Legacy of Sadow - Clan Development RO

This thread is to be used for any and all character development outside of official RunOns. Not everyone is accustomed to this style of posting. This is here to help us all improve and get more comfortable with each other.



Temple of Sorrow
Sepros
Orian System

Get me out of here.

Pale eyelids pulled tightly closed as mechanical arms worked upon the torn flesh at his core. Sharp, animalistic fangs bit into the darker flesh of his lip, adding a crimson stain to his skin. The Consul of Naga Sadow stood with his head shaking as Locke observed his Proconsul sitting with all the appearance of a lab rat. He knew how the environment was effecting his friend.

"Is the plan agreeable?"

Dark lashes parted slowly, Atra's grey eyes settling upon Locke as the gold starburst within his pupil seemed to dilate. A single nod was his response. Locke let out a breath he hadn't known had been held, relief at the threat taken from his shoulders. Still, he could not feel like he was putting his already wounded Proconsul into harm's way. In fact, that was exactly what he was doing.

"I'll get the techs working on the synthesizer. You sure you don't want that new voice box?"

"Quite sure."

The unnatural chill of Atra's words echoing within the Consul's mind creeped like icy fingers upon his spine. Even after all this time since Ventus' injury, many had not grown accustomed to how cold the man's thoughts could be. Without another word, Locke left the room. The discomfort of the Obelisk held within was growing with each second and beginning to hang heavily upon the air like a physical aura.

It was a necessary discomfort, unfortunately, as the vicious gash granted to him by the immature Terentatek he had faced began to heal. The scarring would remain, but the wound itself would not. When they had brought Atra in, his skin had been on fire due to the extent of infection from the creature's toxins. Sweat clung heavy to his skin with his long hair draped like a veil. They had wasted little time trimming back his two-toned locks and leaving him shortly cropped. His clothes did not survive the encounter either.

Still, staring at the door awaiting his release, Atra felt better. He would not be so audacious in the future as to do what he did again, but lessons had been learned and given. The half-breed Firrerreo already had been given his next task, his Consul having learned of his newly mastered power. Atra would utilize the Obelisk power of 'Alter Image' to impersonate Locke out in the open, and giving a rude surprise to any would be assassins.

Get me out of here, I have work to do.

Temple of Sorrow/Sadow Palace
Library of Artifacts

Her first day with access to the Library of Artifacts had finally come, granted due to her mission on Nfolgai - the first step in establishing trust. Yet, after the frenzied first hour of examining the baubles, DJK Ferium found herself too curious about the rest of the Palace to sit and study rocks all day long.

Venturing into the halls, the Krath witch practiced her skill of listening to the airwaves of other's minds, if they would project anything. There were some anxieties on training preparations for the Crusade and some disgusted feelings about the cafeteria's meatloaf. One level upstairs, a nurse left the Medbay with a name on her mind.

MedBay

Proconsul Ventus. He had been so diligent about answering all of her questions on the holopad messages over the last two weeks. But she had not heard of why he would be in the Medbay or why there was concern about him, which peaked her curiosity and concern. Gathering her skirt ruffles up, the Krath made her way through the doors and guards, "Procon Ventus asked me for a report delivered," she lied.

The third room she peeked in revealed a regular, human-looking man sitting on the medical bed, looking out the window, as droids attended him. But upon her arrival, his gaze quickly turned to her.

"Miss Ferium," entered her mind. She was startled, as it had been so long since other force users communicated to her in this fashion, but gave a bow of her head in reverence, standing in the doorway.

A bit of a stutter, "I-i-i hope you don't mind a visit. I was in the Library and heard you were here, so I hoped to meet you in person. It seems I've caught you at a bad time?" she questioned, but her real question was wondering why he was there. A fuller look at him gave one hint - burned flesh and gashes. Her heart sank to her stomach, for she knew all too well what that felt like.

Medbay
Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

Thoughts and questions hovered through the mind of the Proconsul, his grey eyes fixed upon the glimmering emerald of his uninvited visitor. Atra reviewed the messages he had received from both Setsuna and Mayda herself. An intriguing arrival to say the least, and interested in the Sith artefacts they held. Though an Obelisk himself, the Prelate had fallen in line with the Templars and endeavoured to train his mind as keenly as his martial prowess. As such, he found himself lost among the artefacts and the everlasting silence there in.

At first, he hadn't been fond to the idea of company within, but even over the holopad the fiery woman had been persistent. Now there was a face to the name. She was taller than he had expected, his eyes scanning from her head down. It was often an odd thing to take note of, but you could tell a lot about how a man thought based on his first view of a woman. Those that started from the feet and worked their way up were usually interested only in one thing. Scarlet hair framed her features well, falling down her back and sides. The emerald eyes shined bright with intelligence, and a glimmer of passion as well. Continuing down, the burgundy red of her top seemed infinitely darker in contrast to the bright wash of hair upon it. The style seemed old-fashioned somehow, as well as incredibly humble. The folds of the top managed to hide her shape well, though the ample bosom was something nothing could disguise.

His eyes did not linger, trained for a quick scan of possible threats more than leering. The folds of her ruffled skirt added an elegant quality to the overall humble appearance she portrayed, possessing varying shades of grey and white. Turning his gaze away, Atra viewed the window once more. The ghost of a grin tugged at the hidden edge of his lips as his mind processed her stammered greeting. A tug of his flesh rocked his body ever so slightly, his head snapping to glare ever so subtly at the droid continuing its silent work. His own tasks upon Nfolgai had not been kind, and his all too fresh wounds had reopened with fresh infection. Some would say he pushed himself too hard, but the Clan's Rollmaster and Consul knew better. Through their friendship, they knew the Proconsul fought only for himself and his own code of honour.

"Miss Ferium," the intangible thoughts flowed to the woman once more, the repeated name seeming to reinforce the formality of it, "I don't think there ever is a 'good' time."

Absent mindedly his right hand, unrestrained by tedious droids, worked to the burn at his throat, guarded memories floating just under the surface. With a slight sigh, the Proconsul turned his attention to the holopad on the bed at his side, letting the soft glow of its display activate. His eyes scanned over the tasks he had queued up for the day.

"I have business in the library and was curious if you would be there."

Despite the protestations of the medical droids, Atra rose to his full and impressive height, standing over six feet tall. The most subtle of pulls at the wrinkles around his eyes betrayed the pain his body was undergoing. His pale flesh rippled with the toned muscles just under the surface and only just then did the Obelisk seem to take notice that his only garments were his black cargo pants.

New clothes seemed to be in order as well.

Mayda was still interested in the answer to her unasked question, but had at least moved past the stuttered phase of her initial arrival. As she spoke, the words fell more calmly but still slightly concerned, "I was wondering, actually, if I could get further access to the Library."

The request was wholly unexpected by the Proconsul, but not something that caught him off guard. A simultaneous shrug and nod was the man's response. As he began walking, his wounds were still not completely treated but the droids were unable to chase him out of the bay. The Prelate seized his opportunity for escape, having had enough of confronting his phobia for one day. Ferium glanced between the droids and the fleeing Proconsul. Shaking the surprise off, the newcomer to Sadow knew that curiosity could be satiated by tenacity. In a ruffle of clothe the slightly taller than average woman moved to catch up to Atra's long strides.

SPACE PORT ANTEI

Tiberius was excited, but not quite sure of what he was doing but he had gotten a message from someone within the Clan Naga Sadow, to be at the Space Port to arrive at 16:00 hours at the Temple of Sorrow/ Sadow Palace Library of Artifacts.
And he was to meet other Sadowans there, and that was all Tiberius reached the Space Port in time and gotten on board the space craft, as instructed he took his seat at the front of the transporter and buckled in.
As the Transporter take off the G Force pushed the Warrior back in his seat, with a little discomfort he was fine being a Sith Tiberius thought he was getting used to flying but he seemed almost uneasy when he flew.
2 Hours Into the Flight

Tiberius awoke from a deep sleep, as he looked through the window to his right he could see in the distance the Temple of Sorrow in front of him, just above the horizon, a thunder storm was raging al-round, Tiberius gave a wide grin as he saw the sight of the storm.
“Just my kind of weather”.
He sat back and awaited the transporter to land near-by, the Temple of Sorrow and undid his belt and stood up, and gave a big “sigh”, and continued his journey down the transporters steps and on to firm wet ground.

TEMPLE OF SORROW/ SADOW PALACE LIBRARY OF ARTIFACTS

Tiberius entered the Temple, through the dark and corridors watching his step as he began his journey along the path, as he reached the end of the path he saw what looked like a large empty hall, dark and gloomy as he walked through he could see all manner of war banners, hanging from the walls above as he walked on some more he could hear in the distance voices.
Tiberius followed the voices, and passed a large steel door and he looked inside beyond the door and saw all manner of books and objetcs he had never seen before, only heard about from the history records from Naga Sadow.
As the Warrior approached, the voices he remained in the darkness so he could not be seen by the others he was not who or what these people were, he reached out with the Force to make sure that he was not walking into a trap, but could only hear one side of the conversion some how the other person was blocking the chatter, but being the sith he was Tiberius stood still for a moment in the darkness before he would announce himself.

Halls of the Temple of Sorrows
(with Atra)

While trotting to catch up with her Proconsul, Mayda breathed a sigh of relief that he was amenable to her request and not even a bit put off that she would ask it. It was even more welcome to hear that he also spent time in the library. With her exhales, she also sensed his exhales of relief. Ahh, she thought, so he wanted to leave the MedBay. The idea was cut short when Mayda remembered that he might be trying to read her senses also. He would only find her relief and optimism about him.

They continued down the hall to the hololift and paused. The man was tall and broad-shouldered with a quiet aura of confidence. She could see how he would be quite the imposing figure on a battlefield, clad in armor. Respectfully standing more than an arm's length from him, so as not to invade his personal space, she fought the urge to stare at his wounds just shifting her eyes to the side for a peek. It was disconcerting to her, to have interrupted his medical treatment and then trying to act as if nothing was wrong when they make it to the library. How can he be out in the open like this?, she remembered her own pain from the krayt long ago. Though, she reasoned to herself, he knows his situation and is choosing to do this for a reason.

The hololift doors opened and they entered quickly, eyes still away from each other, til it reached the floor of the offices. After exiting, Ventrus gave a soft command, "Wait here", and the new Sadow Knight nodded, watching him stride through doors, she assumed into his office or chambers.

In a few minutes, he swooshed by her and into the hololift again, chest covered now. The hololift came to another floor and she followed him out again, patiently waiting to see what he had in mind first.

(ooc: Up to you if we are at Library first.)

Library of Artifacts
Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

Ever stubborn, Atra's wounds pained him still. A quiet trickle of power flowed from that icy pool at his core, the beast prowling beneath the surface with growled compliance. The trickle spread to the wound at his side, numbing it quietly so the Proconsul could focus. He shifted slightly, the sleeveless grey turtleneck he had adorned shifting its loose folds to accomodate the move. His hand moved absently to adjust the extended collar of his sleeveless black trenchcoat. It was incredibly casual attire, but the Obelisk relied on speed and comfort was key.

As they arrived at their desired destination within the Temple, the Proconsul made a slight maneuver to indicate that Mayda was to pass first. Despite his solitude under the tender care of the Mad Alchemist, a proper upbringing was hard to shake. Manners and respect had their own rewards. The new arrival nodded and pushed past the steel doors, unsure of the etiquette to be adhered to when dealing with one of the Clan's leaders.

Cold eyes watched without emotion as the fiery woman seemed to come alive within the room. With so many ancient Sith Artifacts in one location, her emerald gaze lit with an inner fire that belied both passion and knowledge. Atra could appreciate such things.

"How do you keep track of it all?"

The sudden question was not wholly unexpected, the Prelate getting a feel for the apparent directness of the new Sadow. "I don't."

Coming to a pause upon one of the various holoterminals within the room, Atra swiped a deft hand across to input a series of commands. A quick beep acknowledged the input and put through the orders. In that one instant, Mayda had been granted the Prelate's own clearance level for the Library. The terminal at which the woman worked was quick to notify her of the change. Being present himself, the Obelisk wasn't worried of the newcomer getting into any trouble he couldn't handle.

Letting a quiet sigh slip through his barely parted lips, Atra settled to reviewing the holopad he had brought with him. Several members of Sadow were scheduled to arrive and he wasn't entirely sure when they would be popping up. Still, the Proconsul was never unaware of his surroundings. Even those bathed in shadows would trip the silken threads of the Living Force, spiralling out from Atra like the strands of a spider web. The arrival of Tiberius was clear through these sensitive fibres.

"You might as well show yourself."

This time, Atra made no attempt to shield his thoughts. What was once directed solely to Mayda reverberated through the minds of all nearby. The sheer weight of the thoughts were akin to icicles falling into the very fabric of your mind. Still, the perceptive and accustomed could feel the hidden feelings of those thoughts, the tinge of the subconscious.

Library of Artifacts
Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

Maelous stepped in past the Steel Doors, he had heard Atra speak just before entering, and began to move in his direction. He had not spend much time in the Library yet, but did not allow the awe he felt for the power in this room distract him. The Sith moved with preternatural effiency around the items in the library and stopped about two meters from the Proconsul. His hood still up he greeted him with a slight bow.

Library of Artifacts

Mayda was delighted that her Proconsul was so open with the access to the files. She had hoped for some time to discuss the Library with him or pull out even a chip of knowledge of some, any, artifact there. Perhaps she could even find out about the ones not kept in the main library room.

But all hopes of a private audience were dashed when she heard his command in her mind. There were others here, she realized, eyes darting to check the nooks and crannies. Her curiosity prompted her to send her question back to his mind, "Oh, is there a meeting scheduled?"

This was a fortunate circumstance of timing, if so. She had been waiting to see the other Sadow members, though she suddenly felt self-conscious and uncomfortable at being caught unawares.

Library of Artifacts
Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

Without turning to face Mayda, the thoughts of the Proconsul whispered in response to her alone. "Of their arrival I was aware, but no more."

The Dark Wind, as Marka Ragnos' intelligence division referred to him, met the gaze of the still hooded Maelous. The Prelate's eyes seemed to focus past the darkness of the hood and into the hidden eyes of the man beneath. Atra's head tilted to an odd angle, a quick snap of motion that seemed almost animalistic. His nostrils flared over so slightly as those stormy grey eyes turned to the shadows where Tiberius was waiting.

"You as well, Tiberius. I have not forgotten you so soon since your last departure." The thoughts floated through the room as if spoken aloud.

While he did not betray his internal feelings, ever the stoic, Atra was not wholly comfortable with the implied sanctity and solitude of the Library being invaded so readily. Ventus was very much introverted. Still, he was the Proconsul and bureaucracy was something he had to face. A flick of his wrist brought up a list of dossiers upon Ventus' personal holopad, detailing the newcomers as he glanced at Mayda with an almost apologetic look. Turning back towards the newcomers, the man conveyed not a single thought nor emotion. He merely waited, as if daring them to declare themselves.

Library of Artifacts
Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

In a voice that sounded more like ground rock, then anything "I am Maelous" he said, as he pulled back the hood. His dark eyes never leaving Atra's own. His face was solemn, but his eye burned with a fire that was undeniable. "I recieved a message that I should meet here, though I am not sure in regards to what." He let his eyes move away from Atra finally, and over to Mayda and bowed a greeting before turning back to Atra.

Library of Artifacts
Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

Thoughts about the new doctrine rushed through Tyren's mind. He had spent so much time listening, watching the teachings of Master Bastra that he could readily visualize her in front of him. He pondered the doctrines she had thought him all the time while he stayed in the Clan. Lately though, most of his time was spent in the library of Artifacts where he studied the differences between all the different teachings he had learned. More and more he found the teachings of the Sith wanting. Sith burned a hole in the fabric of the Force, like a super massive star burning quickly and leaving a black void that would, if given enough time, devour everything. His knowledge had expanded greatly, even though his standing with the Brotherhood did not. He disregarded saber training and physical prowess over training his mind and learning...just learning...everything he could.

The door to the library opened swiftly as he passed through it, clad in a long cloak made of synth-silk. The sparesly illuminated space that was the library was dotted with consoled, tables and droids moving back and forth between archives. His gaze darted across the room to see his brethren around the proconsul, Atra, but his eyes fixed on a curly, red haired, slender figure. Surprise dashed over Tyren's features for a mere instant, covered again by a smile. He dared a slight bow of respect to the proconsul, a man much younger than him and more powerful, unfortunately. Although, Tyren seemed to regard his ilk as mere brutes, rushing for power they should keep away from. They burn out quickly, just like the star.

"I come to the library to do some research and I am surprised to find company." he exclaimed drawing all eyes to him "And my, my what company it is." he walked passed the rest without even a look and stood in front of the woman. Bowing low in respect he removed his hood to reveal his aging features.

"Hello, Lady Ferium. It's been a very, very long time."

Library of Artifacts

Mayda was on guard, standing from her seat at the terminal to greet the members properly. As Maelous introduced himself and nodded, she nodded back, glad to see he was mannered despite his roughened look. She was about to acknowledge the other male figure coming from a dark corner when.....

He came right toward her. The one she had been the most anxious about. The one she heard was not around and may not be here, when she asked about him. The only one in Sadow who held a piece of her heart.

Her heart, which now sank into her stomach, her mouth agog as her eyes teared up, unable to stop the emotions behind them, a hundred emotions and thoughts clogging her mind, now her heart was beating frantically and it felt his pull. His body was here, in the flesh. His mind was fixed on her, using his intense eyes as their window.

"TYREN!", a raspy breath managed to carry the word on its wind, like a shockwave from an electrical current, the electricity running through her veins. Emerald orbs pleaded to his, to reciprocate their desires, if they were still there. Did he miss me? Did he think of me these years? He must have. She could only hope a hundred hopes while seconds of anticipation ticked away. This was the moment she had waited for, all these very, very long years.

Temple of Sorrow
Sepros
Orian System

Shirai Ryu Dupar walked off the shuttle that had landed him at the Temple of Sorrow. For the last couple of weeks he had been subject to a lot internal problems. It seemed as if Aku, the beast attached to his mind created by Dark Side Adept Jonaleth Isradia, wanted to take over completely. This mind takeover seemed to have extended in growth after all the battles he had been in. Shirai sought help from his old master Drodik Va'lence al'Tor, but he was betrayed when the Prelate abandoned him and turned to the light. Vowing to kill him whenever they met again, Shirai was taken by another yet more powerful master.

One who would instruct him how to become more powerful to do so. They were supposed to be here in due time like a number of them were supposed to be. They had received word to arrive here at a certain time. As he entered the complex he sensed a number of Force users within. Some of them seemingly more familiar than most. He continued on, and made his way into the temple. Now it was time to send a message to his master via holo. Her presence was also needed.

Unknown location


The room was dimly lit. Heavy sweet fragance lingered in the room, carried by swathes of smoke. Xia Long - the Blind Dragon - also known as Sildrin Sadow, rested barefoot on an Ottoman; silken threads - intermingled with her fiery long hair - flowed like gossamer down her curves. Next to her stood a water pipe; in a pale hand she held the dragon head shaped mouthpiece. As she drew on it her lips seemed to kiss the dragon. An argent piece of jewellery was wrapped around her wrist - in shape of a dragon of course. Not for nothing she was Matriarch of the Long family - at least during the absence of the Patriarch Shan Long.

Smoke billowed from her mouth and nostrils as she watched the kneeling holographic figure in front of her. Her red and green eye flashed up through the smoke: “Well well. The Crusade gained momentum again...”
“Yes Mistress. The clan is gathering on Sepros.”
Sildrin lowered the mouthpiece with a sigh. “Well, all right. I assume my attendance is also expected. I thank you for informing me, my Apprentice.”

The holo bowed as it faded. A robed figure approached from behind, having watched from the dark. A brown hand laid on her bare shoulder; her pale porcelain skin being a stark contrast to the dark tan. She shivered lightly beneath the touch. “I believe your clan also needs you on your home planet.... Brother?” The figure behind her hesitated, then nodded and left the room.

She leaned her head on a hand as she drew again from the water pipe. The argent dragon around her wrist appeared to melt, and silver crawled up her hand into her hair. Finally it wrapped around her curls, tying it into a thick queue of hair. She wondered about her Master’s current location. He would find her.

She stood up, “Prepare my ship.”, she said quietly to seemingly invisible servants.

Library of Artifacts
Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

He kept his bow a few seconds longer, all the long looking into her eyes. Her emotions were apparent to anyone, she hardly had control of them. He rose and turned to face Atra and the others.

"I was not aware you had a lesson at this time, Proconsul. If you will allow me, I shall continue my task." Atra nodded in approval. Tyren moved past Mayda with elegance almost touching her hand as he did. His voice rippled in her mind "Meet me at the ancient scriptures archive...if you want."

He proceeded further down into the library, continuing his musing about Xilaren Bastra and her teachings.

((OOC: Relatively short, but it is so for a reason. cheers.)

Library of Artifacts

His touch sent another shockwave through her. When her bottom lip came back to meet its upper, she managed to nod, as if under hypnosis. The thought in her head ruminated. If you want.... If you WANT? ... Was I not obvious?

A blue fire burned inside of her. Blue flames, not the red ones, not the white ones, but the hottest fire possible. It was likely her cheeks were burned red, but she would not notice.

He was so smooth and calm. How could he be like that? Oh, he's been training himself to control his emotions. They all have. Her charcoal lids closed for a moment. Everyone but me. When they opened, they rolled from side to side to see if anyone was staring at her, not daring to turn her head. Her nerves could feel Ventus' reach on her mind, but she had nothing to say directly. The fire had calmed enough for her brain to control its muscles once more.

A zombie-like, "Excuse me," was whispered to the gathering and she turned on her heel toward the library doors, away from him and them, gliding like a ghost in her long skirt, out of the room and into the hallway.

Library of Artefacts
Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

The Obelisk Templar at the main table merely gave a subtle nod of acknowledgement as Mayda departed. He made a mental note to dial back her access to the library before departing it. Turning his attention once more to both Maelous and Tiberious, Atra allowed himself an audible exhale of breath. He hated bureaucracy, more than most things. Yet even he had to play the role he had been given.

Holding the holopad carefully, he observed the information available for the men before him. "You were summoned based on the current conflict, the one they call the Dark Crusade."

The menacing man studied the emotions shifting beneath the surface of the two Sadowans before him, reading the unspoken as readily as anything else. "We need accurate representations of whatever assets and skill you can bring to the war effort."

The statement was simple enough, and it had been mandated from up high. Tiberious and Maelous were far from the only names on the list provided to Ventus, but they were the first to arrive and the first to meet his disquieting interrogation. Something about a man with no emotion apparently staring into the depths of your being could put even the most collected Jedi off center.

Sepros
Temple of Sorrow
Rancor Pit
One Week following "Chasing Horizons"

Two Obelisks stood not more than two meters apart as they attempted to catch their breath.

“Your thoughts betray you and show your weakness, you must learn to hide them.” Methyas said to his sparring opponent through a shallow breath that was steadily returning.

Roxas replied through labored breaths “I know…that’s why I’m training with you.”

Nodding slight, the Miraluka continued, “You have to learn quickly, I've had years of practice and the power to hold my own. You, however, could give yourself and this new training away. So far, you've learned to focus in combat, but in other instances you leave yourself too vulnerable.”

“That’s why I asked for your help…” The Mandalorian responded, finally catching his breath, “It’s easy for you to enter a mind, if I can block you then I can block almost anyone.”

The concern was vivid from Methyas, while Roxas had taken to the training with an open mind, he still seemed far too overconfident.

“The path you have chosen to take is not an easy one. Luckily there are those who may support you and may be able to keep the secret. My path is not so secret anymore, are you sure you wish to follow me down this dangerous road?”

Roxas looked at the Miraluka, wishing he could look him in the eye, so that his body language wouldn’t be wasted as he spoke, “You are the only person that knows of my secret. If I don't learn this now, then I would lose her and I will not let that happen.”

Methyas grinned as he spoke “Your dedication is admirable, but it will take more than that to protect you and safe guard your secret. I think we've made progress with combat, let’s try some meditation to help you focus and steel your mind against others.”

The Mandalorian nodded before sitting in a cross-legged position on the floor before Methyas began the lesson.

"Temple of the Wayward Soul"
Nifokalija Mountains, Aeotheran
A Week after "Chasing Horizons"

"Why have you brought me here, young one?" Aren asked flatly, the Bothan Jedi a little uncomfortable amongst the chaos within the Aeotheran mountain range.

"These mountains were...problematic a year or so back, the darkness here threatened to snuff me out." Methyas responded serenely, an almost odd calm about the Miralukan Jedi as he looked upon the temple before them.

"Yet here you stand, seeking now to complete your trials a midst this darkness."

"Quite, I've spent my time and resources searching these valleys trying to learn more about what happened here. This temple seems largely tied to the chaos troubling you now and at the same time..." Methyas paused, seeming to exhale deeply as though he were settling into a comfortable bath, "I'm more at peace here than anywhere else in this mountain range."

The statement proved to do nothing more than confound the Bothan further as he responded, "I do not understand, but if it is your wish to face your final trial here; then I will honour it."

Nodding, Methyas motioned the Jedi Master to follow him as he started deeper into the temple; its architecture was unlike anything they'd ever seen before within the Orian system, the temple itself more serene than even something of Sith designs. Foremost it seemed a monastery, its structure and what remained within the fog of the Nifokalija Mountains seemed to be a more geared for a secluded lifestyle of study unlike that of the Krath or the Dark Jedi.

As they approached the main structure, the sound of a door sliding open ahead of them broke the eerie silence; Methyas having gasped the cloth-covered object with the Force before stepping within the darkened room; his boots crunching slightly upon the straw mats comprising the floor, a part of the Jedi feeling wrong at not removing his boots. Again, without moving a finger, a small lantern could be heard being toggled before its flame sparked to life and started to dance about the chamber, sharing its essence with the lantern on the small solitary table within the room. This dance continued, lighting additional lanterns before extinguishing as the chamber seemed so much more welcoming now.

Methyas moved first, kneeling at a single side of the table and motioning for his companion to sit opposite of him; a gesture which Aren followed without another thought, immediately slipping into position before he spoke quietly, "Are you ready?"

A nod was the only response from the Miraluka before Aren started his guidance for the final and most terrifying trial; Facing the Mirror.

----------

A gentle wind passed through the Jedi's robes as he paced about, bare feet splashing as he moved through the ankle-deep water that seemed to span as far as the eye could see; a dense cloud wall seeming to encircle the Jedi as he stood in the calm of a storm. Another deep exhale seeming to escape Methyas before another set of splashing feet echoed around him; this pair garbed within heavy combat boots belonging to Methyas, or at least his dopple.

"Have you come to see what true power looks like? What you could only be if you hadn't given up your Consularship, if you'd only admit that your strength with the Force is unmatched by those around you?" The voice rose up so familiar yet foreign as its harsh tones seems to dart towards him like thrown daggers.

"So focused on this 'strength' like so many of those who walk amongst the darkness, you don't see the try strength that lies in the Force around us. Simply by grasping the Force as a whole and letting it flow through me as a conduit, I am more powerful now than I have ever been." Not a single word had been uttered harshly, his typical serene grace and calm exuding from his core as he retorted.

"Ha, what could a Jedi ever understand about true strength. You speak of power but are blind to see what you could possess by embracing the truth!"

In an instant, the atmosphere around them grew heavy as Methyas' power burst, his typical fountainous signature exploding outwards as he opened all the floodgates; allowing his power to flow unrestricted and unhindered, his voice responding commandingly with it, "I walk a grey path, one born of light and darkness in unity; a Jedi unbound and unrestricted by the tenants of the old order."

"Whatever you call yourself, it does not matter, you will fall the same to the might of the true power of the Dark Side."

"So blinded by your mindless dedication, you do not understand the truth of the Force; it is not as black and white as you would think."

As those final words passed his lips, Methyas struck out with a single motion, the Force screaming outwards like a tidal wave as it slammed against his dopple's form with more strength than the Sith spectre had expected; the telekinetic strike causing the dark Jedi to take a step backwards.

"Be cautious of your emotions, Methyas..." Aren's voice warned.

"Trust in me, Aren; I will not submit to the darkness." Methyas' voice responded, the tone still commanding yet just as much a warning as the Bothan's.

Sabers were drawn in an instant; the Dark Methyas' blade focused on dueling with a cruelly curving hilt and sharpened dagger while Methyas withdrew Harmony, the lightsword screaming to life like a wicked band-saw in an instant. The Sage immediately slipped into a modified Soresu stance, his past with the weapon apparent instantly as he simply smiled and gestured for the Sith to attack. The dopple wasted no time obliging as he leapt forward with incredible speed, were it not for Methyas' own skill it would have been a killing blow yet the Jedi's sword was there just as fast, deflecting the blow before meeting another strike in a cruel saber lock. The energy arched between the blades in a near scream as both sides pushed with their might against the other.

"You fight with such aggression, striking first and striking with the intent of harm."

"Obviously someone needs to get their hearing checked..."

"Keep joking. I know your heart, Methyas."

Sabers peeled apart from each other with a screech before another series of wicked blows met each other, crashing upon each other as a waterfall crashes upon the rock below.

"Still more aggression. Quit lying to yourself."

"Is this all you've got, Aren? I've faced these demons already, stop playing with me as though I'm a child!"

Methyas' saber quickly darted away as he spoke, the dopple's saber moving to take the opening before the lightsword caught his own between its points; the Jedi twisting his wrist to disarm his opponent in a fluid motion. As the other saber wrested from the dopple's hand and flew through the air, Methyas stepped in with his saber readied and its tips millimetres from his opponent's throat, a single phrase passing his lips, "Do you yield?"

Everything jumped for a moment, almost as though a holorecording had skipped with corrupt data. Methyas held his ground, doubting himself for a moment that the skip had actually occurred before his dopple responded with a low guttural laughter. Were the Miraluka younger, this wouldn't have seemed out of the ordinary but he had noticed that his dopple's voice had changed, seeming almost out of place and demonic. In that moment, the calm scenery around them seemed to grow as dark as a tropical storm, white clouds as black as night and the air about them growing more tense and electric.

Aren's presence seemed to wane as quickly as the environment changed, pressed back into the furthest corner of Methyas' mind as the darkness seemed to try and consume all of the Jedi's being.

"You should not have come back, Jedi. You thought you could trick us here?!"

Immediately Methyas stepped backwards, a flourish of the lightsword as he slipped into another defensive stance with his weapon at the ready and the Force coiled at his beck and call.

"Immersed within the Force as you are, you're on our terms now Jedi!"

"So you think, this is my mind."

As the creature grew, a shadow being undistinguishable from any creature the Miraluka had ever seen before, Methyas began to focus himself. Only a second had passed before he recalled Harmony, the weapon's blades slithering back into their hilt as it found itself placed upon his hip. Another moment and the young Sage was kneeling in the cool water with his hand resting within his lap.

The air itself began to grow thick, almost as though the humidity had risen or a dense fog had found its way around them; the creature itself letting loose a mighty bellow as it began to coil for a strike upon the seemingly meditating Jedi. Instead of recoiling, reeling away like last time; this time Methyas opened himself completely to the Force. His mind plucking and grasping at the threads that all fed into his mind and surroundings, he was swift; his mind firing on all cylinders as though he were trying to cross the galaxy in a tricked out pod going for the galactic speed record.

The creature's cruel hand balled into a fist slowly, each movement precise before it came crashing down like a meteor. Just as quickly as the strike came, it stopped. A shimmering barrier holding just for a moment before the fist found itself within the Jedi's grasp, the darkness seeming to funnel towards him before it vanished; a scream of concern passing through Methyas' head from Aren as he was certain the young L'eonheart had succumb to his opponent. The Bothan's scream was met with an equally bloodcurdling shriek, the creature itself writhing in pain as it attempted to pull away in vain.

Channel the Force, Methyas had become a conduit just as he had said, the darkness attempting to strike him held at bay and trapped by souls of the light as they attempted to restore balance. Ying and yang, light and dark; whatever you called it, the Jedi now simply acted to allow these troubled souls the release they desired, allowing them to finally attain peace and be one with the Force.

Finally the light relented, the Shadow beast reeling as soon as it regain control, seeming to stumble as Methyas rose from his position to his full stature; the gale about them still turning but this time by the will of the Jedi Sage standing serenely at its core. Power flowed through him, greater than he had ever known now, as his sightless gaze remained transfixed upon his opponent.

"Do you yield." The phrase seemed unusually like a command rather than a question, the statement itself seeming to come from the Miraluka's whole being as light, dark and everything in between seemed to course through him.

A fierce shrieking howl was the response as the creature seemed to ready itself for another attack, this time Methyas breaking deeply as a dejected whisper passed his lips; sad that it had come to this, "So be it."

----------

To the Bothan everything was beyond his control, from the moment Methyas had entered that meditative state he had lost his connection with the young Sage. He simply sat, worried beyond words, as he watched the Miraluka's Force signature. A few minutes passed before Methyas' body seemed to tense and his signature blossomed with colour. Aren himself seemed to tense in response before Methyas doubled over, his head narrowly missing striking the table before him as his hand stopped his movement. Laboured breathing was the only sound in the room for a few moments longer, the Bothan too concerned to speak.

"Methyas?" Aren asked quietly as he gathered himself, his senses reaching out to touching upon the Miraluka as he recovered. As his power closed upon his companion, an immediate spark flared up as they met with the Jedi's natural defenses. A simple response which brought a much needed relief to the Bothan's face, "Oh thank the Force."

"I...am fine...Aren; just give me a moment." Methyas gasped as he waited impatiently for his energy to recover, "We've been given a reprieve, though we should leave as soon as I am able."

Aren nodded, moving the the Miraluka's side as he placed a hand upon the Jedi's shoulder, "Very well, Methyas. You have passed your trials, though I am unsure of the path you have chosen for yourself."

"Believe me, Aren. I have thought this out well. The Force is neither light or dark, good or evil; it exists as vastly as space itself, flowing through those who can feel it as a conduit. It is those who channel this power that determine how it is viewed by how they present themselves." Methyas paused, only long enough to cast his sightless gaze upon the Jedi Master, "You know me already, I've never proven you wrong thus far."

Temple of Dusk
Undisclosed Location, Aeotheran
A week after "Chasing Horizons"

"You're dismissed, Tahlrada." The Mandalorian's voice said curtly as the Protector left the chambers leaving Roxas to his work. It had been a while since he had been into the proper swing of things again, so much time had passed since he worked with the Regulators, but at least he had Mirado should he need the aid.

Striking the keys of his terminal, Roxas updated his most recent report on the status of his team before a voice rose up from a darkened corner of the chamber, "You've been busy."

In a blur of movement the Mandalorian's weapon was drawn, his gaze down the sight as he leveled it towards the source of the sound, even though it was a familiar one which remained eerily serene; "Next time you enter my office, maybe you should knock first."

The weapon quickly found its way back to its holster as Roxas turned back to his terminal; the Jedi stepping free from the shadows with his crisp and clean beige robes before Roxas continued, "How did you find this place, Mirado tell you?"

A smile crossed Methyas' face as he shook his head, "No, though I doubt he'd be able to hide it from me if I really wanted to know. I helped found our intelligence division; you think an installation like this could escape our notice? Not that it matters, my position requires information on all of our Disciples."

Roxas shrugged for a moment before continuing, trying not to let his slight irritation show, "So why are you here? I doubt it's just to let me know I can't stay hidden from everyone."

"I thought you might want to actually have that chat, before we're thrown into the fire once more."

Examination Room 3, Medical Wing
Temple of Sorrow, Sepros
Present Day

"I don't know what I'm going to do with you, my love." The feminine voice lilted teasingly, her eyes just glancing at her husband over the frame of her glasses.

"Sadly not at all what you'd like, I'm sure." Methyas responded in turn, that same joking tone in his voice as he stuck his tongue out at his wife.

"I'm afraid not considering I've got your leg." Naomi responded as she patted the cybernetic replacement leaning against the desk, "You'll have to start the regular maintenance of this equipment yourself or start checking in with our medical stations during the Invasions you know."

"I know, just takes some getting used to...it's still sort of...unnatural." A slight disgust filled the Miraluka's voice as he spoke about it.

"I doubt a Jedi in a wheelchair would be as highly regarded, or useful to the Council, in this War."

"True, I guess. Could you bring it over here? I think I may be needed shortly."

Naomi simply nodded and smiled, bringing the cybernetic over and helping her husband connect it, her hands careful with the scarred flesh from the saber wound, "Are you ever going to tell me everything that happened?"

A deep sigh escaped Methyas as he finshed getting ready, kissing his wife's forehead gently before he responded, "It's still heavily classified dear, and even if I could...there are some parts of the story I doubt even you'd want to hear."

A small huff escaped the woman before she responded, "I know, still...you're a good story teller. I'm sure I'll hear bits and pieces of it as you conjure up your stories for Arcturus."

"I'm sure you will, love."

Temple of Sorrows


Syntari observed those in attendance, her curiosity piqued as she flashed her gaze over each of them in turn. Seeing them reminded her that Naga Sadow sheltered more unique and highly dangerous individuals than she had yet to realize, and she made a mental note to discover all she could about those present. Out of everyone in her Clan the Bpfasshi half-breed had not expected anyone she had seen, and she had a feeling that more would soon be appearing within her beloved Library.

Atra Ventus. So this is him...fascinating. She'd glimpsed him a few times prior to this little tea party, though she hadn't had the pleasure of meeting him. From what she'd witnessed, however, it did not seem to be much of a pleasure.

Tyren. Well, then, don't stick around long enough for me to say 'hello'. She'd heard of his name and his various ventures only; having had the chance to view him, her respect of the man grew. She knew that he was certainly not one to mess with.

Mayda Ferium...wonder where she could be going? The woman's sudden appearance and quicker departure aroused her interest further. Where could she be going in such a hurry that was more important than this? Recalling Tyren's ambling towards a more secluded spot, Syntari clicked two and two together and rolled her eyes. Would have been nice to meet them first, but apparently that could wait. Not that a big name like Tyren and a Knight like Mayda would have time for a Guardian like Syntari, anyway.

Maelous. You could be quite the case study. His aloofness alone intrigued her and the Krath decided that he warranted further observation throughout the meeting. Her closest friend had once ruled the motto 'fear only the unknown', and if Maelous did not qualify as an 'unknown', then Syntari did not know what did.

Tiberius...finally, a face to attach to your name. That same close friend had once known Tiberius and had told Syntari plenty about him--although he wouldn't know her, it was certainly enough that the Guardian was aware of his existence.

And I know Roxas is here somewhere, though the question is 'where'. Now she knew Roxas, and assumed he was somewhere not only close by but in the middle of a training session of some kind. Best to let him come to the Library in his own time.

This is going to be very interesting, she mused. Already she got the feeling that most, if not all, already knew where she was if not who she was; she stretched and allowed a hint of a smirk to cross over her features. Casually, the Krath shed the shadows previously concealing her from view and stepped into the light, deciding to approach the group where the Proconsul was already delivering the opening greeting. No sooner had she leaned against a nearby shelf did she feel three sets of eyes upon her, and under normal circumstances that would not have concerned her. What sent a shock wave coursing down her spine was Atra Ventus's utter lack, not just of emotion but of anything whatsoever. Without a doubt in her mind, Syntari absolutely knew that the Proconsul was a more dangerous individual than she had ever faced. While she wasn't sure if a fellow Clan-mate could be considered an enemy, she nonetheless thrust up a wall of wary, watchful respect between herself and Ventus. She was well aware that it would not do much to keep him out, for if he wished to truly see into her soul he certainly could, but Syntari was not going to take any chances.

Despite her sudden misgivings, the Sadowan flashed a grin at those before her. "Sorry to interrupt," she said pleasantly, "Please, do continue."

And so it begins, she thought.

Maelous gave a barely perceptible turn of his head as Syntari spoke, acknowledging her presence. Like the rest of those gathering, he had yet to meet her.

His eyes quickly shot back to Atra. Maelous was not the type to probe others thoughts and feeling, but he got the impression it would do little good if he had even tried on the man that stood before him. His eyes however did not betray the passion that fueled him, nor was it something he ever tried to hide. He had learned long ago that his gaze shook most to the core, though he doubted the Proconsul would even flinch.

He had arrived here with the hopes of something more than just study and research and it appeared he was not going to be let down. A grim smile crossed his lips. "If it is a chance to spill the blood of our enemies, then I am of course, pleased to be counted."

Library of Artefacts
Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

The Proconsul shifted his gaze to yet another newcomer, allowing himself a slow exhale. He didn't do well with people. Why Locke ever asked him to take up the mantle of Quaestor, and then Proconsul after that, was beyond Atra's understanding. It was only natural that even after a year of freedom, the half-breed Firrerreo had still not developed proper social graces. Five years of solitary confinement tends to put such things into atrophy. Perhaps that was why he was approached, his lack of nonsense?

Closing his eyes for a moment, the Prelate let his thoughts travel away from the Temple, to the long gone skyhook that he called home for much of the past year. His quiet chambers, washed in darkness and the soft glow of the planets reflecting Orian's light. The solitude and meditating had been kind to him, affording him to grow in mental fortitude as readily as he had honed his body. With a deep inhale, his thoughts returned to the present and the uncomfortable tug at his left side as a slow trickle of blood began to clot against the soft grey of his top.

Atra's hand shifted slightly to pull the cloth from his flesh, a sharp stab of pain tensing his muscles. The pain pierced through his icy veil for but a moment, letting a trickle of emotion free. Why did he punish himself so? What motivations were there for a man, experimented on for five agonizing years, to turn around and serve the clan that once served the very being that had held Ventus' chains? A single moment of clarity, and an immeasurable sadness, weighed heavily upon him.

Focusing on Syntari once more, Atra's stoic expression locked in. Without a word, he took stock of her appearance. A Bpfasshi? No, not entirely. Intriguing. The Templar felt her erect mental barriers, no doubt in reaction to his inspection. A wise reaction, a wary reaction. The metallic silver of her bangs was a most interesting contrast to the black of her hair, and the noticeable crimson tattoo upon her cheekbone succeeded in drawing attention. His eyes settled upon her's for a moment, taking notice of the silvery green colour found within her iris. Like winter's frost, his thoughts came to bear within her mind alone as his gaze shifted to his holopad once more.

"Syntari Bastiayn, apprentice to the Herald. Krath Scholar and Guardian within the ranks of Shar Dakhan."

The chill of the words within her mind seemed to linger, as if he had not fully pulled back his influence. The sensation spread to everyone within the room before he spoke once more, this time to them all.

"Normally, you would work with your Quaestors before coming to my attention but times are not normal. So, I offer the following."

Once more, the man let his thoughts linger upon the air. Atra was introverted, only opening up to those he respected and not one for company. Yet here he was, about to abolish any hope for solitude he still had.

"Your Houses will develop your strengths, allow me to teach you your weaknesses--and how to surpass them."

Library of Artefacts
Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

He passed his finger over the holo-image on the table, scrolling through the pages describing various Force techniques and prominent masters that used them. The Library had an abundance of information about the old Jedi order and the old Sith empire, both the ancient one and Palpatine's dominion. Non of these teachings satisfied Tyren, all too restrictive, too conservative.

He saw the Force as a whole, not as light or dark, the way the ancient Tythonian masters saw it before the rise of the Jedi order. The Force was omnipresent and no action, good or bad was out of balance in it. He searched his thoughts, remembering other topics of interest he wanted to investigate - meditation, telepathy, telekinesis. He still had a great deal to learn, a very great deal.

Pulling a data file from the archive he unlocked, he began reading the text about telekinetic manipulation of objects of higher mass, it showed a two foot by two foot hologram of a Jedi lifting a large rock and placing it gently away. He was so focused on the holo he didn't notice another presence near him, one that would change a lot of what he knew and thought.

Library of Artefacts
Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

Were it not for the alluring call of the Force and the word of a Trooper that Atra was alone with a bunch of Sadowans in the Library, Methyas would have spent far more time with his wife. Instead, he vouched for keeping an eye on his apprentice, it wasn't that the young Proconsul was unstable; it was that Atra wasn't a very social creature by nature.

Entering the library, the Miraluka reached outwards through the Force; trying to figure out the location of the Atra, it was something else that caught his attention though. Starting through the library silently, the Jedi picked his path carefully until he approached the solitary figure analysing the holo-recording. Methyas had seen this recording a few times before, the skill of a true master with telekinesis was always something of interest; but it was the Force itself, as it swirled and flowed endlessly within his sight, that had drawn his focus to the man watching the recording.

The man was familiar, he had been his Rollmaster when he first joined the Brotherhood, yet things had obviously changed in the time between then and now. There was a spark within this man, a light amidst the darkness at his core. A small smirk crossed the Jedi's face as he began to speak, "This is a good recording, note how he's barely moving yet the Force responds so deftly to his call."

Tyren jumped at the sound, his hand instinctively stopping the recording while another reached for his saber; before Tyren could move another step, Methyas spoke again as the atmosphere about them grew more calm and serene, "Wait a moment, friend. I didn't mean to startle you, but I've noticed we have something in common."

Waiting for a response, Methyas took the opportunity for a closer look, his own signature unmistakable as the light swirled at his own core, just barely cloaked by a darkened grey mass. Tyren's own stance depicted one of concern, almost trying to keep himself distant from everyone else for reasons of his own, and no need for Methyas to pry for now. This stance slowly began to shift as Tyren's own senses reached out to analyse the Jedi before him, and while some barriers remained, Methyas left many of them down to allow the older man a bit of comfort.

A few more moments passed as it was obvious Tyren was considering a response, these moments that Methyas took a seat at the nearby table. Only a few minutes had passed since the Jedi had caught Tyren off-guard, but it felt like nearly triple that had flashed by; Methyas only hoped that Tyren understood what he had meant.

Library of Artefacts
Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

Tyren scanned his collocutor with interest, more mentally then physically. Outside he looked like a Jedi, brown robes and all...his aura reflected his look. He was indeed a light Jedi. In Naga Sadow?! Tyren was baffled but remained calm. "It seems we do" He pushed the holo's button again and resumed the recording.

"Isn't it curious?" his question which prompted a barely audible Hm? from Methyas "The life we lead? Full of betrayal and deception." he joined his hands together in front of him, all the time looking at the Miraluka. He was fully aware of the ways of the Sith and he wasn't about to be caught in a trap.

"I offer no deception, Tyren. If anything, I can offer guidence." The man's voice reflected sincerity, calm, peace. Tyren doubted any Sith could mask his aura this well..but still.

"I did not ask for guidance." Tyren replied silently but sharply.

"No, not directly." Methyas remained as calm as a breeze, with only a smile on his face. He lowered his voice so that only Tyren could hear. "I believe you seek guidence, my friend, and I believe that is why you rummage through these archives. I can help." Methyas seemed to understand clearly what Tyren was going through, the transformation that was taking place.

Tyren considered his "friend's" proposal for a few moments. There was little he could do but refuse or accept, hide or open up...and he was sick of hiding. He would know if he made a mistake soon enough.

"Alright. But not here. There is a back room in the Library where some of the older archives are stored. People rarely venture there." The Miraluka nodded and walked away, as silently as he arrived.

Methyas entered the small room, followed closely by the Templar. The doors closed behind them and Tyren swiftly disabled the lock. "Now that we can talk freely, tell me everything. How? Why? When? everything."

Library of Artefacts
Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

Slowly walking along the shelving units at the periphery of the library, Locke listened as the other Dark Jedi accepted Atra's call and conversed with him. The Krath idly flipped through pages of the ancient tome he held as he observed. As he approached the group, Locke was careful to keep to the side aisles, listening to how his Proconsul handled the position. Locke knew that the other man had agreed to the position only on tenuous terms, yet he was brilliant at it.

The Consul had to find a way to keep Atra in the game, but how? He needed the Obelisk to commit. Records on the Firrerreon's history were vague at best; there was no knowledge of him prior to Macron's experiments. Even most of the mad alchemist's notes were sealed away somewhere. Locke didn't even know where to look for them.

Perhaps some things were better left undisturbed.

Still, Locke had to know what motivated Atra. Was he really just here because it was asked of him, or was there something more? Could Locke awaken the same sense of belonging in Atra that he had found in himself?

Finally stopping directly parallel to Atra's position, Locke remained slightly behind an old bookcase, seemingly reading, but paying more attention to the Force and what he could hear. The Krath made no attempt to hide his presence, but nor was it entirely obvious.

MedBay
Installation 'Crucible'
"Snowball" Inos, Orian System


Broken off from the rest of his group after the events of the Avenger II to a special installation of the S.H.A.D.O.W organization, Araxis lay motionless in the MedBay. His body ravaged still from the encounter with the madman, Darth Necar, a special contingency had been activated by order of Senior Director Methyas Pepoi L'eonheart. The idea was simple, give Araxis the tools to push his body past their normal limits, and after the battle with Necar it was clear his body had now reached those normal limits and fallen off. His mind raced, filled with the defeat he'd suffered and the lives that were endangered because of it. In and out of consciousness, Araxis took in bits of pieces of his surroundings, information being tossed at him as to what was about to happen and that he needed to be 'strong'. He could muster no more then grunts of acknowledgement and approval. The process was long, and there were times it was thought Araxis would not make it, and even though he remained unconscious for the majority of what was done to him, his stubbornness and desire to never quit kept him going.

When he awoke several days later, his surroundings where the same as his intermediate conscious moments. Clear to his eye was that this MedBay was state of the art, and staffed by professionals who were all clearly marked as S.H.A.D.O.W personal. Being approached by a figure he couldn't quite make out at the time, Araxis was informed that his recovery was incredibly impressive, and that he would be able to be move about within the day or two. It was also at this time he was informed of all the procedures that had happened, both good and bad. The arm he'd lost at the blade of Necar had been fully replaced, and his body had been injected with nanobots that would not only help with his recovery time, but interact with his new armor for physical augmentation. However, Araxis noted that something was off visually, and that's when he found out. His left eye was compromised during the battle with Reaper and Frost, and as such needed to also be replaced. Stunned and without words, Araxis was told to rest more, he would need to depart to Sepros in a short amount of time by personal call of the Rollmaster and Quaestor of House Marka Ragnos.


Library of Artefacts
Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System


There had been many black-ops missions and planets since Araxis had last set foot within this place. It seemed almost foreign to him now, but it was where all of this really had begun, his Knighting and with it the road that lead to the great betrayal of someone he considered friend and brother. No where could Araxis look without memories stirring from the deepest recesses of his mind. Damn that bastard... was the only phrase that seemed fitting. His instructions where to find Methyas and Kalia, there was business that apparently needed to be attended to, although Araxis couldn't fathom what that even meant. Searching through the force, he felt many different people and things, but one presence stood out more than most. He had not faced anyone since the Avenger II, and felt most responsible for what had happen to Methyas. If only I had been able to get there in time... what shape are you in now brother... how much has this... the thought was cut short.

"May I assist you sir?" Araxis was asked. With a cold gaze he shrugged the question off and pushed past the acolyte who asked. He had been gone long, but still knew where he was most likely to find Methyas. One last thought caught his mind... Who else would he find here?

Library of Artefacts
Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

A smile crossed Methyas' face as he heard Tyren's questions, finding someone who placed their faith in the light or a balance of the Force amongst a Clan and its Houses was odd; the fact that he had encountered two in such a short time was no mere coincidence.

"How is a matter of myself simply being a mentor to you, teaching you how to cloak yourself within the Force should you choose and simply teaching you everything I have learned which may help you. Why is as plain as the nose upon your face, I am largely an anomaly within the ranks of Sadow, having another ally could be beneficial; and I doubt you'd be as safe walking this path alone.

"When this would start is completely up to you. While I have duties to the Clan as its Rollmaster, I would be able to mentor you at your leisure and whenever you're ready. Keep in mind though, the guidance I give will not be suitable to rise against the Brotherhood; the Disciples of Odan-Urr might be a better option if that is the path you seek. My lessons and mentor-ship will allow you to find your peace and balance within the Force, giving you the strength to call upon these living energies to support yourself and those you lead or follow."

Methyas paused, watching Tyren through the Force as he contemplated the words that the Jedi had spoken, the Miraluka's natural sight a boon in discussions like these. Starting towards the nearby shelves of tombs and scripture, Methyas folded his arm behind his back. Had he still possessed his other arm it would have been easy to see how they would have folded across each other; but these thoughts mattered little as the Miraluka stopped, turning to face Tyren again as he leaned against the shelf.

"It just seems too good to be true." Tyren finally said, his statement blunt and to the point. It was easy to understand and even feel the Templar's conflict; those who usually adhered to the light found themselves counted amongst Odan-Urr and those who openly followed the light outside of them often found themselves dead.

Methyas nodded for a moment before speaking plainly, "I just wish to give you a choice, I've always found myself walking the path between light and dark; but I was never given the chance to completely choose my direction."

He paused, just long enough to note Tyren's interest piqued, "I was captured by the rogue Master Michael Halcyon and 'reprogrammed' to adhere to the light. Not that it was much of a fight, he did the best he could manage and truly thought he had succeeded in turning me against the Brotherhood. Instead he had given me the clarity, focus and the courage to openly stand true to myself amongst the Clan and the Brotherhood. I do not hate the man for what he did and I do not regret what has passed. In spite of it I am here now, a devout and loyal member of Naga Sadow. All I ask now is that you consider my offer to take full advantage of your potential."

Library of Artefacts
Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

Tyren pinched his chin as he pondered the Miraluka's offer. He was sure by now in Methyas' sincerity. Without any doubt he had sensed it as clearly as day, the truth in his words. He agreed with everything the man had told him, about his allegiance to the Clan, their position in the Brotherhood and even his outlook on the Force. "Alright, Rollmaster. I accept your offer of guidance." he bowed slightly in respect as he spoke.

Tyren walked away from the locked door into a wider part of the room where they could move more freely. They stood opposite each other over a large holo-station that served as the centerpiece in the small space, most commonly used for lectures. Several chairs dotted the empty space in around the station, placed in regular intervals that were so common for the Library.

"I must show you how and where I learned all I have learned. I think you will find it...enlightening." The older man reached for the console on the holo-station and connected a small device to it's memory core. A few clicks of the controls later the small, dim room was lit up by the blue hue of a hologram - a figure, clad in Jedi robes, long hair falling over her obviously feminine features and her face shining with a smile as she saw Tyren. "Apprentice." she bowed slightly as Tyren reciprocated equally.

"Methyas, this is Master Xilaren Bastra, Jedi scholar and practitioner of the Unified Force philosophy. She is for all intents and purposes, my Master in the ways of the Jedi. You see I too have studied equality in the Force. I no longer see it as polarized forces working against each other, rather a united entity spread through each and every one of us. The only difference is the manner in which it is being used. My goal is to protect what is dear to me and even though these people..." he gestured with his hand as if to symbolize the Clan "...tend to be spiteful and troubled, I think I can serve the Clan to protect them."

Something that could pass as surprise flashed over the Miraluka's face as he looked at them both "Intriguing. Our ideals are similar, I dare say the same, but she...how did you find a holocron?!"

"She is not a holocron, rather a holo-memory. Memories with a voice, if you will. She is limited to certain responses and will always address anyone she encounters with "Apprentice"." He turned to the hologram and continued "Master, this is my friend and ally, Methyas. He too is a Jedi." The hologram turned toward the Miraluka and bowed slightly ever keeping a smile on her face "Apprentice. Do you have a query?"

"You see." Tyren said with a smile. Methyas moved around the table to have a better look. "Although she is an automated message of sorts, she still has limited interaction routines programmed into the device. She can reply to any questions you may have."

Methyas stroked his chin with his good hand "This could be an invaluable tool, Tyren."

"I agree, that is why I showed her to you."

The speaker on the wall above the door suddenly turned on, revealing the Consul's voice "Attention! Attention! All Sadowans to their stations. We are moving out. I repeat, all Sadowans too their stations." the two looked at each other and nodded as Tyren disconnected the holo-journal from the station. With haste they moved out of the library to their briefings.

Proconsul Quarters, Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System
After Khar Delba Excursion

The darkness of his quarters was near complete, the only light present broke through via the openings in the stone that served as windows. A light touch reached out to the simple, yet elegant viol that waited like a long lost friend, bathed in shadows. He felt the familiar weight, the tempered strings, and the bow at its side felt right in his hand.

For whom do we fight?

Pale fingers began to work frets as the bow was placed once more upon those sorrowful strings. Notes began to flow as Atra stood in the solace of his chambers. He could not afford to feel, that was what he told himself, yet still he was Human. How could he not? And so, as the instruments sad song rang out, the man of ice let himself feel. He let his emotions loose from the vault at his core and commanded them to take flight upon the notes hanging in the air.

For whom do we kill?

His body began to sway in time with the notes he was playing, holding the tempo slow yet mournful. The song felt trapped, restrained, yet struggling for release. Often the Prelate found himself yearning for these moments of solitude, to just feel nothing and everything all at once. Here, he was whole.

For what reason do we die?

With a final, held note that seemed almost a wail of sadness, Atra stood perfectly still. His breathing was low, but audible, his chest rising and falling in the emptiness that was his temple. Placing the instrument down once more, Ventus reached out into the Force and summoned his datapad to hand. Amidst the printed volumes of texts amassing in his chambers and the various half-baked alchemical solutions came the poor device. If not for the Force, the Obelisk would surely have lost it by now.

Upon returning to Orian, the Proconsul had asked Locke quite pointedly why they were part of a war without reason, why couldn't there be another way? The Consul had been unable to answer him. Or unwilling. It didn't matter regardless. As the half-breed Firrerreo eyed the image on the screen, he felt assured that his messengers would find their mark. Turning with a sigh, Ventus began the slow walk to the more spacious living room outside his chambers. He had amassed quite the collection of odds and ends in his thirst for knowledge, and the room he entered seemed to bear all the signs of a hoarder. Eyes locked on the screen, it wasn't until he was halfway through that he felt the presence within the Force.

"I hear you've been looking for me," the Witch paused a moment, as if searching for the word, "Proconsul."

Her lips curled ever so slightly at the corner, as if fully aware of the slight she had just delivered him. Atra did his best to remain passive, though with so many emotions still fresh in his system the Obelisk's face frowned ever so slightly. It wasn't so much the blatant disrespect as to his status within the Clan, more so the fact that Sildrin Sadow was quite brazenly lounging within his quarters completely without his knowledge.

He wasn't sure what was more annoying; the fact she had invaded his privacy or the fact he hadn't known.

The Sorceress shifted slightly, raising herself up more as she wrapped her robes more completely about her petite form. Vermillion locks coiled and curled as they framed her pale features while her almost aristocratic visage seemed to belie a sense of knowing. In that single glance, Atra felt like his plans were laid bare already. The Proconsul glanced towards the entryway, disguising an attempt to reforge his icy visage as a quick check for forced entry.

"Aren't you going to ask, or shall I leave?"

Once more, the Daughter of Sadow and Apostate bore a knowing smile. For anyone else, fury would have tinged their senses. More to the fact, Atra felt like that was the woman's intention. He had been so ready, it seemed a simple enough act to complete. Yet, now that he was faced with the opportunity he was unsure as to how to proceed. That was the way with plans, they were wonderful in theory and melted at the first attempt of implementation.

"Tell me about the Apostates."

The icy voice that was Atra's presence within the mind of the Sorceress conveyed his message, though it didn't entirely carry itself as a command or a request. Merely a statement.

Again, that knowing smile.

"That's not the question."

Somehow, he was not surprised that the once Council member knew entirely more than she let on, but it was still a frustrating experience. Even for him. Letting out yet another sigh, the tall man put his back to a surprisingly sturdy stack and leaned against it, arms folded across his torso.

"Tell me about the Final Way."

Her lips semi parted, though only a breath escaped alongside a look of satisfaction. She had indeed known what he would ask. "An answer to that, Proconsul, I cannot give you."

His pupils dilated in response as Atra contemplated her response. The Obelisk had hoped out of those Apostates on file, that she would be the most approachable. Yet she held the knowledge back from him, just out of reach. If anything unsettled his stoic persona, it was that. He opened his mouth as if to speak, forgetting himself for a moment before reaching absentmindedly to the scar at his throat. Focusing himself, the Prelates eyes fell upon Sildrin's.

Mismatched colours. Intriguing. Wait, the reports said she was blind?

"Your eyes..." The creeping chill of his mental presence crawling up the Sadow's spine stopped almost as quickly as it began, slinking back into the shadows as if he were unsure how to continue.

A look of amusement adorned the Long family matriarch's face as she raised an eyebrow. "You're not very good at this, are you?"

Atra's features became rigid, sharp, and he responded with anger radiating from each transmitted thought.

"Macron didn't exactly grant me visitation hours."

Proconsul Quarters, Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System
After Khar Delba Excursion

Sildrin Sadow flinched from the anger her Proconsul Atra radiated. His mental voice grinded against her mind like sand in a clockwork. Quickly she regained her posture. “Indeed. He hasn’t.” She replied with a smirk. “I am sorry, my Proconsul, but I have to leave you now. Some more pressing business require my attendance.” With that the Blind Dragon turned around.

“I won’t stop you, but since you are already here... Sooner or later I may have to start investigations about a missing book from the Sadow Library.“

Atra’s icy mental voice made her hesitate; turning slightly her head to his direction. “So?... A book?.. Dire business you are dealing with, my Proconsul...”. She said. Could it be? Does he speak of The Bloody Book? The Daughter of Sadow had stolen it from the Library while it was on fire - the doings of a criminal organisation that sought to destroy Clan Naga Sadow.

Atra made a determined step towards her. “Yes. A quite important book. With dangerous knowledge. Bound in human skin - so they say.”

Her eyes continued to muster him, her smile had faded.

“Though I am a busy man. I might forget about it.” Now Atra’s lips curled into a faint smile. “I might forget about it if I gain informations.... “

With a few quick steps he was between her and the door, peering down at her. A hint of gold was within his eyes: “The Final Way.....The Apostates.”

Suddenly Sildrin became aware of his physical advantages as she lifted her head, meeting his gaze. He was by far stronger, taller and heavier than her. She considered using her mental skills, but at this short distance she would be easily overwhelmed by him. Her chin moved slightly forward in a stubborn way - as she just then felt a mental pull. For a moment she looked absent minded.

Atra frowned at the Sorceress in front of her. Who is she talking to?... He started to wonder, but he had a vague suspicion. Her eyes focused back on him and she finally gave a small nod.

Her voice was a mere whisper: “Only under one small condition....”

“Yes?”

A faint smile appeared on Sildrin’s lips once again. “First.... play something for me?” Her eyes turned to his quarters where he had played the viol.


The Proconsul’s eyes widened. Playing the viol... for her? He turned his head to the chamber quickly, hiding his surprise and nervousness. Yet he sensed her amusement. But there was something more to it, but he couldn’t figure out what. He strode to his quarters, gently picking up his instrument. His fingers caressed the viol and he lifted it. Atra licked his lips, his grey eyes wandered to the Sorceress in front of him. She had a dispassionate look on her face; a fact that eased up his tension. He closed his eyes, shutting out the world, shutting out... her.

The melody rose deep from within, his fingers danced across the strings, his other hand guided the bow. A questioning melody, filled with notes of sorrow, but tinged by his will to serve the clan. Between the lids of his eyes he saw red and green flash up, but he refused to focus on the Sorceress in front of him. With a couple of strokes he felt as if this song was carried by the questions that were deep within him - about The Apostates, The Final Way. And suddenly an argent sequence of notes was the reply.

Confused he opened his eyes, not stopping to play. His eyes could not believe what they saw - the Sorceress herself was playing a viol right in front of him. Her melody intertwined with his. He took a deep breath as he once again used his bow on the strings to send out a sequence of questions. She picked up the melody with her viol, repeating the questions, but still she changed it slightly. And he realised he had been asking her the wrong questions.

More... he thought. His bow picked up the pace as his melody repeated the questions. This time the right ones. Her viol’s notes danced high above him, rising up into the heavens; touching the tapestry of the force. Threads of argent unfolded in front of his eyes as he shared her Force Vision; one that she had mastered so easily having been blind for most of her lifetime. The melody of answers appealed to him, flooding him with informations, but it was more than he could grasp or even understand. Sweat beads started to run down his face.

Desperately he used his bow to counterpart this flow of answers, to slow it, but it would not stop. His grey eyes stared into her red and green ones as their melody continued. Staccato by staccato, note by note were exchanged... questions and answers flew past him. He dropped onto a knee, gasping for air, but he did not stop.

Finally there was a vast emptiness, only filled by shining stars. Each one a solemn world of its own. And with that he lowered his viol at this sight. The notes dissolved with the melody.

He blinked, looking up at Sildrin Sadow. “What....”?

Sildrin had lowered her viol too, a finger rested on her lips. “Shhh. One day.. you may understand the answers, I have given you. One day.” With that the Sorceress turned around and left him alone in his chamber - confused and wondering what just had happened.

Proconsul Quarters, Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System
After Khar Delba Excursion

With a long breath, Atra rose to his full height once more and placed both of the viols back out of sight. That was... informative, though he still wasn't sure what to make of it. The book had been a trump card, one he wasn't entirely sure would have worked in his favour, yet it had. But, what exactly had he learned? He needed time to process.

"Atra."

The single word echoed through his chambers as the Proconsul turned to activate the holocommunicator. The pale, ghostly form of Locke Sonjie appeared within the room. As soon as the video link was established, the Prelate could see the intrigued look upon the Krath's face as clear as day.

"You look like a bantha."

Atra's returned expression was one that words couldn't quite cover, and significantly more vulgar.

"Anything you wish to tell me?"

A quick series of commands on the now available terminal transmitted the synthesized vocal response, "We all make decisions, some are harder than others."

Locke's slow nod conveyed that he still had more questions, but was willing to leave his Proconsul be for now.

"I need you to go over the new training regime with our operatives that have recovered from Khar Delba."

A long pause followed by a curt nod was Atra's only response. With a swipe of his hand, the communicator deactivated and he was in silence once more. His wrist passed lightly over his brow, wiping the sweat from his pale flesh. Another long breath chased away the fatigue wishing to set into his muscles before the Proconsul made for the lift. All the while, he contemplated what convoluted security he needed to get installed in his quarters. As the doors slid shut and the lift lurched into motion, he tapped the datapad in his hands and switched it into edit mode.

One red, one green.

Aeotheran Orbit
The MCRV Reaper’s Call held its position outside orbit of the planet. A ladder extended from the bottom of the ship. Roxas looked into the massive jungle below him. His signature green armor shimmering with glints of sun light.

“Colonel Buurenaar.” The pilot began over the Mandalorian’s com-link “CAVOK, conditions perfect, green to go.”

The Sithspawn Mandalorian let go of the ladder and fell toward the planet. This wasn’t his first LOLO jump, but it was the first he had in a long time with only a jetpack, an emergency parachute and what looked like a cape. The pilot wasn’t the only one that thought Roxas was nuts to trust a jetpack with orbital entry. The wind roared like a flame thrower as he entered the atmosphere. The heat of entry streamed around his armor as he reached terminal velocity. He stretched out his arms and legs to slow his decent and control the direction he was falling.
He guided himself toward the city of Kel Rasha. His altimeter plummeting as he grew closer to the planet. He leaned and shot bursts from the jet pack to slow his decent, first with long bursts then shorter ones. When he reached a few hundred meters he tapped his back where the “cape”was rolled up and it opened. He grabbed the edges and pulled tight. The cloth stiffened into a glider and caught the wind.

Oh, thank heavens it opened. I didn’t expect this to work. Roxas thought to himself Wish I had a bes'uliik

Two clicks outside of Kel Rasha
The glider worked great, but Roxas had to keep using bursts from the jetpack to keep it up and decided now would be a good time to land. He leaned forwars, so the glider would go toward the ground, as he reached it he leaned back quick and hard, then fired a good burst from the jetpack to slow his decent enough to not get hurt. He landed and the cloth returned to its original shape, a cape.

He clicked on his command opened a channel to the board of DSOG “This is Roxas, I’m on the ground. I’ll be in Kel Rasha within the hour. Glider worked as advertised, but I recommend some jump jets or something to help control it.”

Bridge, VSDII Covenant
Brotherhood Staging Grounds, Khar Delba System
A few hours following the Council's armistice for Khar Delba

"Preparing for Hyperspace jump, awaiting mark from the Final Way."

Methyas simply waved his hand, acknowledging the Officer's warning as he continued to speak to the hologram before him, "So it seems it's time then?"

"Yes, Methyas. I don't think we can continue taking the risk during this campaign, assemble the finest and have them ready before we're deployed again," Locke responded, his tone level as he gave his order.

"Understood, Locke," Methyas responded, ready to end the transmission before he spoke again, "I know you suspect certain things of me, Locke, and if you were to ask, I would not mislead you but answer truthfully. You've extended a great amount of trust in me, I don't intend to let you down."

Locke looked like he was about ready to respond when he simply nodded, ending the transmission. The exchange would have seem odd, but Methyas knew his Consul would ask his questions when the time was right. For now, they both had work to do.

"Ensign, I'll need you to get me the following operatives as soon as possible..."

Executive Officer's Quarters, VSDII Covenant
Hyperspace Transit en-route to the Orian System
Several Hours after the Khar Delba Excursion

The Five figures stood at attention before the Miraluka who stood in front of the chamber's large viewport, there was a slightly limp to his gait as he paced slightly before them; he had neglected the repairs to his cybernetic leg since the events on Khar Delba but it mattered little to him given the direction Locke had wished to proceed. His voice rose up, commanding yet not overbearing, the weary man behind the words unnoticed as he spoke, "You select few were chosen because you have shown valor in combat upon the fields of Khar Delba and have displayed unerring loyalty to the legacy of Naga Sadow.

But this you already know, it is why you came when called upon. Over the few weeks we have until our next objective, you will be trained, conditioned and focused to become better than those your equal. You will be granted amnesty where others would not, you will be granted the necessary freedoms to complete the assignments you will be tasked with and above all you will be amongst the elite of the Disciples of Sadow."

At this he paused, only long enough to turn and face the figures before him, feeling their reactions and emotions through the Force, "You honoured few will undergo the strict and perilous journey towards becoming a member of the legendary Black Guard. As a member of this guard you will be loathed and admired for your zeal, you will support our cause whenever, wherever and whatever it may be. But above all, under the guidance of the Captain of the Guard you will stand united in the defense of your Summit. To assist in this daunting task, you will never be completely alone with the rest of the Guard ready to support you. In addition you will be granted access to additional resources within our hallowed halls. If any of you feel you are not prepared or unworthy of this honour, I ask you to please leave now."

The Rollmaster paused, waiting a few moments to again analyse the assembled through the Force, truly waiting to see if they would leave or not. With a smile crossing his face, the Miraluka spoke once more, "Good, training will begin once we make landfall on Sepros at the Temple of Blood. You are dismissed."

At that the figures of Tyren Atema, Mirus Cavataio, Alexander DelGotto, Syntari Bastiayn and Amagon left the Rollmaster to himself, ready for what would come once they arrived at home.

Executive Officer's Quarters, VSDII Covenant
Hyperspace Transit en-route to the Orian System
A few Hours Later

Methyas sat cross-legged in the middle of the Quarter's floor, or at he would have had his cybernetic leg not been leaning against the nearby desk; since dismissing the Guardsmen he had gone to the infirmary to ensure the necessary repairs and maintenance had been done and during the entire scenario he had promptly decided he would need to speak to Fremoc about a more suitable replacement when the time came. The Miraluka felt much more comfortable without the mechanical appendage when he could manage without it, he was sure over time that would change but the Force still didn't respond to the piece as well as it had his own limbs. It was for that reason precisely that he had refused a replacement for his arm all those months ago.

"You know, its harder to defend against someone who could take such an advantage over you," Tyren's voice rose up through the chamber as he neared the meditating Jedi, gesturing towards the appendage.

"That same person would actually have to sneak up on me," Methyas retorted flatly, his voice never sounding harsh as he continued, "and if you make a joke about having my leg..."

"No, no. None of that, though it would be a good one. I was hoping to continue our discussion from earlier."

Atrium, Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System
After Khar Delba Excursion

"My lord!"

Atra had barely stepped foot within the main atrium when an officer came marching to his side.

"We have confirmation that Colonel Buurenaar has made landfall on Aeotheran with DSOG forces."

The Proconsul winced mentally, he thought Locke had made it clear that DSOG had been resolved given their newfound situation after Nfolgai. With the uprisings and the separation into factions, they no longer needed to maintain their ties with Dlarit, let alone any other legitimate front. As the officer handed him the report, he subtly slipped a second datapad into the Proconsul's hand. Somehow he got the feeling that it was going to be a long day, mere moments before another form approached looking uncomfortable in his new black armour.

"Knight Cavataio, ready for war."

Ventus shifted, eyeing the Dathomiri's somewhat recovered features and was greeted with the mental image of the damage from Khar Delba, and Syntari's limp form. A shallow breath and a long sigh brought the Proconsul's focus back in line.

"Templar Cavataio."

The Sadowan shifted somewhat, doing remarkably well to disguise his reaction though his face betrayed him.

"What's that?"

A single eyebrow raised upon Atra's stoic face. "You've been field promoted. I'd say enjoy it but you have work to do."

Again, the Dathomiri was left somewhat flabbergasted.

"You've been in talks with Methyas, I'm sure you have a new battleteam to attend to."

This time Mirus stood a little taller, straighter, as his face recomposed itself. "I've been assigned as your Black Guard."

Again, incredulity was writ upon Atra's face, quickly glancing at Mirus' arm. "I'm sure you of all people know how much protection I require."

Anger, raw and unfiltered, flashed upon the warrior's features.

"I suggest you get going, Templar."

Begrudgingly, Mirus gave a quick nod of acknowledgement and turned away. It was a good thing too; as the images flashed through his vision, the Proconsul had a difficult decision to make. He hadn't been strong enough to protect anyone, and there was opportunity for more. No matter the potential cost.

There may only be one chance for this.

Ventus moved in a hurry, needing to time things just right to make it out of the Temple unseen. With stretched steps, the tall man made his way to the hangar in short order, though his form shifted ever so slightly as he moved through shadow after shadow. By the time he arrived at the security terminal, it was not Atra's face but that of the Consul that greeted the guards. Without question, the security let him pass, for who were they to question Locke?

A ripple of flesh, a shimmer in the air, and suddenly Atra took shape again, though he was already boarding the lone shuttle. He had intel, shaky at best, but intel nonetheless. Some of the riots may not have been as innocent as they seemed upon the surface, no, there was a touch of finesse to it that could not have come from anything else. There must be a member of the One Sith involved. With a quick rumble of turbulence, the shuttle cleared the atmosphere and set its course.

Unkown Location, Kar Alabrek
Tarthos, Orian System

"The Spawn has taken the bait."

"Good, ready the trap."

Aboard The Rust Bucket
Somewhere in the Orian System

“Congratulations!” The peppy voice on the holovid rang out, waking the redhead from her slumber like an oh dark thirty alarm and causing her to raise her heavy head up to see the source of the blasted message. “Mayda Ferium: For Exceptional Valor and Bravery displayed on the battlefields of Khar Delba, with the recommendation of your clan summit and with the blessings of the Grand Master of the Brotherhood, you are hereby elevated in rank. Congratulations. You have been promoted from Dark Jedi Knight to Priest!”

What the frag? Is this a joke?

She threw a cup at it, and it silenced. The bird nest style strands dropped back on her pillow no sooner than a metallic voice began over the ship’s intercom.

“Mistress - we have received coordinates to the planet Orian VII to the main base of Dlarit Security Force. Do you wish for us to proceed to there?” Kurupt asked.

“Huh, uh, yeah...,” she drifted off again.

“Yeahhhhh Boyyyyyyyy,” Flava called out from the co-pilot’s seat. He was tired of just flying back and forth.

City Streets, Kar Alabrek
Tarthos, Orion System

The city was a garrison for the military force of the Clan, yet it now looked more like a Saturday morning flea market on Dantooine. It was chaotic, crowded, messy, cluttered, smelly, dirty and repulsive. Mayda wore her cloak, hair unwashed, clothes rumpled like she just rolled out of bed, because she literally did. So, she fit right in with the dingy refugees, with 3po protocol droid Flava by her side.

“Where is the damn headquarters?” She demanded, holding the map.

“I dunno, chick. You tell me.”

“We took a wrong turn at the incense vendor.”

He rebuffed, “Our crib be too funky for Flava.”

They walked with some swagger to the end of the road. At the fruit stand, she spotted someone familiar. Ugh, the last person I want to see. No, second to last. She had not updated him on her whereabouts, nor heard from him since the mission on Khar Delba. It was likely he would feel her presence anyway, so she approached him from behind.

“Consul Sonjie, you’re my only hope.”

City Streets, Kar Alabrek
Tarthos, Orion System

The city had changed more than he could have expected, then again, uprisings tended to do that. The military garrison itself had been left somewhat untouched, but the presence of Dlarit was significantly diminished.

For the better.

The passing through trailed like venom through the sifting vat of thoughts swirling within his mind. The newfound knowledge imparted to him was not settling well, and he couldn't make sense of it all. He pulled his robes tighter about his frame, more instinctual than anything as a pair of ruffians sprinted past with what could only be stolen goods in hand. With DSOG gone and the system fractured, law seemed to be more of a suggestion than a dictation.

He could feel his features shifting once more, having just passed through a media hub the Proconsul had opted to wear Locke's face once more. His newfound ability was proving quite versatile.

At least, before a voice broke into his calm.

The facade faltered and fell like a curtain of water as Atra turned to face Mayda. Her presence brought a curve to his eyebrow as it rose up in a questioning manner. Last he had heard, the Krath was destined for the Shadow Academy and some soul searching, for lack of a better term. In fact, he had personally responded to the communication.

"Not too great a hope, I trust."

Despite the icy chill, there was a hint of joking to the transmitted thought. A hint at times long past, when the frigid mentality had been unrequired. Through grey eyes, the Proconsul could see the surprise on her features. His watchful gaze tried to read through her emerald stare, trying to reach the thoughts hiding there, but his mind was far too cluttered to succeed. Instead, his pupils dilated ever so slightly as his focus shifted to the scars creeping at the edge of her features, whispers of events long past.

To each scar, a story told.

In that single instant, he was reminded of the damage hidden beneath his shirt, and the mark upon his throat. A haunting reminder of past misdeeds, his own and otherwise. Cold resolve filled him from within, a reaffirmation of what he must attempt to do. Turning stoic once more, a single thought slithered into Mayda's mind in the form of a question.

"Shouldn't you be somewhere else?"

Oh, that voice sounds familiar. The one in her head. Locke did not talk like that. Oh... could it be?

Proconsul? she questioned him secretly. Flava was busy haggling with the vendor over some casaba melons and though it was still busy, no one was close to them. The wind blew lightly over their robes on the mild spring day.

Wha? she stuttered. “Oh, yes,” answering aloud. Well, no, answering in her mind to be polite. I was called to come here for some kind of certificate or medal or something, she stammered to explain. I’m still on leave. Sorry, I did not update you on that.

Darn. He might call her back to duty. And there was no way in Mustafar she was going back to that ice world. When Mustafar freezes over. Oh, no, is he reading my mind? She felt disrespectful and changed the subject in her head, just in case, as her brows unfurrowed to stop her worry. What was he doing here anyway?

Shouldn’t you be somewhere else? was thought with only curiosity, not a touch of sass. Are we done on the Sadow world? That was forefront to her worries about her clansmen.

City Streets, Kar Alabrek
Tarthos, Orion System

A slow nod answered Mayda's question, and the Proconsul did not overlook the worry he felt emanating from her. "Our forces have been recalled, most are recovering on Sepros."

Without the cover of shadows, Atra's face was clearly his own, though his features seemed a touch more... haunted, than before. His gaze turned to ascertain just what Flava was doing off with the vendors. Attention was the last thing the Prelate needed, and this chance encounter was not preferable to his aims. Somehow, he got the sensation that the newly appointed Priest was similarly uncomfortable with the situation.

He contemplated affecting her mind, for the briefest of moments. Such a thing would make matters easier, simply make her forget he was there. Yet no, that would not do. He was risking his personal honour enough as it was, he would not break it further. "I'm here on a personal matter, and I'd appreciate your silence as to my whereabouts."

Without intending, his voice in her head held an almost foreboding level of command. It was cold, but that was the norm. It seemed bestial, restrained, like a great wolf testing the strength of his chains. As he awaited Mayda's response, the gold at the center of his iris seemed to pulse with life, his gaze scanning the crowd for something only he knew.

Even the greatest of predators knew the laws of nature, there was always something bigger... Badder. Atra may be the hunter now, but he knew with each passing second that the roles could reverse.

The sensitive woman breathed a sigh of relief to hear that the clan was safe. Surely, if there had been a death, he would have reported it to her or seemed remorseful when she asked. So, he was alright. Good.

Atra’s request for her silence interrupted her reverie. “Yes, of course,” she stammered again as he made her kind of nervous. Or perhaps they both were, given the situation. Her hands were clasped in front of her, squeezing each other.

Last time she had seen him, he was in pain, she remembered. Without thought of propriety, she blurted out, “And your injuries have healed?” in concern for him. After all, she had just been injured also. Did he even know? she wondered. Inquiring eyes looked him over; he seemed to be better, physically at least.

City Streets, Kar Alabrek
Tarthos, Orion System

Atra's head tilted slightly, caught off guard by the red woman's question. His lips parted, as if to answer, but that moment passed quickly. A low sigh escaped his throat as his thoughts calmed once more, biting less than before. "That question should be directed at you."

The Proconsul had read the reports from the field, and had conversed directly with Methyas, though it had been short lived. The Prelate himself had returned from the frozen waste physically unscathed, but disillusioned to an extent. That was his own issue to confront. Others had not been so fortunate. Mirus, Syntari, even Mirado... Most of his own team had come out broken and battered. Mayda, on the other hand, had experienced something far more. Torture was something he was all too familiar with, yet who was he to complain. After all, his own Hell had been the one he volunteered for. Though, the choice had been rigged against him.

Sympathy, an emotion he wasn't overly acquainted with, tugged at his senses but was quickly dismissed. He had his own scars, as she had hers. There was no shame in that, but it was a matter for less trying times. For her own safety, and his designs, Atra needed to disappear again. At the far reaches of the spider web that was the Prelate's Force presence, he could feel danger pushing in on him, like an ominous cloud.

"It is time we both left, Ms. Ferium."

Gah. He did know. She nodded silently, mesmerized by his steely gray orbs. Their moment was broken with his suggestion to part. At first she thought he meant they would leave together. But she recognized the way he was looking around and nervous, and obviously not wanting to be known for being there.

“Oh, yes, Proconsul.” She snapped back into the present and snapped her fingers for Flava to come to her. “Thank you,” she politely gave a nod, closing her eyes. When they opened, he was gone.

The pair continued toward the headquarters, once there, retrieving her new dossier files, framed certificate, Krath lollipop and a voucher for the tailor. “Let’s go shopping, Flav.”

“Yeah Boy!”

Executive Officer's Quarters, VSDII Covenant
Hyperspace Transit en-route to the Orian System

Tyren sat down on a nearby chair and crossed one leg over the other as he leaned his elbow on the desk. Methyas didn't even flinch, he just kept his calm posture and continued contemplating...whatever he was contemplating.

"Is there something troubling you or is this a social visit?" Methyas asked calmly, never looking at the Templar. Tyren knew the answer, he just didn't know how to say it.

"Back on Khar Delba." he said the words as if they were the answer themselves. As if they would be enough to explain. "Back on Khar Delba, when Mayda was taken and me and Locke were on a razor's edge, so to speak. That wasn't me."

"Continue." Methyas said as if nudging Tyren to talk more.

"Many years ago I wasn't truly myself. My mind seemed to be split in half, bi-polar if you will. One side was me as I am, but the other side." he paused a few seconds "The other side was the madness you see in the eyes of our fallen comrades. Pure, uncontrolled fury. I thought I destroyed that side with my training, but now..."

The Force around Methyas flickered for a mere second, tantamount to a raised eyebrow or a tick. Tyren noticed. "You have felt it haven't you?" the Templar asked.

With a sigh, Methyas confessed "Yes. Yes I have." he slowly stretched, ending his meditation or perhaps relieving some added stress "The darkness in you is strong. It still has a hold but it is deceptive. Hidden. I believe you haven't defeated it, you merely suppressed it."

Tyren stood up and paced back and forth, visibly agitated. "What am i to do then. If I cannot control myself every time Mayda gets into a conflict..."

"For starters, sit down. Your nervousness is understandable but the first step to control the dark is controlling yourself right now." the Miraluka said in a tranquil voice which seemed to calm his comrade down a bit. Tyren obliged, sitting back down in the same chair. "You being worried and under stress wont help either of you. Calm yourself, control, remember. In this place and in Khar Delba more than any other we must remember who we are and what we fight for. We are constantly saturated with Dark Side energies. Keeping calm is not an easy task to manage, Tyren."

Tyren exhaled a long breath and regained his composure. Methyas smiled.

Temple of Dusk
Aeotheran
The Mandalorian’s comm chirped in his ear as he entered the temple, so he answered “What?”

“Colonel, we are preparing to…”

Roxas cut him off “I told you idiots once if I’ve told you a thousand times. Go to your posts and leave me alone. I can handle this on my own.”

“Yes sir.” The trooper said begrudgingly. The MCRV Reaper’s Call turned from its orbit and returned to the entered hyperspace to return to the Sadowan fleet.

The Obelisk leaned against the wall and looked around the door before entering. He scanned the area as he walked through what once was a meeting place of some of the deadliest assassins to be a part of Naga Sadow. He opened the door to his office and headed to his book case. He pulled out a book and the shelf moved to one side, revealing a hidden room. The lights came on as he entered, illuminating racks of blasters, slugthrowers, daggers, and various other combat equipment. He grabbed an NR3S and clipped it to his back before switching out his pistol for a new NR2S.

As he turned to leave, he was hit with a feeling that he hadn’t had in a long time. A deep seeded anger swelled within the Mandalorian and his glowing red eyes widened. He’s here! It’s been too long…I’m going to end this now! He said to himself while his fury swirled. He went to storm out the room, but stopped. I have to calm down, or I won’t win. Focus… he took a deep breath and let it out slowly I have to remember what I’ve learned. Vengeance won’t serve me here…

Although, he tried to adhere to his new path, his dark ways still swirled in him more than he thought and it wouldn’t be easy to control himself.

Executive Officer's Quarters, VSDII Covenant
Hyperspace Transit en-route to the Orian System
Several Hours after the Khar Delba Excursion

The Miraluka's smile was truly a hearty one, while he had once been a Journeymen under the man's guidance as Rollmaster, time had turned the tables as Tyren sought his own path. The Force seemed to ripple around him as he plucked a few threads, the ever flowing current enveloping his cybernetic and guiding it towards his lazily. As the apendage floated deliberately towards the Jedi, he spoke simply, "While we don't walk the same path as our brethren, that doesn't mean we have to be the emotionless creatures of the old Order. Long before Odan-Urr wrote the tenants, the Jedi followed a simplified code, one which I believe is more fitting given the ebb and flow of the Force around us; I am sure you remember the phrases I spoke on Khar Delba.

"Chief amongst these is Emotion, yet Peace," again Methyas stopped, only long enough to ensure the cybernetic could be attached correctly, "Many may view this tenant different, but I believe the message is clear. Though I am emotional, I am at peace."

Tyren seemed to contemplate the statement as Methyas rose to his feet, the Miraluka still as serene as the words he spoke. Moving around the desk to stand before the viewport, seeming to stare at the stars that streaked past, he continued, "I know I always seem calm and at peace, but that's not because I bottle up these emotions and let them fester within. Yet unlike our compatriots, I also don't let them consume and control me. Instead, I harness them. I know when you went through the Shadow Academy you would've been taught the value of giving into the strength your anger, rage and pain could grant you. But those emotions are only a part of a larger pallet, a larger picture. We are not machines and cannot be expected to act as such. For as long as Jedi and Sith - light and dark - have battled, many of these warriors who claim to adhere to the light have fallen to their emotions because they did not understand their own feelings."

"You said something of this on the planet," Tyren warned before Methyas chuckled.

"Yes I did, and it seems you still have not listened. When it comes to those you love, protecting them becomes your only duty and sometimes you feel like a caged beast with the emotions which run through you. The trick is not to give into them but to understand them and turn them to your advantage. As I said, someone like Araxis would use the fear and anger from a loved one being in danger and fuel his power from it, embracing it. You should not be so different, embrace the emotion but do not let it consume you.

"You have seen the flash of power which courses through me when I unleash a Force Blast, my family and the Elders of the Clan would have you believe that you must build up your frustration and focus it to get the best result. But on the surface, you saw first hand that not only can darkness fuel your strength. Just as easily as you can give into your anger to strike out at an enemy, so too can you embrace your love or happiness."

"So you're saying I shouldn't surpress the darkness within me?" Tyren asked quizzically, still contemplating all that the Jedi had said.

"That will be up to you, if that darkness can remain and not corrupt the path you seek then it could help guide you and just as likely it could be completely removed to give you a more permanent peace. But it will come down, in the end, to you."

Frustration seemed to flash across Tyren, if only for a moment before he got it under control. Again, Methyas spoke quickly, "I can understand your frustration with me, but I can't decide your path for you. I can suggest, if you feel you're ready, that we begin some trials for you. I will want to test your current skills before we dive into it though and your Guardsman training will be a perfect spot to do so."

Orian Square, Onyx 2
Tarthosian Orbit, Orian System
Present Day

A big sigh escaped the young Knight, his gaze analysing each individual around him as he seemed to step between any passerby and the figure enshrouded by a heavy cloak.

"Relax and give me a little more space, Alexander. We do not need to draw attention to ourselves here," Methyas' voice echoed through the Guardsmen's head before he shifted away, rubbing his neck slightly as his frustration seemed to rise. He paced, a few moments longer, before finally leaning up against the wall next to the cloaked figure and the armoured body of Tyren.

"What are we doing here? We've been standing around for almost an hour now," Alexander stated plainly with a small hint of frustration in his voice.

"Many of these individuals see us as a threat and the few allies we had before Nfolgai are quite upset with us. We're simply here to gather information," Methyas responded calmly, the cloak drawn around him to keep himself heavily shadowed. The former Consul was far too recognizable an individual, especially aboard the space station.

"Why not get the agents of SHADOW to work the information out of them?" Alexander responded, his training as a member of the Black Guard keeping him on edge with this many unknowns around his Person of Interest.

"Because we don't need to interfere with their day-to-day lives and those agents are sometimes a little too enthusiastic with their jobs. Besides, very often people give away information through body language, the words they speak or even how the Force interacts with them."

Tyren nodded slightly, finally speaking, with a joking tone, "Besides, if someone wants to fight they'll have two Guardsmen to deal with instead of one."

Unknown Location
Tarthos, Orion System

Thick strands of crimson blood scattered into the air, mingling with glistening beads of sweat. Flesh and bone rippled in reaction to the kinetic energies surging out from the point of contact between flesh and fist. Atra’s head snapped to the side in reaction to the strike, his pale flesh turning purple with surprising speed. Already his right eye was beginning to swell, sweat stinging as it dripped into the socket while the meaty fist that was becoming well acquainted with rearranging his facial features rose once more. Time seemed slow as the Proconsul gazed up through blurry vision as he waited for that organic anvil to fall once more.

“Enough.”

Relief washed over him instantly, how sweet a single word could be even when uttered by one’s enemy. With that word the pain stopped, and that unreasonably sized fist fell harmlessly to the oaf’s side. Atra wasn’t unaccustomed to pain, he lived that life for quite some time, but that didn’t mean it became enjoyable. Over time, you just cared less about the pain.

Why do I keep doing this to myself?

A sudden, irresistible urge to cough coursed through his body and the half-breed found himself arched over giving in to that act. More pain – how could there be more? – lashed through his core in response to the offending action, causing blood and bile to comingle onto the already dirty floor. A smug chuckle echoed from the direction of the man attached to the fist. The man enjoyed his work, and if Atra broke free of his bindings, the Prelate would also enjoy work of his own. Turning a glare towards the direction of the sound, the Obelisk took in a deep breath that pushed his expanding lungs against his shattered frame – easily one or two broken ribs – and fought against the pain. In an instant of relief and a pitifully small sense of accomplishment, Atra spat blood and more towards the man.

Despite the pain and his unfeeling mantra, the Proconsul grinned ear to ear. A toothy, bloody mix made all the more insane and animalistic by his gleaming fangs pushing past the meat of his swollen bottom lip. There was a scuffle, sound bombarding him from all directions, and then utter silence.

Am I dead, ‘cause that would be awesome.

“He is taunting you, Brakin. Use your brain for once.”

Stop that… You’re annoying me.

“Get him back inside.”

Nope, don’t do that. I’d rather you didn’t.

Fatigue burned at his muscles, each effort to call upon his limbs was met with fiery denial. He felt the weight of a grip upon his throat and the tightening of his wind pipe. Despite himself, he growled low and angry, like an animal unfit for civilized life. Sharp pain brought fresh blood to intermingle with the stains upon his chin as his canine teeth bit into flesh. The world spun with sickening intensity and for an instant Atra thought the contents of his stomach meant to rebel.

Metal upon metal cried out as a door slammed shut, chains clinked into place for what seemed like forever, and then there was silence once more. Atra’s eyesight focused again, the darkness of his cell granting an artificial tunnel vision as he glared into the single source of light. The shape standing there, impossible to make out given the light was at his back, was no doubt the One Sith he had been tracking, and given his current predicament, was no doubt akin to an Elder.

Lovely.

“You know, Mr. Ventus, that scar upon your throat would have been convenient if we needed you to talk.” The being paused for a moment, letting the implication hang upon his captive’s mind. “Fortunately for us, we don’t.”

The light cut off with an almost audible thud, as if a door swinging shut in the distance, leaving Atra alone. The Sithspawn had been free for but a year, and yet his own arrogance had brought him full circle. In the darkness of his thoughts, the only sound was his own ragged breathing, and voices whispering at the corners of his sanity… Waiting for him to break.

Orian Square, Onyx 2
Tarthosian Orbit, Orian System
Present Day

They stood there for the next half-an-hour before Alexander's ever vigilant gaze noticed a figure standing, quite obviously to a well trained eye, behind a small market stand across the square from them. He was obviously alien dressed in simple clothes, though who he was or which race exactly was obstructed by the shadow of the stand.

"Tyren, we have a suspect at 3 o'clock across the square. He gave us a look or two and he's been standing there for a while." he reported as the Templar's mind's eye expanded towards the unknown, sensing the alien's intentions.

"No need for that, Tyren." Methyas said, more to calm his bodyguard than anything. "He is our contact. Look." He nudged his head ever so slightly towards the alien. Though he wasn't facing them directly, his hands seemed to move quickly, creating various patterns and symbols with his fingers. Tyren observed the subtle language, a gang cant most gangsters used in the underground to relay messages secretly. Tyren had learned the language long ago, while working with and against gangsters and bounty hunters as CEO of Synergy.

"He's saying we should meet him in S & V's, whatever that is, in the backroom. In half-an-hour." The Templar translated the deciphered message.

"That's fine. We'll go now." Methyas said as he proceeded down the crowded, neon-lit square.

S & V's bar, Onyx 2
Tarthosian Orbit, Orian System
Half an hour later

The bar was no more than a dirty cantina Tyren had seen so many times on so many worlds. Dozens of shady characters of every race and class sat around tables playing pazaak or any kind of gambling game they could make up. As the trio entered several eyes observed them from head to toe, though it felt like a lot more than a few. Typical scouts for various gangsters. A preemptive alarm system if anyone looks for trouble.

Tyren and Alexander wore their war torn helmets to conceal their faces while Methyas did the same with his cloak. They seemed to fit in well enough not to draw too much attention, apart from the usual silent greeting. As they proceeded to the back room, a large Transdohan bodyguard barred their way. Methyas' fingers moved ever so subtly in front of the alien and he moved aside, letting the trio by. A quick look at the various compartments revealed their informant, alone. Methyas stopped half way between the door and the compartment.

"What's wrong?" Tyren asked as Alexander's gaze jumped from patron to patron.

"He is dead." Methyas said silently. "I can sense it from here."

"You're sure?" Tyren asked and immediately regretted it. Methyas wasn't one to joke about such things...or joke at all.

"This is a trap. Ready yourselves."

Unknown Location
Tarthos, Orion System
-
Spa section, Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

The blows landed on his back. The blows would have evoked screams from everyone else, but caused Atra only to breathe heavily. No sounds escaped his lips. How could they - without vocal cords. In a moment of confusion he thought about his inoperative duties as Proconsul. Who else could take over all the work? Too much work would be piling up on Consul Locke’s desk. Another blow brought him back to reality.

The hands glided softly across the small of her back. Gentle pressure dissolved any kind of tension within her muscles. A sigh escaped her lips. Only too soon she had to turn attention back to her duties towards Clan Naga Sadow. At the moment Matriarch Xia Long, also known as Sildrin Sadow, prefered plans concerning her own family. A silken pressure on her shoulders let her concentration drift apart and lead her into a slumber.


Warm blood ran down his skin. Atra attempted to shift his weight, attempting something to release the pressure on his face as he was pushed against the metal bars of his cage. A hollow laughter resounded in his ears, but he couldn’t determine the origin of the laughter. But he knew it was from the One Sith.

Warm perfumed oil ran over her skin. Sildrin shifted her head a little; one of the massage couch’s pads pressed slightly uncomfortably against her cheek. The laughter of a visitor pulled her rudely from her slumber. She lifted lightly her head, but the laughter got lost in the rooms of the spa.


He stared at the cold water surface. Golden eyes full of agony stared back; how long would they push him under water this time? Maybe enough to escape this world? He was dunked in. His lungs began to burn. Moments of agony, heart beats expanded to an eternity. He coughed and gasped for air as he was pulled up. The water whirled and calmed once again.

Sildrin Sadow bent over the surface of the cool water. A red and a green eye gleamed back at her. She smiled as she moistened her face with the refreshing water. The water surface calmed again.


Atra opened his eyes, although he had prefered keeping them closed, to keep the world around him outside. He observed the water and stared into eyes filled with incredulity - one red, one green!

Sildrin opened her eyes and stared at wide opened golden eyes filled with anguish. She gasped for air.


Sildrin!

Atra!

Unkown Location
Tarthos, Orian System

Time moves slowly. Ever so slowly.

How little you understand that time is truly no more than one's perception of the world, a quantifiable means of measuring events. A minute in time could feel like an eternity. How long had he been there? Atra wasn't sure. The world was numb to him, so numb. Had he been imagining things, those eyes in the water. When was that? Moments ago? Hours?

Time, so fickle.

The silence was nice though. Perhaps the world had become equally numb.

In the corner of the cell, through hazy vision, Atra could see the instruments of his most recent torture. Images of labs long ago flashed through his mind and panic fought to seize him. The One Sith man had attempted to discover the hidden secrets of Macron's alchemical musings, to little effect. The bastard - a man such as he could only be such - was clearly an amateur at the craft. Still, the pain had been exquisite.

"I'm afraid we have no further use for you, our mutual relationship must end."

A voice? The bastard's voice. But where is he, and whom is he referring? To Atra's knowledge, he was still very much alone in his personal hell. He couldn't so much as move or glance around. His mind, fragmented and scattered, had turned his entire being into a ragdoll. The man with the fist - for who needs a name with such a beastly hand - was able to move him at will, and without resistance. After all, all was numb.

So, who then was it?

"Wait, I'm sorry, that was a lie.. Brakin?"

The voice that cried out was shrill and clearly feminine. Such pain held in that sustained note.

"I trust you didn't require that finger. Now, my dear, we both know physical pain won't give me what I need. But I must say, that was enjoyable, wasn't it Brakin?"

The fist chuckled that horribly annoying sound. Atra shifted, using the last of what remained of his will to flop his head lazily to the left. Pain racked his body, starting from the neck and rippling down. Why did his tailbone hurt? He only moved his neck! Gravity did the rest of the work, pulling his body to the ground with a thud so he could see into the next room, the pale light illuminating what little it could. Now, he had legitimate reason for his whole body to hurt.

That feminine voice muttered something weakly. What in the nine Hells was a cralmac? Somewhere, in the distant recesses of his mind, Atra recognized the voice. But who? Oh, more voices. The fist this time. Why couldn't he make out what they were saying? Perhaps it was that infernal ringing in his right ear that wouldn't go away.

I think I'm going to just lay here a while... Sounds like a plan.

Atra couldn't help himself, after who knows how long part of him was thankful it was someone else's turn. Yet he couldn't shake that feeling, that feeling of knowing. Who was it in the next room? What could the One Sith want from someone when they seemed so content putting him through the ringer over and over again without uttering a single question. Even now he could hear the muffled sounds, the chaos emanating from them. It was a different sort of pain, the sensation held in those sounds. Pain of the mind, not the body.

Perhaps, that was far worse?

Atra felt sweat flowing past the bloody meat of his lips, the salty substance stinging his open wounds and mingling with the filth upon the floor. He found himself staring at that pale light and wondering so many different things. Such irrelevant trails of thought. The break was nice, but how long was he going to lie there?

Again the shrill cry rang out, only this time it was cut short as if someone flipped a switch.

"Release her."

A grunt acknowledged the command, and a flash of pale flesh and vermillion locks fell to the floor unceremoniously. Wide eyes stared through the doorway, meeting Atra's for the first time, yet no one seemed home in that distant gaze. The unblinking stare held round orbs of red and green, yet no sign of the intelligence they once held. Recognition dawned for a moment, the lights coming on upstairs for the battered Proconsul. Involuntarily he blinked, and when his eyes opened the world had changed.

The light was dim in the cavern at his core, his subconcious hideaway, though his eyes had become accustomed to it. If it were the first time he had found himself here, Atra would be concerned, but it wasn't. Grey and gold eyes stared out, expecting to see the glassy surface of the lake and was met only with thick ice.

"Well, that's new." His calm, almost morbidly sarcastic voice echoed back to him within the confined space. Within the confines of his mind, Atra could speak once more, and it was nice to speak aloud again.

The growl from below the surface answered the verbal intrusion to its domain, but only a whisper of its former self. Without ache in his bones, Atra stepped lightly from the sandy precipice onto the thick ice. "Guess you haven't been enjoying the hospitality either, huh?" One step, two steps. It was weird but the ice wasn't slippery in the slightest. An almost annoyed growl answered him. "Yeah, I know... You probably saw it too, but what can I do? I can't even move."

The walls practically shaked with the beastial roar that answered.

Atra sighed, kneeling down to place his palm against the solid water. It was warm to the touch, how odd. He knew what it wanted, what it always wanted. To be released... Set free. He had denied it so often he had lost count. But what strength did the Proconsul now have? What more did he have to lose?

Faces flashed through the open air like images in the mist. His father... His mother... The Corsec officer he was framed for murdering... Nameless soldiers bearing Sadow's crest...The broken form of Syntari and Mirus. He had refused so many times, and look what it cost? The toll it took?

What else was there to lose?

The creature coiled beneath the surface, as if it sensed the change in mindset. It rose, becoming an ever larger shape. With a deep breath of air drawn into his lungs, Atra's fist rose into the air and slammed into the ice. Over and over again he pounded, ever more fractures forming beneath him. An excited growl resounded within the cavern moments before the ice shattered and the frigid waters practically rose to claim the half-breed's form.

As he sank into the darkness, so shockingly cold he felt as if his limbs were going to shatter, a flurry of fangs, scales, and wings surged past and into the air. A roar echoed with the sweet taste of freedom, an unknown yet so recognizable sound.

He had released the dragon.

Power rippled over his flesh upon the floor of the cell, tattoos slithering to the surface as his pigmentation rippled and changed. Gold consumed his iris as his pupils dilated. Nothing mattered anymore, the pain, the broken bones, the fatigue of his muscles. His body was but a puppet to the Force, and the Living Force was infinite.

He growled, low and animalistic as he surged forth from his cage. Atra's left arm hung at a sickening angle, clearly detached from the socket. He was upon the man with the fist in an instant, fingers digging into flesh, blood dripping under his fingernails in response. His first victim reacted admirably, grabbing hold of the flailing limb that was the Proconsul's arm. Twisting violently, a loud pop signalled the arm was once again secure within the joint. Fingers akin to claws scratched at the man's face as the Obelisk's Dark Mettle flowed out of control.

A flash of skin, an exposed throat, and previously underutilized canine teeth found a new use. Blood and gore filled his mouth with warmth as Atra's victim cried out but only succeed in gargling and choking on his own fluids. The One Sith - still unnamed and in his animalistic craze, Atra didn't care to learn it - was too focused on Sildrin, his eyes possessed that same far off look. Grinning ear to ear, with blood and thick clumps of flesh cascading down his chin onto his chest, Atra practically crawled towards the Elder. Folding his hand like a spear, he leaped forward with a triumphant roar and stabbed his hand through the tender flesh of the man's lower right side. His fingers didn't make it too far, but he could feel the organic tissue caving as he grabbed on and twisted. Reaching up and around, with crimson fluids fresh on his hands, Atra torqued the man's head violently and nearly laughed with satisfaction at the resounding snap.

With crazed eyes, the Proconsul turned to the last remaining entity. Xia Long... Sildrin Sadow... He practically pounced, crouching low atop her as bloody fingers grabbed her exposed shoulders, turning her over unceremoniously. His lip curled with untamed anger as his fingers slipped up to circle about her neck, strings of red painting her flesh.

"Stop... now." The voice brought his eyes to meet hers once more, only this time she was back. Each word seemed to punch into his psyche, like an attack all on their own. He didn't know why, and frankly he didn't know much outside his base instincts at that moment. Still, he found himself compelled to comply. Slowly, his fingers uncurled and then the world spun and he could do nothing more than turn his head and puke violently.

He collapsed to the ground, everything was pain and everything hated him. he had unintentional used one of the more useful but punishing skills taught to the Obelisk order. High rewards, but such terrible consequences. He could barely feel his connection to the Force, yet it was there. There enough to let him numb some of the pain.

His head snapped around as he tried to take in what had happened, his eyes falling on the broken One Sith Elder. Realization dawned and he found himself rapidly running out of time. "I have to hurry!" The thought was transmitted without his knowledge, but the desperation and fear was clear. Struggling across the ground, he grabbed at the various alchemical instruments. Various bottles and instrumentation fell to the dirt covered ground and shattered or clattered depending on their solidity.

I must have his essence!

Spinning around, fighting the recurring need to empty the contents of his stomach, Atra stumbled to the fallen form of the One Sith. If he didn't hurry, what remained of his life essence, his Force power, would fade back into the Living Force. It was a crude contraption, but functional. He didn't even mind the pain of his flesh giving way to the needle within his right wrist. With a sigh, he let the blood flow between the dead One Sith and into his own flesh, opening himself up to the Force as best as he could.

At first he felt nothing, but then a warmth entered him. Probably the blood commingling. He sighed, temporary satisfaction overcoming him. Sadly, arrogance seemed to be the topic of the day. All too quickly did the warmth turn to a burning sensation, like fire spreading from an infection. His eyes turned to his wrist and a look of horror broke through his facade. The flesh of his hand seemed to ripple and warp, taking on a sickly quality as it turned nigh black and cracked, shifting and mutating like a parasitic being. The burning sensation continued to flow up his arm and Atra pulled the device from his arm in haste, yet still it continued. Atra opened his mouth and did the only thing his scarred larynx would allow. He screamed, a raspy and forced sound, but a scream nonetheless.

And still the corruption spread.

S&V's Cantina, Onyx II
Tarthosian Orbit, Orian System

No sooner had Methyas spoken the words than the trap was sprung and it had an elegance despite its rather sinister undertones. The floor in their corridor simply snapped out from under them, the Force itself screaming warnings too late or simply allowing them to prepare for the worst. Down they fell, not far, but enough to know that this trap had been in the making for far longer than the few days they had been back from Khar Delba. As they fell the Guardsmen scrambled to keep an eye on their Captain, their training kicking in at a moment's notice as they used the Force to right themselves. With a dull thud the pair struck the ground and took a knee to absorb some of the impact from the landing, their Captain seeming to float to the ground as he grasped the Force about him. Even though they had obviously been caught off guard, Methyas still seemed oddly calm, Tyren and Alexander immediately taking up defensive positions about their leader expecting the worst.

An echoing laughing bounced about the darkened chamber, more a chuckle than full blown laughter, "Ah, yes. I should have expected as much from you Mr. L'eonheart. You've been hard for us to keep tabs on."

"I could say the same of you," Methyas responded flatly, his tone a little more hostile than Tyren had been accustomed to.

"Still, we've got plenty on your companions and my have you got strange company today. The former CEO of Synergy and a former Jedi of Odan-Urr. If we had the time or even resources we might have gotten to your world of Tython were it not for...well, you know."

Alexander seemed to pay no heed to the words as he quickly drew his saber from his belt, the hilt in hand and a moment from triggering its activator if not for a motion from Methyas. Even with the hostility in his voice, the Jedi was still calm and focused as the Force around him seemed to grow heavy as he searched for the man behind the voice. Tyren equally had a hand on the hilt at his waist without actually drawing it, his training with Methyas had been helpful as limited as it was when he needed to adhere to his duties as a Guardsman.

"I would have thought by now your group would have been happy with all you've accomplished," the Jedi continued.

"I would be, had your little...organization not strived to block us at every turn. If I didn't know better, I would've thought you had taken a hint from us and infiltrated us."

The Force seemed to beckon to the pair of Guardsmen, Methyas' silent guidance directing them to investigate nearby objectives before he spoke again, "If your group warranted the effort perhaps, but we have far more pressing matters to deal with. We're more than comfortable letting you contend our security."

The joking tone in Methyas' voice made Tyren smirk slightly, the Miraluka obviously referring to SHADOW and the increased security since the loss of the Marakith among other things. As Tyren neared his objective he felt the Force ripple and scream from Methyas, a signal to back away from it before the Templar tucked and rolled away.

"This is not the Organization!" The thought firmly planted itself in the Guardsmen's thoughts as Methyas withdrew his saber with a snap-hiss. By that point it was too late, walls crashed down from above separating the trio as additional doorways opened revealing individuals with crimson blades. Methyas' brow furrowed as he turned slightly towards the man in the newly formed chamber with him, "Sev'aeris..."

Within his own chamber, Tyren's mind jumped towards Methyas for a moment before the man with him spoke clearly, "Tisk, tisk. That's no way to treat a guest, especially after we were welcomed here and given no way home..."

Tyren would have been content to simply ignore the man as he grasped his saber hilt before the One Sith warrior spoke again, "I guess I'll just have to make sure that once we've dealt with you, we go deal with that sweet little thing of yours."

Instantly Tyren's mind snapped to Mayda, his emotions boiling to the surface once more as his saber roared to life. The Force itself seemed to ripple through the darkened chambers, a soothing reminder of Methyas' presence nagging at Tyren as he realized that this would be a trial of his skill; to deal with an opponent potentially his equal while remaining focused on the task at hand.

Kar Alabrek, near HQ
Tarthos, Orion System

Many hours were spent at the clan tailor's shop. It was fortunate timing, for Mr. Korrs was packing up the store contents and everything was on clearance. Given the declining situation of the law in the city, he did not want to stay in the area, especially since he was known as the Dlarit uniform provider. The Bothan wondered where those security forces were now as he was preparing to exit before any looting could begin.

Mayda tore through the displays, tossing material at Flav like a wood chipper machine. "I'll take two Hurricane dresses, one in lavender and one in gray with red trim ... two Black Rose dresses, with two shawls in red and purple, with the pearl strands ... two Tiamat, aptly named, same colors as before ... a Ritual with purple trim ... a Ravager for a few months from now, size XL ... six sets of Huntress armor and skirts, with red accents, in varying sizes, ... some velvet cloaks ... and a Destroyer Robe in extra large also, for later."

Trying on the smuggler skinny jeans in the dressing room, she sang aloud, "My humps, my humps my humps my humps, my lovely lady lumps. Check it out!" Shaking that booty, if only for her own amusement.

Moving on, "... What? No more Explorer space trek mini-skirt dresses? What? You had those two months ago when I had just arrived. I only have a yellow one. Ok, fine, whatever. Charge it to Consul Sonjie. Thanks!"

Flav carried the suitcase of garments and baubles as they departed the fancy shop and headed toward the more common markets of the Downtown District in their rented rusty LUX-3 land speeder.

"This would fit perfectly in The Rust Bucket, don't you think?" she suggested.

"Yeah Boy! Rusted metal. Let's keep it," the sycophant agreed.

Sage nod from Mayda.


Kar Alabrek Market District

On the way to Docking Bay 94, they avoided any of the small stands, crowded by the throng. But some dilapidated warehouses caught Flava's bionic bright eyes and he stopped the speeder.

"Hey, Mayda! Can we go thrift shopping?"

"What, what, what, what...," she began to chant rhythmically.

Flav started up his internal Digital Vinyl System and set the speakers to level 25, pounding a phat beat and jizz trombone melody while they strolled into the Space-Mart thrift store. Another hour was spent, lost among the racks of designer knock-offs and Bespin City outlet returns. Mayda swayed in sweet elation as she rode through the aisles in a cart pushed by her droid while they sang to the beat.

[Flav:]
I'm gonna pop some tags
Only got twenty credits in my pocket
I - I - I'm hunting, looking for a come-up
This is … awesome!

[Mayda:]
What you know about rockin' a Gungan on your noggin?
What you knowin' about wearin' a fur Wampa skin?
I'm digging, I'm digging, I'm searching right through that luggage
One woman's trash, that's another woman's come-up
Thank you Lando for donating that Corellian smugglers’ shirt
'Cause right now I'm up in here stuntin'
I'm at the Space-Mart, you can find me in the (Krongbings)
I'm not, I'm not sick of searchin' in that section (Krongbings)
By the Force... it was zero point nine creds! (Bag it)
Coppin' it, washin' it, 'bout to go and get some compliments
Passin' up on those slave boots someone else's been dancin' in
But me and sexy Askajian woman
I am stuntin' and flossin' and
Savin' my money and I'm hella happy that's a bargain, baby.
I'ma take Mon Mothma's style, I'ma take Mon Mothma's style,
No for real - ask Mon Mothma - can I have her hand-me-downs? (Thank you)
Rebel orange jumpsuit and some Ewok slippers
Luke’s yellow leather jacket that I found diggin'
They had a broken holopad, I bought a broken holopad
I bought a fire-feather blanket, then I bought a datapad
Hello, hello, my ace man, my Flava
Aurra Sing ain't got nothing on my fringe game, oh yeah
I could take some Space Wings, make them cool, sell those
The sneaker heads would be like "Aw, she got the velcros".

[Random Jawa:]
Space-Mart .. poppin' tags... Utini!


Their stroll from the store exit was full of swagger, followed by a multitude of Zeltrons on ryll.

[Mayda:]
I wear Mon Mothma's clothes
I look incredible
I'm in this Wampa coat
From that thrift shop down the road

I wear Mon Mothma's clothes, That's right!
I look incredible
I'm in this Wampa coat
From that thrift shop down the road

[Flav:]
I'm gonna pop some tags
Only got twenty credits in my pocket
I - I - I'm hunting, looking for a come-up
This is … awesome!

The LUX-3 speedily sped off.

He had his orders. The Clan Summit had made themselves perfectly clear; he had new marching orders, piece by piece. Mirus Cavataio had apparently been watched, very closely, honed like a blade only to be unleashed upon the Galaxy at the perfect moment: when his power ascended clearly enough that he could be used, then they would put him in the position that they had intended for him all along. A battleteam leader, something that he had experience in previously, was his destiny - but this was different. This time, instead of being the elite as the Scepter of Ragnos, he was to be the trainer that taught the new generation the skills needed to excel as a Sadow. After all, the Clan had the greatest traditions in all the Brotherhood of leadership; this had to start from formative days right through to the apex of power.

Quaestor Kairus and Rollmaster Methyas had told him in simple words: the power to determine the battleteam belonged to him. Creative direction and starting membership were left solely in the hands of the newly-crowned Templar, as the Proconsul had so shockingly told him. The Black Guard had to take this chance with both hands and use it to its fullest extent.

Besides - he had a plan.

Aeotheran, 1440 Hours, Over the Bastion
"Do you understand, apprentice?" came the voice from the shadows, strong as steel. The Zeltros before him almost withered under its intensity, accustomed to it as she was.

"Yes, Master," came the ever-familiar words in hushed tones. Even despite his best efforts to have his apprentice not call him 'Master', she had done so. She seemed to trust him, at the very least - a bad move for a disciple of Sith arts.

His reply was wordless, formed out of his lack of reply as the shuttle darted through the skies of Aeotheran, the Bastion now a speck behind them. There were reports of this internecine warfare rampant all across this world; House Shar Dakhan had lost their silk grip on the world thanks to their inability to be strong and claim it with their iron fist. That had to change, and the ones who had to change it could only be visionaries. Leaders. People with drive and motivation to make things happen. If things were not to be, then it would only be through total apathy.

Maps had been laid before them by servants of the Clan, detailing the lost ruins and tribes that remained scattered all over this world. Some were known as mining groups, some were archaeologists and some were simply rabble from the lost age. The goal was simple and very Sith of him, what little of his original Brotherhood training still holding in his mind: first, an individual. Then a group. Then a society. Domination over the confused masses would be his first priority. Whether they joined in the feudal war over Aeotheran was not his concern - only that they obeyed the will of the Illusive Man.

Over seas, mountains, then jungles. Past ruins of an ancient era and the beautiful scenery of untouched nature. This island, just off the coast near the Bastion, almost a baby continent of its own, was perfect. The maps spoke of people all but lost to time and the perfect chance to take control and seize one of the factions vying for power over the planet that the House had once held in a shadowy yet firm grip. The shuttle rocketed over one such faction's stronghold, a white-marble ancient ruin of Sith origin that they had claimed for their own, the Dark Side drenching the building. Its presence was so overpowering that the apprentice shifted uncomfortably and the master drank in its presence like a welcomed cup of water, savoured after a long period of drought.

A small landing pad behind the ruins, forged out of durasteel remnants and ramshackle parts, served as the shuttle's final destination, repulsorlifts flaring as the white behemoth touched down. A slight creak of metal and an uncomfortable bend gave rise as the ramp descended, and from it the cloaked warrior clad in black armour trailed by a hooded and cloaked apprentice. Both had weapons in their hands - the first a lightsaber, the second a curved blade.

From the jungle, from the shadows of the Temple, forms materialised. Spears, swords, blasters, all a motley collection of steel that stood little chance against two trained Dark Jedi. The only sign that they would ever be opposed by the intruders was the pair of burning inhuman blue eyes, that eldritch glow the mark of death upon them. They all felt his power in the Force - these people could sense its presence, drawn as cultists to the power of the Dark Side to worship its tenets. They had barely any organisation, no leader, little more than the rags on their back and the food they hunted.

What they found before them was the visage of Death.

"Those who stand with me will rise to greatness like no other has before. Those who disobey my will shall die, here and now," boomed the voice of the Master. An unhappy murmur rippled through the air. None dared stir.

"Apprentice, would you like the honour of first blood?" posited the man holding the lightsaber as its blade snapped to life, the familiar violet glow bathing their robes with its caress.

"With pleasure, Master," came the sing-song voice of the Apprentice, striding forward with the confidence of her Master's backing. Her blade sang out in a litany of pain, sliding past the warrior's sword-guard with a deft roll of the wrist, slicing once through flesh. Twice. Three times. Limbs fell, a head rolled. A moment later, a Force blast rocked the air as a blue-white flash emanated from the Master's hand, crushing the ribcage of a man wielding a blaster rifle and knocking him to the floor, unable to breathe. Two, felled within moments with the power of the Force.

The survivors were stunned into inaction - this Dark one had not even raised his lightsaber to fight. It was an impossible display. Powers beyond their measure, beyond any reckoning their vague Force-sensitivity had ever given them. They were clearly facing a foe of greater power than they and angering such a presence was never a great idea. One brave soul stepped forward, spitting on the ground. "Who are you to dictate to us?"

A sudden burst of speed and a horizontal slash later and the bisected form of the protester fell to the ground, the Dark Jedi before them barely looking up as his lightsaber cleaved cleanly through his body. The rest knew not what they were in for, until that moment. Many of them had not been foolish enough to stand. Now they knew they were right. They lowered their weapons in submission to the will of the Master.

"We will follow you, lord," said one, supplemented by timid agreeing nods.. The show of power was enough to scare these poor, hapless savages the way he'd expected - cower them with the thing they worshipped and they would follow. Force-cultists, especially those clamoring for that very power, made perfect servants. The Master smiled, dropping his hood to reveal long, black locks, a weathered face and those horrid blue eyes.

"My name is Mirus. This is my apprentice, Yuriko. This ancient Temple now belongs to me, to the shadow, to Tenebrae. "

"Tenebrae?" came back the curious chorus, wreathed in murmurs of confusion.

"A place of learning. You wish to learn? Then obey my will. You will be rewarded."

Some were uncertain. Their uncertainty would unravel, with time. With more displays of power, with a full team of trained Dark Jedi to control and help them, they would become warriors in their own right. These people could fight the battle of this world for all he cared; in fact, as his followers, he would provide them with better equipment. He would mould them, shape them, into an army of followers. All in the name of Shar Dakhan. All in the name of Tenebrae. All in the name of Mirus.

From within the shuttle came a servant, beckoned by the Force, carrying the large warbanner bearing the Obelisk's heraldry, the shield and dragon upon a pale field of azure. Sitting atop an ivory pole, the banner found its way handed to the Master, born aloft and then planted firmly before the entrance to the Temple, his claim upon it and its luscious surrounds strong as iron.

This place, this gorgeous marble testament to the Darkness, belonged to him, belonged to Tenebrae. A smile crossed his lips for the first moment that day and the Templar knew, deep down, that he would find the greatest success upon the dizzying heights of power. For now, he had his home, his followers. They would provide him the means to start a battleteam whose glory would be forever unmatched in Shar Dakhan's history.

"Does this place have a name?" asked the Templar, turning to the first to have succumbed, uncaring of his name.

"Auriga. An ancient word of a lost tongue of this world, milord, meaning 'the thrill of exploring the unknown'."

"Auriga. Auriga..." the word was murmured back, rolling it around in his mind, testing it. He liked the way it tasted. In this place, where learning was the paramount mandate, exploring the unknown fit perfectly. A satisfied smile crossed his lips as he turned to his apprentice.

"Yuriko, keep a close watch on these people. If any step out of line, you have my permission to slaughter them all. Learn everything you can about this place. I must contact the Summit."

"Yes, Master," came the Zeltron's response, excitement written still as the rush of a kill flowed through her. Mirus took that as his cue to return to the shuttle and have it take off from the landing pad, leaving behind not only his apprentice but the bounty of a lifetime. The adrenaline of battle was one thing - but the chance to immortalise himself, his name, his deeds? That was an even greater idea still.

Unkown Location
Tarthos, Orian System


Her eyes widened as the blade hit her right little finger. Like in slow motion the blade cut through - blood splattered and the pain wracked her body. Controlling the pain was out of reach; this Elder - the One Sith - had made sure of that. How easily he had cut the thread of Force within her.
The pain sought to escape, only finding a meager release by a shrill cry.

Her red and green eye stared at the One Sith. How had this turned so quickly into the wrong direction? She knew this one; they had exchanged information. A mutual relationship ending with a chopped off finger and who knew what more to come. Sildrin narrowed her eyes. The information had been valuable for her - information about the new organisation. In exchange for data about Clan Naga Sadow. It had been a dance on the edge and now she had lost balance.

"I trust you didn't require that finger. Now, my dear, we both know physical pain won't give me what I need. But I must say, that was enjoyable, wasn't it Brakin?"

The grip by the brute tightened around her; a support to keep her up, but also a lock for what was to come. “You dirty cralmac.” She muttered weakly as she realised this had been the One Sith’s plan right from the beginning.

The One Sith approached her, towering her. His cold eyes stared down at her. “And now to the secrets... of your Master....” He raised a finger, gently pressing its tip against her forehead - between her eyes.


The mental planes
Snowflakes softly descended to the ground. A palace of ice and crystals rose high on the white plane. All was enveloped by a barrier of ancient sith runes. The psychic storm grinded against the mental shield. It yet stood strong, but it was a matter of time.

Silently the Sorceress stared at the raging storm from the entrance of the palace. White hair curled - the picking up wind tugged on it. A whisper danced within the usually silent hall behind her: “We will not last long. What will remain after He is done? We will loose everything we are!” Sildrin turned her complete white eyes to the hall. Frozen statues filled it - crystaline figures - each representing someone who was now dead to her. Only one statue had still not reached its perfection of crystallisation: Sildrin’s emotions. That statue continued its whisper: “We may loose our memories about Him.”
The Sorceress turned back to the shield. She raised her hands - runes flashed up, lending the barrier more strength. A lance of psychic power drilled into the shield. The Sorceress dropped onto a knee, the pain from the world of matter and form diminished her concentration.

At once the runes faded as the lance pierced the shield. The storm washed over the palace - over the Sorceress. It ravaged the spires, the delicate shapes of ice. The palace slowly fell apart, shard for shard went adrift. Several shards cut the Sorceress’s skin; red blood running from the wounds. She lifted her arms as the palace bursted into a brilliant cloud of iridescent shards. The storm gathered around her, glowing eyes of madness stared at her from within.



Unkown Location
Tarthos, Orian System
A tremble ran through her body as the One Sith slowly sifted through her memories; one by one - a painful process. Her mouth opened, but only screams of silence escaped. Her eyes wandered without focus to a point beyond her sight as she attempted to cope with this mental pain. This was worse by far than having a finger chopped off.

The One Sith suddenly opened his eyes, frowning. Anger made him furl his eyebrows. The sorceress’ memory was fragmented, no matter how deep he digged, he only found shattered fragment after fragment. In frustration he slammed a mental fist into the core of her mind.

Sildrin Sadow screamed out.

“Release her.” The world around her melted and darkness wrapped around her.





She drifted from world to world - a leaf carried by the waters of a river. Sometimes her eyes focused, picking up what was going around her. She closed her eyes. Fragments of memories passed her by.

She opened her eyes.

There was someone over her, about to choke her. Who was he? He looked familiar, but the fitting memory was out of reach; all her memories were scattered across her mental plane. “Stop… now.” She put all her remaining strength into these words. The river of memories teared her away from the real world once again.

She opened her eyes.

The figure teared at his skin with what were more claws than hands. She frowned. Who was he? Someone she knew. Friend or foe? She sensed a kind of corruption rising within him. His eyes, widened in horror, turned to her. Friend. She summoned the last bit of strength within her. There was not much she could do. She started to suppress the seed of corruption with him. The infection came to an hold; the tattoos slithered across, covering the corruption.

War Room
FFC Final Way
Orbit Over Sepros

Although in a green alert situation, the Final Way was alive with activity as Locke strode through it. He passed many crewmen along the way, saluting them when they stopped to salute him. The Consul had no trailing entourage today aside from the Mechu Deru-enhanced YVH war droid that followed him nearly everywhere he went. The crew gave it distasteful looks; no doubt offended that they weren't considered enough to defend their leader but they respected its presence.

After all, if their Consul had decided it needed to be there, then it needed to be there. In truth, he barely tolerated the thing either, but it made the Dark Jedi loyal to him feel better if he kept it around.

The vibrant din of activity was cut off as Locke entered the war room. Just off a corridor that bordered the main hangar, it was a relatively featureless room: only a few chairs surrounding an elongated holotable. Pacing back and forth, Locke wondered who he was supposed to meet here. Only one level of security clearance could summon the Consul with no warning and no explanation on his own ship.

What does the Dark Council want with me? Locke could think of a number of reasons but it was possible that this was not a negative visit. He simply had to maintain a calm demeanor, whatever happened.

Muz Ashen made you Consul. He would not dispose of you. Or would he?

Locke's train of thought was cut short as the room's door slid open, admitting Shikyo Keibatsu. The Kyataran usually only seemed serious in combat situations but today his face was unreadable. Despite that, the small knot between Locke's shoulders seemed to loosen. Of all the Dark Council members, Shikyo was probably the one the Consul felt most comfortable around.

"Greetings, Shikyo, " Locke said, a bit hesitant to use the man's first name, despite instructions to do so in the past. He was the Herald after all. "It's been awhile. What can I do for you?" To the side, the YVH droid's photoreceptors silently followed the Councilor.

The Elder didn't waste any time with the usual greetings or small talk. For once, Locke wished he had. "You've made mistakes, " he said.

A cold chill ran down Locke's spine. It is this conversation!

"What do you mean?" he asked, not sure how much Shikyo was aware of.

"Don't play games with me, Locke. The loss of the fleet at Judecca; the revolts across the Orian System."

The Consul's first inclination was to blame it on others. He wanted to say it was the Son's fault or a lack of enough soldiers. Regardless of the accuracy of either of those claims, he kept them inside. Locke wasn't about to make excuses to a member of the Dark Council; especially not Shikyo.

Instead, he sighed. "I know. We've lost a lot. I've lost a lot. Our enemies are everywhere: the Apostates, Scholae Palatinae, Plagueis has resurfaced, and now the One Sith and these revolts. I'll be more careful. I'll play my cards more shrewdly." He didn't know how he would do so, but Locke would find a way. He had to find a way. It was his responsibility. Duty is heavier than a mountain...

"It may not be enough, " Shikyo said, a grim tinge to his voice. "There are those on the Dark Council who doubt you. Other unit leaders are taking notice. They see a weak rival. Attempts on your life and your title may increase. The path ahead will be more difficult than the one you’re already on. At this rate, you’ll be lucky to save even this ship."

"Then what can I do?" Locke asked.

Instead of responding, Shikyo spoke some kind of code. "Authorization: whiskey, kilo, seven, three, niner."

Suddenly, the YVH's droid's photoreceptors went dim. "What-" Locke began.

He didn't even see Shikyo move. In a moment, the Elder's fingers were against Locke's head, his body immobile, unwilling to respond. He couldn't speak or resist.

"For Sadow and victory..." the Archpriest heard Shikyo say. At the end of his last word, Locke's head suddenly began to throb. He bit his lip to keep from crying out. I. Am. Consul. I will not cry out, whatever this is. The thought seemed lost as pain flooded through his head.

Locke could barely comprehend Shikyo's words now. "Do not fail the Lion... Do not fail our clan..."

The Consul could not think. He could not form a thought. He finally screamed, unable to contain it any longer, but Shikyo did not stop. Images swirled and blinked through his head, too quickly to comprehend. They strobed through his mind faster and faster, until finally, distantly, Locke felt Shikyo's fingers let go.

The last thing the Equite remembered was his face hitting the floor.

---

Ric Marn was a smart officer. Or at least, he thought he was. He recognized the Dark Jedi who had entered the Ready Room, and at least vaguely understood the man's position. So Ric had stayed outside the room and waited, ignoring the sounds that came from within. After all, it was best for normal people not to intervene when powerful Dark Jedi took issue with one another.

Ric stood at attention as the room's door slid open. He caught the tail end of something: "...not fail our clan." With a sharp pneumatic hiss, the Elder stopped before the Officer and looked at him with a cold expression.

"Your commander will live. Speak a word of this and seal your fate."

In his heart, Ric knew he would obey. He saluted, and the man disappeared down a connecting corridor. Looking inside, Ric saw only the collapsed form of Locke Sonjie, with his personal guard standing nearby.

After cursing the droid's apparent uselessness, Ric immediately called for medical support.

Unkown Location
Tarthos, Orian System

Wide, panicked eyes stared towards the filth covered floor as droplets of sweat cascaded down. His breathing was ragged, forced, and he felt torn asunder. His left hand moved warily, sliding down the exposed flesh of his right arm from his shoulder. Slowly he traced that flesh, the tattoo marks he knew to be there. Then the texture changed, the surface rippled, and it felt as if he were caressing an alien beast. The sensation was wet, almost like a thin layer of mucus had formed during the mutation, and hot, as if alive with evolution still. The surface was bumped and cracked, completely foreign and disorienting.

The skin did not feel like his own, and fear filled him. The corruption would have consumed him if not for the interference of Sildrin’s suppression. Eyes of gold shifted across the room to gaze upon her almost still form. The Long’s chest rose and fell slowly in time with her breathing, but for all intents and purposes she seemed gone.

Thank you.

The single thought was not transmitted, but he felt the need for it regardless. With a grunt of effort, he used his left arm—for it was still his own—to pull his tired frame closer to her. As he approached, Atra’s gaze took in the trail of blood beginning to dry upon her flesh. Shame filled him in that instant. There was no time for that though, they needed to get out before more of the One Sith’s goons arrived. With one final pull he came to lie beside her. The Proconsul took deep breaths as he flexed the muscles of his abs in order to rise to a fully upright position. The pain was exquisite, each broken rib fighting to remind him of their discontent.

I hope you don’t mind…

Reaching out he grasped onto the end of her dress, closing his eyes ever so slightly as he tore off an expansive strip. Vanity had its grip on even the most uncaring of men, and he needed to hide his shame for a time. Working quickly, he wrapped the thin fabric about his right arm and tied it tight. A small smile of satisfaction spread painfully across his swollen lips as the offensive corruption was finally out of sight. Closing his eyes, the Obelisk let the world slip away and focused only on his breathing.

In… Out… In… Out…

He could feel his connection to the Force regenerating, slowly but enough to assuage his wounds somewhat. Grasping onto that power in the depths of his core, he opened a channel to the most pressing of his wounds. It was paramount he was able to move efficiently.

When the mystical energy had finished its work, he touched his chest tenderly and found that his ribs were now only minorly annoyed with him. A marginal improvement but it was something. Taking another deep breath in preparation, he grabbed onto Sildrin’s arm and threw it over his shoulder, pulling her up with him as he stood. He shifted uncomfortably due to the added weight, as minor as it was, and took a moment to steady himself before he began walking.

Atra didn’t know how long he walked for, or where exactly he went, but he marched on with purpose. He had failed to protect himself, but worse yet his Clan. He was far more alert, his senses on fire as his nostrils flared. Something didn’t feel right, and he had the oddest sensation that he may have left the proverbial door open so to speak. Those were thoughts for another time. Light burst forth from the corridor, offending to his pupils as they dilated in response. The smell, on the other hand, was far more welcomed as fresh air filled his nostrils.

Finally.

Sound bombarded him, and he could already tell the ringing was still present in his ear. ”C’mon Sildrin, almost there.” The marketplace was chaos; clearly another riot had broken out. Judging by the way onlookers were staring, somehow the Proconsul felt they must look like quite the pair. Covered in dry blood and filth, wounds clear as day, he would have stared too. Yet another deep breath escaped his lips and he began limping onward, ever closer to his waiting shuttle and silently hoping that nothing else went wrong as his eyes shifted to the hidden flesh beneath the cloth of his right arm.

This lake had always been his favorite place to vacation. Located deep in Bakura's backwoods, it was isolated from the technologically developed parts of the world. Once a year, Locke's family came here to camp for a weekend. For that brief time, they could relax from their normal lifestyle.

There Locke rested, leaning back on a bed of soft grass, hands behind his head. It was night now, and the stars twinkled brightly in the dark sky. One day, he would leave this world. One day...

He dozed off.

When Locke awoke, it was to bright light shining in his face. He could hear voices all around. As the Krath groaned and sat up, his head spun and all the voices stopped for a moment.

Locke blinked a few times, looking at the group of people at the foot of his bed. Some wore scrubs and others wore body armor. Where am I? Locke thought. He had a pounding headache and the world seemed to lurch a bit.

For a moment, the group just stared at Locke. Then a nervous-looking soldier spoke. "Are you alright, Sir?"

Oh, the med bay. Why am I here?

"Yeah, I'm fine, " Locke answered. "Just a bit of a headache."

There seemed to be an audible sigh of relief. For a moment, Locke smiled, but not for their benefit. He remembered being in a lot more pain than this without any of his medical staff around. If only they knew.

"What happened?" he asked.

The armored man - who Locke recognized as a lower-ranked officer -replied before anyone else could. "You just passed out. I just happened to be passing by your room. The doctor isn't sure."

Forcing the pain out of his head, Locke forced himself to sit up and turn to the side of the bed. No one tried to stop him. He supposed that was one of the perks of being Consul.

"Well, I'm fine now." His head actually still hurt quite a bit. The Bakuran was having trouble thinking, but he wasn't about to stay in bed here. The longer Locke stayed in one place, the more vulnerable he was.

"Yes sir, " the officer said. He seemed doubtful. Finally, Locke was able to apply a name to him. "Ric, you're a pilot, right?"

Ric nodded. "Flew with you at New Tython." Locke detected just a hint of pride. Of course, the Consul had been Aedile then.

"Thanks for finding me...but you should probably get back to your squadron."

The man saluted and left. In moments, Locke was on his feet and surrounded by aides. Not this again. Maybe the bed wasn't so bad. He really hated bureaucracy, but by this point was used to it. They dropped half a dozen reports on him. He didn't really care about any of them right now, but one did pique his interest.

"We've captured one of the One Sith. She's barely alive."

"I'd like to see, " Locke said. They managed to capture one? Did the Dark Council know? For some reason, his headache significantly intensified at that thought.

The aide led him down a corridor to a different section of the medbay. This area was under heavy guard, and required passing through more than one security checkpoint and heavy blast door. It was clearly intended for defending against an enemy from both sides.

Their guest was the sole occupant of a room in the most remote alcove of the section.

"Is she...sedated?" Locke asked before approaching.

"Yes. She wasn't in any condition to fight anyway. She had internal bleeding, multiple broken bones...she needs bacta, but as a One Sith, we only wanted to keep her alive."

"Right, " Locke said. "Let's see our captive."

Locke's YVH guardian and the clonetroopers assigned to guard these chambers stayed back as the aide stepped forward and drew back the sheet draped over the One Sith's form. Locke would have a whole lot of questions once she woke up. Troop movements, strategy...

He trailed off as he saw the face. No. Locke was all but paralyzed for a moment. Memories of Khar Delba flashed through his head, each one bringing another pulse of pain. Unlike before, these were not only physical, but mental.

My sister's alive.

Hiding his feelings with some difficulty, Locke stepped around the table. His feet felt like dead weight. Her skin was pale, hair her natural blonde. The red was gone, but the black tattoos remained - rough lines on smooth skin.

"What happened to the red?" Locke asked, forcing himself through the words. "I thought it was a full body tattoo."

"As far as we know, it is, " the aide said, "but when we cleaned her up, we realized it was paint. Our guess is that she is a new initiate who they did not have time to put through the full process."

Locke held up a hand. "We can talk later. My head...it still hurts a bit, I need to retire to my quarters for now."

He barely heard the aide's reply as the man covered his sister's body back up. They walked out of the security area together, but then Locke was on his own, except for the droid. He traveled through the medbay's waiting room, eyes passing over a few soldiers waiting in a corner, a dark-haired woman standing alone against one wall, a group of pilots talking about their latest exploits... Locke had to think. His sister would be safe in the medbay, right?

He stepped into the refresher, glad to be alone. His guardian droid was just outside. Locke turned on the faucet and leaned down, washing his face with cold water. When he looked up, The Krath started a bit at what he saw in the mirror.

"Was that your sister in there?" Behind him stood the woman from the waiting room, arms folded, though she didn't seem angry. She was almost...jovial.

Despite his initial startelement, Locke noted that his headache seemed to lessen in her presence. "Yes, " he said simply. "How do you know about that?" And how had she gotten past the guard?

"It's kind of my thing, " she said. "I'm here to help you."

"Why?" Locke asked.

"I don't know, " she said. "That's just what the Gods decreed."

"Hah, " Locke responded, assuming she was joking. This woman looked familiar, somehow. The Bakuran could have sworn he had seen the combination of her jovial, attitude and long, dark hair before. She also wore a dress that seemed to be of a Bakuran design.

"She looks like a nice girl, " the woman said.

"She was, " Locke answered as he dried his face.

"Don't you want to know what happened?"

"Of course, " Locke said, "but I have to wait till she wakes up."

"You know she's not safe here. She's the enemy to your people. They'll do bad things to her." Somehow, the woman's jovial expression hardly changed, except to express a bit of light-hearted concern. This woman - she seemed so innocent - how did she get here?

Thinking this over for a moment, Locke realized the woman was correct. "You're right. I have to get her away from here - and quickly."

The woman merely nodded in agreement. As Locke took a step toward the door, he stopped and turned back.

"What's your name, anyway?"

"Amelia, " the woman smiled slightly.

Amelia...that's where I recognized her from! She looked just like an older version of one of his middle school crushes.

As he left the refresher, Locke turned around once more. "By the way..." he trailed off. She was gone. How had she disappeared? He looked around the waiting room. No one had looked up.

The Consul quickly summoned his aide. "I want to move the prisoner to my own facilities. I don't want her on this ship. Have a shuttle prepared immediately. Send a team to move her bed." As the aide made the necessary calls, Locke headed back into the medbay.

For a brief time he was alone again. Them Amelia stepped up next to him. "How do you intend to protect her?"

"I'll figure it out, " Locke said. His headaches really did seem better around her.

"You should find someone you can trust."

"Ah, " Locke began. "Good point. I know just the person."

"Good, " Amelia nodded. When Locke got to the next checkpoint, he nodded to the guards and gestured, intending to explain Amelia's presence, but she was no longer there. How did she keep doing that?

"We're moving the prisoner, " Locke said. "Help will be along soon."

Jungle outside Kel Rasha
Aeotheran
The rangefinder of the Mandalorian’s helmet was scanning the dissidents and their weaponry as he slowly made his way around the outskirts of the city. His mission was only to gather information and to scout the city in order to learn if Sadow personnel could still live on the planet without trouble. When he started he had one personal reason for returning, but now with the arrival of the man that killed his Clan and destroyed their honor among the Mandalorian people, he had two. He stopped in some bushes twenty meters from a small guard station that had been recently erected.

Armed dissidents paced back and forth on the streets. They had a good foothold on the city and it would be difficult for anyone to get around unseen, but luckily for Roxas the sun was setting which meant he could move under the cover of darkness. He waited until the sun set and darkness had settled in. The street lights came on, but they only gave so much light. As he had waited he watched the fools run their security rounds and he wasn’t impressed. They were all a bunch of bumbling idiots, but it was the end of town which meant that the well trained dissidents were further in.

He quietly emerged from the bushes and ran toward a building. His armor made no noise thanks to his training in K’tara. As he reached the building he leaned against it for cover, so he could peek around the corner. He watched the sentries until they had their backs turned and he moved again, this time darting into an alleyway by a three story building. He raised his green gauntlet into the air and fired a grapple to the top of the three story building. It wisped him up into the air and along the wall as it carried him to the roof. He grabbed the ledge and slowly pulled himself up to look and then quickly ducked back down.

Figured they would have troops on the roof…guess that means I’m gonna have to do this the hard way. He thought to himself as he kicked off the wall to fall back to the ground, but he tugged at the cape and it transformed into a glider as he got close to the ground. It slowed his decent enough to keep him from getting harmed, but made a thud as his feet hit the ground.

“What was that? I’m going to check it out, cover me.” A sentry said as he entered the alley.

Not good, he’s coming and if he doesn’t go back out then they’ll know someone is here.

The glow of a flashlight illuminated part of the alley, so Roxas looked around for somewhere to hide. He saw a small statue jutting from one of the buildings, so he shot his grapple to it and was carried up to it. He climbed on it and realized that not only would it hide him, but it was a great vantage point for the alley and partway down the street.

“Do you see anything?!”

“No, must have been some animal or something.”

The sentry went back to his patrol. Roxas turned from the alley and ran toward the center of the city, sticking to the shadows and unconventional hiding places. He ducked into storm grates, empty garbage dumpsters, and even a public access data terminal.

Kel Rasha
Aeotheran
Roxas transmitted the information of dissident patrols and numbers that he had collected to the summit while he was hiding in a dumpster. After a few minutes he got a ping that confirmed the info was sent. He calmed his mind and began to listen to the Force. He focused on the Force bond that was forced upon him by his enemy. As his mind’s eye focused he began to see a chain wrapped around his torso and saw that a single length of it headed off down the street and toward a tall building.

He’s there The Sithspawn thought to himself before climbing out of the dumpster and heading to fight his foe, for hopefully the last time.

Medical Section, Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

Swarms of droids were surrounding the Proconsul for half an hour already. Metal arms holding syringes, sharp needles, bacta patches, metal surgery tools - they finally made Atra burst out unnerved. He swiped two droids aside with their glistening instruments - having reminded him too much of the treatment he had undergone not that long ago. He sat up, meeting one of the med droid’s red glowing eyes. “Proconsul Atra Ventus. The medical protocol 19b section 34c requires you to hold still until ... “ - the droid flew into the wall.

Atra mouthed one word: No.
A simple word, even if it remained unspoken - it felt like the sweet freedom he had seeked for. The droids backed away. The Proconsul grabbed for a couple of bacta patches, slapping them on the places that hurt most. He left the room.

Outside he leant his head against the wall, closing his eyes. He felt relief; sweet relief he was able to choose. Albeit only to an extent. His eyes opened - staring at his arm, the flesh rippling beneath the tattoos. He pulled down the sleeve of his robe again, hiding what he didn’t want to see. He strolled down the corridor, stopping in front of one door. Carefully he opened it.

Vermillion locks framed a pale face; eyes tightly shut - the room was quiet. Only one woman was present in the room. Why not more? He wondered for a moment. The woman turned around, gently smiling at Atra; long brown hair and gentle brown eyes looked at him. “It is good to see you up again.” Atra nodded at Naomi, Methyas’ wife. But then his eyes turned back to Xia Long; he frowned. Naomi sighed: “Injuries of the mind are not healing easily. And concerning this one.... my abilities are limited. Maybe Methyas....” Atra continued staring at Xia, but then he slowly shook his head. She wouldn’t appreciate any intrusion of her mind...
Naomi slowly nodded; despite her very limited force powers, she still was able to get what Atra meant. “We will have to wait, I guess.” She replied.

I wish to be informed about her progress. Atra projected the thought into Naomi’s mind. “I will, Atra.”

Medical Section, Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

As he stood quietly at the cusp of the entryway, Atra fought with the blatant and real example of his own failures. Sildrin Sadow, matriarch of the Long family, brought low due to his own arrogance. At least, that was his perception of it. How could he, after all, know of the previous arrangement between the Daughter of Sadow and the man who had wrought such pain within them. No, it made sense that he would blame himself in entirety, for such things were beyond his knowledge.

Shame fought to break that stoic gaze, even more so with the kindness of his former master's wife radiating from her features. He had enough reminders. Subconsciously, his left hand drifted under the folds of his robes to the misshapen flesh found there. Atra needed to concentrate, to hide. Taking a deep breath he bit down on his lower lip and used the pain to focus himself. Slowly his tattoos faded back into his flesh and left his pale flesh unmarked. The gold of his eyes reforged itself into twin starbursts while allowing the grey to shine through. What he had not expected was the corruption of his arm to recede. Yet, recede it did. He could feel it, like a living creature slinking back into hiding. Raising his right hand slightly he looked at it out of sheer curiosity. No sign of the corruption, none at all.

The Proconsul met Naomi's gaze, feeling the curiosity rising in her warm eyes. He felt a sudden twinge in his gut, a tightening and heat he had not experienced before. Or perhaps he had but merely could not remember the sensation. Regardless, it was time he took his leave as the Prelate glanced once more at the frail form of Xia Long.

Pivoting about, instead of open space Atra was greeted with the distant eyes of Darth Vexatus. Guards in the hall flanked him, their guns at the ready, but he could smell their fear... Their inaction. The Apostate merely stood in the opening, waiting without seeming at all present. It was entirely disconcerting and Atra couldn't help but feel like a ghost. A whisper in time that for all intents and purposes did not exist within the perception of the Prophet. It was not a feeling the Proconsul enjoyed.

Stepping aside quickly, Ventus motioned for Naomi to follow suit. The Prophet entered without words, nor did Atra look to see what the being did. He was already in motion, and trusted that Naomi had left as well. For all his pain and fatigue, Atra needed much rest. Deep within the Temple, he couldn't tell what time it was, nor did he particularly care. Having just come from Tarthos, the day and night cycles varied and the only thing that mattered was the sleep his body demanded. So, giving into that urge became paramount as the Proconsul collapsed within his quarters and embraced the coming darkness within his senses.

Sleep, however, was not kind to him. Atra knew himself to be sleeping, but found himself lost in a cloudy darkness. No doubt his subconscious was trying to process the recent events. There were images, sounds, but the lot of it held next to no meaning to him. The half-breed wanted nothing more than a sleep without dreams. Again he lulled himself into a sort of trance, trusting that rest would come. What came, instead, was the sharp cry of a woman and then muffled sounds.

Odd.

His nostrils flared and he could swear he smelled something, but wasn't sure what. Just let me sleep. It was all he craved, all he yearned for. Silence would have been welcome, but all he could hear was a low growl. Was that grunting? He couldn't be sure. Just go away, damnit! Within his subconscious, the Proconsul practically roared with command and the world once again turned to darkness, until he opened his eyes.

What time was it? He blinked again and again as he fought to focus his eyesight. Waking up was not an action the Obelisk excelled at. Something didn't feel right though, something he could not place. Rising to his full height he felt sore, but he should feel sore after so much abuse. It felt new though, refreshed somehow. I have decided you hate me, he thought to himself accusingly. After a few steps he found himself in what should have been his cluttered entryway, but it wasn't. His surroundings were entirely foreign to him. Judging by the construction he was still in the temple, but the where eluded him.

Taking in a deep breath he felt his nostrils flare, and he almost cringed at the saltiness of the aroma. He smelled sweat, blood, and something he couldn't place. Turning slowly he gazed back towards where he had come. Amongst what looked like the aftermaths of a whirlwind he saw familiar crimson stains and then the covers of a bed that was not his own. Smooth pale flesh and strands of dried blood trailed away to a form hidden mostly beneath those sheets.

He instantly felt sick to his stomach and turned away quickly. He could hear the heartbeat, plain as day, and felt good knowing that she--for it had to be a she with so feminine a form--was alive. Only in that moment did Atra notice that he, himself, was also quite nude.

What happened...

The unspoken question trailed off as realization dawned. What is released is not so easily put back. He gathered his clothes in a flurry of motion, which happened to be nothing more than smooth cloth pants and his Proconsul robe. Pulling the robe tightly closed, he dashed out of the room and away from the reminder that he was not in control of himself, not entirely.

I cannot trust myself.

Rushing down the hall, Atra tried to get his bearings. He was on the other side of the temple, between the medical ward and his quarters. Such a distance to be wholly unaware of what had transpired, but he could guess. As the endless series of corridors became more and more familiar, the Prelate had to come to a sudden stop. There should have been guards posted at this location, that much he was sure. Yet no one was there. Slowly, the Proconsul pushed the door open and let his eyes adjust to the inner darkness.

Sildrin was gone, and so was Vexatus.

Probably for the best after all, since her master wasn't the most welcomed of presences within the Temple of Sorrow. A sigh of relief escaped from between his barely parted lips, but also one of regret. She should never have been at risk in the first place. The single thought brought anger to the Proconsul's features as he also came to another grim conclusion. If he could not trust himself, how could he keep everyone safe? The answer was displeasing in every manner possible, but it was the only course to take. He had to protect everyone from himself.

With renewed purpose, Atra set out to the task. Such a simple concept, he had seen such tech already from his time with House Shar Dakhan. In his usual minimal fashion, the Proconsul recruited the few technicians he could find out and about, bringing them and their tech to his quarters. His chamber of solitude had been so rudely shattered of late, so what more harm could there be in having even more enter it. A necessary evil. With crossed arms and a heavy conscious, Atra tried to piece together the events that had transpired while he was apparently asleep. His eyes gazed into the distance as he pondered the best course of action. Maybe slip the woman a few drugs, make her forget. If only he could so easily forget.

Another sigh and Atra found himself leaning against a sturdy stack of literary works, barely paying attention to the technicians as they installed the timed locking mechanism on his bedchamber door. He couldn't bring himself to look, it was too cruel... An animal watching the cage that shall rob it of freedom.

Proconsul’s personal room, Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

The Proconsul walked up and down - a man hunted by his dreams, by the blood, the flesh beneath him a couple of hours ago ... hunted by the beast within. Occasionally his eyes moved to the technicians at his bedroom door. Durasteel bars had been added to strengthen it. The technicians may assume the bars were to protect him from anything outside, but the lock on the outer side of the door betrayed the intention. It was to protect everything outside from him.

He managed to turn away his gaze. Nothing... no one should ever get hurt again by him. No one. A beeping sound at his wrist gave him a welcomed distraction. With the flick of a finger he initiated the hologram of one of his many adjutants.
“Lord Proconsul!” The small hologram saluted. Atra gestured the adjutant to go on. “There had been a murder. A young journeyman ... it was clearly a saber having killed her ... in her own room.”

Atra frowned, his fingers quickly tapped on the small datapad. The adjutant shifted his holographic eyes to the screen in front of him. “Her identity? In a moment...”
Soon the face of the journeyman was projected in front of Atra’s eyes. “She was Adia Louan. ID 210 98 22, Lord Proconsul. Shall we continue to inve ... ” The Adjutant’s voice faded from Atra’s mind, becoming mere statics in the background as the Proconsul recognised the face. It was her - the woman from last night.

All blood drained from his face as a thought came to his mind: But she was alive when I left... His heartbeats raced to a rhythm of panic and horror. The Prelate took a deep breath - she had been killed by a saber; not by him. But he felt this death was connected to him. Why was there so much pain and death around him? If his heart was a garden, it would be a stoney one.

“Sir?...” The Adjutant’s voice tore him from his thoughts. The prelate typed his commands into the datapad.
This requires investigations. The blue holograph saluted and vanished with a flicker.

A heavy sigh and Atra turned around. His fingers were the only hint about his surprise as he found himself facing Sildrin Sadow. A green and red eye mustered him. He wondered what he could see in her eyes? Disdain? Hatred? Anger?

Gold sparked from his eyes but then slithered into the background. The Matriarch’s eyes remained unreadable. One could have thought her eyes were to finally betray their owner’s emotions... now since they could see again. But they were as unreadable as the white blank blind eyes the woman formerly possessed.

Induced by the fire of the Force a spark of intuition kindled within him.
You killed her....?

The Matriarch of the Longs arched an eyebrow at his mentally directed question. Slowly she nodded.

Atra’s knees went weak - he grabbed for a chair nearby. Why? Despair filled him - he had brought so much pain and death upon others. Now there was one more on the gravely death-list inside his heart. It burdened him, constricted around his heart. A pale hand on his shoulder made him look up.

“I did it to protect you.” She casually said as her attention was rather risen by the technicians in his room. The technicians were packing their things, done with the lock on the door. She raised a hand snidely: “Just make it look she was a spy... from Plagueis or so...”

You could have easily done that already yourself, Lady Sildrin.

“I had already my share with SHADOW when I meddled with it. It nearly burned out my mind. I am not keen on repeating that experience.” She replied nonchalant.

Don’t you feel any regret at all? He shook his head.

“What?... “ Her eyes turned back to him and it took her some moments as it dawned her - he asked her about the woman’s death. “No.”

Atra buried his face in his hands. What have we turned into? And I fear the beast within me gives me no other choice than to follow that dark path... to the bitter end.

The snap hiss of two sabers made him jerk up his head. Purple light illuminated the room; she was quick.. and her sabers were precise - deadly. She had already turned them off as the technicians’ bodies started to fall apart. His nostrils flared over so slightly as he stood up. His eyes turned hard, his golden iris burned, incinerating the grey. No! No more death... no more death! He didn’t know, neither he cared, whether she had heard his thought or not. His anger overlapped his ability to communicate with telepathy.

Her eyes were for once filled with emotions... it was hard to grasp, but finally he figured it out: Worry.

She whispered: “I can’t let anyone know your weakness. Atra Ventus. No one is allowed to know about this. For I wish to protect you.”

Why? His mental voice sounded miserable. How often had he asked “why” now? Too often probably. And still there were no answers or were there?


“You know why.” Sildrin said.

I do? Atra questioned.

“You do. I can sense it within you.”

The Beast!

“No. Something stronger than The Beast. Something deeper.”

No. It can’t be stronger.

“It is.”

No!

“What is your name?”

Atra... Atra Ventus.

“No. What is your name?”

Atr...

“What is your name?”

I ... I am...

“Your name!”

I am Xue...

“Xue...”

Xue Long!

“Brother.”

Shuttle L-1

Enroute to Aeotheran

Orian System

Kiana

That was her name. Locke could barely remember their time together, all those years ago. Back then, he had been a child, and now...

Here we are.

Sitting beside the repulsor bed his sister rested on, Locke waited, wondering if she might wake up before the shuttle reached Aeotheran's surface. What if she did? What would he say?

Hi my sweet, Jedi sister. Remember that wide-eyed kid you used to know? Well, after the Vong War, I became a Dark Jedi, and now I lead a big group of Dark Jedi. They like to kill people. And oh yes, I'd like to see the Jedi Order wiped out some day. Oh, but enough about me. I noticed you're with the One Sith now? Fancy that.

"You're wondering why she's with the One Sith?" Amelia asked, seeming to read his thoughts.

"Yes", Locke answered. He never took his eyes from Kiana's still form. If she awoke, he wanted to know. He would eventually have to leave her side to direct his people, but for now...

"What if it had to do with you?"

Locke had considered that. "I hope not. Plus, as far as the galaxy is concerned, I'm dead."

"She was supposed to be dead too, wasn't she?" Amelia asked.

"Yes..." Locke whispered.

He supposed Amelia was right. What if Kiana had gone looking for him? How had that happened? She had disappeared before he had done the same. It couldn't be.

Suddenly, Locke felt a presence in the doorway and looked up. His eyes met those of the pilot, who seemed startled that Locke had noticed him so quickly.

"We're coming up on Aeotheran, Sir. Where did you want us to land?"

Oh right, that. "Have the Dakhani regained control of Kel Rasha yet?"

"It doesn't appear so, Sir. Long-range communications reveal that the government that is in power are accepting trade from off-world, but we have no idea how their security might be set up. They do say that the starport at Kel Rasha is accessible."

"Right, " Locke said. "Let me think for a moment." He wouldn't risk his sister's life with a group who had revolted against the Dlarit government, but there were facilities that the House had built under the starport back when the city was founded. All he needed to do was get from the shuttle to one of the service elevators with six Sadowan troopers and a repulsor bed without attracting attention.

Simple.

"There's something else, Sir, " the trooper continued. "It's kind of...odd actually."

"How bad could it be?" Locke asked.

"Well, the people worship this one individual...they call him the 'Architect', and refer to him as their savior. They're looking for anyone who has information about his whereabouts. And his image matches that of Mirado Pepoi L'eonheart."

"Come again?" Locke asked.

"We double checked. It appears they all-but worship the man."

"Oh, " Locke answered. He wasn't sure whether to laugh or rub his forehead. "Well, I guess we can tell them we're supporters of their Architect and then get them to leave our shuttle alone long enough to get her off. I know of some facilities hidden under the spaceport that were built back when the city was first established."

"Sounds like a plan, Sir...except one other thing. They're all calling for your head."

"Wonderful, " Locke replied. "You'll have to do all the talking then. And about my contact, has he responded to that message I told you to send out yet?"

"Yes Sir."

"Good, let's make final preparations, then..."

Medbay

Syntari awoke without warning and in a sudden, yet brief, fit of rage. The last thing she remembered was the agony of her injuries and the humiliation of her defeat, then the all-consuming darkness as she lost consciousness. Now, evidently, she was trapped in the one place she did not want to be.

Medbay.

She would have much preferred to be in the sanctity of her own chambers, away from the prying eyes of her Clan, but that was not to be.

Belatedly the faces of her team floated to her mind along with the names they belonged to; one by one they resurfaced from the depths of her thoughts.

Mirado... Last she'd seen he was twice as severely injured as she, and though concerned for his fate the Bpfasshi had all confidence in his survival.

Atra... The Proconsul had without a doubt lived to tell their tale; after all, he wasn't Proconsul for nothing.

Mirus... Another survivor, no doubt there. He was well accomplished and would not suffer death.

Kalia... She had to have lived; an accomplished fighter and a Pepoi at that, she would not have died on their mission.

And what's become of me? Syntari wondered. Trapped in the Medbay ad helpless as a swaddling babe... The least her teammates could do was at least visit her and relieve her boredom.

Proconsul Quarters, Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

The acrid stench of burnt flesh bit at Atra's nose, his heightened senses making it all the worse as his nostrils flared. Death is rarely pretty, so it made sense that the smell wasn't too pleasant either. A sigh escaped past his lips, confusion and emotion still showing upon his cold features. "Xia..."

The matriarch of the Long family turned, arching a slender eyebrow inquisitively in his direction. A second sigh was his only response, unable to muster the will to go on. Not just yet. His head turned away from the bodies, knowing he would have to dispose of them sooner rather than later. There were methods, but none he wished to commit to just yet. For now, he needed air, and for that he needed an excuse. The Proconsul's quick mind went to work, grasping for anything that would come to his aid.

That's it.

Pushing off of the stack of books at his back, Atra closed the distance with surprising speed and gripped her left wrist tightly. A sudden flash of surprise and then the slightest hint of threat appeared in her doubly colored eyes. The half-breed raised her wrist, letting her clearly unnatural finger shine in the faint light before backing up a step, the air thick with warning for a moment. Neither spoke, but the way the newly attached appendage was twitching every so often made his point clear. Her brow furrowed as Sildrin gazed at the piss poor work that had transpired.

"Speaking of weaknesses..." Atra couldn't help but grin, happy to have his excuse at last.

"Yes, I suppose... Hm..."

"After you."

The Proconsul gestured to his entryway before ushering Sildrin out of his quarters. He had so many questions, but it was neither the time nor place for those. As such, their trip to the medical wing of the Temple was mostly silent. Not that such a thing bothered either of them, neither being ones for idle banter. Approaching with haste, Atra could already feel a particularly agitated presence nearby. A familiar one. Still, there was more than one presence he sensed and he was none too keen to deal with too many people. Not yet.

He still didn't trust himself as he stepped into the main medbay.

Medbay

The Bpfasshi did not realize it was her Proconsul who entered the room until he was damn near right next to her. His presence did nothing to soothe her rising frustrations--indeed, it only served to frustrate her further--and she barely managed to hold her tongue. It would not do for her to aggravate the man, she told herself, as Atra was far more than she could handle.

"Proconsul," she greeted him. Despite her best attempt to keep her irritation hidden Syntari's eyes flashed with annoyance, not necessarily at his existence but at his intrusion. His gaze crept towards her and fixed her with a stare which plainly conveyed his awareness of her true emotions; flushing, she cursed her inability to guard herself from such perception.

"Syntari."

As usual the frigid edge to his mental voice sent shivers spiraling down her spine, though she ignored the feeling. "What brings you to this grand and magnificent palace?" Her tone dripped with her signature, yet exaggerated, sarcasm as she spoke, a slight smirk alighting upon her lips. Syntari knew she was pushing it, that she should at least pretend to be respectful, but the fact remained that she was still trapped in bed dealing with a shattered knee that, as of yet, had not been properly healed. Being stripped of the ability to walk, no matter how temporary it may be, sparked her anger and only caused her to lash out at those who did not deserve it.

Instead of an outright answer the Proconsul's eyes drifted to her left to alight on a body which had somehow escaped Syntari's attention, so focused had she been on her own broken self. Following the movement of his eyes, the Bpfasshi recognized Maelous and her curiosity peaked.

"I knew I couldn't possibly be special enough to have gained the honor of your presence," she half-sneered, unable to keep the mocking inflection from her voice. She knew it was stupid, she knew she ought to have kept her mouth shut, but she could not find it within herself to care.

Medbay

Maelous sat, shirtless, on the edge of a Medbay examination table while a medical droid worked feverishly at his chest. His torso and arms were covered in minor scrapes and bruises, but the reason for his visit was the first thing to draw the eyes.

Running the width of his torso was an unmistakable diagonal burn. He looked down as the droid continued its work. Another scar. He thought as a grim smile crossed his lips. He had enjoyed training with his master, and in recent days the intensity had increased, and today ending in a lightsaber burn that he would wear as a mark of pride, like the one on his neck.

His gaze moved on, now bored with the droids continued work, to the two others in the room. He watched as Atra and Syntari interacted with one another. His intense eyes calculating the body language of the two as both of their heads turn in his directions.

His grin shifted to a smirk at the Bpfasshi’s word. "I knew I couldn't possibly be special enough to have gained the honor of your presence," she half-sneered.
“Greetings Proconsul. Syntari,” he rasped as his eyes continued to survey them.

Landing Bay
Kel Rasha Spaceport
Aeotheran

Locke crouched next to the stretcher where Kiana still lay unconscious. For once he was grateful she didn't wake up; this would not be an ideal place. At the bottom of the boarding ramp, he could hear voices. One of his troopers, a man by the name of Din, was talking to whatever the current powers that be had for a guard.

"We just need to rest up a while. We're actually quite fond of the Architect, and would like to do our part to continue the Search after refueling."

Unable to see, Locke could only listen as they continued.

"Ah, wonderful! That's good, " the guard said. He didn't seem as excited as a religious zealot might usually be. But then, Rashans tended to be pretty realistic folks. Their obsession with Mirado might have just been a pastime, or a business thing. Or maybe they really did idolize the guy and just weren't energetic about it.

Their conversation went on a little longer with the usual pleasantries before Din came back up the boarding ramp. "He's finally gone, " the trooper said, "but I don't know for how long."

"Great, let's go, " Locke said. They quickly guided the stretcher down the shuttle's ramp. At the bottom, the Consul looked around. "Service elevator should be around here...ah, there!"

Pointing at a large doorway to one side, Locke began guiding the group over to it. "Din, I'll need you and one of the others to stay with the shuttle. They don't know how many of us there are, so that shouldn't be a problem, and we may need to escape at some point."

Din and another of the troopers peeled off, leaving Locke with the remaining four. That left...Jonmor in command. As Locke put an override code into the service elevator and it descended, he slipped the DL-44 blaster pistol he normally carried from it's spot at his hip.

"Ok guys, I don't know what to expect down here. These corridors should be secure, and my contact should be down here, but there's no way to know. Jon, if you'd like to take point..."

The man - who was a bit older, with a scraggly, grey beard, nodded and stepped forward, readying a blaster rifle.

At the bottom, the doors opened to a dark space. It felt cold and damp. "I don't think anyone's been here in awhile, " one of the men whispered.


"You never know, " Locke said.

"Could be mutant rats or something, " Jon murmured. Locke smiled; he was happy the man had not lost his sense of humor through the years.

Once they were all off the elevator, its doors shut with a squeaky hiss, extinguishing the last of their light. The small group clustered around the stretcher.

"Lights, " Jon whispered. Small flashlights illuminated the areas directly in front of each soldier.

Then Locke felt someone approach; it was a familiar presence.

"Easy guys, someone's out there. Yellow alert."

"Locke, " a voice said. "I was wondering when you would make it." Suddenly there was a hiss and a flare dropped in front of them, illuminating a small space. A familiar form appeared out of the darkness.

"Gim, it's good to see you again, " Locke said, stepping forward.

When the Consul had been an Aedile, he had been in way over his head. Locke had never led before; having spent his entire adult life as a pilot and soldier. His Quaestor, Mirado, had had his own agenda and things to do. That had left Locke without much help, so he had carefully combed the roster of Dlarit personnel, searching for someone to help in his day-to-day running of the House's affairs.

Then he had found Gim. The man seemed ancient, but showed a distinct aptitude for combat, strategy, and politics. He had the look of a kindly old man, but Locke had seen him grow serious at times; perhaps a former life surfacing for a moment. Whatever his history, Gim was one of the few people Locke felt he could really trust. The man had never given him reason to do otherwise, and his loyalty to Dlarit and Sadow had quietly gone back years, to records that had been inaccessible to Locke at the time. The Krath briefly wondered if he had clearance for them now.

Two other figures appeared from the darkness, wearing worn Dlarit body armor and wielding standard rifles.

"Is this all you've got?" Locke asked.

"Oh, I have a few more, " Gim said. "Mostly those who got cut off from Seng Karash. There's other pockets of resistance that are larger, though. What brings you here?"

"I found my sister, " Locke said. "She's unconscious, and was with the One Sith, so I don't feel she's safe elsewhere. Do you have a secure place here?"

"Ah, " Gim said, seemingly unfazed. "We should be able to find a place. Let's get to safety and we can continue this discussion."

"Agreed."

One of Gim's people picked up the flare and led them deeper into the underground.

Finally, Locke felt his tensions ease a bit.

Auriga Command Centre
Aeotheran

The new followers of Tenebrae were hard at work around him, setting up communications systems networked in to a system that they weren't even allowed to use themselves. Mirus oversaw all the work himself. He had to be sure he could trust them and, of course, they had work to do. In the middle of the room was a massive holoterminal, people linked in from across the system, hoods and cloaks drawn up so as not to alert the people working to the true identities of those involved. Some were linked in via sound only. Some were simply there waiting for a data dump for their datapads. These people were important - the Clan Summit, the House Summit in the form of Kairus, all of Tenebrae's members and the other major players in the Shar Dakhan hierarchy. All of them were linked in via one of those methods but all of them needed to know what was about to happen.

"We have been allocated a small pool of forces by the Summit," Mirus began, keying his datapad to send them the attachment containing that very list. "We are not allowed infinite resources. We are, essentially, on our own in our campaign. Insert yourselves across the planet and begin operations, including assimilation of local forces into your strike teams. Ultimately we need to begin with the campaign to retake Kel Rasha."

He glanced at the blue holographic figures around him, his apprentice barely moving as she stood at his side. Yuriko was doing well and learning. Now she would learn the important part of being a member of House Shar Dakhan - the strategy of war. This was it. This was war on their home turf. Aeotheran was the rightful home of House Shar Dakhan - whether they ruled it publicly as the military nobility they were or from the shadows as puppetmasters once more remained to be seen.

"I will be taking my new forces and preparing to march on the city shortly. My apprentice and I will handle the first wave. I believe there is a second force ready for the assault. More teams would be highly appreciated if someone could muster the forces to assist my attack. If you opt to do something else, the operation must be cleared by my command centre or by the Quaestor. Most importantly, do not reveal our true nature. This is imperative during this war. Am I understood by all?"

Nods of approval. Some of dissent, but agreement in the face of the firestorm still came.

"Very well. Conquest is our destiny, ladies and gentlemen. We shall not fail."

The link closed, leaving Mirus to turn to his apprentice. "Come. It is time to begin our war."

Markosian City
Tarthos

Setsuna knelt in the snow bank that was building up near a rundown looking bar. Her eyes were closed and her lips moved slowly, forming clear words. The snow around her was whiter than her skin, but only just. The snow on front of her however, was tinted pink. The only things more noticeable than the pink snow were that her hair had been sheared short and her ears had been surgically reduced to blend in easier.

"I am Setsuna Sakurazaki. I am me. I am I."

You only think that is who you are. When will you wake up, you stupid child? her mind railed against her.

She winced slightly as a small trickle of blood left her nose. "Repeat the mantra."

The two sides of the girl's personality were in clear conflict now. They had been for some time now. She spent more and more of her time in the deserted city or sequestered in her quarters, fighting to regain some small semblance of sanity again.

"I am Setsuna Sakurazaki. I am me. I am I."

A soft laugh echoed through her mind. Stupid girl, you are a weapon. Nothing more. You were created to be such and so you are, aren’t you?

Sharp pain shot through her entire body and more blood ran down her face. She had spent too long away from others. Too long with no one to confide in. She knew her insanity was quickly encroaching on reality. She was trained to be a weapon, but was that her only purpose? Could she be anything else? These questions were some that she simply could not answer. Her mind rebelled against the thought of different paths. Her face contorted with pain as she fell forward, blood dripping onto the pink snow and stained it with even darker crimson.

After a few long moments and a small amount of blood loss, the girl sat up again. "Repeat the mantra."

Searching for her center, the girl repeated the words that had gotten her through the past.

"I am Setsuna Sakurazaki. I am me. I am I."

The voice hmphed at her. Just another failed experiment. Just like the rest...

The girl gave a soft whimper that was drowned in the wind as she slumped forward as more blood ran into the snow before her.

****

Shortly before Setsuna slumped into the snow all but unconscious, the Rose stepped around the corner just behind her in time to watch the girl collapse.

Medbay, Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

Xia Long stayed in the background, listening to the acidic words of Syntari in silence. Syntari’s gaze went past the Proconsul, eyeing the third person in this room. “Oh. Another one to honour me with her presence? Are you here to bring relief from boredom with a little juggling performance?”

Xia focused her mismatched eyes on Syntari, but she quickly lost interest in the wounded woman. She didn’t feel any need to reply to the mocking words of the Jedi Hunter.

“Wait...”, Syntari said with a frown on her face. “I know you... but... your eyes....”. The Jedi Hunter tried to remember where she had seen this woman from.

The Matriarch of the Long turned her head to Atra, still keeping her red and green eye locked onto Syntari. Her face remained dispassionate - her frozen beauty a cold and deadly one - as she said with a calm voice, lacking any emotion: “If she bothers you too much, I can cut out her tongue, Xue...” But she knew already Atra’s answer. Syntari snarled: “You can try me...” and grabbed for her saber.

Atra stared at Xia; her cold emotionless state started to worry him. It seems I have to protect the clan not only from me, but also from her? He thought as his eyes wandered over Sildrin’s delicate face. No! His mental voice matched Sildrin’s state of frozen emotions.

Sildrin hinted a bow: “Excuse me then, my Proconsul. I have matters to attend to - here in the medical centre.” For a moment her eyes grazed the Jedi Hunter, her lips curled into a light cold smile. Then she turned around and left the room.

She strode down the hall, trying to ignore what stirred within her mind. Finally she leaned against a wall, fighting down the unwanted - emotions. She raised a pale hand to a temple, murmering: “Begone.” It began to tremble. What will I turn into? A frozen maiden of magic with sensibilities to match the ice?

A mechanical voice made her snap out of her thoughts: “Mistress Sadow. We are awaiting you in room 12b. Everything is prepared for the surgery.”

Green and red stared at the droid, then her eyes turned to her hand. A finger had been brutally chopped off - one that needed a proper replacement. She looked back at the droid: “Lead the way.”



Later
The Matriarch stared at the small finger on her left hand. A masterpiece of work indeed. She thought as she slowly stretched her artificial finger; she felt a resistance, but overcame it with stretching it further. The artificial fingernail extended to an one inch long blade. Xia tilted her head slightly. A poisened blade. She clenched her hand to a fist again, watching the blade vanish within the finger again. Xia nodded content; then stepped over the destroyed med droids towards the exit. No one was allowed to know about this. No one.

Kel Rasha
Aeotheran
A couple hours before sunrise
The Mandalorian rushed down an alley and stopped in the shadows in the middle. He took a deep breath and cleared his mind to focus once again on the forced Force bond with his enemy. The chain of the bond glowed in his mind’s eye. This building, so glad I don’t have far to go.

He quietly ran around the building looking for a way to get in without being noticed. He didn’t see a way in on the ground, but did notice an open window on the third floor, so he fired his grappling hook and ascended the building. The Mandalorian grabbed the rail of the balcony, but as soon as he did the door below him opened. He looked down to see what was going on and saw the man he was hunting exit through the door. For fraks sake. Guess I’ll just follow him then The Assassin said to himself as he climbed onto the balcony and turned around to watch his foe enter heavy duty transport.

Roxas knew the easiest way to follow the vehicle without getting caught would be to jump into the cargo compartment on the back, so he leapt from the balcony. As he got close he opened the cape to its glider form to slow his decent, but this time he incorporated a technique from K’tara and instead of landing loudly like before there was a soft thud. The Obelisk hid behind the boxes and waited for the vehicle to reach its destination. Roxas watched the street signs as he rode in the back of the transport and noticed that the vehicle was heading back out of the city.

The vehicle was heading somewhere that Roxas was familiar with, the Nifokalija Mountains. It had been some times since the battle with Curwen Sunei, but the Mandalorian remembered the dangers and terrain of the mountain range. It would be the perfect burial ground for his enemy. After an hour of rough jungle terrain the vehicle stopped. The Mandalorian jumped onto a nearby tree branch, to stay out of sight. He would have to use the jungle for cover, as it was now day break. His Dark Jedi Foe exited the vehicle and began conversing with his entourage of lackeys. One was pushing against a bolder as if he was trying to move it, so another ran over to help.

“This is how you open the door idiot.” The one said as he pulled on a root protruding from the bolder.

A slab in the middle of the large stone slid to the side and revealed an entrance. The men ran inside, but the one Roxas was after stayed outside.

“I know you are there Mandalorian. It’s rude to think otherwise.”

The Sithspawn Mandalorian leapt from the tree and landed face to face with his greatest enemy.

Medbay, Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

Atra mentally sighed, watching as Sildrin left before turning back towards Syntari and Maelous. What Clan politics had he so vehemently injected himself into? Still, he had a role to play, even if he didn't much care for it.

"Special or not, greetings to you both." The coldness of his mental voice had not changed, but there was a touch more emotion to it than before. His grey eyes turned slow to focus on Syntari, letting his voice be heard only to her for a moment. "Have you forgotten so soon that it was I that brought you here?"

A slight gesture of his hand referenced the room about them, but the statement hinted at past events as well. Summoning a datapad to hand, Atra glanced over the words and couldn't help but smirk somewhat.

"I see Jeric's training methods have not changed."

It felt so long ago, even though it had only been a year. The Proconsul had once been a member of Marka Ragnos, serving under the then Quaestor Jeric. He had almost forgotten, so much had transpired since he had been appointed to the sister position within Shar Dakhan.

Medbay

Syntari studied the Proconsul as she considered his words, her eyes flashing as she recalled the battle which caused her to end up in the kriffing medbay in the first place. As much as she hated everyone in that moment and as much as she wished she could blast them all to bits with a Force power, the Bpfasshi hybrid knew that not only was such a wish far beyond her abilities, but if it weren't for this man, she would surely be dead. There was more, far more, which caused the misery and anxiety to ever so briefly transcribe itself upon her deceptively delicate features, but on that end she kept her silence.

The air of fury which permeated the medbay at Sildrin's haughty exit refused to dissipate and though she knew that offending the Long Matriarch was not the most intelligent of actions, Syntari could not and did not discover it within herself to care. It did amuse her to no end that such a woman could be offended by the words of a mere Huntress, though she did not voice such a thought aloud. Let them all get upset, she thought. Perhaps then I could get some bloody peace...

To Atra she said, "You are of course, correct...forgive my insolence, Proconsul." The acrid taste of disgust smoldered upon her tongue as other unspoken words lingered on her lips; if he noticed her discomfort, Atra gave no sign. "What brings you here to this..." she gestured around her, "fine establishment?"

He turned from Maelous, who so far had watched the half of the exchange he was privy to with silent amusement, back to Syntari and the moment his eyes alighted upon her face the Sadowan wished fervently that she had never spoken in the first place.

But he said merely, "At least you remembered your manners." She flushed slightly and glanced away, her fingers clenching upon the hilt of her weapon. What the damned thing was even doing in her possession right now she did not care to know; better to go armed with a weapon she hated than no weapon at all.

"I am here," Atra continued, "To check upon yours, and Maelous's, recovery." He fixed Syntari with an icy stare as he spoke only to her. "It wouldn't do for Tenebrae to go off with one member short, no matter how disrespectful the member."

Syntari could not help but grin.

"Then mayhaps you can tell me when I can get out of here," she said to Atra. "Not that Maelous isn't ample company, of course."

Medbay

He still had not grown completely accustom to having other people's voices in his head, and did his best to push some of his memories deeper into his mind. He did not know how far Atra could see into his thoughts, or even if he could at all, but the repression was reflex.

"I would not have it any other way," Maelous said to Atra, his voice like gravel, "if I cannot keep myself alive in training, then I am not worthy of anything more than death."

Syntari began to speak gaining the attention Proconsul. He assumed any walls he tried to put up would be noticed, so once their eyes were no longer on him he began to push a few select dark memories into the deepest parts of his conscience mind, he wouldn't lose them just hide them.

"Not that Maelous isn't ample company, of course." his name brought him out of his mental preparations, as he opened his eyes he noticed the medical droid and wandered off. He stood up and began to put on his tunic and cloak. "I am here quiet a bit," said the former Jensaarai, "I think the droids are growing fond of my visits."

He crossed the distance from his examination to Syntari's quickly, his firey eyes glancing over her form, "I hope you are doing well, I hear the battle was quite spectacular," his eyes glimmered for an instant in the recognition of a fight well fought, "I will have to look over the reports some time, I am most interested in the details."

Maelous' eyes shifted back to the Obelisk, "Was there a reason you came to see us, or just mere coincidence?"

In both of there minds they could hear the voice of the dragon, "There is always a reason."

Medbay, Temple of Sorrwo
Sepros, Orian System

Anxiety was pressing in, the Proconsul very much wanted to get away from the various tools and droids that called the sterilized halls home. He didn't handle such places well and it would not do to lose control. No, not at all. A long exhale and the closing of his eyes allowed the newly named Long to focus his thoughts and place his metaphysical being someplace else, somewhere far from lab equipment.

"You are free to leave at your discretion, Syntari, though your direction from this room is not so freely chosen."

As if on queue, a uniformed officer strolled into the room and handed Atra a datapad. Without so much as glancing at or acknowledging the man, the Obelisk took the offered device and tossed it onto Syntari's cot unceremoniously. The officer left as silently as he came.

"Your standing orders are to make ground upon Aeotheran and group up with the newly formed, Tenebrae," the icy thoughts resounded within the stubborn confines of the Bpfasshi's mind, "I believe you are familiar with Mirus, welcome to his retinue."

Grey eyes scanned horizontally across the room, falling on Maelous once more. Atra made no attempt to read the man, nor had he truly made an attempt to learn anything about him. Why hadn't he? There was that question again, the 'why'. So often he had asked it of late, and yet still unanswered it remained.

There has to be an end to all this, doesn't it?

Perhaps it was time he stopped looking at books, artefacts, and the past and actually learned something of the people he supposedly oversaw. Mayhap there he would find an answer, a reason.

"Maelous, I trust you are able to spare me some time."

The transmitted thought wasn't so much a question, as a declaritive statement.

Medbay

As soon as Atra informed her that she could leave the Medbay, Syntari damn near leapt out of bed, dressing in her armor regardless of present guests. She had no time for modesty and she didn't care either way, if she was perfectly honest with herself. Grabbing her armory saber the Huntress looked back at the Proconsul and nodded in Maelous's direction.

"Maelous, good luck and do us a favor and survive," she said, allowing her rather harsh words to serve as a farewell. "Proconsul, I thank you for th visit, it has been most entertaining after all." Surprising herself, she bowed low to him in recognition of his status and further apology for her prior rudeness. If she expected a response, however, she did not get one, and as it happened the Bpfasshi took her leave before he could speak anyway.

As she walked along the corridor it occurred to her that not only was her knee aching horrendously, but she did had no idea where she was going. Reluctantly she pulled her comm from her belt and keyed in Mirus's code. It wasn't that she didn't want to talk to Tenebrae's leader so much as she hated asking for help. Still, she mused as she waited for him to pick up, she'd rather not wander about and get lost; she'd never hear the end of it.

"Mirus!" She said cheerfully when finally he graced her with his attention. "Mind telling me where I'm going?"

Auriga Command Center
Aeotheran

The shuttle ride to Aeotheran had been brutally long and ridiculously slow, as far as Syntari was concerned. By the time she arrived at the command center her agitation had taken root within her and fully bloomed into a garden of frustration when she was finally admitted into the meeting room. After a seven minute argument with the guards on her right to enter--which, obviously, she won--her knee had swollen far more than was normal and her eyes glimmered with a faint golden sheen, she leaned against the wall closest to the door and settled down to wait. The newest addition to the Pepoi family spoke in hushed, confidential tones to his apprentice, briefing her, Syntari assumed, on the nature of their mission or quest or whatever it was the two would be doing; despite her irritation writhing within her, she forced herself to stay perfectly still and to wait until he was finished.

After all, she reminded herself, she had missed the bulk of the meeting to begin with and was fully aware of her luck. The Battle Team leader was kind enough to fill her in on her objective, which as she knew full well, would cut into the time he had to complete his own task. Syntari was very grateful for that, although she would never admit having such an emotion. She, grateful? Never!

As she shifted her weight from her still-sore knee, Syntari realized that she did not know this man. The two had gotten along relatively well on Khar Delba--hell, she had even saved his life--the Knight she had worked with had been replaced by a Templar she hardly recognized. As Mirus turned his blazing blue eyes towards the Bpfasshi a sudden trill of nervous anxiety chilled her insides, her blood traveling so sluggish through her veins that she felt vaguely dizzy. The man hadn't even said one word yet and already she was a mass of tangled nerves; not even the Herald ever made her this inexplicably frenzied.

And so it begins, she thought to herself. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she stepped forward and met his gaze.

This is set just after the Crusade... I drafted it weeks ago, but have just been so busy I haven't managed to post it until now.

Sadow'een Library
Khar Delba
A few hours following the Council’s armistice

No animal, no bird stirred the silence as water lapped against the shore as the Nightmare stared out toward the quiet unbroken horizon, undisturbed but for a small ripple that spread along the surface in front of the otherwise empty, abandoned beach.

A fork of lightning flashed in the clouds above.

“Father and Son shall be reunited,” the lone figure on the beach said as more ripples met the first as a clap of thunder blew through the air, fluttering, rippling, writhing...

And as the current rushed toward the beach, the Nightmare became black and—

Darth Vexatus’s eyes opened and his left hand clenched involuntarily. The pain ran up his arm as he felt the cells in his hand blink out, one-by-one, unable to contain the dark energies any longer.

The future had already been writ.

His Master may have made his choice. But Fire was beyond even Thunder’s control.

As Khar Delba’s fierce winds battered against the icy pinnacle jutting out atop the mountainside, the Sith Lord eyed in the distance a quartet of small reconnaissance transports, each blazoned on the side of their main fuselage with the unmistakable seal of the di Plagia.

Plagueis had arrived to collect their prize.

But in the halls of the great library spire of the Sadow’een, they would find nothing but ghosts and shadow. Lord Vexatus had already confirmed what he had always expected: that Khar Delba’s secrets had been plundered long ago, and any legacies left behind had either wasted away into ruin or else were worthless and only remained because none had come to claim them.

A distant cry echoed through the great tapestry, but the Dark Prophet did not care for its source.

If the sorceress had endangered herself, that had been her wish.

But he had already seen the future, and Sildrin Sadow would yet live.

And then Atra saved Sildrin from the One Sith dude in their posts.

Medbay, Temple of Sorrwo
Sepros, Orian System

Maelous watched half of the exhange between the Proconsul and Syntari, her reaction was hurried. It was either the best possible news, or the worst. He couldn't much tell.He watched as she left sterile room, his eyes fixed on her form as she exited. His thoughts went back to her words, "...do us a favor and survive." He tried to fathom what was meant, in his short time with the Brotherhood, he had never been close to death. It was of course possible, but did she see something through the Force. Was she aware of some coming event that he was not?

He pushed the thoughs from his mind, no since in being worried about it now, and turned his attention back to Xue Long, locking eyes with him. Maelous was aware of his reputation, but he never once showed any concern over it.

He bowed slightly, "It would be rude and a lie if I said no, Proconsul."

"Walk with me then," the voice in his head again, he wasn't sure if he would ever grow use to that, "we have much to discuss." He turned and began to walk toward the doorway.

Maelous fell in a step behind him, "Lead the way."

Auriga Command Centre
Aeotheran

The pieces were assembling. First, his apprentice, now Syntari - whose gaze was met levelly, for a moment, before the Templar turned away. Yes, she had a very clear intent behind those eyes; what of it? He had more important things to worry about than the fluttering of her heart, which could be addressed later. It was clear to him, perhaps not to her. That clarity, that distraction, would prove too costly in the middle of a warzone. He had a war to win. Such feelings would have to wait before he brought them up in conversation.

At that moment, a clone commando appeared in the doorway, shouldering his rifle and staring at the Templar from behind his helmet, waiting for the right moment before saluting and speaking.

"We're all loaded and ready to go, sir. Your kit has been stowed aboard the ship. Anything else?"

Mirus paused for a moment, staring at the holgorapic display of Kel Rasha before him. The city was about to become a battlefield for a war that the people could never truly know the motivations of. House Shar Dakhan were about to become the ultimate puppetmasters in a shadowy game of chess, conquering the people without them ever realising their subjugation.

"No, Sergeant. Yuriko, Syntari, grab your gear. We're leaving."

Aboard a MAAT, En Route to Kel Rasha
1700 hours

Night was barely falling as the Medium Aerial Assault Transport flared out for its landing, the LAAT/i advanced model already showing its worth to the ground forces of the Clan. Aboard it were two fire teams of clone troopers, four clone commandos and three Dark Jedi - Mirus, Yuriko and Syntari. Syntari and Yuriko had four clones each with which they could effect their destruction, but Mirus had the real firepower - the four clone commandos would be the most efficient way to effect the conquering of the city under his terms. He would become the general, the master and architect of the assault. Fitting, really. These people worshipped an 'architect'.

Mirus shouldered his DC-17m, checked the vibroknife and lightsaber at his side and hauled up his plasteel pack as the last piece of his ebon battle armour, worn as one of the Black Guard, affixed to his right arm. He was ready for a war. A war that none would know he was fighting. Contrasted to the white armour of the clones, he looked so out of place - but he looked ready.

"Syntari, Yuriko, make sure you come back alive. I'll see you later. Force be with you."

As the MAAT came into a hover over a tall building, five ropes extended from the side doors as they slid back, affixed to the roof mounts - five forms slid down as they fast-roped onto the roof of the first power generator, the clones up top performing overwatch as the commando team dropped to the roof and surveyed their surroundings. A hatch popped open as the team leader cracked with with some slicing skills and one by one the team vanished inside. All that was left was the Obelisk as he stared up, watching the retreating military transport take the two Journeymen on to their targets. Part of him worried about them both - as his charges, as fellow Sadowans, as members of Tenebrae, as his apprentice, as one who had saved his life. They deserved to survive this.

The thoughts left his mind as the warfighter disappeared into the building behind his team, intent on sabotaging the city's power in order to herald the arrival of the rest of the Dakhani assault force, to pave the way for complete victory. The Battle of Kel Rasha would be fought, and won, by the hands of Dark Jedi.

It started now.

Corridors, Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

The Proconsul didn't so much as glance back, knowing through his other heightened senses that Jeric's apprentice was following. Maelous was certainly a curious individual, if not seemingly devoid of any sense of self preservation. At least, that was the impression Atra had received through his brief glance at the Guardian's medical history.

The corridors were not devoid of life, Journeymen and ex-DSOG troopers moved from point to point, performing whatever task they had taken up. What did any of it matter, in the end? They were tools of the Iron Throne, weapons in a crusade, nothing more. What purpose did they truly hold?

A trio of engineers seemed to be near sprinting past the Obelisk towards the medbay, a look of surprise on their face. Their sudden appearance brought his thoughts to the Matriarch he had left behind. What troubles had he unleashed upon the Temple by leaving an Apostate unsupervised within the confines of their home? How many choices will he make down paths he cannot back travel before the repercussions become clear?

Thoughts for another time.

"Tell me of your purpose here."

The Long's question was straight and to the point, rising deep within Maelous' mind. It was a simple question, on the surface, but for a man such as Atra, devoid of true purpose himself, it held so much more meaning.

Corridors, Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

The former Jensaarai pulled the hood of his cloak up over his shaved head as they left the medbay, concealing most of his face in shadows. As they moved down the hall his eyes fixed on the man walking a step ahead of him. He was aware of the myriad of people moving around them, he could sense their presence, but was uninterested in their existence.

He felt a pulse in the currents of the Force, as three mean sprinted in their direction. His muscled tensed as he prepared for combat, but then the sensation was gone. The men faltered seeing Atra, caught of guard their rush ended. Maelous sighed, the joy of battle torn from him.

"Tell me of your purpose here." the telepathic message came through. His minding leaping for the answer, but then his mind began to race. Was this a test? Had Jeric sent Atra to see what was going on in his mind? Would he die if he answered incorrectly. He had no other answer, and it was irrelevant if it was correct or not, he intended to answer it regardless.

"Destruction," he said finally.

Atra stopped and turned slightly to fix him in his gaze, Maelous stopped in time with his, his eyes locking with the Proconsuls.

"Destruction?" the Long said, not quite having expected that kind of response.

"Yes, destruction" the guardian repeated, "I wish to be part of the end of One Sith and the Jedi Order"

Resistance Base
Under Kel Rasha Spaceport
Aeotheran

Pacing back and forth beside her bed, Locke waited for Kiana to awaken. He didn't know what he would say when she did. The last time they had seen each other, Locke had been eleven years old. That had been more than fifteen years ago. Amelia sat on a stool in a corner, seemingly daydreaming. She was the only other occupant of the room. Aside from them and the bed, there was a monitor and a couple of tables with medical equipment.

"I don't know what I'm going to say, " Locke told her.

"Well, what do you want her to know?" Amelia responded, her eyes drifting up to rest on Locke's face.

"I don't know. So much has happened. I love her. I want her to understand why I'm here and why I do what I do. But I know nothing about her either. Just that she was a Jedi, or is one." His eyes glanced at Kiana's facial tattoo lines for a moment. Even they could not hinder her beauty. She is still good, right?

"Just be honest, " Amelia said. "You're family, after all."

Locke nodded.

Then he heard a gasp from the bed. The Krath was at his sister's side in an instant. "Kiana?" he whispered.

Her eyes opened and looked at him, first with an expression of horror, then shock as she no doubt sensed who he was.

"Locke?"

"It's me, " he said.

Kiana turned her head to look at him, smiling weakly. "You're alive! I thought I'd never find you. You've grown so much, but you still look like my little brother."

Locke didn't know what to say. He had been a shy little boy before. He had come so far since then, but this was his sister.

She turned her head, looking around at the featureless, dark walls of the room. "Where am I? Did the Sith capture you, too?!"

Ah, something I know how to respond to. "No, you're among friends. It's alright, you can relax."

"Alright, " she said, laying back down.

"I do need to know something, " Locke said. It was best just to get it over with. "Why were you with the One Sith?"

Kiana closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Locke could slowly feel their sibling bond opening up, like a stream that had been damned for years. He thought he sensed fear and pain, but they were crushed in an instant and replaced with that same warm ambiance that felt so familiar, even though Locke had never felt it before except as a vague feeling of comfort when he was a child.

"After the war, I came looking for you, but you had disappeared. Something pulled me, like a thread in the Force, gently telling me to look for you, so I followed it. And it led me to them. They...were not kind. They found out what it was I sought and told me that they knew where you were and if I didn't help them they would kill me. I found it strange...how would they know you?"

Anger welled up inside Locke for a moment. They weren't kind? What did those dogs do... He erased it. His sister was strong for him, so he would be for her.

"I'm kind of a leader in a group of their major enemies right now." He didn't want to reveal everything right away.

"Their enemies?" Kiana asked. "But we were fighting Dark Jedi. Dark, twisted Jedi. Nothing like you."

What Locke said next were some of the most difficult words of his life. "Not like me...but I am a leader among them. I-" he swallowed, and decided to change the subject. "I thought you died in the Vong war. I was devastated."

Kiana gave him one of her comforting, warm smiles. The kind she had always used when he had been hurt or upset. Apparently those worked on adults, too, because he felt more at ease. "I was on a secret mission and it went far longer than expected, but I'm here now." She also seemed to be ignoring the situation, as if she didn't want to touch on it either.

Through their bond, Locke could feel Kiana's physical weakness. She must have been exhausted. "I need to rest, " she said, as if noting the same thing.

"Yes, " Locke nodded, "and I have matters I have to attend to." He stood up and moved toward the door. In the back of his mind, the Krath realized that Amelia was suspiciously absent again.

"And Kiana...it's so good to see you again."

---

Control Room
Resistance Base

"What's our status?" Locke said as he entered the room. It's walls were lined with boxy servers and computer screens, with an antiquated holoprojection table in the center. Gim stood looking at it, with a few of his people around.

"We've gotten in touch with other pockets of resistance in the city, " Gim said. "And we're ready to move to take the spaceport. We're just waiting on a signal from the Foxtrot Uniform in charge of this operation."

"Right, " Locke said. "I'll go join the others and wait for the signal."

"Don't suppose I'll be able to convince you to stay back as an important leader and all?" Gim asked.

"Not a chance, " Locke said. "Besides, right now I need the distraction."

His old aide nodded. "Take it easy."

"You too, Gim." Locke turned and left to join the ranks of his comrades.

Corridors, Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

The Proconsul considered the man's response for a moment in utter silence, the halls themselves seeming to mirror the same emptiness.

"So you have purpose... But do you have reason?"

Steel and gold eyes locked upon Maelous' own, as if staring beyond the flesh and into something far more profound. Destruction without reason was a most dangerous purpose, and based on Xue's understanding of Jeric's training methods it would take quite the powerful reason to persist. What made this man tick? Why subject himself to such punishment over and over.

Still, there was only so much that could be conveyed through words. Actions told so much more, and through the fists one was able to convey the truth of their heart so to speak. It was a tempting thought, a thought that left as quickly as it had arrived. The Obelisk was not yet ready to trust himself against one of his own in combat. He had already cost more than one life in less than twelve standard hours, and the half-breed Firrerreo was unsure if he could control himself just yet.

"Why destroy?"

The unspoken words hung heavy in the corridor, as if holding a presence of their own.

Undisclosed Location
1700 hours


Syntari glanced about her with a wary eye, casting her gaze over Yuriko beside her and on to their surroundings. Why the two had been paired together and what plan Mirus had for them the Bpfasshi did not know, and although she was curious she did not care to find out just yet. There were more important things to focus on at the moment, such as the throbbing ache in her knee and the all-consuming mission upon which the two Journeywomen were dispatched. Studying her companion out of the corner of her eye, Syntari mentally swore. Not only did she not know the young Sadowan but currently was not in the proper mood to interact with people, and surely Mirus knew that.

Everything always had to be a lesson, didn't it?

The hybrid sighed, her hand settling absently upon the hilt of her lightsabre.
What was the point in bringing it, anyway? she wondered. She couldn't use the kriffing thing--her hatred of the weapon could attest to that--but she knew better than to wander about without something with which to defend herself with.

At least she knew which end to hold.

Beside her, Yuriko remained equally silent, her black hair creating a shield between herself and the Bpfasshi. Syntari could hardly blame her; the girl wasn't the first to show a sort of...aversion to her presence.

"Are you ready for this?" At the sound of that voice--low, a slight purr to the mocking tones--the Mortehana girl started and looked towards the source of the sound with a slightly anxious quickness. She nodded, refocusing her attention upon their rapidly approaching destination. For her part, Yuriko did not know very much about the young woman known as "Syn"--after all, who did, really? She only knew that Syntari was the Herald's apprentice and close friend to her own Master, both facts being rather awing to
the Zeltron. But she had heard whispers, the same as nearly everyone else, although those rumors were typically hushed up before they caught flame.

Somehow, it was murmured, the hybrid had been involved with the death of another young Zeltron, some horrible shuttle accident with no survivors. While such a thing was not uncommon in Brotherhood business, for that same Zeltron to have been a friend of the Krath prior to her death was highly unnerving, especially when Syntari had swiftly taken the dead woman's place within Clan Naga Sadow.

Yuriko snuck another quick peak at the other woman, which if Syntari noticed she did not comment on.

"No need to be nervous," she continued. "No doubt Mirus would not send us to our deaths."

I hope, she added in a silent afterthought. There also wasn't a need to mention her lack of proficiency with a lightsabre...after all, treachery was the way of the Sith, and treachery may yet come in handy.

Corridors, Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

The Guardian's head lowered as the words entered his mind, his eyes loosing there fire, becoming cold and dark. His mind raced back through time, first to the death of his father at the hands of the Jedi, his mother dead a few years later because of trap laid by the One Sith. The Jensaarai had made an alliance with the Jedi, they even went and trained on their temple now, it's what had driven him to leave. Then his twin sister had come to him.

Maelous raised his head, his eye ablaze once more. locking his gaze with the Proconsul as he pushed the memories aside. "I have many reason to despise their orders. They obsess about their precious light and dark. The Jedi wish to bring balance by ending the Dark side. They seek out every possibly relic, every being that uses it, and they destroy them if they do not give up. This is not balance! They are attempting to heavily shifting the weight of the scales in their favor."

The Sith's worded wreaked of passion, their was no doubt in Xue's mind that they were his true feeling on the subject, Maelous continued "The One Sith know nothing but destruction. They miss the ideas of the Dark Side by light years. It does not require anger and hatred exclusivly. Emotion fuels the dark side. All emotion! The seek to destory the light out of fear of what it means, what it could do to their petty grip of fear."

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, "They are both wrong, and will cause great pain, and possibly the end of the galaxy. This cannot be allowed."

Corridors, Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

The Proconsul pondered the man's words for a moment. Indeed, the man had passion, attached to purpose. His reasoning was also sound, at least to a logical being. Logic often had no place in fanatical settings, as that was the One Sith and Jedi way. Were they not religious fanatics? Were they not both absolutes that fought for the cleansing of the other? Sure, the Jedi call it 'restoring balance' but at least the One Sith were honest about it.

Atra's grey and gold eyes settled on Maelous for a long moment of silence, as if weighing the man's very soul. Finally, he spun about on his heel and began moving once more. He said nothing, but knew that the guardian would follow in his steps. It was a fine thing, to speak words, but it was another thing entirely to truly mean them. Mean them in such a way that you were committed to them, believed them inside and out and were willing to do what was necessary.

With long strides, afforded to the Obelisk by his great height, he made his way down the corridor and into the training halls of the Temple. The sights found there were already quite familiar to Jeric's apprentice. Keying in his personal access code, the Proconsul opened the way to the more secluded training chambers.

"Come... Show me your resolve."

Modified Maintenance Chamber
Beneath S&V's Cantina, Onyx II
Tarthosian Orbit, Orian System
Several Weeks ago

"I'm glad you recognize me, Brother. Even after all these years..." Sev'aeris' modulated voice responded mockingly, the Zelton's brow furrowed as the sunfire blade of his saber pointed accusingly at the Miraluka.

Methyas had already adopted his modified stance, a hybrid of Makashi and Soresu, the Miraluka's left foot was leading towards his opponent as he sought to minimize his profile. The Miraluka responded quickly, his voice still even and calm against the harsh words of his foster brother, "I thought you were dead, Sev. Had you just come to me when I joined the Brotherhood."

The Zelton's saber leapt forward, closing the distance swiftly before being locked with the Miraluka's cerulean blade and pushed aside, "To do what?! Express my hatred in your successes in person? They're the same here as they were at home."

Another series of strikes bounced between the blades before Sev'aeris engaged a proper lock, the Jedi against him seeming to stare into the Zelton's eyes without a true sight, "So, my agents speak the truth then. After all these years of loyal service, you've turned against the Clan; against the Brotherhood."

"Year's of loyal service, forgotten as soon as other agents appear to do your job more efficiently, your Excellency. Year's of loyalty which have seen others lauded and promoted for their service with less impact and meaning for the safety of your so-called Brotherhood."

The Zelton's words lashed out in unison with his saber, each statement punctuated as the sabers continued to clash violently with one another. Sev'aeris' strikes were precise, perfectly timed and well oiled as a true master of Makashi; yet Methyas was unphased, his own skills with a saber reflected as a fluid motion deflecting and batting away the Zelton's assault.

"So I found others, as disillusioned as myself, who sought to undermine your precious Brotherhood. We worked together and struck out at targets, until the Grand Master struck back. We've been anticipating something since you and your companions captured that fool Zoraan's flagship."

Methyas countered the next few strikes as deftly as before, his mind still focused on the well being of his Guardsmen in the other chambers as he dueled his apparent rival. The Force bloomed about the Miraluka for a moment before the pressure lashed out at Sev'aeris like a wall of air. The Zeltron stumbled for a moment, using the Force himself to ensure his respirator and its tubing didn't come loose before he felt the warning. Rolling to the side, the Jedi's saber flew like a javelin past him, just catching his robes before he turned his attention back towards Methyas.

The Miraluka had a small smirk on his face as he engaged his second saber, the lightsword igniting like a buzzsaw while his other saber was guided without a touch to carve steadily through the wall, "Come now, Sev. What could the One Sith have possibly offered you that we couldn't? Power? Acceptance? Family? We could have offered all of that to you easily here."

Again the saber's clashed, striking violently as Sev chuckled, "You truly believe it, that the Brotherhood will succeed! You're blind to the fact that once your usefullness has ceased you'll be forgotten, discarded or killed. With my brethren now, only failure will result in my death."

"Then you've sealed your fate, Sev. I'm truly sorry."

Without another word, the Jedi's saber caught the Zelton's between its points, twisting the blade away as the sound of metal creaking loose from its holdings echoed throughout the chamber. Sev'aeris turned quickly, his eyes spotting a part of the wall pulling loose and careening towards him before he dove sideways for his safety again, Methyas' voice booming forth in response, "Alexander, form up!"

In response, the former Jedi lept through the opening with his saber at the ready, the Guardsman's weapon aimed pointedly at the Zeltron after having dealt with the Acolyte against him. As Sev'aeris crouched low, waiting for some reaction from the Sadowan pair, he watched as Methyas' second saber leapt across the room and began cutting into the next wall, "So, you've actually grown in your skills with the Force despite what father told you."

"I've grown into who I was meant to be, Sev. Arthur taught me well and he was a great replacement, but he wasn't my real father."

The Zeltron visibly restrained himself from lunging across the room at his foster brother at that statement, the two Sadowans a greater threat than the singular individual. With an almost hiss escaping his enunciator, Sev'aeris spoke again, "You've won this time, Methyas. But you had better watch your back."

With a subtle movement the Zeltron dropped a smokebomb, disappearing within as Alexander started towards him before feeling the signal from Methyas not to pursue, the Miraluka's voice following it, "Always do, Sev. I always do."

"It's almost cut through here, Methyas," the sound of Alexander's voice brought the Miraluka back to his other task, ready to help Tyren if necessary.

Main Corridor, Training Wing
Installation Crucible, Inos 18
Present Day

"A Knife?" The voice rose up beside Methyas as he analysed the weapon which had been bestowed upon the Miraluka.

Methyas responded calmly as he received his weapon from the man, "Yes, the Sapphire Blade is an honour to receive; I've been keeping it with me since I received it as a replacement to my combat knife."

"Admirable."

"Yes, but now I'll be introducing you to someone who could use your expertise in hand-to-hand combat."

As the Miraluka finished speaking, he turned the corner with the Talortai in tow. The avian man had been somewhat quiet outside of combat tactics, but he had opened up to Methyas since arriving in Orian. The Rollmaster had operated as a bit of a mentor whenever Atra was busy with other tasks, the Proconsul having taken the Talortai on board as his apprentice when he arrived from the Shadow Academy. Though, the Talortai's arrival in the grace of Sadow hadn't been entirely by the will of the Force; Methyas' last visit to the Shadow Academy had seen first-hand the man's skill and had pulled a few strings and favours to ensure his placement. Now however, there was another place the avian being belonged, with other members of SHADOW in the elite group of the Scepter of Ragnos.

Entering a large chamber with various equipment at the edges of the room, Methyas nodded curtly to the man at it's center. The two had worked together several times now on various missions, but the two shared a more familial bond though that too had now been largely ignored.

"Araxis, I hope I am not interrupting any of your training."

"Not at all, my friend. I actually just finished a session, who do you have here?"

"This, is Ferok Fen. He's a Jedi Hunter who's been operating as an agent of SHADOW during the Crusade, but I believe he'll be a better fit in your unit."

"A journeyman, hmm? How about we see what he can do."

Methyas turned slightly, turning his sightless eyes to Ferok to see if he'd consent, it was more a courtesy than a requirement but it did evoke a response as Ferok nodded.

Moving to the side of the arena, the Rollmaster watched as Ferok entered the middle of the arena opposite of Araxis. It would prove interesting to see how this sparring match would go.

Secluded Training Chamber, Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

Maelous surveyed the room as he crossed the threshold. Training equipment lined the walls, all more advanced than what he currently had access too in the main training facility.

"My resolve," he whispered as he walked along the edge of the room, his hand running across a piece of dismantled machinery. The Guardian knew what was coming, he could feel the electricity in the air. The same tense feeling before any battle, training or otherwise, was unmistakable. Yet the Proconsul hadn't attacked. Maelous began to wonder if he was being allowed to make the first move.

He knew he was out matched, but out right allowing himself to lose was not an option. He had to make the best of what was given to him. He absently knelt and picked up a wrench laying on the the floor. He would feel the eyes of the dragon watching him, there was no way he would be able to surprise his coolly waiting opponent.

He flipped the wrench in his hand, standing there staring at it, thinking about his options. He flipped it a second time, but reached out with the Force and held it in place at about eye level. He had one chance to gain an advantage.

The former Jensaarai turned toward Atra quickly sending the wrench shooting forward, with increasing velocity. The heavy tool rocketed toward the Proconsul as Maelous closed the distance. Shifting his weight to the right, the Obelisk avoided the makeshift projectile with little effort. The Long turned back to center himself once more, he felt the impact of Maelous' fist the same moment he realized he was there, had he underestimated him that much he wondered.

The Pronconsul's hand shot up with blinding speed and grabbed the Sith's wrist, "To Slow"

Secluded Training Chamber, Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

Just breathe, remain in control.

Men were born, bred, and raised. They had purpose, reason, and resolve. Atra had none of these things.

Xue Long was a weapon. He was made, forged, and set loose. His home was conflict, and it was there that he could truly think. But he was no longer alone; there was another side to his psyche that had been set free. To be frank, it scared him. The raw, bestial nature of it was fearsome and without restraint. The remnants of his mind, what hadn't been sacrificed and locked away during his reforging at the hands of the Mad Alchemist, that was what had been set loose. Freedom it had long been denied… and it liked it.

The half-breed released his grip upon Maelous' fist, his ashen gaze locked like steel upon the Guardian as he circled back into the center of the room.

"Again," the icy voice rose like a roar within the Journeyman's mind.

Resolve burned bright in the eyes of Jeric's apprentice, and again he charged. Compared to his peers, the Sith was fast, but it was not peers he now faced. To the Obelisk, the movements were clumsy, easily read, and each foot fall was a whisper of moves to come. The Guardian was an open book to Xue's experienced eyes. It was those eyes that flicked down, watching Maelous' weight shift.

From the right.

That was where the attack came, like a torrent his opponent's weight cascaded to the side in a sudden shift and pivot. A solid fist swung like a club intent on striking hard upon its target, flying true and striking upon... air. Atra's long legs took a single stride back, pulling him completely out of the shorter man's reach. With practiced grace his right hand snapped out, unfurling from beneath his black robes like a snake beneath a stone. Fingers pressed tightly together into a spear, he connected with vicious precision. Skin gave way to the concussive force of the connection, rippling outward as pale turned to a sickly mottled pallet. The bruising was immediate.

By the look on Maelous' face as the Firrerreo's hand slid back into hiding, his aim had been true and thousands of ghostly needles were working through the organic threading of the human's nerves. Without an arm, will you continue? The thought remained his own, Xue merely pondering as he observed the Sith. To his credit, the man's eyes showed no change as his arm hung limp at his side, fingers spasming in response to his nerve endings firing. No, he did not falter. This man charged once more.

"Commendable."

Time after time, Maelous crashed against Atra like waves breaking against the dam. It was tenacious, unforgiving, and relentless, yet futile... lest a weakness in the structure buckled. Unfortunately for the bald Sith, there was no weakness to exploit--at least none for a Journeyman to ascertain.

With no true immediate threat, the Proconsul found himself calm and collected, the whispers of insanity clawing within his mind a distant echo. A smile spread across his pale lips, he could remain in control, and that was a mighty victory for the Obelisk.

The Long's thoughts were suddenly and sufficiently interrupted as a heavy weight crashed into him. The unexpected collision pushed the Obelisk back as Maelous collapsed against him. The familiar positioning of Dulon registered as a dim flicker within Atra's mind, but the pressure of the man's shoulder against his rib cage was oddly distracting as he was carried towards the wall by the smaller man.

Right, about... now.

Ventus kicked off the ground with both boots suddenly, placing them firmly against the wall that was suddenly far too close for his liking. A trickle of Force flowed from his core through his nerves as he quelled the sudden pain of impact, his teeth chattering within his skull as he ground them tightly together. His muscles strained against Maelous for a moment as his knees bent like a spring, and then he crashed forward like a piston. The sudden shift in momentum carried the much larger man over Maelous and sent them both crumpling to the ground. Xue came to his feet first with a roll and a crouch. Already the Force was coalescing within his palm, the energy coiling and unfurling as it grew brighter in intensity. As he turned Maelous was already rising, preparing to meet his opponent head on once more.

Such resolve... No matter.

Maelous took a single step forward before being sent reeling back. The signature power of Naga Sadow, the Force Blast, was unleashed with all the might of an Equite upon the Guardian's arm. The resounding snap of splintered bone was clear to both combatants, if Maelous could even hear it over the all-encompassing pain that was surely coursing through his spine to the receptors in his brain. If the audible queue wasn't enough, the visceral gore as crimson strands cascaded into the air would be notice enough.

Almost unfathomably, the Sith's resolve did not falter. He waned a moment, kneeling low and breathing hard as he tapped into his control of the Force to quell the pain, casting it off like a worn coat. A twinge of insanity touched the dark brown eyes of the Guardian, taking on an almost amber hue in the lighting of their chambers.

Again he charged.

The thrill of combat filled him and Atra's nostril's flared. The world tinged red and he felt himself starting to lose control. He couldn't afford to, not here and now. Closing his eyes tightly he pushed the sensations from his mind, trying to relax but the situation wouldn't allow for it. His eyes snapped open just as Maelous was upon him and he tapped into that core of power once more. Xue's perception of time slowed and he suddenly felt like he could take as long as he wanted. Stepping forward with impressive speed, his knee met the Guardian's gut with a sickening thud, spit and bile flying forth from between the man's lips in response. A second, equally quick movement brought the edge of his hand crashing down where his neck meets his shoulder.

The guardian crumpled to the ground utterly limp as time returned to its proper flow. Xue let out a long breath as he steadied himself, closing his eyes once more as he fought to center himself. Maelous would be fine; in fact he would regain consciousness in mere moments... But they would probably be heading right back to the med bay. It was funny, in an odd way, how often Atra had been to the source of his greatest phobia of late.

Nifokalija Mountains
Aeotheran
Leaves rustled and rose into the air with movement. A crimson saber was begging for flesh as it was swung at its enemy. Roxas leapt over his enemy and fired his flame thrower into the opening of the hidden base; screams echoed from underground as the reply. The red saber once again streaked around toward the Mandalorian’s body. Roxas brought his hands up as if blocking a jab from a boxing opponent. The saber slammed against the green gauntlet and was pushed away.

“You won’t stop me Mandalorian. I will own the Orion System and your pitiful clan deserved their fate.”

Roxas eyed the man through his T shaped visor as his vocabulator vibrated with speech “What’s your name or should I call you bastard for the last few minutes of your life?”

The man laughed before speaking “That’s right, I’ve never introduced myself. I’m Crissor; the best dark side alchemist in the galaxy.”

“I have met the best alchemist in the galaxy and you are far from his skills.” The Mandalorian replied, speaking of Macron “You do realize that the Force bond you created is how I’ve been tracking you?”

“So, you know of the Force bond; well I guess you aren’t stupid.”

“Oh, that’s funny. Seeing as the whole time we’ve been talking I was busy improving my strategic position. I’ve also transmitted the location of this hidden base to the powers in charge around here.” The Mandalorian said with a large grin under his T shaped visor.

“You haven’t moved…”

Roxas drew the NR3S from his back and charged while firing fully automatic bursts of slugs at the Sith.
Crissor’s saber reignited in anger and slashed the slug thrower machine gun in twain. Roxas threw a jab into the man’s chest and was a saber slash was the reply he received. Roxas lifted his gauntlet to block the blade, but it hit the flame thrower and created a large of explosion of flames. The Sith extinguished the flames with the Force while keeping his saber against the Mandalorian’s arm. Sparks began fraying from the armor as it got hot. It was beginning to burn Roxas’s skin, so he jumped back.
Crissor was on him in an instant with another slash, but this time to the chest. The Sith raised a hand and fired a blast of Force energy which hit Roxas in the chest; splintering the armor plates and cracking a rib.

“That’s right, I’ve learned your new clan’s greatest attack. The Force Blast! HAHA” The Sith called out with joy.

“Not bad, but that isn’t a true Force Blast.” The Sadowan stated as he gathered energy in his hand “It is much more powerful than that. You have barely learned the first tier of the attack.” Roxas had slowly been gathering energy since the battle started to put his full power into an attack, so he raised his hand “Let me educate you.”

A red energy glowed around the Mandalorian’s gloved hand just before a wide beam of energy was released at a high speed. Crissor lifted his hand to create a Force barrier, but wasn’t fast enough. The blast hit his hand and then carried to his arm. The Sith screamed in pain as he ran to his other side out of instinct and saw that his arm was a shattered burned shell of what it once was. Crissor cried out in pain before calling a healing energy to flow through the wound. His arm didn’t heal completely thanks to the pulsing nature of the Force around the mountains. Roxas was lucky enough to have gathered energy for the Force blast while the area was temporarily saturated with the Force, but now it was almost neutral to it. The Sith charged with the enhanced speed and his saber held high. Each attack he dealt was dripping with fury like blood from a gash, but the Mandalorian’s armor took the blunt of the damage and left him with severe bruises and burns. The pain the Mandalorian felt was almost like going through the alchemy again.

Another strike and Roxas moved to evade, but it changed direction mid-swing and straight across his head. The blade burned through the helmet and visor causing the systems to shut off leaving the Obelisk blind for a moment. The Sadowan jumped away from his foe and tossed his helmet off.

“Good, now I can see the look on your face when I kill you.” The Sith boasted.

Roxas’s eyes were closed when he tossed the helmet and still were, but he grinned wide as he opened them revealing that he’s a Sithspawn. Crissor’s eyes widened in disbelief. As Roxas stood fully, scorched half melted pieces of armor fell from him and blood slowly flowed from where the saber hit thin pieces of armor. It didn’t matter that what made him recognizable in Naga Sadow would soon be gone; all that mattered was vengeance for his Mandalorian Clan, but something else was at the front of his mind and it was strange…for some reason it was as if something was leading him toward justice.

Secluded Training Chamber, Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

There was a blast of brilliant white light as his senses came rushing back. The Guardian sat bolt upright as his brain registered the exquisite pain coming from his left arm. He felt the slick warmth of his own blood on his face and side causing his robe to cling to his torso, he guessed he looked like a nightware, and he liked the idea. He stood slowly giving a near imperceptible wince as his desimated arm fell down to his side.

Calling on the Force he pushed the pain aside. The fog cleared from his mind as he caught sight of Xue staring down at him. His expression blank and cold as always. However, there was a hint of a memory in Maelous' mind, the Proconsul had smiled during their bout.

They locked eyes with one another but said nothing for a long moment. Finally, the Obelisk simply nodded, with the slightest hint of approval in his eyes.

The Sith looked down at his devastated elbow, "I should probably head back to the Medbay," turning his attention back to the dragon, "if you have more questions I can answer them along the way."

He turned and began the familiar route back to his usual exam table.

Deliverance. That was the only word on Mirus' mind as he ran through the hallways of the multi-story building serving once as an apartment building over a power generator, now becoming a fortified lookout post for the rebel forces. These rebels had taken the city by force but they were still no match for the highly trained elites of Naga Sadow. At their helm were many powerful warriors, adept lightsaber-wielding swordsman, arcane conjurers and elite marksmen. Annihilation was but a prelude.

The clone sergeant held up a clenched fist and the four behind him stopped. Two on one knee, scanning the hallways around them for movement. Each door checked carefully, but no clearance needed. There was absolutely nothing on this level. In fact, there had been nothing on the level above. The Force trembled and whispered to the Templar something was impossibly wrong with this situation. There would not be an important building with no guards.

As the fire team stepped into the stairwell at the end of the hall, the power cut. Darkness commanded. Screaming and shouting rose over the din that broke out. Chaos reigned.

"We can't stay in here forever, sir," was the flippant comment of one of the clone commandos. Mirus nodded assent. His lightsaber flared to life as the first sounds of movement reached them on the level above, peering down, blasters drawn. Without any need to signal, the Sadowan warriors took cover around the corner as the world lit up in a hail of crimson fire. Shots melted through durasteel around them. Their wall was quickly failing.

"Crash, grenade, now!" shouted the squad leader and a clone whose armour was splashed with teal unhooked a stun grenade from his harness, armed it and threw it in a single fluent motion. A flash of light and a heavy thud resonated and, suddenly, the blaster fire stopped. Wordlessly, the fire team made their way down the stairs as their poor foes came unprepared for the unrelenting fury of their attack, Mirus and his squad already down another flight before the attack started up again. This time, there was no quarter. The Templar was already making use of his lightsaber, deflecting blaster bolts left and right in long strokes of his lightsaber. One fell by their own shot. Then another. The rest died under the withering hail of blaster fire from the commandos.

"Nice glowstick, sir. Where do we get some?" said the gold-splashed clone trooper behind them, conveniently named Joker.

"At all leading retailers, Joker. Crash, the generator's just down the hall. Do your thing."

"Aye, sir."

Mirus and Crash moved up, lightsaber and blaster at the ready before they barged into the room. The systems operators at the control panels, unarmed as they were and hoping the fact that the thrum of the deadly blade in the hands of the Obelisk. But they were not spared. No prisoners. In this war, there was no quarter for those who resisted the rise of House Shar Dakhan. Both were cut down by the emerald blade of Pepoi. Taking one of the control seats, the clone commando set his fingers to the keys, flying over them deftly like a quetarra player's expert fingers over the eight strings. They didn't need to destroy the generator, merely shut it down and lock it out until they needed it. Crash had earned his name from making things crash - tanks, systems, his adrenal system... it was a fitting name.

After all, when the power went out for half the city a moment later, he earned his name.

Taking the comlink built into his left wrist, Mirus raised it to his lips. "Illusive Man to all forces," he said, quoting his SHADOW codename, "Engage. Engage. Engage."

The signal had been given to drop the heavy end of the hammer on Kel Rasha.

Main Corridor, Training Wing
Installation Crucible, Inos 18

Ferok walked slowly and calmly into the arena, his actions masking the rapidity of his thoughts. His mind poring over the man across the ring from him trying to pull together anything that might be useful to him. He sensed the being was powerful, how powerful he could not say, but with certainty he could conclude well above the his recent sparring partners.

Ferok nodded his head and took a deep breath letting his mind settle. Then he made his move closing the gap between the two of them in a quick bound, landing on both feet Ferok coiled up shifting his weight forward. He released the momentum into a single blow, he brought his arm up swiftly with his fist clenched tight towards his opponents gut.

Training Halls, Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

The assassin droid activated with the hissing sound of hydraulic systems. Red and green watched warily as metal moved with artificial accuracy. The Matriarch of the Long felt a bit uneasy, her force powers were yet not on their full heights. A matter that needed to be overcome with physical prowess.

“Security protocol deactiveated by request.”


She nodded, her purple sabres rested secure in her hands; their lights casting a purple light upon her face. For a moment she pondered changing the crystals of her sabres... to green and red. Her Force senses made her pull up her sabres, deflecting blaster bolts. She shook her head at spending silly thoughts about mundane things instead of concentrating on the fight.


Xia Long pushed aside all thoughts, clearing her mind. Only the flow of energy, the flow of the Force mattered at the moment. Force threads unravelled, guiding her movements - like a river bed guided its water. Shiny blades twirled in the droid’s metal hands as it saw no point in assaulting the Sorceress with blaster shots. The droid leaped at the Sorceress, feinting an attack at her head - the Sorceress raised her sabres to block the incoming blow. With a quick turn of the flexible torso the silvery blades dropped low - aiming at her legs. Xia knew she wouldn’t be able to parry this strike quick enough - a strong push of the Force brought the droid quickly out of her range. The droid quickly calculated its next move, knowing the Sorceress’ balance was very fragile from the last move.


The Pontifex struggled for balance as suddenly milky white drained all colours from her widening eyes - leaving only white blank orb. What...? She thought as the world around her faded into darkness. Her inner eyes opened. It was the world behind the veil of reality, a copy of the real world, bleached - lacking any colours. It was a silent and mute place. Her eyes looked down at her sabres, the familiar purple was dimmed to a meager grey glow. She disabled her sabres as they were of no use on these shadow planes. Even her steps on the ground were muted. Speed and distance didn’t matter here, what mattered was Will. Quickly the shadowy halls were left behind and she found herself at a water’s edge. The surface of the water was black; as if owning an oily consistence.


A bright flash of lightning arched in the dim sky. Xia Long frowned. Another lightning hit the ground and fire sprouted from the location of impact. The Matriarch tilted her head back, looking at the sunless dim sky. A branch of lightning raced down, aiming directly for her. She gasped, dropping back into the real world, pulling up her arms in defence against the lightning. A fatal move - the blades of the assassin droid drove into her unprotected chest, the momentum pushing her against the wall. Green and red filled her eyes again and the word dropped in along with the pain.

Her hands twisted, pointing the tips of her sabres downwards - but the blades did not penetrate the Sith Alchemy treated surface of the droid. Damn you Macron.
She predicted the next logical move of the droid - it would pull up the blades to kill her. She dropped her sabres, quickly grabbing the wrists of the assassin droid. Electric shocks started to dance through the droid’s metal structure - hydraulic systems howled in protest as it’s artificial brain was stormed by energy. Connections overloaded and contradictory orders made the droid’s metal limbs twitch. Xia Long bit down on her lower lip as she concentrated hard, a slash of telekinesis ripped out wires at the neck of the droid, causing it finally to shut down.

The Matriarch closed her eyes, focusing to ignore the pain and pulled on the metal hands, but the droid wouldn’t move. It stayed in a kneeling position with its blade still within her chest, having her pinned against a wall. For now her still limited Force Powers could not enhance her strength enough to remove the blades herself. A Force Push maybe? Too risky. She grimaced, a curse intermingled with blood ran from her lips. Her healing powers were limited if the blades remained within her.

She reached out with her thoughts. Xue? Could you... help me?

Training Halls, Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

He had barely taken two steps outside of the locked training room before a nagging pulled at the back of his mind, a quiet whisper that grew into a full fledged call for help. Sighing silently, the Proconsul eyed the medics he had previously summoned as they rushed forward, motioning to Maelous before rising to his full height. "It seems our young Guardian is making a return to your care earlier than expected. I will check in later."

The servants of Sadow knew better than to respond when it was not required of them, merely ushering Maelous away as quickly as possible without causing undue stress upon his injury. Waiting until they were fully out of sight, perhaps longer than he should have, Atra finally turned and took long strides down the hall. He put out his hand absent mindedly, trailing fingers across the cold stone of the walls before coming to a stop in an isolated corner of the training section. A slight motion of his hand and a tug of the Force caused the doors to slide open.

The room was silent, like death, yet still he entered. It didn't take long for his eyes to adjust, his Firrerreon legacy making darkness a mere inconvenience. Still, Xue squinted as his eyes scanned for the presence he sensed. When his eyes finally settled on the dark mass to the side, he would have laughed outright had it not been for the scar at his throat.

An utter feeling of amusement infringed upon her senses as Xia lifted her head weakly. Surprisingly light footfalls echoed through the chamber as a cold voice filled her mind with unbridled laughter. The Matriarch of the Longs grimaced in pain as she shifted her head to face the man she had called to. "Find something funny?"

A bemused smirk spread across the Obelisk's pale features as his grey and gold eyes took in the scene before him. "I'd ask you to stick around a moment, but I think you've already got the point."

The Sorceress grimaced even more, fixing Atra with a glare. "I did not summon you to be mocked."

"Don't think you have much of a choice in the matter; couldn't help but take a stab at it."

Again she grimaced, if it was even possible to do so more than she already had. The pain in her chest stopped Sildrin from lashing out at the Proconsul, who's telepathic laughter was somehow infinitely more infuriating than the actual sound. As blood slowly dripped from her wounds, further staining the fabric of her garb, Xue Long merely folded his arms across his chest. A look of contemplation came over him as he tilted his head to the side. His thoughts floated heavy into the room, as if not directed at anyone in particular.

"Perhaps I could take advantage of this situation? Mayhap in exchange for answers?"

He ran a finger along the stubble at his chin, scratching lightly. His once thinly kept beard was beginning to spread across his cheeks to encompass its natural lines.

"You seem to be in stable condition, after all."

An audible groan from Sildrin's lithe form brought a grin to Atra's face and a slight chuckle, as far as his throat would allow. Crouching low, he rested his arms on his knees and leaned in close, the metallic aroma of her blood filling his nostrils.

"Tell me, Blind Dragon. What is the Final Way? What is the goal of the Apostates?"

Silence fell heavy like a blanket upon the pair, the quiet twitching and sparking of the assassin droid seeming to echo unto eternity. Orbs of green and red stared coldly into steel and gold, the unspoken words as impactful as any that had ever been said between them. Finally, her lips parted as a curl of vermillion locks fell over her pale features. "You already have your answers, Proconsul."

A heavy sigh escaped from Xue's throat and he shook his head lightly. "You keep saying that."

"Then maybe it's true?"

"Have it your way."

The half-breed Firrerreon pushed himself up with a slight hop, positioning himself behind the assassin droid and quite unceremoniously pulling it back with a grunt. The lack of care in his methods was evident as Sildrin gasped out loud, the pain of the cold metal sliding free of her flesh almost as significant as its arrival. Anger flushed her cheeks with red for a brief moment before relief filled her senses. She was free from the damnable blades of the droid, and proceeded to let the Force trickle into the wound and knit the flesh back together. Glancing at Xue through barely parted eyelids, she had the briefest contemplation of thanks before returning her focus towards her own recovery.

Atra merely eyed the woman, unsure how to proceed. What did he really know about the Blind Dragon? Not much, that was for sure. She was a dossier come to life, and yet he still knew nothing. Of course she argued to the contrary, but he was stubborn. As was she.

"We need to go."

His eyebrow arched high, a look of incredulity on his face. "Do we now?"

Xia Long merely nodded, rising shakily to her feet and pressing her hand against the wall to steady herself. Taking a long breath, that air of utter aristocracy came over her once more. It was quite absurd, considering the marks of her wound were painted upon flesh and fabric alike. Still, she said nothing and proceeded to march out of the training room. He somehow felt like she completely expected him to follow, no matter that he was the Proconsul here. Still, what harm could there be in following. Besides, Sepros could be very boring when it wasn't under constant attack.

Main Hangar, Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

A shuttle was already touching down as the Daughter of Sadow slipped through the entryway. Atra was not far behind, his long strides enabling him to match pace with an almost lazy ease. His senses were on full alert, knowing they had no expected arrivals yet sensing a presence within that shuttle. A slight smile curled Sildrin's red lips as she came to a stop, watching as her arms folded comfortably across her stomach. The Obelisk's hand was already lightly resting on the hilt of his saber, finding a sort of comfort in its sensation.

"Sir!"

An officer with a slightly panicked look upon his face strode towards him with quick steps, bowing slightly upon arrival.

"Apologies for the lack of notice, but we have a new arrival for Marka Ragnos."

"I noticed."

The chill in the Proconsul's response was unmistakeble, and the officer made no attempt to stay nearby as he scurried off quickly. A metallic hiss denoted the lowering of the ship's ramp, moments before the airlock released and a woman stepped out. The first thing Atra noticed was the sheer audacity of her attire. Silks and jewelry adorned the newcomer, every mark of wealth one could think of. It was nigh obnoxious, and the way the woman carried herself denoted a personality to match the attire. The second thing he noticed was her height, finding himself looking further and further towards the ground as she approached them.

The woman's eyes were focused on Sildrin, and a slight respectful bow of her head came just before she spoke. "So, we have a Matriarch now?"

A somewhat sad smile graced Xia's face for a brief moment before she responded. "Welcome back, Xiao. It has been some time."

Xiao Long nodded quickly, turning her golden gaze to Atra, whose nostrils seemed to be flaring as he took in her scent. She looked him up and down, utterly unimpressed by his significant size towering over her. Her lips curled in a look of slight disdain, as if he were somehow less than her, in the process revealing her somewhat pointed canine teeth.

She has Firrerreon blood.

"This is Xue Long. Our new brother."

Xiao's arms folded across her chest and she leaned back slightly to meet his gaze, a slight glare to it as she studied him. The situation was utterly absurd as the Little Dragon looked almost comical in manner based on the sheer difference in their size.

"Much has changed indeed."

Darkness. All encompassing, it enshrouded Syntari within folds of ever-constant gloom eclipsing even the nocturnal blackness. Her heartbeat quickened and blood thundered through her veins, roaring in her ears with all the ferocity of a Sithspawn of old as she stood entirely still. Ignoring the instincts to panic stampeding through her brain, she calmed her racing heart and allowed herself the brief luxury of touching the Force. Although her training in that area hardly enabled her to apply her knowledge, simply reaching out to the Force in her own limited way infused her with enough control to resist a full-blown panic attack.

That is the past, she thought to herself. A shadow of the past, no more than that.

Relatively soothed, the Bpfasshi cocked her head to the side and listened to the silence permeating her surroundings, her senses stretched out in all directions in an attempt to scout for possible enemies without the aid of eyesight. So intent was she upon searching for hostile individuals that she failed to notice that everything was far too quiet.

"You ready for this, Mortehana?" she murmured softly.

No answer.

Swearing beneath her breath, Syntari stretched out through the Force towards where Yuriko ought to be--but in addition to being next to useless, that awareness offered no insight as to the girl's disappearance. She cursed her own stupidity; who knew how long Mortehana had been missing? She didn't dare ignite her lightsabre, knowing that the weapon would make her an immediate target and the bright light would serve no purpose except to blind her. Even now she saw far better in the absolute darkness than she had before Cavataio had killed the power; the only perk to carrying Umbaran blood, she mused.

No time to search for the girl now. Yuriko would have to fend for herself. After all, the troopers that her Master had sent them with remained loyal to Mortehana and would no doubt protect her better than Syntari ever would. A creature of habit, the Bpfasshi worked more effectively as a lone agent and Yuriko had been slowing her down.

Or so she insisted often enough to make her believe her own lie.

Syntari could already hear the whispers, the rumors spreading like wildfire that the Herald's apprentice had lost Yuriko Mortehana and had done nothing to find her, nevermind that she had a host of troopers at her back. Cavataio would no doubt feel obliged to protect his own, and being his apprentice as well as a member of Tenebrae, Mortehana was afforded the best protection. And little could convince Syntari that her own Master would go to any lengths to watch her back.

Slipping into the shadows with the talent of all her years, Syntari knew very well that this mission could be her last.

Halls, Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

Maelous was escorted to the medbay. It seem strange that they had rushed in to get him. He wondered how long he had been unconscious and if Xue had summoned them.

He moved down the corridors he had just left only a few short moments before and into the medbay. A medical droid approached and examined his damaged arm. "We will need to replace the bone with an artificial structure. The arm will not be removed." the droid buzzed as the team that escorted him ran off to prepare the operating room.

"You will spend some time in bacta to insure the injury heals properly," the droid continued.

I no mood to deal with being stuck in a tank "I want the scars, they are a matter of pride." he blurted. He was doing his best to fight off the pain, but was losing that battle as well.

The droid made low humming sound as it's circuits processed the instructions, then finally spoke, "Adjustment to treatment protocols made. Please follow me."

He walked with the droid to the OR and laid down on the table. A respirator was placed over his face and then the black of conciseness came. Inky black surrounded him like a warm blanket.

The Guardian floated in the bacta tank, and he dreamed. Maelous was never at peace though, and it would always turn to the same nightmare that kept him awake at night.

The Cave of Echoes
Beneath the Temple of Sorrow

A female Falleen stood on the edge of the Pool of Reflection where the Dark Prophet had come to meditate on the path now left before him. When last he had come there, it had been with his Master, on their first return to the dominion of Sadow since their betrayal nearly a decade ago. That time, they had come with Sildrin and the Falleen’s old apprentice, the Alchemist and then recently deposed consul who had sought revenge on the ones who had forced him into exile.

Like Sildrin, Macron had known nothing of the lost catacombs beneath the palace.

I hear someone out there... I hear voices, but they feel so, so far away... can anyone hear me...?

The echoes whispered through the Prophet’s ears as they bounced off the dusty cavern walls, fading as they reached the central pit, where the water residue from the rocks high above had drained to form the black pool, which spread out into the darkness, the cold water now still.

As he approached, the Nightmare in front of the pool stared back at the ruined Elder, and the muscles in Vexatus’s hand spasmed again, clenching on their own accord as more of his cells blinked out in rebellion to the dark energies that filled the labyrinthine maze of abandoned tunnels.

“You cannot escape us,” the phantom of his sister said.

But Xora was dead.
Both Zorrixors were.

Darth Vexatus ignored the Nightmare and moved to the front of the pool alongside it. He would not be goaded by an echo that existed only within his memories. Another voice joined the first’s as a second figure manifested on the opposite side of him, but he dismissed its words, as well. Xora, Maestus, they were all nothing but forgotten shades; none of them were real, not anymore.

If there was any chimera on the edge of the pool, it was him alone.

As the thoughts drifted through the Falleen’s mind, the surface of the water seemed to ripple softly forming two small circles, as if two coins had been dropped into it. Another face formed in the surface of the water, but the dark lord simply closed his eyes and cast the Nightmares aside.

He had not come here to be haunted by the past.

Ancient Spirits of Evil... transform this decayed form...

More echoes drifted through the chamber, but Darth Vexatus paid them no notice, however apt their forgotten words may have been.

The Falleen had come here for one reason: to seek an answer to his dying body’s affliction. The last of Trevarus’s knowledge had been spent when he had brought his apprentice back from the brink with the waters of Runculo. But where the Oracle was now, Vexatus did not know. With the death of Chi Long, Trevarus had disappeared, taking Eosara and his Obsidian Cohort with him.

Last the Dark Prophet had heard, the Sanguinus had been sighted making planetfall on the poisoned world of Kapsina in Jusadih, but that had been back before the first Crusade on Nfolgai.

And though the Witch did not speak about it, Darth Vexatus knew that Sildrin too had felt what he had foreseen back upon the frozen wastes of Khar Delba: that the Thunder Dragon’s chains had begun to crack, and that Shan Long’s imprisonment was soon approaching its end.

In the past year, it was as if all the three sorcerers had been working toward since Runculo had come undone. Somewhere, in the back of Vexatus’s mind, a quiet voice whispered that he already knew this, that he should have foreseen Chi Long’s death and Trevarus’s abandonment. The Nameless One that had haunted the Falleen’s dreams for the past thirty years -- hidden behind the emptiness wrought by Lysu Thren’s plague -- the death that had been inevitable.

The future had been writ back when Jedgar Paladin had spared his life from summary execution. It was not because any of them had ever cared about the life of Xanos Zorrixor: it was because they had always understood what he had seen -- and had sought to prevent it.

But in the end, Trevarus had failed to fully decipher his apprentice’s vision, and for that his Master’s master had paid the price. It was little wonder why Trevarus had now abandoned him.

The Oracle was all alone now. And the Thunder Dragon was breaking free.

Another face formed in the pool, its fiery orange, sun red hair kept short atop a square face that stared up from the unfathomable black depths, unblinking, unimpressed. The visage of Eosara Goratis, Trevarus’s chief henchman, opened its square jaw and the waters rippled.

“The boss wants to do a deal,” the vision of Eosara said, before the face dissipated back away.

A memory from the past, or a vision of one of the many possible futures? The Elder would have known the answer once upon a time, but ever since Lehon, his mind had been left broken, shattered into a thousand fragments. Even now, long after Runculo, there were pieces of his past the Dark Prophet had not been able to reassemble, names and faces he was unsure if he had ever met, or if they were nothing but shadows left behind from the lives of the other people whose minds he had devoured to keep him own consciousness anchored where he now stood.

The only thing clear was Sepros, like Khar Delba and Antei, did not hold the answers he sought.

There was but one option left.

The black pool in front rippled again, though no face formed to join its watery lips as they spoke:

Silversisi.

It was time to return to Arx and consult the monks.

Under Spaceport
Kel Rasha Area
Aeotheran

"What have we got?" Locke asked, hefting the E-11 blaster rifle he had been given for this mission. His lightsaber was still clipped to his belt, but the Krath favored blasters for ranged combat. His Makashi was designed with dueling in mind. After all, he already knew how to take cover and shoot a blaster. Why should he learn a form for use against blaster-wielding opponents when he already had a counter for them?

Around him stood the myriad of conscripts and former Dlarit personnel Gim had gathered. Many of them were soldiers, but there were many who were not as well. Locke noted teenagers and even some old men among the rabble. Their eyes were sunken and sad-looking, but today they wore a hopeful smile.

"Four groups, scattered around the spaceport, " Jon said. He had another rifle similar to Locke's hefted over one shoulder, while he scratched his beard with the other. "They're small, but we should be able to take them by surprise. Our primary targets are the main hangar and control towers. If they have any fighters at all, we want to cut that off right away."

"Agreed, " Locke nodded.

Suddenly, another one of the soldiers waved for their attention. "We've got a signal!"

"Thanks Dosque, " Jon said. "Alright, everyone, form up, be ready!"

They were already on the service elevator, but as it slowly rose everyone got into rows, aiming where the exit would be. The group was a bit too slow for Locke's taste, but they would do. They needed to be ready to move out immediately. Locke took position at the head of that column. He would have preferred anonymity, but these people could use a bit of cheer.

"These scum believe they can take our city. They've set themselves up as kings, but we will show them. We are the true power of this system. This city is not just Sadow's, but it is yours! It is your homes and your businesses! This place was built through your struggle! Together we will drive out these usurpers, and secure this city in the name of Sadow once and for all, for conquest is our destiny!" He held the blaster high and shook it with that last word. To Locke's relief, the group cheered briefly.

I've still got it, " Locke thought. "and we shall not fail, " he whispered, as the cheering died out and the group focused on the task at hand.

When the elevator stopped and its doors slowly slid open, Locke did not find the scene he expected. There was blasterfire, but it wasn't coming toward them. Instead, the shuttle that had brought Locke's party here was now smoking wreckage. Behind it, Din crouched next to the corpse of the other soldier who had been left to guard it, quickly firing over the wall.

Eyes widening at the sight of the newcomers, Din started for a moment before seeing Locke. "Took long enough, " he yelled.

"Troops! Move out!" Jon shouted, directing the group. They spread out into the clearing, spreading around the shuttle in two groups. Locke joined one of these. They came around the shuttle to see a small group of resistance fighters holding the doorway with an E-web repeating blaster. Clearly, they hadn't expected the new group.

Din moved up next to Locke. "Glad you could make it, " he said.

"Yeah, " Locke answered. He was only half paying attention; letting the Force guide his movements. The Consul fired his rifle in short bursts, one trio of bolts catching the E-web gunner in the chest. Before any more of the resistance fighters could get to it, the other Sadow forces had already killed the remaining fighters.

"Quickly! To the hangar!" Jon shouted, moving past Locke. The Consul charged right behind him, along with the rest of the group. The spaceport wasn't large and they met little resistance until the corridor opened up onto a large central hub. Locke surveyed the scene before him.

This area was enclosed, though the space was almost enough to fit a light transport. Shop stalls lined the walls, displaying signs in different colors and languages. In the middle, barricades were set up in a staggered formation and a well-entrenched group of rebels were hiding behind them. As Locke's group fanned out and took cover behind anything they could - from trash cans to benches - they found that the rebels were not going to budge.

One man dashed up beside Locke and pointed at one storefront with broken windows. "Hey, that's my shop, " he said. That's my shop!"

Before Locke could stop him, the man was running across the battlefield. "Hey!" the Krath shouted, but the man ignored him. That's great.

The smart move probably would have been to stay behind cover and let the man get killed, but Locke suffered a moment of weakness and jumped from safety, using the Force to quickly overtake the other man. Locke wasn't that strong on his own, but moving so quickly with the Force flowing through him allowed the Sorcerer to knock both of them to the ground when Locke collided with the man.

"Stay here, " Locke growled, coming up to one knee, arcing his blaster around. He held the trigger down almost continuously, barely keeping enemy soldiers at bay, until suddenly searing pain spread through his arm. Cringing, he dropped the blaster rifle. The Krath used the Force to allay the pain as one of his cohorts shot the enemy who had hit him.

Jon was at his side in a moment. "Are you ok Sir?"

Locke gritted his teeth. "Of course." Have to appear strong. He stood with some difficulty, calling his DL-44 blaster pistol to his hand with the Force and snapping off another shot at the enemy. "Get going, I'll clean up here."

Jon nodded and walked away, shouting orders as the sound of blasterfire moved toward the other end of the plaza. The man Locke had saved tried to run toward his shop, but the Consul stopped him. "No, get going. This is your fight." Though Locke couldn't describe how, he applied the Force to those words, adding his own willpower to them. The man straightened and looked toward the fighting with a new glint in his eyes.

"Y-yes Sir, " he said, trotting off to catch up with the others.

For the moment, Locke was alone in the ruined plaza. He could still hear the sounds of fighting in the distance. He breathed deeply, absorbing the Force as others might inhale fresh air. The Consul dropped the blaster, placing left hand over right arm. The wound tingled and felt warm as the Force melded skin and muscle. When Locke pulled his hand away, his arm still ached, but now the old wound was merely a scar that bacta could wipe away later.

Sagging, the Consul relaxed. He had used the Force more than usual to save that man. He could feel the taxing consequences now. It would be a little awhile before the Krath could do that again.

"You have to be careful, " Amelia said suddenly. She was sitting on a pile of debris nearby, calmly examining the plaza around them.

"Where did you come from?" Locke asked.

"I'm always with you, " Amelia said.

"Why? How come no one else has noticed you? How do you get around without being noticed?"

"I...don't know, " Amelia frowned. "I think that's just how it works. I'm here to help you; not them. This is the way it was meant to be. By the way," She tossed her head, nodding beyond Locke. "Someone's coming."

"How do yo-"

"Talking to the air, are we?"

Locke's head whipped around, observing the newcomer. They were a human male Locke had not seen before. The man wore a dusty, brown-colored tunic of some sort with a patched cloak of a darker color over it. He had an air Locke knew well - one that conveyed a sense of confidence and superiority.

"Who are you?" Locke asked.

Rather than answer, the man continued speaking. His accent was thick, but he spoke Basic. "M'lady did say some of you were insane."

The Bakuran's left hand dropped to his lightsaber.

"Oh, " the man said, "I have one of those too." The man slipped one arm inside his cloak and retrieved what appeared to be a long, pale-white bone. He flicked it down and away, a blade like molten bronze leaping from the hollowed end with a snap-snap-hiss sound. Why did it do that?

Locke glanced from the weapon back to it's owner, who grinned at him. "Indeed, borne at the Warforge itself."

With a flick of his wrist, the Locke's sunfire blade sprung to life, hilt resting loosely in his palm. "I'll ask one more time. Tell me who you are." The Krath mentally assessed his Force reserves and fatigue. This could prove to be a tough fight, especially if this man was as skilled as he was cocky.

"I? I am this city's liberation." Before Locke could respond again, the man raised his free hand and flicked it, pointing at Locke for a moment. Then he charged, bronze saber above his head.

Fool. As Locke thrust his own blade straight out, intending to dip down to catch his opponent in his exposed stomach; something hit the Krath in the side of the head. He grunted and rolled to the side instinctively, narrowly avoiding an arcing, overhead strike by the other man. As Locke came up to one knee, he narrowly deflected another strike. Looking around frantically, he could not find Amelia anywhere. Why had the man not seen her?

Again, Locke caught the enemy blade on his own. This time the two crackled together for a few moments and the Sorcerer could feel the other man's strength. Locke leapt back, up on his feet again, the world lurching slightly. The Archpriest stared at this mysterious opponent as he felt blood run down his own cheek. The fingers on Locke's right hand twitched, but he could not raise it. Damn, nerve damage. This would be a tough fight.

"This is going to be easy, " the man said. "I expected at least some sort of challenge!"

Laughing, he attacked again.

Nifokalija Mountains
Aeotheran
A large gust of power pushed the nearly unarmored Mandalorian into a medium sized tree. The jetpack on his back began sparking as the force of impact bounced Roxas off the tree only to have his nemesis continue with a barrage of Force attacks that slammed the Mandalorian around. Hell flared in the red eyes of the Sithspawn and it was only a matter of time before he could release his fury. Crissor laughed as the Sadowan climbed back to his feet and flung his jetpack off. Sparks flew from it as it was tossed, flames jutting out randomly before it exploded.

Crissor charged with the aid of the Force and stabbed at Roxas with his crimson saber. The Sithspawn was barely able to dodge enough to keep the weapon from a vital area, but it still pierced his side and exited under the shoulder. Roxas grabbed the man’s wrist and held it firmly as a grin crossed his face.

“What’s so funny?!” Crissor growled “I got you.”

“I now understand.” The Sithspawn replied as his right eye changed.

Black flowed into the eye and swirled making a unique symbol. Roxas had been blessed before by not having any Sith symbols crossing his body in the alchemy, but it had puzzled Macron as to why none had appeared. The Force bond that was created by Crissor kept some of the change at bay. The Obelisk felt as if he had been injected with a bunch of combat stims as the alchemy flowed once again to finish its work. His Force stores were drained, but his stamina had returned. He instantly knew that the alchemy had changed him further, but he couldn’t tell what the change was.

Roxas had finally figured out how to break the Force bond and it was working. The first step was to change his so called kinship with Crissor. By working with Methyas to learn about the lightside he learned that justice is better than vengeance, which is now what he was after.

For the first time in the battle Roxas ignited his lightsaber, it was time that he ended things once and for all. The red sabers shunted loudly as Roxas took a turn toward his destiny.

Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

The Little Dragon turned back to Xia Long. The Matriarch of the Longs nodded slowly. “Indeed. Much has changed.” Her red and green eyes met golden ones. “But let us head to your new quarters.” The Blind Dragon continued.


Xiao glanced over to her Matriarch. “What happened to Chi? And I thought you were blind.” For a moment Sildrin stopped and reached up to her eyes. “My Master Xanos Sadow healed them. But I better start at the beginning.”
The Little Dragon nodded, gently brushing back an amethyst hair strand that had escaped her elaborate hair style. With a small gesture and the use of the force the strand tugged itself neatly back into one of the jewel adorned braids.

Xue strolled behind the two women, his eyes wandering between them. Remarkable women, he thought as he listened to Sildrin’s explanations.

“So Chi died by the hands of soldiers... cut off by the force?”, Cym’s eyes widened slightly. Sildrin nodded. “Yes. He fell on Kapsina.”
“And Shan Long?” Cym continued.

Sildrin sighed: “Grandmaster Muz Ashen had banished Shan Long from Trevarus Caerick’s body. Shan is now a chained entitiy - somewhere on the planes beyond the veil of the Force. Trevarus though ….after Chi’s death he named me the Matriarch and vanished afterwards.”

Xiao nodded slowly. Sildrin ran a hand through her fiery red hair. “I do not wish to carry this burden. But maybe this is yet another step to the Culmination of the Final Way.”

Xue’s head perked up at those words. The Culmination of the Final Way. But the rest of the time the women chitchatted about more mundane things.



Silence lingered between Xia and Xue after having escorted Xiao to her new quarters. Xia sensed the side glances of the Proconsul, but showed no reaction. Finally Xue broke the tension with his mental question: “Shouldn’t you .. take a rest?”

Xia turned her green and red eye to the Proconsul. “I will exchange my robe.” Xue’s eyes wandered up and down the blood stained pierced robe of hers. “And then I will continue to train.” The Proconsul stopped, staring into her mismatched eyes. “So I can laugh at you again when you fail?” The Matriarch of the Longs looked back into his eyes. “You prefer me to go back to my quarters and take a rest?” The Proconsul eyed her up and down: “Yes.”

Moments passed and finally the Matriarch nodded. “Fine. As you wish.” Xue looked at her, not having expected her to give in that easily. He motioned into her quarter’s direction: “Let’s go then.” Sildrin gave him a smug grin: “Oh. One could not imagine the hidden beast beneath this gentleman’s face.”

The Proconsul still scowled as he entered his Proconsul’s quarters after having escorted Sildrin to her own. So much work to do.


After a few hours a message reached him. “Master At ... Xue … ermm ...Proconsul! There is a room in the training halls, locked for hours now. The security protocol is deactivated, and whoever is in that section doesn’t open the room.”
“I am on my way.” Atra entered as reply. Could it be? But he had escorted her to her rooms. He rushed to the Training Halls. A guard stood nervously at the entrance of one of the halls. Atra raised a hand as he approached the panel. His fingers quickly danced over the keys as he tried to override the system and force the door to open. Just before he was able to finish the sequence, the door opened much to his surprise. He jumped back with his hand reaching for his sabre.

Sildrin Sadow stared at him. Her robe stained from blood and sweat, wet strands of hair clung to her face. He scowled: “What.. I thought you were in your room.” His eyes glanced past her. “Three assassin droids? You … are crazy.”
The Matriarch mumbled and walked past him: “I am heading to my room for a shower. And they were no match with Mechu Deru.”

Markosian City
Setsuna laid unconscious in the snow for a few moments before a woman clad in black stepped from the shadows further down the street. She gestured to two large dark-skinned men and pointed at Setsuna. “Gather our mistress and take her home.” she ordered the pair.

They nodded once before they spoke. “Yes, Lady Reiko.”

The one referred to as Reiko looked in the direction of the Rose with a blank expression. “You know where she lives if you wish to visit later. For now, my mistress must rest and recover.”

Without waiting for a response the handmaiden and her companions carried the girl away from the scene with complete reverence. The walked through the streets in silence as Reiko checked the girl for a pulse every now and then. Content that their mistress was going to survive for the moment, they ended their trip at the Setsuna’s small home where she resided with her sister and a small complement of personal guards.

Upon entering the house, Konoka responded quickly to her sister’s ill health and directed the men to place her in the bedroom and then leave. She knew her sister would be beside herself if she woke to find men in her private quarters. The younger twin covered her sister with a blanket in order to bring her back to normal temperature.

Setsuna’s mindscape
Sakurazaki Estates, Kyataru

Setsuna looked around at her ancestral home, showing no signs of the past. No signs of the violence that came upon this house. She walked to the door and pushed it aside, opening herself to a hallway covered in gore. The sounds of screaming girls echoed through her mind as she placed her hands to either side of her head in an attempt to block out the sound. The girl nearly fell to her knees, tears streaming down her cheeks as she listened to the unyielding sound.

After what seemed like an eternity to the young woman, she looked up to see herself staring at her. A vicious sneer on her own face with her father’s daggers in hand. Her clothes were torn and she was bleeding from cuts and wounds all her her body. “You were too weak to protect us. This is all YOUR FAULT! You were weak! A coward! Those men knew that you wouldn’t be able to stop them so they did exactly what they wanted to you. Exactly what a weak little coward deserves!” her image screamed at her, venom deep in every blood-soaked word.

Setsuna shook her head as she cried. “No! I tried to stop them! They were too strong...”

Her image sneered at her. “You are nothing. Weak, cowardly and useless.”

She lurched forward, her weapon striking air and then the wall of the long hallway. It seemed to shift and transform, slowly becoming the training ground where her father taught her for so many years. The image stood before her with weapons ready. Her face was twisted into a vision of rage as she dropped into a crouch like Father had shown her. “You will never live up to your true potential because you were trained to be a weapon and you fell into disrepair. You even adopted a name not your own, didn’t you?”

Setsuna watched with fear as the image darted towards her, only having a moment to bring her weapons around to bear. The weapons locked into a bind as the image gave the girl a baleful glare. “You deny everything by not using your name, by not using your training.”

She shook her head quickly, placing a kick into the image’s stomach in order to gain breathing room. The image readied her weapons and charged again, striking a glancing cut across Setsuna’s abdomen. As the two fought with one another, they traded blows. The image wore cuts on her arms, legs and torso, while Setsuna’s own body mirrored the cuts. Years of training in the places of combat she was thrown into showed the girl where the holes in her defenses were located. Thrusting one of her blades high, the Prelate struck low with the second just long enough to cause her image to block it as well.

Dropping her second blade, Setsuna called her saber to her hand and ignited the blade. The azure light pierced her image through the chest who looked at it blankly. After a moment, her image laughed before looking back at the girl. “I was not the worst thing you could find here, Setsuna noh Daiomoru. Only the one you will wish had killed you,” said the shade, malice dripped from the words.

A sigh escaped before Setsuna’s image fell to the ground and dissolved. Memories of the past, flooded into the girl’s mind before she managed to put a finger to her temple to gently rub it. She shook her head to clear away the cobwebs as every life she had taken was measured against her tenfold.

She turned and looked at the house for a moment before heading back through the training field and into her worst nightmare. The girl knew exactly what needed to be done, but apprehension was clear on her face. She swore she saw someone in the corner of her eye, but when she looked there was nothing. Setsuna walked through the door and looked at the clean halls. Nothing had happened here, but there was sobbing from one of the rooms. The Prelate moved quietly through the halls, as her head began throbbing in pain from the newly recalled memories. Personalities began to merge as the carefree girl was exposed to the memories of the cold-hearted killer.

She stopped at the door to her room as a child, looking at the entryway almost too scared to move. Her mind protested to the movements, but her traitorous body reached forward and opened the door. It slid open quietly, revealing a broken girl who had been robbed of a childhood. A girl who was forced to care for her sister and put all the pain in her life behind in the past in order to survive.

The child looked up at her with tear-filled red eyes. “Will you finish this now?” Setsuna shook her head, confusion open in her features.

“If you don’t have the strength to do it, then I’ll do it for you. It’s time for you to remember. It is too late for the other, but you will remember it all.”

The child stood slowly, her movements pained as blood dripped all over the floor from the wounds on her body. Her arms, legs and torso were covered in cuts and other injuries to her tiny body. “I’m sorry it had to be this way, Setsuna.”

The child’s eyes turned feral she snatched the ancient daggers from the nearby table. Before Setsuna could react, the child drove both blades into her chest and fell to the ground. The door slid closed behind her as Setsuna stared in horror as she watched herself as a child die. The girl dissolved into the floor several moments before Setsuna’s hands went to her head. The last possible image before she lost consciousness was Maelous looking at her with concern.

Markosian City
Setsuna’s home

Setsuna awoke with a scream, her sister and handmaiden rushed to her side to offer words of comfort, but by the time they had reached her, she had already fallen unconscious again.

Setsuna’s mindscape
Susevfi

Slowly the girl awoke and looked around. She knew where she was, but it had been nearly four years since her assignment here. She was to hunt down pirates who were fleeing from her. They had landed on this planet, but she was not far behind them. The mission itself was more of a personal vendetta more than an actual mission, but she never quibbled about it. This time however, she found something more interesting. Instead of finding herself or pirates, she found Maelous. He seemed intent on something and she decided to follow him to find out what his big secret was. She didn’t entirely trust the man, but he was a comrade and she felt that this would lead her to something that wasn’t in the files about him. His time on Susevfi was kept very quiet and he didn’t talk much about it, only in vague hints and riddles.

The battle was going exactly as Mirus had hoped – bloody for the enemy, not so much for his side. As he surveyed the entire city from the vantage point of the power generator’s roof, he saw the smoke rising over the darkened city of Kel Rasha. The power was cut, the flames were roaring and the Force itself was flaring up as the sounds of the din rose. Blackness gave way to the sporadic sight of a pillar of fire raising to the sky, another building being torched by the new resistance forces. The battle directive of House Shar Dakhan dictated only one outcome: total victory. As the stealth teams took each and every objective, one after the other, the Templar was completely sure of his victory here.

He’d done it. He’d led his forces, Tenebrae and Clan Naga Sadow’s as a whole, into the glorious battle to retake the city. As the factions that sought to reclaim it began their full retreats, already routed by the guerrillas that the battleteam leader had deployed, Mirus was so sure that he had won. The Force told him so, reassuring him that both his apprentice and Syntari had not yet perished in the battle. Consul Sonjie, too, and the others – none of them would fall here.

“Illusive Man to all forces. Drive them back from the city center and prepare to raise battle standards. Victory is at hand!” he said into his wrist communicator triumphantly, a satisfied smirk crawling across his lips.

“The only victory at hand here is mine, Sadowan.”

Mirus whirled around immediately, emerald lightsaber powering up even as he stared down the face of the Force-user that he could feel standing behind him. He had power. By Allya, he was strong – stronger than Atra, stronger than Locke; easily on the power level of the Elders. His crimson lightsaber flared to life, the hilt shaped similarly to a real sword’s hilt, pulsating with an angry aura. The warrior himself dripped with the stench of the Dark Side, his eyes cast in a horrid gold and red in the corruptive fashion of the dark. He stood only slightly taller than Mirus, a Kiffar with a green line under each eye, clad in bone-white armour. Upon his face was a twisted smirk that betrayed only the joy at fighting a new opponent.

What worried Mirus more was the fact he knew immediately about Naga Sadow. This could not be denied; anyone who had that kind of information fell under the prime directive of the Clan – die, immediately. He took a battle stance, a simple one, lightsaber raised in two hands as his feet stayed in a short stance, betraying only his burning rage. The warrior held his lightsaber in the battle stance of a master of Ataru, blade totally vertical. This would not be an easy battle, by any stretch of the imagination. However, Mirus would not be caught on the back foot in a battle of aggression. He summoned the Force to him immediately and wrapped it tightly about his opponent, engaging the Dark Side Snare that was so ubiquitous to his Order. Then, he charged in, ready to attack. Effortlessly, his lightsaber was parried off to the side, despite the fact his opponent had been snared; his power level was so far over Mirus’ that he knew he was in over his head. Doubt did not once fill his mind, however. Death was preferable to letting the secret of House Shar Dakhan’s presence here slip.

Mirus’ blade ran back in a two-handed horizontal slice, aiming for the warrior’s waist, only to be held in a basic one-handed saber lock reminiscent of a Makashi technique.

“Who are you and what the hell are you doing in our city?” Mirus growled, using his strength to push the lightsaber against his foes.

“All you need to know, little Sadowan, is that I am Sith – and your head is mine!”

Mirus and the Sith stepped back at the same time, the Elder spinning his lightsaber around before stepping in on the offensive. His attacks were vicious, Force-boosted as his speed was enhanced, putting Mirus on the defensive against a rapid barrage of strikes. Even Atra Ventus had not been this fast and Mirus was already struggling to keep up, having to resort to using Force Body and Enhance Ability just to keep up, channeling the Force through him for the strongest possible boost to his speed and strength, becoming a physical titan in order to merely keep up with his foe.

The Sith could sense his victory, knowing his opponent was weak. “You’ve lost, Sadowan. My disciples are all throughout this city, aiming for your paltry forces. I thought I would give you the pleasure of facing your true foe on this planet before your untimely demise.”

“Here’s a hint – die!”

The battle raged. Two opponents, clashing across the rooftop, met saber upon saber as the savage dance of primal battle consumed them both. Fuelled by the Dark Side, Mirus and his enemy fought furiously. However, the problem was that Mirus could no longer catch a break. With mastery of Ataru and Makashi, his opponent was relentlessly attacking him, the Sith driving Mirus further and further back. With a flowing series of strikes right down his center line, Mirus was forced to move out of the line of attack more and more, unable to plant and attack. Every thrust required a big movement, usually involving a hard parry, draining him, tiring him. This fight could not continue on as long as it could.

“You’re mine!” cried the Sith, and Mirus did something extremely stupid – grabbed the wrist of his opponent, holding the attack off for just a second. His nails dug into the flesh of the veins of his wrist and the Sith dropped his lightsaber, the red blade dropping to the ground, buying him just a few seconds.

Desperation. There was nothing left. He had nothing left in the tank now; he was tapped. Spent. Mirus could not let this secret slip; it was worth more than his life. But he was stronger than this foe. He needed to use that strength for one final, desperate gambit. He smashed the Sith’s lightsaber away in a vicious swing and then grabbed around his waist, holding the Sith close to him. The Sith, for a moment, struggled, unable to quite break free from this highly unorthodox attack.

Then Mirus plunged his lightsaber through his opponent’s back, skewering them both.

The saber dropped. His vision swam and the ground raced up towards him. All Mirus knew as the darkness claimed him, as he went into Allya’s loving arms, was that the secret of Clan Naga Sadow was safe. He had won. Tenebrae and House Shar Dakhan had reclaimed Kel Rasha. His apprentice, and his team, would continue on without him and be fine.

Then he was swept away into the tides of the Force and found peace.

Obelisk Templar Mirus Cavataio Pepoi, Battleteam Leader of Tenebrae, of House Shar Dakhan of Clan Naga Sadow, drew his last breath upon the rooftop of the city he had reclaimed, slain in battle against a foe he had never known the name of. The way he wanted to die.

For Mirus, the long journey of life was over.

Spaceport Plaza
Outside Kel Rasha
Aoetheran

The hissing sound of blade against blade filled the plaza as Locke and his foreign adversary fought. The man was grinning the whole time as Locke dropped back with each parry. His choices seemed to be to die or to give ground. With his Force reserves nearly depleted, the Krath had no other option but to last as long as possible. He hoped for a solution to present itself, or for the circumstances to change, but nothing appeared to be happening.

As the warrior's blade came at Locke again, the Bakuran parried a wide attack to his right. His opponent reoriented and brought his own weapon up in a sweeping arc toward Locke's midsection. Too tired to flip his own blade around to parry again, the Consul knew only one option remained. The Sorcerer quickly kicked off the ground with his feet, throwing himself down on his back. He dropped his lightsaber and quickly shimmied away from the other Dark Jedi.

"How pathetic, " the man laughed. "Crawling on the ground like a worm." He slowly advanced, apparently savoring his impending victory.

Locke looked around for anything he could use, but he found nothing. Then he saw Amelia, sitting on a nearby rock, twirling her hair idly and giving him a sad look. She was in plain view of the Krath's opponent.

"What are you doing here? Run!" Locke demanded.

"Talking to the air again? You must be mad. How sad, " the man said, mock sympathy in his voice.

"I told you, " Amelia said, "I'm here to help you." Her voice had quickened slightly, and she glanced at the other man, but for the most part Amelia seemed to ignore the danger.

"You can't-" Locke began, but Amelia's voice suddenly peaked in tone and she pointed beyond Locke's opponent.

"Ooh! Look! Squirrel!"

"What?" Locke said, looking down across his body, between the slowly advancing legs of his opponent. Sure enough, there was a small, furry rodent with a large, bushy tail sitting there.

"I said, you must be hopelessly insane, " the enemy warrior said, as if answering Locke's question. He seemed completely oblivious to Amelia's words.

Maybe he really can't see her, Locke mused.

"I don't see how that's useful, " Locke grumbled.

"It tells me that you're a hapless opponent, and a helpless kill, " the man said, chuckling.

"Maybe it can help!" Amelia said.

Locke looked over and blinked at her in disbelief. Then he looked down at the rodent again and an idea dawned on him. It had to have a simple mind. If he could somehow influence it...

Closing his eyes, Locke sent a thought to the squirrel. Man. Bad. Attack.

The rodent looked up and chittered softly, eyes widening. Locke could tell it was scared. As the enemy warrior towered over Locke, about to stab down at him, the Consul rolled his eyes, thinking of a different approach. It was insane, but he was about to die anyway.

Yummy nuts. Up legs. Hurry!

This time, the squirrel seemed to get the idea. It ran and leaped, jumping onto the man's ankle.

"What the-" he began, as it clawed it's way up his leg, getting it's small claws hooked on his trousers.

'Get off!" the man yelled, shaking his leg. As he did so, Locke rolled to the side and up to one knee. He held his fingers together in an arrow shape and jammed them into the distracted man's gut.

Coughing, he stumbled away with a growl. In distress, the squirrel instinctively bit down hard on the man's leg. He groaned again before finally throwing the creature off.

At the same time, Locke got to his feet. "You know, " he breathed. "It could be diseased. You might want to get that checked."

The man looked up, glaring at Locke. A bit of blood was dripping from his lips now. "What did you-?"

"Your body is injured and you will die without medical help. You can stay to try to kill me, dying in the process, or we can call this one a draw, " Locke said icily. The Krath wasn't sure if he would survive that route, either, but it was worth the bluff.

"You...are a fool. Draws...are a coward's concept."

"Fine, " Locke said, calling his lightsaber to hand with some difficulty. He prided himself on how well he hid it. "I win, then. Get out of my city."

Spitting blood, the man glared at him. "This isn't over, " he declared. Then he backed away, disappearing around a corner.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Locke sagged, shoulders slumping. He looked around, but Amelia was gone again. He would figure her out, someday. For now, her idea had actually worked - despite its child-like absurdity.

Suddenly, Locke became aware of another presence nearby. How had he not noticed it before? Had she been hiding it from him, or from both of the combatants?

"Kiana."

"Hello, little brother."

"You're not supposed to be out here, " Locke said, turning to face her. "It's dangerous."

She smiled wryly at him then. "I...convinced the guards that I was alright. Besides, I had to see you."

"Had to see me?" Locke asked.

"Yes, " Kiana replied. "It's been so long. The way you fight is interesting."

"I do what I have to to win."

"I see that, " Kiana said. "It is...different."

Before Locke could ask what that meant he felt a powerful pulse in the Force, followed by a second, quieter one, though that one was far more familiar and important to him. It dissipated suddenly.

Mirus!

Though Locke barely knew the other Dark Jedi, he had proven himself valuable and a capable leader. He had been extraordinarily useful on the battlefields of Khar Delba, and was someone Locke had hoped to have around for a long time.

And now, the Force told him, Mirus was dying. The pulse had faded, and all was relatively still in the Force.

"No.." Locke whispered. Kiana gave him a concerned look, so he raised his voice. "I have to get to Kel Rasha!"

"You need rest, " Kiana said firmly. Once upon a time, Locke would have obeyed. She had been quite the stern older sister, but now....he was a different person.

"No, " Locke said. He fished a comlink from his dirtied clothes. "This is Locke, do we have control of the starport yet?"

"Just finishing up now, Sir, " came the reply on the other end.

"Good, get a shuttle ready. We must leave for Kel Rasha at once."

Locke lowered the comlink, looking at Kiana. "You really should stay out of sight." He didn't wait for a reply before striding away, knowing that an argument with his sister would only slow him down.

As he departed, the Bakuran could imagine Kiana shaking her head. She probably wouldn't listen to him, but Locke had more pressing issues to worry about at the moment.

The Cave of Echoes
Beneath Sadow Palace

The only sound the Witch heard as she made her way slowly down the cold winding stone passage were the quiet drips as water fell from the roof high above and struck the tranquil pool that had built up far beneath the palace in the abandoned caverns. But for the dripping, there was no other noise, no movement, only a feeling of abandonment in a long forgotten cave from a long forgotten era.

At least... that is what there was usually.

As Sildrin stepped out into the cavern, she was greeted with the sight of a figure floating a few feet just above the dark Pool of Reflection, its legs crossed in a kneeling position, its arms raised to either side, hands sparking and crackling with violet fire. Her Master’s eyes were shut, but the Mark of the Wanderer on his forehead was pulsing with the same dark energies that throbbed through his veins.

The Falleen’s skin was riddled with dark black lines, shifting underneath his skin like serpents.

As she approached the shoreline, the Dark Prophet’s eyes snapped open and mercurial light shone toward her. “Do not touch the water,” the Falleen growled, his voice unexpectedly fierce for once.

Whoever was floating above the Pool of Reflection, it was not Xanos Sadow.

When Sildrin looked down into the lake, she caught glimpses of faces, some familiar, others she had never seen before; there were several other Falleen just like her Master, but then there were aliens of species she barely recognised, others she was sure no longer walked the earth in the flesh: a red skinned Sith, a hammer-headed Rakata, even a tentacled beast she thought she remembered from one of Trevarus’s forbidden tomes which was called something like a Kathol... or maybe it was Cthol?

Her Master’s face was bathed in sweat and glinted in the flashes of light that arced across his hands.

The Witch knew better than to disobey... and cautiously took a step back from the edge of the water.

But that had been a mistake.

One of her Master’s arms thrust toward her and closed its long-taloned fingers into a tightly curled fist. Invisible claws simultaneously tightened around her throat, the Falleen’s phantom blade-like talons digging into her flesh just as his Force-assisted grip squeezed shut the entrance to her trachea.

“Ma...Mast...!” she tried to force out her plea, but the words did not come out.

The Dark Prophet stared back into her red and green eyes which were now becoming bloodshot.

“I gave you back sight,” Xanos said--or was it really Xanos, or was this the true voice of Darth Vexatus? She tried to think, but the shock, the ]i]surprise at what was happening was blocking her ability to focus: she just wanted to get out, to back away somehow, to survive. “And in return, you conspire behind my back--”

As the Dark Prophet spoke, he gestured down at the waters directly beneath him, still keeping his hand clenched as he did so. The black pool’s surface rippled, and then began to resolve into abstract shapes and faces that she could indeed this time recognise without any need to think about them:

The golden-skinned Firrerreon who had recently returned... the assassin droid from the duelling arena... the Bloody Book... and the Proconsul... as the pool resolved into the recently unleashed beastial face of the man who had now joined the ranks of the Dragons in Trevarus’s absence, another voice echoed in the back of her mind, or maybe the front of her mind, or perhaps both at once...

A failed experiment of a failed apprentice.

Like a tsunami that had just broken through a dam, scorn and betrayal surged through the Dark Side in a tidal wave of raw disapproval, but were they really her own thoughts...? The Falleen’s eyes burned back at her with a fire she had not seen since before his return from the nethers beyond...

“They are but dust motes in the solar winds. You waste your time, apprentice.”

Did she want to join the ranks of the other failures...?

With another wave of his arm, the Dark Prophet released his grip, and this time the image in the water shifted again... becoming more feminine... more familiar...

Sildrin’s eyes widened.

The face of her daughter, Lirielle, reflected up at her from the surface of the pool.

Her instincts made her want to step forward to the edge--but then the Witch stopped herself. The phantom claw slid across the side of her throat, reminding her who was in control right then.

What was Xanos...Vexatus showing her this for...?

Then Lirielle’s eyes widened in horror. No! NO! Was it Lirielle’s voice, or her own? NO!

“M...mother...?”

Blood ran from her daughter’s lips down her neck as Sildrin’s own image appeared alongside her daughter’s... dagger in hand... thrust deep in the heart of Lirielle’s chest. Sildrin’s eyes were filled with the same madness-filled fire that glowed back at her from the Elder hovering above the water.

The scene played back again in the water. The blade. Stained with her own child’s blood.

And then again.

“You run from the past,” echoed the voice of the Dark Prophet, though Sildrin’s eyes remained fixed on the sight of her daughter’s murder at her own hands, “and forget both my and my Master’s--forget your--true purpose.” The snakes under Vexatus’s skin writhed more as the violent flames covering his hands raged even fiercer, filling the catacomb with the violet light of their would-be inferno.

Sildrin’s heart was by now beating heavy in her chest, but she could not pull her eyes away from the image in the water, not even to look up at the sorcerer she had now embraced as her newest Master. But she had strength enough to answer. “The Final Way,” the Witch said, her voice clear and even.

There was no reply as the nightmare out of her past continued to repeat itself on an unending loop.

The silence dragged on for what felt like an eternity, though it had probably only been a handful of seconds. “The Thunder grows restless,” Vexatus finally replied--and yes, there was now no doubt, this was now most certainly Vexatus she was talking to. “If you seek to escape the past, only I can show you the way to a new beginning.”

But even as her Master spoke, still her eyes clung to the memory of her daughter, fixed on Lirielle’s own watery gaze as the child she had barely even known stared back at her, crying out for mercy.

But mercy had not come in time.

It never could.

Nifokalija Mountains
Aeotheran
Two red blades clashed and clang with fury. Both men had one thing on their mind, the other’s death. Crissor brought his saber around in a tight arc, but was batted away by the Mandalorian’s brute force. Though the Sith was fully engaged against Roxas in a saber duel, he was subjecting him to a barrage of telekinetic attacks in an attempt to scare him and cause him minor wounds to slow him down. Roxas continued his desceptive simplicity by batting the attacks away as he looked for an opening to exploit. The two waged their own private war for what seemed like forever while the flames laid out in front of the hidden base spread into a forest fire.

The blades clashed again and the two men shunted the weapons, pushing together as hard as they could. Roxas being the stronger one forced Crissor back while turning his wrist to send his foe’s blade up. The Sith’s arms raised quickly and the Mandalorian struck, slicing through his hand and saber with one strike. Crissor fired a Force blast knocking Roxas back hard. Roxas hit a tree and felt a couple ribs break before being Force choked by the Sith.

“I’ve had enough! You think you can defeat me?! I’ll kill you for even trying!!”

Roxas struggling for air dropped his saber and reached one hand up trying to grasp an invisible hand. Trying to keep calm Roxas stopped struggling to try and conserve the air already in his body. He felt the Force flow into his lungs to help sustain him. The Mandalorian drew his pistol and fired a few shots quickly, hitting Crissor twice in the chest and making him lose concentration, but only after the Sith had used the Force to summon the Mandalorian’s saber to his hand.

The Sith didn’t fall, but staggered backward as Roxas coughed air into his body. Roxas stood up slowly and took aim, but the red blade came in for a well-placed swing. The pistol was cut in two and Roxas dropped it to turn in an attempt to evade the blade and then grabbed the Sith’s wrist. The pistol exploded in the air and destroyed the lightsaber.

Justice, I don’t do this out of vengeance, I do this for justice. To bring justice to all those that he has killed and to myself.

The Mandalorian jerked his bowie knife from its sheath and jammed it up through Crissor’s chin and into his brain. Roxas held the blade there as he watched his enemy’s soul leave his body. The Force bond shattered as the soul finally left his foes body. He pulled the blade out and blood spurted as he let the corpse fall to the ground. The chain of the Force continued to disappear as Roxas stepped back. He felt different, as if a large weight had been lifted from him.

Roxas headed over to the large transport vehicle he hid on to get there and sat down to rest. His eyes closed with fatigue and he saw a vision of his grandfather. He thought he was hallucinating until the vision spoke.

“You’ve done well young wolf…” His grandfather spoke “But there is something you need to know. You aren’t the first Force user from our Clan. I was one as well.”

“I had no idea gramps…wait…then you must’ve had a lightsaber? Why didn’t I know about it?”

“I planned on teaching you, but he intervened. Yes I had a saber…didn’t you use it against him?”

“No, I used the Sword of Buurenaar then my own weapons later on.”

“Find it! It is the true Sword of Buurenaar…”

The smoke was visible for miles, which wasn’t in the Mandalorian’s plan, but at least someone will come to check it out. The smoke bellowed and the wind blew it toward Roxas. He coughed and woke up before the vision could continue. He looked around before saying “I understand gramps…I understand.”

Inos Moon 42
Tombs of Urias Orian
Deep Levels


The hollowed out chamber was pitch black save for the feeble sanguine radiance of the gems around the figure sitting on the rough floor. The stone was surprisingly warm so far deep below the surface of the Moon. Condensation dripped from the ancient hand-hewn walls as the warm vapors from below gathered on rough stone. The fetid air smelled strongly of dirt and wet rock. Seams of crackled black metal oxides grew blooms of roughly colored crystals and crusts in the stone walls. It was dead quiet.

Only the occasional pulse as Forty-Two shifted under frozen Inos’ mighty tidal grasp reminded one of the Moon’s orbital life. The tidal pulses were like a chthonic heartbeat of deep complexity. Tones and overtones, harmonics both destructive and constructive could be felt in the slow tiny twitches and deeper shocks that occasionally pulsed through the glittering stones. It was music on a grand scale. The colors of the different energy waves pulsed on the display of a datapad that lay against a re-worked suit of garish Sith armor.

The tiny red crystals in the seams within the black granite of the chamber’s uneven walls glowed minutely as the S(h)adow breathed. Cross-legged, the Darksider sat with legs folded and back straight with twin lightsaber hilts braced against it’s lap. Very slowly... entire breaths took minutes. The measured breathing stopped as a human silhouette raised up. It’s hands raised as it basked in the energy of the Dark Side site. In one fist was clenched a dark red Adegan that resembled a small bloody heart the color of black cherry, or congealed blood like some gruesome icon ripped from the chest of an unwilling victim. The other hand touched his forehead above his eyes.

Time had passed since Chi Long’s death and the Brotherhood’s victory over the Horizon Plague. The Brotherhood was now enmeshed in a dance of death while raiding planets of value. So much had changed. New faces, old... but always the same ones. Still his Masters lived.

Macron Sadow had missed it all. His grasp upon the remaining shreds of his sanity had finally broken. After the end of the Horizon War he had fled to the challenge and solace of the Tombs. For his own good he had removed himself from the Clan. Anger, accusations of betrayal, doubt.... all of these had flown about as rumors do during such times. Such things distracted from the pursuit of the Dark Side and the Final Way.

“As it always does,” whispered the ghost of an unseen shade. “Still we persist.”

“You merely persist,” replied the Adept as he opened his yellow eyes. In front of him loomed the familiar hazy phantasmal blue figure of Curwen Sunei. “I actually live. You now exist as a shade,” Macron commented coolly. “You have no power over me now old man. I have, however, enjoyed our conversations on the nature of the Force and the locations of things. For that, I thank you.”

The Alchemist stood and wrapped himself with a rough cloak. The adegan was placed in a belt holder as he hefted the familiar, yet different armor. All his gear had been gone over in detail for weeks. His perception of everything, friend and foe alike had changed. “Soon. Soon, I will leave this place.”

Kel Rasha


The Force roiled and echoed with the loss of a Dark Jedi that Syntari had barely known. Overcome with sudden grief as the Clan mourned the death of its own, the Bpfasshi stumbled to a sudden halt and shuddered as the Force reclaimed her Battleteam leader. For a moment it was an effort even to breath, swamped as she was with the power of an energy field she had always felt but could never touch, but as the currents of the Force gradually settled she was able to focus on the here and now once again. She dashed towards the source of the distress, knowing all the while that she was too far away to be of any use.

Where the kriffing hell is Mortehana?

She still hadn't seen the girl, not a trace of her or the troopers--assigned to them by Cavataio--since they'd been separated. Worry gnawed at her gut but she shoved it aside, far more intent upon reaching her destination than worrying about the fate of Cavataio's apprentice.

Evidently, Syntari's concentration was still shot by the disturbance of Cavataio's death, as it seemed she had doubled back on herself without realizing it. Swearing under her breath, she tightened her grip on her lightsabre and proceeded at a slower pace, scanning the darkness and taking full advantage of her Umbaran blood to do so. It was far too quiet, too still...something was coming, she could feel that well enough.

***

Time passed, she did know how long. After essentially wandering about the city with no real sense of direction, she finally discovered Mortehana. Surrounded by her troopers the girl was speaking quietly with a trooper that looked like one of Cavataio's, though at that distance Syntari could not be certain.

How the kriffing hell had one of Cavataio's troopers ended up near she and Mortehana, anyway? she wondered.

"...the way he wanted," the trooper was saying as Syntari approached.

Ignoring Yuriko as if she did not exist, the Bpfasshi thrust her way to the front of the little congregation and said, "Start from the beginning, if you please."

The trooper eyed her with what she imagined to be a wary expression, though hidden as his face was by his helmet it was up to the imagination. "Commander Cavataio is dead," he said finally. Syntari's own features betrayed nothing, though her inner self flared with unnecessary and useless rage as the trooper confirmed what the Force had already delivered to the Clan.

"As great a loss as this is, we must move on."

Her voice remained flat, chilled and seemingly uncaring, as she spoke in a matter-of-fact tone both to the troopers and to Yuriko. The troopers accepted the news and Syntari's self-asserted take over of the team without comment or dissent, though she knew that Mortehana was not so serene. Though she said nothing, the girl stiffened as Syntari assumed command and began to speak.

"Cavataio, it seemed, did not possess the skills to stay alive. As it stands, the city is ours and from the feel of it, he took his opponent out with him. We have at least that to be grateful for." Outwardly confident and in control, she continued, "we need to meet up with the rest of his team and ensure that no one else remains that is not one of our own. Let's do this quick so we can go home and mourn."

As Cavataio's trooper took the lead and led them back the way he came, Syntari's eyes flashed golden with grief that she would never allow them to see. Mortehana had distanced herself from the Bpfasshi at the first chance she got and now strode with the rest of the troopers while she, Syntari, walked alone. Inwardly the Sadowan grieved more acutely than she would ever reveal. She had worked with him on the fields of Khar Delba, been accepted into his Battleteam, and possessed a certain fondness for him that she kept carefully hidden from the rest of the Clan for fear it would be seen as a weakness. Mirus had been the only one to handle her madness, her anger, and until his death had remained the only one to put up with her biting, bitter sarcasm with little complaint.

He was possibly the only friend she'd had since Cyril, and now they were both dead.

Medbay, Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

The former Jensaarai hung suspended in the healing liquid, bubbles escaping the respirator at regular intervals. A frown began to etch its way across his face, as his body gave off a slight trimmer. Once again, he would face his demons.

Maelous' mindscape
Susevfi

He walked away from the fire he created out of his now smoldering armor. The cortosis fibers made it almost impossible to destroy, but the fire he had created would show his disgust enough that his superiors would get the message. The alliance with the Jedi was against everything he had learned, and he had no qualms leaving his home and people behind because of it. He walked out into the night, trying to distance himself from the Jensaarai settlement.

The bearded man pulled the hood of his robe up as he moved through his altered dreamscape. In his mind it was bleak and grey. Susevfi had always been his home, but the world was all but dead to him now, nothing more than a tormenting memory.

He heard foot steps behind him and turned to peer through the darkness, nothing but empty black. He had this nightmare almost every time he slept, but somewhere in his mind he was aware that he had never heard foot steps following him. He turned back and walked again, reaching the same dead tree he always did he stopped and made a fire, and rested.

In the distance he could feel something unfamiliar to his dream, something that was never there before. He poked at the fire, vaguely understanding that when the sun rose in his mind, the rage that always consumed him in this spot would start again. He would once more relive his only regret.

Inos Moon 42
Mouth of the Tombs of Orian


The frozen wind howled here on the surface. Although the moon and it’s parent planet Inos were far from the twin suns of Orian, the moon still held warmth. The warmth came from the immense tidal stress that wracked the twisted moon’s guts. Rock shearing on rock, and natural radioactive elements produced impressive mountains and volcanic displays elsewhere on the moon. The Tombs however were in a relatively stable area. For now. All things changed with the inevitable onslaught of invincible Time.

Even Lord Orian’s long sighted visions would not hold over the eons of geologic time. This was a sere fact that was not lost on the scientifically-minded Sith. Nothing ever lasted that long, nothing. More proof of the ultimate superiority of the Dark Side and natural decay. It was supremely ironic that the radioactive decay of heavy isotopes warmed this otherwise dead ball of rock. From death came life, and from life- death. Even the carbon that made up his body was borne in a dying star. So utterly impersonal and without remorse. It was all so perfect. Beautiful.

The cold light from the distant twin suns, Orian Major and Minor dimly illuminated the alchemist’s face as he exited the yawning mouth of the tomb complex. Tall crags of eroded black volcanic basalt flows towered all around, punctuated by rime ice and blowing snow.Twin fusion lamps had once lit the gaping portal but no more. In his day as Consul the place had been a small but thriving place of solitude and study of the Dark Side within the Clan’s holdings. Now it was largely forgotten except by those who had come before. That would have to change. It was a shame to waste such a place that could make or unmake those who sought knowledge of the Dark Side.

“I have emerged from the hoary chrysalis,” muttered the madman as he closed his re-worked helm with a puff of warm air. “Transformed. At least here on the surface that karker Sunei won’t be bothering me.” His violent yellow eyes cast about for his lost vessel. The grey glint of cold tritanium from beneath a pile of ice and fallen rock showed the way.

Macron raised an armored hand and gazed at it quietly. Was it even his fist still? Or that of some synthetic half-man he did not know anymore? It was a strange thing to be unsure of who you were, but yet be more convinced than ever that you had found the Way. Or had you? Seeing deeper only led to further questions. As a Journeyman, he had seen being an Elder as the pinnacle of power. Now it seemed to only open himself to a myriad of further questions and doubt.

The Force felt different. Seeing the battle between Darth Ashen and the re-animated Zoraan had changed him completely. The vile energies that had washed over Macron as his wracked body transmuted the Horizon Plague to provide a cure for the entire Brotherhood had only one recourse. Only one solution. It was a natural reaction like any animal in stress. That could only be to ground and hibernate.

Either way, the answer was irrelevant. One day his body would be dead star-dust like everything else. Everything became stars.... exploding, imploding, in a continual cycle that erased all traces of any former existence or meaning over the billions of years since the galaxy had formed. His mind moved in different ways now. More focussed perhaps- but possibly even more insane.

The hand pointed at the mass of imprisoning rock and ice and- it- moved. The crackling crunch of exploding, grinding basalt and ice crystals echoed in the thin air as the boulders pulverized beneath the Elder’s mastery of telekinesis. A blast of debris blew out from the overhang, and the Nachzerer was finally cleared off. “Time to put things in order after my long sleep,” chuckled the Alchemist as the entry hatch opened. It was good to be going home after hibernation.

The Sith strode forward and was greeted at the hatchway by a floating Dark Eye droid. “Hello Blinky,” giggled the lunatic. “We’re headed for Sepros. Won’t they be pleased to see us there? Yes, yes, my pet. Or not as you say. Still, I am going either way and they cannot stop me. I hear the Call. And I hear.... Xia. She will need me to stand by her side soon with my old Sith Master. I have foreseen it.”

As the hatch closed behind him the Sith opened a side locker and removed several tubes from it. They were placed on a fold-out stand. Macron closed his eyes and began to apply the drugged paint to his face ritually. The Nachzerer lurched as it shook itself free from the forty second moon of Inos and began it’s journey to the capital planet of Sepros.

(Temporary bit - deleted)

One day after leaving Ch’Hodos
Aeotheran
A bandaged, beaten, burned, and exhausted Mandalorian knocks on a door in the middle of suburbia.

“Just a minute” A soft female voice replies a few moments before opening the door.

“Where have you been?!” She gasps after noticing the state he was in “What happened to you?! Oh my, your eye!” It was impossible not to notice that he had his bandana covering his right eye, in fact people in the neighborhood had noticed and kept staring.

He half grinned as he replied “I don’t have a clue where I’ve been and long story short, it was a war. Can I come in now beautiful?”

She stepped aside and he eased himself inside and sat on the couch. She wanted to throw herself on him, but was worried she would hurt him with all the injuries, but she kissed him until he couldn’t breathe.

“So?” She inquired trying not to be angry with her fiancé.

“Alright Pacifica, take a seat it’s been a long couple weeks.” Roxas said as he pulled the bandana off, to reveal his now Sith tattooed right eye.

He informed her of everything and that he was sorry that he didn’t get to tell her sooner, but he was snatched up by troops and tossed in a bacta tank. When he woke up he was on a star destroyer above Ch’Hodos.

She took in everything he said and as usual was happy that he was completely honest with her, even if some of the stuff he told her was top secret.

“Well you need something better than a bandana to cover your eye…”

He interrupted with innuendo “Well, what about that one black pair of your underwear, you know the ones that I like.”

“That won’t work, I’m wearing those now.” She said flirtatiously before continuing “I’ll just make you an eyepatch.”
“Sounds good to me, but don’t expect me to use it all the time. I’m not blind.”

“The eye tattoo thing is pretty cool though. Why hide it?” She asked as she grabbed what she would need to make the eyepatch.
He watched her bend over to pick up the sewing kit from the bottom of the cabinet before replying “Well, I want to try and keep some stuff to myself. Dark Jedi tend to get into people’s business, I had to ditch three tails before I could even come here. I’m gonna put an end to that though, I don’t want them knowing about us. It’s unsafe.”

“Makes sense to me.” She was running thread through cloth as she continued “Hope you aren’t too beat up, the meeting with the catering people tomorrow. Well, that and you’ve been gone for a while.”

“Sounds good, I have to go to Endor soon though. It’s hard to explain, but my Grandfather has something for me.”
“Isn’t he dead though?”

“Yeah”

MAAT Gunship
Near Kel Rasha
Aeotheran
Before Ch'hodos

"The city is ours. Only sparse pockets of resistance remain. Where do you want to go?" The trooper asked.

Locke thought for a moment. Mirus had led the attack and now he was dead. "Who is in command there?"

"It appears one of your Journeymen has taken charge for the time being. Our squads are assisting her."

"Good. What of Dlarit Plaza?" That would probably need to be renamed as the Clan's forces continued to shed the mould of the Dlarit Corporation.

"We have little information of that part of the city. Reports indicate that there is still resistance in the primary government building."

"Hmm." That was where Locke's old Aedile office was. From there, he could further coordinate the cleanup of the city.

"Take us there, but be careful. We'll drop on the roof."

"Yes sir, " the trooper nodded, saluting. He spoke into his comlink, communicating with the pilot of their gunship as well as the pilot of their escort gunship.

"More fighting?" Kiana asked.

"Just a bit, " Locke grumbled. "But you should stay on the gunship."

She placed a hand on his shoulder. Locke winced, knowing what was coming next. His arm was still unresponsive. "You're injured. You need someone to watch your back."

Locke turned back to face her. The trooper had gone back to watching the ground rushing by below them. Locke had managed to convince the troops with him that Kiana was merely a Dark Jedi of the Clan whom they had never met before. It made sense, as some of their number seemed to disappear and reappear at random.

"You lost your lightsaber, remember?"

"Oh, " she smiled, "and when has that made a Jedi defenseless? Besides, you won't be able to use yours." Kiana hefted it, her smile widening.

Locke groaned again, holding a blaster with his good hand. Thankfully, his dominant arm still worked fine. "I guess I'm stuck with you."

"You say that like it's a bad thing, " Kiana grinned, almost giggling. It amazed Locke how she could be so calm while surrounded by an army loyal to a group of Dark Jedi she had just found out her little brother was the leader of. Then again, she saw just as much of the Vong War as you did. If not more.

"LZ in 30 seconds, " the trooper said, smiling back at them. Locke sat there and suffered. He was the only one who realized the gravity of having his Jedi Knight sister along for the ride. Of course, no one else knew, and she had claimed to have left the Order. He would have to worry about that when they didn't have a mission to complete.

The MAAT came in low over the building and shuddered as it's cannons cleared off the guards on top. Locke noted with some satisfaction that they had no AA capabilities. Amateurs. When the gunship seemed to be only a handful of feet off the rooftop, Locke leaped down. Kiana landed beside him, somersaulting up to one knee. She held Locke's lightsaber in her hand, but did not ignite it. The Krath looked around, blaster up, noting that no one moved as the MAAT ascended.

"Looks like we're clear here. My office isn't far once we get inside." A few clone troopers who had dropped from the other MAAT were already making their way to the interior. The two Jedi descended down the same flight of stairs, but their path diverged from the troops' as they took a separate corridor. As they neared the large door at the end of the passage, Locke fired two shots, dropping the guards flanking it. He frowned as Kiana came up behind him.

"Why did you want my lightsaber if you're not going to use it?"

"Why reveal it to the enemy before we need it?" She retorted levelly.

"Can't argue with that, " Locke mumbled, keying his code into the door.

As it opened, the pair found themselves face to face with a black-cloak-wearing Force user in typical garb, with an atypical bronze-bladed lightsaber. He was surrounded by what appeared to be tribal warriors of some sort: they all had longer hair, even the men, and their faces were painted with what Locke assumed to be warpaint. And there were five of them.

Before he could call them primitive, they raised blaster rifles at him and his sister and began firing all at once.

Locke ducked back, firing shots off as quick as he could and still maintain accuracy. One of the enemy goons was already down, but the others had divided their attention. He expected Kiana to be by his side, but instead Locke noticed with distress that she had rushed forward, his sunfire blade igniting with a snap-hiss in her hands.

"Really?" Locke mumbled. How had she survived the Vong War? Then again, if he wasn't injured, the Krath might have done the same thing...

"Fine." Gritting his teeth, Locke stood and exposed himself, trusting the Force to relax his muscles so he could fire without fear of counterattack and still move swiftly. Snap-snap, two more enemies dead. That left two more. Out of the corner of his vision, Locke noted that their lightsaber-wielding opponent had thrown back his hood to reveal a bald shaved head, partially covered in some similar warpaint. That wasn't the really odd part, though. The strangest part was watching his sister fall into the familiar movements of Makashi - at least as well as he could himself.

Quickly dispatching the remaining goons, Locke skirted well outside the reach of the two combatants, looking for any way he could help. Then, just as he felt panic rising in his mind, Locke watched Kiana spin, parry, half-spin back, and stab her opponent in the stomach.

He had known his sister had been a Jedi Knight, but witnessing her do battle so...effectively was quite different. She stood over the man for a moment as he lay dying, Locke's sunfire blade pointed down with both hands. Kiana mumbled something, but it was so quiet that Locke could not make out much more than "the Force" before she plunged the blade straight down, ending the man's life.

"Well, that works, " Locke breathed. "Let's get this city back online."

As he went to work, Kiana shut off his lightsaber and just stared at Locke, as if studying him. After a few moments, she spoke. "Is there any way I can help?"

"Oh, now you ask, " Locke answered. He tried to type something on his old desk's main console. "I guess I could use a medic if there's one nearby."

"Why don't you call for one while I take a look at your arm?" Kiana asked.

"Right, " Locke said, finding himself in agreement.

---

Apartment Building
Kel Rasha
Aeotheran
Upon Return From Ch'hodos

Locke stood at the apartment's window, watching the gentle waves of Kel Rasha's long beach advance and recede below. Though people relaxed and played along that beach, those waves never stopped. Their pace never quickened, nor slowed. They more or less ignored everything around them, only allowing the people to make small eddies in their currents.

That was how Locke would have to be, if he were to keep this up. So much divided his mind. The Clan, the Dark Council, the other units poised against them, Dlarit, the rebels on Aeotheran and Tarthos...

But above it all was Kiana, his sister. Locke could feel her now in the next room over. She was like a pillar of solitude, seemingly unfazed in the most grim of times. He had never asked about her time among the One Sith, but assumed somehow that her recounting of it would be calm, despite whatever horrors she had experienced.

Still, she had to have a weakness somewhere. Locke's very nature demanded that he look for weakness in all those around him, sibling or not. Was it merely a shell that she carefully kept closed around a molten core of emotion? Or had she lost her true emotions somewhere in the 'War? Or had Kiana somehow achieved mental equilibrium and become the waves that washed across the shore below: impartial, unaffected, going on their way despite everything?

Stop, she is family, he chided himself.

That was another problem. He had been distracted in the recent assault on Ch'hodos. His sister had occupied the forefront of his mind. He was sure some of his fellow Dark Jedi had noticed that Locke's command of the situation had been more weak than it had been before. They may have merely chocked it up to stress, but regardless of what they thought, it was a problem. "What do you think, Amelia?" Locke asked, expecting the woman to be nearby as she always seemed to be when they were alone.

Suddenly there was a knock at the apartment door. Locke knew it wasn't Kiana because he could still feel her in the next room over. "One moment, " Locke said. As he approached the door, the Krath observed the console next to it that showed the corridor outside. He frowned, not recognizing the men standing there.

"I'm sorry, " Locke said, "I think you have the wrong room." At the same time, he keyed a distress code into his datapad that would call for his personal guard who were stationed elsewhere in the structure.

There seemed to be some talk among the men outside before one placed a flat, plate-sized object against the door. Locke frowned before realization dawned on him. Explosive!

He was about to back away when light spread through the hallway from outside the camera's view, showing that Kiana had opened the door to her room. An object flew into view, slamming into one of the men and knocking him into the others. There was an exchange of blasterfire and Kiana came into view next.

"Dammit, " Locke growled, keying the 'open' button for his door, but as he did so, nothing happened. The lights and the display screen all shut off as someone cut power to the building. "Kriffin son of a..." Locke mumbled. He called his lightsaber across the room and plunged it into the door, intent to cut through it as quickly as possible. The thin apartment door burned like paper. As agonizing seconds passed by, Locke could hear sounds like fighting outside. He felt his heart jump a beat at the sound of more blasterfire, but the fighting continued, drifting further away.

Finally, Locke cut nearly through the door and raised one palm to it, hitting it point-blank with a burst of Force energy. The Krath barreled into the hall, turning quickly to look for his sister.

At the far end of the hall a man stood halfway between Locke and Kiana. He grinned at Locke through a blood-stained face, a metallic disc in his hands. Beyond him, Kiana's clothes were in tatters, her hair a mess, and blood trickling from her lip as if she had been on the bad end of a fight.

"Hah, you're dead now, boy!" the man shouted, activating the device in his hands. It began to pulse with a rapid countdown timer as he held it up to throw it at Locke.

The device suddenly sailed in the opposite direction, toward Kiana, and Locke could see that she was manipulating it with the Force. He was speechless as it reached her hands and she physically threw it further down the hall, starting to run toward Locke and the thug a moment later. With the Force she was able to cover a huge expanse of the hall in only a second, but that was all the time she had before the device exploded.

"No!" Locke screamed.

In the wake of a massive explosion, the corridor ceased to be. The floor buckled, falling into inferno. Kiana threw herself forward into the unsuspecting arms of the thug and the two hit the slanted floor together. It began to fall below them, Kiana scrambling up and kicking the man in the head. He screamed as he fell into the fire below.

Running, Locke dived forward, grunting as the wind was knocked from his chest and he stretched out his hand across the floor. "Come on!" he called. If he could pull her back slightly, they could get back to the more intact part of the corridor.

It seemed like an eternity that their fingers were mere inches apart before the platform slipped and Locke shimmied forward, catching Kiana's wrist. With the aid of the Force he was barely able to pull her up beside him.

"When did you get so dangerous to be around?" Kiana asked him, smiling wryly.

Locke just looked up, laying back on the floor, thoughts rushing through his mind.

---


It was sometime later when Locke found himself sitting alone in a nearby building. His door was under heavy guard and for once Kiana had disappeared, finally realizing that she could be suspect in such a situation.

He kept reviewing their encounter with the assassins in his mind. Kiana had tried to - no, she had saved him. Yet, at the same time, she had nearly gotten herself killed.

"I can't lose her again, " Locke breathed, hands on his face. Through the gaps in his fingers, the Krath could see Amelia sitting in another chair. Her eyes betrayed a glint of worry, but as usual she wore a warm smile.

"They'll keep coming, " Amelia said. "You're too valuable a target to pass up."

"And if they find out Kiana is important, she will be attacked as well, " Locke said.

"Yes, " Amelia whispered. "What does your heart tell you?"

"My heart is...illogical, " Locke said.

"It's telling you to protect her above all else, isn't it?"

"Yes, " Locke answered. "But the Clan..."

"Someone else can lead, " Amelia said. "Your family should come first. You can still serve in some other capacity, without being a magnet for trouble."

"Right, " Locke nodded. "You're right, as usual."

Amelia just smiled. "You found the answer yourself. I just helped you get there."

Continuing to nod, Locke picked up his comlink and made a call that would change his life for the foreseeable future.

In the Cave of Echoes
Sepros

The Prophet released his grasp on the Witch’s mind and the Blind Dragon staggered forward. For a few moments, she held her hand over her heart as she brought her breathing back under control. The expression on her face remained strained. She had not been prepared for her new Master to reopen old wounds and force her to relive memories she had done her best to forget.

“Now you understand,” the Falleen said with cold indifference as he floated back down from the cushion of air where he had been levitating above the Pool of Reflection.

The surface of the underground lake looked unsettled and when her Master’s feet touched the black water’s surface she was sure an arm -- an actual arm -- seemed to rise up from the water, wrapping around her Master’s leg like a hand. But another second later, the water splashed back down again into the pool and the Prophet stepped out onto the bank to join her where she was standing, so perhaps she had just imagined it... although perhaps not, it was impossible for her to determine what was real from what was unreal at that moment, her mind still pounding.

Her heart thundered in her chest as the Falleen’s bleak mercurial gaze continued to stare back into her own recently restored eyes. If any sign of emotion crossed her Master’s face, she did not notice it. “You understand there can be no future free from the torment of the past.”

Sildrin said nothing as her Master’s own breathing grew laboured, his chest heaving heavily.

“Trevarus is a liar,” the Prophet continued, seeming to change the subject as another spasm wracked his body and one of his clawed hands clutched into a pained fist. “But I...”

The Elder raised his fist and gestured at his own face with a lone finger.

Sildrin’s red and green eyes widened.

As her Master lowered his clenched hand again, the colour in his rich green skin drained. Scars and grazes appeared all over his face and one of his bright silver eyes paled entirely. The light in his surviving eye itself faded, its fire going dull. The arcane writing on the Prophet’s forehead seemed to spread across his face like a living animal, its legs spreading down his nose and encircling both of his eyes, or at least what remained of his eyes. The Mark of the Wanderer engulfed his whole face -- just like the bloodied runes on Shan Long’s face, the Witch realised.

In a mere matter of seconds, her Master’s entire body had aged more than just the one decade.

“Do you not see?” the Prophet added. Behind him, his shadow seemed to have taken on a life of its own, writhing and dancing even while he stood there unmoving. “Trevarus believed himself the Master of Life and Death. But he was mistaken. This is all that his mastery has wrought.”

The Witch studied her Master’s withered and wizened form, taking in the truth that had always been right there, hidden behind the veil that even her blinded sight had been unable to pierce. Darth Vexatus, Xanos Sadow, the Heretic Betrayer, stared back at her, the surface of his skin writhing and bulging in constant motion as if something trapped underneath wanted to get out.

She felt an urge the turn away and run. The unholy sight was repulsive.

Faces flashed in the surface of the water behind the Prophet, faces angry, faces without hope.

“Master...” Sildrin said finally, unsure what else to add.

In the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a face very much like her own gazing up from the Pool of Reflection’s surface, alongside another face that was most definitely Master Trevarus’s. The pair were standing beside a lake, not that dissimilar to the one where she and the Prophet stood now. The memory of Trevarus was saying something... then he slashed her hand with a vicious blade and her own blood dropped into the pool from her memories.

Runculo. The Well of Life.

“I remember,” the Witch said. “I remember what Trevarus and I did.” Or tried to do, as the ruined visage that was now staring back at her with its one-eyed mercury gaze would seem to attest to.

The tattoo on the Falleen’s forehead shifted from the movement of his skin and appeared to look as if it was narrowing the image of the Third Eye and staring right back at her in contemplation. Sildrin tried her hardest not to allow any sign of weakness or that the unholy sight that was now greeting her was in any way making her uncomfortable. She knew better than to show fear.

The tattoo looked as if it blinked. It was as if it was reading her thoughts.

But then, the Prophet probably was, the Witch knew. She had already come to accept how no part of her mind or body would ever truly belong to her alone anymore.

Her Master had already seen to that.

The Falleen unhooked his clenched talons and took hold of her left arm. Sildrin’s skin shivered from the Elder’s icy touch, but she did not break eye contact. To show weakness now would be to invite an early end. Xanos Sadow might have been more forgiving, but the creature standing there in front of her now was no longer the Consul or onetime leader of the Dark Council whom she had once respected and always remembered. Whatever had happened to that man, he was not the one who had climbed out the pit that day on Runculo three years ago.

The Elder raised her hand to his cheek. It was cold. So icy cold. The Witch pressed her lips together into a grimace at the strange sensation when one the blood vessels in her Master’s cheek suddenly bloated and she felt something push up against her hand, against her touch.

Sildrin’s lips parted a little in question, but she was unable to think of the correct words. There was another pulse in the Falleen’s skin and this time she was unable not to pull away.

Her question did not need to be asked.

The Prophet already knew what troubled her.

“I know now what was fated to transpire from the start,” the Elder started, pausing for a second as his eyes, or eye, drifted to one side in distant reflection. “My Master looks to restore his own.”

Wreck of the Miner’s Brother
Amphor Orbit
Orian System


The strange beetle-shaped craft docked quietly at the gaping hangar bay. Still- there were no surprises expected. Dlarit Special Operations group crack soldiers had been quietly sent here on duty for years. Macron’s old laboratories and biomass vats were secured deep within the bowels of the hulk and were protected by state-of-the-art traps and tritanium magshielded doors. The Sith was a wealthy man but had predictably blown it all on equipment like any proper alchemist would. Money meant nothing, but tools were everything.

As the Nachzerer pulled into the decrepit hangar bay, men and women in a strange motley of uniforms scrambled from within the depths of the old ship. They raised weapons, and one spoke through a loudspeaker comm.

“You there! Identify yourself! This is a secure area!”

The hatch in the rear of the Nachzerer opened slowly. A heavy whitish gas seemed to drift out, obscuring the figure walking down the gangplank and curled like a living thing around the area surrounding the ship. The figure stopped as the gas began to clear. It was wearing blood red and black armor. The eyes of the strange helm were covered in dark glass, and the form held a baton-like object in it’s right hand. “Who the frack are you, and why are you in my house?” replied the vocoder-modulated voice.

“This area is secured under the orders of the new rulers of the Orian System,” replied the officer. “Again, identify yourself or we will open fire!”

“I see,” grumbled the armored Elder as he gestured behind him to the droid in the cockpit above. “Another coup. More invaders, and just as foolish as Zoraan’s lackeys. Well in that case.... suck on this! Muah ha ha!”

From above twin modified e-web blasters popped out from recesses in the beetle-shaped craft and opened fire on the crowd of soldiers. Twin Colicoid Infiltrator assassin droids which had moved out under cover of the gas dropped their holographic disguise fields and attacked from either side.

Macron ignited his orange blade and attacked frontally without mercy. The Sith was a blaze of scarlet and orange as he mangled and brutalized the stunned mercenaries. The sword of fire in his hand severed limbs, bodies, weapons, heads, faces.... and then the Force mobilized the chunky gore into a whirlwind of death that slammed into the remainder who still stood. Fear borne of the Dark Side washed over them as the bulkhead wall in the rear of the bay was painted with a high-pressure melange of blood, guts, and brains. The twin assassin droids impaled the two remaining officers through the heart with a crunch as their pointed stabbing arms penetrated both blast vests with ease.

The lone remaining officer moaned in horror as his mind crumbled. He dropped to his knees, hands aside his temples as he sobbed in fear. The Sith jerked him off the floor easily with one arm by his neck. “We have many things to discuss, you and I,” giggled the madman as he strode for the bulkhead door that led into his laboratories. “You’ll tell me everything, I am sure.” A Sith Interrogation droid floated up behind them on humming repulsor coils as the door slid shut.

---
Later....

Macron chattered to himself happily as the human began to dissolve into the bio-mass vat with gelid bubbling screams. “That was satisfying, and now I see. The Clan driven into the shadows... new rulers on Aeotheran and Tarthos. Dlarit has collapsed. Isn’t it ironic Blinky that those who forced me from power lost control of the system?” The droid merely bleeped quietly. “True, true, from destruction comes new beginnings and change. Still, without the support of the Sons and Daughters of Sadow they had not the strength for the tasks at hand. I believe it is time to kick some collective posteriors. Just need to gather a few supplies and we head for Sepros to see for ourselves.” The Sith touched a gauntlet that relayed his comm to the more powerful apparatus aboard his ship. “Sildrin, this is Macron...”

At the Catering place
Picking out food
Roxas leans to his left and whispers in Pacifica’s ear “I swear if he keeps holding eye contact and lisping at me, I’m gonna punch the teeth out of his face and jam this saucer down his throat.”

She giggled as the wedding planner turned around to grab some cake for them to try. The man was wearing a pink silken blouse and purple trousers with an orange tie and wiggled his hips every time he turned around as if he wanted attention.

“Mmm let’ss ssee. OH! You’ve got to try thiss honey.” The wedding planner said as he turned around with a slice of red velvet iced with butter crème.

He set the plate gently on the table infront of the Mandalorian and winked. Roxas twitched and slid his hand under the view of the table, it was swiftly followed by a mechanic click.

Pacifica grabbed him and said “Now doesn’t this cake look pretty, babe?” trying to keep him from killing the wedding planner.

Without missing a beat he said “Sure it does, but I don’t think it looks very tasty. Maybe somewhere else would have something better for the same price. And I remember you saying the cake can’t be red."

She tried a bite and then took a fork full and shoved it in Roxas’s face. He swallowed and said “Doesn’t taste bad, but isn’t there something better?”

The wedding planner rolled his eyes and turned around wiggling his butt again.

Roxas leaned over again “That many credits for a cake like that is ridiculous. He better stop screwing around. I want everything perfect for you.”

She laid her head on his shoulder and waited for the man to turn back around with another cake. It was all white and the frosting looked like it was made of silk and there were small pink bows and flowers all over it, with green frosting leaves. Roxas noticed her eyes widen at the sight of it. They tasted it and she loved it. That was all he needed as a reason to buy it.

Two hours later
“Baby, what do you think? Steak or fish?”

“I would say let the guests decide, but then they’ll complain about their choice later.”

She giggled again before saying “Well?”

“Steak, but we have to have salad. That way everyone is at least some kind of happy.”

The wedding planner started his antics again.

“OH, isn’t he sweet. Wish he was mine hun.”

Roxas sat quietly trying not to hurt him for Pacifica’s sake.

“You sure you want her and not some of this?”

Roxas stood up, grabbed his fiance’s hand and said “I think we’ll find someone more professional.” And they headed for the door.

“WAIT!” The wedding planner shouted “I’ll knock two thousand off the price. Please, I’ve been losing a lot of weddings to the competition.”

Roxas whispered in her ear “Didn’t expect that, but the dress can now be two thousand credits nicer.”

It wasn’t hard to see that she was excited. Dumb luck just paid off.

Two days later
Endor
An old man in a nice suit waited at the spaceport. A Ship bearing the mark of Naga Sadow landed and the ramp opened. Roxas walked out with his hood covering his face.

“It’s good to see you again Buurenaar.” The old business man greeted.

“Nice to see you too, Sir. How has the business been since then?”

“Pretty good until recently. It seems that they have returned.”

“Not for long, I’ve finally killed their Sith. There is nothing in the way of their destruction.”

The businessman was relieved as he spoke “What is the fee this time?”

Roxas grinned under his hood before speaking “All I want is the bodies of my family returned to me, especially the leader because he was my Grandfather. Other than that, my services are free.”

Proconsul’s office
Temple of Sorrow
Sepros

A cloaked figure stood looking out the window behind the Proconsul’s desk, it had been 17 years since he had last occupied this office and he had almost forgotten how good the view was.

Malik turned and sat down in his chair and began looking through the datapads on his desk most of them detailing the current status of the clans forces and the Orian System. He picked up the one he’d gotten from Kel Rasha, the army forces they had left behind while they were fighting on Ch’hodos had done a good job of rooting out the remaining pockets of resistance forces in the city and it was once again fully under Naga Sadow’s control and the former Dlarit Police forces had managed to remain in control of Seng Karash so the main population hubs on Aeotheran were safe for now.

He looked at the other datapads until he located the one he needed. Reports coming in from Tarthos told him that resistance forces were still in control of Kar Alabrek but Alabrek Castle remained under control. Naga Sadow forces were also still in control of Onyx station which had been an early priority due to its status as the main repair and refueling station for the fleet.

Malik shifted through the remaining datapads without finding what he was looking for so he opened up his commlink to get in contact with his aide, “Commander Aurum, where are the reports on the status of the Warhost and on San Korinar?” the Neti asked. A few seconds passed before the reply came, “They just came in, San Korinar went clear of the rebellion since it is still under construction. The fleet is almost done repairing and refueling after Ch’hodos and part of the army have returned to work on setting up the base on Sepros Minor sir.” The Warlord moved the datapads to the side before replying “Thank you commander, notify me if anything changes.”

The old Sith got out of his chair and walked back to the window, returning to his thoughts.

Why had the Grand Master sent the Master at Arms to take over as Consul?

Dark Hall
Eos
23 years earlier

Men and women, Twi’leks and Bothans, even an Anzat and a pair of Ewoks looking the worse for wear, their fur knotted and shaved in places, clustered above him, staring down at him where he lay, unable to move, the pain still searing up his broken arms and shattered kneecaps. Each and every one of the faces leering down at him was a contorted masque of anger and raw disgust. In each of their hands, they all held a black knotted, wooden cudgel.

He was unable to hold back a pained groan as he tried to raise his left arm to block the latest club that one of the Twi’leks -- this one lacking either of her delicate leku head tails -- raised above her head, before crashing it down against his ribs. He screamed, his face writhing in pain and agony as he felt -- and even thought as if he heard -- one of his internal organs go pop.

The angry mob sneered and gloated, laughing as he exhaled another sharp wheeze of air.

He could not have fought even had he still possessed the will to resist. His skin burned as if it was on fire, whilst simultaneously he felt his blood flooding his insides, like a pool of burning lava. The fire was too much, even for one such as him. He groaned one last time, and fell silent.

No... not this way...

Xanos Zorrixor opened his eyes, although several more moments passed before his mind cleared and vision returned to normal again. He was in a small room, his arms and legs shackled to an upright gurney. A lone yellow lamp glowed softly above him. Red and blue lights blinked on and off erratically on all sides on the walls surrounding him. But all of this was secondary to his immediate focus:

The human male who had taken his right eye. More significantly, the Imperial that had confronted the Falleen in the spaceport on the outskirts of the Yridia System. The human was presently not interested in him, as he was instead more interested in a second, noticeably younger human.

“Jedgar conceded to my request,” the first human was saying. “The alien will be stayed an execution... at least until such time as we can understand the source of this... seer's vision.”

The second human turned his head a little, studying the Falleen with a pair of crystal blue eyes. Like the older of the pair, the younger human gave no insight into his goal or intentions either.

“Is this... transference, still your desire, my Master?” the second human asked.

The older human looked back around at where Xanos was restrained. The look of disgust on the man’s face seemed little different to the faces that had filled Xanos’s nightmare when he had been drugged, out cold. After a few moments studying the Falleen in silence, the man sighed and turned back to his younger compatriot. “Yes,” the first human said simply. “It must be done.”

Those were the last words Xanos heard before the man raised his hand in front of him and everything went white. The pain was excruciating. Like someone had ripped a hole in the roof of Xanos’s skull and proceeded to drive their fingers into his brain, tearing through his grey matter and ripping whole pieces of bloody flesh and brain matter out through the small angular opening.

It was all the Falleen could do not to scream.

Instead, he just ground his teeth, feeling one of his maxillary molars chip as they clenched. But the dental pain was nothing compared to the claws tearing through his most innermost thoughts.

The conversation between the two humans was far more distant now, as if it was happening to someone else, far, far away in another galaxy, but the words were still just clear enough to piece the broken lines of dialogue back together enough to make at least some semblance of sense.

Not that anything the two men said was in any way ordinary.

“...shall come at a price, Trevarus,” the older of the two men said.

Trevarus. So that was the younger man's name. His reply came without any hesitation. "All victories come at a cost, Inquisitor." The dialogue trailed off for a second while another dagger pierced Xanos's thoughts. "...had already accepted the risks before I entered this room.”

None of the conversation made any sense. But then none of this made any sense. The Falleen watched from afar when his entire body writhed and shuddered in its restraints, but it was almost as if he no longer could feel it, as if part of his mind had floated out of his skull and now lingered freely in the room by itself.

Then the older human -- the “Inquisitor”, as this Trevarus had addressed him -- turned his eyes directly toward Xanos's and stared straight back at him. What was happening? Xanos's body was back below, chained to the interrogation gurney by the oversized metal shackles that looked thick enough to restain a grown Wookiee... perhaps this was all nothing but another drug induced hallucination. But when the older man's eyes shone yellow gold, the reality became indisputable.

"Your thoughts and my apprentice's thoughts shall become one," the older human stated, clearly addressing the disembodied spirit of the Falleen that was somehow no longer bound to its body.

The golden fire in the man's eyes intensified.

"The future you are hiding from me will be mine," the Inquisitor growled.

And with those final words a terrible boom thundered through the tapestry of the Force and everything that was Xanos Zorrixor, Jedi Knight, vanished, drowned beneath a black tide. In the back of his mind, all he could hear were the foreign echoes as they grew ever more distant...

The nameless voices chattered... he was now their prisoner...

He cried out, but all he heard was the distant thunder of voices.

Maelous' Mindscape
Susevfi

The nudge to his ribs woke him in the early morning sun. Maelous opened his eyes and looked up into the emerald lenses of Cordova's feline-esque helmet.

“Let’s go,” she said in a firm voice as she turned and began to walk back toward the city.

“I’m not going back,” he said calmly as he stood and faced the back of his twin sister, “the agreement with the Jedi is wrong and against everything we have learned. I will have no part in it.”

The armored woman wheeled around and stormed over to him. He stood a little over a half meter taller than she, but that wasn’t going to stop her. She had always tried to play mother to him even as a child. She looked up at his face.His eyes, blazing with a new found passion, looked firmly back into the blank lenses. She poked a gloved finger into his chest.

“You do not get to make that call the Saarai-kaar does. It’s your turn to go study with the Jedi. Now get your things and lets go.”

Maelous exhaled deeply, "You know I have openly opposed this 'alliance'. If I go now, everything I have said and done will be a lie."

"The Saarai-kaar ordered your return, do not make me force you," she sighed.

Maelous drew his saber, igniting it, and swung in a large arc at the woman before him. She jumped back, the saber blade missing her chest my a few centimeters. The exile steadied himself in an offensive stance, "You cannot win, Cordova. You never have and you never will."

He jumped at her, bringing the saber down towards her head; Cordova tumbled to the side. She was elegant and fluid, something Maelous could never be. She rose to her feet and eyed her brother, "Do you really plan to kill me?" she yelled as he walked toward her.

He stopped a few paces away from her, his hand wrapped around the hilt of his saber, “If you try and bring me back, I will have no choice.” His eyes were cold and she knew he never lied.

Cordova’s gloved hand came up and began to form a claw. Her brother felt himself rise off the ground as the Force crushed in on his throat. She stepped forward and stared at him through the lenses of her helmet, “I’m sorry, Maelous,” her words choking in her throat, “if you won't go willingly I’ll bring you back unconscious.”

His free hand clutched at the invisible force that deprived him of oxygen as he hung in the air. His field of vision began to narrow. He drew on the Force as much as he could do calm his mind, and single solution came to him. He lifted his saber a drove it through the lense of his sister’s helmet and both collapsed to the ground.

Maelous took a deep gasping breath. It burned his throat causing him to cough violently as he crawled to the side of Cordova and removed her helmet. He looked at the scorched hole where her eye used to be as a tear fell just onto her cheek just below it. The wound was clean, and he could only assume the death instant, but the fact remained that he had murdered his twin.

He wrapped the helmet deep in his cloak, then stood up. His eyes went wide as he viewed the young woman standing just past his fallen sister that was never here before. “Setsuna!” his voice choked out in the now familiar gravel like tone.

Setsuna stood with her arms crossed and slight grin on her face, “Is that it?” she asked.
She looked down at the body quickly then back up at him, her one hand gesturing towards it, “Is that really all your deep dark secret is?”

She faded, leaving Maelous alone in his own nightmare, the grin the last bit of her to leave.

Medbay, Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

Maelous woke as the bacta was draining from the tank and began pounding against the glass. The few mintues it took seemed like ours to him. He exited the tank quickly waving off the droid that came to assit him. He found his things on a table next to his empty tank and dressed quickly leaving modesty for another time..

The Jedi Hunter could sense her presence, though it wasn’t close he knew where she was. He headed straight for the spaceport and Markosian City

Bridge
Firefox Class Star Destroyer Final Way
Sepros Minor Orbit

“Sir, we have a highly armed transport-sized vessel coming into our orbit of an unidentified make. It is heavily armored, has an overlarge powerplant for it’s size by the readings, and is moving at flank speed.” An Ensign studied the readouts at his duty station. “Readouts indicate it has been fitted with Verpine technology. I've never seen anything like it.”

The Lieutenant scowled. “That is one ugly junk-bucket of a ship. Alert the flight officer and launch a patrol immediately. They must be boarded and searched. There’s no telling if it’s another bunch of raiders.”


Nachzerer
Approaching Sepros Minor
Sepros

“Strange that Xia does not answer,” commented the alchemist as his ship hove into view around Sepros Minor. Ahead was a massive fleet of vessels. Many of them were of a new make or were unrecognizable to the madman. Still, several were easily identified. The Covenant appeared to have been re-fitted with gravity well generators. The Vibre class Despot and Turmoil still served. “Interesting,” chuckled the madman as he raised an eyebrow. “Things have certainly changed. That’s an impressive display of naval power.” He gestured at the droid in the gunnery seat. The Nachzerer raised it's deflector shields.

The ship’s comm unit buzzed. “Unidentified vessel. You have entered restricted space. Power down and prepare to be boarded.” Alongside two HLAF fighters whizzed by, running lights flashing in unison. In the near distance a Marauder-class gunship stood ready to launch more fighters.

The Sith chuckled as he opened the comm connection. “I think not. Patrol, this is Marshal Commander Macron Sadow. I am requesting clearance to Sepros on … official business.” There was silence for a few seconds. “Adept Sadow, if that means anything to you, patrol leader. Hee hee.” The Sith's hands hovered over the holocontrols. It would be a matter of an instant to deploy his weaponry.

The HLAFs returned and locked weapons on the Nachzerer. “Unidentified vessel, you will....” The signal cut out and was replaced by a familiar voice on a stronger channel.

“This is Vice Admiral Simonetti. Belay that, patrol seven. Escort the Nachzerer to Sepros and ensure that no harm comes to the vessel or it’s passengers. Commander Sadow, welcome home.” Admiral Simonetti’s voice was unmistakable. “Come see me when you are done, we have much to discuss. Your experience will be a boon in these difficult times.”

“Thank you, Admiral. I appreciate the... warm welcome. I certainly will,” giggled the Adept. “Macron Out.”

Bridge
Firefox Class Star Destroyer Final Way
Sepros Minor Orbit

Araic Simonetti leaned over the comm desk and pondered the situation. He knew the madman well. His appearance always heralded conflict. They were not friends by any means. Yet in the past Macron had done him a great favor by personally slaying the one responsible for the murderer of Araic's lover. They had fought side by side in many campaigns despite differences of view and the madman’s known propensity for violence and instability. It had begun in the Vong Wars, a time Araic loathed to remember. “Adept...” whispered the Admiral with a quiet whistle. “We certainly can use him in this next campaign. I can only hope he is more stable than before. Ensign, get me a channel to Malik and let him know that the lunatic is coming.”

Endor
Forrest
Intergalactic Logging job site
Roxas lay prone outside of a lumber yard watching the workers through a sniper scope. He breathed slowly as he looked for the perfect target to create the largest amount of fear. He didn’t need to kill them if he could scare them enough to think they wouldn’t survive. One of the loader machines turned to lift some freshly cut trees and Roxas got the target he wanted, its fuel tank. A flash escaped the muzzle of the rifle as it sent a slug down range and into the fuel tank.

The machine exploded violently and red hot flames engulfed it quickly. Workers ran screaming while droids stood around. If they were living they would look like idiots, but programs and wires aren’t all that smart. The workers were gone within a few minutes, but the droids stuck around. Roxas picked them off with the rifle, so there would be trace that he was there before he went down and destroyed more of the machines. He reached his hand to his neck and tapped his comm link.

“The logging site has been taken care of. I’m heading to the offices next.”

The CEO of Galactic Exports old voice replied “You are making good progress…Do you mind if I ask how many casualties?”

“There are none other than droids. I scared them off. I don’t want to attract too much attention.”

“I think that is a good approach, but do you think you can do it without harming anyone?”

Roxas sighed before replying “We’ll see.”

A few hours later
Roxas pulled up the hood of his cloak to cover his face before walking into the office building of Intergalactic Logging. He also pulled it tight around him to hide his weapons. Hopefully his idea would work if not then the Jedi would show up like last time.

Cave of Echoes

The image on the surface of the black pool of water rippled and the memory of the events that had transpired in the prison cells underneath the original Dark Hall on Eos faded, leaving Sildrin and the Prophet standing there once again, with only the black watery stillness for company.

The Sorceress tried to make sense of what she had just witnessed...

The Inquisitor had been Master Dejarc. But what had the original Father of all Dragons done in that cell...? Sildrin glanced sideways at the ruined body of the Dark Prophet, but as usual no answer was forthcoming, and Darth Vexatus simply continued to gaze down into the Pool of Reflection, as if he was still occupied by another vision... perhaps he was.

Her commlink had been pulsing for several minutes while she had stood there, silently watching the memory unfold on the pool’s surface -- she had known better than to check and see who was trying to contact her down in the forgotten catacombs beneath the Seprosian forests. Right that moment, however, her mind remained focused on the vision: for one, why had her new Master shared this with her? She would need to reflect on it later... right then, her mind still ached from the telepathic assault when the Prophet had violated her own mind a few minutes earlier...

But the Sorceress would not forget what the Prophet had shown her here.

Even in the Elder’s nightmare-riddled mind, Sildrin understood that there was always a reason behind the Prophet’s actions... she would just need to find out what that reason was.

And in that knowledge lay the power to turn her present situation to her advantage.

The Sorceress at last looked back up from the pool and studied the withered Elder that she had taken to calling “Master”, for whatever that title actually meant to either of the pair. It was not as if she required any further training... nor he an apprentice... but she wanted answers.

For now, she turned her attention back to the other part of the vision from the Pool of Reflection:

“The Fire Dragon died,” the Matriarch of the Longs stated, keeping her voice even. Why had he shown her that? Deep inside, she could still feel the sense of anguish, the loss, from the day when she, when all dragons, had felt Chi Long torn from this plane, felt his soul torn, felt...

The Sorceress still wished there had been some way to prevent it.

Not that the Dark Prophet had ever seemed troubled by the Fire Dragon’s departure...

The Elder’s chest heaved again, and it was openly apparent that Darth Vexatus was fighting to resist whatever force he had brought back with him when he had climbed back out of that pool on Runculo. It had become clear to her that Xanos Sadow had never escaped his own demons. He may have spent these past three years hiding it, but it was clear that he could no longer disguise his body's deterioration. He was dying, and not just on the surface...

The Prophet was losing his internal battle... and that was not good.

A new thought floated to the top of her mind.

Sildrin tilted her head a little as she studied the ruined abomination that stood next to her.

They -- she and Trevarus -- had brought the Falleen back from the dead. Could it be possible to do the same again? Was that where Master Trevarus had gone? Did he now seek to--

The Prophet cut her trail of thoughts off.

“My Master’s plan will fail.”

The disfigured Falleen finally lifted his head from the dark pool and turned to look at her. “Trevarus cannot bring back the dead,” Darth Vexatus continued, his voice turning stiff when his jaw clenched from another involuntary muscle contraction. “He can only beckon a fractured echo.”

Sildrin stared back at the monstrously disfigured face that stood in front of her. Her question did not need asking because her Master had no doubt foreseen her doubts even before she had thought them... she was beginning to wonder if her own mind even truly still belonged to her. How much of her soul had she already sold to the Prophet back during that ritual on Runculo...?

How much of her was now already a part of him?

Just like what Faethor did when he transplanted that part of Xanos into Trevarus in the vision...

“I know this,” the Prophet began, answering her silent thoughts, “because I have already seen it.” That was nothing surprising. He was a seer. Having visions was what he did. But there was something in the Elder’s voice that made her a little uneasy. “Faethor and my Master believed that they could keep the truth hidden. But everything Trevarus is he owes to what Faethor stole.”

The Sorceress listened, letting the Elder continue, but her mind was starting to race.

It was unusual for the Prophet to voice anything, let alone provide answers...

Something flashed in the depths of the Falleen’s grey eyes. “Did you never ask yourself why my Master and I always shared each others thoughts, or wondered where the Nameless Voices that plunged my Master into the depths of madness sprung from?” The Prophet paused a second. “Faethor ripped my powers from me that day when he embedded them upon Trevarus instead.”

Sildrin’s lips parted slightly, but she could not think of the right words.

What was the Elder saying...?

In the dark recesses at the back of her mind, she heard a distant rumble of thunder -- and it all clicked. It had not been Trevarus, but his apprentice, who had first gazed into the black depths of the nameless abyss. Understanding began to dawn on the Sorceress... and with it recognition.

As the Prophet continued to gaze back at her with his unearthly grey stare, his mind no doubt probing her thoughts that very moment, she realised that she had arrived at an impasse: her two Masters, Trevarus and Xanos, Shan Long and Darth Vexatus, whatever the pair chose to name themselves, the two had drifted irresolvably apart. The Prophet had discovered the truth.

And Trevarus wished his own Master returned from the void beyond.

Where did that now leave her...?

The Sorceress’s thoughts churned as the cogs in her mind ground together like the wheels of an ancient machine that a pebble had now rolled into. The cries of the imprisoned Thunder Dragon had been her constant guardian, her secret retreat, a private solace into which she could escape free of the rest of the world. In those unspoken roars, there was knowledge, and with it answers.

Except in the last few moments, she now felt as if everything she understand had been tossed into uncertainty. Her restored violet and green eyes looked back into the empty stare of the ruin of an Elder as she thought about what to do. Part of her simply felt like turning away, running, and locking herself away to keep out of this game of chess between prophets and oracles until there was a victor. But she knew that was not an option. There was too much she already knew.

Neither Master Trevarus nor Master Xanos would just let her walk away, not now.

And there was still much more she wanted out of them. Knowledge always came with risks.

She was not about to simply run away. Not when so much was now at stake.

The Sorceress reached her decision and resolved herself to gamble and take the chance.

Sildrin took a step nearer the Prophet and ran her hand over her Master’s face again, but this time she was not turned back by the unearthly contractions and twitches that writhed beneath his skin. The Elder did not force her away in case it was all a trick to assassinate him. She now realised that he could not do so even if he had wanted. Xanos was too weak. His body needed to recuperate first after the exertions, first the violation of her mind, now the shared prophesying.

As the Elder stood there, realisation finally dawned, and she finally understood the full depths of the link that had forged between them on Runculo. With Trevarus, she alone was the Elder’s only surviving link to the world of the living. Where she had before been terrified, because of the nightmares that the Prophet kept prisoner inside him... now the masquerade had been cast off, and he had revealed his weakness, she realised that he needed her, not for an apprentice, but as an anchor.

It was clear that the Prophet could not finish his battle by himself alone.

And it was in that realisation that she realised she was the one in control of the winning hand.

As Master and apprentice, Prophet and Sorceress, continued to study one another, she fought down the urge for the corner of her lips to curl into a small smirk. Whether it had been by chance or through some divine act of providence, she had somehow now found herself in place to play the kingmaker in what was to come. But what to do... that remained the question...

“You cannot fight this battle by yourself,” Sildrin said, feeling the veins in the Prophet’s cheek writhe unnaturally under his skin in resistance to her touch. The Sorceress knew that she was playing a dangerous hand, but if the events that were to come were to unfold in accordance with her wishes, rather than just those of the two sorcerers, then she needed to remain close to both.

Unlike both of them, her mind, fractured as it may already have been from all those years back when she had been imprisoned against her will, had not yet become lost beneath the maddening tides of the Force. She alone still retained the agency to choose freely.

In the end, it would be the Mother of the Dragons that would decide the fate of all.

The disfigured face of the Falleen studied her.

“You presume much, Lady Dragon,” the Prophet said, and she felt a slight tug at the back of her mind again, as if the Elder -- or something at least -- was seeking entry to her mind’s innermost sanctum again, but no further physical or psychical rebuttal was forthcoming. It was almost as if the Falleen... couldn’t attack her, but for what reason that was she, for now, remained blind to.

Even with her bodily vision restored, still she remained the Blind Dragon, it seemed.

But the answers would come in time. That alone she remained certain of.

The commlink on her belt buzzed again.

Endor
Intergalactic Logging office building
27 hours before Athiss
The hood of the black cloak was jerked over the Mandalorian’s head and his mind focused to fade the glow of his eye. The cloak was pulled tight around his body to keep from showing his weapons. Roxas entered the building that had belonged to his greatest enemy shortly before his demise on Aeotheran.

His boots thumped on the marble floors as he approached the receptionist. She was in her early twenties and it looked as if she was bored with her work. Her brown eyes moved up from her holo-screen and she stood quickly and bowed her head.

“It’s good to see you Lord Crissor.” She started “Everything is moving at your specifications and we are ahead of schedule.”

Roxas never spoke, he just nodded his head while his eye looked at the registrar of who was on what floor.

“I suspect you would like to speak with the CEO to get his full assessment, I’ll page him and let him know you are coming.”

A grin crossed his face under the shadow of the hood. This girl was going to lead him straight to his target.

After sending the message she turned and said “Please follow me my Lord.”

She then headed down a hallway and Roxas simply followed, still remaining silent. His luck seemed to be holding out, but if it didn’t he had a backup plan.

The two reached an elevator. The girl opened the door and pushed a button just inside the door.

“Here you are Sir, OH! I almost forgot, your apprentice is awaiting you with the CEO.”

Roxas nodded as if he was pleased, but inside he was preparing for a fight.


[Intergalactic logging Office building
Top floor/b]
The door to the elevator opened up to a large room that didn’t resemble any office he had seen before. There was a garden with an artificial spring that had a walkway down the middle. At the far end of the room was a small desk and a man sat with his arms crossed, a slender woman in dark robes to his left.

He stepped out of the elevator and headed for them. All he could think of was to rush them and kill them quickly, but he knew he had to stay calm and keep his mind clear.

The woman spoke as he reached the halfway point “Lord Crissor, how was your trip? Were you able to take possession of the body you wanted?”

Suddenly Roxas understood what Crissor wanted with him. It was never to train him, but to switch bodies for one younger and stronger.

He removed the hood and spoke “Yes, but I haven’t learned all of his skills yet. In a straight fight he would have killed me, in fact he did. Luckily the ritual took effect before he dealt the final blow.”

“I thought you would be more powerful than you are, after switching bodies?” She questioned.

“Let me show you what I have learned so far.” Roxas said curtly as he raised his left hand.

A beam of Force energy erupted and flew the remaining distance to the desk, hitting the CEO and launching him out of the window directly behind him.

Roxas then ignited his white bladed lightsaber and turned toward his foes apprentice. She replied by pressing the ignition on her weapon. Violet emitted from each end of the hilt with the speed of a blaster bolt. She vaulted through the air. The blades clashed wildly with sparks jutting off randomly. The Mandalorian had never faced someone with a double bladed saber, but he had to kill her if he was going to fully restore his Clan’s honor. This fight would more of a challenge then when he fought against Locke and the others when they usurped Macron for control of Naga Sadow.