[CNS] Summer Invasion RO

Welcome to the Week One Run On for the Summer Invasion!

Your enemies have landed in areas that have been cleared of jungle growth by turbolaser fire from their Star Destroyers. They are landing troops and equipment, to begin their marches to the respective fire bases. Below, I have notated for you which House has which Base.

Your job, should you choose to accept it, is to harass and delay them, inflicting as much damage as possible. Their force is significantly larger than yours, and will not be able to be stopped completely. Choose your targets wisely, but be aware that at no point are you to kill a named member of the opposition.

You know the territory, you know the pit falls and traps. You can make a difference. You can make it take longer for the Firebases to fall. The longer they hold out, the harder it will be for your opponents to reach the Temple.

Their jobs in week one is to tackle and destroy the firebases. Your job, is to make it take as long as you can, and to inflict as much damage as you can before the firebases fall.

Those of you who opt in for space-side action, know that you will not be able to destroy any of the enemy capital ships. You may harass, distract, and annoy them though. You may destroy fighters, and perform measures of daring do. If you attempt to board an enemy ship, be prepared to face excessive resistance.

House Scholae Palatinae has the Southern Firebase.

House Plagueis has the South Eastern Firebase.

Command Center
Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

“Any word from Taldryan?” Locke asked, his teeth grinding together.

On view screens above his head, the Consul watched as graphical representations of the forces of Houses Scholae Palatinae and Plagueis made landfall on Sepros. They were still distant for the time being, but the Priest knew they would be on his doorstep soon. It was inevitable, given the larger size of their force.

“None, “ Teu replied, pacing slowly nearby.

Locke knew from the shortness of her tone that she was frustrated, though she wouldn’t show it. Their allies in Taldryan could have easily turned the tide of the fight. Now the Clan would have to face these enemies alone, in a much more difficult battle.

Get ahold of yourself, you were in much worse situations in the Vong War, Locke chided himself. “Much worse, “ he muttered. He knew that was a lie; this situation was different. There were different variables on both sides, the biggest one being that he found himself in command of the defending side.

“What was that?” Teu asked.

“Nothing, open a channel to all Clan members. Let’s call them in.” Most would already be on Sepros, recovering from the internal conflict that had ended so recently.

Teu nodded. “Done.”

“Disciples of Naga Sadow, “ Locke began. “Though we have recently fought a conflict amongst each other, we have emerged stronger than ever. Now a new enemy challenges us, seeking to pounce on what they perceive as a fragile, broken Clan. We are not that Clan.

“These followers of Plagueis and Sidious seek through treachery to strike us while we are weak, but they will not find a weakened foe. They will find a united and powerful Clan, under the watchful eye of the last descendant of Naga Sadow himself, leader of the true Sith Empire. Dark Jedi of Naga Sadow, give these heretics no quarter. They have soiled our world with their presence, and it will be their grave!”

Locke breathed. Having been a soldier for most of his life, the Krath was no expert in speeches. “Now, rally to the Temple of Sorrow! Give these fools the welcome they deserve!”
As Locke nodded, Teu closed the communication. “What do you think?” He asked.

“It’ll do, “ Teu said. “Any particular orders?”

“Yes, divide our forces up into teams. Have small groups organize to launch raids on the enemy as they approach, and prepare staggered defensive lines in front of their most likely approach, that’s where we’ll catch the brunt of their forces in a slow delaying movement to slow them down while our teams make hit and fade attacks from the sides. With any luck, we’ll be facing a much smaller force when they reach the firebases. Call in every available asset; we can make no concessions here. Also, make sure the more battle-hardened of the Clan watch out for the Journeyman; they need the combat experience, but I don’t want to lose any of them.”

Teu nodded, starting to relate orders into her comlink. At the same time Locke readied his own comlink, never taking his eyes off the displays.

“Macron, “ Locke said.

The response began with a chuckle. “Ah Locke, it looks like these Houses forgot their place! What can I do for you?”

“Is there any possibility we could get your old master and his own master to assist us?”

A stuttering laugh cackled across the comlink. “Are you mad? You don’t know what might happen if you do that!”

“I’m quite sane, Macron. We need them in this battle. I’m prepared to bargain if I must. See what you can do.”

“You’re not going to like it,” the Sith responded with a giggle, “but we’ll see!”

“We’ll see indeed, “ Locke whispered as the comlink went silent. The view screens showed Dlarit Special Operations Group detachments already harassing the enemy’s landing zone, while the Sadow fleet fought a delaying action in space overhead, keeping the enemy’s much larger, combined fleet distracted.

The Battle of Sepros had begun.

Installation "Overlord", Beneath the Temple of Shadow
Sepros, Orian System

The sounds of construction rang out through the facility as the pair seemed to almost glide through the chaos of the workers and their operatives scrambling to gear up. Throughout the corridors a feminine voice flatly repeated the same series of reports through the assorted loudspeakers which had been wired as others remained muted, the electricians mercifully saving those select pieces of hardware until whatever was occurring had ended. The pair continued to move with a purpose, seemingly ignoring the commotion as they continued towards the War room like a pair of hungry Nexu with eyes locked upon their target. As they reached the table, the woman spoke up first, "We couldn't have programmed them to be less repetitive?"

A smirk crossed the man's face as he placed his hands upon the desk, his robes flowing about him for the moment as though caught by a random gust of wind, fingers dancing across the embossed keys of the holoprojector. It took seconds, the image of Sepros and its operational Firebases coming to life before them as that same feminine voice began to speak more clearly before them, "Alert! Hostile forces have entered Seprosian atmosphere. Hostile forces maintaining holding pattern within Seprosian orbit, Fleet Admiral Simonetti is on station. Alert! SHADOW Operatives on Aeotheran and Tarthos have been activated; A-CW and T-CW have initialized war-time protocols. Seeking authorization from Executive Director Ventus for local military activation."

The Miraluka's eyebrows furrowed for a moment as he removed his earpiece, he hadn't needed to hear the distinct echo from the projector and his mainline; he could feel Kalia's frustrations next to him before the AI spoke up again, "Alert! Attempts to connect to Aeotheran, Sepros and Tarthosian Firebases have failed. No hard-line access detected, Satellite uplink cannot be secured without local authorization."

A smirk crossed Methyas' face as he didn't need the Force to tell him Kalia was fuming, the woman speaking candidly as she started to walk around the projector like a caged Nexu, "Why weren't the Firebases connected to the rest of the network when they were established?! Were they kriffing mad?!"

Methyas began to speak swiftly in turn, "SHADOW AI still isn't highly trusted, Kalia. I can't blame them, handing most of the planetary defenses over to what amounts to a Droid is a little...uneasy for most people."

The Quaestor started to calm though the sharp glare she cast at her Aedile spoke volumes lost on the Miraluka outside of her body language, "You need to stop that, anger fuels a Sith or did you forget that?"

A simple nod was the only response from Methyas as Kalia keyed in a few commands on her datapad, opening the channel she needed to all the members of House Marka Ragnos and their SHADOW Operatives within the Special Operations Group, "All operatives, Code Black, this is not a drill. Repeat, Code Black, this is not a drill. Hostiles attacking Sepros, lethal force has been authorized."

The air within Overlord tensed if only for a moment as the Operatives knew that Code Black meant war with Force Users; lethal force simply meant that the members of the SOG stood a chance. Instantly the facility began to empty of troops as the construction crews began to continue their work at a hurried pace. The datapad within Kalia's hand started to vibrate furiously as the more elite members of SHADOW began to check-in with their locations, some requesting orders as others simply reported that they were en-route to Sepros or the local Firebases; the names themselves slipping past swiftly, some had been active in the recent strife while others were newcomers: Setsuna Sakurazaki, Shirai Ryu Dupar, Kairus, Tyren Atema, Tiberius Di Cloud, Holco Vithe, Nihriya Rivers; the list went on. It was amazing how swiftly people would respond when their Clan was threatened. It was now a matter of being able to protect the Firebases without the aid of the AI to co-ordinate fire against the enemy starfighters and bombers.

As Kalia turned her attention once more to her Aedile, the Miraluka seemed out amongst his thoughts; "Tracing the threads" he had told her once. She took a few steps towards him before his voice rang out through her head, "Lead the troops from the front and head to the nearest Firebase; I'll be close behind."

As Kalia left, the projector before him started displaying Sadowan troops in fighters and on the ground moving towards the Firebases, yet Methyas focused once more on his task, "Mirado, we could use your help here."

Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

"Acknowledged, full military action authorized."

The cold voice echoed down the corridors of the Temple of Sorrow. The dark cloak of the Quaestor of Shar Dakhan moved ever so slightly as Atra stalked forward. He had received notice of the invasion almost instantly, the SHADOW Operatives moving fast. His pale flesh seemed to glow in contrast to the darkness with which he shrouded himself as he passed the overhead lamps. As he approached the main speeder bay a presence caused him to pause. Tilting his head the Dakhani Quaestor eyed the red and black shape as it approached.

"Quaestor."

The single word belied all he needed to know, revealing the nature of he who spoke it almost as plainly as the insane chuckle that often accompanied it.

"Alchemist," came the reply, as uncaring as a storm on a cold night. "Is there something you require?"

The imposing form of Macron Sadow shook as he chuckled, his red and black armour glinting in the light. His gold eyes fixed hard upon those of his experiment, his scarred features twisting disgustingly as he grinned. "Must there be a reason for me to address one of my creations?"

"I was a man before you claimed me, and a man I remain."

Macron's arms crossed before his chest, a slight twitch appearing at the corner of his eye as he glared onward. "Fine then, I trust you know of the attack?" Atra's nod was the only response, causing the twitch to appear once more. The Son of Sadow shifted, glancing towards the hangar bay before continuing. "I can assure you, this transgression will not go unpunished. I'm en route to the Southeastern Firebase with a contingent of troops, do you have a plan?"

The Quaestor let out a long sigh, turning to face the Mad Alchemist. His grey eyes studied the man long and hard. For so long he had attributed his anger to the man who stood before him. For so long he wanted revenge. Now he felt so little, only the cold that was his newfound reality. He had sacrificed his very being to survive the experimentation he had suffered. He had become a conduit, yet so much more. "I will be leading a series of guerrilla strikes at the Southern Firebase, minimize the threat of their numbers"

"So, you did learn something from me after all."

Both men spun about at the same time, their prospective gazes fixing upon the dark shape emerging. Mirado's cybernetic eyes fixed upon them in turn, though they knew the man to be truly blind. Yet, he saw more than so many others thanks to his Miraluka origins. Atra merely nodded, acknowledging one of the few he would dare call friend -- though that was a very hazardous dare where the assassin was concerned.

"I think I'll take my own retinue into the jungle as well, two cells will function better than one." Mirado grinned, a rare sight and often frightening.

Atra nodded once more, turning his gaze back towards his route. "I agree."

A sudden clap interrupted the silence as Macron smiled, a glimmer of insanity in his gaze. "They shall suffer endlessly for this! Now if you don't mind, I have to send a message."

Macron turned and departed with the same suddenness as he had arrived, a confusing and insane man at the best of times, frightening at all times. The Quaestor of Shar Dakhan made his way to the hangar, hopping onto a single man speeder bike as he keyed in a short command to his wrist terminal. A signal was sent out over the SHADOW network to the Dark Jedi they felt would best add to the guerrilla force. If they caught wind in time, they would meet the pair en route and they would begin their strategy. Still, Atra was uncomfortable with the lack of intel. He was unaware of the full capabilities of their enemy and their scope. It was something he deemed unacceptable as he sent a request to his fellow Quaestor in Marka Ragnos.

"Dark Wind en route, wire the intel from Red Rose upon completion."

With those final words Atra Ventus and Mirado L'eonheart set out to spread the fear and death amongst their attackers.

Temple of Blood
Sepros, Orian System

An elderly man, well past the years of an average man’s usefulness, sat on the banks of the Lost Souls River. To an everyday man passing by the sight would be a common one, just an old man enjoying his last few years with a little fishing, drinking, and quietness. The assumption would be quite far from the truth however, but it would not be a mistake anyone would make as there were no everyday persons (or any persons for that matter) anywhere near this old man.

Since returning to Naga Sadow, the Sith Warlord had enjoyed his stay in the headquarters of the Black Guard. Slightly saddened by the state of the order, it also pleased him as he was not to be bothered while catching up on the current status of the Clan. Some new faces had arrived, others had risen in power, and old friends and enemies continued in their ways. Times change and Bob had not lasted so long by not changing with them.

A thunderous explosion in the distance broke both the Sith’s train of thought as well as the silence in the air. Glancing to the skies above he noticed a few ships scream by in the daylight. His first thoughts were either a training exercise or another Sadow drunken joyride. However, the crest on one of the ships told Bob the strange truth of whom it belonged to; Plagueis.

As if on cue the Sith Warlords comlink beeped. “Interesting,” the old man muttered to himself after reading the message.

- Temple of Sorrow
- Sepros

There was no sound as booted feet made their stride across the stone floors of the Temple of Sorrow. The man who walked simply dug his fingers into his eyes, and pulled the orbs from their sockets, pocketing the useless prosthetics. He had no need for them, the DSOG were fully aware of the nature of those they served, handpicked for their skills and perhaps more importantly, their discretion.

As Mirado walked, heading towards the LAAT/i that would take him and a squad of DSOG Rangers out into the thick of Plagueis’ and Palatine’s affectionate visit, he doffed most of his robes, leaving only boots and wide trousers his only garments. The tattoos which covered his arms and chest, pure black ink on deeply tanned skin, stood out, speaking volumes of the man who wore them. To view him nude and from behind, the tattoo looked much like a stylistic spider, covering his entire back, as well as his arms, shoulders, and legs. To most others, they were simply a Sith marking, which while erroneous, was better than nothing.

“We’re moving,” Mirado said, his soft spoken words carrying across the small hangar through a deep baritone rumble. The DSOG Rangers, knowing full and well their mission, were already prepared, trained to move on a moment’s notice.

“Director,” One called, a weequay by its scent. The thing tossed a satchel towards the Miraluka, who caught it out of the air and unzipped it, not missing a step. “Director Ventus said you might want.”

Several familiar things were contained within, a ‘sight’ which brought another predatory smile to the assassin’s face. He’d packed a ‘bug-out bag’ in preparation for the revolution which had only recently rocked the Clan and its holdings, and opted to leave it in the palace in the event of emergency.

Not wasting time, Mirado hopped into the LAAT/i, waving the pilot to go. As the transport lifted off, Mirado pulled his boots off, and took paracord from the satchel, lacing it through his wide trousers, and then tightening them around his legs. Following that, several tubs of greasepaint made their appearance from the bag, and the freshly promoted Prelate wasted no time smearing the stuff onto his nearly bare body. While he himself couldn’t see the colors, the DSOG personnel were more than helpful to assist, sharing in the camouflage paint as they reminded the assassin which color paint he was reaching into.

“I’m jumping,” Mirado said finally, his entire body (down to his bare feet) covered in the thick paint. “You’ll put down three hundred meters away and make movement. I’ll shadow you. When you make contact, I’ll do my job.”

“Yessir,” the Squad leader said as the Miraluka clipped his weapons belt on. Lightsaber, several blades in the mundane and vibro category, and some small grenades were the assassin’s weapon of choice. One of the rangers, too new to really know the ins and outs of working for Dlarit, made as though to offer a blaster carbine, before being stopped by another of his brethren. A simple shake of the head was all that the new guy was given.

A light came on a few seconds later, and owing to the nature of the way the light was generated, Mirado could see it was green. “That’s my cue,” was all he said before throwing open the side door, and leaping out, several hundred meters above the ground.

It was in these moments, with the rush of the wind against his body, and adrenaline flowing through his veins, that the assassin felt truly alive. It was said, in jest, that Mirado would find high places to climb to, just to jump off of them. He might have been annoyed with the statement, except it was entirely true.

Unfortunately, all good things came to an end, and the Prelate was required to channel the Force into a telekinetic updraft, slowing his velocity to well below terminal. He broke through the canopy of the trees, grabbed hold of a branch, and began a series of acrobatics to bring himself away from his entry and to a dead stop. It was time to hunt.

- Sepros forest clearing
- About 300 meters away

The LAAT/i had set the rangers down well away from the alert base, the better to catch enemy units trying to sneak in. It was an interesting game of cat and mouse, the combined houses having to set their units well away from the anti-air assets in the alert bases, with Sadow having to set in further behind them to drive the enemy units away or into more advantageous positions.

“Dark Wind, Red Rose, this is Ghost Cell,” the squad leader said into his field comm. “We are on ground, proceeding to objective point one. The Spider is on ground as well.”

“Acknowledged. Out.” Was all the reply the squad leader received, and all he needed. With a wave, he sent his men into the thick forest, their training allowing them to fade from view nearly instantly.

The DSOG troopers moved through the forest with a steady pace, moving as fast as stealth and the terrain would permit. While they knew that not that far away, somewhere out there was one of the more lethal of the Jedi of Naga Sadow, they didn’t rely on his presence. Such was foolhardy and likely to get them killed, possibly even by the enemy.

It wasn’t until an hour into their trek that contact was made, though it was nearly final contact. One of the rangers, a human sergeant directly in line behind the pointman, was about to make a low crawl down a hill when a small tree root snaked up and out, wrapping around his throat like a constrictor serpent. The shock was so sudden that the ranger, even as well trained as he was, nearly dropped his weapon. Instead though, he grabbed his vibroknife, and made the judgment call to power it on.

Instead of the high pitched buzzing whine, however, the snap-hiss of a lightsaber blade powering to life greeted his ears, and the ears of the rest of the troopers. Immediately, blaster fire joined this noise from both sides, the DSOG rangers opening fire on the Palatinaean and their, well, they looked like stormtroopers, though the armor wasn’t pure white, and it didn’t look the exact same.

Regardless, hostilities had been introduced, and the DSOG were in no mood to roll over and take it. They’d learned long ago not to shoot at Jedi, and instead directed their fire towards the troopers, the Order 66 tactic being to surround the force user and saturate them with fire.

This left the Sith (thank you for the clarification) however, to harass the Sadowan forces, which she did with a certain dreamy ease. As her forces came over the hill, securing more defensible firing positions, she simply walked up towards the Dlarit forces, swatting blaster bolts back that strayed too close. As a recent Warrior, the pure ego that swelled within her was magnificent. They were too afraid to even bring their weapons properly to bear at her. Hah! Their own folly.

A few grenades were lobbed her way, but knocked aside with the Force to explode harmlessly away. They were more a distraction though, as the DSOG fell back, still spraying blaster bolts towards her forces.

“Are there none among you with a spine?” She spat, batting a blaster bolt into one of the Dlarit rangers. “Or will you insult me by withholding a true fight?”

The Dlarit forces, to their credit, simply continued falling back. This one was brash, and really, killing her was only helping their enemy, but better her than any of them.

“Cowards,” she said, sparing a glance at her troops, preparing to give them the order to press the assault. She’d grown tired of these petty Dlarit soldiers and their weakness. Raising a hand, she prepared to start detonating their carried equipment, ready to show them how a real warrior makes things explode.

It was in that moment that she had fully realized the trap she’d walked into. Her forces were dead to a man, most of them laying in pools of their own blood, while others were broken heaps or blaster burned barbecue. These Sadowan soldiers had drawn her out and occupied her attention, and even now, as they fully retreated, they still were bait.

Alone, the Sith reached into the Force, using techniques that were pioneered by the Jedi. Almost immediately, she felt the ebb and flow of the natural world around her, the plants, animals, and insects. There was a wrongness, a danger about her, but she couldn’t pinpoint it.

“Where are you?” the Palatinaean spat, her lightsaber still lit and humming, almost as impatient as she was. “Sadowite coward! Show yourself!”

It was then that her time in the mortal coil drew to an end. The foliage nearest to her came to life, uncoiling like a viper. Glints of fading sunlight on steel flashed around her as her brachial arteries were near surgically opened, the last sight her eyes would register before one final motion of the crescent shaped blades opening her throat.

Mirado paused only long enough to scalp the woman, her short cropped blonde hair giving him only slight difficulty. “It’s Sadowan, you stupid bovine.” He grumbled, leaving her carcass to rot.

“Spider to Dark Wind,” Mirado said over his small commlink “Fox Uniforms are supporting the troops. Be on your best behavior. We wouldn’t want to make a poor impression.”

Temple of Sorrow
Sepros System

He had heard the call, and the call meant for him to get to action. Shirai Ryu Dupar walked out with two squadrons of DSOG troopers. The last battle that was held here he didn't have enough firepower and he almost died because of it. He would have to be even more careful on the front lines. He wasn't specifcally made to attack but defense he could provide. And that's what they needed a little bit of if they were to take the objectives before they were overrun.

He and his team would help the fight, by providing assistance against House Plageuis forces at the South Eastern firebase. The Krath Priest had already gotten wind that there was to be an attack by the joint Forces, his dark mood explained, he would have to be slaughtering his old clan. He now had no qualms with it, he had chosen a clan much more powerful then they would ever be, yet they have joined with Scholae Palatinae forces. After this, thinking about the situation was not warranted.

Protection of the Journeyman and his forces was, he would provide some command at the South Eastern firebase, hoping to receive reinforcements in a timely manner. One could only hope so, with a force this large, easily outnumbering us, but strategies win wars, not brawn. Let's see who was smarter. Shirai thought about this as he set up defense around the base, readying himself for the onslaught.

Outside Orian Space
Aboard the Sanguinus

The small pieces on the chess board in the corner of the Elder’s study seemed to move of their own accord as the Falleen’s greying eye sockets opened. Multiple holographic news feeds scrolled down through the air on every side of him; their multiple speakers would have been an incoherent discord of sound to most, but one voice had pricked the Dark Prophet’s ears and drawn him from his trance.

“Apprentice,” Xanos said, his own voice a hoarse, papery whisper of what it had once been.

A quarter-size blue-white image of Macron Sadow looked back at his former master. “I needn’t tell you why I have called,” growled the mad alchemist, a large vein under his forehead throbbing in frustration. “They will pay for this coarse display of impudence.” The hologram flickered, as if the Sith Warlord’s anger was reaching across the star system through the encoded HoloNet signal.

The Elder did not need to be informed of the attack by the scions of Palpatine and Plagueis, no, but the Falleen nevertheless paused a moment as he collected his thoughts, recentering his mind on the present after it had been adrift in the flow of time just a few moments ago. For all his own wisdom as a seer, the Lord Prophet had yet to achieve his own Master’s seamlessly fluid command of the Essential Construct. Xanos shut his eyes a second before opening them again, calm, unmoved.

The Falleen’s left eye winced as his body’s decay writhed in opposition again.

“Trevarus remains on Sepros,” was all Xanos finally said.

There was a brief pause—after all, even at faster than light speeds, encrypted data signals suffered a slight delay—then Macron’s hologram nodded. The Son of Sadow knew his albeit estranged master more than well enough to understand Xanos’s unspoken meaning. A dark sneer spread across the alchemist’s face. “Make them suffer, my Master,” Macron added, and the hologram blinked off.

Xanos turned his head toward the nearby viewport. The binary stars of the Orian system twinkled in the distance, the primary shrouded in part by the ashes of the long-shattered world of Dentavii. To the naked eye, it was invisible, but to the eye of a sorcerer schooled in the ways of the Force for more than three decades, the untamed flora of the planet Sepros shined in all its overgrown sage majesty. The Lord Prophet reached out and tugged on the thread linking him to the one on the ancient Sith throne world with who he was bound closest.

My Master.

Unlike the holo-channel, Trevarus’s response was instant. His Master had remained behind following the recent insurrection to complete the two Elders’ study of the Orbs of Power, and the path their journey would now take following the information they had secured from the Sadow Archives. This, this new… transgression, was but yet a further hindrance for which they did not have the time.

The Falleen nodded, in agreement with his Master’s vexation.

Xanos raised a clawed hand toward the communication terminal on the wall in front of him and one of the buttons depressed from his small psychokinetic nudge. A red light on the terminal interface went green and the red-cropped head of the Sanguinus’s chief of staff appeared.

“Eosara, have one of the crewmen ready my fighter.”

Meditation Chamber
Temple of the Void, Sepros; Orian System
Domain of Clan Naga Sadow

Fascinating

Light reflected in fractal patterns into murky, green-black shadows. His right hand hovered over the Orb, probing it's depths with Will, with Command. Slight traces of eldritch power were close to being named, for once he commanded the Names, the floodgates of mysteries would open into crashes waves of revelation. The Orbs of Power had been discovered eons ago, lifetimes of centuries, millennia of death. The Oracle never considered an implication, until something in writing sparked his interest; a reference he vaguely recalled, had filed away.

Now Trevarus was the victim of his own immense archives. Kale Lobacz had uncovered these artifacts, and at that time, Trevarus the young Equite dismissed them as a mere curiosity. The Elder he had become suspected a riddling mystery, something he had overlooked. For in names are knowledge, and that becomes Mastery.

His left hand shifted ever so slightly, though his three eyes never left the shimmering surface of the Orb. A black-violet tetrahedronal crystal rose and was inserted apex down into a matrix that had once shown him another way. A billowing cloud of faceless mouths, fangs, humanoid teeth appeared in the darkness shimmering silver and red-blue. Wordlessly, Trevarus pointed at one mouth, and the image splayed. An image appeared, a Senator offering a speech at a recently discovered site of archaeological curiosity. His hand opened, and the image expanded, filling his view. A finger traced down, skimming quickly for information, then shifted left. A finger snapped, and Legion retrieved a note from his journals.

No! He shouted.

A series of quick gestures rapidly changed the information Legion displayed for the Oracle. Screaming his frustration, Trevarus gesticulated wildly.

My Master

What now, my Apprentice?

Clan Scholae Palatinae is attempting an invasion. The Sadows require your attention.

Aeotheran
Kel Rasha
After receiving the message that the Sepros System was under attack Colonel Buurenaar said good bye to his love, grabbed his, and hurried to Sepros. He made sure to grab his restored Mandalorian armor while reading and listening to the military intelligence as it was reported. A satisfied grin crossed his face when he noticed that Robert Sadow was on Sepros. He had heard the tales of the drunkard and experienced a great lack of alcohol thanks to him, but has never had the chance to fight along-side him. He quickly sent Bob his plan of attack and received a reply that he was in.

Roxas thought of who else he could use while he scanned personnel files. Hmm...Xanos was in the Tie Corps. He’ll be perfect for this he thought as he typed up the message to send to the prophet.
With that Roxas continued to look for more people to add to the group. Might need someone from the summit, so I don’t get in trouble again…Kairus! He’s new, but can do it! Roxas quickly sent him a message as well. Now he felt that he would only need one more person to have a well-rounded team. Tyren Atema…the name scrolled across quickly, but what stood out was his skill in Soresu, and his strength in the Force. Roxas quickly sent him a message as well. If Naga Sadow was to succeed in removing the threat from its own domain then every member would have to work in unison.

Behind the brigade above Sepros
“Sir, we have reached the outskirts of Sepros. It is completely surrounded how will we get through?”

Roxas stood and walked to the pilot “Don’t worry. I’ve planned for this and our allies will come to us. Just look for VT-49 Decimators.”

The pilot turned to look at the enemy fleet. “But Colonel, we only have two and that won’t be enough to destroy the fleet.”

An evil smile crossed the Templar’s face as he spoke “It will be plenty if we attack from the inside of their corvettes and destroyers.”

The pilot wiped his forehead as he replied “You are out of your mind.”

- Unknown Space
- The Eye of Alpheridies: Vath's personal Lambda-class shuttle

A novice with no master. Vath had been a novice of the order for longer then most but he did what he thought was important and was doing some 'independent research' in Unknown Space. Nothing of great consequence, Vath was simply on an unnamed planet investigating ruins and artifacts of tribal aboriginals who seem to have disappeared. The project interested him and kept him busy until the Brotherhood needed him.

Vath was sleeping, something he didn't let himself do a lot with so much work that needed to be done. Vath after-all has the strength of a Sith and the work ethic of a Krath. Luckily Vath was a light sleeper when not on his home planet of Alpheridies. He was never conferable when not surrounded those who call him brother out of real devotion not a begrudging respect of belonging to the same order. He knew there was nothing he could do about until he earned respect, he was a Dark Jedi know, he needed to earn anything he was going to get.

The flashing light didn't bother him to much, without eyes light don't bother Miralukans too much, unfortunately their ears work fine and that annoying humming sound his computer made when he received a message. He sat up and walked to his computer. He was sent a recording so he didn't bother putting on his face covering. The message was simple, long but to the point. The mission details were logical but very unsatisfying. Being unable to kill a worthy adversary is very depressing news, but this mission would undoubtedly involve the next best thing, sabotage.

Vath did not know who the enemy was nor did he care, they were likely to be a step in his further promotion within the Brotherhood... and they likely had things that go Boom. Vath was eager to prove himself but he would make sure to enjoy himself on his first real mission in the service of the Brotherhood. Vath pressed a few bottoms on his computer and started to record a message.

"This is Novice Vath, Disciple of Naga Sadow, First Echelon: 1. I am currently in Unknown Space on Independent Assignment. I am now headed to Sepros to report in to a superior officer."

He pressed more buttons and began to pilot his shuttle in the direction of Sepros.

Onyx II station
Crew quarters

It was a bleak existence Tyren was living ever since he ran from the Core. He had become accustomed to loneliness and chose, however subconsciously, to stay away from people, whoever they were. He instead chose to remain on Onyx station, where they arranged semi-permanent bedding for him. A few months passed by and he was already raising eyebrows and questions. It seemed as if he wanted no dealings with the Dark Jedi whatsoever, and paranoia rose it's ugly head very quickly in the Orian system. There were already whispers behind his back and he even noticed a few individuals following him through the corridors of the station. He would soon have to respond to these doubts...one way or the other.

He sat on the floor of his bunk in a lotus position, pieces of metal and crystal floating around him at various angles. Eyes closed, palms pointing upward he concentrated on the pieces he had to assemble and a sense of power and pressure filled the small space around him. As each of the metal plated and wires connected together like a set of jigsaw puzzles his holo-receiver blinked, shining a pale white glow on the Equite. Finally the crystals came down, releasing a clicking sound as they set into place. The plates closed around each crystal finalizing the blade Tyren reached with his mind and pushed the ignition button; a blue blade flashed into existence in front of him. He grabbed the saber and attached it to his belt while playing the recording on the table.

Only a voice came out, no holoimage. "This is Roxas Buurenaar of Shar Dahkan with a priority message for Tyren Atema...You don't know me and I don't know you, but I have your records and they are good enough. Sepros is under attack by the Palpatinians and Plagueians. We could use your expertise in the battle. You have, enclosed, a battle pan as well as briefing for your mission. You can review it on the way..."

Tyren paused the recording and pondered a second. If he didn't join in the battle, he would be branded a deserter, but if he did he would fight a war that wasn't his. He still knew the power of the Summit and the Overlord and wanted no crossing of paths with them. He unpaused the recording and started packing his gear.

"I've arranged a transport for you and several others from Onyx2 to our position. Hurry up." the recording cut off after that.

With his gear packed he moved with haste down the corridors into the main hangar bay where a Lambda-class awaited for him. He still pondered his decision to join the fight before the shuttle launched into hyperspace several minutes later.

Several hundred yards from the Southern Firebase
Sepros
Orian System

The Quaestor of Shar Dakhan had wasted little time putting plans into motion. While he was en route to the intercept point he had broadcast a priority directive to the Dlarit forces. They were to withhold half of the available reinforcements until clearance was awarded to them. They had been confused at first, but had learned long ago not to question their orders. It was a simple tactic really, the enemy thought them weak. Where they expected weakness, they would provide it to them. Many would die, yet in exchange it would placate the opposing Houses, give them false security. Then their ground forces would move in full and crush them as the hammer shatters steel upon the anvil.

If the Corellian had any feelings on the matter he might have grinned. As it was, he merely proceeded on his mission with a cold focus. The jungle vegetation was thick and suffocating, an interesting contrast to the steely silence of a holding cell, his home for almost five years past. Paranoia clawed at the edge of his thoughts, threatening to break through his resolve. Atra shook his head savagely, like a predatory beast, as he cleared his mind. A slight movement caught his attention, his grey eyes falling upon a young journeyman shrouded in the mists. He nodded in acknowledgement, noting him as one of the Ragnosian assassins he had summoned for the task. They were few in number, but working in the shadows was something House Marka Ragnos was known for. While Atra now found himself amongst those of Shar Dakhan, he had yet to forget his past lessons.

They moved in a scattered group, wary to give away their exact numbers whilst prioritizing their effectiveness. Atra glanced up, unable to see through the dense foliage to the stars above but he could sense the confrontation in orbit. The pain he could feel was terrible. Still, it was wise words Mirado had spoken to him in private, once so long ago.

Meet your enemy's strength with weakness, and his weakness with strength.

Now, in the jungles of Sepros, they would prey on the weakness of knowledge held by their adversaries. This was home terrain, and not a welcoming one at that. A small notification buzzed on his wrist terminal, alerting him to confirmation that Cherry Blossom was en route with her own contingent. The message id was one he recognized; that of the Quaestor of Marka Ragnos. She didn't waste time moving her SHADOW operatives into position. A spark of admiration infringed upon his thoughts before a shout of surprise snapped him to attention.

The journeyman Atra had noted earlier was suddenly several feet in the air, several vines wrapped tightly around his throat and limbs. They were moving in such violent and unnatural ways that even the cold features of the Quaestor showed a disturbed tinge. As quickly as the attack had begun, it was over. A sharp snap severed the spine of the unfortunate youth, sending him to the embrace of the shadows. A terrible chuckle echoed from behind them, the Quaestor spinning to get a better view.

The markings of Scholae Palatinae were clear upon the man's armour, though the level of sophistication belied his rank. It was a fact that made Atra clench his teeth in frustration. It was often that Atra found himself battling those of higher stature, as a result he had learned to rely highly on his wit. Unfortunately, this situation was not one for wit.

"I had heard of the arrogance of Naga Sadow, but this is, frankly, unfathomable." The man's voice was distorted behind his rebreather, but the amusement of his words was conveyed through his gold eyes. "Do you know so little of your attackers?"

His mind worked quickly, processing the fate of his companion as similar cries began to echo through the trees. The unnatural way with which the vegetation had moved was almost a dead give away. It was clear that the Palatinae had the ability to control plant life. That was not something Atra had wanted to hear. His eyes shifted between the troops flanking the Sith. The man seemed amused still, mistaking his shifting gaze for fear in a moment of true overconfidence. Atra, on the other hand, was most pleased with the number he had reached. There were only five troopers, and one Sith, a situation he could rectify quickly.

The Quaestor launched forward with explosive speed, the Force flowing through his musculature like water, energizing his limbs with its touch. Using the momentum and the familiar movements of K'thri, Atra launched into a horizontal roll. Kicking out midair his boot struck firmly against the chestplate of the first trooper. Simultaneously, he summoned an orb of Force Energy into his palm as he snapped his arm to the second trooper. His strike aimed true as it connected with the vital meridian at the crook of his unarmoured neck. The second trooper dropped, instantly unconscious, as Atra landed in a crouch. Continuing with the momentum of the spin he pivoted hard, dropping a quick strike to the first trooper's neck as well.

Two down.

The Sith was reacting quickly, as his training dictated. His red saber hissed to life as nearby vines moved like snakes towards their prey. Atra was already moving, the embodiment of wind as he flew through the vegetation like a deadly tornado. His fluid grace allowed his large yet lithe frame to snake and weave around the coming vines, his knack for precognition aiding his reflexes. Still, he did not target the Sith. No, his men would fall in full before he dared such a confrontation.

His breath was coming in heavy, his limbs aching as Atra fought to carry his momentum forward. Three troopers remained and they were training the business end of their blaster rifles on the Quaestor. They opened fire just as he came upon the closest of the trio. He flicked his wrist out, a slap of the Force spinning the trooper around as the Corellian moved into cover behind him. Scorch marks spotted his armour as the effectiveness of their weapons was demonstrated. His cry echoed as Atra moved out from behind him, coming upon the second trooper with a series of spinning strikes. Each strike, while out of range, hit home as he utilized the Force to extend his reach. He focused the strikes on the openings in the trooper's armour, the hinge points upon their limbs. The flurry was too much for the poor man and he soon joined the rest upon the mossy dirt. With a final exhale of air Atra, the Dark Wind of Shar Dakhan, turned his palm toward the last trooper. Each House and Clan had their own tricks, not all were common knowledge. Still, a Force Blast was almost a universal language. The concussion of air was heavy as the beam of Force energy hammered into the chest of the trooper. The armour crumpled in response, crushing the ribs encased within.

Unfortunately for Atra, he had miscalculated his own reserves. He was very much unable to call upon the Force for the foreseeable future and his breath had become ragged.

That was smart... Not.

The unnamed Sith stared onward, a smile appearing upon his features that hid behind his rebreather. "It would seem you are spent."

"It would seem you can state the obvious," Atra's comment lacked the emotion of the sarcasm it conveyed, yet it still managed it regardless.

Anger flashed in the gold of his pupils as the Sith advanced, vines slowly entwining themselves upon the Quaestor's limbs. It seemed as if the Sith, as was typical of their ilk, was planning on savouring his kill. Atra almost laughed at the irony of the situation. To spend your life wishing for death, stuck in the confines of a box. Now, he no longer sought death but found him it had, only in the humid nature of an almost equally confining jungle. A sad, pathetic tale indeed.

Surprise shone upon the man's face for the briefest of instants before life faded from his features. The man, whose name was still unknown to Atra, fell heavily to the forest floor. Behind him stood the small frame of Setsuna, her impish features almost terrifying as she stood with a blood covered dagger.

"Are you sure you're a Quaestor?" The assassin's voice belied an almost disgusted tone, almost aghast at the weakness she perceived.

Atra let out a long sigh, cracking his neck as he stretched once more to his full, imposing height. "My team lacked vital information," he gestured nonchalantly to the torn vines upon the ground and the journeyman still suspended mid air, "you know, the life saving kind."

Setsuna merely continued to eye him as she perceived his lightning tattoos fade from his flesh and the gold of his eyes recede back into their starburst shape. She wondered for the briefest of moments if the Quaestor was even aware his features had shifted during the encounter. While she may be an assassin first and foremost, she was still a SHADOW operative and made a mental note to convey the information to Kalia as soon as she was able. It wasn't every day you gained interesting information about an ally.

And allies don't always stay on your side.

Onyx II Station
The Onyx Resort

Kairus fell into the luxurious bed, enjoying the plush accommodations he felt he had earned. Upon his recent appointment to the Clan Summit, many past and present leaders had recommended a trip to the ritzy resort. He even ignored his holo-communicator as it beeped several times. The device beeped so long that Kairus sighed and reached for the holder on his belt. He pushed the button to respond but was cut off by an impatient voice, “Kairus are you finally there?” “Yeah, who…”, he was cut off again, “This is Roxas, I need you to report to the main hanger immediately for an imminent Feud engagement.”

“Main hanger”, Kairus said out loud. That didn’t make any sense to him, with the fighting happening on the planet any transport to the surface would do. “Has all that spa time gone to your head”, he heard Roxas say with a snort. “I haven’t even been to the…what’s going on”, Kairus said confused. Roxas replied quickly, “The summit has authorized a small group to engage and inflict damage to the enemy fleets, and that small group includes you” “Wait, the summit approved, I’m on the summit”, Kairus said with a hint of authority. “Exactly, you’ll be there to keep everyone in check…over and out!”

Kairus looked down at the device and tried to re-establish the connection with Roxas, but the channel was blocked. He swallowed hard, but realized he wouldn’t have to tell anyone he hadn’t flown a ship himself in over a decade. Already dressed he took a look back at the divine room he would no longer get to use and left for the hanger.

When he reached the hanger the deck officer ran over to him immediately. “The ships primed and ready Sir,” the man said out of breath. “Which one is mine”, Kairus asked? The officer pointed to the first of a pair of VT-49 Decimators. Kairus tilted his head to the side and smiled, “This could be fun.”

Orian System
Sepros
Southern Firebase
Rough Earthworks

“Target that artillery finder for the base-side guns right there, soldier,” ordered Macron. “Super Battle droids, cover yourselves and remain hidden until signaled.” The armored Sith inspected the main mass of wilderness fighters. “When they attack, fall back to the droid positions. We have the area directly behind them targeted with our long-range artillery back at the main base.”

The DSOG Arc Trooper assigned to this base nodded and spoke quickly. “Marshal Commander, Sir. This is a fade- and-trade, right?”

“That’s it trooper. We fade back, hold them, drop artillery fire on their rear. They’ll move forward thinking we are weak and mistargeted our artillery. The droids pop up, open fire, and then the mines...” he gestured at the engineers “Detonate on their flanks and underneath them. Artillery does walking fire from side to side as we move out. When the crap hits the hover-fan, we hustle back to the main base with everyone aboard speeder transport. We can’t hold this spot- so we hurt them badly and make them pay for every inch with minimum loss. I will lead a flanking maneuver of Dark Jedi on speeders and Tuk'ata.”

“Copy that,” replied the Lieutenant. “Main base reports all going according to command. The Engineers are almost done. Right away, sir.” The armored clone hefted his ARC rifle and strode towards the small mass of troops nearby with shouted directions.

“How do you think this will play out?” asked Tiberius as he stood with Macron beside military-grade 74-Z speeder bikes. He eyed the jungle. “I can feel combat already out there on the fringes of the forest near us.” His hand absentmindedly touched the red-crystalled lightsaber hilt hanging at his waist. They've got a lot of units."

“That’s why do it gorilla-style, hehe,” joked Macron. “Guerilla Kill enemies, I mean like the others are doing. Our lot however is to hold this zone as long as we can. Kill as many of them as we can, and then fall back.” The Alchemist flexed his saber hand. “I can’t wait,” he growled between clenched metal teeth as he mounted a speeder bike. “I am going to hurt a bitch. They'll hurt us bad alright, but we'll hurt them too.”

Tiberius couldn’t help but chuckle. “True. I’m sure. “ The Sith Warrior climbed on a speeder bike. One foot rested on the ground as the other engaged the start pedal. The scar on his face glistened as he put on a helm. “Well, it’s something to do right? Beats sitting around playing pazaak.”

“Indeed, brother Sith,” chuckled the Warlord. “Those bastards are going to suffer for every inch of this frackin' base. I hope those above us among the burning stars fare as well and die well. Now let’s go get the Tuk'ata, meet this new apprentice I’m told the powers that be have sent, and get ready for that flanking maneuver. We should be back with her just in time. Krath, I hear.”

“Hm. Ironic it’s my old House we face here today. You think this one will make it?” asked the battle-worn Warrior. “I hear six made it to Knighting and seven others died. That's the scuttlebutt, anyhow.”

“Two left to seek other... paths. Four died, yes. And I killed one myself for being a traitor to the Clan. Broke every bone in her Zeltron body and spaced her out the airlock down into Amphor's crushing gases.” The tatooed madman giggled. “She earned it. I detest traitors to the Clan. We’ll see about the other I guess? Hehehe.”

Both speeders zipped away to join the mobile Chariot command vessel approaching in the distance.

South Eastern Firebase
Sepros

Shirai swatted rife lasers away from his crew who had situated themselves firmly behind cover, and had some super battle droids push forward with the Krath Priest, some Dark Jedi were running about providing cover from his left and right wing, as he did what he could return the fire. He was soon experiencing an unknown feeling deep within, as he looked at the horde of Plagueis soldiers. There were dark Jedi among their ranks and he needed Jedi reinforcements. He could only support so much.

But for now he kept the pressure up, foot soldiers getting within reach, which was a mistake. He dashed forward on the cover fire from the super battle droids, snuck past the laser fire from one of the soldiers and decapitated him with swiftness. He soon dispatched the other soldiers and was looking to push forward, when he saw a wave of Plagueian dark Jedi were swarming in numbers. He let the dark side fuel him in rage, as he fell back to face the numbering Plagueian forces.

"Open fire!" The casual suppressing fire changed dramatically when the order was given, the intensity was all out warfare. There was no other way to beat or fight them, it was a take the fight to them. In the meantime on the earrpiece he asked to be linked to the Temple of Sorrow's frequency saying, "This is Krath Priest Shirai Dupar requesting air assistance with the South Eastern firebase, if not available, a squad of dark Jedi would suffice." He needed more than that but they had to fronts to protect so the fight could go well for either side. But it wasn't looking good for them even though they were holding them back. He would have to take the fight to them. He heard over the intercom that Macron was leading an assault. He left to join the task force.

Orian System
Sepros
Southern Firebase
Rough Earthworks

Once the ship had slowed to a stop, Nihriya disembarked with the rest of the passengers. She stood out amongst them; all clad in black with the gold of her breast plate glistening in the dying light. Quickly the crowds disbursed, the bodies scattering in all directions as they hurried about their business without so much as a second glance back. Nihriya smiled faintly under her hood, the rich dark fur shielding her face and hiding it amongst the shadows. Darkside energy prickled at her skin and she couldn’t help but close her eyes and enjoy the sensation. It was delicious and bitter all at the same time; everything she wanted it to be and more. Her smile faded when the datapad in her pocket beeped, reminding her that it was almost time to meet her new master.

She had been given a date, time and location and other than that, her Master’s identity remained somewhat of a mystery, however before embarking on her mission, she had heard whispers that her new teacher would be Macron Sadow; the crazed warlord feared and respected by all. She knew little about him, at least nothing she believed to be fact. Other students had told her that Macron Sadow bathed in the blood of his vanquished enemies and that he slept under a blanket made of human skin. Others had woven tales of his immortal soul and his withered body encased in armour. The stories meant nothing to her. She dealt in cold hard fact and she refused to believe in anything else.

The Krath student moved off to the side, her bag of meagre belongingsslung over her shoulder. Again the datapad in her pocket beeped, informing her that the time was drawing near.

Orian Space

Invasion.

The planet Sepros was not unfamiliar with such events. This time, it was not the world’s ancestral mysteries, as had once entrapped the Rakata and then the Sith, neither the collection of lore that the Orian system’s latest overlords had compiled; no, this time the motive was one far cruder: pride.

Another asteroid passed in front of the X-wing, narrowly missing the starfighter as it sped towards the planet that was fast filling the cockpit’s viewport. Directly ahead, dozens of warships, large and small, enshrouded the planet, from the grey and white daggers of Star Destroyers, to the predatory birds of prey of the invaders’ Majestic-class battlecruisers. Explosions flashed randomly on both fronts, though there were noticeably more flashes of red fire amongst the defenders’ ships, painted with the same circular blue motif that adorned the tips of the XJ3’s four wings.

‘Bzzzt…miral Simonetti to all…krrsss….ighters in the area…bzzz…order…krrsh….delay land...krssshh.’

His eyes partially closed as his mind gazed into possible futures, Xanos paid no notice of the fleet wide broadcast from the commander of the Dlarit Corporation’s military. X-wings were far from his desired form of transport either, but during the recent insurrection against his former apprentice by the new consul of Naga Sadow, Xanos had requisitioned the XJ3 for a clean extraction. The apostate son and his Master had long since abandoned any pretence of loyalty, both to the Corporation, or to the Clan; it was clearly a cruel trick of the Force to keep making their interests co-align.

The Dark Prophet saw a ship explode just in front of him and opened his eyes fully.

The XJ’s proximity warning began bleeping a second before an old Imperial interceptor appeared directly ahead—but Xanos’s hand was already closed around the trigger, moving in response to what he had just foreseen, and the TIE exploded, the sphere of its central hull passing to the X-wing’s portside, as its flaming solar panels went starboard.

Such triviality, Xanos reflected as his mind fell back into his near-permanent half-trance. There were few Force wielders out here in the void of space; as was too often the case, nearly all of the invaders warriors had, ever predictably, gone down with the first drop ships, eager to draw their fill of blood. With only mundane pilots left, rendezvousing on the surface with Trevarus was not going to be an issue. I will be there soon, my Master, the Elder spoke into the Force, plucking at the thread that tied him and his Master together. This conflict was a further interruption, and the pair had places to be, rituals to—

As if on cue, the Falleen’s hand clenched, and his body lurched forward, unintentionally pushing the flight yoke down, sending the XJ into a spiralling nosedive. The proximity alarms sounded again as the starboard wing clipped another stray rock that had drifted free from the ashes of the shattered world Dentavii into Sepros’s gravity well. All this happened inside a heartbeat, by which time the Elder’s muscles flexed, tensing, and relaxing, as he fought his body’s brief spasm back under control.

Xanos let out a long breath he had not known he was holding in.
The sooner he and Trevarus were free of these aimless concerns the better.

As he brought the XJ back around to face Sepros, the communications terminal in front of him lit up, indicating a new message. His concentration already broken, he allowed the sender the unusual courtesy of actually reading it. It was from one of Macron’s students-turned-research subjects, Roxas.

Lord Vexatus, pardon my interruption… the Dark Prophet was not used to being addressed by his old Sith name anymore… I require a strike team to disable the long-range cruisers. You were a colonel in the Emperor’s Hammer… that was a name he hadn’t heard mentioned in a long time; his time as a pilot in the Imperial starfleet had been intended as a death sentence by Master Dejarc, but Xanos had proven the Imperial Court wrong, and earned his freedom for good reason; either people still studied Pre-Exodus history in close detail, or, and more likely, it was but another example of his old apprentice's efforts to sully his name and keep the 'crimes' of the Betrayer in known memory.

Of course, Macron had very recently been made to acknowledge the errors of his private obsessions.

The Lord Prophet looked up from the terminal and stared out at the heavy cruisers that he had seen earlier. All three were holding well back from the planet itself, keeping their distance between themselves and the older Dlarit destroyers assembled around Sepros, yet still managing to inflict heavy damage with their long-range turbolaser cannons. Admiral Sommetra clearly knew what she was doing, Xanos noted, recalling the name of the Scholae fleet commander that he had read in the documents Macron had sent him earlier. Majestics had been built as Star Destroyer killers, after all.

However, remaining in the back row also left them open to being flanked.

The Falleen shut his eyes, leaving his navigation to instinct as he briefly contemplated the folds of the universal tapestry for insight. His Master’s study of the K'hamar'an memory orbs was still not finished; if the invasion succeeded, it would render a permanent barrier to their mission’s completion. The way forward was decided, then. They needed to give Simonetti more time to delay the invasion forces.

Opening his eyes again, a second, then a third, and a fourth, mirror image of the XJ3 popped into existence around him in an illusory escort. Yes, maybe they still taught the lessons of the Exodus in the Shadow Academy, but it remained to be seen whether they still remembered the lessons of Primus Goluud and the Great Hyperspace War. He keyed an automated reply to Roxas’s request and turned the XJ toward the three heavy cruisers in the back row of the Scholae fleet.

Several hundred yards from the Southern Firebase
Sepros
Orian System

Setsuna smiled lightly at Atra, her features darkened by her proximity to the forest floor. Few ever saw her kill, but she imagined fewer still saw the changes in her most recent companion. Years of training and practice were used to keep the young woman’s expression neutral as she turned away from the older man. “Tell me, Knight Ventus. Where do you plan to go from here? Do you still wish to continue your mission?”

The girl’s matter-of-fact tone took Atra off-guard for the briefest of moments, a moment missed by the young assassin. “And why would I not? I have been through worse before,” mused the Dakhani. The assassin looked over her shoulder and shrugged as she spoke, “You should rest for a moment. I will make sure no one bothers you.”

Without waiting for a response, the girl melted into the forest leaving only the sound of falling leaves in her stead.

Two hundred yards from Southern Firebase
Sepros
Orian System

The girl looked around at the forest below her, musing about what would happen to the next to show. Setsuna smiled wickedly and remained crouched in the leaves, as she watched as a group of troopers began to walk towards her hiding place.

Moving on silent feet, the girl edged closer to the group in order to eavesdrop on their conversations. The wind rustling through the leaves masked the soft noises easily as she positioned herself over the group and listened quietly.

“The last unit in this area hasn’t reported in. Hostiles assumed to be present.”

The young assassin smiled and shook her head. If you only knew...

The soldiers looked around the area cautiously and moved forward with their weapons ready. The girl watched quietly for a few minutes, following them closely before she acted on her directives.

Silent feet hit the ground as she dropped from her perch. The rear guard just happened to turn as she drew her one of her knives. A startled oath from the man seconds before her blade entered the underside of the trooper’s jaw and erupted through the top of his helmet.

Wrenching the blade out of her first victim, she grinned at the blasters leveled at her. “Do you really think you are a match for me?”

Setsuna’s arrogance caused the troopers to brace themselves and take better aim at the girl. A slight shrug from the girl was all the men got from her as she drew her second dagger from its home.

The soldiers opened fire on the young assassin, tracing her movements through the trees. With a quick scamper, the girl’s feet landing on a branch hidden by the leaves. Blaster fire raked through the branches as she made her way silently around the troopers.

She reached a branch on the other side of the soldiers and dropped down to the forest floor once again. Driving her daggers into the nearest soldier’s back, neatly piercing his kidneys. Wrenching the blades out from the man and causing the wounds to become larger still, she bolted up the tree and disappeared into the leaves once again.

Two down. Only two more.

Dropping down behind the men as they turned to fire at a shadow, she moved her blades swiftly and severed the hamstrings in both men. The soldiers crumpled gracelessly to the ground moments before Setsuna’s blades were brought across their throats, severing arteries and esophagus in both men.

Standing to her full height slowly, she turned just in time to see another trooper standing before her with his rifle trained on the girl’s chest.

“I missed one?!” the assassin said in a surprised off-guard tone.

She stepped to the side just as the soldier’s finger tightened on the trigger, causing the shot to strike her in the right shoulder. Spinning to her right and following the trajectory of the shot, the girl fell to the ground in the hopes that her target would come within range to ensure the kill.

A second blaster shot singed the air near Setsuna’s head at it impacted the ground. I guess today isn’t lucky.

Wincing as she rolled, the assassin launched her second dagger directly at the man with enough force behind it that the blade pierced the chest armor and drove the man back several steps. She got to her feet slowly and walked over to the man as she channeled to Force into the wound to heal it just enough to use the arm again.

The man stared at the blade in his chest for a few moments before collapsing to the ground. She bent down and gripped the blade tightly as she smiled down at the trooper. A quick pull on the blade and the man died almost as quickly as the blade was removed.

“I think I should go back and get that Quaestor. Even I might need some help with this one,” said the girl as she winced from the pain in her shoulder. Sheathing her daggers the girl turned and returned to the trees and followed the branches back to the man with the golden eyes.

Shuttle above Sepros
Roxas’ comm chirped with responses from each person. They were all in and most were already almost upon him. The VT-49 Decimator wa already loaded with the equipment that was requested and both Tyren and Kairus were onboard. Bob had arrived first, he had responded earlier that he would provide cover with an XJ3. The Lord Prophet had also arrived and it seemed that he planned on giving fighter cover as well.

Roxas opened a channel to each member of the team. “Thank all of you for coming to the party. We will start where the enemy will least expect us. We will come from their back and board their heavy cruisers. From there we will plant a rather generous amount of explosives on their communications arrays and power cores. These fools will rue the day that they ever thought of attacking us on home turf!”

The shuttle docked with the Decimator, so Roxas could cross over and then the pilot headed for the back side of Sepros to get to the temple without being shot down. Roxas’ boots thudded and his armor clanked as he speed walked to the bridge to meet up with his fellow Sadowans.

The Decimator’s engines roared silently as the ship moved, its fighter escorts fallowing closely. The pilot took the vessel around on a broad ark to sneak up behind the Majestic Class Cruisers.

“Pilot this is the dangerous part, I want you to fly into the hangar of the ship as quickly as you can, but you’ll have to time it right, so we don’t smash into the shield.” The Mandalorian said calmly, as if he was focused on the job at hand, but it scared the pilot some.

Could it really be up to his skill to get them there safely? He thought before the Alchemy experiment spoke again “Don’t be afraid, they have attacked your home as well as mine, we must be courageous to fight for those that can’t fight.”

The pilot felt as if his fear was washed away, it was odd how the Colonel could be so thoughtful when his reputation shows him as a recluse bastard with a tendency to kill who he doesn’t like.

Tyren, who was looking out the window spoke up “Their shield opens for a specific amount of time for the ships to enter and exit. I’ve been watching and I counted the amount of time it takes for the shield to completely close. It isn’t long, but if we are really moving we can make it. It’s roughly six seconds, so if we approach as they open it for fighters to exit we should make it.”
“Impressive.” Kairus complimented before Roxas spoke, but both thought the same thing. It was indeed impressive that he gathered the information, so quickly.

Roxas cleared his throat to speak again “Well captain, you have your orders, now let’s put Tyren’s information to good use.”
The pilot forced the throttle down and the Decimator jumped almost knocking the three Dark Jedi over with its speed. Shots flew from the heavy cruiser when it noticed the decimator getting close, but had no clue, as to its prupose. The shield opened for enemy fighters and the pilot pushed the throttle further. Bob and Xanos pulled to their respective side and fired on several fighters as they got close.

“One.” He counted “Two”…another fighter flew out. ”Three”…and another fighter, but this one was shot down by the Son of Sadow escort team of Bob and Xanos. “Four”…yet another fighter “Five” The Decimator fired rounds from it guns to hopefully hit or scare the last fighter out of the way as it almost slammed into the side of the cruiser to enter the hangar. “Six” Just as the Decimator entered the hangar the shield closed. The landing gear extended and the ramp fell open. The Dark Jedi rushed off with their sabers in hand scaring the engineers and astro driods.

MJHC Relentless
Sepros orbit
Orian system

As Roxas and Kairus ran down the ramp, sabers flashing to life, Tyren paused a second and surveyed his surroundings. The cruiser they were on was named Relentless . Tyren received a full report about it's known crew and operation. He was certain they had left several Dark Jedi on board just in case the Sadowans decided to do something like this, however ludicrous it may seem.

He lowered himself on one knee and closed his eyes. As his mind's eye expanded through the ship, he could sense vague silhouettes of the crew, like shadows in a mist. Passing each of them to sense their connection to the Force he could see they ran through the ship like worker bees in a hive; it seems their little maneuver had everyone rattled. Tyren's fingers unconsciously grasped his forehead as if to lessen the pain he was already starting to feel from overextending his ability. He moved fast, ignoring the crew and focusing on his target, that strong feeling of power one let out if he was strong in the Force, like a be beacon in the night. The migraine started throbbing harder, as if his own brain wanted to escape the confines of his skull. He managed a few more seconds of agony but at last his concentration broke and he fell on all fours, gasping for air. But he did manage to sense...something.

As Roxas a Kairus returned they were confused to see their fellow Templar rising from the floor.

“What happened to you?” Roxas asked, more out of confusion than care.

“I figured these technicians would be enough of a challenge for you without me being in the way.” He smiled a bit sarcastically. But when he saw that the joke didn’t strike home with the Corellian or Mandalorian e continued. “I surveyed the ship. There are three Dark Jedi somewhere in it. I couldn’t exactly pinpoint the position but I know they’re here.”

"Interesting. How sure are you?" Kairus replied.

"I can't be absolutely sure but enough to tell you."

"This mission may be a challenge yet." Kairus added.

“Okay. We’ll deal with them when the time comes. Just keep your eyes and ears open.” Roxas added and moved towards the massive blast doors that led into the main hallway.

10 Miles North of Yamfianta
Lor Zatean
Aeotheran

“This is someone’s idea of a joke,” the D:SOG sergeant commented in frustration as they made their way along the beach, their shuttle parked a hundred metres behind just off the beach.
The Lieutenant gave a half shrug. “This is the area we were told.”
“There’s no one here,” the NCO replied as he trudged across the sand.
“Just keep going sergeant,” the officer replied, “at the worst we’re getting a trip out.”
“We should be defending the firebases.”
“We will be.”
A few minutes later they came to a rocky area, and made out a cave leading onto the beach. “This could be it.”
The sergeant squinted inside, shining a torch. It was dark inside, and the only noticeable feature was a small natural spring dribbiling down from a fissure in the wall into a small pool. “I guess this is what counts as budget accomodation.”
“I find it quite comfortable,” a voice announced right behind them.
The two marines swung around to see a figure standing in the surf, wearing a heavy black robe despite the searing sun. “”Battlelord?” the officer asked.
“Possibly,” the figure replied, “what do you want?”
“A situation has arisen Sir, the system is under attack by hostile forces. You are needed.”
“How did you know I was here?”
“We just receive the orders Sir we don’t ask questions.”
The Battlelord nodded. “Very well. I assume you have a ship somewhere around here?”
“Yes Sir, do you have any baggage?”
“I travel light,” the Battlelord replied, “lead on.”

Southern Firebase
Sepros
Orian System

Malisane walked down the shuttles ramp and surveyed Macron’s assembled defences. He was impressed, but then the Alchemist was among the finer strategists he’d met. “So they found you then?” Macron said as he walked over.
“By your direction I assume,” Malisane replied, “it’s been a while.”
Macron nodded, “I thought you’d be hiding out somewhere like that. The Summit weren’t pleased with you.”
“Really?”
The alchemist nodded with a wry smile. “I think the two main topics of conversation were ‘Where is our skyhook?’ and ‘Where is the idiot responsible?’ I think they probably find it ironic during the present situation given it was Aeotheran’s primary defence.”
“It doesn’t matter now,” Malisane replied giving the other Sadow a hard look, “we have to adapt. As for now I’m here to help. What do you need?”

Orian System
Sepros
Southern Firebase
Rough Earthworks

Tiberius, smiled at Macron in surprize as he had never called The Sith Brother, before Tiberius asked his old friend “Apart from killing these Bastards, got a plan”.
As the Speeders went in speed toward the battle ground, towards the enemy Tiberius gave a hand signal to Macron, that Macron should go left, and he would go right, allowing a gap in the middle for another Clan member to go into the middle if needed.
But if no-one turned up they would take to enemy, and then BOOM got them.

As the speeders continued your journey, The pair saw a large cluster of Plaguies , troops gathering to one corner of the Serpos, Tiberius lifted his comms and said to Macron “Shit are we doing this alone”, “ I have my bag of goodies, which would put them off, I won’t know how long”.
Macron replied with his usual sense of humour “Don’t worry we’ve gotten away with worse”.
With that Tiberius replied “ I have a plan, we dump the bikes for now make sure that, they are working of course, I have a few bombs I can plant and BOOM, how do you feel about that my friend”.
Macron replied “ Sounds ok, I many have a plan better gave me Five”..

En Route to the South Eastern Firebase
Sepros
Orian System

His newfound companion was definitely peculiar, that much was certain. The Quaestor of Shar Dakhan had reunited with Setsuna shortly after her departure, coming upon her in a small clearing as the child-like being was patiently removing a finger from each of the fallen foes. Sociopathic behaviour, that is what most would call it. In this realm of Dark Jedi, it seemed par for the course. Atra surveyed the area for potential threats until her gruesome work was through, her trophies deposited in a pouch upon her belt.

"You got a plan?"

Her voice caught him off guard, though the Corellian didn't show it. Fixing his eyes upon her own Atra pondered the question. They were dealing with more than one threat, the tactics they demonstrated would have to be spread across two fronts. Back at the Southern Firebase the Corellian was sure the Mad Alchemist had things well at hand. In regards to the South Eastern Firebase, the second front of this assault, he could not be so sure. The communication trail was oddly silent.

"Sure, we move east," Atra's tone was even and controlled, beginning towards his goal as he spoke, "we need to give them the impression a large force is trying to drive a wedge between them."

"Kill them all? Think I can handle that."

There was no mistaking the delight in Setsuna's voice. Disconcerting to say the least. Somehow, the Quaestor wouldn't be surprised if there was a running 'score' in her head. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes for the briefest of moments before continuing on. In shared silence the pair worked through the dead, retrieving as many explosive armaments as possible. They were skilled, of that there was no mistake, but to accomplish their task they would need to work en masse. The thermal detonators Atra now had would more than certainly make things easier. He was unaccustomed to working with such weaponry, but it was arm and throw tactics was it not?

The jungle vines began to blur as the duo picked up speed. This was their home; there was no mistaking the ease and grace with which they traversed it. The unfortunate few that crossed their path were met with the explosive fury of their tactics. No quarter was given and no wasted efforts. Luck was on their side as well, almost all of the scouting groups in their path lacking a Force Adept amongst their ranks. Atra had already discovered the unfortunate lack of information when it came to the ranks of Palatinae, he had no wish to discover what the Plagueians could accomplish as well.

Over the course of a few hours the two Dark Jedi had developed an unspoken friendship. Neither trusted the other of course, but they had a newfound respect and shared understanding of one another. Setsuna seemed to be a being of pure Chaos, finding joy in the senseless destruction. On the other hand, the Quaestor of Shar Dakhan was a Void, a being of pure emptiness as he moved like a shadow on the wind. The Assassin's lust for bloodshed was tempered by the Knight's utter indifference. Together, they were focused and deadly.

Setsuna twirled a dagger absentmindedly as she sprawled out along a large branch, high up amongst the canopy of the jungle. They hadn't come across the main force as of yet, but they were definitely making an impression on the scouts that came to the slaughter. Atra let out a long breath, adjusting his footing on his own branch to keep from falling. At this height the Quaestor was finally able to re-establish a link with the DSOG command structure. With purpose he raised the communicator to his lips.

"Priority instructions: desolation protocol authorized."

The Corellian's gaze shifted to the Assassin quickly, her features remained bored and undisturbed. The order he had just given was one that had not become common knowledge as of yet, a last ditch maneuver that would not be mentioned outside of those required. The elite DSOG troops were prepared to do what was necessary, and in the case of the newly authorized protocol, this meant that in the event of failure they would leave nothing for the victors. If the line fell, they were now authorized to rig the Firebases for destruction, with or without the knowledge of those stationed there.

Outside the Southern Firebase
Sepros

Macron stopped on his bike to let Malisane, Tiberius, and Nihriya catch up. They stopped inside the perimeter closer to the main base. Macron leaned his bike against a tree as he watched the holoreadout on his left gauntlet. The others looked at datapads or heads up screens in their visors, each monitoring the streams of data and images relating to the conflict. The Warlord felt his Sith Master Xanos in space above, engaging in the fighter combat that Macron detested. His own eyes watched images of the Southern Firebase fed by several Dark Eye droids that hovered noiselessly, hidden among the trees and rocks.

The view changed. Over the rise, infantry and heavy troops began to spray the firebase with blaster fire. Behind them, an AT-AT stomped relentlessly nearer. Several T series hovertanks blasted away at the earthworks.

Malisane whistled as he watched his own datapad screen. “The bastards are well stocked, I’m afraid.”He stepped off the speederbike and stretched. Then he counted the number of thermal detonators on his rig out of habit.

“There’s more behind them. They haven’t moved half of their tanks up yet according to my satellite feed,” replied Macron. “Shavit. And... my screen is dead. They must have blasted the frackin’ satellite up there.”

Just then explosions ripped through the rear area of the Scholae Palatinae formation. The whistle and thump of exploding artillery shells, missiles, and mortars pounded their heavy vehicle units. It began slowly, and raised to a fever pitch like thunder.

Whoomp! Kahthump!
Macron smiled.

Tiberius turned to him. “You knew they’d hold the tanks in the rear, didn’t you?”

“Not really. I just hoped they would. Don’t count your dianogas before they hatch. They’re about to overrun the firebase.” Macron turned to Nihriya. “What would you do in this situation, Apprentice?”

The young Epicanthix replied sternly. “Wait until I sensed a weakness, and hit them with as much force as possible in that shatterpoint.” Her own armor showed scars and scorch marks as she hefted a heavy blaster rifle. “Make sure every one of them I targeted was a confirmed kill.”

Malisane regarded Macron with a raised eyebrow. “You’ll have a hard time with that one, my friend. Best to watch her.” The Sith loosened his saber and mounted his speederbike.

Macron snarled as the B2 series droids rose from pits and from behind rocks. “Gotcha!”

The lead group of the invaders had surged forward as the Sadow artillery rocked the area to their rear. Now they were strafed from the sides by rockets and blaster fire from the droids. Mines and baradium explosives buried by the engineers erupted around and between them, blowing some of the enemy soldiers limb from limb. Some fell into pits lined with sharpened stakes, the juices of jungle vines and ordure smeared on their jagged tips. Others found trees and rocks with thermal detonators hidden behind them in a blast of radiative fury.

The artillery fire moved forward and pinned them between the droids on either side and in the front before blowing everything to hell, droids and all. Smoke canisters released their gases and filled the area with tear gas and thick, acrid smoke to make medical extractions difficult, vision obscured, and life expectancies for the wounded short.

The scene was bloody carnage, although many of the Palatinae invaders were still relentlessly pressing forward through the smoke and screams albeit much more slowly than before. There were simply too many for the small group to stop. They had, however, been heavily slowed down and would now be cautious to search for mines.

“This is no victory, only a delaying tactic. Let’s roll. Hit as many of them in the sides as you can, and pay special attention to any heavy weapons groups or medical personnel. They are many, and some are Dark Jedi. Nihriya, you ride beside me.” The Sith Alchemist’s helm slid down over his face with a puff of gas as the other three donned rebreathers. Macron grinned savagely underneath the helm and gunned his speederbike, the rest flanking him like wingmen of Death.

Command Center
Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

“Is that the idiot that hijacked Marakith?” Locke gestured at the tactical screen, showing the landscape of the battle, including a small shuttle icon that had Malisane’s name attached to it.

Teu didn’t look up from the console she was reading. “All of the reports from evacuated personnel place him as being on the station. Tie those in with other reports from Aeotheran, and you get Malisane. It was his station, after all. Also, you shouldn’t call him that, he’s a Battlelord, and it looks like he just showed up to help.”

Locke frowned, still not happy about the loss of the skyhook. “Maybe he’ll redeem himself here, then. How are we doing?”

Pressing a sequence of buttons on her console, Teu gestured at the tactical screen above them. “We’re still falling back on the surface; the enemy is right about at the firebases. It looks like Atra and Macron are handling the defenses well, though; they’ve killed a lot of the enemy, but they just keep coming.”

Tightly gripping the railing in front of him, Locke leaned forward. “And the space battle?”

“Our ships continue to harass the enemy, a small force actually just boarded one of the enemy ships.”

Locke laughed. “Is that surprise I hear in your voice? Who is it?”

Teu growled in her throat. “Roxas is leading them.”

“Well, guess that training of his was good for something. What about Xanos and his master?”

“The apprentice seems to be out in the space battle, no idea where Caerick is.”

“Wonderful, hope he doesn’t pop up when we least expect it.” It surprised Locke how level his voice was, especially considering one of the Clan’s most powerful members - or traitors, he wasn’t sure how that worked - was nearby and their enemies were about to overrun them.

“We’re going to lose the firebases, aren’t we?”

Teu nodded. “Yep.”

Locke leaned back from the railing. “Time for us to get out there, then.”

“Finally.” Teu jumped up from her seat. “Where are we headed?”

“Right in the middle, “ Locke answered. “We’re going to kill as many of those bastards as we can before they get to the Temple.”

“And what then?”

“Well, we’re not going to surrender, that’s for sure.”

Locke was silent for a moment as he battled with himself. He had originally held no allegiance to this Clan beyond what it could offer him, but he had since made allies who would survive battle after battle, and he could learn so much more here.

Teu noticed the pause. “Hmm?”

Something clicked in Locke’s mind, as if two lines intersected, and things made more sense than they did a moment before.

“We fight to the bitter end.”

Orian Space
Above Sepros

A lone XJ3 X-Wing starfighter darted in and out between the capital ships of Naga Sadow. Up to this point it had only been shooting down enemy fighters that got too close but in the cockpit the ancient Neti piloting it was getting restless, he wanted to deal some actual damage to the enemy.

Sith Warlord Malik looked at his radar, judging by the IFF signatures the Naga Sadow fleet was greatly outnumbered and it was only a matter of time before they’d be forced to withdraw rather than face slow destruction. In his long life he’d always subscribed to the philosophy that the best defense was a good offence so he picked out a nice juicy target from among the enemy capital ships and keyed his radio. “This is Marshal Commander Malik, I need one squadron of Interceptors and one squadron of Bombers to follow my lead, we’re taking the fight to the enemy.” He instantly got confirmation from the commanders of the two squadrons closest to him and set his course for the Victory II Star Destroyer Ballista.

Malik lead the squadrons through the intensifying anti-fighter fire from the enemy capital ships, as they got close enough to their target for a missile lock he keyed his radio again. “Bombers, target the turrets. Our goal here isn’t to destroy the ship just damaging it to discourage the others from closing in too fast, interceptors, keep the bombers safe until they’ve unloaded all their torpedoes.” He noticed that they had only lost three bombers and two interceptors on their approach so that still left them with 105 torpedoes including his own, which should be enough take out a good amount of turrets and possibly one or both of the shield generators.

As the first torpedoes soared towards the Ballista the two squadrons of TIE Interceptors based on the ship poured out of the hangar bay and shot down four bombers before the interceptors even had time to react. Malik instinctively let the Force guide him and dodged right as two enemy TIEs shot past him lasers blasting, he quickly destroyed the first with a couple of laser blasts and the second with one of his remaining warheads. He could see that his forces was dwindling in numbers as enemy squadrons from nearby ships came to join the fray and decided it was time to give the order to retreat. “All fighters launch one more torpedo and return to your home ship to rearm.”

While the other fighters were breaking off Malik stayed on course determined to at least accomplish something before retreating, he acquired a missile lock on one of the two shield generators and fired his remaining three torpedoes and watched it disappear in a huge explosion. He turned about and headed towards Sepros with the feeling that he could do more good planet side.

Sadow Palace
Fountain Room

The fountain’s water murmered quietly, cascading down the silvery figures inside - dragons rising from the water, having spread their wings as if playing with it. Xia Long was sitting at its feet. Studying a book she was holding in her hand. It was old, covered with dark stained leather. Letters written in ink - gruesome had given the book its name: The Blood Book.

An ancient tome the daughter of Sadow had required from the Sadow Library - in secret. She had to unravel its mysteries - mysteries vital to her task to return her banished master Shan Long. With a sigh she lowered her hand with the book, resting her other hand against her temple. Her mind begged for silence as yet again the mad whispers of her Master haunted her; an unwanted distraction - like the recent attack of Plagueis and Palatinae.

“Pointless skirmish.”, she muttered, standing. She leaned over the fountain, the water showed her reflection: a porcelain white face, framed by long curly red hair. Completely white blind eyes stared blankly at the surface.

“Mistress Long?”, a hologram of her consul appeared right next to her, projected by one of the many devices all around the Palace. “I just want to give you a friendly reminder about the current attack of Plagueis and Palatinae. Your ... and your Master’s participation is quite important to the livelihood of this clan. ”
She had expected this. She nodded: “I am sorry for my absence, Consul Locke. But I had been busy with... important matters.”. Her voice was quiet, filled with melancholy. She turned towards the direction of the hologram. “Be assured of my aid, but for my ...Master... I cannot speak. He....”

Lady Dragon. Meet me on top of the Temple of the Void.

Yes, Master Sadow.

“Consul Locke. I am on my way to meet Master Caerick.”

“Very good.” Locke’s holgram faded.




Top of Temple of the Void
Sepros, Orian System

Trevarus Caerick finished drawing the last line of the diagram on the floor. Runes, circles, lines pointing at important celestial bodies of the system surrounded a small incense goblet. With a small gesture of his right silver encrusted hand the content of the goblet incinerated into blue flames. He turned around: “Ahh. Lady Dragon. Shall we begin?”. His white teeth flashed behind his smile.

Sildrin Sadow had quietly followed the Lord Sadow’s preparations with her force senses, finally she had unveiled their purpose. She arched an eyebrow as he addressed her.

She sat down at her assigned spot, scorn and melancholy filled her. Did he really require her assistance? She was ‘just’ an Equite. Unease filled her; she was barely around Trevarus since he clearly preferred the presence of his foremost Apprentice - the Dark Prophet Xanos Sadow. Whereas she always felt being left behind.

He surely would rather see the Lord Prophet on her spot - and not this inferior apprentice, she thought with a touch of melancholy.

Trevarus Caerick sat down on the other side of the incense goblet. “Let us begin.” Ancient words rolled from his tongue, starting the incantation.

The Daughter of Sadow closed her atrophied eyes and shrugged off the burden of the material dimension, slipping with ease onto the spiritual planes, aiding Trevarus.

The air around the two started to shimmer as Trevarus's battle meditation began.



Orian Space

The cold space didn’t give away the heat of the current fight going on. Warships from Plagueis and Palatinae assaulting the fleet of Naga Sadow. Tie Fighters hunting the XJs, chasing them with red beams. But suddenly they stopped firing, spinning aimlessly around.

Sith Warlock Malik watched confused the actions of the enemy fighters. Some started to fire aimlessly around, even hitting ships of their fleet. A couple of Tie Fighters made a sharp turn, flying directly at a capital ship.
“What are they doing?”, he shouted. Bewildered he watched how the four Tie Fighters crashed into the bridge of the Majestic-class battlecruiser - a capital ship of their own fleet. Two of the capital ships started to seize fire upon each other - despite the same allegiance they were in.

“Marshal Commander Malik! They have gone mad. They are attacking each other.”, the pilot of a fellow XJ exclaimed.

“Let’s clean space from this poor excuse of pilots.”, Malik spoke into the communicator.

Sepros
Orian System

War.

How simple a word. Three letters, no more. So small, yet so significant. It has a way of forever altering that which it touches. The ground bears scars, the air grows thicker. Entire empires can change overnight and the lives of those depending on them will never be the same.

It is war that now reigns on Sepros. Both sides bringing their awesome might to bear. In the case of the joint Houses, Palatinae and Plagueis, favor was on their side. Their attack had come at an opportune time, a moment of perceived weakness within Naga Sadow. It was very much a surprise when they appeared. Surprise can win battles.

In the case of Naga Sadow, their lines were beginning to fall. The orders of Atra Ventus, Quaestor of Shar Dakhan and Executive Director of all Dlarit Military, were adhered to vehemently. Much of their strength was held back, leaving only enough for stall tactics. To the credit of those sacrificed on the line, they did their job brilliantly. Macron Goura Sadow was an artist of the battlefield, orchestrating the most beautiful of engagements as he made sure their attackers paid heavily for their victory. Those that had gathered at the South Eastern firebase had been no less valiant, digging in and demonstrating sheer grit against the oncoming forces.

Yet still, war came.

Like a wildfire it spread, crawling through the jungle and burning towards the objectives. Those that stayed may or may not have known what awaited them, though it couldn't be said for sure. The DSOG executed their tactics to the letter, withdrawing what forces they could safely before becoming overrun. The attackers had little time to enjoy their initial victory, the firebases making their locations known to the stars as twin explosions flared into existence. Thousands of lives instantly snuffed out, friend and foe alike.

Those attuned to it could feel the pain, a dagger in their chest as the screams of the dying travelled through the connection they all shared. Yet the full extent couldn't be measured. Those that had taken to the jungles had not reported in, completely off the grid for all intents and purposes. The like of Mirado L'eonheart and Setsuna Sakurazaki were unaccounted for, though faith held true that they would have survived.

Even as the sky bled red and the world shuddered, Naga Sadow was regrouping. The remaining military might came to bear at the Temple of Sorrow, released to its full extent as per their executive directive.

It is for those of House Plagueis and Scholae Palatinae to mourn or rejoice, as the remnants of the firebases smoldered with flame and death. Their victory would be short lived, for war is never patient...

And it comes upon them with avengeance.

Temple Training Room
Sepros

The sweat was dripping down the Zeltron’s face, some making its way into her eyes, making it difficult to see. Since being back, she hadn’t had a chance to train for some time, and thought she could use at least a brush up on her skills. She was sparring with one of the training instructors when they heard a loud commotion from outside. Everyone in the room ran to the nearest entrance to peer at what might be making such a racket. To all of their surprise, they saw that Sepros was under attack. “Well that is just plain rude!” She exclaimed aloud.

“What better way to train then to go for the real thing?” Masika grabbed her saber and shuriken, and headed out of the building.

En route, she received a message on her com from Macron saying that he was putting together a speeder bike crew to defend the South Eastern Firebase. She sent him a message and told him that she was on her way to help out and would be there shortly.

His response was nothing more than “Hurry up, Tibs and I already en route.” Of course, he had good reason to be in such a hurry.

The Huntress ran to the nearest speeder bike, attached her saber to her hip, swung a leg over, and jumped on. The roar of the engine helped fuel her already present high adrenaline coursing through her entire Zeltron body. She sped through the outer area away from any trees so that no one could sneak from behind them and take her out. She had hoped they hadn’t made it this far, but had no way to be sure. She dodged around anything and everything doing her best to get to Macron’s crew as fast as the speeder bike would take her.

Approaching South Eastern Firebase

After a bit, she could see the other speeder bikes in the distance, and she sped up even faster to try to catch up. Once she finally reached them, she drove up next to Tiberius and Macron, give them a wink, smile and nod. “Looks like we’ve got us some killin’ to do Gentleman.” She steadied her pace with theirs and headed into battle to defend Sepros.

Official Week Two Runon Intro

As you retreat toward the Temple of Sorrow, you hear rumors of a strike being planned to retaliate against these invaders. You receive a call on your holo comms as you return deeper into the jungle, and your Consul rises before you.

"Sadowans. We now have an opportunity to strike at their landing bases. I need volunteers to split into two units. One to destroy their on-world egress, another to defend and delay their rush to the Temple of Sorrow." Locke's image shimmered and wavered before clearing again.

"Choose wisely, and then begin. If you can destroy their marginally defended landing bases, then you'll make it harder for them to retreat, If you fail, then they will have a secure and unimpeachable foothold upon our world."

"Do Not Fail."

With a tone of finality, his image disappears. You now have a choice, what do you do?

Choose wisely, and Give Them Hell.

Outside the Southern
Firebase Sepros
The Four Dark Jedi sped toward, the target and let rip the weapons of destruction, from their individual speed bikes, the area of destruction was amazing to see, as the three continued along their journey.
After the onslaught of their attack, Macron, Malisane, and Nihrija and Tiberius slowed down slightly, as they all raced pasted the target.
All their coms went off, and it was the Consul they all had to go to the Temple of Sarrow, as soon as they could.
Tiberius turned to his three Dark Jedi friends, and said “ Shall we take these Bastards Down”.
The other three gave a quick nod and pushed their pedals on their sped bikes and made haste toward to temple of Sarrow.

The Temple Of Sarrow
Entrance
The Four Dark Jedi, had reached the entrance of the Temple of Sarrow, they stopped just so they were out of the way of being seen, from the guards and they could get off their bikes and look out of a distance what they were going to do.
Tiberius turned to Macron and said
“Well Sir was is next Bro”.

Temple of Sorrow Entrance

He could feel the force wave from both Trevarus and Sildrin's battle meditation start to reach out from the Temple towards the engagements further afield. Since the recent incident KAP Janos Silverwulf had spent his time watching the comings and goings of a much changed Naga Sadow from that he remembered, still intent on serving it in some way. Be that as an advisor of some kind to the summit or even as a flight or combat instructor again.

For now that meant dealing with the approaching forces of Palpatine and Plagieus, shrugging off his outer robe he drew on the force for a burst of speed as he ran to intercept the enemy his unlit saber in his hand, leaving an easy to follow trail hrough the undergrowth for those who might follow behind him.

"They will find their passage will cost them a high price," he murmured as he ran.

Sepros Orbit
Outside the Relentless

Energy vomited through the void of space from the countless octets of point-defence cannons that littered the surface of the Palatinae cruiser. The Dark Prophet saw the next attack before it happened, jinking his reappropriated Dlarit starfighter further into the planet’s gravity well a split-second before the cascade of red light lit up the dark void where the XJ3 had just been. The laser volley followed his movements, tracing a line through the empty space, but the Elder’s mastery of the Force was greater than the ordinary reaction speeds of the Relentless’s gunnery teams.

One of the lasers clipped the starfighter’s already partially-dented lower starboard wing, but a pale cerulean envelope shimmered around the X-wing as its deflector shields absorbed ninety percent of the blast. The onboard astromech sitting behind Xanos whistled in alarm, but he ignored its protests.

[FURTHER STARBOARD SIDE DAMAGE WILL DESTABILISE FLIGHT.]

The warning flashed up on the main terminal in front of the Falleen.

Dismissing the shipboard computer’s concerns—Xanos had not foreseen that any harm would come to him—he pulled back on the yoke and brought the X-wing about for another run on the Majestic-class cruiser. Any lesser Force user would have been called arrogant for his blind faith in the future, but the Lord Prophet’s precognition had proven itself enough times in the past. As had the repeated failures of others to heed his warnings back in the days when he had still given them…

The Falleen’s fist clenched as another involuntary impulse ran through his musculature and the durasteel enclosing the flight stick creaked. But the XJ was made of sterner stuff, and simply continued its rapid climb back up through the gravity well toward the huge glowing ion engines on the rear of the Palatinae warship. Another warning scrolled up on the fight computer—

[BEWARE: HEAVY DAMAGE IF SUSTAINED EXPOSURE TO ION EFLUX.]

Had any emotion still pumped through his dead heart, the Falleen would have scowled in disbelief. Did they really need to warn their best pilots—and it was only the best who would fly the XJs—of how to approach an enemy capital ship from behind? It was little wonder there were so many ships on both sides disappearing in short-lived clouds of flame if they were all flown more by droids than the flesh and blood that sat aboard to supposedly pilot them.

Xanos felt his Master’s presence wash over him as somewhere far down on the surface, Trevarus must have been beginning his battle meditation. A droid could not bask in the celestial radiance that spread from the infinite interconnections that bound all beings. Renewed with his Master’s energy added to his own, the Dark Prophet pulled the X-wing just above the rearmost parapet at the back of the Relentless and then pushed the throttle to maximum, diverting all power from shields in order to rush past the surface-mounted cannons and loose his torpedoes into the long-range batteries.

Another illusion of his own starfighter manifested behind him, drawing away more of the fire while, exactly as he had divined, the XJ3 sped past the laser cannons, passing underneath the starship’s bridge tower and rocketing toward the advanced turbolasers that were so badly troubling the now withdrawing Dlarit forces. Whether droid or mundane gunnery officer, the failure of the defence cannons to discern their true enemy from Xanos’s phantom double further proved just how meaningless all the technology in the galaxy was next to the power of the Force.

The long-range batteries thundered just ahead of him and he opened the XJ’s warhead tubes and let his unlit shadow bombs slide out into the darkness of space, silent, unnoticed. With the Relentless’s shields still operational, it may not have been enough to decommission to the batteries entirely, but the explosion would probably put them out of action for the nearest foreseeable future. Enough time, at least, for the Dlarit Navy to regroup.

[AT THIS PROXIMITY THE EXPLOSION WILL DAMAGE US TOO. ADVISE REACTIVATING SHIELDS.]

Like all those before it, he dismissed the ship’s warning. The shields may have needed recharging, but getting away from the point-defence cannons was the more pressing priority; the illusions may have diverted some of the attacks, but even with Trevarus and Sildrin’s aid, his body lacked the reserves to conjure a further phantom fleet to escort him completely. For all he may have sought otherwise, in the end, even if his spirit was eternal, he was still bound by the limits of his own mortality—and it was a cage that was becoming obstinate to his commands.

As if someone was reading his thoughts, another convulsion swept through his body and the Falleen inadvertently shoved the XJ3 back in the direction of the Palatinae cruiser. That same moment, the torpedoes he had dropped exploded into an orange inferno, right where the X-wing was now headed. The astromech behind him beeped a targeting warning about two TIE Defenders that had locked onto him somewhere off to port, and several of the Relentless’s cannons had ceased following his illusionary diversion to target him also.

Between the Defenders, cannons, and the inferno his ship was about to pass straight through, there was only one option left. Throwing all power from the X-wing’s reactor to the engines, he broke off conjuring the illusion and instead focused on wrapping a protective bubble of Force energy around him, a second before the starfighter entered the firestorm it had moments ago created. Unable to see, Xanos did the very thing he had been objecting to and left the astromech to do the piloting as he called on his Master’s added strength to sheathe the XJ3 in a cocoon.

Unsurprisingly, without his foresight now to guide their course, something struck the Force bubble, although its source was impossible to make out without breaking his focus. The impact knocked the X-wing starboard and its already damaged wing scrapped against the surface of the Relentless’s hull and pinged off. The impulse from the collision flung the starfighter off course, sending it spiralling back in the direction of Sepros’s atmosphere. The Elder closed his eyes, falling into a trance to maintain the protective sphere as the starfighter re-entered the planet’s gravity well, crashing toward Sepros.

MJHC Relentless
Sepros orbit
Orian system

The three Equites moved in unison through the long, wide corridors of the Majestic. The sound of blaster fire filled their ears and smoke and ozone from destroyed consoles and mutilated droids filled their nostrils, but it seemed to Tyren that his two companions reveled in the destruction and slaughter. He on the other hand, unlike in his younger days, had no desire to kill these men, even if they were the Clan’s enemies. He would have preferred a simpler, more covert approach, yet it seemed he had little say in the matter.

A blaster shot came from the left as Tyren positioned himself to deflect it, his well attuned mind predicting it trajectory. It bounced of the blade back into the visor of the poor sod that fired it. Without missing a step, the Templar slid below a high shot aimed at his head and cut vertically, severing the arm from a nearby officer. The man fell to the floor, screaming in anguish before a well placed thrust into the heart finished his agony. It was considered a mercy, since the pain of a severed and cauterized limb was said to be nigh unbearable. Another shot, from the same soldier as before, found itself bouncing back into his torso.

Soon they had dispatched the whole squad sent to, by Tyren’s calculations, slow them down.
“Hah! Is that it? We’ll get this done in a jiff.”Roxas said mockingly.
“Don’t be so sure.” Kairus said, obviously having the same line of thought as Tyren.
“Indeed. I think Kairus is right.” Atema added “These were sent to slow us down, not stop us.”
“It does seem a bit too easy.” Roxas added “Which means they'll place ambushes for us, worse, blockades with heavy weapons and fortifications.”
“More than likely.” Kairus added. Tyren pinched his well-groomed beard as he slipped back into his usual calculations. He remembered the layout of the ship well enough to know they had other options.
“Where are we right now?” he asked.
“A deck below the communication array…” Roxas replied reviewing the holoimage of the ship’s schematics protruding from his bracer. He pushed half-a-dozen controls and the image spread to cover roughly a square meter. Roxas pointed with his finger at one of the bigger corridors. “…right here. And here’s the comm array.” He moved his finger up and left, pointing now at a bigger room designated by a large disc-shaped logo.
“And these are, I presume, maintenance and elevator shafts, correct?” Tyren moved his gloved finger over several vertical and irregular lines connecting their deck with the comm array. The three looked at each other and smiled. “Then that’s our way in, gentlemen.”

***

Deck III, Communication array
MJHC Relentless

Roxas heard loud and heavy marching footsteps above him as he pushed the small hatch covering the entrance into the maintenance shafts just a few centimeters. He observed the soldiers, technicians and droids as they moved, rapidly marching, through the ship. When they moved along he popped the hatch and jumped out followed closely by Kairus and Tyren. Roxas already peeked behind the corner into the corridor leading to the comm room.
“I see two guards at the door, no more than thirty meters down. I’m guessing we’ll find at least a squad-sized force inside. Standard procedure I guess.” He added smugly.

“Yes, well that won’t be the issue.” Tyren added “Something else bothers me. I can almost feel them.” He continued. Both Kairus and Roxas knew what he was talking about the Dark jedi on the ship, which have yet to reveal themselves.

"Right, no use pondering on that now. Shall we?" he asked and they moved from cover, the Force giving them speed. Before the soldiers at the door could raise their blasters, the Sadowites covered half the distance. Blasters fired and chaos ensued. With several well placed angles Tyren deflected the blasts aiming at him. He stopped several meters short of the door and time seemed to slow. His less sensitive counterparts merely rushed forward for yet another quick kill but Tyren’s attuned mind could feel him. His gaze swung left. There, standing in the corridor was a lone dark figure. The equite turned to face his opponent as the man pulled away his robes and revealed his red bladed lightsaber. Kairus and Roxas, finished with their quick “meal”, covered Tyren left and right.

“Go.” Tyren said as the two looked at him, perplexed. “I’ll handle this. Get the array while we have the time.” The two Sadowites seemed to bow slightly and moved through the door. Tyren never took his eyes off his adversary as he spoke.
“Where are your counterparts? I sensed them earlier as well.” As if on cue, a pair of lightsabers appeared on the man’s left and right menacingly pointing at the lone Equite. He was in a bad position to be in.
"You shouldn't have sent your friends away, Sadow dog." the Sith smiled wickedly, savoring his victory.

Suddenly a wave of pure energy passed over Tyren, like a rejuvenating force giving him unparalleled confidence. He could instantly sense the power it gave him and he could sense it’s origin.
“Master Caerick!” he sighed in delight. His three opponents felt the same but on a different level. Migranes, disorientation, loss of moral; all of these suddenly filled their heads and hearts. Any lesser man would have wavered and fled, but they were Sith; proud and stubborn to the end.

“What is this?!" the leader said in surprise, rage seeping through his gritting teeth
"Damn you Sadowite!" He spat “Now you die.” All three charged at the Templar as he readied himself for the incoming attack.

His vision
A will to dominate
His vision
A will to overcome
His vision
A journey accepted

A subtle, but steady stream of energy flowed across the the Line of Arancis. It splayed across his vision in a sunburst of outcomes, chances, perceptions, of mere luck. The Oracle frowned midst his chant.

This would be the way

It was the line of defeat in victory, though all possibilities were not negated, the Oracle saw, and he knew. Intricate traceries followed a tangible plane of outcome, and following each to their course allowed him to make a choice.

Xanos, withdraw, join me on Sepros.

As you will, my Master

A silver tendril of his right hand flowed forth, it touched the Lady Dragon's hand, guided her to a certain spot. Without breaking chant, she knew. The rune of Erivis would focus her energies to the task of protecting her clan mates from death.

Command! he shouted at Sildrin.

The Arc began to glow violet anger as the Lady Dragon poured her emotion into the task at hand. Trevarus felt an uneasy stirring within.

We must lose to win, my Apprentice.

Unknown Location
Sepros
Orian System

Flames crackled with an undying hunger as the green jungle fell to the crimson light. His consciousness was pain and nothing more, a dead weight upon the muddy ground. Heat broke through the numbing sensation, spreading across his cheek and threatening to consume him. Atra's eyes snapped open, the pale grey reflecting the yellow glow of the nearby fire. Gritting his teeth the Quaestor forced his power to plunge through his nerves like a spark of electricity, numbing himself to the pain as he willed his limbs to answer.

Atra came to his feet shakily, but burn free. The same could not be said for the jungle that had given way to hellfire. The Quaestor had underestimated quite how potent the firebases could be as explosives. The pain would serve as a reminder not to make the same mistake again. Wiping blood from his chin the Dakhani searched the foliage. He had not entered the jungle alone, nor did he suspect he had lost her. "You alive, kid?"

A near psychotic scream answered him, Setsuna's lithe form springing from beneath cracked and burning branches not far to his left. "Those bastards will wish I wasn't!" Her voice screeched out through clenched teeth, bloodlust shining like crimson flames within her eyes. The Assassin seemed to have suffered no better than Atra, her body bearing burns and gashes that mirrored the foliage that surrounded them. He contemplated making a comment seconds before his thoughts were interrupted by a suddenly active holocom. The Quaestor's eyes studied Locke's form carefully, registering the information as it was relayed. Acting quickly, he tethered the com to his wrist terminal in order to download the coordinates.

On the other hand, Setsuna seemed lost in her own world, pure hate and insanity playing out in an emotional dance on her features. Atra wondered what she would do had she suspected he had given the command to detonate the firebases. It probably wouldn't have been pretty, but it was in the past. Now, he could focus her crazed need for blood onto a new task.

The Quaestor of Shar Dakhan moved carefully, the Force slowly knitting his wounds back together as he came up next to the Assassin. "So, who's our target? Palatinae or Plageuis?"

"Why not both!?" Setsuna turned towards Atra, a sudden childlike expression spreading across her face, her eyes betraying the truth of her emotions. It was terrifying indeed. Her grin was that of a child being given their favourite toy, while her eyes were those of a sociopathic killer.

Atra slowly cracked the joints of his neck, shaking the fatigue out of his limbs as he gazed onward. "Sounds like a plan."

The pair moved away from the burning terrain, focused on finding the main pathways the Sadowans often utilized to navigate the jungles. Atra focused on his wrist terminal, requisitioning two speeder bikes to be provided for them when they arrived. He was in no mood to walk to the newfound coordinates, he would much rather conserve his energy.

Energy he would need when they showed up on their enemy's doorstep, for they now knew the location of both landing sites. With that knowledge came the entire fury and retribution of Clan Naga Sadow.

Sepros, Orian System
Dominion of Clan Naga Sadow

The starfighter plummeted through the atmosphere like a meteorite. A black plume of smoke followed in its wake as the crashing XJ3 careened through the air, the scorched and buckled hull being held together only by the will of the Elder trapped within as Xanos’s body writhed and pulsed in opposition to the dark energies pumping through his cells, burning his blood like a potter’s kiln.

With his full mind devoted to maintaining the protective shield around him, Xanos could not even hear his Master’s or Sildrin’s voices, and their emboldening meditation was lost to him as he fell toward the explosive fires that were now raging from where the two firebases had now been lost.

[WARNING. WARNING. CRASH IMMINENT. WARNING. WARNING.]

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could faintly hear the shrill whistles of alarm from the X-wing’s integrated astromech, but the Dark Prophet paid them no notice, watching as the inferno rapidly grew larger and larger outside the small starfighter’s viewport. The XJ3 had no parachute; its atmospheric repulsors had been fried by the explosion from its own torpedoes; and even if a landing strip had existed, the Falleen could not hold the starfighter together and steer it into a safe landing.

However, despite the planet surface fast approaching, Xanos remained offputtingly calm as his Master’s teachings echoed in the back of his mind:

We must lose to win, my Apprentice.

Was it Trevarus’s voice or just a memory…?

Was there any true difference? He may have been cut off from his Master’s meditations, but the bond between the two Elders remained unbreakable, Trevarus’s lessons as unmarred by the ravages of age as the Oracle himself. There was no way to land. That left but one road open.

Xanos shut his eyes as the tattoo on his forehead twitched underneath his ashen green skin.

The Dark Prophet cocooned himself in the Force and let go of the starfighter.

No longer being kept stitched together by his will, the damaged pieces of the starship broke apart. It was like a construction video in fast reverse as pieces of the ship pulled free from their fixings and disappeared into the winds. The three surviving wings were first, torn from the main fuselage by the immense drag forces that next ripped open the cockpit and flung it into the black and smoky sky.

Xanos had already unclipped his crash webbing and pushed himself free the instant the cockpit roof was gone. The ship had already been falling at terminal velocity and so he watched the crumbling remains accelerate away from him toward the forest inferno that the burning debris now added to.

Xanos, withdraw, join me on Sepros.

Freed of the confines of the burning starfighter, his Master’s voice returned in full, dampened only by the rush of the wind as the Falleen continued to plummet through the atmosphere. However, he was not afraid; in fact, there was almost something relaxing about it. High above the jungle, he could make out the spires from the numerous Temples of Orian that projected through the jungle canopy. They were like hands reaching up toward the distant stars, eager to explore the infinite mysteries of the cosmos. It was rare one stopped and appreciated the true majesty of Urias Orian’s achievement.

The entire planet was itself a monument to the lost secrets of the past. The desecration of the forest and its untold ruins spoke volumes about today’s students of the dark side and how those coming to plunder its riches cared nothing for the answers that remained undiscovered beneath the surface.

His Master would be appalled.

The air pressure grew heavier as the quiet stillness began to be replaced by a distant thunder of gunshot and artillery fire and the burning treetops from the impact crater beneath him grew bigger. He reached out with his arms and, like a swimmer, re-angled himself in order to take full advantage of the increasing air resistance. Of course, the drag alone would never be enough, and so, no longer encumbered by the need to hold a starfighter together, he reached out with the Force. Siphoning further energy, not just from his Master and Sildrin’s battle meld, but also from the dying screams who that very moment cried out right across the forest, some of them new, others old, still more whose lives had yet to be lived at all, he pushed the air beneath him together, pressing on all sides just like one would to force an attacker away in close combat, only here, with no second party to block it, his ministrations were to create a gradual blanket of resistance and gently retard his fall.

Xanos focused his mind, wrapping his hands around the fabric of the reality and began to slow.

Somewhere below

The primitive stared down into the burning crater where the star had recently fallen. There was nothing left but a glowing metallic ember where the remnants of the stellar collision had melted away. Even so, Rannek wanted to take a piece back with him to the tribe—it wasn’t every day you were there when a star fell out of the sky. Perhaps it was a fragment of the lost Star of Ombus?

As the native tiptoed onto the edge of the crater—he could still feel the heat of the impact—a rustle in the leaves above him caught his attention. Rannek looked up to see a green figure rapidly falling through the hole in the canopy! He quickly drew away again right as the figure struck the surface.

Rannek heard a grunt as a cloud of dust threw up into the air and the figure vanished for a moment.

When the dust cleared away, the native simply stared. The forest had suddenly gone cold and in front of him stood a grey-green humanoid in a tattered cloak. The figure looked left and right, appearing somewhat unsure of its location, and then looked up straight at Rannek from the bottom of the crater. The native did not move.

“Where…,” the figure winced a little with each step as it climbed out of the crater, “…is the temple?”

The starman’s three eyes remained locked on Rannek’s. After a moment, the native slowly lifted a hand and pointed west.

Without anything further, the starman simply turned in the direction Rannek had indicated and headed off, limping with each step.

Somewhere Over Speros
MAAT Transport

“Blasters?” Locke said.

“Check, “ Teu answered, hurling a blaster to the Consul’s waiting hand.

“Carbine?” Locke slid the pistol into it’s belt holster, shifting his belt to make sure it was right. He had traded his formal robes for a more appropriate flightsuit, appearing as a pilot or normal soldier to the untrained eye.

“Also check, “ Teu said, indicating the weapon on the table between them as she finished picking up her own gear: her two lightsabers, blaster pistol, and a dagger for a close support. “Are you going to use that carbine the whole time?” the Obelisk asked.

“Nope, “ Locke replied, slinging it over his shoulders. “I’m going to start with this.” Locke hefted an assault cannon off the floor, ducking his head under its shoulder rope and flipping the stabilizers on it to ensure it would be supported by his body and not wear him down as quickly.

Teu rolled her eyes. “You and your big guns.”

“They never fail, “ he answered. Locke checked the weapon over once more to make sure everything was set; his lightsaber tucked underneath a hump in the considerable body armor vest he wore. “What’s the word from the front?” he asked.

“Atra’s group is almost at the enemy’s base camp, “Teu said. “Roxas’ should be making their way planetside soon.”

“And Xanos and that group?” There was no need to clarify who “that group” was, they both knew of Locke’s concern for the two Elder’s actions and how they would impact the battle.

“On planet somewhere, “ Teu said, frowning. “It’s almost as if I can feel them, but I’m not sure.”

“Just once I wish they’d tell me what they’re doing, “ Locke mumbled, before raising his voice. “Alright, here’s the plan. This Mattie’ here isn’t gonna last long on the front lines, especially with all the enemy’s new starfighter support, so we’re going to drop in right on our front line and and the Mattie will lift out post haste, it’s not even going to stop moving. You hear me pilot? Don’t even stop.”

Locke paused for the thumbs up from the Dlarit Special Ops pilot. The few soldiers in the cabin with him and Teu nodded as well. The two YVH-1 droids stood perfectly still, the Mechu Deru glyphs on their armor glowing faintly. “As we drop, a nav beacon will drop with us, allowing every other Sadowan Jedi in the region to easily find our location. If they’re not actively engaged on a mission, they should push to us to help.

Locke pointed to the final occupant of the cabin, the Dark Jedi Knight who held the tall warbanner of Clan Naga Sadow, with Locke’s personal emblem, the symmetrical golden Star of Orhlov on it. Though the meaning was unknown even to Locke, his parents had told him it was special to him when he was a child, and unlike most children, he had never let go, and now it would fly over his head on a day of battle. “Waldron, you will hold that banner high, and defend it with your life. We shall rally around the sign of Clan Naga Sadow!” His words resulted in a quiet cheer from those in the cabin.


“PIlot” Locke called. “ETA?”

“Just about there, Sir.”

Locke knew what ‘just about’ meant. “Alright folks, this is it. Let’s make a hole!” As if on cue, the doors to either side of them slid open to reveal the expanse of battle. Towering alien trees shot up all around them while blinding, almost horizontal rains reduced visibility significantly, making the battle seem on a smaller scale, though Locke could hear explosions and other signs of battle in the distance. Lasers darted in and out of the darkness all around, and directly below them Palatinaen Clones spearheaded an assault into a large group of Sadowan reserve infantry, who were falling fast.

Booted feet sank into muddy leaves as Locke touched down, aiming the assault cannon at the nearest group of enemies, leaving a quickly-filling hole in the enemy formation as the clones rapidly recovered. For just a moment, his flanks were bare, before the two YVH-1 droids dropped to either side, their variable-output cannons already firing into the mass of enemies. Waldron dropped down next, firmly planting the stake of the warbanner at his side, the troopers grunting as they came down to one knee, not able to steady themselves as well as the droids and Jedi. Finally, Teu was the last to drop, cyan lightsaber cutting into a foe who was too slow to back away.

Above them the drop ship sped away. Locke was dimly aware of it taking a hit somewhere to it’s port side and descending in a circular motion off to one side.

“Remember!” Locke yelled, assault cannon flashing in the dark rains as he blasted the enemy directly ahead of him. “We rally here, to the Banner of Sadow. For Sadow!”

He heard the same ‘For Sadow!’ from the others around him, and then they got to work.

Command and Information Centre
Installation "Overlord", Beneath the Temple of Shadow
Sepros, Orian System

"Ensure operatives have a tight security cordon around November Sierra Aurek and Beta; out of sight but within striking range should hostiles break the line." Methyas barked out as the centre had suddenly come alive with activity, the choice of Locke to leave the safety of the Temple of Sorrow prompting an immediate response from SHADOW resources.

"Where are those reinforcements from Tarthos? Mactavish should have already dispatched them." The Miraluka continued as he watched the holographic aerial view of the Seprosian surface, the battlefield alive with activity as various assets of the Special Operations Group either moved to secure the Temple complex or to join their Consul in glorious combat. Few of them had already moved to assault their adversaries landing zone, though Methyas suspected that Locke would drive the main contingent of Sadowan forces right into the thick of the mess.

"All available assets from Tarthos departed the Alabrek spaceport as soon as Code Black had been declared, sir. The Fleets indicate that they will provide a screen for the transports as they arrive, estimated time of landfall is unknown however." The voice of an officer responded quickly, the young man still working away at a nearby console.

The Miraluka started to move about the room, his eyeless gaze locked upon the tactical map as his thoughts drifted outwards through the Force, to the battle on the surface above. Things had been far less than ideal since this whole blasted attack had began, the Sadowans still reeling from their last conflict; had the Summit not been quick on its feet and their work with the Sons been prompt, Methyas doubted he wanted to know what would have occurred instead.

The Jedi's eyebrows furrowed for a moment as he pushed his influence outward, touching upon his Quaestor's mind and speaking within her mind, "Kalia, Locke has entered the field and I suspect he'll be headed your direction."

The almost forceful nudge he received in return was enough for him to know she understood, the woman's combat skills in the field were a much needed compliment to his support and now it would serve Locke and his plans further. He carried on now, pausing for a moment as something seemed to catch his attention, confidently issuing commands to the Agents nearby, "Direct a few drones and satellite imagery to sector eleven."

The agents responded immediately, the tactical map clarifying upon the designated sector, a small team of Palatinaen and Plageuan forces seeming to sneak around the Sadowan forces. One of the agents spoke first, "Should we alert nearby units to engage?"

"No, inform forces at the Temple complex to shore up defenses and anticipate potential skirmishers along all fronts. Push real-time tactical data to all members of the Operations Group, I'll co-ordinate defenses from the Temple of Sorrow in person; we'll need a senior member of the group to lead our troops there."

As the Miraluka turned to leave the room all he could hear was an acknowledgement of his orders, his mind taking inventory of the items he had upon his person and preparing himself for yet another conflict against the darksiders of the Brotherhood.

Deck III, Communication array
MJHC Relentless
Kairus and Roxas hurried to the array. The room wasn’t very well guarded for being so big, but the guards were heavily armed. Quickly looking at each of them as one yelled “Put your hands up and you might live” Roxas noticed that the majority had slugthrowers.

A smile crossed the Mandalorian’s face, but it was hidden under his T shaped visor.

“Kairus hit the deck now.” He said in an almost stern tone.

“What?” The Aedile asked just before Roxas forced him to the ground.

The Alchemy Experiment slid his pistol from its leather holster and slightly bent his knees to keep his balance. The enemy troops opened fire, but the rounds didn’t hit their target. Roxas was using what he learned during his recent training. As he moved to evade slugs he fired his own. Dha’Tracyn sub-form of K’tara was truly amazing. The Mandalorian’s accuracy was dead on; although, not every shot was a kill.

It didn’t take long for the room to be cleared of enemy life. When the last fell, Roxas spun his pistol on his finger and said with a pleased tone “It’s clear. You can get up Aedile.”

Kairus stood and patted his clothing as if to knock of dust or dirt “What was that technique?”

“It’s K’tara.”

Kairus pulled explosives from his bag as he walked to the array terminal “Did you learn that from Fremoc?”

Roxas chuckled “Not exactly, but it is a style he uses. How’s the array coming?”

“It’ll be a few minutes, faster if you help.”

Roxas helped to speed it along, but after a couple of minutes more guards ran into the room.

“I got it.” Kairus said as he ignited his blue saber. He charged thm deflecting bolts in random directions before cutting them down. He was like a well oiled machine following the motions of both Shii-Cho and Soresu smoothly and with precision. While Kairus enjoyed playing with the new toys that showed up, Roxas kept working on the explosives until all that was left to do was program the detonator.

The Aedile hacked a trooper in half as he called out “Roxas! Do you feel that?”

“Feel what?” The Alchemy Experiment queried hardly able to feel much of anything through the Force anymore.

“Tyren needs help.”

Before the Mandalorian could reply, a loud thud came from the room that Tyren was in. Just as Kairus went to speak Roxas was already gone .As he entered the room, Roxas boots slid in a pool of blood as he almost tripped on a dead sith. The Mandalorian turned to see Tyren get stabbed and then tossed to the side.

“Roxas I could only get one and injure another.” Tyren said after hitting the floor.

The Mandalorian’s cyan lightsaber ignited with a snap and it’s gyroscoping vibration was almost mirrored by the enemy sabers that ignited to sound a reply. Roxas was almost excited for the fight because ever since knighthood he hasn’t had a real chance to test his saber skills, other than when Locke took power from Macron; although, Roxas used Shii-Cho for defense instead of how it is meant to be used.
The T shaped visor showed no emotion, but the Mandalorian’s voice was different and his voice was full of excitement and what Tyren thought was concern.

“You’ve done well, but leave this to me. I’ll show them the power of Naga Sadow.”

The two Sith attacked expecting to overwhelm the Obelisk, but didn’t expect him to actually attack into the path of their lightsabers. His blue blade hit one red and knocked its wielder off balance as another red quickly came around to take its place. Roxas simply moved his saber into the path of that one and stopped the enemy’s blade. The two Sith attacked Roxas from separate sides in an attempt to get past his defenses, but to no avail. One of the Sith grew increasingly angry and instead of using her anger to focus she over extended an attack and Roxas took the opening to his advantage. He wrapped his crimson cape tightly around her neck, strangling her.

“Let go of her now!” The male Sith shouted “I said now you Sadowan scum!!”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” The Mandalorian asked in an emotionless tone.

“Don’t make me repeat myself!” He demanded louder.

“k” was all the Templar said as he twisted his cape, tightening it around her neck until it snapped. The Alchemy Experiment then tossed her aside.

The remaining Sith gathered the dark side into a spear and flung it the Templar, hitting the Mandalorian’s left wrist. Most of the damage was absorbed by the Mandalorian armor, but the force of impact fractured the Alchemy Experiment’s wrist. The Sith then charged with his vocal chords projecting his battle cry, which was full of anger and sadness. The Templar grabbed his foes dominate wrist with his off-hand, which still searing in pain, before proceeding to stab the man a few times in the torso with his good hand. Kairus returned to see that everything had already been taken care of.

Kairus looked at the Mandalorian’s handiwork and quipped “Aw…you didn’t leave me any.” Before helping Tyren back to his feet.

Roxas’ comm chirped, so he listened and then informed the others “We have to get to the power core and dust this bitch now, so we can get back to Sepros and help. It’s two more levels down. I understand the element of surprise is nice, but we don’t have the time to waste. We need to take the elevator and blast everything in our way.”

The other two understood where the Mandalorian was coming from on this, so they agreed. The sooner they can disable this cruiser and start doing some real damage on the enemy the better.

Orian Space
Above Sepros

Malik had received the message from the Consul and quickly plotted both sets of coordinates into the X-Wings computer. He altered his course for the nearest one as he entered the atmosphere. As he completed atmospheric reentry a few minutes later he dropped his altitude to just above tree level hoping that it would give him a few seconds extra before being discovered by whatever anti-air defenses the landing zone might have.

As he neared the enemy landing zone he’d picked as his target he checked his scanners which reported only four anti-air defenses in the location. “Why do they only have four? Either they must not have more or they’re too sure that nobody will attack them from the air. Better make them regret it either way.” He thought to himself.

As he reached the clearing he opened fire with his laser cannons strafing the hastily erected compound. Immediately ground to air missiles and blaster fire shot up at him, no amount of shielding and force enhanced reflexes could keep his fighter from getting critically hit at this low altitude. After a few hits the shields that hadn’t fully replenished after the strain of reentry went down and a lucky hit from a blaster took out one of his engines and soon after a missile blew clear through one wing before exploding as it hit the second causing the fighter to spin out of control. Malik managed to get it under control just long enough for him to safely eject over the nearby wroshyr forest, the whole engagement had only lasted a few seconds.

The Warlord quickly freed himself from his ejector seat when it was close enough to the top of the trees for him to use the Force to safely land on the branches, deciding to move away from what would most likely be seen as an easy target to whichever enemy troopers there might be in the vicinity. He leapt from branch to branch getting further away from the crash site and at the same time getting closer to the ground which was several hundred meters below the treetops.

As he neared the shadow lands he reached out with the force to get a sense of who or what was in the area. He could sense several sentient life forms nearby including at least one force user. He waited until the group was right underneath the branch he was standing on before jumping down in the middle of the group cutting down four troopers before they even knew what had hit them. These soldiers were well trained though and quickly turned to address the threat in their midst, the Neti deflected the shots coming from one side with his sabers while the others were stopped by the protective force barrier he’d erected. He sent a force blast knocking two troopers down hearing their armor crack under the force, as he leapt at the other two cutting them down.

He narrowly dodged an attack from the force user he had nearly forgotten all about. As he turned to face his attacker he noticed the armory saber and laughed. “That’s the closest you will come to hitting me young journeyman.” He decided to toy a little with his prey and used the force to apply increasing pressure to the journeyman’s heart, as he dropped to his knees in pain the Neti walked slowly towards him, malice in his eyes. “Your masters have failed you young one, someone as weak as you should never have been allowed to take part in an attack such as…” The journeyman gasped as the pressure was released and saw that the Sith had been shot in the left shoulder and heard him roar in anger. Malik sent both his sabers flying at the two troopers who had regained consciousness and who had shot him when he was distracted, the sabers hit each of them square in the face. “That’s twice now your little group nearly got the better of me, I must be getting old.” Malik said as he turned back to the journeyman who had regained his footing and was getting ready to charge the now unarmed Sith. As he began his charge he was suddenly thrown backwards by a series of force blasts from the Warlord, the malice in his eyes replaced with pure hatred. He continued sending force blasts into the already beaten man in front of him hearing bones break with every blast, he recalled his lightsabers to his hands, ignited them and inserted them into the dying mans eye sockets.

He looked at the insignia on the armor of one of the troopers and recognized it. He began moving away from the area while using the force to heal his wound and got out his comm. “This is Malik to any Naga Sadow units in the area. I’m near the Scholae Palatinae landing zone, it’s been strafed by an XJ3 but I didn’t have time to register how much damage had been done. If any unit is near, we should head back and make sure the job is done properly.”

~Southeastern Firebase
~Heading towards Temple of Sarrow


The Zeltron fought beside her fellow Sadowans, taking out the enemies two by two, and some even three by three. They had been caught off guard, and that was something Sadowans didn’t like. As some fell, even more began to come. They were outnumbered. The Firebase was engulfed in flames, and at that point, not much could be done about it. Just then, a call came through from Locke about forces heading to the Temple and needing to be headed off at once. She knew there wasn't much more she could do here, so she would do all she had to to leave her mark on those heading for the Temple. She hoped on her speeder bike and headed towards the Temple of Sorrow.

She wasn’t sure where they were, but she knew she had to stop as many as she possibly could, or die trying, which in her mind wasn’t an option. After a few minutes of flying threw brush, she saw the enemy in the distance, their insignias showing brightly in the moonlight from above. She sped up, hoping that speed would work to her advantage in this case rather than the stealth that she was use to. Being up against these kinds of numbers, she knew she had no other choice. The Huntress reached a hand down to her ankle, unhooking the pouch that held her shuriken. She pulled out every one that she had left and gritted them between her teeth to hold onto until she was a bit closer. Once they were secure, she reached back to her hip where her saber was strapped to her, unstrapped it, and ignited it. The beautiful glow lit up her soul as she closed the distance between her and them. As she came upon them, one by one, she reached up with her other hand, letting going of the bike handle just long enough to throw a shuriken at every person she passed with the enemies’ mark on their uniforms. She aimed for their jugulars the best she could, and received shots returned back at her in response. She kept up speed, and continued until the last shuriken left her clenched teeth, while the blaster shots thankfully didn’t do any internal damage, but left quite a few wounds in various places on her body. Once she was out of shuriken, she whipped out her saber and began swinging as she passed them by. Taking some out with their backs turned to her if she had to. She thought if they hadn’t noticed her by now, that was their own mistake. Some swung back at the same time, leaving cuts that would most definitely scar.

One man swung at her bike as she passed by, knocking her off and sending her flying into the brush below. She didn’t know who he was, and she didn’t care. Probably some low rank trying to make a name for himself. Well, she wasn’t about to let him do so at her expense. Masika lay on her back on the ground, grunting through the pain and soreness taking over her body. The man was standing over her, saber raised above his head, and was about to strike down on her. He hadn’t noticed her feet move from under him quick enough to respond when she lifted a spiked high heeled boot up and stabbed the heel into his gut. He gasped as she pulled it out just as quickly as she had forced it in, but not before giving it a good twist first while it was still embedded. Masika quickly rolled out of the way, and to her feet to just barely avoid his large heavy body falling on top of her. Still breathing, but faintly, she saw the look of pain and anger in the young one’s eyes. She brought back her saber, and then plunged it back into the same hole her heel had made, and ended the man’s suffering. She hoped back on her back, and without looking back, continued on, taking out whoever she could along the way.

Sepros
Orian System

The battle was going well. Naga Sadow united under the scent of blood, their own blood. Their retribution was swift and fierce. Not much could be said of the front lines. As in any war, chaos reigned and specifics no longer mattered. It always came down to life and death. For those that counted themselves amongst the ranks of Naga Sadow, life was their choice. The Force was a strong ally for those that knew how to call upon it, but survival and rage were equally as strong in those that could not.

While Locke attended to the defense of the Temples, Atra was already closing in on the Plagueian landing site. The Quaestor of Shar Dakhan and his Assassin companion had received confirmation that strike teams were already in action amongst the ranks of Scholae Palatinae. Much to his surprise, it seemed that Malik had decided to take matters into his own hands before anyone else could move into position. It had been a desperate gamble, one that had paid off in spades as the elite DSOG moved in with rolling artillery. Prisoners of War were not a priority, but razing all traces of the filthy invaders was definitely the top goal.

The jungle moved as a blur, Atra deftly navigating the winding route with his speeder bike. He wasn't one for transports and just felt at home on a bike. He allowed himself a grin, his large canines digging into his lower lip. There had been much debate over how they would treat their own target. Setsuna was a rather straightforward individual, and easy to predict in only one way. The Assassin wanted blood, and she wanted that warmth to flow between her own fingers. A slight sigh escaped his lungs as their target loomed ever closer. That one had taken a bit of negotiation. While they were more than certainly able to accomplish such a dead, it was far from the most efficient course of action. Instead, Atra strapped as many explosives as he could requisition to his speeder bike, and that of any Force Sensitive suicidal enough to accompany him.

Initially, his companion had been upset with the turn of events, but something about the reckless tactics had turned her on to the plan in the end. Even now she was ahead of him, seemingly carefree and full of glee as murder gleamed in her gaze. The Plagueian troops were about to get a rude awakening as their escape from the planet was cut off. He enjoyed the karmic taste of the situation. The enemy had come to Sadow's home looking for death and destruction, now they would be relatively trapped in that very place. Prey to the spider as the fly squirmed within the net.

At their current speed, face to face communication was impossible. Toggling a switch on the terminal Atra heard the familiar static as a channel was opened between himself and his squad of kamikaze pilots. "Get ready. When we reach the target site we are to spread out for maximum effect and bail." He could almost sense their reflexive fear over the static. "At these speeds, if you don't control your fall or pick a bad location, you will either be broken or dead."

Taking a single glance at the formation spreading out around him Atra's gaze sharpened. It was almost time.

"Let them suffer."

The speeder formation broke from the foliage in an instant, each of the pilots throwing themselves to the ground as soon as their vectors were locked in. Atra wrapped the Force around himself, having prepared it before hand. He pushed against his momentum with all the strength he had, managing to soften his landing enough not to break anything but it was still akin to slamming face first into a concrete wall.

Others weren't so fortunate, simultaneous cries of pain calling out throw the Force before being silenced. The Sadowans had known the risks, and the crescendo of explosions that accompanied their speeders belied the success of their sacrifice.

Atra rose slowly, clutching his arm as blood dripped down painfully. Since the coming of their rival Houses the Quaestor had found himself in pain far more often than he had become accustomed. Still, the sight of the fire burning into the sky brought a smile to his cold features.

"Executive Director Ventus to all DSOG personnel. Mission Successful. Plagueis is cut off."

Official Week Three Runon Intro

The time for revenge is at hand.

With the Betrayal of House Plagueis by Scholae Palatinae, their alliance is in tatters. Now is the time to push forward and remind them why the Sadowan Soil is inviolate.

The fleet is beginning to re-engage, focusing split fire on the Ascendant Navy and the Palatinaen Forces. It's still an unfair fight, and one that should be pursued cautiously. Now though, with the opponents sniping at each other where possible, they are not a solid unified force. Where such exists, the possibility for turning them against each other is not to be lost.

Be careful when chasing the ground forces, because even if the Foxtrot Uniforms aren't smart about tactical measures, their Sergeants are. Expect remote and proximity mines, droid designed and built traps. All thrown up in haste, but perfectly viable long enough to stall and delay you.

You want to be at the Firebases, ready to close in and end the threat at the end of the week. Failure to do so would mean simply letting them slip away unpunished.

Punishment should be meted to those guilty of daring to invade Sepros.

Foward Defensive Command
Temple Courtyard, Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

Methyas stood calmly upon the steps to the Temple itself, a strong gust blowing past him and tossing the loose portions of his robes about him. The heat of the Seprosian landscape coupled with the harsh wind told that Jedi Sage something he had known since the arrival of the allied Houses; a storm was brewing. Both literally and figuratively now, however. The weather upon Sepros had always been unforgiving, between the constant humidity and the violent storms; a sort of parallel could be drawn between the Sadowans and their Capital. Both were a constant, heavy and ever present reminder of the strength that lay beneath the surface and both were prone to violent outbursts that left chaos and devestation in its wake. The only difference between the coming storm on Sepros and the one that lay before the Houses of Plagueis and Scholae Palatinae was that Sepros had adapted to it, was prepared for it and sure as hell wasn't going to be limping away to lick its wounds when this was over.

The entire defensive line had been prepared, waiting for something to slip the counter-offensive, but the Sadowans in the field were being far too thorough and far too unforgiving against the invading forces. A voice rose up through Methyas' earpiece, the stress apparent in the Captain's words though the presence of hope was pinned to each syllable spoken, "By order of the Consul, all available units are to assault the South-Eastern Firebase from all directions. Repeat, all available units are to assault the South-Eastern Firebase from all directions."

A smile crossed Methyas' face for a moment before another chirp from his earpiece caught his attention, the melodic tone of the Seprosian AI relaying more information, "Director. Surveillance reports that previously marked targets have broken off from their intended course. Local scouts have reported a brief struggle before the group appeared to make a break for the South-Eastern Firebase; one half of the party appears to be pursuing the other."

A chuckle escaped from the Miraluka as a single thought crossed his mind, "Betrayal is always the way of the Sith."

Quickly the Jedi started his movements down the steps of the Temple towards the open courtyard, a senior SHADOW Operative quickly taking up his flank and speaking plainly, "Orders, sir?"

"Ensure wartime protocol is upheld and verify the identity of all Foxtrot Uniforms. Keep the defensive line strong; we don't know if there will be any mavericks breaking formation to take a strike at our resources here." He made sure to emphasize his point of all Force users, pausing briefly to consider if he should disclose knowledge of the vast vaults of information hidden beneath them, "The safety of the Overlord is paramount, while I do not doubt his skill or ferocity, I'd much rather it doesn't come to that."

"Yes, sir; right away, sir." Was the Agent's swift acknowledgement as he broke away from the Miraluka, acting upon the Aedile's orders and dispersing them to all units present.

Methyas kept his march swift, approaching a waiting MAAT and stepping aboard, a few other Disciples of Sadow joining him as they were anxious to face the enemy head-on now that they had them on the run, the pilot's voice lilting from the cockpit, "Where to, sir?"

Methyas responded directly, there was truly only one place for them to go now, "Bring us as close as you can to the front, I believe the Consul needs our help."

With a simple nod in response the MAAT began to lift from the courtyard as quickly as its repulsors would let it, jetting away towards the smoke, fire and chaos that had once been the South-Eastern Firebase.

Sepros, Orian System
Dominion of Clan Naga Sadow

Xanos lamely stepped forward onto the charred embers of the ruined forest, nearly tripping over a rock jutting out of the ground from what looked to have once been one of the many ancient ruins.

His muscles still ached from the strain of drawing so much energy to survive the starfighter crash—it had been no surprise that none of the Sadowans had come to his aid; looking down into the chaos that now engulfed the invaders, it was a small wonder that neither Malik nor Daragon had tried to hasten the Falleen’s destruction themselves by blowing his crashing X-wing out of the sky.

Indeed, betrayal, it seemed, was the invaders’ lesson for the day.

The Falleen’s body was too drained to sense whether or not Roxas and his team had accomplished their mission in orbit, but regardless: the invasion had clearly already ended. Mortars soared from one end of the blasted landscape to the other where the invaders’ had now turned on each other. Lightsabers of every hue flashed in the bottom of the crater as figures fought to cram onboard the shuttles that waited to extract them from the aborted invasion attempt. In the distance, at the opposite end of the scorched crater, figures poured from the still smouldering trees, firing as they gave chase and paying as little regard for the exposed ruins as the warships that had first laid waste to the forests.

They are all equally blind, my Master.

The Falleen simply stood and watched as he willed the injury in his left leg to patch back together. As controlled as his free fall from orbit may have been, the impact had nevertheless reawakened some of the old damage that he had endured back when he had intervened during the duel between Lord Cotelin and his doppelganger; even with all his Master’s sorceries, the leg had never been the same.

Directly ahead, a group of troopers huddled together behind the smoking remains of one of their own armoured transports which was hunched over on its four crippled legs like a wounded dewback. A lightly armoured blue Duros in a cloak sprung from the opposite side of the downed AT-AT right into the centre of the troopers’ midst. The team swung toward the interloper, raising the barrels of their blaster rifles toward the figure—one of the troopers fired, the bolt being effortlessly redirected back into his helmet—but then they stopped, slapped their rifles against their shoulders in parade sharp display, and their free hands lifted to the sides of their head’s in salute at their commander.

The Duros’s sage-green lightsaber crackled in the smoke filled air. A moment later the Plagueian’s head turned round to look up toward the Dark Prophet.

“Sadowan!” the Duros shouted and pointed his lightsaber toward the Dark Prophet. “Open fire!”

It took a few moments for Xanos to process what had happened next.

Somewhere, in the next few seconds, his body had tapped back into its forgotten reserves, drawing on the dark energies that permeated his cells, sustained him. His legs had given way, but the Force had held him up as the laser bolts converged on his still healing form. A bubble of energy flashed, momentarily blinding him. The next moment, his eyesight had returned, to show the troopers on the floor, dead by their own hands. The Falleen’s strength had finally given, and he dropped to his knees.

The Elder stared up into the eyes of the gloating Duros that now looked down at him, mocking.

“Pitiful Sadowan scum,” the Plagueian spat.

“Sadow?” Xanos’s body convulsed again and he coughed. “How wrong… how wrong you are.” Fighting aside his body’s protestations, the Falleen forced himself back onto his feet to regard the Duros face-to-face. “I am much… much more than that.” His eyes flashed as he drank on the Duros’s rage.

The Plagueian stared back for a moment, then laughed as the Elder staggered on his feet.

“Dead is what you are!” the Duros snarled and raised his lightsaber above his head.

Xanos did not move but merely followed the movement of the sage blade. Then the blue-skinned alien screamed. The lightsaber clattered to the broken ruins beneath them as the Duros crumpled into a ball in front of the Elder, his hands clawing at his own bulbous skull. The Plagueian swept his head back and forward, writhing as if trying to shake something off, or caught in some kind of trap.

“Get off me! Get it off me!” the Duros screamed. “Stop!”

The Plagueian began to breathe heavily and clenched his fists as if trying to remove something that was caught around his neck. The Duros snorted, wheezing. For a brief moment, he relaxed, drawing a deep breath and snarled “Fracking Vong!” then his coughing returned in earnest, as his eyes began to cloud over and his skin pale from oxygen deprivation. Finally, the Duros collapsed, limp.

The Elder stepped forward, more calmly this time, his strength partially restored with the drained Plagueian’s.

He looked down at the crippled Duros, whose lightsaber flew from the ground into the Falleen’s waiting hand. Xanos briefly studied the weapon’s hilt before crushing it and tossing it aside again. The Elder rarely carried one of his own anymore; he cared little for them. He stared at the Plagueian who still found himself trapped in a memory of being tortured on a Yuuzhan Vong Embrace of Pain.

“Only you can free yourself from the memories that still haunt you.”

The Duros’s unconscious body writhed on the floor as Xanos turned and walked away, leaving the Plagueian to his fate.

Sepros
Orian System


“They’re retreating?” Locke said, still in disbelief.

“Yes sir, “ the Dlarit captain reported. “Firing on each other, by the looks of it.”

“By the Force...” Locke whispered. He wasn’t sure whether to think this the work of Trevarus Caerick or to believe his enemies really had turned on each other at the last moment. Treachery is the way of the Sith, he reminded himself.

“Sir, reports indicate the Plagueins are attempting to rescue their remaining survivors on the ground, and the Palatinaens are doing the same. They’re centering their efforts where our firebases were. For the time being, they’re almost ignoring us. What are your orders?”

Locke watched for a moment as the Plaguein forces in front of his position began a strategic retreat. “We hit them, hard. We don’t let them off our world. Have our units at the enemy landing site double back and converge on the firebases, we’ll push toward the same goal from here. We’ll crush them in the vice of Sadowan power!” Locke let the assault cannon hang with it’s strap for just a moment as he slammed one fist into the other for emphasis. “Just make sure they watch for traps; the enemy undoubtedly left us a surprise.”

“And the fleet, Sir?”

“Have the fleet rengage, harass targets at will, but stay together; we’ll show them what a unified front can do in a war like this. Relay those orders.”

“Yes sir, “ the captain answered, already on his comlink. Locke gripped the assault cannon tightly.

Looking around, Locke raised one fist. “Sadowans, we advance! Let’s wipe these mongrels off our world!” Suiting actions to words, Locke began moving toward the South-Eastern Firebase, where the Plagueins would be attempting their extraction. He kept the assault cannon up, cautiously expanding his Force senses to try to detect any traps. Oddly, the forest seemed to be in a hushed state compared to the battle of a few minutes ago. As the Sadowans slowly advanced, they detected no enemies.

“They must have run pretty fast,” the captain mused, holding a blaster rifle up to his shoulder and pivoting side to side in a half crouch.

“Maybe-wait, down!” The hair on Locke’s neck stood on end as the Force around them seemed to prickle for a moment, overcome a moment later with searing heat as the forest exploded around them. The Consul dropped to the forest floor, sinking into the mud as he tore the assault cannon strap off his body and heaved the weapon to the side so he could lay flat.

Making the quick assumption that the heat over his back would dissipate soon, Locke rolled opposite the cannon, readying the carbine that had previously been hanging across his back.

Then he heard it, the yell of triumph in battle all around them, and at the same time felt the presence of many beings closing in.

“Ambush!” The Consul shouted. He came up to one knee, training the carbine on the nearest enemy and missing wildly as his foot slipped in the mud. He gritted his teeth, took aim again, and fired, this time taking the approaching Plaguein infantryman in the chest.

“Sadowans!” Locke yelled, “rally to me!” He stood up fully then, despite knowing it would make him an obvious target. If he didn’t, his people would scatter, not knowing where to go. “Teu?! Waldron?” The Krath looked around, blasting another enemy trooper that took aim at the same time as he did in the process. There would have been a feeling - a twinge at least - if either of them had been killed in the ambush.

There was no answer. “Captain?” Locke heard a faint rustling behind him amid the din of battle, turning and downing another trooper with a shot through the arm and shoulder. All he heard in response was a groan. The Priest was alone for the moment. A lot of good this does me!

“Damn ambush!” Locke growled, firing thrice more as two more troopers closed in. He needed to move, but he wasn’t about to leave the captain here alone. “Captain! Get up!”

Another twinge in the Force; Locke felt something coming and instinctively raised one hand, using a technique Teu had first told him about and Methyas had later helped Locke firmly grasp. Dammit, where are they?! Something exploded against the Priest’s protective Force shield just as it coalesced, momentarily blinding him as the blast was stopped barely at arm’s length. Ears ringing, Locke quickly fired several shots in the direction it had come, suppressing whoever had fired it. Several more returned his way, barely missing the Consul.

Then, suddenly, scarlett lasers lanced down from some point above Locke, flashing through trees like butter to hit the origin point of the last volley that had been launched in the Krath’s direction. The ringing in his ears slowly changed to the high-pitched whine of engines and he looked up to see a MAAT hovering right overhead.

“That’s helpful, “ He murmured. The transport used its missile launchers to blast a clearing nearby, while simultaneously eliminating another group of enemies. As it descended to within a few meters of the forest floor, a few figures leaped out, led by a familiar robed form.

“Were you about to get yourself killed again?” Methyas said with a grin, cerulean lightsaber poised to block another couple of shots aimed at their position.

“Shutup and thanks for the reinforcements, “ Locke replied, firing in the opposite direction of the Obelisk. “Have the ‘Mattie search for other survivors.”

“A smart order, shall I also send for field medics for your friend there?”

The Consul groaned. “We don’t have those, remember? Try using the Force.”

“I can’t heal the whole military, you know.” Methyas chuckled, crouching down next to the captain.

“The Overlord has faith in you, “ Locke mumbled. “Hurry up so we can get out of here.”

Deep Jungle, en route to South Eastern Firebase
Sepros
Orian System

"This sucks..."

The Sadowan Journeyman grumbled as he worked to keep pace with Atra and Setsuna. The pair had wasted little time moving on from their kamikaze mission and migrating to their next task. They were like droids, almost inhuman to the young Hunter. Still, he had survived what had all the makings of a suicide mission and he wasn't about to start giving up now.

Atra shifted slightly, glancing over his shoulder to keep tabs on the stragglers. Some might have asked why he didn't just reach out with his senses but that would have been too risky. The jungle was an unknown entity during the encounter, for all the Quaestor knew the enemy could be lying in wait. Unknowns were something he wasn't overly fond of. The jungle heat fought to suffocate Atra, tightening his windpipe while coating his flesh with a muggy layer of humidity. Despite this he pressed on.

The war wasn't over yet.

Not until the enemy was crushed into dust.

The Quaestor ground his teeth together, his canine teeth drawing a small ruby dot from his tongue. His grey eyes followed the carefree movements of his child-like companion as she sprinted forward, weaving through the foliage like it was a game. An odd one to be sure.

"We should be approaching the Firebase shortly, be on guard."

Distant voices began to whisper through the thick of the jungle. Ever so slowly the voices turned into a roar, cries echoing as blaster fire ripped through the atmosphere. Smoke filled their lungs as the small force approached. Atra winced as the open wound on his shoulder reacted to the polluted atmosphere. He hadn't bothered to amplify the healing process with his powers, relying on his faster than normal healing factor. Still, it hadn't healed nearly enough to avoid the pain that was now pulsing down his arm.

"So... Join the Consul in a frontal assault or crash in from behind. What do you guys think?"

Relentless
On the move


“How did they figure out where we were?!” Kairus hollered as the three Dark Jedi ran down corridors toward the fighter bay of the majestic cruiser. Multiple colors of energy sparked, flashing on the walls as it flew from all directions.

“Don’t care! Let’s get the frak out of here and help on Sepros!” Roxas replied, swinging his cyan saber to deflect a bolt of energy.

“So our orders were to return! And then, you decided to blow more stuff up?!” Tyren shouted, the frustration in his voice aimed squarely at Roxas.

“Hey, don’t say you didn’t have fun." Roxas laughed as he banked around a corner, the energy coiling off the durasteel walls. "Besides, someone had to show these weaklings that is was stupid to mess with Naga Sadow.”

“Oh wait, we haven’t even blown anything up...” Tyren continued.

"Yet!" The Mandalorian produced a pair of thermal detonators with a cruel glint to his eye. Tossing one to Tyren, he nodded. "I'm not getting saddled with all the blame. You get to enjoy the fireworks, too."

“Fine, I’ll gladly blow this place to hell. I did all the work anyway.” Tyren replied, sarcasm dripping from his words like saliva off of a rancor's tusks. In his own way, Roxas was happy for it. Beneath the sarcasm, the humor, there was common ground. Even if they had just met, they were still Sadow.

They made quick work of the detonators, hiding them in the bulkhead and slaving the controls to a remote with a quick twist of a few bare wires. Roxas threw the detonator to the other Sadowan, and the unspoken law fell into their minds, setting their feet to run.

Almost far enough away to be safe, Tyren pushed the detonator and the ship shook from the explosion. Where the communications array once was, a gaping hole now yawned. The air was sucked into the vacuum of space along with troops, droids, and other odds and ends. Blast doors began to close all over the ship, slamming shut not only to capture atmosphere, but also the three. They kept running toward the hangar, the sounds of emergency compartmentalization slamming behind them.

As one fell behind, the others would hold the ground, moving with precision born only on the battlefield. This was what clanhood meant, what brotherhood meant to them. Efficiency, strength, power, and more.

The docking bay lay before them, troops surrounding their salvation, their ship. There was no need for conference, no huddle and explanation of tactics. Roxas dove to the far side, his blaster stirring in his hands as he pelted the enemy, laying down suppressive fire for the other two dark Jedi. Sabers filled hands quickly, Tyren and Kairus clearing a path to the ship without hesitation. They quickly ran up the ramp into the command deck and started their Decimator, but instead of waiting for the shields to open they blasted the generator connected to it which forced the shields down, exposing the dark void beyond.

As though it was slingshot from a star's gravity well, the Decimator erupted out of the Cruiser with its cannons firing in every direction. The corona of firepower that blazed from the small ship kept the fighters at bay, mundane forces too afraid of death to engage them. Scholae forces, Plaguein forces were all too predisposed with their own attacks to notice the Decimator seething toward Sepros. It was only a matter of time before the battle would be joined again.

Deep Jungle, Less than Five Kilometres from the South-Eastern Firebase Ruins
Sepros, Orian System

Chaos had enveloped the area as explosives sounded, blaster fire rang out across the clearing and sabers clashed amongst the howling wind of the approaching Seprosian storm. Amongst it all, Methyas was knelt next to the prone form of the Dlarit Captain who had been assisting Locke and although it didn't look like the Jedi was doing anything besides meditating, his mind was at work healing the loyal trooper and maintaining a kinetic barrier. The Force itself was a small whirlwind of activity about the Jedi, stray blaster bolts disipating across the barrier with searing heat as Methyas' attention remained divided between the conflict at hand, maintaining his defenses and healing the trooper. Slightly gritting his teeth, Methyas' hand drifted to comlink at his side and his thumb depressed a button before he spoke succinctly into his throat-mic, "Sierra-Beta-One, this is the Blind Man, request immediate support two clicks due south-east of my location."

A small pause, only the space of a heartbeat, passed before a response came from the Operative, "Copy, Blind Man, assistance is en route, keep low."

"Blind Man, this is Aurek-One on approach, we read you five-by-five. Besh is en route to clear a path, we'll clear the skies."

No sooner had the commander spoken than the HLAF's shrieked across the sky, their cannons opening fire immediately upon any Plagueian starfighters that strayed too far from their exfiltration point. The Sadowan fury was beginning to become clearer now, their adversaries divided and trying to flee from a world not their own. It was home-turf advantage now, the HLAF's of Aurek squadron pushing the Plagueian starfighters away from their defensive screen as the HLAF's of Besh shrieked in swiftly, their payloads deftly leaving their holds and crashing towards the surface with crippling accuracy. The ground about them pulsed as the high-yield explosives found their marks, earth and flame leaping skyward as the men and women who delivered them brought their vessels about to join their comrades against the Plagueian air support.

A groan caused the Miraluka to focus his attention upon the Captain, the man stirring slightly as he started to work his way towards his feet, "Well that's a sight to wake up to..."

Methyas simply nodded in return as he turned towards Locke, the Consul trying to quickly rally the forces he could muster to his position for another push with the sounds of heavy walkers pushing their way through the jungle from the Temple of Sorrow behind them. Rising to his feet, Methyas shifted his stance as he began to scan the across the carnage he had requested; a slight pang of sorrow passing across the Miraluka's features as he considered the unneccessary loss of life during this invasion. Yet that was the way of the Dark Jedi, like a pack of young Nexu always trying to assert dominance over one another in some way. But all ways ended the same, with all of those caught within the conflict returned to the Force.

"Methyas!" The voice of the young Bakuran crashed through the Jedi's thoughts swiftly causing him to turn to see the Consul motioning him over. A small smile crossing his face, Methyas nodded and started towards the steadily massing group as he was certain their next assault would begin shortly.

Sepros
Approaching Southern LZ


“Yes, Consul Locke.” Macron grinned evilly under the helm as his hand chopped the moist Seprosian air.
“We’ve been released to strike,” canted Macron across his helm comlink. “The artillery back at base should zero them anytime. Many of us will die, but by Sadow we will make the bastards rue the day they set foot in OUR system! Let’s go kick the crap out of them! Nihriya, you’re my wing. Wedge formation, and I will initiate the Force Meld. Everyone else, the Crane Wing and Spear setup as we discussed. Aiiiyyyiiah!”

The speeder bikes screamed away as one, full velocity engaged as the Sadowan cavalry charged in. Macron, Nihriya, Malisane, and Tiberius led the charge on blisteringly fast Verpine-modified 74-Z series speederbikes. The Hell bent for leather Dark Jedi led the charge directly as the tip of a bloody spear. Behind them on Swift assault 5 hover scouts and command chariot s flew four squads of Clone troopers and another four of Dlarit Special operations troopers. Worse yet, six Tuk’ata, one YVH Mechu-deru droid, and ten Verpine engineers rode on the command chariots. The approach did not take long.

The walls of the cratered area appeared. Long scars of blackened, burnt jungle from the orbital bombardment had completely cleared the inner crater area of cover. Around it rubble offered some cover as the Sadowans sped toward their foes. There really was no element of surprise as the engines could easily be heard. What could be heard the most was the thump and blast of artillery rocking the area. Soil clods flew while ground based anti-air blasters hammered away at the incoming shells.

Some few got through. The actinic blasts of baradium shells showed for a brief second. Behind them tear gas and chlorine mined from the atmosphere of Amphor lit up the scene with vile green and red smoke. Most of the remaining shells were smoke and ablative gas canisters. Unfortunately the main cache of high explosives had already been depleted. Little real damage had been done against the toughened enemy. However, the barrage had kept their heads down though for the perfect amount of time. The gas soon began to disperse.

Over the ridgeline of the crater erupted a rebreather-and-helm wearing force of angry Sadow followers. With the gas and smoke billowing it was nigh impossible to see the approaching force even with sensors. The mission of the attackers was much simpler. Macron screamed across the comlink, “This way! Kill everyone you see! Let no one live! No Mercy! For SADOW!”

Everything erupted into chaos as the defenders began to fire blasters. Immediately the enemy caught one of the command speeders with e-web blaster fire and sent it into a crevice in the crater ridge. One Tuk’ata jumped free as the command speeder blew up in a massive explosion. Clones died, Dlarit Special Operations Group elite died… it was bad. The defenders were tough.

But so were the Sadowan Dark Jedi. As the wedge approached the blasters were dodged, deflected with lit sabers, or returned towards their originators. The wedge approached and each Dark Jedi peeled out in a pre-ordained formation. The bikes spilt like a fan and converged on a spot left of center. Exactly where the landing forces had concentrated their heavy blasters.

In unison Malisane and Tiberius hurled twin thermal detonators made with ore from the Last Breath mine; ore ripped from the heart of the planet they sought to defend. The Force guided the metallic balls to the blaster emplacement as the Dark Jedi blew by. More actinic glare and billowing black smoke followed as the blasters and crew were disintegrated by the blast.

The bikes turned to the right and left began to circle the crater about the rim to a common goal. Behind and around them blaster shots ripped hot slag from the crater walls. Their unthrottled engines screamed as the overclocked and broke down. Each Dark Jedi leapt from their respective bike to land on the ground at the rear of the Landing Zone. The bikes themselves zoomed into the mass of defenders and exploded with high powered baradium charges.

The attack was furious. The Clones were highly trained and led by ARC troopers. They immediately made a push from the front. Their helms ensured the irritating gas remnants would not affect them as they found cover and began to hammer away at the enemy. Mortars with thermal and cryoban grenades popped out from their tubes with whistles as they hit the ground beyond.

The Clone Elites came under fire almost instantly although they continued to fire accurately. The results were horrific. Limbs and heads encased in the dull blue armor of the Dlarit forces lifted from their owners and fell with splatters back to the ground. Verpine were blown to bits as they shot their shatterguns at the invaders. The cream of the Dlarit crop was laid low as far as this battle was concerned. Still the remnants fought on as the Heavy Weapons groups and regular Dlarit Clone troopers approached.

The Dark Jedi were death incarnate. Among the survivors they plied their evil trade of termination. Lightsabers flashed, balls of Sadowan kinetic energy blew out hearts and lungs, and the Fear began to take hold of the invaders. Macron screamed in insane anger as he engaged a younger enemy Dark Jedi bearing a scarlet blade. The Alchemist struck his victim's blade with his own sizzling Corusca-powered blade, orange on the Knight’s weaker red. The orange blade overpowered the red, shoving it down as Macron ducked. The defender staggered as Macron’s tangerine blade snapped off and then cut back on to drill into his entrails with a bolt of Trakata fire. "DIE!" screamed the raging Sith.

Malisane, Tiberius, and Macron formed a Dark Side powered triumviritae with blazing swords of fire as Nihriya stood among them and shot the eyes and brains of out enemy troops with her collected and cool blaster fire. They moved forward towards the landing zone as many more Dlarit wilderness and regular troops found the rim of the crater.

Deep Jungle, Less than Five Kilometres from the South-Eastern Firebase Ruins
Sepros, Orian System

Smiling, Locke watched as the Dlarit troopers moved up in formation around Methyas. It instilled pride in him that these people followed the two Force users not out of fear, but out of respect and trust. The Consul looked down at the captain as the rain picked up. “Can you walk?”

The captain stood up, grunting a bit. “Never better.” It was obviously a lie, but Locke surmised that the captain didn’t want to appear feeble or unsure in front of his leader.

Locke smiled warmly. “Gather a few men and cover our rear, we don’t know if they’ll try to flank us, but we must be ready for anything.”

“As you command.” The captain saluted stiffly and trudged off through the mud, away from the frontline.

After watching him for a moment, Locke turned back toward the wave of Dlarit troopers in front of him. He still didn’t know where Teu or Waldron were, but if he knew his old master, Teu would be rallying more forces around herself. In truth, all the ambush did was create multiple strike forces. While they would be smaller, and thus susceptible to concentrated attack, Locke guessed that the enemy was too busy trying to evacuate to mount such an offensive.

Still, he had to be wary. A cornered enemy was like a feral saber cat, likely to try anything to strike at its attacker. The Consul advanced forward to catch up to his front line, where Methyas was surveying the damage the HLAF’s had caused to the forest ahead of them.

“The enemy has retreated to the firebase crater, there’s none in the burned forest ahead of us, “ the Exarch said as Locke approached. “We could move more quickly, you know.”

“Caution, Methyas, “ Locke said, surveying the destruction ahead of them. “Any traps they laid might still work.”

The other Jedi sighed. “Macron is already at the southern firebase’s ruins.”

“Great, “ Locke said, “and he likes risk, I don’t. These men won’t die because of any stupid mistakes.”

Locke heard Methyas mumble something under his breath, but the only word he caught was “Consul”. For a few moments the Krath pondered that he might be too cautious, but dismissed that thought.

“If battle must be met, “ Methyas continued, “there are times for quick strikes. Many a commander has made the mistake of taking too much time to strike at a beaten enemy, allowing them to regroup and win, or at least deal significantly more damage to the victorious force.”

“I didn’t picture you as a military tactician, “ Locke said.

Methyas shrugged. “It’s basic history, you may have been too absorbed in your studies of ancient Krath techniques to notice, it’s ok.”

“What?” Locke asked. How did he know about that? The Consul had been sure he had been discreet and not told anyone about that.

“Nothing, “ Methyas said.

There was a pause. Locke chewed it over; he certainly didn’t want the Plagueis forces to get away with too big a force, nor did he want them to think they could mount another attack. That could result in the loss of even more life than rushing through possible traps would.

“Very well, got a comlink?”

“Why, what happened to yours?” Methyas asked.

“I....lost it. In the ambush.”

“Ah yes, “ Methyas chuckled, “the ambush. Here you go.”

“Thanks, “ Locke glared, holding the comlink up to his lips. “Sadowan forces near the south-eastern firebase coordinates, this is your Consul. These bastard worshippers of a failed Sith Lord have tried to humiliate and defeat us on our own world. You know this! But now they evacuate as we speak. Charge forward, and take your revenge together! For Sadow, and for yourselves!” Locke switched off the comlink. “How was that?”

“For themselves?” Methyas asked.

“They might like it.”

“Sure, let’s go then, “

“Indeed, “ Locke said, carbine raised and ready. They ran forward, the Dlarit troops to either side. While the group dodged towering blackened plants, Locke and Methyas removed fallen trees blocking the path forward with their weapons. All worry gone, Locke actually enjoyed the rush of the charge, yelling wordlessly as the group finally came to a clearing where the ill-prepared enemy was collecting supplies.

Methyas stopped first, deftly deflecting bolt after bolt back at the enemies, taking care to protect the soldiers around him. Locke strafed slowly to the side, firing almost continuously as the full group of the soldiers caught up and added their own weapons to the mix. Overhead, a HLAF squadron screamed by, giving the enemy something else to think about.

Soon the majority of the enemy had fallen, and Locke led the charge to melee range, bludgeoning an enemy soldier with his carbine before putting the barrel to the soldier’s stomach and pulling the trigger. All around him, the soldiers caught up and implemented their close combat training, the thrill and momentum of success giving them an edge over their beaten and battered opponents.

As the last of the enemy was eliminated and Methyas stepped to Locke’s side, the Consul signalled the group to advance at a slow trot.

“We could take prisoners, “ Methyas said.

“Why?” the Krath asked. “I doubt they’d surrender.”

“We don’t need to kill all of them, “ the Exarch said flatly.

Locke laughed. “They won’t surrender, and they would kill all of us if given the chance. Come on, let’s keep going, I’ll try to leave some for you, and you can ask them if they want to surrender, but I doubt they’ll say yes!” The Consul caught a glare from Methyas as he turned away from the Obelisk and caught up with his forces. For a moment Locke wondered why Methyas was so adamant about that topic, but soon pushed the thought from his mind; there was work to be done.

“Satisfying work, “ he mumbled, smiling.

Aboard CNS Decimator
Above Sepros

Kairus sat Tyren down and began patching the stab wound he had suffered. “I suppose that’s one “benefit” of being hit with a lightsaber, not much to clean up”, Kairus said applying the bandages over the wound. Tyren slapped his hands away and complained in a low tone, “I’m fine, just leave it be.” Kairus could over hear Roxas talking to the pilot, “I’m sorry my lord, but my orders are to get you to the temple in one piece, and that’s what I intend to do.” He felt Roxas tap into the force and knew that a wave of suggestion was going to follow. “No, Roxas” he spoke quickly,” he’s right, it’s better we make contact at home base first, see where we could be most useful.” Roxas balled a fist and hit the durasteel hull above him, but nodded to hide his further frustration.

The mandalorian sat down and looked back at the Relentless as they sped closer to Sepros. “Wow we really took a chunk out of her, didn’t we?” he chuckled out loud. Tyren and Kairus joined him to share the view, “too bad we didn’t get the rest though”, Tyren said gloomily. He lowered his head slightly as the other two jedi began to take their seats, but snapped his head upright to the viewport as he sensed a great release of energy. Roxas and Kairus both ran back to see, as they too felt the release. “Ion cannons”, Tyren said urgently, “a whole volley of shots!” “Evasive…” was all Roxas could yell before the hull was barraged by the energy draining ammunition.

The engine roar died instantly, the lights winked out, electricity could be seen arcing over several panels. They were dead in space, and to make matters worse the small fighters who earlier couldn’t be bothered to fight the bigger ship now had gained an interest. “We’re going to have to abandon ship for now, come back and get it later”, Kairus said coolly. He went to the cockpit and grabbed the pilot and directed him to an escape pod. Thankfully the ion shots hadn’t affected the pod’s engines, as it fired off and sent the pilot towards the temple on Sepros. “You two, into this one”, he motioned with his thumb, “we’re all going for a little ride”, he said with a slight grin.

They crammed themselves into the little space the escape pod provided. The pod lurched from the ship and began its programmed course to home base. “Tell me again why we’re all crammed into this thing”, Roxas said with an annoyed tone. “Well, now I can justify how all THREE of us ended up behind the enemy line instead of just you…and don’t tell me you wouldn’t have reprogrammed your own pod.” Roxas grinned silently though no one could see him, but Tyren said “what about me?” Kairus paused in thought a second then said “I thought you’d like a chance to get even on some troops, give them the wrath of his “holiness”?” Tyren was not amused, Roxas snorted and elbowed Kairus in the ribs, and Kairus smiled as he adjusted the coordinates of the landing zone.

Sepros
~1 Kilometer behind enemy drop zone

The best thing about the pod landing was that it was quick. Jammed together the three dark jedi experienced slight bruising from each other, such as an arm into a gut or a leg into another shin. Since Kairus had been the last one in, he fell out of the pod first. Landing on the ground he could hear the echoes of battle in the distance. He let his breathing return to normal then picked himself up and turned to find the escape pod already empty. The mandalorian and the other Templar had wasted no time making their way to secure the temple. Kairus let out a sigh as he took his lightsaber into his hand and called for a burst of speed towards home.

~Sepros
~Returning to Southeastern Firebase Ruins

The Zeltron was hunched over against one of the few remaining trees, resting for a moment to catch her breath. Some of her wounds were deeper than others, and because of that they were much more painful as well. She had given the battle all she had to give. She would die for her fellow Sadowans and for their Sepros home. Of course she wasn’t going to let it come to that, not today. Masika new she would have a few scars from this battle, and she planned to wear them with pride. She was fueled up on revenge and hatred, and wasn’t about to let that go to waste. She was proud of what she accomplished and the enemies she had taken out thus far. There were still more to deal with however. As she was catching her breath, and steering clear for the moment to gather her strength, her comm. beeped with a message for all units to return to the South Eastern Firebase at once.

“Well, I believe I might have one more fight left in me….or two or three perhaps.” The Huntress lifted her pained body, allowing the rage to provide her motivation and using the tree for support. She stumbled over to her speeder bike, swung a leg over and hopped on. She checked to make sure her saber was secure, and started it up. Masika shot through the ash and rubble and headed to the South Eastern Firebase where all of this chaos had begun for her.

As she approached the site, she noticed more and more of her fellow Sadowans gathering to the site. These were the people she was glad to fight next to, to do battle with, to defend against their common enemies. Masika was proud of being a Sadowan. She hobbled off her speeder, lightsaber at the ready, and stood side by side with her brethren at the Firebase ruins. Now they would take back what was rightfully theirs, and tomorrow, they would rebuild even better and stronger then before, as was the Sadowan way.

Sepros
Orian System

The quiet after the storm.

A blanket of silence falling from on high.

War is loud; war makes itself known to the very heavens with fire and death. Yet even after the most fearsome inferno the resulting calm can be astonishing. A grim silence came over those that survived, though that number continued to dwindle for those of the attacking force. Locke's order was final; there would be no survivors. This coup had been an affront to everything that Clan Naga Sadow represented. Such insult could not be handled with a soft touch.

The Aedile of Marka Ragnos looked on through sightless eyes, the Force providing him the cognisance he required. Such merciless, bloody work brought a sour taste to his mouth, his stomach churning with disgust. There was no sense to this, no purpose, outside of the brutal reality of the Brotherhood. The Blind Man turned away, wanting no further part of the day's affairs. His gaze turned to the ground, rising slowly to nod in the direction of Atra, the figure of the Quaestor of Shar Dakhan arising amongst the smoke of the craters. His robes were ripped and torn, crimson stains marking his pale flesh. The former master and apprentice shared a moment of unspoken understanding, neither relishing the current events. The Dark Wind said nothing as Methyas passed, the weight of their actions heavy in the air.

Cherry Blossom, the child-like Assassin of Marka Ragnos moved about the battle field. With unparalleled glee she worked her brutal task, collecting a string of ears from each of those that bore the marks of her blade. A grim testament to the world they all lived in, where even the most innocent looking being could bear the psychotic nature of a gruesome killer. Her face shone with excitement, her blood lust at its most potent. The Red Rose placed one hand upon Setsuna's shoulder, the Assassin's elf-like gaze pausing only for a moment upon the Quaestor of Marka Ragnos before returning to the silent dead. Kalia's free hand sparked with power still, lightning arcing between her fingers sporadically. She smiled despite herself at the Setsuna's strange nature, her striking features becoming mesmerizing in tandem with her partly Zeltron genetics.

The Consul of Naga Sadow turned his gaze to the sky, the brilliant display of light orchestrated by the battle above seeming to cut out of existence as the Plagueian and Palatinaeon fleets made the jump to hyperspace. His thoughts turned to what had transpired here, and for a moment--just one--he allowed himself pride. Pride in the abilities of those he lead, and in the satisfaction of his amber blade cutting with burning intensity through the now still form of a fallen enemy. A lesson had been learned here, a lesson that would not soon be forgotten. The communicator that had previously belonged to Methyas sprang to life at Locke's side, the unmistakable voice of Macron Sadow declaring victory with finality. The enemy had been crushed under foot, and it was finally time to return home.

The headcount could wait, for now it was time to bath in the afterglow of the battle. With fatigue slowing their movements the remaining military made the grim procession back to the Temple of Sorrow. An apt name for those that had perished, and those that had lost friends whose connections cut so deep that, when severed, left a hole that could not be filled. Soldiers held their ashen faces high, steeling themselves to their own emotions. Their training was paramount, they would weep for the thankless dead later. Already there were those special units in preparation, the scavengers that would work through the mess left behind to recover what they could.

The forces of Naga Sadow did not return to empty halls. News of Aetheran had already reached those stationed there, happy tidings to uplift their spirits. That was the way of war, for hollow is the victory found in bloodshed. Hope brought with it light, and only that: Hope that their loved ones had survived. They would find out later if their hope was founded or not. The Proconsul stepped forward to greet the Consul, Teu's blue eyes piercing as she searched Locke's features for unspoken information. She had secured their rear guard admirably, blocking any units that had attempted to sneak past their lines. However, the Consul had not been alone in her efforts.

Roxas stood apart from the massing crowd, his eyes glowing grimly as he looked down upon his now removed helmet. A haphazard sling strewn across his left arm held the broken limb secure, the healing process already started. The Alchemical experiment's thoughts were lost to golden hair and porcelain skin, far off in Aetheran. The newly appointed Aedile of Shar Dakhan approached in silence, nodding in quiet acknowledgement to the Mandalorian. Atra appeared before the pair, neither hearing his approach though neither Roxas or Kairus showed surprise. Grey eyes fixated on them both, no emotion writ upon the cold features of the Quaestor. The lack of emotion gave the man a robotic quality that left an uncomfortable void hanging in the air.

"Thank you."

The Mandalorian merely nodded in response to his fellow experiment, knowing the unspoken words of the Quaestor.

You made the right choice. Thank you.

There was a time that Roxas would have forsaken the summit; that time was past. His reasons were still his own, but that didn't matter to Atra. The only thing that mattered was the choice.

Macron's forces were next to arrive, an unmistakable air of pride and superiority preceding their appearance. Rightly so, given the success of Macron's tactics. The Mad Alchemist's experience had been an exemplary asset to the war effort. Even more important was how effortlessly the man had reintegrated with the Clan after their internal strife. We are all actors, playing our parts as dictated by some invisible playwright. Macron had been no different, and now he had come to an accord with those that had wronged him. Perhaps there was more to the story than at first glance, and that would only be told through time.

The Apostates were the only members missing, having long cut their ties to Clan and Summit. No one had truly expected their appearance, though some had held to hope. Perhaps their assistance had been a sign, but nothing was that simple. There were always motives, and the Apostates had their own. They would continue on their chosen path, and the members of Naga Sadow would walk theirs.

Locke turned back once more, weary eyes scanning the smouldering jungle that surrounded his home. With luck, there would be time for rest. Time to recuperate from the never-ending struggle that was the Brotherhood. It was a hope, a vain one at that, but it was a good hope to have. Allowing himself a long sigh the Consul composed himself, turning about once more to face the Clan he lead undisputedly. Seeing those that now stood united brought a grim smile to his face.

It was time to go home.