.

Between seen and not seen...

The spectral apparitions of the two who had once been Master and Apprentice stared at each other. Five years ago, both men had died on this very spot, each slain by the other’s hand. Here, they had descended into hell. Never to be heard from again. Xanos tilted his head to one side, the third eye on his forehead peeling open as he peered into the depths of his Master’s soul... not the Dragon’s, his Master’s. That single recognition caused the Falleen’s mind to do a double take. ‘My Master...’ he said again.

Xanos looked around the ruined altar and images of that final battle filled his mind, together with the cries of his own death. In the Falleen’s hunger for power, he had shattered the Heart of the Force, the ancient stone of long forgotten memories, and souls who had been trapped within for untold years. During the explosion, as the talons around them came crashing down, Trevarus Caerick had been consumed by the Dragon, Shan Long, his soul lost to the void...

His Master’s return could mean but one thing. ‘You have become Ascendant,’ Xanos said.

Trevarus Caerick nodded. ‘The Dragon is defeated.’

Xanos examined the ruined lightsaber that was still in his hand. In their battle, Trevarus had cleft the weapon in two, taking his apprentice’s arm with it. Xanos tossed the broken weapon aside and flexed his fingers – in the netherworld, there were no boundaries. He looked back up at Trevarus. ‘You were right.’ There was no shame in his voice, simply understanding. ‘I lacked control, and was too cowardly to accept my own death.’

Trevarus listened as his apprentice explained how at long last he had accepted the wisdom of his Master’s teachings. ‘There is no life and death—’

‘—only will,’ Xanos finished, nodding. ‘I sought power, when what I should have been seeking was understanding.’ Xanos shook his head. ‘I was a fool to seek answers in the Sith Code... there are far more important things than the ability to tear holes in space.’

Trevarus laughed and grasped his apprentice’s arm. ‘After three decades, you finally understand!’

‘I have seen the birth of the universe... and its end.’ Xanos looked into his reflection in one of the glassed walls of the volcanic cavern. ‘There is but one challenge left for me to face.’

‘Vexatus,’ Trevarus said, turning to face the mirror-like wall as well.

Xanos nodded. ‘Vexatus,’ he repeated. The name was nothing to him anymore, but for a symbol to his past ignorance. Where his Master had sought wisdom, Vexatus had sought a path to absolute power; however, with the destruction of the Heart, the tormented souls of the void had latched onto him, and dragged him with them down into hell. There he had become but another one of the many, the lost, the forgotten; or in the tongue of the ancients, kazinal.

The Falleen looked back around at his sister who had remained silent since Trevarus’s spirit had appeared inside the temple of Urati Kazinal. Xora glanced at Trevarus, before turning back to her brother. ‘I wish there was still another choice,’ she said, ‘though I see now your choice was made for you years ago.’ There was no malice in her voice, simply sorrow.

Back when Xanos had been lost in the depths of the void, he had heard his sister’s voice calling to him, a siren song that had led him back here to the place of his death. Like their mother before her, Xora had sacrificed herself to save him. ‘I am not a Jedi like you, Xora.’

‘You aren’t Sith either.’

After a moment, Xanos said, ‘No. I’m not.’

‘I guess that will have to do.’ Xora stepped forward and squeezed his hand, the tears in her eyes glistening from the volcanic fire down below. ‘He’s nearly here, Xanos.’ The blue in her eyes began to dull, her skin becoming cold. ‘Please. It may be too late for everything else, but please, put an end to what you have unleashed. If not for me, then for mother.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Xanos said strongly, ‘I plan to.’

His sister gave him a small smile before she pulled away. ‘Goodbye.’

Xanos felt another hand on his shoulder. ‘Ready yourself, my apprentice. They come.’ As Trevarus spoke, Xora’s eyes reflected the fires of the volcanic pools, the blue turning orange, her gentle expression shifting with her eyes as her lips pursed into a hateful snarl. The voices that cried were not her own, but instead a ghostly cacophony of animalistic barks and howls. The lost ones had returned.

Behind Xora, other figures started to appear, nameless faces, the lost and the forgotten. As one, the spirits of kazinal spoke, ‘We are the stars and the heavens... Celestial... We are Vexatus!’

‘No, you’re not,’ shouted Xanos over the clamour of voices. He glanced sideways at his Master. ‘Together?’

‘Together.’

The Falleen turned back round to the spirit impersonating his sister, its eyes now blazing with the burnt orange fires of hell. It was time to bring this deathless charade to an end. He had run from his death for too long. It was time for Xanos Zorrixor to finally fade away.

Ready at last to embrace his end, the apprentice and his Master launched themselves at the nameless ghosts of the lost.

Location Unknown
Orian system


The Nachzerer left the surface of Inos Moon 27, leaving a vapor trail in the frigid air. It rose rapidly, piercing clouds of dust and methanolic ice. Inside there were four Dark Jedi and one clone trooper. Below them ice and dust blasted the twisted landscape in an never-ending howl of scouring winds. It was a scene from mythology, from some landscape of eternal torment for the dry and dusty dead.

The Weave moved strangely...

In other places, near other Marked, the Force was being used powerfully. It was difficult to tell where and exactly when. The sense of a strange vibration in the currents of energy remained, a harmonic repeating somewhere high over the noise plucked within the wires. Strange things were afoot, unusual harmonies developing within the veils of light and shadow. The Sight had changed for Macron and he was still not used to it. However, Sunei’s fading thread linking him to the girl was clearly visible. For all the Darksider’s wiles, thinking to cover his trail in the Second Sight was something he could not forsee.

“Major Qek, take us to Aeotheran. Notify Aeotheran Command and the Governors of encrypted code I gave you.” The Sith Warlord looked intensely at the holosphere that represented Aeotheran. The Nifokalija Mountains stood out in highlighted red. His fingers picked at two different spots that lit like ruddy fireflies on the readout.

“Looks about right,” commented Jade as she eyed Aleho in her own seat. The consensus had been reached that Aleho was in better “care” directly under their supervision. Jade kept her keen eyes on the traitor as she taunted her. “Double crossing both us and your Master,” (here she paused to spit on the floor) makes you a double-crosser, no?” Her eyes twinkled as her lips passed over sharp teeth.

Aisha Qifaxa merely shrugged. “Kid’s aren’t my type, you know?” Her eyes returned to the screen in front of her. “We’ll be there in about thirty minutes at maximum speed.”

“I’ve transmitted the appropriate DSOG code,” remarked Macron with a sick chuckle. “There will be an escort awaiting us.”

“What, a couple a fighters,” snickered Aisha. “Bew! bew! Or somethin like that.” She had little faith in any establishment. It was simply part of her nature. Zeltrons were free-thinkers, to say the least.

The Warlord frowned comically and bowed with an exaggerated flourish. He had lately taken to wearing a red Korribanian cape from his armor. Both his present Apprentices though it looked foolish, but the Sadow could not be dissuaded. “Actually The Reaper’s Call, a Marauder-class Corvette will be our escort.” The madman smiled a toothy grin. “Trust me, that’s plenty.”

The Zeltron Sith warrior looked puzzled for a second. “If I’m right, she has HLAFs instead of Z-95’s,” she wondered aloud with a perplexed look. “Bitchin.”

Jade turned away from the silent Aleho with an almost pouty look; that is if a lion-trap could appear that way. “You’re quite right. He (she gestured at Macron) requisitioned it yesterday. I said we don’t need it, but of course the Sith won’t listen.”

Macron giggled. “Why give him any hope of escape at all? There’s nothing ‘sporting’ about what we are going to do here. Tsainetomo and another group of powerful Disciples of Sadow will be landing at the other site. You know the orders. Find and terminate subject as quickly as possible.” The alchemist smiled as he picked up his battle-suit helm. “We are going to do just that. And I for one am really going to enjoy doing it.”

Sepros
Temple of Sorrow
Overlord’s Offices

He was alone.

If he had any doubts before he entered the Overlord’s chambers, Tsainetomo was fully minded of that fact now. He walked out, not even sparing a glance at his apprentice, Lan, long strides eating up the real-estate between he and the stately palace’s hangar bay.

“Master?” Lan sheepishly offered from a pace back and to the left of Sai, his eyes meeting only the Keibatsu’s back. The Son of Sadow was too mired in his own thoughts to have even heard him, much less engage him in conversation.

Sai’s mission, his charge, was to deliver the charred remains of his brother-in-Sadow, Ashura, to their Father. He did so, with alacrity and humility. But, as he ushered in the mag-lev palette holding Ashura’s body, he received not praise for the swift execution of duty, but silence.

Melancholy silence.

The Overlord did nothing save stagger, agonizingly slow, from his great chair to the palette, his sadness-ringed eyes staring, unblinking, at the shrouded mass. Even as Sai recounted the capture and subsequent torture of the traitor, Aleho, and their plans to rendezvous on Aeotheran to continue the action, Astronicus was as a wall. The feeling of despair so pervaded the room that Sai thought the lighting had actually dimmed, a funereal shroud literally draping itself across the entirety of the gilded space.

Dumbfounded, Sai knelt once and took his leave. The Overlord never stirred from his place at Ashura’s side.

As Sai continued to stalk the corridors, hangar-bay bound, the white-hot kernel of rage that he’d tamped down at the Bastion so many months ago began to flare again, and this time…

…he let it.

The scowl deepened on his face, brow knitting as he thought back on Astronicus’ silence, and wished that his Father said something – anything – to guide him as he strove to lead the House. Sai couldn’t shake the feeling that something terrible was on the verge of happening, like being caught outside in the eerie stillness just before a lightning storm broke.

Worse still, there seemed to be nothing he could do about it. He wasn’t an Elder; he didn’t have the powers of precognition to assist him in dealing with threats, after all. He could only react…as he always had.

His helplessness began to transform into anger, a rare thing for Tsainetomo. ’I bring the man the corpse of his child, and he says nothing! Whenever the House gets into the poodoo, who has been there to clean it up? ME! Like the good li’l order-follower I am…shavit! This bloody tattoo on my arm isn’t my honor..it’s only a way to let filth like Shan Long rape my mind! Point me in the right direction, and I’ll go, like the cruise-missile I was designed to be…’ Tsainetomo let the traitorous thoughts roil and tumble in his skull, feeling unabashed delight at the rush of emotion, utterly righteous in his indignation.

Strangely, it was his Apprentice that brought him back from the precipice. Not with those clichéd, ‘out-of-the-mouths-of-babes’ snippets of wisdom the young are sometimes capable of…but with a nigh fatal gaffe.

“Master…that guy’s your ‘Father’? You’re running around, driving yourself crazy, while he sits in his chair, in the dark?! At least you’re doing something…what a cowardly recluse…” Lan’s pronouncement was said so that only Sai could hear, but that was one ear too many.

A sun-darkened fist suddenly splayed lips against teeth, bright red staining enamel. “Have a care, pup!” roared the Quaestor as Lan froze in the midst of a struggle to pick himself up off of the floor. “Astronicus Aurelius Sadow is the very best that we Sons are and you disciples can strive to be. And, remember,” – at this, Tsainetomo bent close – “as long as I draw breath and walk these halls…so does he.” Sai’s voice was deceptively calm, belaying the sudden outburst of violence that had ‘corrected’ Lan. An open hand replaced the clenched fist and Lan took it, marveling at the strength that hefted him to his feet. Sai straightened his apprentice’s robes, like a father would his own son’s before a big social event. “Clean yourself up, Lan. We’ve somewhere to be.”

Lan, used to the vagaries of his Master’s behavior, obediently drug a sleeve across his mouth, the heavy wool eagerly sopping up the blood. “Your offices, Master?” Long had Lan heard tales of the Consul’s Chamber’s opulence, and long had he wanted to see them.

A wistful, faraway look took up residence in Sai’s tripartite eyes, his baritone gentle as he spoke. “No, Lan. Those offices are reserved for the Consul of Sadow...and I am not he.”

Yet.

Sai let the final word go unspoken as he continued towards the hangar bay, apprentice in tow. Those few moments he spent in emotion and instruction gave him a new purpose. A new focus. A new mission.

Tsainetomo was alone. He was the last of his venerable Family to still take up residence in the halls of Sadow, and he was forced to watch as another, the Pepoi’s, rose to prominence. Sai still believed in the boon of technology, even as his closest compatriots fell to the Mark, forever woven into Caerick’s fell Tapestry.

His very cousin, the Grand Master himself, would do naught to stave the onslaught of impending chaos…unless, as he demonstrated in the Gardens of Markosia, it had a very direct benefit to him.

No, tidying this mess fell to Tsainetomo, and to him alone.

He chuckled at the irony as he made his way to a Lambda-class shuttle. Lan trotted to catch up after giving the Dockmaster his Master’s credentials. Sai would react, as he always had, but this time, he had the will and the resources to react with swiftness. With surety.

With finality.

“What shall I tell the Dockmaster is our destination?” Lan let the question hang in the air like mist on a cool, spring morn.

Tsainetomo deliberated. He’d promised Mononoke he’d meet him at the Nifokalija Mountains on Aeotheran…but he wasn’t prepared for such an action. Not yet, anyway.

“Lan, tell the good Dockmaster that we are headed for the Temple of Fire.”

Between seen and not seen...

Standing in front of Xanos was no longer the lithe, beautiful form of his sister. No being with long, flowing black locks that stretched to her waist, no sky blue eyes that shone brilliantly, filling the dark volcanic cavern with their wonder. No, the being before him did not have any of that vibrancy or distinction. Instead, the lime-green face of his sister had faded, melted into the grotesque ashen grey mask of a burn victim, Xora’s skin stretching tight over her angular bones, and her eyes igniting with the fierce orange flames of Mount Kazinal like tiny fires.

It was like looking into a mirror, as if the mangled, ruined face of Darth Vexatus was staring back at him. Only, it was not Vexatus, and nor was it Xora. It was a bastard amalgamation of the two siblings’ faces, as if two halves had somehow merged into one monstrous whole.

It was beyond hideous.

The twisted face lifted its flaming eyes up to Xanos. ‘Brother,’ came Xora’s voice, ‘why are you looking at me like that? It’s me! It’s your sister!’ The creature pulled a distressed expression, blinking its disfigured eyelashes at him. The act made Xanos want to vomit.

‘Enough!’ shouted Xanos, taking a step toward it. ‘Enough. You have defiled my memories, my name, my being. Now you defile my sister, as well? Your time ends here... Vexatus, Xora, Cyrus – whatever false name you unrightfully claim as your own! You are nothing! Nameless!’

Xora – it glowered back at him, its pursed lips curling into a sneer. ‘We are all things. We are the Force. We are the Dark. We are the Construct. We are Vexatus.’

‘No!’ barked Xanos, bending a sheet of glass covering the nearest wall of the cavern around the creature in front of him. ‘Vexatus died. Here. On this spot.’ He gestured at the scorched rocks and blackened metal beneath them. ‘There is no Vexatus. Only a memory.’

‘We are Vexatus,’ it repeated. ‘We are his memory. We are all memory... we are him,’ it gestured at his Master, its features shifting ever so slightly to resemble Trevarus Caerick, ‘and we are you.’ The face shifted back again, taking the brutalised form of Vexatus once more. The sheath wrapped around it shattered, sending thousands of slithers of glass falling into the pit of Mount Kazinal, the shards glistening in the orange glow before they reached the lava below.

Another presence appeared behind the thing in front of Xanos and his Master. Like the first, the second of the Lost bore an uncanny likeness to the deceased features of Vexatus, though unlike the first it had none of the likenesses to his sister. Instead, its bosom was proud and feminine, and its fiery tresses ran across its shoulders. The face was strange but familiar. Eve Sariis, or as she had been known to the Falleen apprentice in the years before his death: Darth Maestus.

One by one, the nameless ghosts of the forgotten returned to the place from whence they had emerged back into the land of the living. Like Xora and Maestus, some faces were disgustingly familiar in their quasi-likenesses, others entirely alien. Like an army, thirty thousand years of torture and damnation assembled in formation around the two souls who had escaped them five years ago, the spirits of kazinal lustful for the chance to finally embrace Xanos Zorrixor and Trevarus Caerick as one with the rest of the Lost.

‘Not a chance,’ spat Trevarus. ‘You take your sister. I’ll take Maestus.’

‘Just like old times, my Master.’

A roar went up from the nameless army of the dead and battle was joined.

The Enlightenment
Hyperspace

The wizened creature looked up in minor irritation as the communicator in his quarters beeped disturbing his meditation. “Yes?” he responded tersely touching a finger to a button on his hoverchair.
“There is an incoming message for on your private channel Councillor.”
He frowned. “I will receive it.”
“Yes Councillor.”
He waited a few seconds, then a hologram materialised in front of him, a grey haired man in his mid sixties. “Councillor Five.”
“Revered colleague,” the man responded formally with a slight nod of his head.
“How can I assist you Colleague?” Councillor Zero asked, “I assume this is of an urgent nature.”
“It is,” the other replied, “I come to you with concerns from a number of our fellows that must be addressed.”
“Must?” Councillor Zero repeated with a frown, “And exactly what concerns must be addressed?”
“Word has reached us of your recent activities in the Orian system, with the force users.”
“I see,” Councillor Zero replied neutrally, “I submitted a report into the records as was right and proper by our procedures. I had not however anticipated or invited feedback on the matter.”
“We are concerned by the risks you take!” Councillor Five almost blurted out, “You provoke these force users unessesarily and risk exposure.”
“Ah,” Councillor Zero replied, “Your concerns are unfounded. Yourself and the rest of our colleagues can be assured I have the life study under control.”
“You should not underestimate these people,” the other councillor replied, “Councillor Three did that to his peril.”
“Councillor Three was careless. He left an unacceptable trail to his operation. His fate should be regarded as a lesson to us all. I however take more care in these matters.”
“That does not appear to be the case from your report Colleague,” the other councillor pointed out, “they exposed your operation and you lost Subject Six.”
“Did you not read the report in full?” Councillor Zero asked calmly, “the operation was designed to be exposed, and we retrieved enough of the Subject Six to create more docile subjects from it’s DNA. As for the larger study, we have a perfect macro environment to observe these force users that would be unacceptable to loose so long as we obtain research from it. Rest assured when the study has run its course I will terminate it like any other.”
“I think you will find that particular study hard to terminate,” Councillor Five replied sarcastically.
Councillor Zero’s eyes bore into those of his colleagues. “You and your fellows did not doubt my judgement when I brought you into our organisation. I see no reason why that would have changed. I believe this conversation has run its course. Good day Colleague.” He terminated the link and sat back irritably, reaching for his tea. He sat brooding alone in the darkness, then recommenced his meditation.

Aridas Transport Hub
(The Organisation's Front Company)

The docking bay was a hive of activity. This was a major hub, with deliveries from all over the nearby systems coming in, being sorted and going out. Everywhere droids and load lifters hefted packing containers from ship to ship or to the storage areas. Workers in grey overalls supervised, each focused on their own task in a job where training was easy and turnover was high and a mistake saw you marching out of the door with a days wages on your credit stick. A dark haired young woman rested a hand on the controls of a large repulsor sledge, guiding it into place then lowering it so a lifter could slide underneath and take it to join a pile of them near a boarding ramp. She stepped back, watching then turned again when she came face to face with a black armoured security guard, with a dark reflective helmet. She studied him for a minute. “Found anything interesting?”
“Some,” Malisane replied, “I’ve had a look at the computer network at a local terminal. There’s pages of shipping orders on there going back years but nothing for Orian or Refuge around any of the dates.”
Soolin nodded. “Either they aren’t involved or they’ve hidden it.”
“My source on Refuge was sure, and the gaps in our own system concerning Aridas confirm it. They’re covering up.”
“So what do we do?” she asked, “there must be a record somewhere.”
Malisane nodded. “Even if they’ve taken it off the mainframe they’d still need to keep the information for their own use. Unfortunatley my service level doesn’t permit me into any of the managerial floors. We’ll have to do it the hard way.”
She frowned. “This is dangerous, “ she told him, “we should have brought more of the House. We don’t know what to expect.”
She felt him staring at her through the visor. “That is exactly why we didn’t bring more,” he replied, “I don’t need a load of hotheads going around blowing stuff up or triggering alarms. We do this quietly.”
She nodded. “Very well.”
“Meet me by the elevator at the far end of the personnel area at twenty-two hundred hours. Then we go in.”

Tempered Wastes
Between seen and not seen...


Chafing brilliant winds could not drown the anguished cries of the damned soul chained to an eternal, ethereal monument of stone. Pinpoints of violet light shone from its polished black surface as the shade of the once-man struggled against bonds rooted in a curse from the deepest magics of the depths of the Force. Teeth tore flesh incessantly, as does as does the bestial victim of a trap attemping to tear away its own limbs to escape.

Yet this man had no body to tear, his pnuema sealed itself to whole totality with each gout of ripped viscera.

Shan Long fell prone, silent to the hardened red-yellow sand where he lay for the span of a lifetime of seconds, yet then he reached out.
Xia Long... we... we feel you... we see you...



Uratil Kazinal
Between seen and not seen...


The pair stood back to back, and were it not for the spiritual parody of so many battles of lifetimes lost to betrayal and war, it might have been a scene often recalled in their various diatribes and amicable mockery.

"Once again, we lack lightsabers, my Apprentice." Trevarus said cheerfully. "Shall I belabor Khormanal?"

"Again, my Master? I should think you'd forget the cascade of epic tragedy that battle was." A ghost of a thin grin might have passed the Falleen's dead lips.

"We improvise." Trevarus' eyes lit up.

Lady Maestus stood arrayed, the specter of death herself. Shards of broken glass had ripped and torn the spirit essence that was merely an echo of what had transpired in the ritual chamber. The gods of Urati Kazinal were imperfect in their recitation of her shade, perhaps because it was only an echo that had ridden the spirit of Darth Vexatus into that dead hall. The dead woman raised a bloodied, crystallized hand to unleash a fury of lightning upon the Oracle.

His lips parted to a snarl, and with a flourish of his right hand, a thick band of fire snaked out of thin air to meet the spectral energy as it crossed the expanse. Where the energies met, a great flash of light lingered for minutes of years, illuminating the twisted tortured souls the dead Gods of the Damned had summoned to battle the two interlopers for the second time. Faces and twisted ghosts of those he had tortured arrayed to meet him.

Fired pooled back into his hand, twisting and braiding, but then flattening out into a broad swath between his paired hands. In the middle of this band, it seperated, twisting and billowing smokeless. A flaming great sword shimmered in murky light, matched by a broad shield in his left hand. Maestus raised her hands again, lightning pouring forth. Trevarus shifted, catching the blast on the curving plane of flame clasped on his right arm. He scream fury, great gouts of fire issuing from his mouth, pooling from his eyes. Tongues of immolating energy swirled around him, falling to the dead stone floor. Dozens of scores of candle-flares grew, animating as if feeding on the energies of death itself.

Saggitarian warriors, ranged in rank and file stood at the Sorcerer's command. His eyes shifted for a moment, his Apprentice lost in a grapple with the twisted soul that had nearly destroyed him.

"As always, you leave the me to mop up." Trevarus smirked.

He dropped his fiery sword, and his legion charged forward. Spirits of fire charged into the fray against the souls of the damned. Riding as a Knight of the spirit plane, Trevaurs locked himself in battle against the twisted imago of a dead Sith witch.

The Second Battle of Lehon had begun.


Kazak Plateau
Valley of the Lost, Antei
Domain of the Dark Council

Xia Long...

Sildrin heard the voices, she heard deeper because she had no eyes to see. She understood.

Sepros
Lambda-class Shuttle
En route to Temple of Fire

Just before the datapad went dark, the sigil signifying the message sender's signature blazed bright, the violet accents burning their way into the Son of Sadow's retinas.

The Lion of Tarthos.

Steeling himself, he activated the small comm unit in his hand, and the image of his Aedile, Fremoc Pepoi, shimmered its way into existence, ghostly and translucent.

"How can I serve, Lord Quaestor?" Fremoc's voice was tinny and ringed with static; no doubt due to the distance the signal had to travel. "You are needed, Fremoc," came Tsainetomo Keibatsu Sadow's response, his own voice tinged with an odd mixture of pride and regret.

"Very well, I shall return to Sepros as soon as.."

"Belay that, Pepoi," the Quaestor interrupted. "You are no longer under my...employ, as it were." A wry smile creased the Korun-Keibatsu's features. "No, my friend, you are to report to Antei. It is the Grand Master himself who has requested your presence."

Fremoc's image, tiny in Sai's hand, suddenly straightened as understanding seemed to stiffen his spine. "You mean...?"

"Yes," Sai replied, letting the word drag as he let the suspense build. "I wish you well, and the very best of luck. Not that you'll need it...Fist of The Brotherhood."

Temple of Blood
Sepros

Fremoc stared the communicator as Sai's image winked out. Thoughts raced through his mind as he had been training for some time at the Temple of Blood, yet he would have though Ma`ar would have messaged him personally about his resignation from Fist. He sat for moment, centering himself as he vaporized the sweat on his body with the Force. It took only a moment, but he closed his eyes, and opened the Mark. He wanted to know who was watching him, who was spying on him. The Tapestry showed him who it was, and slowly closed his eyes once more.

"ROXAS!" bellowed Fremoc into the air. Gingerly, the Mandalorian emerged from his perch in the trees, and began walking towards his master. The Obelisk Jedi Hunter was slightly afraid as to how Fremoc knew it was him watching. As Roxas grew near, Fremoc rushed the Jedi Hunter, grabbing him by his armor, and slamming him into a brick wall. The force of the impact knocked the wind out of Roxas, as he slumped to the ground. The Prelate pulled off the other man's helmet casting it to the side. "Are you alright?"

"What in the blue hells was that for?" gasped Roxas.

Fremoc didn't answer but pulled off a lightsaber that Roxas had created days earlier. Fremoc had confiscated it and kept it on his belt until it was time for Roxas to achieve Knighthood. Today was that day. Fremoc stretched out his hand with the hilt point towards his apprentice. "Take it."

Roxas stared at the hilt and looked back up to his master. Slowly his left hand reached up and grasped the hilt. Fremoc reached down and pulled Roxas to his feet. "Am I...?"

"Congratulations, Roxas. You're now a Knight." Fremoc turned without another word to his former apprentice and with the Force drew his pack towards him. He slung the pack onto his back and began his hike back to New Sadow Palace.

He had some things that needed to be taken care of.

Kazak Plateau
Valley of the Lost, Antei
Domain of the Dark Council


The touch of voice was faint, but Sildrin heard and listened.
Her blind gaze stared up into the sky of Antei - thousands of questions but not enough time. Within the blink of an eye she took action, a small chance, but vital. Her face turned into a grimace as her senses backtraced the link. Spirit travelling to such a domain was for sure out of reach of her powers, but there were other ways - a part of her memories, an imprint of Xia Long was sent to the anguished form of Shan Long.


Tempered Wastes
Between seen and not seen...

The small pulsating shard, imprinted with memories, sank into the tormented and torn man, who was bound in a hell seemingly born of a demon's mind. A faint malicious smile appeared for a brief moment on his distorted face.


Kazak Plateau
Valley of the Lost, Antei
Domain of the Dark Council

It is time to contact the Sadows, Sildrin thought.

"Who are you?", a voice that made a shiver run down Sildrin's spine. The Blind Dragon let her force senses slowly advert to the source. She knew that Trevarus was strong enough to spirit walk for a while without her watching. Something she had learned by now. At the beginning she had made the mistake to push too hard and felt her strength siphoned away by something laying beyond the visible - on a plane where time and space was of no matter.

That what she sensed made her cringe deep inside. Sildrin whispered: "That is something I wanted to ask you..." and she turned to the appearance behind her. Translucent, billowing - but yet a brilliant copy of herself. Lustrous red hair curling down the waist and complete white eyes stared back at her. The ghost-like appearance quivered lightly, memories were activated and it opened it's mouth: "I am the lost part of you. The lost memories. Preserved forever, but soon about to fade."

Sildrin stiffened at those words as she listened to the ghost. "Join me. You have to. We must merge and forever be one. That what you always wanted to be. Complete!" The Blind Dragon tilted lightly her head: "My lost memories...", she weighed the words. The ghost's shape twitched: "Yes. Hurry.. you must join. Hurry. Before he is here!"

"Before who is here?", Sildrin started to shiver, sensing how the ghost's shape lost more and more texture. Sildrin reached out a hand to it. "Yes, join me!", the ghost whispered. But then the Pontifex stopped, as if having awakened from a dream. A moment of hesitation and the magic was gone. Sildrin shook her head: "No. My memories are complete. They were completed."

"Joinn... me..", the ghost continued. "Join... JOIN me... JOIN ME NOW!... JOIN US!", the ghost's voice turned into a high pitching screaming voice of joined voices. Mutating tendrils of dark shadows rushed over the shape of the ghost, making Sildrin back off. "We WANT to JOIN! We are VEXATUS... We are ONE! DEATH is what WE are!". The ghost twitched, its shape adapted, melting into a twisted amalgan of Vexatus and Sildrin.

- Governor’s Palace
- Markosian City
- Tarthos

Methyas sat patiently as the hologram resolved itself into life in front of him, making a very small model of one of his colleagues appear before him, the size of a child’s action figure. The voice it produced, however, was anything but.

“Methyas,” It began, the usual baritone of Venator higher pitched and reedy in his annoyance. “Do you need to visit a therapist?”

“No Ven, why?” The Templar replied, pretty sure he knew exactly where it was going.

“I thought I warned you about her.” the Knight said, his hologram showing him walking in place, though he was certainly pacing about his own office on Gamuslag. “She’s a liar, and a thief. There is absolutely no good that can come from having her handy.”

“So you say. She’s a handful, but I really think you’re blowing things well out of proportion Ven.” Methyas replied, somewhat off-put by the peculiar behavior exhibited by the otherwise serene assassin.

“All I’m saying is, don’t invite her over for dinner, and if you do, use plastic utensils. She’ll steal your good flatware before you can blink. She can’t be trusted.” Venator said, finally sitting himself back down.

Methyas paused a moment before continuing. “Ven, we’ve never had you over for dinner either.”

“Methyas, I’m a contract killer. You’re onto something with not having me over for dinner.” Venator replied. “Anyway, I’m heading to Camp Havoc, Kano left me a voicemail to check it out, you wanna come with?”

“Yeah, sure,” Methyas said after thinking for a moment. “You coming here?”

“Yeah, I’ll set down in the Governor’s port, and I’ll comm you when I get there.”

“Ok, see you then.” Methyas said, and cut the holo-line.

- Camp Havoc
- Sepros

The Lambda class shuttle folded it’s wings up as it’s landing skids came out, and without a hitch, set down on the landing pad. After a moment, the ramp dropped, and out stepped a pair of Miraluka, almost mirror images of the other. One was large, dark, and imposing, eschewing the traditional eye wraps common to their people, the other smaller, more open, and less shady, he wearing white eye wraps. The only commonality were the lightsabers clipped to their belts.

Before them lay the base of operations for the Regulators, surprisingly spread out for the conservative amount of space given out for it. From the eastern side, they saw the large, dark form of Kano approaching them.

“You like the place?” He asked simply, gesturing to the piece of world he called his very own.

“Looks good,” Methyas said, taking the location in.

“I think I can train some killers here,” Venator said. “How much room can I dedicate for the job?”

Kano paused for a moment and thought about it. “Give me a plan first, there’s more coming in. I don’t even know where it’s all going yet.” Kano grumbled. “There’s good fishing in the river though.”

“Comforting,” Methyas said. “Where do you want me?” He asked of his cousin.

Kano couldn’t keep a straight face as he explained it to the smaller of the Miraluka. “You’re getting led by the blind. I’m sticking you with Ven and Dirk.”

“That joke’s never getting old,” Venator said to Methyas.

“I’m afraid not.” Methyas replied, over Kano’s laughter. “Does it creep you out when he laughs like that?”

“More than a little, yeah, not gonna lie to you.” Venator replied.

“Get over it,” Kano said, collecting himself. “Let me give you the grand tour.”

As they walked along, Kano pointed out various and sundry locations, sparing no blind joke. Once the three of them had completed the tour, they ducked into the small mess and grabbed some lunch. About halfway through their fried mynock and mashed tubers, Methyas looked at the other two men sitting there. “Have you all noticed anything odd lately?”

“Nope,” Kano said, but set his food down. “Actually, scratch that. Yeah, I have.”

“I dunno what either of you are talking about.” Venator said, and kept gnawing on his mynock.

“There’s a disturbance in the Force,” Methyas said. “Nothing dramatic, but it’s pervasive, it’s not going away.”

“It’s faint,” Kano added, thinking about it for a minute. “Happened just before Fremoc got sent to Antei.”

“Come to think of it, Mac and Sai have been absent too. I thought they were just trying to figure out who was going to fill the Aedile slot, but the Nachzerer took off the other day, and I don’t think it’s been back since. It’s not like him to leave his lab that long.” Venator added.

“Might be time for the Regulators to mount up.” Methyas said thoughtfully.

“We get the order, we’re out the door.” Kano replied. “Don’t leave system for a while.”

Urati Kazinal
Between seen and not seen...

As his Master flew into battle with Maestus above the crumbling ruins of the altar, Xanos turned his attention back to the ghostly facsimile of his sister. The explosion of the glass wall which he had wrapped around her had punctured and plucked what remained of her spectral essence, leaving a hole right through her heart that allowed him to see through to the flashes of fire and blood where the Lost and Trevarus’s homuncular army of ternikh fought. More and more, Xora resembled the atrophied corpse which he had left behind five years ago.

‘Through death ... all will join ... all will become one,’ Xora snarled, loosing another series of blue-white bolts of lightning towards her brother. Xanos simply caught the bolts in his hands, dissipating the energy harmlessly into one of the walls, rather than redirecting it back at his sister. In another life, another time, he may have grown angry – not anymore.

‘You lacked control,’ Xanos said simply, more to himself than to the spirit. ‘You always lacked control.’ He raised a hand to block more staccato bursts as Xora raged at him, the voices causing the very walls of the volcanic cavern to thunder, freeing clouds of millennia undisturbed ash and stone. To a mortal eye, the black veil that fell upon the battlefield would have been impenetrable; not to the Mark. The Third Eye gazed upon the nameless spirit, the formless entity blazing vibrantly, singeing the threads of the Tapestry wherever it touched.

It saddened Xanos think that it had ever come to this.

‘We are death ... blackness ... everything blackness ...’

The tortured imitation of his sister backed into the centre of the broken disc, where she was overlooked on either side by the remaining two of altar’s pillars, which reached high up into the lofts of the catacomb, where his Master’s and Maestus’s armies were fighting. Even with the other talon-shaped pillars long since broken in half or else turned to dust, it remained difficult to get over how much it looked as though the two fingers were reaching up from the volcanic depths, their claws grasping onto the spirits that had long been caged upon this ancient sacrificial altar.

From high above, Xora rained more and more long white needles down upon him, trying in vain to stitch his soul to that same horrific altar that had imprisoned the Lost for so very long. With scarcely a conscious thought, Xanos’s spirit danced leftwards and rightwards, leaving black smoke rising behind him where he avoided the unending flurry of his sister’s lightning.

‘There is no pain,’ said Xanos, ‘no challenge.’

He stopped moving... and was instantly drenched in a downpour of blue and white brilliance. The cascade of lightning tore through the metallic disc on which the Falleen had been standing. Xora screamed victory as several of the other spirits broke away from the melee high above, descending to the altar to add their rage to the inferno. ‘We are the stars ... the heavens... we are celestial ...’ The angry cacophony drowned the warring armies of Trevarus and Maestus, the twisted and mutilated faces of Jedi who had once called the Auspicious home adding their fury, bellowing their revenge on the lost soul who had evaded them for five long years. ‘We are Vexatus!’ the spirits cried as one and the vergence of lightning erupted in a blinding white flash of starlight.

For a moment, all was still. Even the faces of Trevarus and Maestus had paused to look down.

The spirit wearing the face of Xora Zorrixor curled its lips into a hungry, triumphant grin. ‘In the end, all become one,’ the voices said.

The black smoke began to clear, revealing the disc holding up the mighty talons, which was now glowing red hot from the concentrated sorcerous barrage; the walls of the volcano had turned entirely to glass, reflecting the orange inferno that continued to flicker deep below—however, in the middle of the glowing crater, with his hands raised above his head in a shield, his cloak fluttering undamaged behind his back, stood Xanos Zorrixor, the Third Eye pulsing vibrantly.

‘I told you,’ the lost apprentice said evenly, ‘you are nothing but a memory.’ Xanos lifted his face to his sister’s phantom. ‘I have already seen how this battle ends. You’ve lost Vexatus.’

‘NO! We ... will ... not ... DIE!’

The apparitions resembling Xora and the other Jedi burst into flames and dived.

Command Area
Corvette “Reaper's Call”
Aeotheran Orbit
Orian System




A war in the Weave… how odd, ran the alchemist’s thoughts. Remain on task.

“That settles it. We’re doing a near-orbital drop over the mountains,” remarked Macron. “He won’t be expecting it. He’d be more likely to expect an entire battlegroup. Of course, that WOULD be ideal, but I’m getting no traction on that sized requisition.”

“A near orbit drop?” queried Jade with a raised eyebrow. “You’re insane.” Her deadpan expression was perfect.

Three Dark Jedi laughed, and Aleho remained silently prudently.

“What took you so long to notice?” chuckled Aisha Qifaxa. “Certifiable. Anyhow, how do you intend to do this? This thing can’t carry dropships…”

“Who said anything about a ship?” giggled the madman. “We’re going to wear pressure suits with drogues and jump from low orbit. Chutes out at the last.”

Silence held for a moment in the room as eyes goggled. The idea of a drop from near-orbital heights in a mere pressure suit was not exactly a popular one.

“You ARE serious?” quipped Jade. “By Darth, I think he is.”

Aisha appeared thoughtful. “It could work,” she mused. “Yeah. Given the right conditions and judicious use of telekinesis, it could work.” The red-skinned woman smiled. “Or we’ll pancake like I saw this one poor bastard do back in jumpschool. Man, his guts were spread far enough to…”

“That’s quite enough, my dear. Hehe. Lieutentant Whelson, get me a channel to the Regulators CO.” Macron stroked his chin as Kano’s face appeared on the screen.

“Kano here,” said the voice from Sepros. “Macron. To what do I owe this call?”

“Kano, I’m using my authority as Marshal Commander. We have an Adept to punish and kill. Direct order from The Overlord via the Governor General. As such, I am requisitioning the Regulators to meet me on Aeotheran”

Kano looked serious for a moment, nodding to someone off-camera. “That’s what the scuttlebutt said.” His expression turned grim. “Ashura’s murderer. Transmit the coordinates. We’ll be on-site within six hours. Will you be joining us at the landing zone?”

Macron giggled. “Yeah but not exactly. We’ll be dropping by earlier, as it were. Bring your best, the prey is highly dangerous. We’ll need good teamwork on this one. And do bring Venator, I’d like to see how his lightsaber skills are coming along.”

- Camp Havoc
- Sepros
- Two Hours after Macron’s Communication

The Regulators sat within the briefing room, muttering quietly amongst themselves, or sitting quietly. Others had fast food in front of them, or mugs of caf from the titanic brewer in the corner. As the room wasn’t even finished yet, the smell of paint was still lingered in the air, mixing with the other scents within the room to create a potpourri of excitement, greasy food, and chemical stink.

After a moment, Kano entered the room, followed by Venator. They were both dressed in their battlefield finest as the approached the far ends of the conference table, though only Venator sat down. Kano however, remained standing, and just rested his hands on the back of his chair.

“Alright people, listen up.” He said gruffly. He reached out and grabbed a small remote control from his place at the head of the table, and thumbed a switch on it. Immediately, the holoprojector sprang to life, illuminating the room in a blue-green glow. The imaged resolved itself after a few short seconds to show a planet.

“This,” Kano said, gesturing with his remote control. “Is Aeotheran. Two hours ago we received information that a known killer of one of our own is holed up here.” At that, he triggered the laser on his remote, pointing a red beam at a specific location. The hologram zoomed in, panning and flattening out to show a topographical layout of a mountain chain.

“The Nifokalija Mountains,” Araxis said thoughtfully. “I thought we couldn’t get topography of the area.”

“We can’t,” Kano said. “Not reliable topography anyway. This is the best estimation from orbital scanners. This represents about forty eight hundred kilometers worth of mountain range. Our target is somewhere in there. Ven,” He said, and pointed towards his second in command.

The Miraluka stood up and cleared his throat. “Macron and his retinue are already on ground after a LOLO jump. Unfortunately, the nature of these mountains prevent technological location tracking, as well as the Force. We’re, and don’t you say it Kano, going in blind on this.”

“Shouldn’t be anything new to you Ven,” Roxas quipped, and then received a fist bump from Kano.

Scowling, Venator continued. “The Raptors will be first in on this operation. Our first task is to locate Macron, Aisha, and Jade. From there, we’ll make contact with the remainder of the team. If comms fail us, we’ll use a mortar to launch signal flares. It’s not the stealthiest approach, but we’re not exactly working in ideal conditions. Once we link with the Marshall Commander, we‘ll get our orders from there.”

“The DSOG is giving us a lift to Aeotheran. We’ll have speeder bikes available to get us around.” Kano said as he killed power to the holoplate and flicked the lights back on. “You have fifteen minutes to gear up and get ready to go. Regulators, Mount Up!”

At his command, the collected battle team, unarguably the finest Naga Sadow could offer, jumped up and made their way towards the armory.

Camp Havoc
Sepros
Fifteen minutes after briefing

The M-CRV Reaper's Call was already waiting for the Regulators on the landing pad. The members of the regulators were rushing toward the marauder-class corvette, their gear clanking as they ran. They knew they were ready for battle, but were unsure if they were prepared enough for the mountains of Aeotheran, for they are going nearly blind and without the aid of the Force. Kano and Venator were the first of the team to reach the ship, or so they thought. As the two Obelisks entered they noticed Roxas was already on board and waiting to leave.

“What took you guys so long? I’ve been here for ten minutes” The Mandalorian said with a grin hidden under his T shaped visor.

“Typical Roxas always jumping the gun.” Kano retorted “Still a rookie.”

“Would you have it any other way? Besides, I’m always ready for a fight. I just needed to grab this.” The Knight replied as he held up a jet pack with a rocket attachment. “You said we might need flares and most importantly that we might have trouble sensing the Force, so I grabbed a little back up.”

“"Mir'sheb” Kano replied as he sat down across from the Knight. (Mando’a Translator: “Smartass“)

Roxas laughed and then looked to Venator, "And beside he can't see without the aid of the Force. I bet he'll trip on a bunch of stuff."

Venator crossed his arms in disgust at another blind reference and sat down with a humph.

"I don't need a baby sitter. I can take care of myself." Venator expressed with an annoyed tone.

"I still owe you Ven and I intend on repaying." The Mandalorian replied.

The rest of the Regulators had finally shown up and all sat in seats spread throughout the ship. Some of them were out of breath, but teach of them was ready to go. The hatch screeched as it blew steam and closed, the locks clanking to hold the door in place. The engines started with a roar and the landing gear lifted. Slowly the ship rotated to face the direction that the Regulators were headed and finally the ship screamed up to speed. With in minutes the Marauder-corvette had broken through the atmosphere and was headed for Aeotheran.

Regulator Shuttle
En Route to Reaper Call

"Sir, we have a priority Alpha communication," yelled the pilot from the cockpit back to Kano and the rest of the assembled Regulators.

Kano stood, calling back to the pilot, "Patch it through."

Within a moment a blue head, neck and shoulders appeared in the center hologram display for the team. A scar ran from the left eye to his left ear and the Mark square in his forehead. The team knew who it was, a man that had served with them, trained them, and more importantly was family to them.

"Gentlemen."

"Brother, I'm sure you have far greater duties as Fist of the Brotherhood than ours," stated Kano.

"I'm a member of Naga Sadow, always will be. I know of your insertion to Aeotheran coming up and I know Macron wants to kill the slimo that corrupted Aleho into killing Ashura," stated Fremoc. "Gentlemen, I'm overriding that order. Override code Omega Mike Foxtrot Golf. Insert yourselves, capture Sunei, and bring him back to the Temple of Fire. There should be a few secure holding cells down there for him to be put into."

"Orders overridden and new orders recieved."

"Macron will thank me for this later. Good luck Regulators." Fremoc snapped a salute to the team, which was followed by everyone else. The blue image of the eldest Pepoi faded out leaving the team in silence.

Kano spoke first, "Fremoc knows how the Regulators are supposed to operate. And this fits the bill. Get ready to drop boys."

Urati Kazinal
Between seen and not seen...

‘My name is Lord Zorrixor! Now return my body, or pay the price!’

The three flaming balls of fire rocketed towards the soul of the Falleen, the bodies of his sister, along with his old Jedi Master and old student, all three bursting into flames, careening down at the lost sorcerer, falling out of the enclosed sky inside the volcanic cavern like three burning swords swooping down to run him through.

Five years ago, in this exact same spot, where the Lord Vexatus had opened himself to the nameless ghosts of the void, where he had devoured his own soul in his lust for absolute, omnipotent power, the invisible one had surprised him, taken him unnoticed, the dagger’s point piercing his heart. Vexatus himself had stripped Ylith Atema of the Force, and thus Vexatus himself had dealt the final, killing blow.

‘Not this time,’ Xanos shouted up at the descending fireballs of Xora, Renko and Taraeis. ‘Never again.’ He would not be deceived. He would not be cheated.

He was the Will of the Final Way.

Xanos held up his hand... and grasped Xora’s burning image around its neck, right at the very moment that her harrowed and tormented spectre was about to collide with his. With another black wave of energy, he spun the other two Jedi’s forms away, sending the pair of them flying into the surrounding glass walls of the cavern. The doppelganger of his sister squirmed in his grip, its eyes burning with the same infernal fires that had consumed all those swallowed by the lost voices of Urati Kazinal. Xanos felt his anger rise within him, staring down into those tortured eyes that had stolen his life, stolen his body, even stolen his very name.

‘WE ARE CELESTIAL! WE ARE VEXATUS!’

Xora continued writhing in Xanos’s grasp, but to no avail. He cleared his throat. ‘How many times must I tell you?’ Xanos shouted. ‘You are not Vexatus! There is no Vexatus anymore.’

Xanos closed his grip around his sister’s throat. The fires in her eyes lashed down at his face in superheated tongues of red... but he felt nothing. Sneering, a flash of black shadow fell upon the pair, veiling the two siblings in the physical emptiness of the void for a split second. Then the shadow retreated, leaving Xanos holding the frozen body of Xora, the raging lights in her eyes having finally gone out. ‘Forgive me, my sister.’ Xanos stepped over to the edge of the platform... and allowed Xora’s spirit to disappear into the liberating heat of Mount Kazinal. ‘It is done,’ he whispered to himself.

‘In all these centuries, you have learned nothing, kazinal,’ Xanos cried over the roar of the volcano. ‘There is no life and death, only will. And here, my will is god.’ He snapped his head back round to the formless spears of Renko Yast and Taraeis Alaviel that were doubling back to charge him again like twin meteorites. ‘Which of you is next?’

The fire of the lost would be extinguished, even if it meant him having to cleanse one spirit at a time.

Somewhere Below…. A few hours back
Corvette “Reaper's Call”
Aeotheran Orbit
Orian System


Four suit-clad Dark Jedi jumped in tandem, each with hands clenched tight to someone on either side. Macron was locked down inside his Sith Battlesuit. Aisha wore a ex-military pressure suit. Jade had donned a sleek black plasteel pressure suit with an expressionless mirrored faceplate. Aleho wore standard issue.

The air was practically nonexistent. Outside the ambient temperature was far below freezing here on the edge of the void. The pressure was so low that without the suits their lungs would burst, the nitrogen in the blood boiling out explosively. Rumor had it your eyes could even blow right out of your skull as you froze and exploded internally at the same time. It was not a pretty picture.

They made a perfect diamond, a fitting analogy of hardness for the group. They had been falling for less than thirty seconds. The elevation was so high that the sky was black and not the normal blue. The wind was exhilarating. They rapidly approached terminal velocity.

The problem was, up here with little atmosphere to slow them down terminal velocity was high. Their drogues and chutes would only serve lower down. They each had a repulsor belt strapped to their rig, but even that worked closer to the ground. Up here in this fastness there was only one thing that could keep them from burning up like blazing cinders as they fell. That thing was The Force.

Each of the Dark Jedi strained to slow themselves down. Deep within their consciousness there were connections to the planet below. Tendrils of telekinetic energy interacted with the fields of energy around them, providing just enough drag to keep them steady. At this stage, a mistake would be fatal. Failures would either explode, burn up, or impact with enough force to completely vaporize their sordid remains into a fine mist of gore and equipment.

Macron chuckled as he regarded Aleho from inside his helm. The Togruta looked decidedly greenish. The temperature was a mere negative fifty standard degrees outside. Air pressure was beginning to rise.

Heights not agree with you? signaled the madman telekinetically.

Aleho merely tightened her grasp on his gauntleted hand.

Don’t frack up, or you’re toast kid, chipped in Aisha silently.

Jade’s impassive visor gave no hint of what passed through her mind. Probably killing people.

Macron continued to giggle quietly, the rush of danger and possibility of Death stimulating the Sith’s fetid brain. The insane LOLO jump was a perfect beginning to a good day. It was madness- and the alchemist thrived on such.

As the sky around them turned blue, several collective breaths of relief were issued inside their respective helmets. The drogues now began to fill with rushing air, bellowing out and providing more drag. Chutes out, ordered the Warlord. We land quickly. Stow your gear and secure the area.

Sepros
Temple of Fire
Camp Havoc

Tsainetomo looked around at the empty staging area, the voice of his apprentice strangely distant in his ear as the wireless device relayed the younger man’s status updates on the varied Sadowan entities operating throughout the system. A compartmentalized portion of his mind filed away Lan’s updates as the greater continued to process the information he’d garnered on his way to the Regulator’s base of operations.

Malisane…on Aridas…
[right]Well played, Kano…if you’d been here when I’d arrived…[/right]
Macron, Jade, Aleho, Aisha…on site at Nifokalija…
[right]…you might’ve been relieved of your command before you’d had a chance to issue an order.[/right]
Caerick…whereabouts, unknown.

With the last thought, Sai snapped from his reverie. Trevarus’ incessant meddlings were becoming irksome, at best. So was the Dark Council’s – this time, in the guise of the Fist – insistence at interfering with Sadowan affairs. Frustration built and made the Keibatsu’s muscles taut, his very sinews aching to drive his lightsaber into the heart of someone – anyone – and bring a sense of order and control to his world. Clenching a fist, he drove it into an open palm as he struggled to wring an answer from the very stones of Camp Havoc.

Sai’s head bowed as he brought his considerable mental acumen to bear on the issue. The Quaestor’s feet began a slow, ambulatory circuit in front of the idling shuttle, as if each step drew him closer to a resolution. What was he to do? As Quaestor, the responsibility of the House fell on him. The Overlord, grief stricken as he appeared to be, would not cotton half-truths and loose ends. And Sai, as good as he was, couldn’t be everywhere at once…

…could he?

Then again, did he actually have to be?

With the speed of firing synapse, Tsainetomo’s mind fell upon a possible stopgap. Each man and woman who rode under the Sadowan banner would learn to look to him for leadership, for guidance, much as they had the previous Consuls. Sai merely had to help the process along. He saw the possible divisions within his beloved House, and he now took steps to make the others see them, too.

“Lan,” the Son of Sadow began, pressing a finger to the comm unit in his ear. “Hail the Alchemist, please and thank you. Priority code: Beta-November-Sierra-Actual.”

There was no acknowledgement of the order from the Protector, merely the click in his ear signifying a secure connection was made. Sai began to speak.

“Mononoke!” he cried, putting on a jovial air. Howling winds and a shouting Warlord answered.

“Lord Quaestor! Macron here!”

Sai winced slightly at the feedback caused by the wind’s interference. “Slow going?”

“Aye, Tsainetomo,” Macron answered. “planetfall successful. We are stowing gear and preparing to move out. ETA and rendezvous vector on team from Reaper’s Call?”

Sai smiled as he framed his response, letting more than a few heartbeats pass to let the tension build.

“That’s a negative on support, Mac.”

“Say again, November Sierra Actual, say again,” came the confused and titter-riddled response. “Sai, I thought I heard you say that we’d have no backup..?”

“You heard correctly, Mac. You and your valkyric force are on your own. Orders for backup were countermanded.” Sai smiled once again as he reminisced on discovering Fremoc’s supposed secure message to Kano and his team. In times like these, loyalties were easily swayed and manipulated. Woe betide the leader who ignored portents of such things happening right before his eyes.

“Shavit! Of all the…” Mac’s tirade was interrupted by Sai’s forceful voice.

“Mononoke, my friend. You must listen; we haven’t much time,” Sai said, real concern creeping into his baritone. “The orders were countermanded from on high,” he said conspiratorially, knowing full well that Macron would make the connection.

“Blasted ‘Ivory Tower’,” Macron exclaimed, a string of creative and unprintable obscenities following thereafter, each more imaginative than the last. Sai’s smile grew broader.

“Mac, listen!” Sai hissed. “The force from the Reaper’s Call – your backup – has been given orders to apprehend Sunei. Alive.” Silence answered the Exarch, as he knew it would. This mission had become personal for Mac, as much as it had for Sai. Luckily for the Alchemist, he hadn’t the vagaries of leadership clouding his decisions. In his mind, Sai envisioned his finger poised over the button of a missile launcher. All was set. He merely needed to deploy his weapon.

“My friend,” Sai continued. “Regardless of how I feel about your being Marked, you are still my trusted friend. Sunei killed Ashura. Killed him, and left his body to rot like a dog in the street!” He spat the last, making sure to infuse as much of his hatred into his voice as well as the Force. “We do not suffer those that would presume to harm the Sons, Mac. Do we?” The question hung in the air, ripe and dripping with inference.

“No, Na'Ashar. We do not.” Mac’s voice was not resigned. It was resolute.

“Good, Mononoke. It seems we have an understanding.”

“We certainly d…” Sai cut the madman’s transmission short, ending the link. He stood there in the shadow of the shuttle, satisfied. The imaginary button in his mind had been pushed; Sai deployed his missile.

The Exarch had taken the first necessary steps to ensure the unification that the Overlord started so many months ago. ’Everyone loves steak, but no one wants to tour the slaughterhouse.’

The Pepoi’s. The Marked. The Dark Council. Trevarus.

In the fullness of time, Sai vowed, they’d see. Soon, they’d tire of the machinations of the selfish, their carefully laid plans torn asunder by the interference of their own brethren. Soon, they’d cry to be united, to be led. Every last one of them.

Soon, swore Tsainetomo Keibatsu Sadow, Quaestor of House Naga Sadow, they’d look to him to save them.

Sepros

Everyone believed he had left for Antei, but he had things he had to attend to on Sepros before he could leave. Now he was going to be there for a little while longer. His countermanding Macron's orders would bare a shock wave inside the House, and would affect the members of his family, and those that were family friends. He had to set the record straight so that he bore the sole responsibility for his actions. Grabbing a speeder from the motor pool at New Sadow Palace he raced towards the Temple of Fire and Camp Havoc. As he had seen in the weave Sai was there, preparing to board his shuttle. The noise and his presence must have startled Sai, as he stopped and stood looking over towards the intruder.

"Why did you countermand Macron's orders?" questioned Sai as he strode over to the speeder.

"Killing Sunei won't solve everything," retorted Fremoc.

"He killed Ashura, a former Proconsul, a member of the Sons of Sadow. He was one of my brothers."

"He was a friend of mine as well, but there's more going on here than just Sunei. Killing him, would theoretically kill any lead to finding what was driving him."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I'm not, but the fact that he's hiding in the Nifokalija Mountains raises some questions."

"The Force is distorted there, helping him hide."

"But what else could be there? Is there someone there that made him think that Ashura was an apostate? We use him to find that information, then by all means kill the Hutt Slime."

Hanger Bay, M-CRV Reaper's Call
Low Orbit, Aeotheran Aerospace

The hanger deck was crowded with the shuttle and various fighters sprawled across it, along with the various members of the Regulators and Special Operations staff the vessel was bustling with activity. Senior staff were enthralled in the planning and co-ordination of what to do once they touched down while younger staff prepped and organized all the gear they could possibly need. Standing by the shuttle, the elite squad known as Raptor crew waited in relative silence as they spoke idly amongst each other. The group was much larger than usual, the addition of two additional personnel causing a little bit of frustration amongst members due to the displacement of their usual dynamic. Besides the calm and usual crew, two extra members absently tried to fit in with their mentors. The larger Miralukan hunter was his usual self, speaking idly with his apprentice and their Mandalorian bodyguard while the Zeltron apprentice stood quietly by her Miralukan master whom was simply leaning against the shuttle's hull lost in thought.

The two Miraluka had their differences about the Zeltron apprentice, but they trusted each other enough to not let it get in the way of the mission. Masika had began to grow accustomed to her master's periods of silence, these moments of deep thought seemed to give him a different personality than the others of the House. Methyas himself was too lost in his thoughts to realize others were speaking, his thoughts of the Force nexus below reminding him of his solitary mission against the Vong Warlord. The nexus itself didn't worry him, he had learned how to deal with the sudden levels of saturation, it was what lurked within that worried him. On that unknown planet, it had been knowledge that spoke to him, that drove him on and would have consumed him had he not possessed greater willpower; these mountains were just as much of an unknown variable.

There was also a nagging feeling eating at the edges of his thoughts, something most people would simply refer to as a "bad feeling" he was unable to shake. A sudden nudge at his barriers stirred him from his thoughts, his apprentice had been learning to better her talents in the Force under him and since her ascension to Protector she had been gaining more confidence with these abilities. As he began to open himself up again he could hear and feel more, two voices seemed to crash upon his thoughts at once, both welcome and familiar: Venator and Masika. Masika's voice held its usual smoothness as she flatly announced Venator's need to speak with him while Venator's held a bulk of annoyance as he asked him to call off his apprentice's hormones.

With a sigh, Methyas exhaled, his Force signature blossoming into its unique fountain for a moment before retreating within the Templar with thin tendrils dancing around him visible only through the Force sight. A small gust from one of the pressurizing jets caused him to absently smooth out the ruffles in his tabard as he pushed away from the shuttle's hull. He spoke rather serenely, but flatly, "Masika, pull it in. What is it Ven?"

The audible huff of disappointment from Masika was nearly as amusing to the Miralukan pair as the sigh of displeasure from the two other men flanking them, Venator speaking plainly, "From what I've been able to gather from these two between their flirtations with your apprentice, we're going to be doing a HALO jump to the mountains, your take?"

Methyas simply nodded, the Miralukan pair traditionally working on the same wavelength, "Agreed, Sunei will know we're coming anyway following Macron's LOLO jump. Besides, once we hit the ground we're going to be running dark anyway."

A small chuckle erupted from the others as the Miraluka shot a glance at their apprentices, Roxas shooting a quip at them, "Wouldn't have it any other way would you?"

The general mood of the entire group prompted Kano to start towards them, the Voodoo Priest speaking plainly, "Ready to go Raptors?

Without a word passed between them, everyone but Venator began to board the waiting shuttle as Venator spoke openly with his commander, "Opening with a HALO jump to get in position, once we've linked with the Marshal Commander each member of the team has been equipped with a series of flares we can use to mark a landing zone for the rest of the team."

Kano's agreement was easy to tell before the man even spoke, as a small chuckle escaped him, "Sounds like you're beginning to learn from me Ven."

With a sly smile, Venator simply responded as he nonchalantly walked up the ramp, "Maybe I've always been this crazy."

With laughter erupting from behind him, the ramp came to a close and the pilot began to fire up the repulsors to get the shuttle off the deck, spinning the vessel about like a top and bolting out of the hanger as fast as the vessel would accelerate. The hellish push through atmosphere was short at this low of an altitude with a deafening silence encapsulating the shuttle's hold as each member of the Regulators prepared in their own way for what was to come. Methyas was the first to rise to his feet, a few moments before the pilot announced the ETA to drop distance as he struck the ramp's control panel. The others simply watched as Venator rose to his feet as well, Methyas speaking a quiet phrase lost to the howling winds before leaping from the hold. Bellowing to be heard over the winds, Roxas screamed, "What did he say?!"

With a smile, Venator smiled and roared in response before flinging himself out of the hold, "Meet you down there!"

One by one the members of the Raptor crew darted out of the shuttle's hold, reaching terminal velocity swiftly as they soared towards the mountains below. Most of them had the experience in this sort of military operation, young Masika however had only learned the technique recently. Far ahead of her, Methyas seemingly shrieked towards the planet's surface with his more traditional robes fluttering about him in the crisp mountain air with confidence radiating through his bond to his apprentice. The fall seemed to take forever for the group before Methyas spun about in the air, his chute opening silently as he swiftly pushed downwards with the Force to cushion his descent. The others swiftly followed suit as they reached his trigger zone, Masika's worry growing before she heard Methyas' voice clearly within her head, "Now! Envision a large cushion in your head and release it downward through the Force!"

The young Zeltron followed the command swiftly, the Force her ally in this moment, her chute deploying with a little more fanfare than her allies. Her decent was still rather swift compared to her companions as the voice of her Master once again resounded in her head, "Again, do not let doubt cloud your mind. Believe and let it flow through you!"

Taking a deep breath, Masika focused and tried again, the large burst erupting beneath her and shocking her for a moment before excitement overwhelmed her from her success. The smile crossing her face was as large as she could muster and her Master beneath her was pleased with the results as the group casually descended towards their target.

Nifokalija Mountains
Aeotheran

Drifting through the air like the little snowflakes around them, the Raptor crew gently touched the ground one by one, each of them shrugging off their chutes as quickly as they could once their feet made contact. As Methyas struck the ground, he immediately felt the difference between these mountains and the unknown planet. Whereas the unknown planet was a lightside nexus, calling out with the promise of knowledge and serenity, these mountains were a place of darkness and sorrow, voices calling out in despair and pain. The malice, anger, pity, confusion and torment flowing into the Miralukan Templar through his own unique trait. It was overwhelming, the embrace of the darkness threatening to consume and extinguish the light within him.

Nearly doubling over, Methyas grasped his head for a moment before withdrawing into himself, his sight very nearly vanishing as he did so. He could hear the voices muted around him, the darkness feeling so cold around him before he opened up a little, keeping his signature suppressed compared to usual. As the darkness receded Methyas' sight returned, the world appearing so very strange. The heavy levels of Force saturation were causing everything to nearly bleed as his signature did, while snowflakes created small stars falling to the ground and random figures seemingly appearing and disappearing.

It was oddly...beautiful. Although he couldn't trust his vision or the signals from the Force as his battle precognition occassionally fired off randomly with phantom pings. Masika spoke up quickly, careful not to touch the apparently dazed Miraluka, "Master! Methyas, are you alright?"

Dirk shouted from across the field, "Venator seems to be having a similar problem Masika!"

A smile crossed Methyas' face as he could weekly feel the familiar presences around him amongst the cold, thin strands of light reaching between the Sadowans of varying strengths giving him a better grasp of his location as he spoke, "Masika, give me your hand. My sight is being disrupted by this nexus...I can't quite tell what's real and what's not."

A small gold tinge caught Methyas' attention for a moment before vanishing as quickly as it had appeared causing a jolt of confusion to run through his head, Kano was still aboard the Reaper's Call, and none of his family had touched down with him. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind for the moment, feeling the grip of his apprentice's hand upon his own to help him to his feet. She spoke again in quieter tones, "Are you sure you're alright master? We could leave you here and scout ahead on our own."

Methyas shook his head, starting towards the rest of the group as he spoke, "I'll be fine, I still have a clear enough head and sight to help you all out. I just may be a little jumpier than usual." He let out a small chuckle as he looked over the group, their silhouettes all bleeding into the ground in some manner, that faint gold strand darting towards the party for a moment before vanishing again as he spoke, "I had a nagging feeling when we were aboard the Reaper's Call, it's only gotten worse since landing. I think we should be on our highest alert."

Venator seemed to take a moment to respond, "Agreed, though I'm not sure what formation we can stand in if we get attacked. Whatever lurks in this mess has to be dangerous or stupid."

Roxas chimed in first, "I'd say Dirk and I could take from and rear guard, we don't rely on the Force as much as you two do, Masika can take mid-guard and you two between there."

Dirk seemed to grunt in approval as Masika idly nodded her head, Methyas clearing his throat in response, "Sounds fair enough, but Ven and I aren't completely out of the game. His skills as a wildness guide and hunter mean he doesn't have to entirely rely on the Force to track something. Likewise, if the proverbial poodoo hits the fan, I'll tap into this nexus through the Force and do whatever's necessary to ensure the rest of you can escape."

A hush grew over the group before Venator signaled for them to start moving, the tight formation moving carefully through the snowy landscape. As they moved, Methyas could hear a voice in his head, the low grumble of Venator's words adding emphasis to his thoughts, "Are you sure you can do it? Even handle it if the time comes?"

There was no visual sign of recognition across the elder Miraluka's face as he responded, his eyeless sockets trained ahead on their destination, "With the Force, anything is possible...you just have to believe you can do it. The Nexus could interact with me when we landed, meaning I should be able to interact with it. Should the time come, just get away with the others and locate Sunei."

Venator seemed to scowl for a moment, a gust of snow blowing past the group to cover his facial acknowledgement, "And why would we have to do that?"

Methyas responded nearly immediately, his voice never changing its tone, "Because it may not be only myself in my head if it comes to that..."

Kazak Plateau
Valley of the Lost, Antei
Domain of the Dark Council

Sildrin backed slowly away from the screaming and twisted spirit - a molten sick combination of Vexatus and herself. "Vexatus ...", she whispered and her hand reached to her belt. Not for her saber as it would have no effect on such a force creature, but for her datapad. I need to send off the message, she thought. I have to inform the Sadows about what is happening here. At that moment the spirit leaped at her and she was just able to toss herself to the side in time. A tendril of shadow still grazed her arm that held the datapad. The daughter of Sadow let out a small cry - the touch of the spirit, colder as ice, had numbed her arm. Her datapad dropped out of her hand sliding across the ground.

She groaned as she established a force bubble that deflected a second attack of the spirit. The datapad..., she thought. A quick scan of it with her force senses made her emit a growl. It was damaged, lights flickering on and off again. Fragmented text was scrolling over its screen. Why had she refused to switch to the newer and more sturdy version, she wondered. Maybe I get old and more suspicious towards newer technology, she grimly thought.

Immediately she bolstered herself for the next attack. But this time the spirit approached the datapad. "No!", she cried out and jumped between them - raising a force barrier to deflected the spirit. Quickly Sildrin activated the datapad, sending off the message she had prepared, but yet had hesitated to send off.

The bleeping sound of the datapad told her of the successful transmission of her message. She could only hope that the transmission was complete - considering the miserable state of the damaged datapad.


==================================
Incoming transmi..aak from Sildrin Sadow.
To the Sons and Dsjajers of Sadowww,

I fear thsat Trevarus mx-.ay invoke a
ceremony ta2oa help to raise Vexatus!
I travelled #wai. him to A,aa9k.

Requesting help for aklao9a-

Silafjn.-,
Da98ter ot Sadow
==================================


Sweat ran down her face as the spirit strengthened its attack on the force shield that protected her - and then it collapsed. She sent off force blasts into the spirit, sensing with content that it was slowly dissolving. "Xia... Xia?", a voice behind her appeared. What.. is.. this?, she thought, but slowly the horror set in. Another one? A Xia Long / Vexatus version?
It was a small distraction set up by the Sildrin/Vexatus spirit, but enough for it's purpose and it expanded more around the Blind Dragon. Shadow tendrils had spread out to cast the illusion of a second spirit, but now it enclosed her completely. And snapped around her like the shells of a sea shell.

Sildrin's eyes opened wide as her whole body was numbed, a short scream escaped her lips but then she fell backwards onto the ground. Her body was getting covered by shadowy tendrils, dissolving into a black oozing liquid that invaded her mouth, nose and ears. Next to her head the datapad was laying on the ground with its still flickering screen, occasionally emitting static noises.


The spirit plane

Sildrin was floating in space - the spirit plane - her spirit plane - filled with orbs and fragments of memories. She watched silently, listening. A cracking sound and she knew where she had to head to. Gently gliding as if carried by invisible streams of wind, she approached the source of the sound - the location of destruction of her own mind. "You may defeat my body, but here you will surrender," her ghostly voice echoed through the void. She landed on a floating isle within the spirit plane. It was not empty, embodied with her own memories of buildings. A complex of buildings and something inside a bacta tank, twitching and moving. But she dared not to pay attention to it - for the destruction was going on, stone by stone, piece by piece by a consuming void.



She let out a scream of rage as she sent off a blast of force at the void, watching with glee as it collapsed. "I have to find the source,.. the spirit.", she thought and continued her traveling.

Hanger Bay, M-CRV Reaper's Call
Low Orbit, Aeotheran Aerospace


As the Raptors filed out of the M-CRV Kano’s datapad chirped at him signaling a message had been sent via the Pepoi Family link. When the Priest looked down at his datapad his eyes grew wide as he read what his brother wrote to him.

Mac knows of our talk. Get Sunei, bring him to Camp Havoc. Get there before Mac. Let demons rain brother.

Kano instantly tried to connect comms with the members of the team that had already made their way to the planet’s surface but got nothing but static. The Priest spun quickly and yelled out to his team.

“Regulators, things just got interesting. We won’t be meeting up with Macron like we originally thought; instead we are to intercept Sunei before he can strike him down. We need to get that murder back to Camp as quickly as possible.”

Kano hit the button on his comm device once more, connecting him with the bridge of the ship.

“I need this thing as low as you can get it. That is a direct order.”

Instantly the ships nose began to dip low as it started its decent towards the mountains. As he grew nearer the lights in the hanger bay began to flash rapidly and alarms began to fill the room. Kano yelled out over the sounds, “Get ready to jump Regulators. The hunt is on.”

Kano gripped his double bladed fighting pike and walked close to the open hangar to look at the area, just outside a tree whizzed by. A second tree scraped along the hanger, sending leaves and scraps of bark into the large open area.

“I think this is as low as we get. Regulators MOVE!!!”

Each member of the team jumped through the opening and vanished quickly into the wind and leaves. As the last member went out Kano followed closely. He could just make it out to be the newest Protector on the team, John Witwalker.

Chaos hit as the air struck Kano in the side and sent him spinning wildly. The voodoo Priest focused on the ground and twisted his body with the Force to become upright again. Just as his feet were facing the ground they struck dirt. Kano’s boots slid through the dirt like a surfer on a wave. With concentration on a nearby tree the Sergeant slowed himself to a stop. Instantly thinking o his team Kano called out.

“Regulators, Report in. Yell if you can hear me.”

The other members of the team quickly called back they were okay. Kano could hear muffled sounds of complaining about scratches and cuts but Kano blocked them out and focused more on a voice trying to keep to quiet. As Kano walked through the trees the voice became more clear and then he looked up to see Araxis climbing down from a tall tree, robes ripped clean down the center of his back. The Knight looked down at Kano and said quietly, “Tell anyone and I will kill you.”

Kano just smiled and called the team in to where he was, “Alright, first is find the Raptors, then need to know the change of plans. Second we find that murderer and bring him to justice. After that, if we have the time, Araxis can climb some more trees.”

The Knight glared at him as the team broke into a walk in the direction where the Raptors made their jump.

Nifokalija Mountains
Aeotheran

The thicket of trees reminded the Mandalorian of his home on Dxun. All he could see for meters was tree after tree, but there were major differences, for instance, the snow, the fog, and the lack of creatures trying to eat him. Roxas preferred the jungles of the Onderon moon; it was much warmer than these mountains. The wind blew the chill of the forest deep into the skin of the team as they trudged through the snow toward their destination. Every thing in sight was covered with a light blanket of white powder that became thicker the further the team traveled into the forest.

“This is the most fraking cold place I have ever been. This sucks.” A member of the team said aloud.

“Do me a favor and don’t complain, ok? I’m not in the mood to hear about the cold.” Roxas chirped from the back of the group, “I’m from Dxun.” he finished.

“He has a point” Methyas replied, “We should stay optimistic.”

Roxas clicked on his comm, curious as to how much progress the other team had made and all he got was static. He flipped through every channel and it was the same on every one.

The Mandalorian quietly called out “Methyas.”

The Miraluka turned around to see the Knight and replied, “What?”

Venator turned to Methyas and whispered, “We are being followed.”

The team stopped and huddled close together in a defensive position. The range finder of the Mandalorian’s helmet lowered, stopping just in front of his right eye. The T shaped visor of his helmet made a low squeal as the thermal imaging turned on. The view finder was dark with the cold of the surrounding area except for the footprints that the group had just made. The Mandalorian kept scanning the area, until he noticed a slight heat signature in the distance. He locked in on the heat source and switched on the binocular mode, so he could zoom in and get a better picture. It was almost hopeless as he couldn’t get a clear picture, for the fog.

“Can you see what it is?” Venator asked.

“The damned fog is making it hard to get a clear picture, but it is a large heat source.” Roxas replied.

The warriors eyes widened and he said “Get down now!”

A blaster shot flew at them and hit a tree just to the left of their position. Roxas grabbed his DC-17m and converted it into sniper mode.

“I don’t know who it is, but they are good to shoot in this kind of weather.” The Mandalorian said as he prepared the blaster.

He looked around, but couldn’t find the shooters heat signature. He panned his head back and forth, desperately trying to find him before he could hurt someone of the team.

“Where did he go?...” Roxas said to himself, “There!”

The Mandalorian fired his sniper rifle and the heat source dropped to the frozen, snow covered ground.

“I got him.” The Knight said as he switched his weapon back to its regular mode and stood up.

The group walked together toward the downed enemy, but when they arrived he was gone and all that was left was the spot where his corpse hit the snow.

“I know I killed him. Where could the body have gone?” Roxas said.

Venator walked around the site, “There aren’t any signs that something dragged the target away.”

“Then where the frak is the body?” The Mandalorian asked knowing that there was no answer.

“You sure you hit him?” Someone asked, “Maybe he just dropped so the shot wouldn’t hit him.”

“Don’t you even say that!” Roxas exclaimed with an angry tone, “I know I hit him...... frak it!”

The group looked around again, but it was growing harder to find anything as the snow kept falling.
The group decided that it was useless to look anymore.

“Do you think we should launch a flare, Mehtyas?” Roxas queried knowing that Methyas wasn't the head of the group, but was the most experienced.

“Hmm, Probably.” The Templar replied, his mind still pondering the recent events.

Roxas grabbed a flare from a pouch on his belt and connected it to his jetpack. He leaned forward a little and the flare shot of into the air with a scream. The flare climbed rapidly and busted through the fog exploding in a large ball of bright color, marking the teams position. Kilometers away Kano and his team saw the flare and a grin crossed the Voodoo Priest’s face, as he now knew which way to travel.

High Security Wing, Cenota Detention Facility
Gamsulag, Sepros Orbit, Orian System

The nightmares had been getting worse ever since the prison break a few months before. Vallen was covered in bloodied stubs of broken keratin where he should have gone through his seasonal moult, but locked in solitary confinement with no light for five years had done its worst to the Fosh. Without feathers, he had been begun to claw at the walls with his talons, many of which were now cracked; in some places, the quick that ran through the middle of a claw had ruptured, and now bled wherever he scratched the messages the voices filled his mind with. In Vallen’s twisted nightmare world, he saw it an improvement: he could now actually read what he daubed on the walls in his own blood.

ReTUrn ... reTURN ... REurRNs ...

For a short time – and it had only been a very short time – the Fosh had actually thought that the break out of that mad cleric down the hall would have ended this torment. The Mad Prophet of Inos, as the guards called him, had been the source. Vallen had felt it from the day they had first hauled the cleric in three years ago. The one they called the alchemist had kept a close watch on him ever since, often stopping by for a round of torture. Never had the guards let the Mad Prophet out. The cleric had in fact had it even worse than Vallen himself, having been chained to the walls down the hall.

A knock on the cell door announced that it was time for Vallen’s daily ‘meal’ – if the ‘food’ he was served here could even be called that. It was less sustenance, more a voluntary – or involuntary, if you refused to eat it – form of torture that kept the prisoners alive. Ten seconds after the knock, the door slid open, letting in the blinding white of the corridor beyond. Had Vallen not lost his sight years ago the sudden flash of light would have been the end of it. Too late for that now. Much, much too late.

Ignoring the guards, he continued clawing at the walls.

RetURnIiNg ... retuURNingg ... RETURNING ...

He heard the footsteps behind him pause; however, Vallen simply kept scratching, scarcely conscious of the guards, the other inmates, or even himself. The voices had become deafening. He knew that – after five years of living in horror – the end was coming. The pieces had all fallen into place.

NIF .. OkalIJA ... Ni ... FOK ... ALijA ... NiFOkaLIJa ...

‘Eh?’ one of the guards grunted, raising a hand to indicate Vallen’dere’s inane scribbling to the other guard. ‘What’s that?’

The second guard craned his neck forward and studied the marks. He hummed in deep thought; then he replied, with a large helping of scepticism in his voice, ‘Hmm... Nifokalija?’

He Comes.... HE com ... MEs ... he ComEsS ...

‘He comes?’ the guard said, in part humoured at Vallen’s obvious insanity, but also confused at the surprising lucidity of the Fosh’s scrawls for the first time in months, maybe years. ‘Who comes?’

Vallen leapt to his feet and spun to face the two guards, whose blasters levelled against him – but he no longer cared. The end was coming. The darkness had arrived. The Black Lord of the Dead had returned from the Lands of the Forsaken. There was no more time. It was over.

‘THE BETRAYER! THE BETRAYER HE COMES!’

Camp Havoc, Temple of Fire
Sepros, Orian System

As the Lord Quaestor read the message on the datapad that one of the special operations troopers had rushed out to him from the Temple of Fire, Sai increasingly felt as if the planet itself may as well have just vanished from beneath his feet and he right now be falling through the never-ending stomach of a sarlacc. He said this would happen. He had warned people. He had seen the signs written in blood.

Betrayal. There was no other word for it.

Those who turned against his Father deserved no mercy. And Sildrin’s message proved it:

==================================
Incoming transmi..aak from Sildrin Sadow.
To the Sons and Dsjajers of Sadowww,

I fear thsat Trevarus mx-.ay invoke a
ceremony ta2oa help to raise Vexatus!
I travelled #wai. him to A,aa9k.

Requesting help for aklao9a-

Silafjn.-,
Da98ter ot Sadow
==================================

The Quaestor slammed his fist into the nearest wall, shattering one of the ancient stones into a cloud of dust. It was impossible to make much of the hastily transcribed note out – his sister’s location being the foremost concern on his mind. She needed help; however, her warning gave little detail.

‘Master?’ Even though Fremoc was now the Fist of the Dark Lord himself, the pleasantry still rolled off his tongue automatically; that, or the look on Sai’s face must have said worlds. After a moment, the Pepoi added, slowly, ‘What is it?’

After a moment, Sai finally jerked his tripartite eyes up from the reader, spinning his head back around to face his former Aedile. ‘I told you all. After he hacked into Marakith last year. I told everyone he was up to no good.’ Sai exhaled sharply. ‘How many more of my Father’s children must be hurt before people see the truth?’

Fremoc gave the Quaestor an odd look, and Sai thrust the datapad into the Fist’s hand. The Pepoi read through the message, his expression unreadable. Inside, Sai was still seething, his eyes fixed on that accused thing on the other man’s forehead. No good came from the Marked. None. It never did.

Finally, Fremoc looked up, his brow narrowed in thought. ‘The Codex...’ he whispered quietly, evidently more to himself than to Sai. The Pepoi shrugged again. ‘The message is scrambled.’

‘Yes,’ Sai said, seeing no point in arguing the obvious. ‘But Sildrin is in danger. That much is clear.’

Fremoc nodded, unable to dispute that part of the transmission. ‘It’s possible she’s mistaken. I’ve spent much of the past year with Trevarus. If he had been planning something, I would have noticed.’

Sai sighed inwardly, but kept his outward expression sympathetic. He was being too hard on the Obelisk. They had both been deceived. It was Lehon all over again. The Quaestor reached forward and put a hand on the other’s shoulder in a – albeit slightly stiff – display of comradeship. ‘Don’t blame yourself, my brother.’ Sai accepted the datapad back and keyed a channel to Aeotheran. ‘Officer, patch me through to Marshal Commander Macron Goura.’

‘Macron?’ Fremoc tilted his head to one side. ‘He’ll be inside Nifokalija by now—’

Before Fremoc could explain, the comm officer answered for him: ‘I’m sorry, sir. Commander Goura is out of comm contact. My apologies, Governor.’

Fremoc shut his eyes. For a moment, that accursed Third Eye on his forehead fluttered open. Sai’s grip tightened around the datapad, and for a second he thought he might snap it in half. But then the Mark shut again, and Fremoc opened his eyes again – his real eyes.

‘Yes, he’s in Nifokalija,’ Fremoc’s voice had gone slightly tense.

‘And...?’

‘And... I was right that this is bigger than just Sunei. Much bigger.’

LOLO Drop Point, Nifokalija Mountains
Aeotheran, Orian System

A beep on his internal helmet-comm drew Macron’s attention to a transmission from Sai. However, when he keyed the channel, nothing came through but static. Typical. He made a mental note to find a way to upgrade his suit’s sensors to operate in Force anomalies such as this place. You never knew when you might find yourself in some haunted dark side tomb world, after all. With a giggle, the alchemist shrugged and turned his attention back to the uphill climb through the rocky outcroppings.

Whatever Sai had wanted, it’d have to wait.

The Warlord glanced back at the rest of the team. ‘Everyone okay?’ he asked. Aleho was lumbering left and right, almost as if she was trying to recover from a bad spice trip. Macron studied the girl’s pained expression for a few moments, then snorted a laugh. ‘You’ll get used to it,’ the alchemist said. ‘You’ve obviously never gone to the Du’san Boundary. Good times.’ He giggled again. ‘Jade? What about you?’

It was impossible to tell what the fellow Daughter of Sadow was feeling because of the full face guard that she had across her face. The woman groaned slightly. ‘Er, I’m fine, Mac,’ she said, her words a little slurred. ‘Just a headache is all. I think.’

Inside his helmet, Macron frowned. ‘You think?’

‘It’s just...’ The woman shook her head side to side. It was strange speaking to a faceless helmet. ‘It’s nothing.’ Macron studied her for another moment; then he shrugged. If she said it was okay then... he was about to carry on up the hill, when Jade lost her footing and stumbled.

‘Jade!’ Macron quickly hurried over and helped her back to her feet.

‘The voices...’ she mumbled.

‘Voices?’ Macron tilted his head and listened closely to the gales. Nothing. ‘What voices?’

Jade’s helmet turned back to him again. ‘From Antei... the ones from... the war...’ Macron thought for a moment, then remembered back to the battle against Omancor Crask and the Jedi, in which Cyrus Raze had nearly— however, he was broken out of his thoughts as Jade resumed talking— ‘Ever since Trevarus did that ritual in Orian Manor back on Tarthos a few months ago... I’ve been...’

That Macron didn’t need reminding. ‘Trevarus...’ he snarled. ‘Those voices. Yes. I remember those.’ It was hard to forget. Everyone who carried Sadow blood had heard them. The nameless voices of the dead. Of the Betrayer. ‘You hear them now...?’ Macron asked cautiously.

‘They’ve never gone away since the war...’ Jade said with obvious effort. ‘I... we... the voices... we are...’ Jade shook her head again when Macron frowned at her. ‘It’s nothing. Don’t worry. Let’s keep moving.’ Macron stared at her for a long moment, then sighed and nodded.

The team resumed their climb in search of Curwen Sunei. In search of answers.

Increasingly, however, Macron was beginning to fear what they were going to find...

Indeterminate Location, Nifokalija Mountains
Aeotheran, Orian System

Winds howled through the mountains, carrying on them the whispers of the nameless prophets who had filled the mad dark side adept’s mind for the past five years, ever since he had first settled in the Tombs of Orian on Inos 42. Aeotheran was a far cry from the icy wastes of Inos and her moons, but there was something distinctly nostalgic about the mountain peaks of Nifokalija.

On Inos, Curwen had found solace with the mummified remains of the long dead servants of Urias Orian; and here, he felt that same connection again. Of all the places he had travelled in his long life, Nifokalija felt so close to the dark wastes of the void.

You could feel the very dark side itself. It held you tight in its embrace as it spoke to you, whispering its promises of enlightenment in your ears. This is what he had sought. This is what he had decoded in those forgotten ciphers on the walls of Inos’s tombs. Nifokalija was the gateway. It was power.

Curwen examined the dagger he held in his hand. He may not have dealt the physical blow directly, but in the eyes of the dark side that made no difference. By his hand had Ashura Sadow been slain.

It was time to receive his reward.

‘My lords, I have done as you asked!’ Sunei called into the blackened sky, unable to see even the briefest glimmer of either of the Orian system’s two stars through the heaving thick blankets of fog and mist. ‘I have shed the blood of your enemy! That you may come again and walk these hills!’

The howling gales shot down the mountainous valleys again, rippling through the thick canvass of the overgrown shrubbery that – somehow – survived in the otherwise desolate canyons. Nothing here was as it should be. Life and death intertwined in patterns that should not. It was a dream world, true and simple. Sunei called up again, ‘Oh mighty lord of the stars and heavens! Fill me with your majesty! Let the sword of truth shine down on you servant that I may exact vengeance on those who have doubted you!’

In the darkness above Curwen Sunei, a lone flame flickered into existence as the clouds slowly began to drag apart, revealing the burning cruciform-image that had filled his dreams for the past five years. The mad wizard’s lips twisted into a hungry grin that mirrored the glint of lust in his eyes. ‘Yes, my lord! Come o master! Channel your strength through me that I might become your vessel!’

Aridas Shipping Hub
Planet Ession

Soolin waited in the shadows behind a stack of crates. She'd been here for about ten minutes. The nighttime shift had just started and in theory she ought to be back in the recreation area having a relaxing drink. She'd actually had several offfers from some of the other workers, attractive women not being a regular feature amongst the low paid workers. Instead she patiently waited for her fellow house member. He ought to have been here by now. Had anything happened.
"Are you ready?" a voice asked just behind her and she cursed before turning around. Malisane was still wearing his black security guard armour, and his rifle was slung over one shoulder on the strap.
"I was born ready," she replied with a smile, "where's our insertion ;point."
"I got a map of the air ducts. There's a hidden section that leads to a private area. It's not on the conventional layout of the building but there's still maintainence logs for it if you know where to look."
"Sounds nice. Let's go."
They made their way around the crates to the back of the docking bay. Even at night it was still a hive of activity if not quite as busy as daytime, and they had no concerns about stealth at this point. They stopped. Ahead was a dark alcove in which was a guard dressed the same as Malisane."The entrance is in there." Malisane pointed out.
"Should it be guarded?" Soolin asked.
"It wasn't earlier."
"We could eliminate him quietly." The Priest suggested.
Malisane shook his head. "I don't want to leave any traces we were here." He closed his eyes and concentrated. About fifty feet away behind the crates there was a cry of pain and a curse.
You clumsy drek!" a voice shouted.
"Hey that wasn't me!" an indignant voice called back.
"You were stood next to it. You karking idiot."

Soolin listened with an amused grin on her face as the voices continued, following by a crash as one of the workers pushed another against a crate knocking it over. The guard in the alcove swore and ran out of sight. "Now." Malisane said calmly.
"Neat," Soolin observed as they rushed into the alcove and Malisane set about opening the grate. A few seconds later they were inside the confined shaft and Malisane resecured the grate. The sounds of the fight faded away as they began to make their way down the shaft, It was dark and confined and they were forced to crawl on hands and knees but both were fit and made rapid progress. After a while it sloped downwards and they continued.
"I sense something," Soolin said after a while.
Malisane paused and looked back at her. "What?"
"I'm not sure," she replied, "it's something unnatural."
Malisane sighed, "Could you be more specific?"
"No, it's getting closer though."
"It doesn't matter," the battlelord replied, "we have to keep moving."
Soolin nodded and followed the Sith down the narrow vent, the battlelord checking a datapad every time they came to an intersection. After a while he paused. "it's just down there."

They dropped down from a high vent into a dark room, with several large glowing databanks. "No security," Malisane observed.
The Krath shrugged, "Maybe they think it's impenatrable, or that no one would suspect enough to come looking. It is just a freight company."
"We'll see." He reached for a computer access point and inserted a lead from his datapad. He removed his helmet and waited patiently while the software penetrated the firewalls. "They have top level security on here though, too good nearly."
"Nearly?" Soolin asked curiously.
"Well we have our own resources. There we go I'm in. Uploading."
Soolin glanced up at the vent. "I'll check it's clear."
She leapt up easily pushing behind her with the force, catching the vent's rim and pulling herself inside gracefully. She paused. The sensation she'd felt earlier was growing stronger, something alien she'd never felt before. Then her head snapped up at a rapidly approaching sound of claws scrabbling on metal, lots of them.

Malisane spun around as the Krath dropped into the room beside him. "What?" he demanded.
"We've got company!" she said quickly as she moved for the wall.
Malisane leapt backwards as something burst from the vent, a trio of black eyes registering him and leaping for him claws outstretched. The Battlelords fist jabbed forward into it's fanged maw and smashed it's head backwards and he crossed the other fist into it's check pitching it backwards.crashing into a terminal. A second creature dropped into the room snarling and Soolin brought a heavy metal chair down on it's head, causing it to sag for a second before hacking at her with a clawed arm, it's three eyed face snarling at her.
Malisane stepped over a stunned creature and caught a third beast as it landed, spinning round and smashing it against the wall. He knew these creatures. Lor Zatean, years ago. The island had teamed with them, human tourists mutated into nightmares by an unknown agent . How were they here now? He pulled the datapad from the terminal as he smashed another creature from it's feet, then made for the door, Soolin following quickly as they slipped through it into the corridor. Clawed appendages fought to stop the door closing again while Soolin and Malisane beat them away until it closed.
"We don't have much time!", Malisane said quickly glancing up and down the corridor.
"Will it hold them?" Soolin demanded.
The metal door shook as something heavy smashed into it. "No," Malisane replied, "we have to move." Sliding the datapad into his belt he began to run.
Soolin glanced up, she could feel more of the creatures above them, scrabbling their way down the vents above trying to head them off. Behind the door buckled and opened. She turned as she ran lashing out with telekentic force knocking the first creature to burst through it back into its fellows to lie in tangled mass, then she ran to keep up with the battlelord as they ran faster, horrors closing in behind and above them. As they passed through a doorway Malisane hit the switch and it slid closed behind them, slowing but not stopping pursuit as the creatures hammered against the door.

They stopped as they came to an intersection. Soolin closed her eyes for a second. "That way is a dead end," she gasped pointing to the side corridor.
"We move on then."
"Wait," she replied, "they're ahead of us as well. Ten, fifteen, I can't tell. We're trapped."
Malisane nodded. The sound of scrabbling was coming closer., the door behind smashed down and more coming from ahead. He glanced at Soolin. "We must complete the mission. It comes first we must get this data back to the House" He gave her a long look, his eyes above his scarred face seeming almost regretful. "You know what you have to do."
Soolin nodded, taking a deep breath. She reached into her overall and took a sharp cutting knife from it, and sliced down her forearm, blood trickling then seeping from it onto the floor.. "I will not fail."
Malisane nodded. "Sadow guide you Priestess."
"And you." She clutched her arm and began off down the corridor, blood dripping onto the floor leaving a trail. Malisane ducked down the sided corridor and waited, hearing the clash of metal as their pursuers rushed past in search of the smell of blood and the priestess. Malisane waited until it was quiet then set off in the direction they'd come, ignoring the sounds behind him.

LOLO Drop Point, Nifokalija Mountains
Aeotheran, Orian System

The jump had been murder, or nearly was. The concentration needed in the force to keep from freezing and exploding internally had been a nightmare. The voices in her mind were constantly screaming, prodding and poking, getting worse as she neared the surface. One slip and letting the voices takeover would have been deadly, yet pushing them back and using the force to slow down her descent at the same time had been difficult and a definite test to her force using abilities. She had nearly missed the opportunity to finally release her shoot, when she felt Macron go for his it had triggered her automatic reaction. She found she was starting to lean on his strength to keep her from going insane, keeping the voices from taking over and making her do some dark bidding against her will. Considering her old master and friend was himself going mad, it was an odd combination. But she refused to let the voices win, refused the let the slashing pain take over, at least until she got revenge for Ashura’s death, and that was something she knew Macron all too well had on his agenda as well.

As she packed up the shoot and used the force to help scan the area to secure it she kept her visor on, using it to help keep her face hidden and keep her from showing the emotions and pain running across it. It was a dangerous game to play; she needed her strength and concentration. Though she would never harm her family, rather taking her own life then the ones in her House, it was a whisper in the back of her mind, a promise that if she slipped it would happen. What happened with Aleho was a reminder of that.

The one who had touched Jade, she had a feeling had forgotten about her, or she was at least some back thought, but as she got closer to their target it was like she was activating some signal to say ‘here I am!’ Jade only hoped they didn’t end up taking live prisoners, she would much rather have blood. An evil grin crossed her lips as the thought flashed across her mind.

“Jade? What about you?” Macrons voice cut into her thoughts saving her from at least momentarily traveling down the road of the voices.

She winced and groaned at the pain. It wasn’t so much from the wonderful flying lesson Macron had decided to teach them all, but more from the widening cracks the power behind the voices was making in her mind. “Just a headache is all. I think.” Well she could at least hope that was all it was.

“You think?”

The smirk came to her full red lips before she even realised it. She refused to show weakness if she could help it, yet the concern mixed with a slight mocking tone in Macrons voice had taken her by surprise. She rubbed her head, tempted to take off the face guard. “It’s just...nothing.”

Macron regarded her for a moment and when he turned to continue up the hill and on their way she let out a slow breath, using the force to help calm the pain. Suddenly her fangs exploded in her mouth, lengthening behind the guard as she felt her eyes move towards the soulless black of possession. Jade resisted the urge to fall to her knees in pain and protest but her foot slipped against a few loose rocks, taking her down. Her body slid down slightly against the hill, her suit keeping her from any further injuries.

“Jade!” Macrons voice hit her ears first, snapping her back to reality as he grabbed onto her arm to help her to stand up.

“The voices...” She couldn’t help it, the information just finally spilled over her tongue. Seeing the reaction he had had with Alehos situation, and others, she knew her touch wouldn’t be taken horribly well, though understandably. But once the words were out in the air she felt a slight relief, as if the power behind her touch had a slight disadvantage now, no longer having this surprise effect.

She thought she heard Macron further question her but couldn’t focus on his words. The voices in her mind slowing his voice down as though he was a droid operating on low battery power, while enhancing their own tearing and screaming. She blinked behind the face guard before removing it. “...from the war...” she could clearly remember thinking about the event and thinking about the ritual Trevarus had done, but she couldn’t recall whether or not she actually said anything about it to Macron now, as she recounted it.

Looking up ahead of her to the crest of the mountain a small groan escaped her lips. It was going to be a long walk. Though the anticipation of battle and revenge was strong and pulling them all along in the force, it was the feeling below the anticipation that something bigger and darker was waiting for them which was making their feet move as though through mud.

“...the voices...we are...” Could she say they were connected? Was she that worried she was connected to the one they said was coming? The one that was making them scream in pain? Scream in pain at her? At what it was doing to them? She shook her head, no, she refused to give in. “Don’t worry. Let’s keep moving.” She didn’t want to stop, afraid that it would light up her beacon to the power behind the voices that she was there, opening herself up for more of their tainted touch.

Macron gave Jade a curious look, this was something he somewhat expected in the back of his mind, though not to quite the extend she was currently leading him into understanding. He had no doubts the Daughter of Sadow would fight it, quite possibly losing the battle in the end if his suspicions of what could be ahead were correct, but she wouldn’t go down without a fight. A fighter he was glad to have at his side, but he would have to be mindful. As he turned, using his grip to pull her forward a step with him, reassuring himself she was ready to continue, the madman inside of him had the thought that her situation could pose some interesting possibilities. The dark shivers of the force crawled across his skin, increasing his dread of what lay in wait for them with Curwen Sunei.

Aisha and Aleho looked at Jade as the two Sadows caught up to them, though they hadn’t quite heard the conversation the two had had, seeing Jade fall and need Macrons assistance to stand, told them it had been an important one.

Jade watched as Macron took point again. She couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps his madman side was what was keeping him, and maybe even her, sane after all. Giving him a slight added defence to the battle they were all preparing for. If that was the case, than perhaps there was something else he could still yet teach her? Perhaps show her how this crazy alchemist managed to add a block in his mind when it was needed, giving her an added, if only temporary block, against the voices and pain. Maybe it was his distinct madman side that she was able to draw on at times to help her force down the voices when they got almost unbearable. It was this side of him, after all, that seemed to help with his own shell shock in situations. Possibly their relationship as Master and apprentice, friends, even Sadows, gave them a connection they didn’t know was there. Jade would have to think about it. If it were true, then it might not only give her a temporary relief of the voices, but could be useful in the coming fight.

“Shouldn’t we wait for our backup to appear before we leave the landing site all together?” Aleho looked over her shoulder to where they had landed then up at the sky.

Macron grumbled. “We aren’t getting any back up.” Anger dripped in his voice.

“What?!” Aisha growled, “Don’t they want to make sure Curwen Sunei is taken out?”

Macron glared up at the mountain, he had one goal, though the others shared it, he wasn’t about to let it slip through the hands of someone else. He wouldn’t allow Curwen Sunei to be taken alive. Sunei deserved to die, deserved a painful death for what he did to Ashura. Macron, Jade, Ahelo and Aisha were going to make sure that was exactly what he got.

Kazak Plateau
Valley of the Lost, Antei
Domain of the Dark Council

Perhaps the winds had summoned an illusion of the air growing thicker. As the Pontifex disregarded her datapad, hoping that her garbled transmission had been received, she attempted to rise from the cold stone ground of the broken Mesa, the leaden trance and near unconciousness belayed her will to move. Her senses cast from the ceremonial position of Trevarus, prone on the altar of black stone. She found all movements difficult, first a leaden weight settled into her limbs, slowly building into a sensation of fire that spread into the core of her body. Glowing embers settled into fingertips, elbows, knees, eventually becoming a heat that engulfed a heartbeat that vibrated her very teeth. She stumbled to her feet for a moment, but collapsed to the ground again, dark, sightless eyes cast into the dark skies of Adas. A pillar of fire erupted from her mouth, twisted into a hellish scream, molten fire pouring out of her eyes tinged with a violet corona.

Tonges of flame seared and ripped through the winds, unimpeded by physical constraints. The sorcerous circles began to glow with their own fire, the white stones taking on illuminations of an unholy summoning. Each of the pillars set at unknown locations of eldritch power too erupted into a columns of red flame. Black ichor poured out of her body, coalescing with fire, giving it tangible form.

Between herself and the prostrate body of the Elder, the fire took on a shape. Slowly, form began to congeal as if crawling out of a bonfire. The light began to fade into a slightly opaque form of altered reality. She saw something of herself in the Force-illusion, and in the Force her blind eyes recognized the imago. It was herself.

A form out of hell, visage twisted along her careful features, high cheekbones covered in ill-formed scales. A gaping snouth filled with long fangs, limbs elongated into sineous parodies of her own elegant arms, terminating in hands that were reptillian and taloned.

She saw the form of herself, Xia Long, torn between the mortal human, and the immortal Dragon whose tutelage she served. It was her own soul, twisted by the dark powers of the battle Vexatus waged in the spirit realms, desperate for any means to cling to a shade of life.

A feral scream roared between its gaping fangs, talons primed for the kill, it leapt forward. Sildrin sidestepped, lightsabers erupting in the air that had grown eeriely quiet. A shimmering blade passed through the creaturing, leaving not even a searing scar to prove its wake.

Lightsabers would be useless.



Urati Kazinal
Temple of the Lost Souls, Lehon
Between Seen and Not Seen...



Maybe the epic poets of ages long past had envisioned or witnessed such battles, but neither Master nor Apprentice could pause in their conflict to consider the legacy. If a soul was destroyed in the planes of the Lost, it merely ceased to exist. Indeed, the legions of flaming demons arrayed in the temple battled in a wide ring restricted by not gravity or other considerations of physics. The pair stood back to back, Trevarus locked against the twisted nightmare of Maestus' hellish form, Xanos against that of his long-dead sister. Both incarnations of the hell-being and tortured shade that had become Darth Vexatus, the Great Betrayer.

Trevarus raised his left arm, catching a blast of fire tinged with lightning on his broad shield of brilliant fire, sweeping the sorcerous spirit-flame broadsword at the twisted form of Maestus, who in turn parried the strike on a tentacle of flame. They seemed almost to dance, moving in a tight circle. The Oracle lept forward, meaning to strike the death-blow. Throwing her arms wide, Maestus locked a grapple, twisting her conjurations around Trevarus' sword, who pressed his psyhic will, inching the searing blade closer to her throat.

The specter of the Sith Witch began to utter a deep cackling laugh. Trevarus could not see the form that leaped onto his back, tearing into the presence of his Will in the deepest bowels of his spirit locked in the Hell of the Force. Yet, when it passed along his links to the physical realms, he knew. Pouring his hate, his malice, his will to dominate the Force into every fiber of all aspects of his being, he shifted his attentions. Out of his spirit remnant of the Mark, an orb of violet light erupted, hovering in a tight circle around his body, spinning rapidly before rocketing into his mouth. The spirit-form that battled in Uratil Kazinal became a touch more transparent as an aspect of his will followed the specter that had used him as a conduit to the realms of the living.

"You cannot fight divided, Son of Alaerus." Maestus laughed. "Your body and soul will be destroyed."

"I have fought as two for nearly my entire life, witch." Trevarus spat, breaking the grapple and redoubling his efforts.


Kazak Plateau
Valley of the Lost, Antei
Temporal Realms


Sildrin screamed fury, striking out with all of her will against the twisted parody of herself. It seemed almost hopeless, lashing out with telekinetics against a shade that was conjured from the deepest bowels of her own spirit. She was ill prepared to fight such a beast, and it was all she could do to fend off its attacks. They were evently matched, products of the same mind, body, and spirit. Sildrin knew the teachings of the Long Family, understood the precepts of battle on the most mundane of battles. The warrior attacked the heart, the mind, and finally the body. Yet this was a being of soul. Tearing through arts of the Krath, she forced the demon-imago back against the spiritual barriers created by the Circle at the peak of the Plateau.

Out of the periphery of her vision, she saw thrice-violet lights erupt from the prostrate man. She leapt back, watching in amazement as Trevarus' body stood, flames coruscating around his hands, shimmering intensity illuminating the darkness with fiendish light.

"Master Long!" Xia-Long shouted.

Impossibly, the man winked. Confused, she lept against the shade to fight alongside her Master against herself.

Unknown Locatin, Nifokalija Mountains
Aeotheran, Orian System


Kano moved swiftly through the snow, his team following closely behind him. It had been a standard hour’s time since the flare had been fired by Team Raptor and the Sergeant knew they were close to meeting back up. About 30 minutes into the mountain hike the wind picked up and the snow began to fall. That combined with the darkness of the woods made the visibility next to nothing for everyone except the voodoo cursed Sergeant.

The Priest pushed forward through the snow, his team following close enough that he could feel their breath on the back of his neck. As a gust of wind whipped at his face, pulling the hood from his head, a strange noise slipped into the former Mandalorian’s ears.

“Freeze.” Whispered the Sergeant back to his team.

The voice of one of the younger members of the team came from behind, “Is that a wisecrack or something?”

Kano turned his head around quickly and peered at the group, “Everyone shut the hell up and get down. Now!”

The team dropped into the snow and Kano took a knee. He focused on the direction he had heard the noise come from and even with his voodoo enhanced vision the snow was impossible to see through. As the Priest strained his vision he saw a flash of blue and felt the warmth of a blaster bolt tearing past his head. Kano tightened the grip on his double bladed fighting pike and sent it hurling through the snow in the direction where the shot had come from. He heard the sound of the pike hitting a metallic object and then a scream.

“Hold your fire. It’s us.”

Kano instantly recognized the voice of his former apprentice Roxas and called out to everyone in the area, “Bout time we found you bastards. Y’all were a little to silent for us.”

After they made their way to where the Raptor’s voices were coming from Roxas walked up to Kano and handed him back the double bladed fighting pike. Kano looked at both ends of it and slightly frowned.

“No blood?”

Roxas pointed to a section of armor just inches from his neck.”Nope, saved by the tin can. Where did I hit you?”

The Sergeant smiled at his former apprentice, “You didn’t. Maybe soon you will realize the beauty of a bladed weapon over a blaster. Plus when you slide a blade into someone while looking them into the eyes then you can watch as their soul leaves their body and their eyes go dark.”

As Kano was saying the words he didn’t even realize that his hand had slid down his side and was now resting on the pack on his side that held the leatherbound book that had changed his life. The Priest snapped out of the thoughts of death and looked around at his team and the area.

“Can someone please tell me if it is night or day? Methyas and Venator, you are excused from answering that question.”

The entire team was silent for a second before Rang spoke up, “Its night time.”

Kano looked all around the area and thought about the situation for a second, “Good, I will lead us up this passage to our left. It looks like it has been used within the last few days. Hopefully it wasn’t used by Macron.”

Venator stepped forward, “Why do you say that? Aren’t we meeting up with him and a few others to track and kill Sunei?”

A stern look crossed Kano’s face, “No, our orders were overridden by the Fist of the Brotherhood. He wants the murderer captured alive and brought back to Camp Havoc. We have to complete this mission before Macron can get there and end any chances to find out what drove the events to happen. Now if you all don’t mind we will be starting this hike.”

Kano took the lead up the path, keeping his eyes open all around to catch any problems before they would catch the team. Not too far along the path it arched onto a hill. As Kano made his way slowly to the top of the hill and looked over he was a lone building waiting in the dropping snow. The voodoo Priest vision blurred for a second then an area within the building began to glow in a bluish hue. Kano dropped to his knee and signaled his team to do the same.

“We are here and he is inside.”

- Unknown Location
- Nifokalija Mountains
- Aeotheran

While the Regulators prepped to make movement into the cave, Venator scowled fiercely, his expression covered by his position on point. Only his apprentice Dirk saw it, but he was well smart enough not to mention anything. The assassin was torn in his loyalties, something that hadn’t happened to him before.

On the one hand, there was the Pepoi family, people who had, in short order, helped him to find his place within the Brotherhood as a whole, and had, without even trying, taught him about family, and friendship.

On the other hand though, Macron was his master, and had spent considerable time that he didn’t have to spend, training the Miraluka in the ways of the Force, the art of the lightsaber, and what it really meant to be a Knight among his brethren.

Now, they were at cross odds, and it wasn’t pretty. Fremoc had put the order down to bring Sunei in alive, but the burning desire to murder was sunk deep into Macron’s black heart. Macron knew Venator would be the pointman on this job, it wouldn’t be any other way, so when this was said and done, he’d have that madman to answer to. On the other hand, if he blew the job, there was a whole family that wouldn’t be too pleased with him.

“Stang it,” Venator swore near silently.

“Master?” Dirk replied, his voice baffled by the breeze, carrying no further than Venator’s ears.

“We take him alive, and when it’s said and done, we’ll haul him to Gamuslag and let Macron have a vacation with him.” Everybody wins, or that was, at least, the plan.

They moved into the cave as silently as possible, and the haze of the Dark Side deepened. Colors impossible in nature swirled hither and yon, obfuscating the layout of the cave, though most importantly, also obfuscating the shadows that the Regulators caused within the Force.

Venator tapped Dirk on the shoulder, giving him the lead. The newer assassin moved forward, while Venator waited a moment. Behind them, the Regulators began gathering in tighter, and after a moment, they all began combing the cave.

It wasn’t much longer before contact was made. Sunei sat on the floor by his fire, taking turns giggling and singing. He looked up once the battle team was close enough, and just stood up.

“You’ve come for me?” He asked, looking Dirk dead in the face.

“We have,” Kano answered for the Guardian. “You’re to be taken alive. Don’t make me disobey my orders.”

Sunei just looked at the cursed voodoo priest. “Very well, hexed man. I’ll kill the lot of you later. You may take me to those you answer to now.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Kano grumbled. “Roxas, walk him outta here. We’ve got to make the LZ. Get moving everyone.”

“I’ll take rear guard,” Venator volunteered, and watched as the team moved the peculiar man walk out, orienting himself frightfully straight towards their pickup point without being told. Once they exited, Venator counted two minutes, and ignited his lightsaber.

He dug the tip into the cave wall, etching two of the very small handful of Sith runes he knew into the stone.

- That very same cave
- Not 30 minutes later

Macron studied the crudely drawn runes as Jade, Aleho, and Aisha scoured the cave. The work was hasty, but etched with a steady hand.

“Jade,” Macron said at length. “What do make of this?”

She paused, and regarded the runes a moment. “They look drawn by a grade school student.”

“Or a blind man.” Macron said, tracing his fingers in the etching, still warm from the blade that etched them.

Patience and Master

Outside the cave
Aethaeran

Roxas walked Sunei out of the cave his DC-17m in hand and aimed incase the man tried anything. Kano clicked on his comm and signaled the Reaper's Call for a pickup. The ship's captain responded and immediately headed to their location. The large vessel arrived in mere minutes and landed on the white slush covering the ground. The ships landing gear sank into the thick blanket of white.

"Everyone get aboard. Let's get the hell out of here." Kano ordered loud enough for the entire team to hear over the sound of the ships engines.

Kano and Methyas walked over to Roxas and aided him in taking the prisoner on board as the rest of the team followed with haste. As the last member climbed aboard, the doors closed and the ship lifted off, blowing clouds of powder high into the air.

The Reaper's Call

The ship was preparing for lightspeed. The large vessel had just broken through the atmosphere of Aethaeran as Methyas, Roxas, and Kano walked Sunei to the brig and put him in a cell. The ray shield ignited and closed the cell off. The Obelisks turned and left the brig making sure to lock that door as well. The three men walked down the hall toward the room where the rest of the team was sitting.

“Should we bring him food or something?” Roxas queried.

“The murderer will be fine.” Kano countered.

“If you say so.” The Mandalorian stated just before reaching the room.

The team was glad to finally be out of the cold. They sat shivering with their target locked well away. The team members were shaking snow from their clothes and knocking ice from their boots. A server droid intered the room and passed out hot coffee. As the droid passed out the drink, Kano gladly began congratulating the team on a job well done.

"Good job everyone; we have successfully accomplished our first mission together. I knew I chose the right people for the team.” The Sergeant said with a grin full of pride.

“That is by far the coldest place I have ever been in my life.” A team member replied.

“Your telling me. I can’t feel my toes.” Another retorted.

Roxas removed his helmet and drank a large gulp of coffee.

The team was still frozen to the bone and glad to be out of the cold, but Kano had something else lingering on his mind.

“Listen team. Your next orders are to get warmed up and catch some rest. You never know when we will be needed again.” The Voodoo Priest ordered, unable to let go of his thoughts.

The team all saluted and went back to what they were doing. Kano removed his gear and headed for the holding cells in the brig with only his violet saber hanging from his belt and a knife in his hand.

Aridas Shipping Hub
Essien

It was quiet. Too quiet. Malisane made his way back along the vent from the computer room, the datapad stashed safely in his belt. Tommorow when the shift changed he could quietly slip away on a transport and be back to Orian in a few days. It was unfortunate about Soolin, talented equites with no particular allegience beyond Sadow were hard to come by, but she had died in the service of the House. Who could ask for more? He couldn't sense her anyway, or much of anything as he crawled along. He stopped at the grate at the end and peered out. It was quiet outside in the docking bay. Perhaps there'd been a breakdown? He unfastened the grate, then took a deep breath before pushing it open and sliding out, quickly coming to his feet and looking around.

He spun a second later as a blaster bolt seared past him, rolling as it passed over his head and lashed out with the force, striking the simularly black armoured security guard from his feet. to crash against a crate. He dragged the guard's weapon into his hand then spun, firing towards the sound of approaching metal footsteps blasting a second guard from his feet. He looked up as a dark figure leapt down from a pile of crates, enhanced sword slicing at the Batlelord. As Malisane dodged and brought his armoured fist down on the mans arm more of them approached, carrying a selection of weapons and headig for the Sith.

Malisane grabbed the guard he was fighting, lifting him with the force and hurling him towards the approaching guards. The man was unaturally heavy and he hit the other guards bowling them like skittles. The men were on their feet in seconds, and moved towards him again intensely and Malisane recognised them as the enhanced agents they'd met on Aeotheran. He held the sword of the guard he'd thrown and waited for them to attack. They weren't interested in talking and were dead eyed as they fanned out to form a semi circle around him. then with speed and strength enhanced by their alloy limbs they attacked, forcing the Battlelord back against the wall.

Malisane fought well. He'd traiined under the Clan's best as a journeyman and for all his limitations in the force he was a brawler best in a corner. He parried thrusts send powerful strikes and subtle flicks back at them, slicing through armour and throats, looking for the weak points of his enhanced enemies. After a few minutes he had several cuts on his arms and torso but ignored the pain. Since the destruction of Dystopia and his burning he'd lived with pain every day, fought off by the skills he'd been taught in the academy and the narcotics Macron Sadow had supplied him, He snarled with each strike on himself and a slight smile whenever an opponent fell twiitching to the floor. The enhanced agents pressed him though, the orders of their masters demanded nothing less. Eventually the strike he couldn't afford to miss got through, and an enhanced blade sliced through his armour plated chest to piece his lungs.

Malisane struggled to fight on, blood filling his lungs and bursting out of his mouth, knowing there was no release from this. Eventually nature took over, and his strength went from him and his vision faded. He collasped, first onto one knee, then slumping to the floor to lie in a pool of his blood and his dead and dying opponents. He was fading away but could make out words above him as his attackers pause.
"This is Agent Fifteen, Target has been overcome. Do we have a kill authorisation?"
There was a pause. "Acknowledged Councillor."
As Malisane struggled desperatley to rise a blade pierced his back, then everything went dark.

Unknown Location

The little creature sat on his hoverchair watching through a reinforced glass screen, watching intently as the techs finished their work. Finally they left the antechamber and the leader turrned and bowed. "We are ready to proceed Councillor."
Councillor Zero nodded. "You may proceed."
The technitions began to operate the machinery and Councilor Zero leaned forward in his chair curiously to get a better view, studying the transparent sarcophogas on the other side of the glass. For a few seconds nothing happened, then lights began to blink on the sides of the sarcophogas and it glowed brightly. Substances in tubes began to pump into it and slowly a white skeleton began to form, taking shape and blossoming upwards to take a complete shape. The techs pressed other buttons and muscle and organs began to form, kitting together before finally skin was applied. The entire process took just over five minutes.

The bald clone stood still, eyes closed but the chest rose up and down. Then she opened her eyes, looking directly back at the Councillor with curious incomprehension.
"It lives," Coucillor Zero said impassionatley. His chair moved over, watching as her limbs twitched and then pulled against her restraints, her eyes now boring into his.and her mouth turning up in anger. "Administer a sedative, five hundred milligrams."
"Yes Coucillor."
The clone sagged a little, then her eyes studied him again. "Subject Eighteen, can you hear me?"
She did not respond. He frowned. "It should be able to understand me?"
The leader nodded. "Yes Coucillor."
He frowned. "Subject Twenty you will respond."
She began to snarl again, struggling against her bonds, the alloy metal begining to buckle as her immense strength pulled against them.

Councillor Zero sighed. He reached down and pressed a button on the terminal, and the clone began to buck and writh as electricty passed through her body, gritting her teeth. Curiously the Counclillor raised the charge, causing her to snarl more but her eyes bore furiously into his. He was quietly impressed, continuing to raise it up until finally she snapped her bonds and ripped herself clear, smashing her fists against the reinforced glass causing it to shake. He watched her for a few seconds, then fearing for the glass he pressed another button and the room was suddely awash with liquid fire, raining down on her. For a while the beating on the glass continued then abated. He turned and addressed the lead technitian. "Prepare the remains for analysis. I think we will record this as a partial success."
"Yes Councillor."
A guard approached from the doorway and saluted. "Councillor you have a priority message from Agent Seven."
"I will take it in my quarters." With a final glance back at the burned skeleton he glided out of the room.

M-CRV Reaper's Call
Orian System
Holding Cell One-L-19

The thrum of the engines reverberated all around the Dark Adept, his smile a crooked one as he sat on the antiseptic deck of the corvette’s cell. Sunei’s old bones creaked as he coaxed them into pliance, the lotus-style position not as agreeable to his aged form as it was decades ago. It was a necessary evil, this contortion. His God would demand great sacrifice; a little crossing of the legs was low on the totem-pole, as far as he was concerned.

His eyes closed, Curwen began an ancient Sith-rite, one designed to draw together those whom his God had touched, in one way or another. This particular one would require great power; luckily, he thought absently as his mouth formed words from a long-dead language, none of the power would need to come from him, after a fashion.

The Dark Adept began to concentrate on the cruciform fire burning within his mind’s eye, and waves of the Dark Side began to coruscate outward from the wizened man’s body, illuminating the cell even as the Force leached power from the overhead lights.

Across the corvette, however, the effect was more than just luminary.

In the common area, Roxas and Methyas simply slumped over, their eyes lidded and half-finished mugs of caf crashing to the deck. Not that anyone there cared about the sudden mess; all hands aboard the Reaper’s Call were in similar states of unconciousness.

A few meters from Curwen’s cell, Kano fell face first to the deck.

The corvette’s helmsman slumped helplessly across his board, vector commands halfway entered into the ship’s navicomp.

An engineer deep within the bowels of the ship fell, too, his mind porous and spongey, perfectly susceptible to Sunei’s glammoring. Before his frame crashed to the deck, a flailing hand inadvertantly cut power to the engines, and the Reaper’s Call went dark, emergency lighting feebly attempting to cut the blackness blanketing the ship.

She was adrift…much like the Auspicious was.

In his cell, Curwen Sunei cackled a single word.

“Vexatus!”

Sepros
Temple of Fire
Camp Havoc

The crackle of an incoming message popped in Tsainetomos ear, the static an eerie white noise as he waited for the voice who was interrupting his plans and personal thoughts. Just when he was about to answer chew out whomever was making the pointless call a voice, obviously fighting the impulse to pass out and was quickly loosing came across the static.

"Engines down...emergency power...prisoner... "

The transmission cut off and the Son of Sadow cursed. The regulators had gotten to Sunei before Macron, Jade, and their team had managed to rob him of his life force. Pressing the ear piece he gave a heavy sigh, turning his anger inwards to add strength to his connection to the dark side. "Lan, patch me through to the Temple of Blood. Priority Code: Beta-November-Sierra-Actual." If Sunei was up to tricks then the threat they had all feared to come one day was imminent on their heels and Tsainetomo wasn`t about to let Naga Sadow go into a fight unprepared. An evil grin crossed his lips as his ear piece clicked his secure connection through. This time they would have their own dark surprise.

Sepros

Fremoc grinned at his success at overriding Macrons group. The regulators had been successful in capturing Sunei alive...

The communication consol near him crackled to life, "Engines down...emergency power...prisoner..."

With the communication getting cut off he knew there was problem, he would have to check into this and make sure his plans weren`t upset.

M-CRV Reaper's Call
Orian System
Holding Cell One-L-19`

The red glow of the emergency lights spilled into Suneis cell, as he grinned and prepared his plan. He sat cross legged on the floor, staring in the blood red glow of his holding position. They were fools to think it would hold him, fools to think it would contain his power. But he would wait, now was not the time. Soon the promised Sadow blood would come to him. Soon he would have revenge.

Using the force he floated a few inches off the floor and called on the dark side, his hands moving slow at first, the patterns integrate, calling for skill and precision. It was time he called on a few sleepers.

- Unknown Location
- Nifokalija Mountains
- Aeotheran

Jade ran her fingers over the markings Macron pointed out, he was right, they were still warm, someone had left a message for them. As her fingers moved over the markings she couldn't help but think of how she recognized them from somewhere.

Macron moved further into the cave and cursed. It was dark, cold, there was a dark side presence, but it was a lingering one. The power behind it had left, and judging by the signs of no dead bodies or splattered blood, it had gone willingly. The regulators and the ivory tower were fools to think capturing Sunei was a good idea. There was something bigger behind this.

Jade jumped back from the wall as she remembered the symbols. "Macron! Get over here. "

Though not entirely happy about how he was summoned he moved to the Daughter of Sadow. "What now?"

Jade smirked, how did she put this lightly so that the mad alchemist didn't decide to use his skills on her later. "I`m surprised you didn't recognize these... "She gave him a look before running her finger tips over the Sith runes." They are from your own books, some of the earliest spells you teach your apprentices...granted they are a bit crude and this one here needs another line over the top of it... "

Macron moved closer running his hands in front of the stone the markings glowed a strange golden colour for only a few seconds catching the attention of Aleho and Aisha who came back from making sure there hadn't been a trick used, within the force, to make them think Sunei was gone. "Looks like my apprentice Venator has some loyalties after all."

Jade giggled, "Smart, Id hate to see how the kid looked after he betrayed you."

"Indeed."

The voices in Jades mind suddenly kicked up 10 notches, bringing her to her knees, her hands on the sides of her head. A blood curdling scream echoed throughout the cave. Her fangs lengthen and her eyes went pitch black.

"Jade... "Macron turned towards her, watching as her head flew back at angles that would normally snap a person’s neck, her eyes jet black and soulless.

A dark voice traveled out of her throat, one that was masked enough to hide its true identity, yet one that was clearly not the Daughters voice. "He is coming, blood will be spilt."

"Jade!" Macron had worked on a weapon contracted by Bob to be used in spirit work. Though he didn't have all the toys he would have liked to that were back in his lab, he would have to make due. It was so rare his apprentices actually survived his ...lessons, he wasn’t about to lose one that had also become a friend. Taking out his saber he ignited the deadly blade and moved around Jade cutting patterns in the stone. The voice coming from her throat kept repeating the same thing over and over, between painful screams that he wasn’t sure whether they were Jades or the one speaking through her.

Aleho cringed, recent memories coming back to her; she said a silent pledge of revenge followed by a plea of forgiveness from Ashura.

Aisha ignited her blade as Macron worked, keeping watch that nothing either entered or exited the cave. She had a bad feeling about this.

Macron finished the last pattern behind Jades back, and turning off his saber, he brought his left hand down upon the circle. The ancient words he spoke were silent and quick, but as his fingers landed against the ground a blue ring exploded around Jade caring a small shock wave that dissipated soon after the protective circle Macron had drawn. Jades head slumped forward, her body leaning as though ready to fall over, but held up by some unseen hand. It expelled the temporary hold over her, but he knew it wouldn’t last. They needed to end this and they needed to end this fight now.

"Jade..." Aleho dared reach out to the woman. They had been close; she was like an aunt to her.

Jade didn't move at first, then slowly picked up her head, rubbing her temples.

"Jade..." Macron moved to face her, standing just outside of his pattern. She looked up at him, her violet eyes blinking at him, bringing him back into focus.

"I'm here." She slowly stood up, Macron reaching across the circle, breaking the seal as she took his hand to step out of it. Jade looked back at the symbols on the wall and gave them a little nod, "I hope your apprentice survives..."

M-CRV Reaper's Call
Orian System

Though prone and motionless, Kano Tor Pepoi was, for lack of a better term, wide awake.

He didn't know exactly why, but when Sunei's waves of power washed over the corvette, he didn't succumb completely. Kano did have a pounding headache, no doubt from the vertigo-on-steroids that initially floored him, but for all intents and purposes, Sunei's glammoring didn't work on him. So he laid there, on the deck, his view of the corridor surreal in his ritually altered vision.

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. Whatever his voodoo ritual had granted him, his inability to truly sleep had given him immunity against the Adept's spell.

Even when the ship went quiet and his senses told him the lighting was out, Kano was still.

During the several minutes he lie prone on the deck, a horrible wrenching sound found his ear; the approaching cackling told him that the Dark Adept had found a telekinetic key to his cell.

The ancient and filthy smell that was Curwen wafted over him, and Kano still hadn't moved. He knew well enough that the Adept laughed the laugh of the confident...and the distracted. As long as he didn't draw attention to himself, Kano could move about the ship unnoticed. He waited until the cackling grew distant, and micron by agonizing micron, Kano eased along the floor until he was at the vestibule of the corvette's common area, where he'd left his team.

Kano had, in recent months, changed his alignment from the Obelisk to the Krath. However, muscle memory doesn't vanish with a philosophical change. His body took over, naturally moving about the dimly lit space with out a sound, assassin's instincts letting him avoid any unseen obstacle.

The voodoo Priest knelt by Roxas and Methyas, gingerly placing a finger on each of the Sadowan's foreheads. A gentle touch of the Force roused his Housemates from their Dark Side induced slumbers. In short order, the whole of the Regulators had been roused.

"Listen up," Kano began in hushed tones. "We're up against something we were totally unprepared for." He paused, cursing the lack of intel on Sunei. "First, we take the ship back."

"What about Sunei?" asked Methyas.

"I hope to have that figured out by the time we get the ship up and running again. Let's move!"

As one body, the Regulators stole out of the common area, following Kano's instructions that they were to check the bridge and engineering, and to avoid the Dark Adept's notice at any cost.

The Priest beamed with silent pride as he watched Methyas, Roxas and the rest of his team move with purpose. As the last of them left the space, Kano shifted as he turned to go. His left boot disturbed the empty mug that one of them dropped earlier, and the resulting sound echoed feebly in the darkness.

Kano crouched, muscles once again taking over. His heartbeat marked time as he waited.

One beat.

Two.

After five, the Priest was satisfied; no horrible chthinous monster emerged from the dark to snap him up. Kano grinned, rose and followed his team.

Unknown Location

Serving as a half-crazed Dark Side conduit to an imaginary demigod wasn't something that most sentients aspired to become, but Curwen couldn't disparage the benefits.

One of which was enhanced hearing.

Even as he chanted, his ears picked up a sound of...well, he couldn't really make it out. What was important was that, given the state of the ship, Curwen knew that he shouldn't have heard anything. A slight change in pitch, and his voice finished the preparations he started within the cell.

All about the ship, the mundane crewmembers began to twitch, their throats choking out the moans associated with those who've been rudely roused from sleep.

Or from the dead.

‘Urati Kazinal’, The Temple of the Lost Souls
Lehon, Tempered Wastes, Unknown Regions
Between seen and not seen...

A violet sphere of sorcerous fire wrapped around the Master and Apprentice, or was it the Apprentice and Master, such narrow distinctions no longer having any bearing. The legion of tormented souls continued to hurl themselves at the two master sorcerers, the raging red fireballs slamming into the violet sphere one after the other after the other. The surface of the ball of energy rippled with each collision, an ear-piercing shrill filling the trembling glass walls of the volcanic cavern, cracks splintering across their surfaces.

But the violet barrier held. The Will of the Marked prevailing over the discordant wailings of the dead. ‘There is no life or death,’ the Apprentice – or was it the Master – began.

‘Only Will,’ the other finished.

‘It is time we finished this.’

Trevarus nodded. ‘What began many lifetimes ago shall be completed.’ The sorcerer turned his back on the nameless ghosts and looked round at his apprentice. ‘You must claim your Way. Take your seat betwixt the Seven Heralds. Embrace Oblivion.’

Outside the sphere, with renewed vigour the reptilian faces of the lost surged forward, the bedevilled armies of the damned converging on the two men from all directions. At the front, the onetime bewitching feminine visage of Darth Maestus scratched and clawed like a harpy at the impenetrable surface of the arcane shield. A tapestry of violet runes shimmered around the two sorcerers, dispersing any attacks the Sith Witch continued in vain to hurl their way, refusing to accept that she had already lost.

The ways of the dark side were beyond the shallow grasp of such a fervent apostle as the one that hammered in vain to dismantle the sorcerous shields that protected the pair. Try and try as the Sith Witch might, she did not understand, she did not know. There was no passion... there was solely obsession.

Xanos’s hands started to burn as he and Trevarus continued to channel more and more arcane rites. ‘There is no knowledge. There is solely conviction,’ said Xanos. Frowning, Trevarus glanced again at his apprentice. ‘Wait. What did I just say? No... no that isn’t right.’ The apprentice looked back at his Master, uneasy. The words of the Code whispered in the back of his mind again. There is nothing... only me.

Beyond the violet energy field, Darth Maestus’s lips peeled into a sneer, revealing a set of sharp teeth, a predator’s teeth. The witch’s eyes flashed with the same burnt orange rage that had previously eclipsed Xora’s until he had set her spirit free; then Maestus lunged, thrusting her hand into the energy field, warping its surface around her arm as she reached forward. Her nails extended into claws very much like Xanos’s own as she stretched, trying to reach him.

‘There is nothing... only me,’ Xanos repeated the words one last time, running them through his mind. Realisation dawned. Power did not come through either of the twin paths of darkness or light. The whispers of the Sith Code vanished from his thoughts. ‘Vexatus,’ he said the name as if it were a curse. The delight in Maestus’s eyes faded, giving way to a venomous glower once more. And the energy field rebounded, hurling the Sith Witch back into the writhing maelstrom as just one more voice among the many.

The violet sphere wobbled for a moment before reforming in a perfectly proportioned shape, the thunderous energies flowing from Trevarus and Xanos glowing ever brighter. The surface had become opaque, Maestus and the other of the ghosts now hidden behind the hermetic wall.

‘You finally understand, my apprentice,’ Trevarus said with a genuine sense of triumph, turning his full attention to the ritual that was nearing its final conclusion. ‘There are no truths to be found in the Codes of the Sith anymore than those of the Jedi. Only shackles.’

‘I know, my Master,’ Xanos answered, the Apprentice having at long last embraced his Master’s final lesson. ‘Vexatus was a fool to ever seek answers elsewhere.’ He turned his attention to the sphere of energy that continued cascading around them. ‘Let the Heralds of Dominion and Sorrow bring this battle to its long overdue Culmination!’

UNKNOWN LOCATION

It couldn't be...why...how dare she...

Kalei stared around her, rage filing every ounce of he, this was just unacceptable. Her friend had killed their master, and the Priestess felt nothing from Aleho before the job was done. This wasn't something that Aleho would do without outside influence. Wrapping her hand around her lightsaber, the young Aleho wasn't going to get away with this without punishment.

“Be afraid, Aleho.”

She stood up from where she was sitting and pulled her cloak around her. She would go off alone and find Aleho even if it killed her. The others around her simply stared; she had never been this angry before. Bal stood up to try and go with her, but she pushed him aside.

“I know he was your master too, but I need to go after Aleho alone. She and I had worked closely together in the past and she is going to pay for this.”

He backed down, he knew not to interfere if she was on a mission. She carried on, trying to sense where the girl had run off to. Then she was getting further away. Eyeing the sky, she saw that Macron's ship, the Nachzerer, had already taken off. Grumbling to herself, she knew there was a ship nearby she could use to catch the Nachzerer. Running off to it, she jumped on board and took off. Aleho was close...

RENDEZVOUS WITH THE NACHZERER

“You are cleared to dock.”

The Priestess nodded to herself and docked her smaller ship. She needed to find Aleho and...teach her a lesson.

ONBOARD THE NACHZERER

Glancing around, it seemed quiet for what she heard had happened to the Regulators. Probably later that would change. Now she just needed to find Aleho, she was here...

M-RCV Reaper’s Call
Orian System

Dirk’s eyes slowly opened standing above him were two Miralukas, his master Venator and Methyas. Dirk started to get just as Kano had finished saying that the Regulators needed to take back the ship, around him the Regulators started to make their way out of the room. Dirk walked over to Methyas and his apprentice Masika holding his aching head, “Do either of you know what happened?”

Methyas was looking at Venator, who was talking to Kano, then without looking at Dirk said, “Kano says that Sunei used the Force to knock everyone out.”

Dirk cocked his head, “No disrespect but how does Kano know this?”

Methyas shrugged his shoulders, “I’m guessing it was because of his voodoo accident, that’s the only thing I can think of.”

Before Dirk could ask anything else Venator walked over and said, “Alright Raptors, our orders are to make our way to the rear of the ship, check out the engines, and if they aren‘t running we are to start them back up.”

“Master why not just go to the cockpit and check them there?” asked Dirk.

Venator shook his head, “Kano thinks that Sunei has made his way there, any more questions?”

Dirk did have more questions but he knew better then to ask, his master had been on edge ever since the Regulators had been ordered to capture Sunei instead of killing him. “No sir.”

“Good then move out. I‘ll take point, Methyas your behind me, Masika your behind him, and Dirk you take the rear.” Venator ordered.

Dirk followed behind Masika as the team made their way out of the room.

M-RCV Reaper’s Call
Orian System
(1 Hour Later)

Something had been bugging Dirk for about half an hour now when he finally spoke up, “Master?”

Venator raised his right hand signaling the team to stop, “What is it Dirk.”

“It might just be a coincidence but isn’t strange that we haven’t seen any of the crew?” Dirk said.

Methyas answered, “Kano woke us up the crew is probably asleep.”

Dirk crossed his arms and nodded, “Yeah that’s what I thought at first too but wouldn’t we have at least found a few bodies?”

Methyas turned his head toward Venator and the two stared at each other. Both Dirk and Masika looked at their masters waiting for them to say something. When a few minutes went by Venator turned toward Dirk and said, “Your right it is strange but for now we’re just going to have to write it off as a coincidence, we have our orders so let’s keep moving.”

Transit Corridors, M-CRV Reaper's Call
Indeterminate Location, Orian System

As the Regulators fanned throughout the vessel they began to realize they were not alone. Eeire moans and groans rose up from the decks and various chambers around them. Oddly, Methyas didn't seem phased as the groans started to grow closer. His body acting purely on its muscle memory as his mind was focused elsewhere, on the darkness and chill that not only surround them but threatened to consume their hearts. Many would believe it was simply their minds playing tricks on them, the heating systems of the vessel disabled when it shunted to emergency power and the chill from the Mountains still upon them. Methyas knew better, he knew because not only Sunei had brought the darkness back with him.

Indeterminate Location, Nifokalija Mountains
Aeotheran
Several Moments Ago

The Regulators had been ascending the peak's narrow path quietly in a tight-knit group to try and keep warm, some of their eyes warily looking skyward as dark clouds loomed and shuffled above them. Near the back of the pack, lurked the elder Templar, his silence not uncommon but to not feel his presence was odd for his young apprentice. Whatever Sunei had been doing above was wrecking absolute havok upon the Miraluka's already strained defences from the multitude of voices that consumed the Mountainous region. As the clouds above began to part, the frail rays of light illuminated the absolute downpour of wisp-like snowflakes. Near simultaneously, Methyas doubled over, a searing pain darting through him as he felt his barriers fall. The image of a massive flaming sword errupted through his mind as his hands leapt to his head, a high-pitched terrible shriek reverberating through his core causing him to shrink into as small of a mass as he could.

A few Regulators leapt to the Shrinking Templar's aid, Masika and Araxis trying to clear a bit of space as others shouted for Kano's aid. They were invisible to Methyas as he fought off the chill, the darkness that leapt through his mind and soul; a booming terrible voice leaping to the front of his mind, "A Jedi?! We see the light within you, carefully enthralled by darkness. It offends us, this light..."
Another searing pain leapt through his body, causing him to twitch and convulse as Araxis tried to secure him with Kano and Venator speaking quickly in hushed tones. His mind was a battlefield, the flame of his internal light threatened by the intruding darkness crashing upon the fabricated darkness protecting his core. His mind raced for solutions, withdrawal leaping immediately to mind. He shrank, the fountain nearly running dry as the Force nearly vanished completely from his body.

The darkness seemed to slow, a weakness the Miraluka would take full advantage of. Something Sunei possessed, he did not...something the darkness could not cling to, the tendrils and fountain had allowed it entrance but it could not hold sway. As Methyas began to push back, a brilliant shield of light appeared before him, something to use against the darkness in his mind. He grabbed hold, quickly slamming it into the pressing darkness as the voice roared in anger, "Why do you press on? Aren't you tired of fighting? Of the screams of your dead? Give into the Darkness, let us give you the power to save them!"
With another vicious slam, Methyas focused on the flame within, letting the fire catch and grow as he began to steadily gain ground against the darkness, the voice seeming to whisper amongst itself all around and through him as he grew closer and closer to the purging it from him.

"The darkness is inside you! You cannot escape it, it follows you everywhere! You cannot stop us here Jedi, we will consume all you love!"
With a fiercesome roar, Methyas pulled the shield close into his body before throwing it forward in a terrifying slam, the sound of shattering glass echoing throughout his head for a moment before everything vanished from sight.
"Enough! Get out of my head!" Methyas bellowed as his body arched backwards as he screamed at the peak, a powerful whirlwind errupting from his core and crafting a small cyclone within the clouds above and his fountainous signature ran over for a mere second. The Templar falling forward onto his forearms, breathing heavily as the sounds of voices began to reach his ears, "Methyas...Methyas? Are you alright?"

He could feel them, only for a moment before he withdrew himself once more. The thin tendrils of the Force that had once escaped him were now nothing more than tiny folicals, as he began to speak, "I..I'm alright. We need to get to Sunei. Whatever he's upto it's affecting me, and we need to stop him before it gets worse."
Kano seemed to leer at his cousin for a moment, almost sizing him up as the Miraluka rose to his feet. It was eerie for the others, the two "blind" men almost sizing each other up silently before Kano spoke, "Alright. Araxis, Masika and Roxas, keep an eye on Methyas and make sure he's doing as well as he says. Everyone else, let's see some hustle so we can get toasty and toasted."

A chuckle seemed to escape the team as they groaned forward, the small escort seeming to tighten around Methyas as they started after them. The Templar's voice rose up quietly, "If that ever happens again, relieve me of my weapons and ensure you've got me covered..."
Masika seemed to pause for a second as Araxis and Roxas nearly straightened up, her voice responding meekly, "Master?"
He didn't seem to turn, his response rather curt, "In places like this, I am a hazard to your safety. Relieve me of my weapons if you'd like to live next time."

The voice had been right, he was a Jedi in the middle of a House pledged to restore the Sith Empire. While the news of a light-side had elated him, given him the option of a place with people like him. But none of it mattered, he was happy. As much as he was alone, harbouring his secret as a light within the dark; he had a family, friends and comrades that would die for him as he for they. His loyalty and honour would never lessen for the House of Sadow, regardless of the dark path they walked.

Transit Corridors, M-CRV Reaper's Call
Indeterminate Location, Orian System

On the surface he had triumphed over the darkness, but the Force induced slumber had weakened his defences and now in the heart of the enemy's spell his barriers were all but doomed to fall. As he lead the Regulators further into the zombie horde, he could feel the cracks forming, his focus squarely upon the defence of his allies from himself. With a sudden shout from Roxas, he was thrown back to reality, "Methyas, look out!"

Barrelling into the figure of one of the easily over fifty members of the crew, Methyas' focus was broken and his barrier crashed like a brick through glass. He felt each part of the barrier crash upon the floor with a deafening crunch as the darkness once against surged within him, consuming him like a master puppeteer. It cared not that the light remained within him, he served as a vessel for its purpose and it would continue its crusade against him while it did so.

With a sudden spiral, Methyas found himself facing his team, his palm raised towards Roxas as another reached out for Venator. Neither had a chance to react as a terrifying beam leaped from his palm towards Roxas and Venator found himself lifted off the deck. A Force Blast slammed into Roxas' chestplate, crumpling it as the impact threw the Mandalorian on his ass and Venator found himself thrown viciously through the durasteel wall into the adjoining chamber as Araxis bellowed out in anger, "What in karking hell are you doing?!"

The Miralukan Templar simply turned to look at Araxis, his usually light and airy blue aura had gone black while the fountain itself was no longer supressed. The blooming beacon overflowing as Methyas spoke up with a voice that was not his own, "Through death...all will join...all will become one..."

- Transit Corridors
- Reaper's Call
- Indeterminate Location
- Orian System

"Through death...all will join...all will become one..." Methyas said before getting blindsided by a wicked elbow shot to the temple. Unaffected by the warlockery, that shot would have floored him for a good thirty minutes, and probably broken his orbital bone over his empty eye socket. Under the influence of the darkness however, it simply staggered him.

“I got this boss.” Venator said, slipping out of his weapons harness and handing it to Kano. As he did, he closed himself off near completely to the Force, leaving himself only so open as he needed to be to see the glaring darkness that was Methyas.

The bigger Miraluka took a Teras Kasi stance, and made a ‘come on’ gesture with his forward hand.

Methyas scowled, the expression lost on the voluntarily blinded assassin, and ignited Harmony, it’s broad blade making a wide buzz saw sound, before stepping in with a wide strike, aiming to split Venator from head to tail. The knight leaned his body out of the way, dodging the clumsy aggression and replying with what appeared to be a simple backhanded slap into the Templar’s ribs.

Unphased, Methyas kicked at his friend, which forced a dodge from Venator, and used the distraction to drill Venator with a telekinetic implosion in his intestines. It forced the knight to his knees while he vomited blood. Methyas used the opportunity to take a decapitating strike at Venator’s head, but the knight fell to his side as the blade passed. Once Harmony bit into the corridor wall and slowed, Venator snapped his hand up in a knife handed strike and placed a hard shot in Methyas’ left thigh, a few centimeters of his knee. It forced the Templar to stagger for a moment, which gave Venator the chance to bring himself to his feet. He snapped a hard knee shot into Methyas’ left hip, which gave the paladin his turn on his knees.

Venator then disignited Harmony and tossed it to Kano, before picking Methyas up.

“Why did he shut himself off from the Force?” Dirk asked Masika quietly.

“I have no explanation for anything that man does,” she replied tartly.

Kano paused for a moment and looked at Araxis. There was a silent exchange between the two of them, before the Regulators team leader got a surprised look on his face. “Shoulda known, ruttin’ Sith‘s apprentice.” Kano said sourly. “Everybody, shut yourselves off to the Force.”

There was a moment where everyone looked at him strangely, to which Kano replied with a much more forceful order. “Do it now, before he floors Methyas!”

With a series of confused looks, the Regulators did as ordered, just as Venator flew backwards, causing a bigger dent in the same wall he’d dented before. The only difference was, this time, Methyas dropped onto his face, his muscles twitching in a peculiar rhythm.

“Or, he could floor me,” Venator said, falling into his own face from the Force assault Methyas had leveled on him.

- Gamuslag
- Months prior

Venator sat in what his Sith Master probably considered a den. It was creepy, sterile, and comfortable only in the strangest of ways. Macron had been droning on and on about some kind of Sith sorcery or another, his apprentice only barely paying attention.

“Are you listening?” Macron asked after driving the tip of his lightsaber less than a millimeter away from Venator’s neck. It was at that moment that he had the full and undivided attention of his apprentice. “This could save your life one day, little Obelisk.”

Venator, his brain in overdrive from the adrenaline, recited nearly from rote and in a rapid monotone. “A spirit in the Force, capable of possession, can only find entrance when their target is open to the Force. By deliberately closing yourself off from sensing or touching the Force, you remove the bridge by which the spirit can enter you!”

Macron nodded thoughtfully. “Good. Now, we work on your Makashi. You had no reaction time worth mentioning.”

- Reaper’s Call
- Now

“Is he dying?” Witwalker said, prodding Methyas with his toe.

“No,” Dirk said. “Venator didn’t complete the technique.”

“Wha?” Masika asked, looking at the apprentice of the man she would have loved to have seen get cut down for his arrogance in attacking her master.

“It was the Teras Kasi death weave. I’ve seen him use it before. There’s one more strike, forces the victim into severe tachycardia before dying from a massive coronary. It’s ugly.”

Kano walked over and picked up Methyas. “You functional?”

Methyas shuddered and put his feet beneath himself. “No,” He said, finding it near impossible to put weight on his left leg. “I can heal it though,” He said, and began opening himself up to the Force.

“Stop it,” Kano said, not so much forcefully as just directly. “Keep yourself dormant.”

Methyas frowned. “So I’m blind and crippled. What happened anyways?”

“I did,” Venator said, pulling himself to his feet with Dirk’s help. “You started it though.”

“Sorry,” Methyas said, taking Harmony back from Kano.

“Yeah, me too.” Venator replied. “So, we’re down two already and Sunei didn’t even come after us directly.”

“We got plenty more left.” Kano said, and gestured onward. “He doesn’t know who he just pissed off.”

“No, I really think he does.” Araxis muttered quietly, but followed his cousin as they moved down the hall.

- Reaper’s Call
- Now

"Here let me help you sir." Witwalker pulled out a backpack from under his robes as he approched Methyas, "I can't help heal you with the force, but i studied combat Medical before joining the brotherhood." Witwalker pulled out a few stimulents and a splint, "That leg looks Broken. Here, ill splint it to where you can use it and if you use this stim pack you should be ok.....For a while anyway." He handed Methyas the Stim pack as he started to splint. Kano watched in awe as Witwalker quickly and effecently splinted up the leg.

John looked at the others, "Look i might not be good with a blaster but im good at close quarters combat and Combat med. Ill help Methyas you all keep going, ill call if i need ya." The cocky human Protector said. Methyas nodded to him as did Kano.

"Very well." as all the leader of the team said, "You stay with Methyas, also see what you can do with Ventor. John nodded as Ventor came over to him, John helped Methyas to a near by rock big enough for him to sit down. "Vent my friend, you seem to have a few broken ribs and a Colapsing lung. Hold still." John pulled out a Neddle with a volve on it. "This isn't going to be pleasent." he said as he jabbed the needle end through the skin between the 2nd and 3rd rib on the left side. As soon as he did he released the Valve to the open postion and heard a hiss.

"Whats that mean?" Asked Ventor. John replied with a stright and serious face, "Means you have what some call a Spantanious phneomothorix, or what we call here in the DJB, 'Empty Lung, full chest'. You will need to ether heal it with the force soon or have it surgicaly fixed." John was securing the Neddle when he heard the one thing he thought he would never hear again. "Thank you."


________________________________________________________
Protector John "Dragoon" Witwalker
Student to Macron
Brother To all Regulaters and Naga Sadow.

Reaper's Call

The Mandalorian removed the dented plate from his flight suit and inspected it. The dent was deep, too deep. He felt worried, so he rubbed his chest and sure enough, there was a small amount of blood. He sat down and removed the top layer of his flight suit. Many of the group saw the mark of clan Buurenaar for the first time and where curios as to what it meant ;although, no one asked because they were more astounded by scars the man had across his body. Roxas grabbed a gauze pad from Dirk's pack as well as a bandage. He then laid the gauzed across the wound and wrapped it closed with the bandage. Dirk watched in amazement never seeing anyone take care of their own wounds before. Roxas noticed that the Protector was surprised.

"I've always taken care of my own wounds. As long as I can move, I take care of myself." The knight said to try and ease the amount of surprise.

"Important knowledge isn't it?" Dirk replied.

The Mandalorian showed that he agreed by nodding. He then punched the armored plate in an attempt to bring it back to its original shape. It didn't look very nice when he was finished, but it would work. He reattached it to the flight suit and put the suit back on.

"I'm ready to continue Sergeant." Roxas said to Kano as he stood up, “To the engine room right?”

“Right” The Templar replied.

The group walked down the corridors toward the stern of the vessel. Thanks to recent event with Methyas they were expecting anything and everything. The ship had an eerie feel to the team as if there was no life onboard, but they knew otherwise. For some odd reason it felt as if they were walking in a graveyard.

Venator raised his hand signaling that the group should stop and whispered “I hear something. It’s weird it kind of sounds like low moans.”

On a gut feeling Roxas grabbed the Fang from his belt. He didn’t ignite the weapon, but he felt as if he needed to be prepared. One of the crew members rounded the corner and walked out in front of the team.

“Soldier, What is going on here?” A member of the group called out, but it fell on def ears.

The crew member turned toward them and charged with his arms outstretched and mouth agape. The Mandalorian’s Fang howled to life with a snap hiss. Roxas took up the basic stance of Shii-Cho and waited for the crazed man to get close.

“Soldier halt or I will defend myself.” The Knight informed, but the man kept charging.

Roxas slashed his green saber cleaving the man in two from the shoulder down. The crew man’s body parts fell to the floor with a thud. Instantly the team new that whatever Sunei did had turned the crew into what appeared to be crazed zombies.

Sepros
Camp Havoc
Temple of Fire

The azure glow of the Mark made Sai rest his hand tightly on the hilt of his lightsaber attached to his belt. He didn't trust the Mark, nor did he trust the majority of the people who were Marked, save Macron. The eye closed, and Fremoc's true eyes opened. The dull gray in his eyes showed concern, yet a knowing that action must be taken soon.

"Sai, we need to move. The Regulators are in trouble," said Fremoc.

"Wait one, there's something coming that we need," came the reply. Fremoc knew what he was talking about, and only one person in the House had current access to what they needed. He heard the sound of a speeder approaching the Temple of Fire, and smiled sensing her presence, her glow in the Force. The speeder slowed, to a stop next to the shuttle Sai and Fremoc were near. She swung her leg off the speeder, her stomach pushing through her robes as she carried over a box to the two men.

"Nice timing hunny," said Fremoc to his wife as he leaned down to kiss her. Nearly throwing the box at Sai, Teu wrapped her arms around her husband's neck kissing him. Sai cleared his throat to remind them that he was still there, causing Teu to let go of her husband.

"We need to go Teu. The Regulators are in trouble and this will be useful," explained Sai. He opened the box to reveal three daggers, created by Macron, Bob, and Shan Long. He tossed two to the Fist of the Brotherhood and took one for himself. "Our boys will need these."

"Agreed. Let's move," stated Fremoc as he began to follow Sai up the ramp into the shuttle. Teu began to follow as well, but the Prelate turned to her, "Teu, you need to stay."

"Why?"

Without a word, he point to her stomach.

"I know but..."

"Teu, you're going to expect Thonas any day."

"...Thonas?" Her voice filled with confusion as he said a name to someone that did not exist.

"The Mark showed me that you're going to give birth to a son, and we'd name him Thonas after my grandfather."

She frowned as she wanted to go with her husband but also that he knew things that she didn't know, and wanted to know. She stepped away from the shuttle and watched him go up the ramp. The ramp closed, as the shuttle lifted off the ground towards the Reaper's Call.

I love you... she thought.

I love you too came a reply from Fremoc.

The shuttle vanished into space as it raced to join the Regulators.

The spirit plane

Her petite frame gently floated as if moving inside water, carried by invisible streams - moving towards the barrier on this mental plane that shimmered in dark blue. Sildrin came to an halt in front of it, reaching out with a hand to it, but yet not daring to touch it. Could it be?, she wondered about the barrier. Is this a relict of her? Is this an evidence of my existence? Of her existence? She shook her head, but decided to go beyond. I have to be careful. This area is where thoughts become reality and a single wrong thought could undo me. She braced herself and pushed through.


The spirit plane
The inner ward

Sildrin continued her journey after passing the barrier - her avatar changed, her own existence on this plane merely based on her own thoughts. Her hair equaled a long waving flag of pure fire, leaving trails of small embers and a long wide-sleeved midnightblue gown adorned her frame, bordeaux colored eyes drank from the sight beyond the barrier. Attached to her sleeves long laces with ornamental knots traced her motions. Should she forget about her apearance... she would cease to exist, leaving behind an empty body without a mind.

An dim glow in front of her made her slow and she halted in front of the ivory sculpture shaped like an egg that was hovering within the empty space behind the inner ward. Carved ornaments in its shell granted any spectator a glance of a second ornamented egg shell within. A small eternity of medidations and observing would finally reveal the hint of seven rotating ornamented shells, but not even the Blind Dragon herself had dived deeper than to the fourth shell.

Black blobs were covering the outer shell, seeking for a way inside. The former Seneschal let out a laughter at this sight, spitting words at the miserable attempts of the Sildrin/Vexatus spirit to get pass the first shell: "You cannot enter - for you lack the most important thing - control!" Between her hands a small glowing orb appeared, crackling from energy within, her lips muttered ancient word. The bordeaux colored orb increased in size as her hands moved in incantations around it. Her body stiffened as she flinged the orb at the ivory egg with a scream of rage. Released from her hands the orb flew at the egg leaving a smoldering track. Before hitting the egg it bursted apart with a brilliant light into smaller orbs that hit each but one of the black blobs.

Gently pushing forward Sildrin finally touched the shell, cleansed from all but one blob. Her bordeaux colored eyes traced each curve of the symbol carved into the first shell in front of her. It was the symbol of House Naga Sadow, she lifted her head lightly, seeing more and more symbols of rather obvious meanings. The symbol of the Longs, the Keibatsu. And there the Pepois. A lone wolf. A lion. The symbols of the inner shells were not as easily to interpret as the outer ones, but they were also the keys and answers to unanswered questions.

Sildrin raised a hand and the final blob was entrapped in a cage of force energy. "This last part of you... I still need it.", Sildrin whispered. And with these words she left her mental plane.


Kazak Plateau
Valley of the Lost, Antei
Temporal Realms

Sildrin let out a long sigh. Complete again, she thought, as the other part of her returned from the spirit plane. She had feared that this was to be her last fight, but with Trevarus' awakening.... or was it Shan Long?... She dared not to withdraw her concentration from the fight to figure this out. Trevarus' body was to her force senses a shimmering aura with three violet orbs as his eyes and the mark. His relentless force attacks had driven back the Xia Long / Vexatus beast, mutilating it down to a fragmented perforated being with flames and black oily liquid oozing from its wounds.

The fingertips of the Krath witch began to tingle. And she slowly rubbed the fingertips against each other. There was a symbol she had seen on the second shell of the egg, and slowly she began to understand its meaning. She tilted lightly her head backwards, closing her eyelids over the white in white. The winds around the plateau ceased to blow as if sung into sleep by a lullaby of the powerful presence of the force. The female Long simply stood there, not moving with her arms lightly raised at her sides with her palms turned upwards. Which power to choose, she pondered for a moment - and she picked gravity. Suddenly sand grains began to lift, followed by small stones. More and more objects in this area began to float. But they were not moved by the force, they moved themselves due to lack of gravity. Trevarus watched in silence, not having spoken a single word since he had started to aid Sildrin's fight against the Xia Long / Vexatus beast.

The Krath woman siphoned on the energy of gravity around this plateau and redirected it back onto one spot - the Xia Long / Vexatus beast. An agonized whine was emitted from the beast's mouth. And it's form began to twitch as the energy started to work on it. Its edges and outer silhouette began to wrinkle and to fold. The beast started to stagger, screaming and clawing at it's own shape. The head bent inwards and it was forced to the ground as its legs were not able to carry it anymore. The whole beast looked as if a huge fist had wrapped around it, crushing it slowly together into a ball like a sheet of paper. Oily liquid oozed to the ground and finally the smaller getting orb dissolved and evaporated until nothing was left.


Kazak Plateau
Valley of the Lost, Antei
Domain of the Dark Council

Sildrin dropped onto her knees, breathing hard. They had won. They... ? Sildrin focused her senses on Trev's body which slowly rose. His eyes opened and with a croaked voice - from the hard strains he had undergone - he said: "We have to go." Sildrin nodded and said: "There is only one thing I have to fetch from the temple."



Temple
Valley of the Lost, Antei
Domain of the Dark Council

Inside the temple Sildrin stopped in front of the middle door, the door she had examined for days as she had meditated there. Now it was time to claim access. She rested a hand against the surface of the door. It was cold to the touch, but yet silky and it seemed to pulsate beneath the surface. "I am door. You know the price for being allowed access.", she heard in her mind. "Yes.", was her reply.

"A sudden change of opinion?", the door mused. "So keen to loose a part of you for getting access to the miracles inside?" The Krath remained silent and she closed her eyes. She mentally reached inside, freeing the small fragment, the last remains of the Sildrin / Vexatus spirit that she had captured. "I am paying the price." Greedily Door merged with the fragment of soul. And a screaching sound emerged in her head: "You tricked me.... Krath priestress!", it complained.

"It is a part of me.", Sildrin smiled as she replied. "Oh..it is not what you expected, but it is a part of me." She felt the turmoil inside Door's mind as it attempted to deal with the chaos that this fragment of Vexatus caused. "You tricked me", it repeated, "But I have to bend to the codes that I am subject of. You may... pass."

The blind dragon shook her head. "Not now. I know that you only grant access once. And you know I am not prepared for what lies behind you. But I will wait, until the time has come." Disapproval was emitted by Door: "What if someone else comes and steals what lies in this room before you get it, Krath witch?".

Sildrin laughed: "Your code prevents you to obey someone else. Only I can tell you to open. It may only be once for me to enter and to leave. But I am now leaving. Not opening you now. And you have to stay locked until I return. No one else can offer his soul to you for acess. Because I blocked you." She sensed a raging scream from Door inside her head as she turned to leave. "Damn you witch! Damn you Krath!".

But she continued her way back to Trev - to leave this planet.

- M-CRV Reaper's Call
- Transit Corridors
- Orian System
- Indeterminate Location.

Dirk was helping Venator walk when he heard the sound of a lightsaber being activated then he heard Roxas start talking to someone. In only a few seconds Dirk heard the swing of a lightsaber and then a few of the Regulators started to gather around. He wanted to move closer, but he didn’t want to leave his master unattended while he was hurt like he was.

Just then Witwalker, who was holding Venator on his other side, spoke up, “Go on I’ve got him.”

“Thanks Witwalker.” Dirk said, then he helped shift Venator’s weight on to the other Regulator. After he was sure the two were okay he made his way over to the crowd. Dirk saw that they were all looking at the body of crew member, who had been cut in two.

Kano had been studying the body when he said, “I’m not sure, but this looks like one of the reincarnation spells in my voodoo book. Sunei might have done something similar to the crew.”

Dirk made his way through the crowd to get a closer look at the body. As he got closer he started to notice something about the body. He turned to his Sergeant, “Sir, a few of the markings on the body look similar to something I had seen on Nar Shaddaa.”

Kano looked at Dirk for a second then nodded for him to continue.

“Back on Nar Shaddaa there was a man who would sell certain plants to people. Well one day he started to sell a new kind of plant, luckily it didn’t catch on so he stopped selling it.” Dirk said.

Another Regulator said, “And?”

“And the people who did buy started to act feral attacking friends, family, and enemies. Soon there was a large group of these Ferals and before they could make anymore people feral my boss sent in a group of assassins, which I was a part of, to kill these people before anyone in the uppercity heard of it. When we went to kill them it turned out to be harder to kill them then we thought.” Dirk paused for a moment to let what he had said sink in.

Then Dirk continued, “Even if we cut their throats or sent a blaster bolt through their chest they would keep on coming like nothing had happened. The only effective thing we found was to shoot them in the head or,” Dirk wave his hand over the dead crew member, “cut them into pieces. After we were done we checked the bodies, the ones with scratch or bite marks had tiny spores in the wound and when we looked at their teeth and under their nails the was the same spores growing on them.”

Kano thought for a moment then asked, “So you think that the crew had some of these plants?”

Dirk shook his head, “No those plants have become just about extinct, I think Sunei might have had a few contained spores and released them into the ventilation while we were out cold.”

“Then why aren’t we infected?” Roxas asked.

Dirk shrugged, “I can only think that the Force protected us while it affected the crew.”

Kano grunted in anger.

Dirk looked at Kano, “Sir?”

“If your right about this we’re in trouble.” Kano said.

Roxas raised an eyebrow in question, “How so?”

“We have to just about break our connection to the Force so we aren’t taken over by what had possessed Methyas, so I only see two options for us we either run the risk of becoming infected or we each slowly get possessed until we’ve killed one another.” Kano explained.

Nachzerer
Approaching M-CRV Reapers Call
Gamuslag Space


Curwen Sunei was a serious threat. And there was no tolerance. A burning sword appeared in some minds.

The mantle of leadership had fallen squarely on Tsainetomo’s shoulders. It was a heavy mantle, one not to be taken lightly. This man took his work seriously. He had been maneuvering for some time. The Korun-Keibatsu had his own way. And Tsainetomo wore it well. The Protector of Sadow was cold and deep of thought. His eyes looked of tripartite steel. The Governor General had full control of the Dlarit Navy. His cool head and planning was just right.

The Governor General nodded as Macron canted the Overlord’s wishes across the secured holonet. Aisha, Aleho, and Jade stood in the vid. His algorithms and uncanny machine-speak had proven itself perfectly. All available assets had been cleverly transferred to Sepros Space neatly within the last few hours.

Hell was to pay. Even now, the full might of the Naga Sadow forces gathered. Ostensibly for “military games” the entire Naga Sadow fleet was in orbit of Sepros by Tsainetomo’s hand. Some vessels were there for “wargames”, and others by “refitting and “training exercises.” A boarding of a "unfit vessel" was now in progress.

“Kill him instantly as quickly as you can. That is it. That is the Final Way,” spat Macron as the ship neared the reported stranded vessel. “You see Curwen Sunei- You do your best as a Disciple of Sadow to instantly kill him. Do not be merciful. Be efficient and quick,” chuckled the alchemist. “Render his atoms into scattered strange matter quark plasma. I have this order from the Top. Instantly render him dead. No quarter, no mercy, just destruction. When you do, we have these swords. ”

Jade nodded. Aisha and Aleho nodded as well. They might all die. Macon might die. However, they had guts. And loyalty.

Tsainetomo stood by, watching the scene.

“Understand me,” commented Tsainetomo uncharacteristically. “I will give my life if it kills him,” he said solemnly. “And so will all of you as Sadow followers, including those on that ship. We Will support them.”

“Yes, we Will,” was the unanimous reply. "We Will."

All the Dark Jedi nodded on the ship. Hate flowed through them freely. Hate was Power. And they hated so very much. The hate was a current, a liquid river of evil that flowed across their entire beings as Darksiders.

Urati Kazinal
Between Seen and not Seen...

Swirling, vectoring clouds of ethereal particulates spiraled in a cloud of spirit-wrath. There seemed to be no abating the horde, there was no end in sight. Three layers of concious will, three paired eyes. Two had been reunited across death. Not even the darkest Hell of the bowels of the darkest reaches of the Force could supplant the will of a Herald. The journey of a hundred thousand lifetimes, death, misery, had never triumphed over determination.

His Apprentice was finally ready.

Brusquely nodding, the Oracle raised his right hand, a lance of violet light coalesced into tangible form, wrapping serpentine into a barrier around him, expanding, elongating, an uncoiled spring moving through the spirit plane. The Sith Witch shrieked in frustration as her renewed attacks proved useless against the Will of the Prima, reduced in spirit as he was, fighting on two planes.

His left hand conducted another form, sweeping in a wide arc. The conjuration moved in time, splitting twain. A dervish of energy surrounded his form, arms moving in time to a tempo that seemed unheard by any outside his own inner locus.

Focus, was the single word, followed shortly by Command.

Xanos nodded, understanding.

The Falleen's spirit began to move in a dance to match his Master, motion for motion, mouth moving as unneeded words were commanded rather than spoken. Control needed no verbal articulation, for there was only the will. The will to dominate. Silver-black bands of shadow, tinged with electric red began to form another series of arcs, gracefully patterned after the violet silver of the Oracle's. Paired energies almost seemed to merge for a second, backing off, then intermixing. Each gathered strength from Hell, commanding, lifetimes of suffering, lifetimes of sheer dominance. The way of the Heralds was to overcome.

And they would.

Spiritual electricity crackled and stormed through the ghost of the ruined temple sanctuary. Both men threw their arms to the indeterminate space between them, their aural projections rushing to collide. They met at the midpoint, twisting perhaps as a ball of twine, energies intermingling into an ever growing sphere of radiant power. Ever larger it grew, rapidly outpacing the screams of the damned and forgotten with its feverish roar of potential energy.

Trevarus smiled at Maestus, turning his head to deliver the feral grin before they unleashed the full power of Hell.

Faster than any chemical projectile, the orb was flung at Maestus. She crossed her arms, bucking into a grapple as if against a strong wind. Yet, the hurricane of energy swept over her.

A voiceless scream, and her shade began to fade into shadow, as if a light was raised from dim incandescence to full luminosity. She screamed, and slowly faded to nothing. Yet, the spirals and arcs of energy began to race in a fractal pattern from her diminishing form, swifter than lightning each soul was consumed in turn. Thousands upon thousands collapsed before the combined will of the two. Existance, even in suffering... had been dominated.

Then all was still for moments, or perhaps for eternities.

"It is time, my Apprentice. Consume the void, so that it may consume you."

"Yes, Master... I finally understand... I see... it is beautiful." His eyes grew distant, slowly fading.

"We will meet again on Runculo. You have one more matter to attend to, before the Lord of Hell will release you. Of course, you may leave whenever you so desire."

The form of his Apprentice vanished.


Kazak Plateau
Valley of the Lost, Antei
Domain of the Dark Council



Trevarus opened his eyes. Sildrin... Xia Long, regarded him suspiciously with her unseeing, milky eyes. She had other means of sight... that were far deeper.

"Mistress Dragon, we have a mission to undertake." The Oracle said with a wry grin.

"Where is that... Lord Long, or shall I call you Trevarus?"

"That will be fine," He said, not answering her question. "We go to Lehon. An old friend is waiting for us."

Sildrin wasn't sure who 'us' might be.

Nachzerer
Approaching M-CRV Reapers Call
Gamuslag Space

Wandering the ship a bit, Kalei knew that Aleho was close. But it seemed that Jade was near her as well. Why, with what Aleho had done, were they not punishing her, or keeping her imprisoned? That was unacceptable.

She made her way to the area she knew Aleho was in. She got there right as they all said We will and hatred filled the room. Aleho was standing there, as if nothing had happened.

“What is this? Don't you know what she did?”

Her now blackened hair seemed cloaked by her dark outfit. Her face was bright red, hand gripping her lightsaber. The others may have been filled with hatred, but the Priestess was filled with pure anger.

Aleho looked up, knowing the voice.

“Kalei, let me explain...”

Aleho started to walk towards Kalei, but the blue bade of the Priestess' lightsaber appeared in front of her.

“You killed him! There is nothing to explain, you killed him!”

Aleho backed down, putting her hands up, not sure what to say at that moment. Kalei looked over at Jade and Macron.

“Why are you letting her just stand here? You must know what she did!”

Her lightsaber was not lowering.

Between seen and not seen...

‘We will meet again on Runculo.’

The pledge was scarcely out of his Master’s mouth before Xanos found himself in a structure quite unlike that of the ancient temple on Lehon. For one, the light that shone in through the marble windows would probably have blinded Xanos had he not been nought but the shadow cast by a forgotten memory. The sky outside was as bright and blue as the oceans of Tibrin.

At the bottom of the staircase, a life-size bronzium sculpture overlooked the foyer. The two Shoroni sapphires set in its eyes refracted the light from outdoors, casting a beam of rainbow luminescence across the floor directly in front of Xanos. The Falleen breathed a deep breath, holding it for a moment. The air was filled with the fragrance of everlilies and blueblossoms. It was cleansing... and so very familiar.

Xanos looked down at his hands. They were young and unblemished; not yet marked by the scars that had been born from a lifetime of war and death. He took a step forward into the entrance hall and immediately heard a bright, girlish voice outside the window.

‘You won’t catch me!’ the girl cried out, giggling happily.

Xanos moved over to the marble window and looked outside. The garden was exactly as he remembered it. Hiding behind the nearest tree, a young Falleen girl slowly edged her head around the side of the trunk. As she did, a young boy appeared at the edge of Xanos’s vision, sneaking up on the girl from behind... and then jumped at her. The girl let out a scream, being pushed to the floor, beating at the boy to let her go.

‘Caught you! Caught you!’ the ten-year-old boy laughed to his younger sister.

Another voice, ever so similar to the girl’s, but more mature, came from behind Xanos:

‘How long has it been, brother?’ Xora said.

Xanos turned to see his sister, standing at the opposite end of the entrance foyer. In her hand, she held a bouquet of everlilies and blueblossoms. A birthday present. He remembered. He’d given them to her the day before the Empire’s Inquisitors had stormed their father’s mansion. After a moment, he replied, ‘Thirty-one years, give or take however long I’ve been here.’ He no longer knew how long he had been dead, not exactly. Five years, ten years, twenty years: it made no difference. Time was yet another label, no different to being Jedi or Sith or Krath.

‘Thirty six years,’ Xora qualified for him. ‘For five years you’ve wandered the netherworld. For five years you’ve wandered in search of answers. Tell me... what have you found?’

Without answering, Xanos stared at his sister for a moment. For a long time, he’d believed that she’d died that day when the Empire attacked. It was not until the Yuuzhan Vong War, after he’d denounced the Brotherhood as fools, he had found her again. Only to turn his back on her. Vexatus, as his name had been then, had cared only to see the galaxy wither and die, such that it might rise from the ashes in an image that he decided.

‘Well?’ Xora asked again, raising an eyebrow quizzically.

‘That I was wrong,’ Xanos admitted. ‘That the way of the Sith leads only to self-destruction.’ He glanced down at his hand again, which had been lost during his final duel with Trevarus back on Lehon five years ago. Vexatus had lacked control; consumed by his rage against both the Star Chamber and the Jedi Council, he had become a slave to the spirits of the dead. Xanos looked back up again. ‘But do not think me a Jedi, Xora,’ he said, bitterly, ‘I learnt the folly of their way decades ago.’

His sister paused a moment, appearing forlorn. This was not the twisted amalgam of Xora and the horrors of the dead that he had spoken with in Urati Kazinal. This was the true ghost, one with the Force, as the Jedi called it. ‘You still blame the Jedi Order for mother’s death.’

‘No,’ Xanos said evenly. ‘Not the Order. Maybe once, but not anymore.’

Xora shook her head. ‘I know. You blame us all equally. Jedi. Sith. Lightsider and darksider alike. There will be no peace for you until all lay down their swords and accept that there is a third way, will there?’ Xora smiled at him sadly. ‘That third way being your Way.’

‘I am Dominion,’ Xanos accepted, nodding. ‘I will follow my Master’s footsteps and at last Consummate what we began on the steps of Lehon all those years ago. My Will shall break the Souls of the Lost until they submit to me and the threads of the Tapestry finally lay bare.’

‘Funny,’ Xora said dryly, ‘that the sorcerer flees when he could carry out the deed himself.’

Laughter filled the foyer as two young Falleen children rushed in from outside, before racing upstairs. ‘Me first! Me first!’ the young Xora cried as her brother followed behind at a slight distance, clearly holding back to allow his sister to beat him to whatever they both were after.

‘By my hand the souls of kazinal were freed from the Void,’ said Xanos, paying no heed to the childhood memory, ‘and by my hand they shall return. My Master and I shall bring an end to the War that has waged ever since the Beginning. There will be no more Life and Death. Only Will.’

‘You’re not like him, Xanos.’ Xora held out her hand ‘Come with me, brother. Becoming one with the Force is what you’ve been after all along. Turn away from this path, before it’s too late.’ Her voice began to break as she continued, ‘If you... bind yourself to the devourers... there can be no return...’

‘I made my choice long ago, sister,’ Xanos said, unwavering. ‘You of all should know that.’

Xora breathed a mournful sigh. ‘I forgave you for leaving me, Xanos... but I see now it was already too late.’ His sister bowed her head and began to turn away. ‘I wish things had gone differently. I’ll think of you... even if you’ll soon be beyond being able to do to same...’

The ghost of his sister vanished and the bouquet of everlilies fell to the floor, the brightly coloured flowers spilling everywhere.

"Sit me down now Dragoon." John did so as he called dirk over. Both the Sergeant and Dirk came. "Whats wrong Witwalker?" asked the Sergeant.

"Sir, that wound in his chest is affected. I have to reconnect fully with the force in order to slow it and heal him, otherwise......he will die. Soon." John looked at Dirk who had a hurt expression, Venator and Kano's was expressionless. Kano thought for a moment and said, "No. Its too risky." Witwalker jumped up and even though he was a tad smaller then the Sergeant he asked in a very demanding tone, "Sir, a word please." and walked to the other side of the bulk head.

"Witwalker i know what your going to say......" Kano started to say after he walked over, "Sir, listen, it will only take a minute, have Roxas watch over and if i get taken.....Send my body back to my Master, Macron. Let me do this, let me save him." Kano shook his head, "You said it was infected and that he will die soon.....what are you not telling us." John looked the Sergeant in the eye. "Let me show you."

John walked up to the Body of the fallen crew member and pointed to a Laceration on his neck that was obviously infected and looked to be part of the cause of the disease. "Sir, if i heard you correct, you all stated that these plant particles were released into the air correct?" Roxas and Kano nodded and Kano said, "Go on."

"Well, even if we did inhalation this particles, everyone that has any knowledge of infections knows that the number one way to contaminate some one with any kinda of bio warfare the easiest way besides inhalation is through the blood stream of a individual. Venator does not have any penetrations save one. My needle that is keeping him from dying. The area around it is infected. Let me hell the infection and Phnomothorix. Please, im a Medic and i have the force power to heal. I can't let any of you do it cause your too significant to the cause. Im just a lowly journeymen."

John waited and looked Kano in the eyes. "Fine, Roxas watch him, if he does anything funny, kill him." Kano turned around.

John Sighed and went back to Venator and Dirk. Dirk grabbed his arm as he reached for the needle. "Are you sure you know what your doing? This is my master were talking about." Venator grabbed his apprentices hand and said in a very week yet commanding voice, "Let him work."

Dirk nodded as Roxas came over and powered up his Fang. "Ready when you are Witwalker." He said. John nodded and said,"Here goes nothing." He released any pressure in Venators lungs and pulled the needle out. He throw it down and placed both hands on venator and started to meditate and used the force to hell Venator. After 2 Minutes Kano yelled, "ENOUGH! Your in too long Witwalker!"

John Gasped "JUST ONE......MORE......SECOND!!!!!" John threw his hands up as a shock-wave went through him into Venator and caused Vent to start hyperventilating. John was thrown into a fit and finally ceased. Dirk came to Witwalkers side and started to check his vitals.

Roxas commented first, "Well Kano he's alive. Out cold but breathing and alive. We will have to Carry him till he recovers." Kano nodded, "Who's going to do it?"

Transit Corridors, M-CRV Reaper's Call
Sepros Aerospace, Orian System

John's splint had done a good job securing his fractured kneecap; the impact from Venator's Death Weave had done enough to ensure that Methyas would be shaken from his possession at the expense of his mobility. The two Miraluka were now a liability to their team, unable to call upon their vital connection to the galaxy while extremely battered and bruised. If they had thought Methyas was a danger to them before under the influence of the darkness, they were quite unaware of how he reacted disconnected from the Force. His fear of the unknown and nyctophobia kicking into high-gear as they moved as a group down the corridor. Were it possible, his heart would've pounded out of his chest with how fast it was beating. His hands were clammy as he sweated profusely, his breathing quick and irregular from the fear that gripped him. Witwalker wouldn't notice, his attention focused on Venator's much worse condition.

His mind raced, as the sounds of combat roared through his head and Venator's ragged breathing could be heard clearly within his empty head. The enveloping warmth, the constant pull of the Force had been his security blanket for as long as he could remember and the darkness that enveloped him now gave him a deeper chill than whatever it was that lurked within him...not a random airborne spore like the others believed.
"Are you alright Master? You're shaking..." The worried voice of Masika caused him to jump, spinning to try and "look" at the source of the sound as his body continued to quake from his fear.
"I..I'm fine. I'll be fine...just give me a moment." He responded with a weak voice, his mind once again leaping through different options with one simple resolution taking the forefront amongst them all; open up to the Force.

The others would not agree with him. Venator might understand his predicament, but the feral hunter had his other senses more refined than the elder Templar. With a deep breath, he focused as much as he could and began restoring his mental barriers and inner walls. It was odd trying to be so still without his blanket, his mouth absently muttering the mantra he had come to learn so long ago. The sounds of argument began to fill his head as he began to whisper to himself, the gentle touch of the Force beginning to envelop him once more as a single line became trapped in his mind, "Chaos, yet harmony."
It was a phrase that had steadied him at the battle of Mucenic, a phrase that readied him now as he opened himself up to the Force once more, a single thought rushing through him, "Though I am chaotic, I remain harmonious."

From a single pin-prick of light in the center of his vision, to a full horizon line to full bloom, his sight returned in a flash. A heartbeat, that was all it took for the Templar to grasp the Force and suppress his signature to a singular orb within himself as he swiftly began to build up his levels of defense. Another heartbeat, he could feel the attention of whatever Sunei was channeling upon him. There was something else, the crew; each seemed to accentuate the darkened halls of the Corvette in the Force as the shadows nearly bled off them from the darkness that had consumed them as it had him. More still, he could feel Fremoc and the other Sadowans much closer than they were before; they were coming.

Indeterminate Location, M-CRV Reaper's Call
Sepros Aerospace, Orian System

Although madness had taken the Adept, he was still in full control of his faculties. Contagious giggling and cackling escaped the madman as he continued his rites and momentum each in accordance with what his dark master willed. The voices swirled within his head, nearly as fluid and nonsensical as the words that flowed from his mouth. With a sudden pause, the whispers leapt to anger and frustration causing a jolt of fear to lance through Curwen and pause mid-chant. The words were for him and him alone, a near maniacal laughter erupting from him before he spoke openly, "So, they waken and have escaped your pawn..."
He seemed to pause for yet another moment, an unspoken exchange between him and his master yet again, "Oh, they will bow to your might my lords. Through death..."
A shriek escaped him, his body recoiling as his statement appeared to be hastily chastised by his master, his eyes and ears seemingly twitching about as his master spoke to him once more, a simple response escaping him before he returned to his rites, "I understand, it will be done..."

Transit Corridors, M-CRV Reaper's Call
Serpros Aerospace, Orian System

Alarm ran through the Templar, the Force immediately causing the Miraluka to tighten up. He heard and saw Araxis and Rang draw their sabers as the small horde of crew began to charge their position, Methyas barked out a warning quickly, "Watch yourselves with those sabers! Muscle memory will only help so much without the Force!"
Araxis and Rang seemed to take heed, the Knight's movements with Stormreaver sloppy without the Force to help him respond his blade's quirky gyroscopic effect as Rang was sloppy in part due to lack of practice and the missing call of the Force for the blade's gyroscopic effect. The two of them tried to cleave their way through as many as they could before they were surrounded and the crew continued towards the remainder of the group. With Venator still recovering from the healing and John unconscious, their numbers were thinning. A curse escaped Methyas as he drew Harmony, the blade erupting from its hilt with a venomous snap-hiss and the Templar leapt into combat. His nature kicked in, subconscious applications of the Force to enhance his speed and ferocity in combat singling him out amongst the chaos largely in part to his splinted leg.

With a sudden toss of one of the crew across the hall, sabers swiftly ignited and were turned on the Templar as the last of the crazed crew were dispatched, the voice of the team's Sergeant deeply growling his commands to his cousin, "Cut yourself off NOW Methyas!"
A sly smile leapt across the Miraluka's face as he heard his cousin, a swift response rising from him almost serenely, "What happened to these spores being the cause of the possession?"
A short curse erupted from Kano, the Voodoo priest's saber getting closer to Methyas' throat as the Templar disengaged his own saber, "Damn it Methyas. Just listen to me! You attacked us once already. Between the two of us I'd rather not kill you."
Methyas simply nodded, no movement made as he gently nudged his cousin's blade away from his throat through the Force, "Then let me speak...there may be these spores on board, but they not the root cause of our problem, it's Sunei."

A slight chuckle escaped Kano as Methyas heard the sound of a lightsaber disengaging, most likely his apprentice, before Kano spoke once more, "And how do you know this? How do I know it's not just a trick for us to let our guard down so you can demolish us?"
That smile grew on the Miraluka's face as he heard Venator shuffle from the crate to his feet, "Because I doubt whatever this spirit is would be stupid enough for me to use my saber again after that embarrassment against Ven, it would just rely on the Force to do so."
A laugh came from some of the team as the tension seemed to ease, Methyas continuing, "Listen, Sunei is the biggest threat here. He caused all of us to pass out and disabled the ship's systems. Don't you think he'd be able to possess the non-Force sensitive crew and use them against us?"

Whatever tension was lost came back as the Templar finished speaking, the group seeming to try and figure out what to do, Roxas speaking quickly, "Wait, you said possess the crew...what had you then?"
A slight wince passed over the Templar's face as he heard the question, his resolve shifting to a slight reinforcement of his barriers before he spoke again, "Whatever Sunei was doing in the mountains, it was channeling something powerful. A spirit in the Force, it has a good grasp of him but couldn't get a good hold of me."
Roxas was quick again with his response, "Then how did it possess you?"
A sigh escaped the Templar as he responded, "It left a bit of an imprint in the mountains and I lost control of my usually strong mental barriers. Sunei also started channeling it again here which meant that the tendrils of my signature in the Force were its ticket in. I've reinforced my barriers and am constantly checking their stability, now can you please point those things somewhere else?"

With a quick series of vacuum-like hisses, a large number of sabers were disengaged as Kano, Rang and Araxis kept their blades active but at their sides. Kano's voice seeming to respond quickly, "So what do you propose?"
"We find Sunei and kill him."
"You think we'll be able to take down an Adept? What about the Council's orders to take him alive?"
"I think he's too much of a threat to House to be left alive. I'm all for helping the Council, but this bastard used us..."
"I don't know, I don't think Fremoc would..."
Methyas quickly interrupted his cousin, "He's on his way here. Now. Along with a good chunk of the House and the Dlarit Navy. Hell, I'm sure one wrong move and they'll just vaporize this Corvette."

The team seemed to go eerily silent for a couple of moments before Methyas spoke up again, "Come on guys, what's our motto?"
A voice rose up from behind Methyas, the gruff voice of Venator chiming in through the pain he experienced from the suddenly healed ribcage, "No problem can stand the assault of sustain thinking. When that doesn't work there's us."
A curt nod was the response from Methyas as Kano spoke up, "So a rag-tag group of two equites and a handful of journeymen plan to take down an elder? I'm assuming you have a plan?"
Another smile stretched across the Miraluka's face as he felt them grow closer around him, "Force meld, together we're much more powerful than alone. I can focus and maintain the Meld while we engage him, worst case we're just a distraction until the big guns show up."

"So how do we find him?" Araxis chimed in, disengaging his saber alongside Rang and Kano.
"Simple, here..." Methyas responded as he placed his saber in Araxis' open hand before continuing, "I'll expand outwards with the Force and locate him, channeling that much control of the Force will mean he's a beacon and worse case you guys have me surrounded. I'm sure Ven can use that trusty saber of his as a makeshift rod of correction and knock me out if he needs to."

Silence met him once again, understandably. They would have to put their faith in him being able to keep himself controlled and contained, and worst of all he had the greatest degree of control over the Force out of all of them if he did get possessed. Finally Kano responded, "Do it."
With a smile, Methyas carefully removed part of his splint that would keep his knee from bending and entered a calm kneeling position, the pain lancing through him for a second from his fractured kneecap before he placed his hands to rest serenely at his sides on the cool metallic deck. Taking a deep breath, he let himself go into a shallow meditative trance to focus on his barriers as he began to reach outwardly with the Force, exploring the ship slowly. It was only a matter of ensuring his barriers did not fall as he searched and he could feel the presence of the dark and terrible spirit pressing against his barriers as he spoke up, "There’s a lot of interference with the crew's possessions. Give me a second to narrow it down…"

Between seen and not seen...

The smell of everlily and blueblossom lingered for a while after his sister disappeared into the Force. After a moment, the bright petals spread across the floor slowly began to curl up, the flowers aging quickly before the smell vanished completely. Fire replaced it instead, filling Xanos’s nostrils with the trace of ash and brimstone. Xanos blinked and when his eyes opened the entrance hall was filled with burnt rubble and broken marble. Weeds grew up the wall and the bronzium bust of his mother lay on its side on the floor, stripped of the two Shoroni sapphires. His sister’s screams on the night the Inquisition had taken her rang out through the air.

Outside the window, the sky had become dark. A bolt of lightning flashed, striking the row of trees which Xora had hidden behind as a girl. The mansion shook from the clap of thunder which followed, causing cracks appear across the white walls. The cracks glowed an angry orange-red that singed the surrounding marble, causing it to melt and go black. Then they began to spread, expanding across the walls to surround Xanos in a red lattice box of fire and hate.

And then the mansion collapsed.

The walls and ceiling fell apart where the cracks had formed. Blocks of marble dropped from directly above where Xanos stood, however, he was no longer there. Like the ceiling and the walls, the floor also gave way, breaking into dozens of irregular-shaped chunks of blackened marble. The Falleen fell with the ruins of what had been his childhood home, falling into the dark nothingness below. The winds continued to howl, flashing with cracks of lightning and thunder, as he fell. How far they both fell was impossible to say except that: the Falleen along with the childhood memories plummeted into the burning abyss for what felt like an eternity.

A deafening pulse hammered across the infinite expanse of nothingness. Memories flashed through his mind... memories and suffering...

THUMP-THUMP...THUMP-THUMP...THUMP-THUMP...THUMP-THUMP...

Below the tumbling fragments of Xanos and his past, three carmine stars boiled and raged, their surfaces bubbling and spitting flickers of ire and gall deep into the depths of the Void. As he drew nearer, the three stars revolved and, like three burning red eyes, they bored into him, peering down into his very soul, clawing through his memories, trying to tear out what was rightfully his. Hurricanes of fire raged up from the Void, battering him from all sides in waves reminiscent of the tainted heartbeat of Urati Kazinal; however, he paid it no notice, simply continuing with his descent toward the focal point between the stars overflowing with hatred.

WE ARE THE STARS AND THE HEAVENS!

The fragments of the marble castle rearranged themselves below Xanos and reformed into a small triangular island which floated in the dead space deep between the three raging infernos at the Heart of the Void. Around the edges of the island, a circle of seven talon-shaped stone pillars stood erect, leering over a small altar table located at their centre. Shackled to the altar, a lone figure writhed and screamed. Its eyes were sunken and dark; instead of arms, eight long, tentacle-like appendages lashed and flailed; and its mouth gaped wide from ear-to-ear, wailing and barking its torment in a thousand forgotten tongues.

WE ARE CELESTIAL!

Xanos recognised it from the scriptures of Tio Azurd. It was one of the Precursors. A Kathol.

Reaching the Heart of the Void, Xanos’s feet gently came to a stop on the floating island. The chained creature in front of him jerked its head forward and snarled, spewing fire through the slits in the muzzle that covered its mouth. Its face shifted, melting through various different appearances, one moment being female, the next male, human and then alien. Xanos sighed and shook his head softly. Finally, the creature settled on a face that was all too familiar.

Five years ago, the truth might have shaken him to the core. Now, however, all Xanos saw was simply how blind and foolish he had been. There was no life and death. Only will. And the creature before him was nothing but a lifeless shell, lost forever in the death of the Void.

‘Hello Vexatus,’ Xanos said.

Transit Corridors, M-CRV Reaper's Call
Sepros Aerospace, Orian System

Kano smiled as he watched his team search the Reaper's Call, but his anger started to swell inside him. He started to have feelings, urges, to kill the people in front of him. The Priest shook his head, trying to clear everything from his mind.

Methyas turned back to him, "You alright Kano?"

"I'm fine, keep moving. I sense Fremoc and Sai are just outside the ship."

The group turned a corner, and the urges became stronger. His wanting to kill someone anyone, was nearly unbearable. His smile became broader, his eyes more maniacal.

Airlock of the M-CRV Reaper's Call
Sepros Aerospace, Orian System

"No," said Fremoc. Sai turned back to Fremoc, noticing the Mark open. "Don't do it Kano, don't give in."

"Fremoc?"

"No... no!" The Mark shut, as Fremoc opened his eyes and looked into Sai's eyes. "Kano is possessed."

"What?!"

"We don't have much time." Fremoc ran past Sai in the air lock.

"Fremoc! Did that Mark tell you?" The distrust in the Mark coursed through Sai's words.

The Prelate turned to the Quaestor, "I am still the same person Sai. My loyalty, and love for this House is as great as it ever was. Now we need to move."

Fremoc sped off, running to stop Kano from attacking someone. The Mark had shown him that Kano was going to cut down Methyas and Venator. He could feel Kano being consumed by Sunei as he grew nearer. The Death's Revenge ignited from his palm, his adrenaline in overdrive now. He could see his brother's purple blade swing at Methyas' expose back. The elder Pepoi reached out and was able to deflect the blade to protect his cousin. The Templar turned, stunned as to not seeing Kano preparing to attack him.

"Methyas, go and leave him to me. Kano is not himself," stated Fremoc, his hand reaching to one of the two Soul Rippers on his person and threw it to his blind cousin. "Kill Sunei. Or else we'll lose Kano forever..."

Without another word the Miraluka and the rest of the Regulators continued on their journey. Fremoc held his lightsaber casually to the side, his brother mirrored him. for over a year, Fremoc had been Kano's master. Had taught the younger man everything he knew, and was considered Fremoc's only true apprentice despite having had three others. The two had become even closer after finding out their family lineage. Now they stood against each other.

"Let's go little brother."

Nachzerer
Approaching M-CRV Reapers Call
Gamuslag Space

"Kalei... It was Sunei. He took control of my mind. Planted the seed of that control when we first explored the tombs of Inos 42." Aleho tried to explain but Kalei's own anger was consuming to the point words meant nothing. But Aleho's death would.

Aisha was ready to step in and help but a quick shake from Macron staid her blade by her side as Kalei attacked the betrayer. Leho brought her lightsaber up and blocked the strike. Her own anger rushing through her.

"He was like a father to you. And you gutted him." Kalei roared.

"I didn't have a choice. Do you think I wanted to do what my master wanted. Do you think I wanted to kill Ashura." Aleho had not meant to call Sunei her master but the madman still had control of her mind. She could feel the programming click into place with certain words. That control over her mind was wavering more and more as whatever Sunei was doing on the Reapers Call had shifted control away from Aleho.

"You make me sick!" Kalei again tried to impale the young Sith with her lightsaber but Aleho still blocked the attack.

"You have no idea how sick and twisted I've become at the hands of that man. I didn't want to kill Master Ashura. But I did with Sunei pulling the strings what else could I do?"

Kalei stopped and that caused her to think. This was when Aisha chimed in. "Master we have now docked with the Reapers Call. Opening airlocks." Macron smiled and turned to Kalei and Aleho. "Shall we kill ourselves a karking Sadow killer?"

No one needed to say yes to that. They all thought it. They all wanted it. It was time to unleash Hell.

I'm coming for you master. Aleho thought knowing Sunei would pick up on it.

Transit Corridors, M-CRV Reaper's Call
Sepros Aerospace, Orian System

Sai’s comlink beeped but he was a bit preoccupied at the moment. “What? I’m busy.”

“Quaestor, there’s an unidentified shuttle inbound on our position. Unarmed.” The comm officer said hoping not to betray any intimidation.

“Keep it in the docking bay. Have shock troops board and keep any visitors as my…”guests”. Sai out.”

Unidentified Shuttle, M-CRV Reaper's Call
Sepros Aerospace, Orian System

“Unidentified shuttle, prepare to be boarded, resistance will be fatal.”

If only he knew.

The hooded figure at the captain’s chair smirked at the irony of the comm officer’s command. He longed to return to his clan, his self exile had been extremely successful. Not only had he searched for a Teras Kasi Master, but he managed to actually find one and managed to persuade the Master to teach him. Once he had learned all that could be taught Shimura nearly killed his Master during the final test of combat.
Shimura pressed a button on the console and a hydraulic hiss came from behind him as ramp was lowered, preparing for boarding troops. The Zabrak stood up and kicked the corpse on the floor that use to be the former captain.

“Seems like only one of us getting out of here alive.”

Laughing inwardly Shimura stepped over three more corpses that were more brutally disposed of, some bloody, some blood free. Looking down the ramp he noticed the soldiers had their weapons leveled at him and approached cautiously. Shimura held out his white hands, palms up, as if to signal that he had nothing in them.

A male’s voice came from somewhere near the back. “Capture and detain orders, put ‘em behind your back.”

“I’ll pass.”

The Battlemaster yanked his hands back and the soldiers weapons flew from their hands. They didn’t miss a beat, their training had been clearly better than most soldiers he faced. The first two lunged at him to give the other four time to draw their side arms. Shimura smirked, the soldier on the right threw a right cross. What pathetic form of unarmed combat was this? He batted the punch away right behind the elbow with his left hand and delivered a crushing elbow in the bridge of the soldiers nose while simultaneously landing a kick in the midsection of the left soldier. The soldier on the left doubled over attempting to catch his breath before finding himself staring up at the ceiling from a vicious knee.

Shimura clapped his hands together and two more soldiers dropped after their heads collided with enough force to crack their helmets. The last two soldiers looked at eachother and turned to run but that’s as far as they got. Shimura, using the Force to yank their feet out from under them they fell face first. The Sith stood over them and slammed both of their heads against the durasteel floor.

“I don’t do cuffs.”

Mysteriously his hood managed to stay up as he used the Force put a supernatural spring in his step allowing him to run at nearly one hundred and fifty percent speed. Exiting the docking bay he knew he wouldn’t get far if he didn’t deal with surveillance. A few electrical tendrils leapt from his outstretched hand and short circuited the holocam.

“If I were in charge, where would I be?”

Shimura sped down the hall in search of someone with answers, and without cuffs.

- Transit Corridors
- Reaper's Call
- Indeterminate Location
- Orian System

“Getting crowded in here,” Venator said with his usual scowl. He, along with the rest of the Regulators, had been making their way towards the bridge of the ship, their goal, to kill Sunei and get this nightmare over with. Granted, it would have been a lot easier if the two most dangerous Regulators present weren’t already messed up beyond all measure, at the hands of the other, conveniently enough. Nobody ever said the Dark Side was friendly, and if they did, they were liars.

“Wouldn’t be because Sunei is busy possessing people, would it?” Methyas asked redundantly. He was limping along, but his face was a mask of steel. His focus was so absolute that it took a minute or two before he replied, and his tone was faraway, almost spaced out.

“He’s got Kano.” Dirk said, frowning. “What’s going to happen?” He asked, referring to the duel between the Regulator’s leader and the Fist of the Brotherhood.

“Survival of the fittest.” Venator snapped, leveling an eyeless glare at his apprentice. It’s not something he’d been wanting to think about since they made their way away from the fight. “Why do you think we sealed them in?”

In actuality, they had mag-sealed the corridor in the event that Kano killed Fremoc, leaving him to hunt the rest of his team, but when Venator had given the order, he’d said it was to let the two men fight it out, which was all Rang and Roxas needed to hear before doing as told. To be honest, he knew he was an awful liar, but at the time, he didn’t think either man cared.

“So, what happens when one wins?” Masika asked, specifically talking to her master, who had stopped in front of the doors to the bridge.

Methyas thought about it for a minute, before answering. “Won’t happen. Sunei dies before either of them do.” There was a quiet ferocity in his tone, enough to set both his apprentice and Venator back for a moment. The man was more Jedi than the rest of them, almost to the point of being a sheep in wolf’s clothing, but these moments, so few and far between, were all the proof anyone needed to never question his resolve, and the dark that tainted it.

“So, how we looking?” Venator asked, leaning against the wall.

“Ready,” Roxas said after a final check of his equipment.

“Good,” Replied Rang.

Araxis just nodded quietly, his face stern.

Dirk followed suit, with a simple nod, but he was paused by his master. “Dirk,” He said, reaching to the small of his back. “Take these.” the Miraluka said, and handed his apprentice his crescent razors.

“Master?” the Guardian said as he accepted the weapons. “Are you sure?”

For a moment, Venator just looked at him strangely. “Yeah, I’m sure. They’re not mine, I made those the other day. Seems good enough time as any to give them to you.”

Dirk took the moment to clip them onto his own rig, and then waited as Methyas began the linking process. Beyond the door, they could head Sunei cackling like a maniac, hooting and giggling in a manner which could be considered infringements of Macron’s copyrights.

- Nachzerer
- Outside the Reaper’s Call

Macron sat there, watching the two women square against each other in vengeance and in fury. There was something poetic about the situation, giving the mad sith a moment’s respite from the day’s activities. As the women clashed, Macron eyed them, more to make sure they didn’t pierce a bulkhead and suck them all into the vacuum of space, but still, a man should be cultured, and this was perfect art.

It was then that a flash within the Force roused him from his viewings. Not far off, and closing very quickly, the Reaper’s Call sat adrift. In the fore of the corvette, there was something very wicked brewing. After taking the time to look closer with the Force, he saw small lights beginning to flicker on, combining into a brighter whole.

“They kept themselves closed off,” He muttered quietly. “I suppose he learned something.”

:Jade, Aisha, separate them, I think Sunei’s meeting his end, and I’d prefer to be present when it happens!” Macron said, and dove his ship towards the fore of the Reaper’s Call. He had a raiding umbilical with this ship’s name right on it.

- Reaper’s Call
- Outside the bridge

As the last of the Regulators merged into a Force powered whole, Methyas took the time to push forth one more Force power, this one the ability of Battlemind, which he targeted his own apprentice with. While she got the most of the benefit, through the Force Meld, the rest of them did too. It was time to go to work.

“I’m going to keep pushing at him with the Force,” Methyas said. “it should keep him preoccupied enough to prevent him from mangling anyone outright.”

“Sounds good,” Roxas said. “Let’s get busy.”

“Look sharp, Macron’s here.” Venator said, sensing his master not far away.

Rang went to the door, and slapped the open button on the control panel. Almost shockingly, the door opened. Sunei stood within, walking circles and muttering to himself. As the Regulators stepped in, Sunei stopped, waved a hand, and shut the doors behind them.

“I SAID I WOULD KILL YOU LATER!” He screamed at them, to the point of going red-faced and bent towards them. “It’s not your time yet! Not your time, not your time, not your time, not your time, not your… your, your… You aren’t here for me, are you?”

“Yeah,” Witwalker said, shaking his head clear. “We kinda are.”

- Nachzerer
- Cargo area

The raider’s umbilical latched on, the fusion cutters at the ends going to work, burning a hole into the top of the bridge while simultaneously welding a seal. Above, Macron looked at the women with him. “Ladies, the reason for this violence resides below. I ask that we all conduct ourselves with the utmost dignity, and maintain the highest standards in our behavior.”

Aisha smirked. “Really?”

“No,” Macron giggled. “We kill the son of a bitch and we make it hurt.”

The moment was punctuated with the piece of ship hull dropping into the bridge, bringing into focus the sound of battle.

“Where the hell did he get that lightsaber?” came one voice over the battle.

“I don’t know, but stop shooting at him!” came another, this one female, identifying at least this speaker as Masika.

Macron giggled once more and leapt down through the umbilical, and saw one massive cluster of a fight. Sunei was in a guard position with his lightsaber pike, using it to keep his opponents at bay with it’s reach. Behind him, his All-Girl Revue of Doom began leaping down as well, lightsabers igniting on their way up to a standing position.

“Told you if you were patient, you’d get what you wanted.” Venator said to his master as he, Roxas, and Araxis moved in a triangle fashion against Sunei, each trying to simultaneously draw his guard one way and strike in another.

“Yes, yes, about that.” Macron said. “I wanted his guts for garters, I’ve not gotten that yet.”

“Details.” Muttered Methyas as he pushed another telekinetic Force Blast towards Sunei.

- Reaper’s Call
- Just outside the Bridge

Shimura released the guard from the headlock he’d used to snap the poor fool’s neck. The bridge lay ahead of him, and there was the sound of a fight within it. The Zabrak grinned a cruel, wicked grin, and tapped the activation button. When there was no result, he reached for the lightsaber at his belt. With a snap-hiss, the vermillion blade sprang to life, lighting the dim hallway with a glow like emergency lights, an irony not lost on the Keibatsu.

Shimura stabbed the blade into the door, and began the process of cutting his way in. After the blade had passed through a few centimters, the opening allowed more of the sound of battle to sing a siren song to his Sith ears.

Of course, there was also the smell of ozone and the crackle of electricity, followed by screams. Clearly, somebody was throwing Force Lightning around.

- Reaper’s Call
- In the sealed off corridor

Fremoc caught a glimpse, in passing, where Kano’s resolve slipped, if only for an instant. Sunei’s grip was loosening, just not fast enough.

- Reaper’s Call
- Bridge

Venator fell against a console, his body still not ready to respond to his wishes. That last dose of lightning was particularly nasty, and aimed straight for him. If it hadn’t been for Witwalker and Roxas shooting at him to break his focus, Sunei would have certainly cooked him like a lifeday roast. Probably his just desserts for poisoning Sunei with one of his darts. He wasn’t even sure the toxin would take.

At that moment, the world began to coalesce into a strange fusion of circumstances. First, the door to the bridge flew in, straight at Sunei. He grabbed it with the Force to deflect it, which opened him up to another telekinetic assault from Methyas. This shocked him enough that when Roxas, Witwalker, and Masika shot him, he couldn’t deflect the bolts.

Seeing him shot, Macron swung a hard shot at Sunei’s head with his Iron Fist, feeling bone separate from the impact. Sunei took one last hurrah by slamming the Sith against the wall, but Aleho, and Kalei took quick strokes at him with their lightsabers, slicing him deeply.

“Well,” Venator said, pulling himself up. “That was fortuitous.”

- Bridge
- Reaper's Call


Sunei acted evilly, lashing out with mind numbing waves as his shattered body shlorped back together.
Such was the fate of those who delved too deeply and made unholy alliances and read the wrong things.

This had not been without pain. Macron’s guts ached from the withering Crush attack he had endured, largely unseen by the others. The sight was hideous and disgusting. The corpse was animated by a awful leering Dark Side energy.

The gibbering mass quavered quickly and spat words borne of flabby gelid lips. “Krh Bogan Rst’k Saraai M’custai Ngath Yokthah!,” blubbered the corspes hole of a mouth. The ancient words reverbrated in the air, stunning the group at large. Old they were- old beyond reckoning. Old even when the Sith were new. They were words of the ancient Bogan. Words from the Book.

All around, the entire mass of Dark Jedi staggered. And they would have continued to do so. Except- Sunei had underestimated them. Certainly alone each one would have been Akk dog-meat.

Even the Equites.Sunei’s mistake had been underestimating their love of life and Clan. Dark Jedi they were- cruel, mean, vicious. But many of them held ties of the heart and duty that they felt deeply. Even Sith were taught to find their passion from within. Every Disciple of Sadow felt the bond of the Force-Meld. The Mind of Battle was upon them. And against this, Sunei had no chance in his half-alive state.

“Bring it Aleho,” chuckled Macron as Sunei’s body got up. “Hurt that motherfracker Aisha. Kalei, cut off his legs.” Macron staggered a second as the body knitted itself and re-grasped it’s searing red lightsaber pike. “Roxas, Whitwalker- use the bacta on the wounded and cover them. Venator, Methyas, cover me!”

The Warlord screamed and drew something from a casing on his back. Until now, it had not been seen since the assault on the Forgotten Ekind. It was true it was “overdue” for checkout, but then again Tsainetomo had approved it in his lengthy vision. This was the Sword of Shar Dakhan.

The Alchemist’s Rage and Sith pride pushed him to the utmost. Lightning blasted all around as the Warlord rushed Sunei with all his skill and his might enhanced to the breaking point by the Sword of Shar Dakhan. Most of the lightning was deflected, almost being drank by the weirdly patterned blade. Macron shoved the vile sword deep into Sunei’s guts, cutting upward with a grimacing sneer. The preternaturally sharp blade split him like a rotten peach, slagged bowels and coagulated blood spraying about like a fire-hose. His life/unlife simply went out.

And Macron collapsed to the floor, convulsing as his body went into shock from using the blade. Death was imminent.

Bridge
Reaper's Call

Jade followed Macron down into the hole looking for the sounds of the battle. The voices in her mind raged on like storm surges, it was all she could do to put up a wall to temporally block them out, though they each seemed to have a personal sledge hammer.

Aleho, Kalei, and Aisha landed on the metal floor after her, each dark jedi ready with their sabers armed. As the women sprung into action, their blades dancing deadly arcs Jade saw Venator fall into a console. Macron turned and immediately sprung into action to take vengeance for his apprentice. As Jade moved into try and block from the side as Aleho and Kalei took cuts at Suneis’ body Macron was thrown hard into wall. Her eyes went jet black as the alchemist took the few moments to re-stitch his body so he could fight again. Oh vengeance for Sadow was more than imminent. She joined in with Aleho and Kalei, her saber adding a slice.

As Sunei moved to add defense Macron shouted for Venator and Methyas to cover him. Jade turned and saw the sword he drew from his back. “Macron don’t!” But the alchemist moved forward, using the sword to enhance his connection to the dark side, while at the same time the Sword of Shar Dakhan taking his energy from him.

The warlord moved swiftly, the sharp blade digging deep within Sunei’s body, tarring it from its own flesh, his guts spilling on the floor and blood redecorating the bridge with splatters of deep red vengeance. The deed was done, and though everyone took a sudden pause to watch the body fall lifeless to the cold hard metal, they hadn’t expected Macron to do the same.

Jade jumped over the fallen body and landed on her knees next to Macron. Pulling the sword from his hand and laying it to the side, to keep it from draining any more of his energy, she shook her head and looked up at Venator and Aleho. “Venator! Aleho! I need your help!” The two looked over at her and saw Macron convulsing on the ground, his skin turning a pale white bluish colour.

Venator deactivated his saber and clipped it to his side as he knelt by Macron on the opposite side from Jade. “What’s happening?”

Aleho joined Venator. A few of the other fighters turned their eyes form the red mess on the floor to the small group around Macron and moved in as Jade explained. “The Sword of Shar Dakhan can give you great focus and add to your connection to the dark side of the force...” As she spoke she turned Macron so he was lying out on his back, his eyes closed. “But of course, with all Sith alchemy, and power, there is a catch...” She moved the sword away from any possible contact to Macrons’ body. Now that it had a connection established it would easily pick up on Macrons energy and continue to drain it further. But she kept the sword close by and out of range of one the journeymen picking it up to try it out.

“The sword took his life force in exchange for the momentary use.”

Aleho put a hand on Macrons forearm and looked at him then back at Jade. “What can we do?”

“We have to give his body enough energy that it can fight to survive and heal itself.” She gave Macron a slight curse under her breath as the voices continued to pick away at the thin wall she had holding them back. I’m not going to let you give into this; Sunei will not win this by taking another Sadowian life. Granted if the madman were able to he would be able to drain energy from nearby power cells, equipment, even random space bugs, but of course things could not be that easy. She looked up at the two, her eyes scanning the few that had surrounded them. “We are going to do a transfer of energy. It won’t completely heal him but it will hopefully give his body enough to keep fighting.” She swallowed. If it all went well it could either allow him to wake up and move minimally for days until he was healed, or it could put him into hibernation for up to six weeks.

“Will it do...?”

Jade looked up at Aleho and gave her an answer before she could finish the question. “It will make you tired but you aren’t giving him your life force. You are not transferring your life, or his for that matter.” Aleho nodded. Jade rubbed her temples and ran a hand through her hair before looking at the two again.

Methyas came and knelt beside Jade, “I’m in.” Jade smiled at him and gave him a slight nod.

“What do we have to do?” Venator moved closer to Macrons body which had now ceased convulsing, showing that the icy fingers of death were nearing and coming to steal Macrons soul.

Jade moved and put one hand on Macrons forehead, the other just below his collar bone near his heart. “You need to be touching him...”She watched as at least 3 other pairs of hands landed on Macron. Jade took a breath and gave a silent prayer to the dark side. It had been forever since she had been shown this power, and felt even longer since she had used it personally. Though it was similar in some points to a dark transfer, the force transfer she was hoping would be enough.

The voices broke a small hole in her wall and screamed her; she forced a thin patch over it, not having the time needed to build another wall. “Each of you has a certain thread, a special line of connection to the force, find that now.” Many of those around her and helping Macron now, were Journeymen and this would be the first time they had heard of, or even used the power, she would have to do her best to make it quick and simple.

She kept her eyes open and watched as the ones connected to the hands on Macron closed their eyes and gave small nods as they reached out to feel the force flowing through them and searched deeper for that one thread of connection that they knew was there but never really thought about. As each followed those tiny veins to the pulsing thread of energy she smirked. It was an interesting feeling of so many reaching out. “Now, sense for Macrons energy signature. It is weak but you will be able to sense it. Make sure you aren’t touching anyone else or you will feel their energy as well.” A couple of journeymen inched away from each other before giving a very slow nod to say they had found him. It took a lot of concentration, and she was impressed at each and everyone taking part, they were doing amazing and she was glad they were part of Naga Sadow.

“Lastly, divert some of the energy flowing there; through your hands into the vein you sense in Macron.” Jade took a deep breath and made sure the sword was still not touching anyone, it would be a deadly mix if it were included in the ritual. It would have so many connected energies to feed off of. She then added her own power to the madman.

You aren’t allowed to give in to this Macron...You still owe me some sock whiskey.

Bridge, M-CRV Reaper's Call
Sepros Aerospace, Orian System

Molten metal and sweat dripped to the floor. Shimura stepped through the hole in the durasteel door he had just cut and snapped his lightsaber off, drooping his arms back to let his heavy black cloak slide off. Studying his surroundings the Zabrak winced, multiple Dark Jedi. His battle honed instincts kicked in and he dropped into his Vapaad stance and ignited his saber with a hiss. The Keibatsu swore, the fight was over before he had a chance to spill blood.

Macron was laying on the floor convulsing with other Dark Jedi either kneeling or standing beside him with their hands placed on him, as if to heal him. He hadn’t seen his friend in a long time, and now he laid here on the ground, in what might possibly his last moments among the living. Shimura switched his saber off and strode over to the Darksiders surrounding him and kneeled.

He had learned the belief from his tribe when he was little. The hands are for creation, the feat for destruction. Macron didn’t look good. Taking his eyes away from his friend he glanced around the room and noticed the body that was gutted and laying a pool of blood, a sword laying nearby. Through the Force he heard a heartbeat stall and finally cease. Looking back down he noticed his friend stopped convulsing and finally passed. Shimura formed his hand into clenching claws and watched the electricity spring from his fingertips.

Shimura was an instrument of death, not a healer, but his knowledge in death bought his friend a few more moments, he could hear it now. His heart was beating dangerously slow, once again after being shocked back into action.The Zabrak pulled his hands back and looked at the other Jedi deep in meditation focusing their energies.

“You’ve got precious few seconds to stabilize him. Make it count.”

Blocked off Hallway
Reaper's Call

"I've always tried to be better than you," yelled Kano.

"I trained you, you can't be better," said the Fist of the Brotherhood.

"This power is unbelievable. Maybe I can finally beat you." The comment surprised Fremoc, but it made everything so clear.

"You let yourself get possessed. What's wrong with you?" The realization that his own brother had turned against him was shocking. The Dark Councilor threw his lightsaber into the wall. The emerald blade sinking deep, before it held itself there.

"You getting Marked, you becoming Fist, you being everything I can't be." Kano threw his lightsaber into the ground and charged Fremoc. The elder Pepoi ducked, thrusting his clenched fist into Kano's gut. Reflexively the Priest threw his leg into his brother's chest. Wind escaped Fremoc's lungs at the same time Kano's did as well. The Prelate stood, gasping for breath, as grasped the top of his brother's chest plate to his armor. With all his strength and then some, he ripped it off the Mandalorian. Kano went wide eyed, at the sight of his armor being ripped off, and unleashed a flurry of punches, that Fremoc parried with his hands. Out of no where, Kano snapped a side kick into Fremoc's gut, sending him into the bulkhead.

The Prelate grunted as his back hit the wall, but blocked the pain immediately. "You want a battle, fine," spat Fremoc. His mind snapped as his anger rose, consuming his body. The normally gray eyes turning to a blue color, his emotions towards everything shut off. He now had an enemy, a hostile in his midst despite it being his own brother. Kano smiled as he looked at his brother.

"Welcome back, Demonic," chuckled the possessed Priest. There was a flash in Fremoc's eyes as his hands opened, Force energy spinning around in circles. The movement was quick as Fremoc sent his massive Force Blast towards his brother. Unexpectedly Kano did the same, the blasts meeting in the middle of the two of Sadowans. The explosion of the two Force Blasts, shook the ship, denting the bulkheads surrounding the two men.

Fremoc sprinted towards his brother, unleashing his powerful fist, only to be met with his brother's. The clash of the two men began to emit shockwaves through the ship as they threw everything they had into the battle. The flurry of punches and kicks, pounded into each other's body. There was a moment where Kano was open, and quickly Fremoc head butted his brother, knocking him back onto his back side.

The Prelate stepped back, holding his hand open as he called his lightsaber into his hand. A loud slurp came from the wall as his emerald blade came to his hand. The Priest stood against his brother, his one true Master.

"I've taught you since you joined. But I know more, I always have, and I always will." The Elder Pepoi twisted his lightsaber into a reverse grip, and held it across his face. His blue eyes starring straight into his brother. The younger brother didn't know what was about to hit him.

Bridge
Marauder-class corvette Reaper’s Call
Sepros Aerospace, Orian System

The Sons and Disciples of Sadow stood, huddling around the fallen Warlord, and paying no thought to the fate of the ruined old man whose organs now bled out across the floor. Curwen Sunei had been a murderer, a heretic, and, worst of all, nothing but a naive fool. The madman had sold his soul to the demons of the underworld, and in so doing, he had damned himself.

Led by the Daughter of Sadow, the men, women and aliens of the House of Sadow knelt over the silent body of Macron Goura, no, Macron Sadow, and wrapped the threads of their own being around him, tying him to this plane of existence, holding him tight to the world of the living, refusing to allow the crazy alchemist to fade and move on to the netherworld of the Force... or worse, should the demons of the afterlife still have any hold.

Beyond the illusion of the living, beyond the shadow of crude matter, within the whispers of the very Force itself, Macron Goura and Curwen Sunei battled it out on the planes forged of pure will, where in the end there could be but one victor, the loser condemned to oblivion.

Inside Macron’s mind, Curwen Sunei pressed upon the Sadow. ‘Your body rebels against you...’ the mad adept jabbered, confident, unflinching. ‘It shall be mine... it shall be ours...’

Macron’s hate burned through the Force like a river of lava, sweeping across Sunei. ‘You are nothing!’ the alchemist spat, seething at the spirit of the murderer standing before him. ‘Your anger is nothing compared to mine, Sadow killer. You are no better than my former Master. And, like the Betrayer before you, I have now killed you too.’

‘You are weak... weak... weak!’ the wizard jittered, his mind broken and crazed. ‘Like the girl and her master, your body shall belong to me! As is my lord’s will, as shall be done!’ Sunei laughed, his insanity echoing through the Force.

In the depths of the Void
Between seen and not seen...

‘Hello Vexatus,’ said Xanos wistfully.

The creature strung up on the altar raged, venting coiling whips of fire at the Falleen. The red flickers of flame, however, passed harmlessly around Xanos, who simply shook his head and sighed. ‘In all these years, still you have not learned, still you refuse to let go.’

From behind one of the claw-shaped pillars that rose above the chained spirit, a warrior dressed in a familiar suit of black and blue armorweave stepped out. Without even needing to think about it, Xanos instantly recognised the sergeant of the legendary Iron Fist Brigade who had – until five years ago – stood guard as the elite champions of the Disciples of Sadow.

‘Halt! By the order of Overlord Astronicus Dlarit you are to stand trial for Treason against the Sons of Sadow!’ declared the Obelisk centurion as two cerulean blades simultaneously snap-hissed to life. The praetorian charged, his lightsabers held high as he made for Xanos...

And then disappeared.

With another heavy sigh, Xanos again slowly shook his head. ‘You cannot harm me,’ he said gravely, genuinely ashamed as he looked upon the broken shadow he had once sought power in. As his Master had always said, and as he had always been too blind to hear, there was no truth to be found in the Codes of the Sith or the Jedi; no greater proof was there of that than in the total ruin of the will that had been broken and which now writhed in agony before him.

The sound of heartbeat continued to pound in Xanos’s ears as the three red balls of malice and hate pulsed above him. In those hellish maelstroms of fire, he could make out the faces of the lost and the damned, crying out, begging for a release from their eternal damnation. He breathed another sigh. There was no redemption for those who had been lost to the Void. As Xora had rightly said, and as his Master had long taught, death here meant but one thing:

Oblivion.

The shadow cast by the pillar to Xanos’s left coalesced into yet another gullible and soon-to-be lost soul who knelt, prostrated before the still smouldering body chained to the altar. The elderly man’s unkempt silver-white hair cascaded down his shoulders, and his deep yellow eyes glowed fiercely from beneath his nightmare dark hood. Whoever this man was, not that the who would soon be of any consequence, he was naive enough to be muttering blessings to a dead man – much like, long ago, Xanos himself had done, reflected the Falleen silently.

‘You are weak... weak... weak!’ the man babbled frenetically, shrieking as the body chained to the altar writhed. ‘Like the girl and her master...’ the figure continued, but before the man had finished, the image faded into the shadows again, back to whencesoever it had come.

Xanos looked back up into the carmine furnaces, where tens of thousands of years of sciolism and profanity burned, forever trapped in the space between spaces, locked between the living and the dead. Chaos. This was the power he had sought. This was the answer he had craved.

Ignorance is all the nothingness before him spoke. In the depths of the Void, all he had found was a hunger that sought to consume everything, including him. He looked back down at the Kathol that now wore his face, his name, his life. It was no more Darth Vexatus than he was. The Falleen... the Human... the Sith... the Rakata... the Kathol... its face melted and shifted again and then again and again. Through the Mark, Xanos saw only a hole, a parchment torn from the fabric of the Tapestry. Vexatus, Cyrus, Maestus, Xora... it whispered many names, but in the end it was none of them. It was a void inside the Void, a fracture, a devourer.

And like all the other ancient derriphan, it would be sealed.

Xanos stepped forward underneath the talons onto the raised dais supporting the altar. The Nameless One snarled and hissed, writhing in its chains as Xanos approached it. Though it was beyond consciousness, though it was beyond all but the basest of emotion, even the dead knew fear when their end approached. With sad smile, Xanos placed his hand on the beast’s chest and closed his eyes. The Third Eye on his forehead opened... and, in the Weavery, he beheld a snarl made up of manifold thousands upon thousands of torn and tangled Threads.

A name echoed in the back of his mind...

‘Zetous,’ whispered the Herald of Dominion as he wrapped his own Thread around the rest, sewing the Tapestry back together, sealing the millennia-old seam, ‘I bind you unto me.

‘There is no Life or Death. There is only my Will.’

A vibration rippled out across the Tapestry and the Herald sliced through the Threads.

Rejuvenator-class Star Destroyer Auspicious
Flagship of Jedi Master Renko Yast
Lehon, Tempered Wastes, Unknown Regions

It was over.

One minute, the decayed corpse strung up inside the shell of the shattered bacta tank had been burning with the fury of the galaxy, its arms outstretched in cruciform, its eyes raging with the sanguine hell fires of death... then it had crashed to the floor of the engineering bay, joining the countless others strewn throughout the forgotten ghost ship.

A cord somewhere in the Force snapped and Tradis Caelen dropped to his knees, gasping.

For five years. For five years he had watched all those he had ever known, ever loved, ever cared about, fall to the sword of the Yuuzhan Vong, the Ssi-ruuk, or the cursed monster that Xora Zorrixor had brought onboard the Auspicious all that time ago.

He glanced down at the lightsaber he had tossed aside days earlier. With a gesture, it lifted into the air and calmly – even if slowly – floated over to his hand. The blue-white blade ignited with a crisp snap-hiss and Tradis smiled. He had never got to become a Jedi. He had been trapped inside this hell for half a decade, chained to the demon that now finally lay dead amongst the bodies of his friends.

The apprentice plunged the blade of light into the profane corpse.

He was free. Tradis shut his eyes and breathed a deep, cleansing sigh... he was free. He said it for a third and final time: he was free. Scarcely able to believe it himself, the Jedi sat down and leant back against the nearby wall. It was over. The darkness was finally, finally over.

The Jedi, Tradis realised to himself, yes, I’m a Jedi...

Able to let go at last, Tradis Caelen faded away into the Force, to finally be at peace.

Inside the mind of Macron Sadow
Between seen and not seen...

‘Your soul shall be food for the devourers!’ Sunei gloated, triumphant. ‘You are a fool to entertain any notion of victory, child! My lord shall—’ Before the madman could finish, he doubled over, shrieking in pain. Despite writhing in agony, the madman forced yet more mad laughter through his contorting lips. ‘My lord! He comes! Despair, Sadow, as your doom approaches!’

A heavy heartbeat thundered through the corridors of the Force and a shadow stepped out from the clouds behind Sunei. The rage boiling inside Macron exploded. The lakes of lava erupting in volcanic fury. BETRAYER!

‘YOU!’ the Sadow snarled, raising both his arms and summoning forth a tsunami of red and orange fury to engulf both Sunei along with his own former Master.

The shadow of Lord Vexatus, the Great Betrayer, the Apostate, the Heretic, stood there, arrogant, mocking, not even bothering to try and resist as he simply let the waves of hatred wash over him and the naive tool who had become his agent in treachery. Macron’s rage bubbled over, sweeping across the Force.

The Betrayer... raised a hand... and snipped.

‘My lord, no... wait,’ cried Sunei, ‘I am your loyal servant, my lords! If you only lend me your strength, I can—!’

The thread tying Sunei to his dark god frayed apart and snapped... and the Betrayer was washed away on the currents of liquid hatred surging forth from Macron. The alchemist did not relent. He would not. He could not. He did not. The Betrayer would die! Sunei would die! All who forsook the Sons of Sadow would die!

But even as Macron did, Vexatus drifted away... fading back into the bottomless depths of the Void... Sunei turned away from Macron, reaching out toward the Betrayer, pleading, imploring, begging his master to lend him strength. ‘MY LORD!’

But Vexatus was gone.

Macron cursed in a dozen forgotten tongues. The Betrayer had escaped! Coward! Shaking his head to clear his mind, he turned his attention back to the murderer still before him. ‘Your god may have escaped. But you’re mine.’ Macron turned his hatred back on Sunei.

Sunei exhaled sharply, spinning back to face the Sadow again. ‘You foolish... foolish boy,’ Sunei hissed, though there was now a hint of fear in his voice, ‘Even without my lord at my side, my will alone is still enough to overpower yours!’

The Son of Sadow snorted a laugh at the madman’s presumption as the threads cast by his fellow Disciples wrapped around him, filling him with their combined spirit and willpower. ‘You are naive, sorcerer if you think I am alone,’ he gave a characteristic giggle as the courage of his brothers’ and sisters’ determination filled him. ‘Now give me back my body, and go join your Master in the pits of Hell!’

Posting soon!

Reaper's Call Bridge

Deep in concentration the Mandalorian was down far into the confides of his mind. Within himself all he could see was darkness, but far away lost in the darkness there was a miniscule light that seemed smaller than a star it was almost beyond sight. The tiny light gave off a viridian glow and it seemed to call out to Roxas with a whisper that was like a silent pulsing vibration. He ran toward the light, but it seemed like no matter how fast he ran he wouldn’t reach it. After what seemed like life times he jumped into the air and reached out for it. It was in reach, his hand clasping around it in an attempt to grab a hold. Just as his hand closed around the object he awoke to find himself staring at Macron with his hand on the Son of Sadow’s chest.

The ship shook with a loud explosion and everyone in the bridge knew that it was Fremoc and Kano. Whatever they were fighting about was serious, but if Macron didn't get help soon he would die. The Mandalorian closed his eyes again and focused. He was once again deep within his subconscious sending energy from his connection to the Force into the Alchemist. Hopefully soon things would change for the better not just for Macron, but for Fremoc and Kano as well.

As time went by the smell of Sunei’s blood filled the bridge, it was a horrid stench, but there was nothing that could be done about if now. Every person in the bridge was doing all they could to help Macron survive. Macron didn’t seem to be getting much better, but no one was going to give up, the resolve of each person held them together and gave them hope.

As Roxas focused his mind he once again found himself in that dark place, but this time there was no light in the distance. He looked everywhere for it, but it was nowhere to be found. He continued focusing himself trying to give more and more to the fallen Alchemist.

I wonder who will win...Fremoc or Kano... Was the though that kept crossing the minds of the Dark Jedi in the ship. Fremoc... or... Kano...

Blocked off Hallway
Reaper's Call

He could feel his ribs cracking, his back aching, his fingers broken. The only thing that was keeping him going was the fact that the Force had numbed everything for him. The lights flickered in their corridor. He could feel the power in the ship starting to fail. The shockwaves from the battle had damaged many areas through out the ship, and he could sense that a vital connection from the bridge and the engines had been damaged. Two scars on the walls were from the Force Blasts, the metal ripped and pointing everywhere.

The Death's Revenge covered his body as he waited for his younger brother. In a flash, another massive blast flew towards Fremoc, who jumped out of the way in time to watch the metal door sealing them in the corridor rip open. He quickly recovered, but Kano was on top of him clashing their two lightsabers together. The Priest pushed Fremoc backwards, through the now destroyed door, their lightsabers cutting deep gashes into the metal bulkheads. The battle continued back and forth, a wave of energy would course through the corridors, ripping metal apart.

Kano's blade flew past his right shoulder, easily being deflected by the original master of Soresu in the Pepoi family. Blasts erupted from Fremoc's hand into Kano's stomach, hearing the crunch of bones. Kano stumbled backwards, blood forming at his lips, an obvious sign of massive internal bleeding. The Priest spat his blood onto the floor, and came at the Dark Councilor once more. Their blades clashing creating another shockwave through out the ship, their battle resonating more in the physical realm than through the Force.

Kano slipped, he left himself open for an attack only for a moment. It was the only moment he needed as he crushed his brother's knee's, causing the younger man to crumple to the ground. Another moment, and the possessed Priest's hand was shattered, letting the purple blade roll free. It immediately went into the Prelate's free hand which guided it to a pouch at the small of his back.

The emotionless face of the elder Pepoi stared down to the very pained little brother. Blood splattered from Kano's mouth as he tried to breathe, the younger man looking in fear up at the Dark Councilor, and despite being family, saw nothing. In a last ditch effort, Kano unleashed a final torrent of dark energy at Fremoc, who easily dodged the attack but also responded. The Fist of the Brotherhood's attack was quick and a precise Force Blast into his brother's chest over his heart. The ribcage shattered, sending many fragments of bone into the younger man's heart. It took a moment, but the Priest finally exhaled his final breath.

It was over.

The battle had consumed him as he collapsed next to his brother. He could barely feel anything, as the physical and mental exhaustion came over him. A large howl escaped his lips as his emotions finally flooded back into his being. The fact that he killed his own brother weighed in his heart more than anything. Even though Kano had been possessed, had identified himself as his enemy, the blood line was still there and Fremoc would never forgive himself for not finding another way to end it. The wells in his eyes, unleashed, dotting his brother's clothing with wet marks.

I already forgive you Fremoc...


The lights in the hallway finally flickered and died. The ship was dead in the water, and was beginning to drift towards Sepros, loosing altitude.

“Hmmph. Three eyes, and it is only now that you see.”

Fremoc, still kneeling on the deck beside his brother’s corpse and steeped in his grief, looked up through tear brimmed eyes at the source of the familiar baritone. Stifling a sob, the Fist of the Brotherhood found Naga Sadow’s Quaestor at work, his hands moving within one of the holes his fight with Kano had made in the bulkhead.

“Wha…what could you possibly mean?” Fremoc replied, his grief threatening to once again burst to the fore.

“I mean – hold on, almost…got it – there!” Tsainetomo’s voice was triumphant as first the emergency lights and then the main lighting were restored within the ravaged passageway. Affecting a self-satisfied mien, Sai stepped away from the hole in the bulkhead, looking up at the lighting as he brushed his hands clean.

“This, Fremoc, is what I mean, in part,” the Keibatsu stated, waving his hand around the space. “You and your dear brother would threaten to kill us all with your actions, yet it is with knowledge about the ship and the men trained to fight her that we shall be saved…not by religion, not by majik. Even as we speak, the pall that was Sunei’s doing has been lifted, and the crew is working to get us back in shape.” Tsainetomo's disdain for the Wanderer and his ilk was well known, and his demonstration was not entirely lost on the newly appointed Fist.

Stepping closer, Sai folded his arms across his chest as he cast his tripartite gaze upon the Fist. “But, that’s not all that I mean, Fremoc. I mean that you’re finally seeing the consequence of action…and what it truly means to be beholden to the Throne.”

“I am and will always be a Sadowan, Sai!” Fremoc shouted, his emotions creeping closer to the tipping point.

Sai looked upon him with compassion, his voice softening slightly. “Yes, Fremoc, you are. But, you also are not. When you serve the Throne – my cousin – a price is always exacted, Fremoc. Always. There is and ever shall be a sacrifice…and yours has affected us all.

“Your becoming Fist has robbed the House of its Aedile…and Teu has fallen ill. You have killed my battleteam’s leader…”

Fremoc could stand no more. “You heartless bastard…he was my brother!” The tears began to stream from his eyes as Sai held up a hand to signal his intent to avoid a confrontation.

“I know who he was, Fremoc,” he said. “But, when you make decisions – especially with your level of responsibility – you must be conscious of the consequence. You accompanied me here against my wishes out of your love for the House, but did your precious Mark grant you the clairvoyance to see what would happen when you came?”

Fremoc cast his eyes about the nearly ruined corridor, and down to Kano’s body. “No! You’re twisting things, making it look like it was my fault!”

The softness hadn’t left Sai’s voice until this very moment, when he espied Fremoc’s trembling hand stealing towards Death’s Revenge, seemingly fueled by the Fist’s rising anger. “Am I, dear boy? Truth, no matter the source, is still the Truth. And, I wouldn’t do that were I you; we’ve danced this dance before, and I recall that it didn’t work out too well for you.”

Fremoc’s hand froze at both the memory of their ACC battle and at the sudden hardness in the Quaestor’s voice. The Fist’s eyes flitted to where Sai customarily kept his hilt, and absently noted that he wasn’t carrying the Herald’s gift to him. That didn’t lessen the threat that the man was, however.

“That is the sacrifice you make, Fremoc,” Sai spat as he continued. “The lives of the very people you love, and certainly that of your brother.”

Fremoc could stomach no more. He’d known the Son of Sadow to be notoriously cold, but he was his friend, for Ferran’s sake. Surely, there was a less insensitive way to make his point. The hurt would not get out of his way…but maybe he could make Sai hurt just as he did.

“And what of you Sai?! What sacrifices have you ever had to make in the name of Sadow?!” Fremoc still knelt by the corpse of his brother, but his eyes held a fury that made the gray of his orbs turn to steel.

“Trust that I have made mine, Fremoc, long before you and yours darkened our doorway.” Sai didn’t like where the conversation was going, and his tone hardened even more.

“Oh, really?” The impudence dripped from Fremoc’s voice. “While we’re sitting here judging, let’s lay your life bare!”

“Fremoc. I warn you, don’t.” Sai knew what Fremoc was going to do, even as the Fist began to do it.

The Force coursed through Fremoc’s body, its ethereal flows coalescing at the nexus at his forehead, and the Mark flitted open, a rivulet of crimson trailing down one side of his nose to mix with the tears that had already fallen. He began to cast his view upon Sai, seeing how exactly he fit into the Tapestry that Trevarus had exposed to him not so long ago, and to see how he had gotten to this particular moment. He would regain some of his dignity…

…but was stopped short by a sunset hued blade, its tip hovering microns from the Mark.

“You shut that damned thing, or I’ll burn it out of your fracking skull.”

Fremoc had never heard Tsainetomo speak thusly…and, despite the white-hot anger and shame burning within him, the statement chilled him to the bone. He reluctantly obliged, and Sai extinguished his ‘saber. Fremoc was silent for a time, watching as Naga Sadow’s Quaestor replaced his new lightsaber at its place at the small of his back. He didn’t get to see much – excepting the orange blade – but he did note that it was actually two hilts, joined at their bases by a length of duracord.

Sai held out a hand, and Fremoc took it, allowing the Son of Sadow to help him to his feet. “So…what now?” A kernel of uncertainty was hidden deep within Fremoc’s voice, and Sai’s trained ear picked up on it. His voice softened once more.

“My friend, you are going to walk to the hangar, pick out a shuttle, and head back to Antei. His Excellency is surely awaiting a report. On the way, you might want to get Trevarus – wherever he is – to show you how to use that thing to gain some true insight…I understand you can use it for more than just playing ‘Guess The Baby’s Sex’ and ‘Find The Alchemist’.”

The absurdity of Sai’s statement sent them both into chuckles, and the tension was lessened a bit. “What of my brother?” Fremoc asked softly.

“Leave him to me. He will be afforded the full honors of a true Child of Sadow.” The assurance in the Son of Sadow’s voice gave Fremoc confidence. “Oh, and clean yourself up, Pepoi. You’re bleeding.” Sai tossed Fremoc a kerchief, and the Fist used it to wipe his face. When he removed it, he gazed upon it with a newfound profundity. Sai was gone, presumably towards the bridge, and Fremoc heeded his friend’s advice, heading towards the cargo bay.

’It seems my legacy will be stained with blood and tears…’

Bridge

The Dark Jedi continued to work feverishly on the fallen Alchemist, each one sensing that, on a rudimentary level, Macron was still fighting. Suddenly, the ship righted itself as the Dlarit Naval personnel and D:SOG forces aboard used their training, and the systems came back online one by one.

A rush of mundanes onto the bridge was immediately recognized by the Sadowans as those from Medical, and they moved towards the Alchemist. Jade looked up, fire in her eyes, incisors dangerously close to being exposed. “Go about your business. This one is not to be moved.”

One of the bolder medics spoke up. “M’lady, we have to get him to sick bay…he won’t make it without proper medical…”

Aisha’s head snapped up, real concern draped over her visage. “You heard the lady..beat it.” Numerous hands began to move towards lightsaber hilts. Things were becoming dangerous.

“Now, this won’t do. Medics, I’m sure there are others who can use your skills elsewhere. The rest of you: I just put this ship back together. I will not cotton your undoing of my work.”

The medics obeyed the baritone, parting to reveal Tsainetomo standing aboard the bridge. The Officer-of-the-Deck made his announcement, customary in the Dlarit Navy to alert the other non-Force users aware of who had command.

“Governor-General on deck!”

The mundanes popped to attention, moving back to their posts after Sai stated, “Carry on.”

“Governor-General, huh? The times, they are a-changin’.”

Sai whirled to espy his long removed cousin Shimura. In a rare display of emotion, the Korun-Keibatsu rushed over, grasping the Zabrak’s forearm in a soldier’s clutch, a smile threatening to break his steely façade. Out of all of his family, Sai truly felt closest to Shimura; the Keibatsu familial line was convoluted to the uninitiated, but at this moment, the two directly descendant from Meishu Keibatsu felt more as brothers than cousins.

“Yes, Shimura. Times certainly are. I’ll catch you up in a bit. Meanwhile, how’s Mononoke?” Sai asked the whole of the Sadowan assemblage.

Sepros
Classified Location

The D:SOG commander on scene looked at the shuttlecraft with more than a little concern. While the Governor-General had mobilized most of the fleet in the latest ‘training exercise’, he still expected things to operate smoothly.

The commander was trying to figure out how to tell Tsainetomo that things weren’t so smooth anymore.

D:SOG forces had originally been dispatched some distance away, when reports of attacks by vicious and rabid humanoids on the local populous began to at first trickle, then rush, into the local field office. After initial investigations had been commenced, the commander immediately quarantined the area. A sweep had been conducted, and now the commander had been faced with a quandary to be sure.

Monsters plaguing the area…

A shuttle bearing no markings, but with a flight plan originating somewhere in Taldryan holdings.

Even worse, the interior had been decimated; the only thing recognizable was a crate bearing not the crest of the ‘Brotherhood within the Brotherhood’, but of someone else.

Tarentum.

Even as the D:SOG commander relied on his training and settled into ‘Observe and Report’ mode, he couldn’t help a single thought from blossoming within his mind, fed as it was by the commander’s subsequent discoveries.

’What the frell is going on?!’

Bridge
Reaper's Call

The voices were strong but they were muffled as though a gag was over their mouth as they screamed and clawed at her mind. Jade kept her hands on Macron, though they shook with the concentration of adding her strength to him. She could feel the other Sadowians lending him their energy. It was an amazing connection. One that brought everyone, new members and old alike, together for one cause. It was the Sadowian way, the strength of the House and the family behind it.

Macron felt distant, and she knew as well as the others connected to him now, that they were guarding him as well as lending him their strength. He was battling for more than his life, but he wasn’t doing it alone.

Something powerful and full of hate and rage burst through the silence, freeing the voices in her mind. Her incisors nearly took her in the search for blood as tear drops escaped her eyes and the pain radiated through her body. The anger and dark side power floating near Macron traveled through him. Jade wanted to open her eyes to see how the others laying their hands on Macron were doing, but she couldn’t. The power behind the anger was drawing them in. Though they were giving their support to the madman they would have all been hard pressed to pull away, partly due to Macron drinking in their energy to fight what he needed, and partly due to this unseen force. The influence of the dark sider was a command, no, it was more than a command, it was a promise. A promise that he would bring them into the fight, take them all on. He wasn’t afraid of their collective power; in fact he found it amusing.

Jade forced a swallow down her throat. The voices radiated with darkness, black lines and white lightning arced through her minds’ eye and jolted her nerve endings. The control and attitude could only mean it was the betrayer himself, and he was close. Her hands shook as she fought not only the voices in her mind, but the urges to both pull her hands off of Macron as well as to keep them there, and her connected to him. Just as she thought she would have no choice but to give in to the one behind the void drawing her in the power faded and a mocking laughter added to the voices. He was guaranteeing he would return, now was just not his ultimate timing, now they were just mere play things, like toys to a child.

As the power faded, the pain went with it, permitting her tears to dry up. Sounds of a battle suddenly ending nearby snapped her from her thoughts and her hands steadied against the warlord. Footsteps came close, but there was more than one set. Jade opened her eyes preparing for the possibility of needing her saber. Though she was glad when her eyes saw only medics she wasn’t going to let them interrupt their connection to Macron. He was still fighting a battle they had no other way in helping.

“Go about your business. This one is not to be moved.” Her voice was harsh and low, almost sounding like a hiss.

One of the medics straightened his uniform; he had obviously had enough of people telling him how to do his job, and decided he would try to take a stand this time. “M’lady, we have to get him to sick bay…he won’t make it without proper medical…”

“You heard the lady...beat it.” Jade smirked at Aisha and watched in pure respect for everyone surrounding Macron as each one still remained connect yet moved a hand to their saber hilts. Nothing would get in the way of a Sadowian. They were all brothers and sisters alike, and they weren’t going to let someone interrupt that bond. Though she was extremely proud they were strong enough, she could see the situation turning very bad.

“Now, this won’t do. Medics, I’m sure there are others who can use your skills elsewhere. The rest of you: I just put this ship back together. I will not condone your undoing of my work.” The voice of Tsainetomo moving in to break up the situation gave Jade the chance to take a breath. Those around her moved their hands back to the madman, instinctively knowing they wouldn’t be interrupted any further by the medics.

Jade took a moment to try and push down the voices and the connection the betrayer had renewed within her before turning her energy flow back to Macron. It wasn’t easy, and the mocking laughter continued to ring out.

“...how’s Mononoke?” The Son of Sadows’ voice had Jades eyes flutter open and she looked at Aisha as she answered him.

“Could be better, could be worse. But when he pulls through he is going to wish he hadn’t when he pays for the bar tab of everyone helping him.”

Jade smirked, it was definitely a ‘when’ and not an ‘if,’ they wouldn’t have it any other way. Macron was definitely stronger; the connection between them and the thread running through his body was brighter, no more holes of deaths’ grip slipping through. Whatever the Betrayer had done when he had been around had given Macron some sort of advantage. “His connection is stronger, though I’m sure he wouldn’t mind a few more bar tabs to pick up.” She gave Tsainetomo a wink before increasing her flow of energy to Macron.

Timira City
Kamino

It was raining. It was always raining as CLIM-AI-6479 sat in his room looking at the water running down his window. His training had been completed, the memory flashes of his hosts past were confusing but the knowledge he seemed to get was worth all that confusion. The clone had many unanswered questions. Questions which his cloners couldn't answer. The dreams were the worst. Images and places he didn't know but felt as if he had seen before. Then there was that eerie daydream. Where the clone was kneeling before someone, he couldn't see who though.

Lan-Pa watched the clone from a distance. She and many others of the Kamionans were wondering what to do with the clone now he was complete. They all assumed someone would have come to collect CLIM-AI-6479. But no-one didn't. Thus it was tine to be proactive. Leaving the genetically engineered human Lan-Pa walked through the corridors to the communication tower.

"Have you found anything?" Lan-Pa said to Sun-Ta, the lead communications officer.

"Yes. The Dlarit Corporation has an R&D department. It's led by Macron Goura, he's the chief officer and lead scientist."

Lan-Pa nodded and bowed. "Thank you. Please contact him to pick up the clone."

Sun-Ta bowed in return and turned back to the console. He sent the message onwards to inform about the clones existence and the need to pick it up and reintegrate him into society.

That was likely never to happen once Ashura's clone was revealed to the Inner Order.

Onboard of The Sanguinus,
[CR 90 Corvette, heavily modified]

The hemisphere of pure force, covered with translucent red shimmering runes of an ancient tongue expanded slowly around the silent Krath witch that stood in the middle of it. Protection, she thought continously, focusing on the purpose of this sphere. A protection from whatever wishes to disturb the ceremony to bring back what is now lifeless, but yet existed as a strong minded mere spirit. Several blue sigils appeared, woven into the shield of runes, strenghening it. They flashed up, flickering lightly and with a calm gesture of the Blind Dragon they seamlessly locked into the hemisphere. Slowly the runes and sigils rotated in a orbit around the Krath. At the brink of her senses she felt the force touch of Lord Trevarus, he watched her efforts in mastering the teachings of the Longs. In her he had found a willing and studiously apprentice, often asking him for more knowledge and of his teachings although she was close to complete exhaustion. Yet, only her wish for her patriarch Shan Long to teach her overshadowed her hunger for power. One day, she thought with determent, I will be also a Marked One, but I will find a way to open the Eye myself.

Another gesture of the female Long and the last barrier was added to the hemisphere, adding a purple to the red and blue glow - representing the orders of the Krath, Obelisk and Sith. She tilted her head lightly backwards, effortless she was able to keep it up. Visions, threads on the tapestry of the force unravelled in front of her inner eye. Her breath quickened and she felt a tingle on her forehead. Dizziness spreaded through her body, and she pressed a hand against a temple. She slumped onto the ground and she felt as if she was falling endlessly. But then she felt the agony of a Sadow, close to death, a small heartbeat away from the grim cold touch of eternal rest. With each weaker pulse from the Sadow, siphoning on her concentration, the hemisphere decreased in size and finally collapsed. The tingling sensation faded as she slowly recovered. Who? She wondered.

With a word of power she summoned a glass of water and poured it out. Yet the water did not touch the ground, rather floating in the air against the laws of gravity. Her hands moved quickly with precise movements, watching how the water shaped into a mirror. She held a hand above its surface, forcing a beat of blood with a dagger to drop onto it. Sadow blood to find out which Sadow was in distress. The water rippled and immediately she sensed the signature of the crazy alchemist. Macron..., she thought with a frown. Do not seek death, she whispered. Unsure whether Macron had heard her or not, she let the ritual of vision drop.

Bridge
Reaper's Cell

Kalei sat helping with Macron. Her mind was not focused though; even though she knew Aleho had been posessed when she killed Ashura, it still did not excuse what she did. Instead of fighting with Aleho, however, she would deal with Ashura's death in her own way at a later point. Right now was all for Macron and saving him.

Her two-tone green eyes moved towards Aleho. This couldn't be easy for the young one. She had killed their master, though it was beyond her control. She had the burden of knowing what she did, and if others didn't know she had been posessed, they would blame her for it. This was where, even though the Priestess was angry at Aleho, would back her up and not let others bully her around.

Now that things were somewhat under control, Kalei's mind began to wander. To where, she wasn't sure, but the images she saw in her mind were not what she liked seeing. Why was it now that she was having images of bad things happening? All that had happened never showed up in her dreams, but now it was. All the faces were blurred out, she could not tell who was who. The general outline of everyone seemed familiar though.

Shaking her head, the Priestess focused once more on the task at hand. The worry showed on her face from the blurred images she had encountered. She could only hope the others would not pick up on it.

Between seen and not seen...

With one final strike, the last thread holding the accursed altar onto the world of the living came apart and unravelled. The spiritual cages deep in the Void thundered and raged, the three sanguine-coloured suns throbbing and beating, pulsing with fear and anxiousness. For thirty millennia, the sins of the Old One who long, long ago had once been named Zetous had been a stain on the Essential Construct. A tangle of threads, torn on the face of the Tapestry.

Now, at long last, it had been sealed.

The Mark blazed on Xanos Zorrixor’s forehead, one tiny light that shone brighter than all of the souls of those who had been condemned for so long by the Nameless One, Zetous. As the Wanderer wrapped himself around the knot of souls and tied the Tapestry back together, his Will reached out, slicing through the web of interconnections that the Nameless One had cast, spreading its rage – or rather, Darth Vexatus’s rage – throughout the galaxy.

But it was over. The Nameless One had succumbed.

The Will of the Herald of Dominion had triumphed.

Two decades had passed since Jedgar Paladin had decided to spare the Falleen’s life. The then-High Inquisitor had never given his reasons; however, Xanos had always wondered: why had the Lord of the Star Chamber reasoned to pardon the young Jedi Knight who had naively crossed swords with Master Dejarc? For years, Trevarus had tried to explain; for years, his Master had tried to make the Falleen see wisdom in the Elders’ ways. And, for years, Xanos had remained blind.

But at long last, he finally had his answer. It was not about Empire or Brotherhood, Family or Clan.

All along, it had been his role to die. To embrace Death. To acknowledge the Truth.

And now, finally, he had found his Way along the Path of Seven.

‘I am Dominion,’ Xanos announced to the souls lost in the pits of the Void. ‘Through your eyes, I shall look upon the fabric of the Essence. Through your eyes, I shall see as my Master long has seen.’ And so it was. In that moment of union, as the Wanderer thread himself into the fabric of the Tapestry, he saw what was, what is, what will be.

‘Master... it is done,’ the apprentice called up from the bottom of the Void.

Though there came no verbal acknowledgement, there did not need to. A thunderous boom rumbled through the Void and the altar was enveloped in crackling white-violet flares. One word rang inside Xanos’s mind: Runculo... and a great watery tide came crashing through the darkness, battering aside the pillars on which the Falleen stood. Within seconds, the three swirling red vortexes of the lost dead bubbled and spat and were extinguished, the souls vanishing as the waters overcame everything, flooding the black abyss, bathing Xanos in the icy cold.

The Mind’s Eye
Macron’s Twisted Brain


“You sir, are a dirty punk bitch.” The Warlord grinned. “And gorram you are one ugly fracker. You’re so damn ugly if I had a Kath Hound as hideous, genetically inferior and malformed as you I’d shave his rear and teach him to walk backwards. Right before I threw him into the bio-mass rendering vat as a failed experiment.” The Dun Moch dripped from Macron’s lips. He knew Sunei was a pompous bastard and his ire would be stoked. To his ultimate ruin.

Sunei’s shade stiffened. The entitled acolyte was not used to such brash talk. Indeed, it was he who was always in command. His spirit loomed menacingly. “You are weak, Macron….”

“Frack you. Your mind is slop, your ‘Sith’ skills loose, and your weapon is weak and pathetic. You can’t even call yourself Sith. You are a disgusting disgrace, and even hearing you speak the Old Words fills me with horrid loathing. Duel me you sonofabitch. If you win, you can have this body. If not, then you are consigned to the Abyss as a moronic failure.” Of course, even if he does win, he’s toast, thought the alchemist with a sick inner giggle. “Even Vexatus cast you away as nerf-dung.”

Macron stood firm in his mind’s eye. This battleground was on the spiritual plane but the forms and weapons each used was familiar.

Sunei held his saber Pike. The weapon was the choice of the old Shadow Guard, of which he had formerly been one. The phrikite shaft and red blade was a potent weapon with serious cutting power. But one of mass manufacture. The Adept did not make his own sabers. It was a skill not commonly taught to the Shadow Guard.

Macron carried his own tangerine lightsaber in avatar form. It was hot, bright, and contained an orange Corusca crystal that blazed like a dying orange sun. It was quite simply a much, much better weapon. And frankly, even though Sunei was an Adept Macron was a superior swordsman.

Both avatars clashed in rage. Sunei moved straight in, using Shii-Cho power-strokes to cleave at Mononoke. He intended to settle this quickly. It was obvious to him this punk had no clue. It was also immediately obvious this was his only Form.
Sunei was entirely, devastatingly wrong.

The alchemist turned, deflecting each with the least amount of strength while using fourth and fifth circle Makashi techniques. Macron’s eyes narrowed as he gauged his opponent. This man was no Kaine Mandaala, Manji Keibatsu, or Darth Vexatus. He wasn’t even in the same ballpark as any of Macron’s instructors. The strokes were crude and over-extended. His form was sloppy. And- his guard was low.

A quick hand-switch and flip of the hilt to Macron’s left hand opened the attack. The blade snapped on and off like a strobe, missing the saber-pike’s blade purposely. He twisted his neck to the side, stepping out with his back foot in a demi-volte sideways lunge. The orange blade snapped on neatly to impale Sunei exactly through his frontal lobe. Macron smiled a toothy grin as he cut downwards with a wrench and spin of the wrist.

"Gotcha," chuckled the alchemist. "Should have paid more attention to your training. Die like a dog as the Blade eats your Soul and not mine. It will be fed- and not by Me. You broke the deal."


Bridge
Reaper's Cell

A flash surged from Macron’s body. A blue shade was drawn to the Sword of Shar Dakhan clasped in his fist still. It vaguely resembled Curwen Sunei, the phantom screaming soundlessly as it was drawn into the strange weapon and eaten. Macron’s hand relaxed, dropping the now satiated sword. His eyes fluttered, opening as he peered about at the Sadowans around. “What happened… I feel like shavit.”

CR 90 Corvette Sanguinus
Flagship of Trevarus Sadow
Hyperspace, Enroute to Lehon


Hands calsped behind his back, the Oracle stood watching the coruscating glow of transdimensional lights. Perhaps he might have enjoyed a glass in his cabin, certainly a change of clothing, or a quick wash. There was simply too much to do. Many portents, questions, flat out mysteries. What he was about to attempt was magic of the highest, most intricate order. He had studied the theoretical implications, the spiritual necessities. It would likely lead to war, to a battle with the Iron Throne. This was heresy to the Star Chamber, and the Clan of Naga Sadow.

Neither faction would be too pleased. Yet, this was a matter of his Will, of seeing his Apprentice through to the final conclusion. Xanos Zorrixor finally understood. He had utterly, truly died, and was now ready. The Falleen had become an intricate porcelain work, carefully prepared and tempered, then fired in a kiln born of hell. As its body cooled, the lustrious, eternal qualities of mud become glass would reveal the artistry of the craftsman.

Yes.

She moved behind him, and he waited a moment to breath. There was an aura of wonder, of amazement, tempered by what she knew of him and his work. The journeys and misdeeds of Trevarus Caerick and Xanos Zorrixor, powerful, enigmatic Elders and perhaps the most famous paired Teacher and Student ever in the annals of the Brotherhood, were the stuff of legends. She craved to learn his secrets. It perhaps, was time to teach an Apprentice of the Dragon something a bit more material.

"Mistress Dragon?"

"Yes, Master Trevarus?"

"What do you see?" The Oracle asked, not turning from the viewport.

"I do not see, you know that." Sildrin replied simply.

"This is not a question of what your blind eyes see... rather, what is between worlds."

"The Force is boiling around you, not in the normals ways you boil, always angry, or even like Shan Long... this is different." She replied simply.

"Yes. You see hesitation in me, because this is going to be dangerous. Not just to mere flesh... what we are about to undertake could destroy the fabric of what we know of, as our existence."

"What do you mean?" She asked, slightly confused.

"Vexatus tapped into reaches of the Force I have never personally encountered. The Auspicious will be a temple to his insanity, yet that must be our first stop. We must prepare the clay, so to speak."

"Is that a riddle?"

"Yes."

Master... it is done

"Christine, how far from reversion?" Trevarus responded to the cue. It was very nearly time.

"Less than an hour." the Captain of the Sanguinus responded, "Is it gonna get ugly?"

"Very. Ping Raistline, have him ready Zeta Cabal. Inform Eosara to get the medevac tank prepared. Everyone is to be on guard. Either this ship will be a ghost, or a horde of undeath."

"Mistress Dragon?" Trevarus said, turning.

"Yes, Master Sadow?"

"Are you ready to die?" He cracked a shift grin, his head cocking in malicious good cheer.

She brought her lightsaber to ready. "I am."

"Good."

"Let's go down to the hangar." He motioned with his hand, brusquely turning out of the bridge.

Engineering and the small hangar of the Corvette had essentially been merged into one. Waiting at the airlock and ramp was a portable bacta tank on repulsors. Eosara and two of his black-armored Cohort were pouring over its consols, checking continuity and function.

"Its ready?"

"Yes Trev," Eosara said, not looking up. Another technician handed him a small black satchel. "Give it to Niroh." Trevarus said, not touching it.

"Yes Lord Caerick"

"Reversion in five... four... three... two... one..." came a voice over the loudspeaker. Captain Zara sounded nervous. Trevarus reflected grimly. They all should.

"Prepare yourself, Sildrin Sadow. We are about to enter the closest approximation of hell on earth, if it pleases you."

"Yes Master Sadow. I'm ready."

"Good."

Shuddering, screaming cries of metal and steel ripped through the void, the hull of his Corvette, through the Force. The once proud Auspicious raged with energies of the Dark Side. Clicking sounds, and the heavy vibration of the vessel settling on its docking pads rattled his teeth, but he steeled himself, hands flexing with anticipation and preparation. He almost welcomed a fight. This business was dark, dangerous. A flush of savored delight brought rose blooms to his cheeks. So much was at stake... but he foresaw his success.

The airlock slid open, and the ramp lowered. None moved, Trevarus stepped to the fore of the ramp.

Smells of obscene decay hit them first, followed by cupric tones of old dead blood and smoke filtered hundreds of thousands of times through cleansers that no longer functioned. He motioned with his right hand, waving the team forward. Sildrin stood at his right hand, her milky white eyes shifting instinctively into the dark. Raistline Majeres was his his left, taking point beside the Oracle. His squad raised their heavy weapons, as shoulder-borne floodlights illuminated the dark.

It seemed to be an abject carrion field. The hangar of the vast Star Destroyer was littered with the torn, shredded bodies of countless crew members. Blood had replaced the famous tints of Star Destroyer White. Indeed, even a frozen bit of viscera hung from a dark emergency light, illuminated by the scanning of the Cohort's own luma-beams. Trevarus led them down the ramp, fourteen of his warriors and Sildrin, against whatever monsters lay in wait. The team moved efficiently, Raistline and his squad snaking their way around obstructions in the vast hangar, flashing lights and blasters into dark corners, between consulting their holographic maps of a Rejuvenator-class Star Destroyer. Raistline turned back to Trevarus, moving his hands and fingers in silent symbols well-known.

The engineering decks were just forward. They moved.

Tight corridors revealed even more corpses. More or less whole, they seemed rather to his torn the flesh from their bodies in wide swaths, one propped up against a bulkhead had even torn the eyes from its skull, blood pouring down from emaciated eye-sockets, blood congealed on mummified hands. Trevarus paused to study this corpse for a moment, his Mark opened into brilliant violet-cast illumination. He sensed the ghost-trace of Vexatus on this one. The horrors upon the mundane. He smiled briefly. It was not command, rather the total annhillation of Will that had caused this one to suffer. It was not a holy suffering, rather the fracturing of a powerful mind that and erupted like a volcano, searing every sentient being within its reach.

Moving forward, the violet light closed. His quarry was very close.

They finally encountered the heavy bulkheads of the Hyperspace chamber. Blast-doors had sealed, impeding their passage. Trevarus ran a silver-gloved hand around the seams of the door, around the controls, searching, the Fragment of Ombus shimmering into shadows

"What is it, Master Sadow?"

"Their could be a ward, or other trap here. We must be cautious, Lady Dragon."

But finding none, Trevarus nodded, and three soldiers of the Cohort stepped forward. Carefully placed charges saw them retreating around a bend, away from the blast zone. After a few second, they erupted into a fire of seared durasteel and other red-hot shrapnel. Irregarding physical safety, Trevarus quickly walked back around, his pace quickened.

There, in softly glowing blue light was the suspended body of Darth Vexatus. Unrecognizable, twisted and broken, it did not even show the faintest emanations of life. Fallen dead at the base of the tank was a face he recognized, blissfully at peace in death.

"Tradis, you blind fool." Trevarus said to himself. His voice then changed.

"Hurry up, get this corpse into the evac unit as quickly as possible. Time is running short!"

"Quickly!" Trevarus barked, "Watch it! Every movement could damage what is already beyond repair. Get him loaded!"

"Christine!" went a cry into his communicator. "Fire up, we leave as soon as the airlocks are sealed."

"What course, Lord Caerick?"

"There is no course.... I will show you." Trevarus said, all three of his eyes glowing in the darkness as the bacta tank shut down, and the broken body of his Apprentice was prepared for its new life.

CR 90 Corvette Sanguinus
Flagship of Trevarus Sadow
Lehon Space


The bridge was a flurry of activity as Trevarus stormed back on board, still flanked by Sildrin and Raistlin Sadow, the immense man that was Eosara Goratis drawing the vanguard. With a furious motion of his hand, Trevarus called for silence.

"Christine, we have but a short time."

"Yeah, and that cryptic set of instructions won't take me anywhere, Trev" the Captain replied, her eyes flashing none to subtly, framed by the shining sweep of her sable hair in a gesture of defiance.

"Everyone know where Runculo is." Trevarus pointed out the viewport. A tendril of violet energy flashed out of his right hand, perfect as a laser beam, but ethereal. "Every human culture has a variation of its story. Every human soul knows how to return home."

The violet energy seemed to penetrate the void, highlighting what might have been a far distant star, innocuous, but always there. That one single star that always stood out in the night sky, neither the brightest or dimmest. Yet always first to be seen.

Christine Zara stared into the ice of the Oracle's eyes for a moment, glanced out the viewport. She looked at him again, and nodded. Eyes seemed to grow distant, almost as if clouded by some deeply intricate thought. Understanding seemed to cross her fine features. She turned back to the controls, moving as she had countless times before, the Sanguinus gave its shudder before the screens filled with a streak of starlight and the mottled haze of Hyperspace.

"What... did you do to her?" Sildrin asked, almost stunned.

"Not a thing. She did it to herself." Trevarus said, his grin broadening. "You know where Runculo is. Everyone knows."

"How... what do you mean?"

"You'll see when we get there." The Oracle turned, nodded to a junior attache to the Cohort. "Ensign, I'll retire to my cabin. See that the Elder Sadow is treated to every comfort and amenity, as might be offered in the Tower. If she wants for anything, you shall pay with your hide."

"Understood Lord Caerick."

"Very good. I'll know when we arrive, there shall be no need to disturb me"

Trevarus disappeard in a whisk of shadow, his cold departure allowing what resembled warmth to claim the bridge once more. Sildrin glanced back at Christine, intrigued but somewhat unnerved. She saw the mundane woman for what she was, gifted in her craft, sassy and attractive to those who could see with biological eyes. She wasn't surrounded by shadows, as were those who had been overcome by Trevarus' dominant Will, or even hypnotized... rather she read like someone in a deep sleep. Yes, that was it. The Captain was sleep piloting.

Sildrin smiled, knowing where Eosara was. "Master Goratis, will she be alright?"

"Yeah. Trev is... really bloody damn weird sometimes. You get used to it, or he drives you hawkbat-kriffed." She couldn't see it, but the gunshots that reverberated surprised her. Eosara placed his hands interlocked at the base of his thick neck, and flexed. The popping joints exploding through the confines of the small craft's bridge.

"You should relax a bit, my hands can ease a tired shoulder... almost as well as Commander Assaj can cook."

"Hey... shut your yap, E. If my wife finds out that I cook, you'll have to replace Zeta Secunda."

"Your wife already wants a piece of the Big Easy." The Majordomo laughed, cuffing the warrior in black across the face like a brother. "You just ain't big enough, from what I hear."

"You're gonna die, E. Slowly."

"Already am. You don't answer his calls." Eosara chuckled. "Oh yeah... picked up a case of that Savantreen Chiax he wanted, it was never offloaded."

"Shavit, are we on a combat tour?" Assaj asked, hope brimming in his voice.

"Nope. Runculo is dead, the most dangerous thing there are one of Trev's trantrums if the sansradish is out of season. You can have a glass or six. Get your team, the Lady Sadow needs some attention"

"On the double, Dominus"

"How do you take your bath, Lady Sadow?" Asked another voice.



CR 90 Corvette Sanguinus
Flagship of Trevarus Sadow
Guest Quarters, enroute to Runculo


Dinner had made her lethargic, but the wine made her giddy.

It might have been hours, it might have been days. Hell, she might have already died and been reborn. Sildrin lay quietly, yet every nerve in her body screaming in amazement and pure sensation. Fragrances and nuances of scent that only the blind could appreciate still lingered from a soak in the very pool of heaven's delight. Now, she lay with a towel draped over her sleek form, still shimmering from the luxurious soaps and oils. She wondered how many women Trevarus had quartered in these chambers, for it seemed ideal to suit the needs of one more delicate. Her battle weary flesh had craved the sensations of indulgence, her scent intermingling with the power now commanding stress to leave her flesh. She didn't want it end. Never before had she realized what it meant to be a guest of one of the infamous Proprietors of the Amicus Club. Even as a Dark Councilor, she had thought it beneath her to attend a function, or even walk through its doors.

And this was just his starship, with a skeleton crew.

"All hands... repeats... all hands. Reversion in twenty marks." A voice came over the loudspeaker. It was the voice of the Oracle himself.

"Ah shavit," Eosara swore, his hands kneading across the delicate curve that accentuated the gentle curve along the small of her back. His steely, yet surprisingly soft hands left her flesh feeling cold.

"Condition Orange, Praefects, confirm." Eosara said into his communicator.

"Roger, PreDom, ObsCom standing by, Zeta is go." came the tinny voice of Raistlin Sadow.

"Stand for orders. Prepare the parcel." Responded Eosara. "Get dressed, Lady Sadow. Trevarus will want you to see this. Be on the bridge as quick as you can."

"Right, Easy E." Sildrin said, seductive yet dominating. She sensed the red flash of Eosara's lust without seeing the crimson flush of his gruff cheeks. His presence was gone as quickly as she could follow. She wanted for something alright, but it wasn't a desire she thought Trev would understand or appreciate. A certain feminine ache.

Sildrin dressed quickly, her battlegear laundered and ready where she could easily find it. The comforting sensation of her lightsaber cold in a bare hand, always at the ready.

The bridge was awash with renewed activity, Christine Zara's voice barking commands amid the half-dozen crewers rushing to carry them out. It would seem that the lack of normal navigational capabilities left the woman flustered, yet focused. The Captain wouldn't relax while under pressure. When Trev appeared on the deck, nerves calmed somewhat, yet became heightened with anticipation.

"Stand down, hold. I'll take it from here." Trevarus said, calmly. "Lady Sadow has never been here before, nor has the guest of honor, insentiate as he is." the Oracle smiled, maybe a private joke.

"This is Runculo... the seat of life. It was destroyed by the gods, invariably... or in a great flood of water, sometimes fire, sometimes stone... always in sorrow at the pride of steel, through the dominance of a powerful God who left its people awash in blood, lingering in the Void."

A blue-green world hung, silent and serene. Milky-white cloud-covers floated like cataracts on a pristine sense of youth. The globe of this world seemed to hang like a great eye in the center of a vast darkness, its light reflected from a distant star of a lesser magnitude, and from a satellite of lesser prominence. Indeed, looking at that white-orb of its sister sphere, perhaps the visage of a man could be seen. A man with two wide eyes, a mischevious grin, and what could have been a mark on his forehead.

"Welcome home." Trevarus said, his hands shifting the controls, speeding into a dive that brought a red-haze through the screens. The atmosphere of this world was thick, heavy. Their speed dropped, and the Oracle shifted again, levelling out. Across to a far horizon, there was a sea of green that divided two vast plains of deepest azure.

"Millions of lifetimes ago, a great war was fought here. This world, Runculo, was bathed in fire, blood, the song of steel and the screaming pain of running blood. The bodies of the dead were piled for kilometers in every direction, and nearly to the height of its troposphere. The trees... are all that remain."

The Corvette skimmed along the tops of trees that seemed kilometers high, the distance whipping by in undulations of green and sunlit canopy beneath the shadow of the space-faring machine.

"Where are we going, Master Sadow?" Sildrin asked.

"The Well of Life." Trevarus responded, not looking up from the controls. "We are very close."

Indeed, the immense shape of a mountain began to rise on the horizon. Greenery climbed halfway up its north face, then abruptly vanished into sheer stone. The corvette circled the mountain at speed, then slowed onto an outcropping of coarse basalt-gray. The sublight engines whined as repulsor drives began to kick with the afterburners. Settling into a smooth landing, the starship grew still.

"You're rusty, Trev." Christine Zara quipped.

"That's why I pay you such an extravagent amount. And the hide-and-seek games with the Obsidian Commander ought to be deducted from your mission bonus."

Zara went crimson, but didn't say a word. Sildrin put a hand to her mouth. She understood.

"Eosara, debark. We have a very short walk. If the medivac unit is damaged in the slightest, its you I'll kill."

"If you could, Lord Caerick."

"I can, and will. Don't screw this up." Trevarus said, his eyes flashing violet for a bare second.

"As you command, my Lord." Eosara said, saluting, then waving six of the Cohort to follow him out.

"Keep the ship on standby, we'll be leaving within the hour."

"Got it." Christine said, taking her place back in the command seat.


Forest Path
Runculo


Trevarus ran his hand along the bark of one tree that seemed to stretch into the highest reaches of the sky. "This wood was fed by the flesh and blood of billions of dead and dying souls. Can you feel its hatred, its pain?"

Sildrin nodded, her hands following a line she couldn't see, but felt. A visage of screaming shadow aligned with the sensation of bark, rough and searing in texture.

"The beams of Kalekka Tower were harvested from this forest. They have stood longer than the collective lives of every being from any world spanning what we know of the Galaxy. Their suffering brings power... because it brings hope."

"Of death?" Sildrin asked, puzzled.

"No... of unification. All paths culiminate along the Via Septa. And this is where the first step must be taken." Trevarus pointed to the left. "There, through those trees. See the path?"

Eosara grunted, sweat beading on his brow. He gestured, and made the way for the six Cohort who bore the pallet of Darth Vexatus' body suspended in a mechanical monstrosity of bacta and more arcane designs. One stumbled, and in a moment Eosara had him supported, more importantly his share of the weight.

"Idiot!" Eosara shouted.

"Move along, just ahead!" Trevarus shouted. Indeed, he burned a swatch of undergrowth, and in the shadows a shimmering pool could be seen. A few meters wide, as many long, yet so blue it was the color of aquamarine. Impossible in the depths of the canopy, yet it was.

"This is the well of life." Trevarus said, bending down and taking a handful of the rich loam in his hands. He brought it crumbling to his face, inhaled deeply as it feel between his fingers. "All sentience was born of this water."

He walked a few footsteps, and pushed back a small shrub, vibrantly green. A small trickle of water ran, growing slightly larger every micron that it continued. "This well feeds the vast oceans of this world. the waters of have the ability to purify any stain, no matter how evil, sodden with blood or addiction it might be."

"Carefully open the medivac, and lower the body in, bacta and all," commanded Trevarus.

The water barely stirred as the funeral pyre lowered the war-scarred, unrecognizable body of the once-proud Elder of the Brotherhood, Shadow Hand, and Apprentice of the Oracle into the still blue waters. Trevarus waited a moment, the body did not even float.

Kerahu nah

Stepping to the edge of the pool, water eddying slightly at his feet, the Sorcerer began to speak. He held his arms outright, over the water as if in blessing. Unknowingly, Sildrin stepped foward, taking her place at his side. The Master's lips moved, and the words sung in her ears.

There is either existence, or non-existence.
There was neither realm of space nor the sky which is beyond.
There Sword stirred, in Shield's protection.
There was water bottomlessly deep.

Darkness is hidden by darkness in the beginning,
Within no light, all this was water.
Life force that was covered with emptiness,
One arose through the power of Will.

Desire came upon that One in the beginning,
That was the first seed of mind.
Powers seeking in their heart with wisdom
Found the bond of existence and non-existence.

Their cord was extended across.
Was there below?
Was there above?
There were seed-placers, there were powers.
There was impulse beneath, there was giving forth above.

Who really knows?
Who will here proclaim it?
Whence was it produced?
Whence is this creation?
The Heralds came after, with the creation of this universe.
Who then knows whence it has arisen?

Who then shall command it?
Who then shall decree it?
Whence is the Lord?
Whence is the Guardian?
For this One shall claim it.
This One shall seek it.

The Blood of a Brother, is the Blood of a Father. Bring forth your Son!
Trevarus slashed his left wrist, across the palm. Crimson drops flowed into the pure waters of the pool, standing still for a moment then disappearing into a red-cloud.

The Blood of a Sister, is the Blood of a Mother. Bring Forth your Son!
Sildrin winced as her left hand too was slashed, before she could protest or even know what was happening. As if in suspended animation, she watched her blood drop timelessly into the Well of Life. Crimson drops seemed to hang suspended for moments over the surface of the water, before breaking. She gasped.

Cinis con cinis...

Without a word, the man who was presumably Niroj stepped forward with the black leather satchel. Trevarus scattered a handful of ashes from a small porcelain jar, shaped like a frog across the pristine surface of the pool.

Remember that thou art dust, thou art born from dust, that thou shalt become the ember that enflames creation!

Trevarus bent down, crouched on one knee. He traced a sigil into the sandy soil with his left hand, drops of blood still dripping down his bare flesh. He stood, and the rune began to glow violet, a pillar of light erupting through time, space, air, canopy.

I GIVE YOU THE BREATH OF LIFE!

He seemed to inhale for an eternity, and when he exhaled, it was a hurricane blast across the worlds. The water erupted, exploded into a pillar of rushing waves, of currents and sounds. It seemed that the entire Well would be emptied from the rushing of the waters, until they fell back into a crashing explosion.

The air fell quiet.

None breathed, none moved.

Kerahu sin

No sooner had the final syllable crossed the Oracle's lips than bubbled began to form beneath the waters. Splashing, flailing, a hand reached through the waves. Trevarus dashed in, his robes picking up water but not slowing him down in the slightest. He bent headfirst underneath, and arose almost as quickly, an arm with skin shimmering and slightly scaled, green and vibrant, draped across his shoulder.

A being sputtered, coughing liquid from its lungs. Its eyes were closed, a topknot of hair dripping onto the soil as the pair stumbled forward. Sildrin stepped aside, watching in amazement.

"Robes!" Trevarus shouted. "Enrobe him!"

Two pairs of the Cohort dashed forward, carrying a blanket retrieved from a medical kit. The Oracle cursed, cuffing each with his free hand.

"This is a Lord among you, see to him properly!"

He motioned, and folded on nearby stones rich garments appeared, silver-black, tinged with red detailing. Hurried, the Cohort scurried to carry out their Lord's demand, and dressed the dripping figure with all dignity.

"Welcome back, my Apprentice." Trevarus said, his eyes abright. "You have returned from the greatest trial of them all"