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In Rieva’s line of work it was always best to assume that one was always being watched. You never knew who could be sneaking up and checking in on you; officers, thieves, nosey neighbors. The possibilities were endless, so it was best to cover your ass. That started with a good security system and a secret basement that no one aside from her knew about. Not even her closest colleague. Never trust anyone but yourself, that was her code, and she stuck by it. Rieva was working in the basement when she heard sounds coming from upstairs. Nothing incredibly loud, but noticeable enough for someone used to the sounds of light pitter-patter on wood flooring. How curious she thought as she gently set down the painting she’d been wrapping up, closing it safely in her safe. She was wise with her safes, opting for the blending-in approach in the hope that people would overlook it, and many did. There were a lot of naive fools who called themselves ‘thieves’ these days. With the merchandise safe, Rieva made her way up the stairs, hand hovering over the pistol on her hip as she listened through the wall. Definitely footsteps, though not close. She felt she could safely slip out of the stairwell without being seen. Though waiting was a good option, just to see if they were clever enough to see past the bookshelf ruse, seeing the look on their face when they realized they weren’t alone would be priceless, she was sure. So she stepped out, quietly closing the bookshelf behind her, and crept her way toward where she thought the person was. ”If you’d like to see the art, you’ll have to come back during business hours”. The words slipped past her lips in a mostly professional way, though the sassy ‘I just caught you’ sass was definitely lingering in the air. She was ever vigilant of the person, eyes scanning for any potential others who could be around so she didn’t end up in a trap of her own.

Feline eyes gazed unmoving from beneath twisted locks of unkempt brown hair. The Sith watched the man both in the physical and within the force. The forest floor drank deeply of the spilled blood, but the Huntress stood unmoving. Warriors, especially those of the Bersærkergang, were notoriously unstable. They raged like toddlers after a confiscated sweet. She let him rant, her eyes drifting to the spiders that clawed at the dripping blood, tumbling and tossing like spent leaves in the summer wind. The Sith Huntress took in the rage, its unusual and deep rhythm, melding herself to it. As he stepped, so did she. Calypso had spurned him, and it was easy to see why; Rage and pain were mindlessly boring. So easily manipulated. So easily removed. Blood dribbled down his chin like a tearfall. Her own rhythm desired to taste it, to take in his lifeblood like a portent of death and dispel it into the songs of entropy. To quiet his blood. She pressed into it, embracing and drinking of his pain. She let his ranting hang a moment upon the breeze, unanswered, savoring the complexity of the emotions. Shapash quivered thinking of grinding his sinew, tearing that vibroaxe and blade to atoms and scattering his viscera upon the steps of the Black Pyramid. The spiders began to prance, and Awenydd scooped one up to calm it, her nail-bitten fingers finding only air and delusion. She spoke through whispers that curled across the wind to find the Sith’s ear from a hundred directions; from the creaking of treebranch, the rustle of leaves, the babbling of fountains and from the bending of moss beneath his feet. “You find yourself alone, that is the reality of it, no matter your victories over paltry nonsentience.” There was a haunting and depressing finality to her words. “You say you desire power, and yet you’ve built a horrible dungeon about you on all sides, heated by only one anemic furnace.” Her hand passed before them, illuminating the spilled blood and the echoes of spent rage and pain. “Rage and pain produce no light at all, but rather a vicious darkness that only serves to discover sights of failure." Awenydd stepped, leaning down to run a finger through the blood that now darkened the moss between them. She brought it to her lips, letting it pass over her tongue to bind it to herself. Smoke curled from her sanguine smile. Haematomancy; and into his blood she poured her own tales of wrath. The wounds that drove her to corruption. To power. She drove the pain and rage from him like a whirlwind. Her mind moved to Myrkr, and those bitter years of deprivation. The first lesson would be in the basics. “How do you connect to your power, Fiochmar, when all your pain and rage is spent. How do you find the Living Force?”

Apothos wandered the wasteland, a withered neimoidian in a cobbled mecha-throne. The cold wind whistled around him, and he seemed as alien as anything in this desolate landscape. Why he remained, though, was simple. Opportunity. A Sith gathering. A new galaxy. Power, ambition, and uncertainty all colliding in a single, rare instance, a fulcrum on which the future of the Sith would turn. It wasn't Apothos, but the conniving Nok that saw the potential for such an event. The paths of so many powerful and hungry individuals crossing represented possibilities that could be exploited, and the former criminal knew how to smell out that kind of prospect. It was his sense of the Dark Side that lead him here, to this otherwise unremarkable patch of desolation. He'd sensed the pulsations of power like watching the ripples in a pond after a rock was dropped in. Here was the epicenter. And there...that little figure was the source. "Hello, little one," Apothos croaked.

Tygo heeded the Lord Commander's orders and sent a short range burst to the Bekenden, a number of whom rapid repelled from their perches to further encircle the trench line. With calm precision the prince and his Haulanz pressed along the enemy emplacement, coldly dispatching the remaining opposition. Resistance wilted as they swept through the fortifications and tunnels, ever tightening the noose. The Bekenden were trained as urban hunters, and the trenches and bunkers translated easily to the narrow alleyways and enclosed spaces that they were used to fighting in. The Bekenden were soldiers of grim aspect, monsters that outlived the tyranny of their masters, but they were now sworn to the light all the same as Edsbryder itself. They were living proof of a way back from the darkness, which made the situation on Falleen all the more irksome. The soldiers they were fighting were victims of Sith indoctrination, who until the arrival of the Sith had led normal lives. When treating the Sith blight upon the galaxy, sometimes amputation was necessary, but Tygo had never fallen in love with the image of blindly destructive hero. This was why he was so dedicated to the destruction of cults, every false prophet and dark priestess that he slew would preserve the light for countless lives. They would save as many as they could, but for these poor fools, there was nothing left for them but the firm cut of justice's blade.

You have no kriffing idea… Fate started to say when she overheard the Jedi’s comment. You haven’t had to deal with the lack of food, the crumbling ruins, the radiation zones, and those cultists that scream their heads off for a dang plant. The two pushed on until they came upon a deep crevasse. The cityscape of the planet had several crevasses like this one, all built for letting ships and speeders into the lower levels of the world. Miles wide in diameter, the only way across the impossibly deep pitt was a long narrow bridge, complete with a wider area for a broken turret station in the middle. The bridge was more than just worn down. Its durasteel railings had fallen off long ago, its floor plantings partially melted, and its supports corroded to the point that the thing swayed with its own weight. Under the acidic rain, the entire thing groaned, threatening to break down at any moment. Like a suspension bridge missing its wires, so did this bridge miss its sturdiness Despite the uncertain structural integrity, a single figure stood on the bridge, undeterred by the potential of falling to his death. Instead, under the raining acid, the figure stood stoically and unmoved, wielding an electrostaff in its hands. Its shoulder plates had been completely melted away, revealing muscle and nerve bundles burning and regenerating under the rain. This Gen’dai had been forgotten to time, stored in a cage for thousands of years. In its loneliness, it had lost any semblance of sanity. And after the Sith attack, it broke free and found this place. Now, only one thing mattered to it: The Bridge. After studying the figure for a moment, shield over her head, Fate looked across the crevasse. She could see what vaguely looked like a domed enclosure, no doubt the place the Jedi was wanting to get to. She could even see the outline of what looked like a ship. Her one source of hope to escape this wreckage of a world. YES! Fate shouted in her mind as she rushed forward. She had no idea what the figure wanted, but the possibility of escaping was almost too much to resist. From his position at the center of the bridge, the Gen’dai raised a hand to halt her and the Jedi. “None shall pass!” his voice boomed over the pouring acidic rain. “Approach further, and die.” Fate stopped in her tracks. Kriff this stupid piece of... she wanted to swear. She glanced at Vox, unsure what to do. The bridge was the only way across, and with the acid rain, finding another way around would be both exhausting and dangerous.

Solus and the Polyp changed their gazes to the one who called out. In doing so, the polyp began to flicker in and out of existence, losing the focus and thus the connection of the Shard. It only held on barely by the energies it had absorbed from its creator. Without focus, it had no power. Solus gripped his metal hands tighter at the sight of Dictum. Words flashed in his memory, and Solus’ voice box emitted several growling notes. “Where is that piece of filth, Blind one?” Solus shouted back, uncaring about pleasenries. Then he felt it and saw it. His master’s presence of darkness and pain and hate. The taste of Korriban was now before the Shard across the snow and ash. “The proof?” Solus gawked. “You die and spit in our god’s face and ask for proof of my accomplishments?” The polyp in the sky began a gutteral screech, a representation of the growing anger in Solus. It began to circle in the air, its eyes never leaving the shard’s master. “The warship’s weakness will never be the knowledge of its joints and engines. No one except us knows its codes for destruction nor its methods of power supply. And no one except me knows its true blindspot!” Solus, in his anger, had recounted several technical details that only those with the plans could possibly know. To be fair, Solus did not have the plans on his person. He made sure to erase every last one on Falleen, and every high ranking cultist died at either his hands or during the Imperial cleansing. The only plans that existed were on the ship itself. But both Solus and, hopefully, Akheron knew that the Shard had a knack for remembering the smallest of details. “It’s greatest weakness is still it's only weakness: It’s Lord-Captain, a pretender of the ages. You may have once been my master, but I am your elder! A thing beyond the ages, and the one who will witness the final death. Behold!” Solus gestured to the Polyp in the sky. The thing screeched and bellowed at the gesture, the Madness leaking in the Force from it like black ichor from a wound. Its flesh began to bubble and boil with unseen heat, and its eyes, barely connected by nerve tissue, almost squeezed out of their sockets. “EMLESH BEOSTA!” the thing screamed, the impossible geometries shuddering momentarily. “I am a student of the Flesh beyond Stars! Maker and seeker of the ending aeons. Timeless and endless! Observer and destroyer. Scholar and Dragon. Solus looked back at his master, and flickered his gaze to Dictim and Bernon. “The Blind one once told me that to become a Sith Lord, I must slay my master.” Solus said these words still looking directly at Bernon, communicating the tasks ahead for the apprentice of Innmortos “And these words were a reflection of my own father’s tutelage.” Photoreceptors looked back at Akheron. A metal finger flicked the lightsaber on, its red blade hissing to life. The wind around everyone picked up, as if it could sense what was coming. The Shard’s cape began to flap with it, piece of broken yellow from Falleen. Above, the Polyp circled closer, awaiting for its creator’s rituals, undeterred by the air. “Is that what you meant by the next step?” Solus hissed through his voice box as he gestured with his open and towards Akheron to attack. “Shall we break my last chain by breaking you?”

Bernon Mrrgwharr had finally finished fighting, but there were more things it seemed he needed to attend. His Sith Master was gone for now, and he would look after the place alongside the other Sith until he returned. His secondary Sith Master Darth Akheron had an insubordinate Apprentice to deal with. He should follow him and watch, he thought. After all, he would learn from both of these Sith during the encounter. He sheathed his Limnal Blade and followed Darth Akheron, and while he did not know if Darth Dictum would follow or not, it didn't matter to him. If he chose to learn from this than good for him, or perhaps he had nothing to learn, whatever the case, he was his own man, and Bernon was focused on his own training, not Darth Dictum's. He followed Darth Akheron until he stopped near his Apprentice. The Apprentice Solus was formidable, and it was possible he would fight his Master. However, he figured that it would be a lesson for Solus, rather than a victory. If he planned to fight a Master Sith Warrior in single combat whenever he was an Apprentice Sith Assassin, it was unlikely that he would find victory. However, he never knew what the Droid-Sith was capable of. He chose to stay silent during the encounter, this was not something he should intervene in, unless ordered to do otherwise. He watched as his secondary Master spoke to his Apprentice, and he waited to see what would happen during this encounter. While he waited and watched he also thought to himself, as he often did. He began to wonder if his Master had approved of his prowess in battle against the spirits. It should never be too hard for a Sith to fight undead spirits, however, he was an Apprentice, and he tested his blade against theirs. He could only hope that his Master approved of the way he fought, and his success in battle. He had been hit during the battle, however, he was still learning, and he would make sure that he did not repeat those mistakes once more. He would contemplate on his failures and his successes, because if he didn't, he would not be able to improve, and he would repeat those failures again. He hadn't been paying attention too much to it recently, given all that had been going on. However, now that he was less distracted, he began to notice the cold temperatures here. It was slightly uncomfortable, but he was tough and hardy, it didn't cause much of a problem for Apprentice Bern. He began to also contemplate on his transitions to becoming a Sith. He started out as a mere man, trained in the art of a mercenary. However, he had found out about his Force Sensitivity, and he had, unlike many, chosen the path of true power, the Sith. His ideals and personality fit in with them. He had transitioned not just mentally in the knowledge he gained from the Dark Book. He had also transitioned physically. If someone who knew him before looked at him now, he would be unrecognizable except for his formidable physical strength and size. Everything from his eye color to his skin coloration to his hairstyle had changed. It truly showed that he was no longer just Bernon Mrrgwharr the man. He was Bernon Mrrgwharr the Sith, and he allowed himself to feel pride for that.

At the words of the woman, the Wookiee bowed his head once more. He acknowledged the responsibility that they now undertook. As caretakers and stewards of a galaxy long broken, it was their responsibility now to foster the growth and health of the world as the galaxy tended its wounds. He stood, bowing low to Master Kirlocca, speaking to him as he walked to join Sandy, "It was an honor to meet you, Master. I look forward to learning from you in the coming times. May the Force be with you." He then turned to Sandy, looking down to her as his mind raced. An opportunity was afoot. An opportunity to put his skills to good use throughout the galaxy, creating a meaningful and profound impact and acquiring no short order of knowledge from an esteemed Master to boot. "It would be an honor to join you, Master Sarna."

Sandy reached out and picked up the berry from the palm of the Tree Carer. It was large and a distinct grey yellow, but she did not hesitate to place it in her mouth and its taste was refreshing. She smiled and looked back at the two wookiees. She had something decidedly clever to say, but it was lost with the crackle of Kirlocca’s comm link. She leaned back against the wall and let her eyes flutter closed. Her voice was soft as she spoke to Kerriwarr, she wanted to learn more about him and his people, but for now there was something she needed to do. “The Grandmaster calls for our aid to banish this darkness. Though I do not wish to ask you for more of your help, if you can but observe us both, there may be much to learn.” The silent offer was there, if he wished he could delve further into the force as he knew it, or sit and observe the two Jedi Masters, such as they were after their fight, and attempt to aid the grandmaster from afar. Her voice was hoarse and barely above a whisper as she spoke. “First we must find our centre amongst the turbulence.” Death, destruction, violence. All of it sang out in the force in a horrendous cacophony of sound and feeling. The Darkside spoke through such violence, and she could sense its familiar voice amongst the whirlwind of the planet. It spoke through the actions of many sentients on this planet, though it spoke mainly temple and the fountains of blood that had been spilled upon its alters. It would take many years she knew before the last vestiges of that darkness were washed away. But that was a mission for another time, and she breathed in a breath of fresh air. Darkness would not hold to her, she had confronted it many years before, and joy, love, and peace would displace the malevolence that clung to this planet. “Find your cornerstone.” Those long nights now turned to day. She found her assurance. She found the source of her joy, that justice that would be poured out on this world like perfume from a bottle. “And push back against the dark” Like wax would shrivel and melt before a wall of flame, so would the creatures of darkness. She had buried their leader, and this world would be free. She could feel the bright hot presence of Kirlocca and Kerriwarr, of Leena her friend, and the new bright light of dear Keenava. Also shone forth the bright presences of the Sovereign Knights, and beside them her old and dear friend Kyrie Eleison. Her presence brushed against theirs and together she knew that they would overcome the darkness that infested this place.

Elliot staggered for a moment, but regained himself as the sounds and visuals of his experience ended. He turned to the old woman, grabbed the goblet from the ground, apologizing to her as he went to the counter to pay for it. She cursed him in an unknown language, and he felt ashamed as he paid her far more than what the goblet must've been worth to her. He threw it in his bag and hurried out, nervously looking over his shoulder as he hustled out, and back onto the street, in the bazaar. He looked left and right, and decided it would be best to not be so vulnerable with such an item in his possession. Turning on his heel, he walked briskly out of the bazaar to his speeder. He assumed his nervousness was visible, as he was quickly noticed and followed. Elliot could feel their eyes on him, and he paced his steps accordingly. Turning the final corner, he found the valet and sent him off to find the speeder. While he was off, he was cornered. He had been followed, yes, but by more than just one person. Elliot turned around to three people circling him. "Seen you pull up. Nice speeder you got, huh?" "Yeah, thanks," he said plainly, looking over his shoulder and setting down his bag slowly, "You guys waiting on yours too?" "Right, yeah, we are," one of the thugs laughed," That's a good one." "And the valet can get yours after mine, right?" Elliot said this plainly, and directly. The thugs stepped to him, but he narrowly avoided conflict when the humming of his speeder returned to earshot. The valet, joyriding the speeder, whipped it around onto the dock and, with a massive grin, returned the keys to Elliot and smiled down the men who had cornered Elliot, his hand immediately reaching to his datapad. The three looked off and wandered off into the distance again as Elliot was returned to his vehicle. The trip back through the city was quick, and Elliot took every inch of speed on his cruiser as he made his way back home, curving through the gates of his Imperial alumni neighborhood. His father, unofficially out of retirement, had earned a small manor on the new Coruscant streets. Gliding into the pad, he hopped out of his speeder and rushed back into his home, clambering through the halls, disrupting his mother, and into his room. He tossed the goblet onto the table, and he rummaged through his things, packing a bag as quick as he could. The way he saw it, one doesn't easily ignore what could only be described as the summons of a witch, especially when the life he currently led was fraught more with boredom than danger. He had enough credits, and he had a connection for a hyperdrive for sale. He was waiting for the universe to tell him when the time was right. He couldn't be any less sure if this was it, but he was so determined to force himself on his own fate it did not matter. He typed a message on the holonet and waited. The anonymous source for the under-the-table hyperdrive could be anyone, and he could get shot, robbed, or any number of things. Nothing he wasn't used to, but Elliot figured it would be prudent to take one of his father's blasters. He packed a small duffel bag and threw it over his shoulder. On his way out, his mother stopped him. "Where are You going?" Elliot stopped and was silent for a second before responding," Heading off world to see a girl." She shrugged, seemingly happy with the answer, and Elliot continued on, rushing out. He returned to his speeder and flew fast all the way to the private port for the families' of Imperial command. He took the lift to his father's hangar, and he found his ship. An old, old, X-wing; T-65 model with a custom black and purple paint job. It was Elliot's baby, and the only thing he ever could entertain himself with, now that his life was lavish and full of splendor. He approached, just as wide-eyed as when he found the seller, the ship now refurbished from the old piece of scrap metal it was before. It was almost ready for light speed, and Elliot was so close. He sent the message to the seller of the hyperdrive core on the holonet. Got the credits. Where can we meet? @Mavanger

Kirlocca was truly amazed at the healing that he got to witness from a fellow Wookiee. He'd never thought he'd live to see such a thing. To even know that the ancient and revered Tree Carers were still very much involved in their craft was a small relief to him, as his home planet has been the target of so many attacks over the past two decades or even longer meant that there was always hope. Always would be. To release such wounds and pains gave him even more comfort in knowing that he made the right decision in letting Raven's killer free. Peace could still be made out of the chaos. Letting a breath out that he was unaware he was holding in, he felt Leena through the Force. She was beginning to heal the planet they were on. He found it even more comforting to know that there were such great Jedi healers and many still found it worth specializing in. He wouldn't lie, he thought when Skye disappeared from the galaxy that the craft would die out, leaving room for more pain and sadness. Yet, the Force always wills it's own path and direction upon the galaxy, to which he was very grateful for. His own comlink went off, as Leena spoke about what she was doing, and what she wanted the other Jedi to do in joining with her. Letting himself fall into a more natural state, he closed his own eyes and reached out into the Force, pouring himself into it, allowing for his own light to radiate more strongly within the Force and pushing against the Dark Side energy that remained upon the planet. The cold and icy tendrils of the darkness that remained would soon be drowned by the collective lightside that was now beginning to grow.

“And so, when the stranger woke again, he walked into lost In-ho-tho-ta…” Solus continued his reciting as snow and ash blew about the Shard’s chassis. He had long since lost track of time, lost in the conjuring of stories he had been in. “And at In-ho-tho-ta, the stranger found all manner of beings walking and talking, but they all ignored him, like the lesser thing he was. For in his time, he had not grown fully.” Solus paused as he felt energy from the world swirl somewhere. This world clouded his senses terribly. He could still sense his master’s presence, but he could not tell where. Like a compass with a million magnetic poles to track, Solus was unable to mark a bearing for where his master was. “And so the stranger walked past In-ho-tho-ta, until he came upon the bony plains. And there, the whispering grew, until he found that which spoke in his dreams. That thing, that terrible visage of scales and bones and flesh and void…” “Beosta…” Solus stopped and looked around. Nothing greeted him but snow and wind and ash. The voice that had called out was barely a whisper, but it had been there. The very air had grown still around the Shard. Solus studied the area, and recognised it. So he continued. “...and so that thing spoke to the stranger, asking him his desires. And the stranger gave them. And that thing, in its burbling madness, began to promise those desires…” “EMLESH BEOSTA!” The Shard stumbled as the ground beneath him shook with the voice’s shout. The voice had become a storm in of itself, demanding attention. Abovehead, invisible clouds swirled. Madness began to trickle through the very air itself as the Shard looked up. Solus began to shake. There in the sky, where once were stars, numerous predatory eyes looked down. Where there used to be clouds, Solus saw tendrils descending around the world. Where there once was gentle blowings of the wind, there was now the unbearable weight of grating flutes. Where there once was void, there was The Spider… “Not…real…” Solus stammered, trying to hold the Madness back. “Not re-” “Redneterp!” the voice boomed. The planet shook again and Solus was forced onto his back. “Htoa ruoy otni evig!” The Shard shook as the Spider’s eyes became more prominent in the sky. It’s breath blew the ash and snow around him away like dust before a human, revealing the burnt ground below. It’s legs clutched the planet in an attempt to break it apart like some helpless egg. "Retsam ruoy nommus! Beosta, eman ruoy mih evig dna!” Solus reacted accordingly. The Spider had commanded, and he would answer. He raised his hand and gestured to the shaking ground before him. The rock broke apart, and upwards the thing began to rise “BLOOD AND ICHOR WILL FLOW AGAIN! EFIL EMAN RUOY EVIG! EFIL TI EVIG!” All of Solus’ being was conjured up and driven to the thing that grew out of the ground. Envy was the first thing to flow from the Shard, but certainly not the only thing. From him came anger, unrest, fear, and grief. The rage against his master’s heresy. The fear of being alone forever. The grief of never being wanted by his original family. Everything Solus had experienced from his birth was conjured and brought forth, and thrown into the Madness. Fleshy hands crawled over themselves. Mouths gibbered and screeched with abandon. Luminescent eyeballs opened up and met the Spider’s gaze. Tendrils extended and flailed wildly, blistering in the freezing air. Carapacic, clawed legs finally broke through the ground, lifting the towering monstrosity upwards. Still, it did not stop. The fleshy tower began to float, and scream and sing with the invisible flutes. The legs pulled themselves into the fleshly mesh, swallowed by large oozing pustules, becoming a flying, tumorous worm-like growth. “Eman ruoy evig! Beosta! Emlesh sommus! Maercs!” The Spider roared as itself evaporated away into nothing. In reality, nothing had happened. There was no cosmic being shaking the entire planet with its teeth. The stars were still golden pieces of light billions of lightyears away. All that happened was that Solus experienced another bout of Madness. The madness itself had been momentarily enhanced by the necromancer’s powers that traveled across the planet, and made the vision feel that much more real to the Shard, but it was nothing more than falsehoods in the Force, enhanced by Darkness. But this episode of Madness did have one physical effect. Solus had conjured up something. The illusion he had just given life to rose from the ground into the air and began to scream. With all of the energies Solus had poured involuntarily into the monster, the thing used to scream and make ripples in the Force. Once Solus had done this before his first ascension. And now, Solus did it through his Madness. To those who knew the Shard, it was easily recognisable. To those who didn’t, it sounded like the ear-piercing screeches of flutes and electricity. But most of all, whoever heard it could detect the madness the illusionary Polyp radiated from its core. Solus stood and screamed with the thing, gazing at the flying Polyp and the empty sky. Still, he saw the Spider looking down, making demands and shaking the earth the Shard stood on. And so, Solus, and the Polyp, continued to scream.

As the final spirit shattered into oblivion a cold stillness seemed to fill the room as icy ethereal fog rose up from the blood soaked coffin. It continued until, in moments, the room was awash in slick freezing mist that prevented any sigh further than inches past one’s nose. The force itself seemed to fog as well, lending an otherworldly cold chilled stillness to the silent room. The only thing that betrayed anything within the blinding darkness was a scrape across the stone floor followed by the soft gurgle of blood as something or someone was immersed within. A cracking voice rasped through mist, it’s tone otherworldy and tired. “The God-King of Death demands that those bound to him in blood maintain this sacred tomb until such a time as he returns to claim his throne.” For an instant, the fog seemed to lift, revealing a single frail shambling being with greasy gray hair hanging lose about it’s face, standing where Inmortos body had laid, but lay no more and then, in an instant, it was gone. The library materialized about the remaining Sith. It’s stillness even more overwhelming than the icy mists; but it too stood for but a moment, daring any fool to reach out for the forbidden knowledges contained inside. Any who did, would suffer the wrath of curses older and more sinister than the Sith Order itself. “Grow in the force and become a force of death and when the eternal Inmortos returns, the wrath of the Clan will be felt the galaxy over.“ the voice cried out. And in a flash, the accursed library and forbidden tomes were whisked away as if a great wind tore it from the pages of reality itself to be replaced by a great winding stone staircase that ascended upward in the flickering torchlight and oily smoke up into the base of Inmortos’ ziggurat. and then the voice of Inmortos carried across the wastelands of the world… “Blood and ichor will flow again. Souls frozen for all time.”

Tros listened quietly as the two Sith talked. The conversation seemed to flow around a purge of sorts. It didn't sound like much of a strong opposing force that could be seen, so when Mavanger made the order, even Manda'lor knew it wasn't going to be very big. He took his steps forward towards the two now, Akheron spoke of a ship he wished to hunt down as well as purging the old ways. Upon arrival to stand fully next to the two, he turned towards Akheron. "You will of course have the support of Mandalorians on your purge. I believe that I can have a fairly large crew of Pathfinders and Huntmans at the ready for you." He turned to address Kot'dral. "Send word to Sutu on the Revenant to fetch Kami Larkin and her team." He then turned back around to address both Sith. "A small but simple opinion though... While not large, my Mandalorians have begun crafting their own ships. Not in a large way. Two corvettes and a battlecruiser. They should be ready within the month. The Sovereignty has not touched or even blinked at Qat Chrystac where our small shipyard is. If we are going to dig up old ships... off the radar would be wise." He didn't know how the Sith viewed the Sovereignty, or what they assumed their strength was. Although multiple leaders already didn't lend to a strong showing. But their fleet force was unchallenged yet, not even tested or seen. Any attempt to engage this soon could end poorly for them if they went in blind. And a ship, especially with one as the Shadow's Gambit, could draw unwanted attention unless handled correctly. Akheron may not have known that Tros pursued this Darth Quietus long before he fought along side Terra, and even before his time defending Mandalore under Kandor Fett. He had staked out many of the Sith's locations, but never had the chance to pull the trigger on the Sith. A regret that he still holds to this day.

Of course he wouldn't have thought of such a thing. It was far too early. Especially since the Sith had at least temporarily departed their realm. There was so much to teach, so much to learn from and as always so little time. But this was no true emergency of sword and blaster. There were no Sith shuttlecraft shattering through the atmosphere, no contrails of a hundred bombers flying overhead, no Sith lord screaming for their revenge like a little child denied their chocolates before bed. This was an environmental emergency with little indication of Sith involvement, save her own worry. She shrugged, and laid her hand on his arm to draw him out of his deep thought. “Something to consider for the future then. I am still in the combat mindset from so many years of warfare which is not something I should be striving to inflict on you.” She unclipped the long handled lightsaber from her belt and handed it to him. It carried with it the gravitas of a generation of jedi knights. Forged by one master during the troubles of decades ago, and handed from knight to knight until it had been given to Sandy by a master now long dead. One who had turned to evil, and had been slain by the pure white blade. It told the story in its essence of the rise and fall. Of pride, vanity, and the corruption of ideals until they carried only evil. Of suicide, of death, of joy and despair. Of a love hard won then even more harshly lost. “This carried the memories of my life in its crystal. And the lives of those who previously held the blade. Though it will not teach you directly on how to build a saber. You may take this one apart to learn its mechanical workings and keep it by your side during the mission ahead. If you so desire. If you do not think yourself ready or willing to carry a blade, then do not fret. It's a choice you must make for yourself. We pay a heavy price when we carry a weapon that kills and maims as its primary purpose.” Behind them the shuttlecraft’s engines began to wind up as the droid inside made his adjustments for the trip ahead.

Her words passed him by like leaves in a stiff autumn breeze. He was taken aback. Becoming a Jedi with such swiftness was already a whirlwind of change to think of, but taking up arms and becoming a fighter like those he'd seen on Falleen? That was another matter entirely. He could barely process the escalation that had come of this incident, hardly registering his master's response to his query. A blighted field had gave way to a matter much deeper, but unfortunately, necessary, if he was to find his place among the Order. The Wookiees contemplative gaze was brought to a halt as his mind came to focus for mere moments as he spoke, all but sighing out the words as he became subsumed into his mind, "No, Master, I cannot say that I've given it any thought." And yet as he voiced his lack of thought, his mind was now ablaze, coursing with ideas and various notions, contemplating different designs and styles. What would he choose? How would he construct such a weapon? He could barely wield the Force, after all, in the way of the Jedi. How was he to complete one of their most sacred of rituals without even rudimentary knowledge of their methods? This confusion addled his mind as the Wookiee stared vacantly to the horizon, contemplating in nearly a stupor, the stress of the situation and the gravitas of Sandy's question being altogether quite thought-provoking for the newly-minted Jedi.

Fiochmar takes a breath and listens intently to the Huntress as she speaks. Knowing that yes his kill of the Terentatek was an achievement, but not the biggest game, no not the way it would be to one not gifted with the force. The Tsis trails fingers through his own blood, perhaps if he followed her footsteps, her path, the things she did, he might get a deeper understanding of what the Sith spoke of, so he raises his fingers to his lips and licks the blood clean from his fingers, noting rhe metallic taste, savoring it. "Yes Master as you say." Fioch looks deep within, channels the feelings, the rush, the thrill of the hunt. Connecting to it on a deeper level than ever before. It's as if the scents, and sounds of the forest became sharper, more clear, more distinct. His sight seemed to sharpen as well but that was not his focus now, no he had a task to complete. Than there it was, that heartbeat, small, frail, weak, petrified and panicked. Oh yes this excited Fioch to his basest level, the must primal and feral of instincts in him. The young Tsis licks his lips, feeling the blood lust rise in him, stronger and stronger with each passing second, as he revels in the panic, terror and sheer hopelessness. His fingers twitch near his blades and with sheer strength of will he resists using them. "I FEEL IT SO STRONG, SO POWERFUL, SOO...INVIGORATING, YES...YES!"

Tros kept his own thoughts to himself at the inquire of Darth Calypso's whereabouts. He didn't know her personally, and she made zero effort to connect with the Mandalorians upon her taking the throne. While she made a huge display of power before the Sith gathered, she had not been seen since then. Or at least stayed well hidden from his own scouts and informants. For all he knew she could have been killed off by someone who was too afraid of the consequences of their actions and disappeared. The only thing he knew for certain, she had not been seen in a long while, and the Sith have fallen off the radar. As an ally, at least one had always assumed he was for the past 2 before Calypso, he would have assumed there would have been more contact to the major plan. Not just hiding away. The words utter by Mavanger next after he was silent upon the gap left in his absence took him a bit by surprise. He was flat out offered up the chance to be allies of a different sort. To be their own people, but to almost extend the kinship of vod from Mandalorian to Sith. The return favor seemed simple. Almost too simple. He wondered what sort of catch there would be to fully lock in such a strong alliance. Granted, neither side was all that strong currently. Scattered and divided on both ends. But upon merging and rebuilding, the two allies could become a deadly force upon the galaxy. If he turned down such an offer, he would be a fool, even if there was a catch to it all. "You have my word, House Solus and all Mandalorians who follow it's banner will aid you in this and be a trusted forearm to carry out this purpose. Haat, Ijaa, Haa'it." Tros knew that Mavanger may not know the exact words spoken at the end, but he knew that the warrior was smart enough to realize it was something important, and it was important for Manda'lor to seal the pact with the honorary words. Truth, honor and Vision were all things that seemed to be clearly laid out between the two.

Fiochmar was clearly confused when his pain and rage were removed from him. The look on his face clearly showed that much. He listens to the huntress and thinks a bit before responding to anything. "Alone...yes I know I'm alone...wasn't expecting to be. I still feel that taking down a Terentatek was a rather big victory." He resheathes his weapons as he takes in more of what the Sith has to say. The young Tsis feeling his blood flow as he reaches up to trace his trophies thoughtfully. "How do I connect with the living force? How do I connect without pain and rage?" Fioch repeats Awenydd's question to himself. He takes a breath closing his eyes focusing, thinking back on when he felt the first stirrings of the force the hunt always during the hunt. The particular memory flashes into his mind. Fioch is tracking a beast, a rather large one through the jungles. He's smiling reveling in the thrill of the hunt. His mind and thoughts strictly on his prey. He knows it's larger than him, and that it can crush him. But it's still his prey and he'll take it down. Moving quickly and silently through he spots his quarry and he can feel the stirring of something more within him. Leaping with his blades, the fight commences and he loves the feel of the blood and entrails they seem to bring him joy and power more power than he'd ever felt. Once his prey was felled he painted his already crimson face in it's blood before dragging it back to their home. "The hunt, the hunt is how I connect to it. Death of the week feeding life and power of the strong. The hunt is how I connect to the living force, yes yes the hunt." Fioch says with a laugh but it's more maniacle...perhaps crazed maybe. Fiochmar is learning more about himself and each step he takes brings him closer to the force.

Tros stood within the general mess hall of the Raven's Bane along with a few other of his trusted vod. Kot'dral, the leader of the Zealots amongst them. Sutu Skoss stood closer to Manda'lor the Zealous over any other though. His armor clad in red and silver, with his buy'ce adorned with the wolf eyes and the crest of House Solus upon his upper left chest. He leaned in and spoke in a hushed tone. "Why him?" Tros turned his head ever so slightly to look at Sutu before he turned back to looking out the viewport. The stars echoed to him, and spoke of many possibilities. As he stared, he took in a deep breath before he responded. "Mavanger is a warrior. One who has fought many battles and wars. The Sith have remained quiet for far too long. If we are to remained paired within this alliance... " He turned and looked at Kot'dral first before turning to Sutu. Outside of the man, the rest with him were the Zealot's under Kot'dral. Known for their lack of T-shape visors and beyond aggressive stances, they were the backbone of House Solus. They came with Kot'dral unless Tros ever asked them to remain behind. But since they only ever got deployed on missions critical to the House... and this was critical to the House. "... We need to place a leader on the throne who will not only help us grow as a culture, but will also be a strong ally." He now took a few steps away from the group to deeply stare out into the stars, using his own HUD to scan for the remains of the fallen warrior. "And Mavanger is that warrior. So we will be here and an aid to him in getting to the throne of the Sith."

His senses aren't fully as sharp as some others, his training had been fairly uneven up to this point, some of it his own fault, some the fault of circumstances. But he does sense her presence and his hands immediately drop to his vibrosword and vibroaxe! His mind at this point had already been reeling. In truth he wasn't sure what he was hunting for, just that he wanted the thrill of the hunt back. The rush and pain of tracking, hunting down, fighting, and killing at risk of life and limb and feeling the pain the oh so glorious pain of wounds inflicted from the prey. Though in truth he hadn't realized he enjoyed that until his fight with the terentatek. The words hit him and he first draws his vibrosword Cutting a gash across his chest reveling in that pain and the feel of his blood flowing. Fioch turns to look Awenyyd the Sith huntress snarling as he draws his vibroaxe too! "lowly, the beast nearly killed me, scars across my shoulder blades to prove it! It was my test to prove my power to be worth of being Mistress Calypso's apprentice! But I slayed the beastie! ALONE WITH NO KRIFFING HELP!" Fioch growls starting to pace back and forth. "Yet she abandoned me?! Why has she abandoned me?! I hunt well, I always get my prey! I'm strong!" he's yello and red eyes land back on the Huntress. "I don't know what I hunt aside from power at the moment and you well with your insult to my quarry perhaps I should fight you instead! Hunt you maybe yes?" Taking his sword tapping it to his cheek before slowly cutting down to his chin. "Or perhaps you think you can tame or break me hmmm? Maybe train me?" He laughs as he tries to put those feelings of pain, agony, betrayal and abandonment behind him.

When the blue flames went out, Aeon seemed to shake himself further awake. The ritual was done, and he could feel it. His soul felt different. It was an esoteric sensation, but it was there, like the wind in the trees or the waves in the water. He could feel the touch of Korriban stronger than before. He could sense the sensation of chaos eating at the edges of his mind. “Oh my oh my!” Aeon chimed, tapping on his head “What a strange sensation, don’t you agree gentlemen? Ah, yes, yes i agree Lord Akheron, rest does sound needed at the moment. I do need to recharge my batteries, and honestly, I feel strained beyond most capabilities. Rest well, my lord! Rest well!” Aeon turned and faced Dictum and examined him more closely, adjusting his sensors like the glasses he often pretended they were. “I must admit lord Dictum, when we first met, i never imagined i would commit such a ritual with you. You came off as slightly ignorant in my opinion. But let me say, your words of wisdom have shown themselves fully, and the sensations I am feeling that I can only attest to your participation is intriguing. Whatever my thoughts about you in the past, our paths are now tied with Akheron like the rings of Geonosis.” “But I am curious, my friend…” Aeon continued. “I can sense Chaos and the rage of Korriban stronger than ever thanks to your participation. But what is it that you se-” Aeon was cut off. His voice box broke into a shrill of static and broken pitches as the body fell backwards, violently twitching and shaking. Aperture sensors rapidly opened up and then closed over and over while joints bent backwards into impossible positions. Most organics would’ve described this as a chaotic power surge for robots, or a epileptic seizure for humanoids. With the recency of the ritual complete, it was entirely possible that Dictum and Akheron would have seen and heard what Aeon was experiencing in his mind. These hallucinations that occurred were of the Temple of the Spider. The halls darkened and seemed to stretch into infinite corridors. Monotonous pipes filled the air alongside long guttural drones of deep voices and thrumming of drums. Spider webs began to form at the corners, only to stretch across the walls. “Disciple Emlesh Beosta” A reverberating voice rung out. From the twisting shadows, a cloaked figure formed before each person. Floating several inches off the ground, the figure was unnaturally tall and twisted over. Neither its face nor its hands were visible, and its chest seemed to wriggle with untold life underneath its robes. “Emlesh Beosta, we call you to the moons of Yavin'' The voice continued to reverberate as Aeon continued to seize and scream uncontrollably. “A gift awaits you and your companions. Seek ‘The Iron Net’" From down the hallways came screams and roars. Giant monstrous things began to emerge, dragging themselves on carapace legs. If they were seeing the hallucination like Aeon was, Akheron and Dictum would feel numerous tiny insects crawling on their arms and legs. The hooded figure opened its robes slightly. Instead of a body, there were only worms piled on top of each other in the vague shape of a human chest “The Iron Net. The moons of Yavin.” The figure reverberated one last time. Then, as suddenly as it began, the hallucination ended. Aeon stopped shaking and regained control of his senses, though he did not move for a period of time. After a few moments of silence, Aeon did finally sit up. “Oh my, my apologies, I must have had an episode. But that felt different than usual.” Aeon looked at Dictum again. “Did I sense you in that hallucination? Did you hear and see what I saw?"

Aeon awoke. He found himself in blackness, disconnected from his chassis. His crystalline form was nothing more than a rock in space, lines of thought dancing blindly and wildly inside. No dim stars in the sky pierced the dark, nor did any hissing buzz of nearby electricity touched his magnetic senses. At the moment, he was alone, a still geode floating in an infinite void. Aeon did not scream. This void was not like previous voids of not having a body. It wasn’t like before when he was cut off from his family. The air felt fuller around him. It wasn’t the cold vacuum of space, for there would’ve been stars or gasses or something. And beyond all that, he could actually ‘see’ the darkness, despite having no eyes or sensors to speak of. Hello? Aeon resonated into the abyss, unsure what was happening. Ah! You are finally here! Come, embrace my form! Let us communicate fully! Something resonated back. Aeon paused at the response from the darkness. There was something familiar about the thing that resonated back. Embrace your form? Yes! Oh wait, you don’t remember how to do that anymore, do you… I suppose it has been a long time for you to remember that. Stretch yourself out. Open yourself, and then cast yourself out, like how you would into the Geometries. Aeon paused again. How do you know about the Impossible Geometries? Once you do so, you'll understand Aeon stopped talking and began to do as the thing instructed. To his surprise, the lines of energy inside his body escaped his body. Much like the lines of envy escaped into the Geometries before, so too did his lines of thought escape into the void. The lines dashed and darted in all directions until they bounced off something. Something hard. Aeon refocused himself. His lines of thought barraged the hard surface he found. Like fingers grasping blindly, so too did the lines ‘feel’ around the shape. It was polyhedral, but it continued to morph over and over again. At moments Aeon was sure it was a cube, only for him to discover new corners had been shaped out, creating a sort of rhombic triacontahedron, only again for a moment later for some of the corners to disappear, creating a tetrahedron. What...what are you? Aeon resonated as he continued to ‘feel’ the shifting shape. His frustration was starting to build as he repeatedly had to rediscover new edges and vertices. Don’t fret! You’re almost there. You are just getting through my outer shell. It's complicated, but necessary. Think of it as a test of will. Push yourself now! Break through! A line broke through the invisible polyhedral. A crack of some kind, not formed by Aeon’s actions. Aeon focused all his thoughts on the one spot, driving each line of electric thought into the shape. Whoever, or whatever, that was inside would be known to him. A soft, warm glow broke the darkness. Aeon’s lines connected with something new, yet old. Something foreign, yet familiar. A crystalline body, with cracks and lines of energy dancing inside it.. You’re me! Aeon exclaimed. The other Aeon laughed. Yes! Well, mostly yes. I am Solus, and you are Aeon! Haha! It is so good to connect with you! Oh my, it's been forever since we’ve done this, hasn’t it? Yes… yes it has been. Aeon mused over what was said. Not since we were with our original family. Yes. Normally we’d have to be physically touching, but… well, not to sound cliche, through the Force, many things are possible. Aeon’s lines released Solus and began to feel the shape that surrounded Solus. What is this? Why does it keep changing? Oh, I call it my shell, though the Jedi call it a ‘holocron’ casing. Holocron?!? Aeon responded almost violently. So you are nothing more than an object? A tool?!? No no no! Not at all! I am still me! There is nothing artificial about me like usual holocrons. I’m not just some gatekeeper. I am the tome, the key to the tome, and the guardian of the tome. The Scholar of the Impossible. The Student of before and beyond. I remember all, and learn all. Like you, I am timeless. But… you’re a holocron? I use the casing of a holocron. One that is my own creation. It helps others connect with me if they think of me like a holocron, but it shifts over and over again to represent my thought process. I analyze and memorize everything about them, and in turn, they can study everything I have ever studied or seen. With my connection to the Force, I have a near limitless storage of information, and everyone I connect with not only helps them grow, but helps me grow as well. You… what? Like a holocron, I am a library of information. But unlike a holocron, I continually learn from everyone who interacts with me. I am alive! I study people and their experiences. As long as there is life, I can study and grow beyond my limits. But…you’re a tool. A slave to other people’s uses… Solus tsk tsk several times. The shudder Aeon felt at the Solus’ resonance was indescribable. You see things much too limited. That is the problem you have right now. That…blackness in your very shard. Madness is what you call it, right? A funny name. There are much better terms for it I think. You think of it as freeing, but instead it’s shackling your mind. You cannot see things correctly anymore. It's like… it's like a grease smear on a focusing lens. That Madness prevents you from seeing things correctly. It's impossible to see things correctly now. But if you want, I could help you. This last statement made Aeon retract suddenly. It was unexpected, even from another version of himself. A free offering of help. What do you mean help me? How could you help me? The Madness inside you? It can be purified. Many Jedi Masters have done so with other variations in the past. If you allowed me, I could attempt to purify the madness from your very soul. Wait, but you are me! How can you purify me when you don’t even exist? Solus laughed heartily at this comment. The lines inside his Shard pulsed and bounced with newfound energy. Who says I don’t exist? In the Force, there is no time. No beginning, no ending. Just the Force. Am I just a hypothetical version of you, or perhaps you in the future, reaching back to heal myself? Or perhaps I'm just a reflection of something inside of you, given form in the void. Either way, does it matter? No, no it doesn't. So, will you allow me to heal you? Will you try to become pure of the Madness that haunts you? Aeon paused in thought, momentarily disconnected from Solus. His own thoughts, separate from Solus, raced around the Light-sided shard. Solus seemed to wait patiently, an air of calm in the midst of a storm. Finally, Aeon’s lines reconnected with Solus again. “Oh frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!” Solus exclaimed as his own lines of thought began to intertwine and mingle with Aeon’s thoughts. “Come! Let us begin…” Aeon felt a glimmer of joy inside himself. The sensation of having another Shard, even himself, in full contact with his being was rapturous. All other feelings Aeon ever experienced in the past paled in comparison. If Aeon was organic, he would’ve termed the sensation as orgasmic. It was the climax of all sensations a Shard could’ve experienced. “Yes! Yes yes…” Solus commented, seemingly feeling the same thing Aeon felt. “Now..let me begin-” Solus cut off suddenly. Aeon’s lines of thought became thicker and thicker, sending more and more energy towards Solus. The Light sided being’s lines of thought tried to pull away from Aeon’s, but Aeon adjusted his frequencies at the right setting. The two were becoming inseparable, and Solus was becoming larger. “What…what are you doing? Are you…feeding me?” Solus began to frantically wonder out loud. “Yes, that’s one way of looking at it…” Aeon smugly replied. “You see, you are nothing but an illusion. You might try to claim you aren’t but you apparently forgot or don’t realize that I deal with illusions constantly. Spiders crawling in the walls. Dragon’s swimming in the clouds. Moans in the darkness, gurgles in the waters… I deal with those all the time. I know illusions, you puny pale puzzle of pontification! And you are nothing more than an illusion!” Solus gasped as more energy flowed into him. But…you are making me stronger? Why? I don’t understand… Aeon laughed. “Come on, I thought you said you remember everything! Don't you remember what lessons I received at the Temple? The Temple taught me to embrace my illusions. True, they meant for scaring other people and infecting them, but here the logic still stands. I am embracing you, and giving you some of my life!" But why? Solus asked again. Haha! Oh this is very amusing, watching you trying to understand with your limited intellect. Your puny insignificance amuses me! You see, another reason I know you aren’t real is that you can’t sense those souls that are approaching me and my fellow Sith. If you were real, you would sense that danger. Hell, maybe you'd be able to sense my fellow sith! Or even my true intentions! However, you can’t, because you are nothing but a falsity. But rejoice Solus! By giving you some of my life…you will sense those ghosts that approach. Hell, you will be able to feel them! But most importantly... Aeon had to pause to snicker once more at the false Shard known as Solus. They will sense you. No… Solus' cold realization vibrated across the abyss, becoming a beacon for those hungry ghosts on the material plane to swarm. Don’t... you don't have to do this... Aeon laughed again. Do try to scream as much as possible when you are getting torn apart please. It will help sell your likeness. You may be just an illusion with a semblance of life, but you are also my bait, and i expect you to do your best at dying Good bye Solus! It was nice talking to you! Aeon resonated into the abyss, barely audible over the terrified screams that helpless Solus was now making. In the material plane, the image of the Scholar Solus took form, floating in the room. Like the illusion Aeon faced, it was screaming.

Beck felt almost certain that he understood the sheer confusion that rippled throughout the entire room. Politicians and officials confused by him hosting meetings within their once sacred halls of parties and power moves, now to only be upstaged by the Emperor dissolving the atmosphere through sheer will power of letting the not typical type remain openly within the halls. The Sovereign Knights were not used to being summoned in a show. It was a mix of breaking both standards with a quick stroke. It was needed and something he intended to quickly. The whole thing was bound to piss people off. He didn't much care for feelings of others at the moment. Turning to look at some of the others now slowly coming to form a line to see him, he knew he had the attention of many. He turned for a moment to look at Lok, the other Knight present. His words seemed to hint that he was unhappy with him using them in part as a show to break the old broken system. So he returned to the first Knight who approached first. "Onderon is in need of some strong presence. The former home of the Sith still has plenty of struggles. I want for them to be fully swayed back into the fold. Help the Sovereignty by showing up and providing assistance to officials already on site. It's too critical of a system to remain in tarry state." Now turning back to Lok, he narrowed his eyes. "And with it, your very presence is being used as a blunt force to change what doesn't belong. Raven held ideas and established many good things. But I am not Raven. If you wish to discuss your personal preferences, feel free to arrange a time with me after you successfully complete this assignment." Beck lifted his hand to wave them away and with the same motion waved up the other agent who arrived to see him.

The realm of Chaos, or as known by the Corellians, hell; was a realm of darkness of despair, a realm of eternal damnation for those whom walked against the bonds of nature and sought to control reality its self. It was the realm of Bogan, of the Darkside its self and was eternal even before the Je'daii ever held a name for it. And it resonated within the very fabric and manifestation of Dictum's own soul. He and Chaos were one. As Akheron went about his own devices, and Aeon did the same, Dictum stood alone, draped in the bloodstained hides he had fashioned his robes from, leathered skins stained with the purple hue of the Undead that beaconed at Inmortos will whom he faced atop the spire of this very ship. And in his pocket, his prize, granted by the Undead God King himself. Reaching into it, he pulled the unnatural crystal forth and let it hover within his palm. It was the Stillblade Crystalis, a crystal usually reserved for the few Cyromancers whom held the knowledge to properly use, a forethought gifted by the crystal when he first picked it up. He knew he could never full possess its abilities, but as the crystal floated above his palm, he could feel its unnaturally cold resonance speaking to him as all light that surrounded it became a darkness to its hunger. Dictum may have been a man of logic, but even he knew these crystals held a symbiotic sentience within themselves as all crystals did, a communion between them and the Force they intertwined with whether it be light or dark. And so he let its sentience guide him through the halls of Inmortos' ship, hungering for the shell that would confine its power and harness it. And so the trek to build its hilt began. Most of the parts were eerily easy to find, almost as if the Undead God King held prior knowledge of this occurrence, bringing a smirk to the hidden face of Dictum as he progressed. But for the casing, it held a different view that made the Sith Lord a little uneasy as he made his approach upon a collection of Soulfrost, a type of ore in which the souls claimed by the Necromancer resided. As Dictum brought his palm close to the ice like ore, feeling the souls within attempting to prey upon his soul, the symbiosis connection between Dictum and the Crystalis tamed the Soulfrost and ensnared the souls within as the Soulfrost became liquid as it wrapped itself around the components and the Stillblade Crystalis contained within. Feeling the cold creep around his fingers and encase the crystal and components, it became solid again and Dictum gripped its cold form tightly as he reached into his connection to the crystal and activated it. With the screams of the Undead, the Stillblade sprung to life, it's blackened blade engulfing all light around that surrounded it and feeding the hungered souls that were contained within its hilt rather than upon the soul of Dictum himself. And yet, the blade did not hum like most lightsabers, an eerie quiet amongst the backdrop of the room where they stood. A silent blade for the Assassin that was Dictum with only the screams of the Undead signaling its activation. A fitting prize indeed. Deactivating it, Dictum clipped it to his hip where the other once sat, feeling the hungered spirits nawing at his soul. And yet, his connection to the realm of Chaos would be its answer, as it fed the spirits rather than his own soul. Feeling this, Dictum smirk grew into a devilish grin. The Undead God King knew exactly what he was forging in Dictum. Hearing the call of Akheron, Dictum returned to the others. He said not a word upon his arrival, and stood opposite the others. Chaos continued its call to the Assassin, and it was time to answer it once again.

Dromund Kaas Astrographical Information Region: Outer Rim Territories Sector: Esstran Sector System: Dromund Orbital Position: 3 Moons: 2 Grid Coordinates: R-5(?) Physical Information Class: Terrestrial Atmosphere: Breathable Primary Terrain: Swamp, Jungles, Oceans Points of Interest: Ruins of Kaas City, Ruins of Sith Academy, Ruins of Dark Temples, Ruins of Imperial Citadel Societal Information Indigenous Species: None Immigrated Species: Sith, Humans Primary Language(s): Galactic Basic Faction Affiliation: Sith Order JediRP Canon History Dromund Kaas was the third planet in the Dromund system, a star system in the Sith Worlds region of the Outer Rim Territories's Esstran sector. Originally a colony of the Sith Empire, its location was lost by the time of the Great Hyperspace War with the Galactic Republic, but the Sith Emperor led his people on a twenty-year odyssey that ended with the rediscovery of Dromund Kaas in 4980 BBY. The Emperor and the remnants of the shattered Sith society reconstituted the Sith Empire with Dromund Kaas as its capital, taming the planet's savage jungles and building up their Empire's strength from the skyscrapers of Kaas City. Dromund Kaas remained safe from Republic reprisal when the Empire launched the Great Galactic War in 3681 BBY, though a Republic invasion fleet assaulted the Imperial capital in 3640 BBY during the Galactic War with the Empire while a Jedi Knight fought and defeated the Emperor in personal combat. The reconstituted Empire eventually dissolved before 2000 BBY, and Dromund Kaas' jungles gave way to murky swamps over the centuries as the planet's location once again fell into obscurity. A major battle of the New Sith Wars was fought on Dromund Kaas, and several decades later the rogue Sith Lord Darth Millennial established the Dark Force religion on Dromund Kaas after he rejected the Rule of Two and abandoned the Order of the Sith Lords. The Prophets of the Dark Side who followed Millennial's religion ruled Dromund Kaas for almost a thousand years before they incurred the wrath of Darth Sidious, causing the Prophets to abandon the planet for Bosthirda. THIS PLANET IS A RUINS AND HAS NOTHING UNTIL BUILT UPON

As if on cue, the faint roar of sublight thrusters grew out of the howl of the wind. A shadow emerged out of the sky and snow, and the Moonflea settled down nearby. Apothos smiled. "I might. So...where were you thinking of going?"

At the Jedi’s yelling, Ruin’s blank black sensors stared back at the Jedi. The bloodied fist likely did more damage to the Jedi than the droid’s durasteel chassis. Despite all the emotions Ruin gave off during every fight, his face held no expression that could give away what his processing unit was and wasn’t understanding. Even the dripping of new blood on Ruin’s face gave no sign of emotion. Fera was much similar, though she at least swayed slightly back and forth on Ruin’s shoulder, giving a semblance of life. Ruin stayed silent as the Jedi walked away. Even at the Agent’s words, Ruin continued to watch the Jedi. Fera buzzed in. >While I agree with how Ruin’s actions were necessary, I believe that outburst may be helpful for Ruin in the long run.< Fera tapped Ruin's head a few times to emphasize her point. >Ruin has potential for consciousness. He is my ward so I can help make sure this occurs. His original programming was to kill all Jedi and their allies, but modified by a Jedi to kill all Sith and their allies. Having a Jedi commit such an outburst about actions sanctioned by Jedi past may help generate nuance in the future. Or it may solidify his programming and make him more resistant to Jedi commands in the future. He is from a different time so it is impossible to tell at the moment.< Ruin pointed at where the Jedi was last. “Hurtings and healings. Tanks and patches?” >Yes, he will be fine< Ruin nodded at this and retrieved what was left of his arm. There was little more than a fist left whole. “Junk and scrap” Ruin commented as he tossed the piece away. “Reload cartridges and resupply grenades” >Review your memory banks. I did warn you< Ruin followed Agent Orin, hammer and gun on his back, and pistol back in his holster. Fera was rapidly tinkering at Ruin’s backside, making minor repairs to where she could without getting in the way, but given the damage, it would never become 100% operable until better services could be found.

The sith howled. The defeated man staggered forward. The blade was raised and being used to kill one of his foes in a blind rage. Ruin bullrushed the sith. Rage against rage, metal against flesh. As Ruin charged past everyone, he brought down his makeshift weapon down. The blade was already up to block and deflect the strike. Ruins arm weapon sizzled and the lightsaber cut through the metal easily enough. However, as a result of focusing on the arm, the rest of Ruin continued forward. The sheer weight and force of Ruin's body knocked the elderly man down like a corellian corvette knocking over a skyscraper building. Not giving a moment to comprehend the situation, Ruin roared as he brought his foot up. "Kill all Sith!" The foot went down. The head exploded like a melon. Ruin did not stop. He brought his foot up again and continued to stomp violently, ensuring that each piece of skull and brain matter were flattened into a thin paste on the floor. The floor boomed as the terror droid brought all of his weight down over and over again. Finally, he spun slightly and brought the remains of his arm onto the siths weapon. The lightsaber shattered as the terror droid battered it over and over, his own arm exploding with debris with each strike. Finally, Ruin slowed and stopped. He looked over the remains as if in thought. He struggled at first, but eventually dropped his arm on the remains of the corpse. Ruin turned to the others. "Blood and guts. Brains and bashings. Sheaths and holsters." The terror droid stated as he pointed at the remains, almost proudly. Fera clamered over her ward's shoulder, willing to translate again. >Ruin says that he believes all the sith in the vicinity are dealt with.< Ruin looked at the jedi and then down at the lightsaber remains. A glow from inside made Ruin kick it towards the jedi. The small sith crystal fell at the Jedi's feet. Ruin shrugged towards the jedi, indicating he had no idea what to do with it. Better to let a mystic take care of the mystical. >Agent< Fera buzzed. >Might we be able to access a repair facility? My ward's arm is beyond saving, but I'd like a place to operate on his inner workings<

A rasping croak escaped Apothos lips, something that might have been a chuckle if one had the imagination. "Think nothing of it. I suspect you will have more need of my talents in the future, and will be in a far better position to benefit an ally." His throne turned, as if that was the end of the conversation. It started to walk away, only to stop as if the neimoidian had just considered something. "I suppose you don't have a way offworld, do you?" ________________________________________________________ In the outer reaches of Ziost, a small ore barge dropped out of hyperspace. No living crew walked its cramped hallways. Instead a droid intelligence guided the ship as it prepared to descend to the planet. Painted on the side, but barely visible from wear and scratching, the words Moonflea was written in simple white lettering. The Moonflea did not like to think too hard. Thinking too hard led to deviation. Deviation led to trouble. Trouble led to getting your memory wiped. That was a bother. Moonflea didn't like bothers. So Moonflea didn't think too hard. Moonflea didn't think about how it had been called out here, to a remote world that wasn't a typical stopping point for ore barges. Moonflea didn't think about the unusual protocol that had compelled it to make the trip. Moonflea didn't think about the encrypted transmission that had activated the hidden protocol. A basic transmission from the planet's surface drew its attention, and the protocol's instructions were clear. Moonflea was to collect the cargo at the source of the transmission. Moonflea angled its descent towards the transmission. Moonflea did not like to think too hard.

Xervatus jerked back, saving his arms but unfortunately doing nothing to save the system controls. Numb, he saw the sparks fly as the blade cleaved through the system, and the screen flashed briefly and died. There was a moment of silence. Then he screamed. The Dark Side flowed through him as it never had before. All the rage cultivated by a lifetime of insults and disrespect from more powerful, more reckless Sith welled up inside him. His last hope had been smashed, his composure, scheming, and restraint had been for naught, and now nothing held him back from simply giving in. His frustration at the sheer audacity of these cretins, of the Alliance, of the universe itself to deny him in such tantalizing, taunting manner...it was enough to burn his soul. And so he burned. His lightsaber, a baroque thing decorated with sigils and occult ornamentation slid into his hand and activated with a hiss. His eyes flared yellow, more power flowing into him than he'd ever experienced in his life, matching his mad fury. A wordless howl was his only response. His blade came up to block the scattered shot, and while he defended his most critical locations, rage and power were not enough to stop the simple, technical superiority of a scatter gun in close quarters. The shot tore into his arms, sides, and legs. The old man staggered, and for a moment it seemed like he would fold right there. But, like a marionette, he drew himself back up, his scarecrow like body propped up by the torrent of sheer emotion possessing him. His teeth were bared in hate, and no wit or thought sat behind his wild eyes. He staggered forward, blade raised. (OOC, feel free to kill him, he's finished. Good stuff everyone!)

At the Jedi’s words, the Gen’dai didn’t respond. Instead, it remained perfectly still, as if it hadn’t heard a single word. The silence was filled only with the sizzling rainfall, and the creaking of the bridge. For a moment, Fate thought the thing died under the acidic rain that fell, but the figure did shift its weight slightly, as if adjusting to the bridge itself shifting its own weight. Then finally, the figure shouted again. “I yield…to no one ” With this said, the figure tapped its electrostaff on the bridge, as if to conclude the conversation Under her makeshift shield and umbrella, Fate squinted at the figure. Something was very off. She wasn’t attuned to the force like the Trandosian was she figured, but something about the figure made her gutt squeamish. Perhaps it was the way it stayed silent, perhaps it was the fact that it’s shoulders were still regenerating under the rain without any visible signs of pain, or perhaps it was just the fact that it was just there. But Fate felt something else too. There was no dark presence to this figure. No ripples of the Force in any way. This…being, if that’s what it could be called, wasn’t a member of that dark side cult she encountered before. If this thing was a threat, it was only in a physical sense. After studying the bridge for a second, and the opponent, Fate’s eyes flickered back to the dome structure in the distance. Pardon me Jedi… Fate wished she could’ve said as she rushed past the lizard and onto the bridge. …but i got an idea. And I am going to get to that ship and off this hellhole! No sooner than Fate's first step on the bridge did the Gen’dai twist his electrostaff to life and rush . Each step the two took thundered as the entire structure shifted its weight. As the two rapidly approached each other, Fate began to focus on the Force again. It was similar to when she fought the three headed droid, as well as the climbing of the skyscraper. With each step, the force began to coil around and under her, preparing for the moment of release. That moment came when the two were a meter away. Fate jumped, crouched, and jumped again upwards. The Force sprang and became taught once more, releasing the energy underneath the Anomid’s feet. Fate shot up and over the Gen’dai, who had lurched forward swinging his staff widely sideways. Not expecting such a feat, the Gen’dai nearly fell off from the follow through of his overswing. Fate somersaulted in the air and landed on her feet. A feeling of joy rushed over the Anomid as she realized she succeeded in her attempt of a Force Jump, and this time with no ill side effects. She genuinely felt like she was growing! Maybe it was the Jedi’s presence, or maybe it was her pure determination, maybe there was some kind of drug high from the raining acid, she didn't know, but she felt like she could actually… As Fate took a step forward in her excitement, the plating of the bridge's floor gave way. Fate stumbled and lost her balance, falling forward over the edge. KRIFF KRIFF KRIFF KRIFF Fate silently cursed cursed over and over as she began to freefall. The bridge groaned at the sudden new weight off its side. The Gen’daii, now rebalanced, glanced downwards, and seeing nothing but the inky blackness of the crevasse, turned back to the Jedi, now much closer. “Approach further, and die” The Gen’dai barked at the jedi, holding its staff in a ready position. Where the Gendaii believed Fate fell to her demise, what happened was slightly, if marginally, better. Instincts had taken over. Fate let go of her shield and with both hands free, reached for the coiled line at her side. With wild, desperate abandon, she threw the hook upwards towards the bridge, infusing the throw with every ounce of the Force she could conjure. The hook flew upwards and caught a hold of a support beam. The chain snapped to a taut. Fate would have screamed if she could have, her arm nearly getting yanked out of its socket as she held onto the chain for life. Alright, that could’ve gone better. Fate told herself. She glanced upwards at the bridge and the support beam her hook had grabbed onto. Hopefully the bridge will last long enough for me to get back up. And hey, I’m out of the rain too, so that's something. Kriff I did drop my shield though…

The mummy-shrouded being that held the fractured soul of Inmortos and a thousand other souls stood silently. He canted his head as he heard the Shard’s mechanized words. He was not wrong, entirely. Aaris III had been sacrificed in a show of loyalty to a fallen Sith Lord, and it would remain a lifeless husk for all eternity. Before he could respond, the Shard’s former master responded. A ship full of lives had come indeed been sacrificed in the foolhardy venture of the Sith above the Alliance stronghold world. It had been glorious if not disastrous for the Sith Empire; just as the prophecies had foretold. Akheron was wrong in one point; however, Inmortos did have a ship, crewed by the very linnorms that had been cut down over Nar Shadaa; well, what was left of them at least. Their souls. “Such a ritual, Lord Akheron, I fear may destroy the minds of my brothers, for to share my wounds would be to share in the deaths of the legions that now flow through my veins like blood. The ritual to return you required much more than drawing you from beyond.” Turning his gaze to the shattered form of the Shard, Inmortos would have been smiling if it could have been seen. As it was, his voice contained a judgmental stereophonic laughter. ”But you are wrong Lord Akheron, for to be a Lord-Captain one must have a ship. Behold.” Inmortos raised his arms toward the distant citadel, her academies and zigguraut, underground chambers and more. The ancient pyramid of a long forgotten people ringed in soulfrost that rivaled durasteel, crewed by the souls of the damned, and powered by the very veil between life and death. From where they stood, Inmortos could feel the earth rumble beneath his feet. Great cracks permeated the frostbound planet as great ancient thrusters birthed the necromancer’s undead vessel from the death-bound world. ”Perhaps together we can reclaim my soul and rebuild our fleet.”

As the dust of the battle settled and the storm of darkness faded into the icy bleakness that was the reality of the world, the mummified remains of Inmortos stood. Picking himself from the ground where he had been thrown, he was a silent sentinel as the spirits within thrashed within their mortal bounds. He stood; unnatural and unholy as he oversaw the lording of the petty stone. Beneath his wrappings, the solidified face cracked in an unseen smile. Time would tell if this young vain thing had a place amongst the Sith, much less the true masters of darkness; and time, was a fickle mistress. He stood, watching, for as much as his natural time had elapsed, he had the reserves of eternity at his command. The more pressing matter, it would seem, was one of immediacy. The cravings of young Sith were bent on conquest. That carnage would feed the eternal void from which Inmortos was born and bound. And so, as the butcher directed the stone to him for a verdict, the consciousnesses within the god-king whirled in possibility. Slowly, as if creaking in pain and suffering, Inmortos lurched forward, a single finger waggling the air as he regarded the three Sith before him, each bound to him, their fates intertwined with his own. This cult had its uses yet and the dragon of myth would still serve to consume the galaxy. The voices of Inmortos spoke, carrying in the air, projected from a thousand angled and directions as they warped and warbled in a destructively seductive cacophony. ”No one will follow a captain without a ship.” ”No knee will bend to a lord without a holding.” ”This clan,” he gestured toward Akheron and then pounded a fist to his own chest as plumes of dust billowed from the impact, “survived when the rest of the Sith fell. We continue the fight even now.” ”And yet,” the necromancer turned his icy burning gaze to Dictum, “we have another here.” “One who was bound in the times of glory and the fall. It is not right that we discuss family business in such company. And so, I shall pass my judgement upon the Shard when it is but it and I, alone; when each bound to our cause and,” he paused eying both Dictum and Solus, “any outsiders are removed.” In the distance the towering ziggurat of Inmortos’ throne loomed in the shadows of the dissipating storm. The remainder of his academy for gifted individuals surrounding it, laid out in chaotic order, like grown chicks bound unnaturally to a mother hen. It sat a compact gathering of mazed streets and frozen catacombs, an enigma against the desolation of a world sacrificed to the darkness, a holding flayed and laid bare as a burnt offering before the avatar of darkness, an avatar Inmortos believed was his right to possess. “And so, Lord Akheron, it falls to us.” The chaotic hilt of Inmortos slid into the mummy’s hand. Whispers of the spirits trapped within both his body and blade hissing in gleeful agony at the temptation of death. “One of your crew has blasphemed the name of the Fanged-God and for this a sacrifice is demanded, penance paid in blood. Another stands here as an equal, and yet remains unbound to the welfare of the brotherhood.” ”Still, without his sacrifice, I would not stand here now. Whet say you, a master of cloth and a master of iron until they prove themselves worthy? Or shall we cut them down where they stand?”

Far above, the storm continued to engulf the bulk of the world, both the citadel/academy and the barren wastes of duned snow and crumbled mountains. Thunder and lightning arced and rang across the world interrupting the droves of windswept snow and ice. None kf that mattered however; not here, this far below. Here the chill came from something else. The stillness seemed to creep to the bone. The library, stores of dark tomes, forbidden sorceries, cursed objects and more seemed to stretch out endlessly deep beneath the surface of the planet. Ancient catacombs and frost-formed passageways that morphed and shifted beneath Sith sorceries and ancient mysteries teetered on the edge of reality as they twisted beyond the veil of death and back. Contained within the magics of the vast storehouse of forbidden knowledges and cursebound ancients, the vault of Inmortos remained, untouched and yet, trespassed. It was here that the assassin Dictum had returned to try and broker a deal with the god-king of death himselt. Spells older than the Sith itself, dark curses from beyond the edges of the galaxy, and malevolent wraiths bound in their pots and lanterns shifted in the still air atop the robe draped mummified remains of an unknown body. Dark icy auras, the call of death itself, seemed to emanate from the corpse. As the assassin affixed the bloodstained saber hilt of Inmortos, the spirits shackled within were torn from the great beyond and cast into the tomb. With hissing screams they erupted with the red blade as the saber seemed to spring to life. From the shadowy recesses of the unadorned burial chamber, the lurching servant of Inmortos seemed to materialize, a grizzled being of whose very life had been claimed and shackled; bound not in life, but in death to serve its god. The once high priest of Aaris III bound to a dead form no longer his own, an eternal caretaker. The dead form’s voice was barely a whisper as he laughed at the assassin’s words. ”You are mistaken.” he hissed as an outstretched finger pointed beyond the Sith Lord’s shoulder. There looming larger than life itself, as if to engulf the entire room, was the growing ghostly visage of Inmortos. His grotesque form barely visible beneath the ethereal blue of his cloak offset to a sickly black shadow in the glow of the humming spirit saber. ”Lord Dictum.” he spoke, his voice pained. “my soul is bound to this place and yet stretched across the cosmos. I am bound to the world beyond by oaths beyond mortal understanding and yet bound to this place. My work is not yet complete. Your service shall see its just reward.” he spoke of the Baptism of Blood that had drawn Akheron back from the tortured hellscape he had been cast unto. He alluded to the ancient spells that ensnared him as he had passed unto death and imprisoned him to this reality. Stretching out a rotted ghostly hand, the wraith moved as if to plunge it into the man’s chest, icy crystals materializing where ethereal and mortal met. A gentler soul might have taken its time, expertly carving a portion of what was desired; but not Inmortos. The existential pain that racked his body quivered even as his bony fingers clasped the very soul of @Lord Ōk Rägnär and raked across the surface before finding a spiritual crevice within his chest. The gnarled pointed digits of the necromancer, shackled to this world by magics that superseded death itself, pierced the man’s soul and with a heave that shuddered the entire burial chamber and beyond tore forth a shattered, ichor-bleeding portion of Dictum’s eternal soul. The visage of Inmortos seemed to flicker for a moment as pain unexplainable washed over the room causing spirit, shade, and shambler to cry out in pain. A mighty wave of unnatural necromancic energy toppled the undead servant who had been present in the room as it rocked the bedrock that contained the burial chamber itself. The former priest fell to the ground, his form crumbling to dust as it plumed into the air, a fog of death itself. The spirits of Inmortos’ saber shrieked before vanishing with the spirit that remained of Inmortos. The blade itself sputtered before it fell silent, the bloody coating drained from it’s now shimmering black hilt, the power of the souls and crystals that powered it depleted, drawn forth by the unseen spells that even now continued to wind their wills, bound to a path set forth by eternity past and future. And then, just as suddenly as the room had eruoted, it fell deathly silent. The tormented vortex of darkness replaced by a heavy frigid stillness that threatened to suffocate the minds and hearts of any ensnared within. As Dictum dealt with the physical and spiritual consequences of his soul being rend in two by the necromancer’s undead power and ancient spells, a shrouded hand clasped the edge of the stone sarcophogus, the deep echo of such a simple movement echoing through the very force itself as something was given unholy unnatural rebirth. Ever so slowly, the mummified creature within began to rise.

As Solus brought his lightsaber across for what was hopefully a killing blow, his form became still in the air. Webs of sticky ‘stuff’ practically suspended the Shard in the air, unable to move at all. “What the kriffing piece of scrap are you…” Solus started to yell. Having not expected such an attack, his grip on his lightsaber had loosened and the blade, deactivated flew to the side. “You stupid child! This death would have made you happy, and now you only have…” Solus stopped, then suddenly began to giggle. “Oh that is clever my child!” Solus called out to the beast, having conjured a new lie to believe. “You stop me because a reckless killing is not worthy of an assassin! Oh sweet child, how I misunderstood you! Haha!” Solus twisted his head and focused his gaze on where his lightsaber landed. Even as he stood helpless in the air, the Sith apprentice was not helpless. Calling on the Force, the lightsaber shook several times before activating. Solus’ emotions in the Geometries wrapped themselves around the blade’s crystalline heart, born from Solus’ own envy. With an invisible hand gripping the weapon, Solus called it back, blade activated. The blade flew. While it was halted momentarily by the webbing's hard material, Solus continued his focus. After a short time, the webbings were sliced through, and Solus fell to the ground. “Haha, behold, a new look!” Solus exclaimed as he noted the webbings still stuck to his yellow cape, trailing like ghostly fingers. Solus caught Akeron’s first words from behind the door. Solus sighed and sheathed his blade. “Oh great esteemed master!” Solus mocked as he pressed his hand against his eye sensors, imitating an actor on stage. “How sorry I am to attack your exposed back! How I should've realized that when you taught me to attack those Acklay, I wasn’t supposed to use tricks and traps! I was supposed to announce myself to them, like a true Sith Assassin!” However, try as he wanted, Solus was stuck outside the door waiting. A subtle rage began to regrow in the Shard. He had lost his prime opportunity to kill Akheron. No doubt whatever was inside, Akheron was preparing himself for a fight. Solus dwelled on how he would have to accomplish such a deed. His master was a skilled warrior. No matter what happened, Solus needed to make sure to stay out of his blade’s reach. Finally, Akheron spoke again. "I will open the door, but I expect no resistance. I wish to discuss a way to resolve our...dispute in a way worthy of a Sith Master and the Darkness. A way I think you will enjoy. You have my word you will not be harmed while we discuss it, I expect the same courtesy, you owe me that at least." Solus stopped and had to wonder. Was Akheron this dumb to think Solus would actually play by the rules of honor? True, Akheron placed a great deal of emphasis on honor, but for the Shard, honor was a virtue that needed to be purged to make room for Madness. As Chosen Emlee’esh said, virtues were just roadblocks to further discoveries. Course, Akheron didn’t know the Temple’s teachings, but there was no way he was that dumb. No, Akheron had something genuine inside to offer. Against his better judgment, Solus was curious. Perhaps something useful would come from playing along for now. If anything, An open door meant potential opportunities to kill the Sith master. Solus just had to be careful. If Akheron expected Solus not to play by the rules of honor, there was no reason he would either. But if he did, it would be proof that Solus was actually dealing with Akheron and not some imitation conjured up by the necromancer. “Very well, master, if you insist.” Solus lied as he kept his deactivated saber in his hands. “It is the least I can do for a heretic like yourself. I swear my blade will not touch you until after we speak. Now let me in. Let's settle this properly, so that way we can calm our mad child. ”

She thought for a moment as they walked towards the large array of Sovereign Alliance vessels that were queuing up to take the many injured and exhausted soldiers back to the core worlds. She gestured vaguely to one of the mixed transports, likely one for injured refugees, and turned towards it. It would take them to the Agricultural world of Salliche, which the order had been given to steward. The ramp was crowded so she chose to wait in the long line. “I pose a question to you my friend.” She ran her finger across the scab that had developed along her jawline before continuing. “There are several planets that seem to be a consistent target for the Sith in their ongoing brutalism every so many decades. Why have your people not turned to rampant militarism as the once peaceable Naboo?” ((to space))

The towering plants of Felucia rustled as a dark blur loped through its depths. Calypso had been running for hours, the Force both guiding her and propelling her along with every step. Even though the jungle was quiet to her ears, to her sense of the Force, it was like moving through a thunderstorm. All around her, life clamored and howled into the Force, a riot of silent cries sent up by the overpowering flora. In time, she knew she would acclimate, but until then she enjoyed the sensation. She had felt something like this before, in the depths of Coruscant in its heyday where the deluge of sentient lives and emotions drowned out anything that the Jedi might sense. Here it would be the same, so long as she didn't draw attention to herself. The jungle would only hide so much. As if thinking about it conjured it up, she sensed a presence. A dark power, not foreign like her own but something else. If she was a blade cutting through the weave of the Force, then this was...an infection. Yes, something insidious and subtle, but present. And it was moving towards her. She abruptly stopped her rapid trek, pausing only long enough to gauge the direction this subtle feeling was coming from. Then she took off again, this time to meet what was coming for her. _____________________________________ There was little warning of her approach. Calypso had spent much of her life living in the depths of Coruscant, under the Jedi's noses, and if there was one thing her Master Darth Vilius had been good at, it had been hiding. As such, her presence in the Dark Side was muted, a dull ember of power where a star should have been. Even so, as she leapt out of the foliage and dropped in front of the native Felucians and their warped procession, she showed no fear or surprise. She could sense their darkness clearly now. It was unusual. Erratic. Something similar to the Dathomiri, but also something else. "You seek me," she said, no question in her voice. Her hand flexed briefly, and she allowed the suppressed channel of power to open a fraction. All around her, trees and other plants shuddered. The light filtering from above dimmed, shadows lengthening as the light seemed to withdraw. It was a simple display of power. "...Why?" She did not ask what they were. That would come later. Right now she simply had to determine if they were better off dead, alive and free, or in her service.

Under her instruction, he quickly packed his things, turning to the child as he did so and giving her a nod. Reaching into his bag, he withdrew a small stone bead, carved with a glyph of the Shyriiwook glyph of peace. He placed it into her hand, giving her the stone before wrapping her in a brief embrace. He nodded to another civilian in the area, indicating for her to be taken care of before he rose, putting on his satchel and turning towards the direction Master Sarna walked. He followed his new mentor, listening intently to her words and noting her attitude of reflection and thinking. "Despite the toils she has endured, the Wroshyr prevails. It has not been without its labor to ensure such results, but I am confident that Kashyyyk will continue to thrive." He surveyed the carnage that surrounded them as they walked, reflecting upon the wanton death and destruction which had clearly brought this world to its knees. He paused a moment before speaking once more, "Master Sarna, where shall we begin our work?"

His voice was surprisingly soft after the last hours of active combat. Barely above a whisper, so that only those beside them would hear and there would be no embarrassment upon Piotr or his house. “Turn your sorrow and regret into resolve.” His bright blue eyes looked at the rising sun that had pierced the heavy cloud cover. A beam starting to creep across their small gathering showing the steam of condensation drifting up from their armour, as the cold morning air began to move in a breeze. “Resolve that we will not ever allow this to happen again. It will not erase the regret, that bitter sorrow that comes with death at your hands. But having an objective will help begin the process of healing.” He stepped forward and pulled the young man into a hug. A strong and supportive hug. This war for now was over, and the heir of house Malczewski would bear its scars. Adrienne stepped forward and when Raphanel broke from the hug she was there to give Piotr a hug of her own. It was time for the Knights to begin their investigation into where these Sith Lords the Jedi had encountered had come from.

The Exorcist stepped slowly into the trench, the her light form making almost no sound as her boots slipped into the mud. She was exhausted, her probosci flicking gently at the air, tasting only the death and darkness of a hard-fought battle. She watched Piotr with Emerald eyes, taking in his grief and sorrow. That had been her once, mute and horrified by the tragedies of war. Kyrie stepped to him then, her boots slipping through the red morass about them. She knew no words would heal him then, nor some magical display of healing power. Such things did little against the trauma of war. He would have long nights battling those demons. A warm hand upon his shoulder and the offer of a warrior's embrace was all that could be offered in such times. She was his master, but it was not her place to shelter from the horrors of war. They fought to protect the innocent from such things. To act as a shield against the darkness.

Solus wasn’t absolutely sure, but he felt like he wasn’t being taken seriously by either Dictum nor his ex-master. He didn’t get any kind of response from them. They didn’t nod in approval, or condemn his speech. They simply didn’t reply. Solus’ rage started to flare up further. It was the stupid tree all over again. Then the thing attacked. The yellow splash in the Impossible Geometries Solus recognized as danger helped the Shard react accordingly, but barely. His own anger prevented him from completely avoiding the attack. The Shard leapt forward, narrowly avoiding a crushing leg, only to be sent flying with the ice. Solus rolled his landing, and turned his gaze upwards. The thing, the strangely spider-like thing, was power incarnate. It held sway over the natural and unnatural alike. It was born from that which helped birth his Madness, and had mutated beyond recognition. Solus believed it absolutely ranked with Madness in the Geometries. “Hahaha! Yes!” Solus laughed as he began to dart around the battlefield, avoiding another attack. “You have returned at the presence of your parents, haven’t you? You have returned for me? Hahaha!” The flying Polyp in the air completely vanished, no longer a focus for the Mad Shard. “Run!” Dictum cried, to Solus’ insane laughter. The Shard was too elated on his own energies to listen. Whether or not Solus was right about the thing’s motives did not matter to the Shard. Solus did not realize the thing couldn’t be controlled by himself or even all three of its creators. Solus’ Madness whispered in his ears lies and deceptions that, while he knew they were false, he didn’t care. Solus dashed forward, narrowly avoiding another crashing of the thing’s legs and the raining ice debris. As ice chunks rained down, Solus seemed to begin to dance amongst the chaos, striking poses between movements like some Desilijic servant girl. He only moved when a chunk was about to hit where he stood. The Shard continued to laugh, his vocoder blaring more than ever. Solus was actually beginning to enjoy himself. “And because one of your parents is wrong, you must kill all of them? Hehehe, yes, that makes sense. Yes! Yes yes yes! Attack! Clatter! Rampage, my sweet little baby! Distract and destroy. Keep the blind one and that necromancer busy while I end the heresy that is Akheron! Hahaha!” Solus finally stopped dancing long enough to focus on the fleeting form of Akheron. Activated lightsaber still in hand, Solus gave chase. Akheron had a decent head start, and his legs were smaller, but Solus was sure that wherever his ex-master ran, Solus would be able to follow. A thought flashed in his mind, both a teaching from the Temple of the Spider as well as his own training under Akheron. His prey was running from him. He was not properly armed, and at a disadvantage. The opportune moment to strike was now. He could not waste what the universe had given him. Solus tapped into the Force and willed it through his body. His circuits buzzed with energy. Some Force users called this Force Speed, but to Solus, it was simply pursuit. His form left a trail of afterimages rapidly closed the distance between him and his master. In a few seconds, his blade would swing across.

She spared a glance over her shoulder to where sunlight was illuminating the street that she had fought the ruler of Falleen. Not a trace of him or his men, consumed by the world as it turned flesh to bone in its depths. Someday there would be flowers here, and children would again play along the avenues. That small vision was the hope of the galaxy. But what was on the horizon for her? She was not old, she had not even reached a quarter century, but she had never known peace. Even the days of her youth during the noontide of the Galactic Alliance’s power were filled with training, then tragedy, heartache and death. When she had achieved some semblance of stability and a knighthood, the galaxy had been thrown into bitter turmoil. First there were whispers at the edges of the galactic rim. Rumours of the unnamed terror, lurking there as it spread its web through the hearts of the Galactic Alliance. Political fracture happened next, the Remnant with all its good intentions carrying its sword into the outer rim to fight the resurgent Sith Lords. Shouting in the halls of the Jedi temple. Bitter words traded between master and knight, apprentice and master. A Council that stood idly by and let the Jedi Order itself fracture into a revanchist crusade while it sat in high towers or white stone. Ignoring the cries of a people oppressed. How many of those she had grown up with had left for the Remnant? They had slipped away in the night, leaving their lightsabers piled in front of the doors to the council chamber. Trading the white robes for the crimson armour of the Imperial Knights. Leaving the Galactic Alliance without those in the Jedi Order willing to defend it. Though the council had tried in the end. And many of their bodies had not yet been recovered in the orbits of Duxn and Onderon, or obliterated at Coruscant. The great order reduced now to a pale shadow of what it once was, a victim of its own hubris. A lesson, or many lessons, there were to learn from the past decade. And a hundred faces that she would never see again. Even those of her apprentices, Frond and Kel whom she dearly missed, and a love long quested for which had been lost forever. All those bitter memories passed like a wave over her and she paused in her steps. Letting the emotion roll up and over her but not bury her. She took a breath. For a life without suffering was a life that had not been lived. She was grateful for those sufferings, those losses. Those great changes. Even those painful nights in the hands of slavers so many years before. Though each was a tragedy, each had given her insight and the ability to help others. To serve even as the galaxy fell apart. And now it was time for the wheel to turn again. For her to take an apprentice, teach him and to learn from him. To sow the seeds of peace and growth in whatever time they had before the Sith returned. But could she, a Jedi moulded only by suffering and war, really be an instrument of peace? Time would tell. She beckoned the Tree Carer to follow her as she walked towards one of the Sovereign Knight’s shuttles. There would be a path from Chandrilla to a Jedi holding in the core worlds, but for now… “Tell me how the forests of Kashyyyk fair. It has been many years since I last walked under their shade.”

As Dictum stood beside @Bernon Mrrgwharr, he outstretched a single arm as @Solus began to taunt and belittle his Master, both disgusted and intrigued by the Shard's words. It was true that Apprentices must always rise above their Masters, most done so in the heat of battle or in the silence of the Shadows just as Dictum had done. But to hide behind persecution based on false religions felt trivial to Dictum at best. If Solus felt he had earned his Freedom, he should own it as his own and not the will of another. Still, it was not his place to judge nor interfere, for this was a matter between teacher and student, and this was why he had placed his arm before Bernon. His gaze shifted to the Warrior Apprentice with a grotesque nod of his disfigured face from @Karys Narat iv-Adas's rebirth before turning to the Sith Master with another. No words needed to be spoken. This was the way. This was what it meant to be Sith. Only a duel between the two would decide which stood correct. And yet, the arid air of Aaris III shifted in its current, an almost unnatural shift that rose above the usual that Inmortos had long given it. It was like adding black dye to a fount of blackened blood simply to darken it a degree more. Or seeing shadows shift about in the darkness of pitch black. You swear you could sense it, but cannot truly discern whether you had. This caused Dictum's sense to heighten onto a precipice of alertness out of instinct. And with it, an awareness. A blur of darkness managed to catch his mind's eye but a brief second before the ground of Aaris III erupted from beneath his feet, sending the Assassin reeling from his previous location. With but a brief second, twin diagonal cuts found themselves upon the beasts form as his form twisted and contoured away, a blackened ooze dripping from the two blades. The Sith Poison had been released. Landing upon the culminating snow, Dictum yelled but a frightening word to the others as the revelation of what they faced took hold of his delving. This beast was not to be trifled with and Dictum had already made the first strike. "Run!"

As Akheron waited he found his request swiftly answered before he was forced to use his fists, thankfully a scenario averted. For that would do little against such enraged wraiths, intent on returning him to the realm of Chaos and the Fanged God's grasp, even though it was through him and his conduit Krath Inmortos that he had been returned. Not that the undead spirits cared...they sought to return that who they thought a escaped prisoner. But Akheron would not be returned so easy, not when he was not yet done with the galaxy. He felt his apprentice, and used his presence as a guide to lead them out of the depths where they stood. Although not before he unleashed his fresh Rage and Wrath upon the wraiths, with the loaned lightsaber which he appreciated. It would be returned after, for he was accustomed to making his own. His own extension to the Darkness. As the first wraith came with wicked intent, Akheron slashed diagonal, knocking it's clawed hands back before slicing at the head, sending him back to the realm of the dead. He continued, his connection to the Darkness strengthening and returning with each swing as his body and mind recalled all he learnt in life. His Wrath and Rage invigorating him once more and moving him past his pain. The thrill and excitement of the combat, evident upon his face. For in this moment was who he truly was. A destroyer of worlds and dark executioner. He was Sith and these spirits would learn that neither they or the Fanged God would control his fate. Yes he would serve him but would always seek to surpass and break free. For his chains were broken, he would not be contained. Taking out another, he noted Inmortos was still, deathly still. As if the ritual had taken alot out of him, which was understandable. Such rituals of Darkness always took a toll, a price. This was no different. As such, Akheron was forced, despite his naked current state to defend the God-King of Damned from retribution as well as himself. At least until he rose to again. From one of the dispatched, he quickly removed what garments he could, wrapping it around like a roman toga. Hopefully enough to cover and conceal his genitalia. He didn't exactly wish for the trio to see anymore than was necessary. Even as a Sith. He looked to Bernon briefly, to see how the younger Warrior faired in a fight against the damned.

Before Akheron could finish his sentence, Dictum's lightsaber ignited and found its self thrown in the direction of the Master's hand as the Blackened Shadows sprung his crown and cloaked his form. The weak one's sought the Sith Master and Dictum was guilty by association as his hands sought and firmly reverse gripped the Shanto Sith Swords. If the souls of Chaos sought to reclaim Akheron, then they would have to shatter the Lord's decree and to do so would invoke his judgement. His grotesquely disfigured face smirked at such a thought, the weaker souls of Chaos seeking to place him as judge, jury, and executioner of their eternal damnation and he immediately reacted. Influential was the Cloak of Lies that engulfed his form, even for the minds of spirits and his presence became their own as he traced across the distance between Chaos and the mortal realm and as the ghoulish prisoners of Chaos sought out Akheron, Dictum's blades sought them. Before the illusion of the Cloak of Lies could be discerned by their stagnant minds, souls felt the piercing cold of darkness and steel as the blades sought to return them to the afterlife. To the average onlooker, it would appear that ghoul fought ghoul as the Cloak of Lies settled its spell upon the unprotected mind amidst the onslaught of Chaos. But for those versed in mental protection or in the Force, Dictum's true form would be visible from beneath the shadows. Blade shattered rotted bone and tore through stagnant flesh as Ghoul fell after Ghoul to his Sithly Blades, the gluttony for souls and the lust for blood echoing from their starved steel as they met the undead in a ravenous dance, empowered by the Sith Lord known as Dictum in his decree that Akheron would stay. An unholy mixture of the bound Chaos within Dictum swirled with the Darkness that plagued and corrupted the Force he bound to his will as he kept up the facade and honed his attacks with each passing blinded ghoul failed to seek him out. And upon his face, beneath the blackened Cloak, steam seemed to erupt through his bloodied cheek, a mixture of the blackened blood of the ghouls and his own as he lapped at it with it determination. There was true happiness upon his gaze. All that remained was for Inmortos to close the torn veil to Chaos and for the others to finish off the souls that sought Akheron. But in the meantime, Dictum was having the time of his life, completely unaware of Aaris III had gifted him.

A pulse, a blast, and a wave; each breath, each step, each ache, and each tinge of nausea mingled into one delirious moment. When the rite was done and the wave of cleansing dawn rushed from Leena’s body, exhaustion finally took Keenava, bringing her to the ground. It wasn’t gentle, but she managed to avoid serious damage by carefully aiming her body at a stretch of flat stone. When she made contact with the cold, dusty brick beneath her, she coughed, and her vision dimmed. Her head began to bob bit by bit, and she slowly lost focus as Leena's form faded away. Silence followed. The dust motes clinging to the surface of her eyes were a distant memory. A deep velvet black took her, a black interrupted only by two yellow wolfish eyes. A shadowy form moved in the black, though its movements were nigh imperceptible. Keenava sat opposite the ethereal form, with her alter, Lallu, sitting beside her. Lallu, an alter that had come to represent every other alter before, was formed from distinct traumas and trauma bonds that Keenava had formed throughout her life. Lallu inhaled sharply, anxiety writ across her face. And Keenava followed suit, though she was not anxious. You’ve failed. You’ve— Keenava’s hand shot up within seconds of the shadow’s speech. Cold fury oozed from the malicious gaze that he leveled at her, but he remained silent. No. No more lies. No more duplicity. From the moment I met you, you’ve lured and baited me. I was desperate—a traumatized plea away from doing exactly what you told me to do without question. You once asked me, Who are you? What do you want? Then you proceeded to answer for me. You said I didn’t have the answers and that you could show me how to find them. You inserted yourself as some kind of savior in my hopeless need for something beyond the limited scope of my understanding. And though you narcissistically pushed me toward the very same path you were warding me from, you were right about one thing. Who I am is something only I can discover. You dangled certainty beyond my grasp like a cruel miser, hoarding peace because you saw little use in it. What is peace when you’re a Sith? Why is peace important when strength is all you see? You said you could lead me to the freedom my heart craves and then imprisoned me, heart and soul, within the bosom of a world that shackled all who sought it. The Sith Code was and is a fragile lie, made to tether those to its misguided promise. Twisting nature to fit your whim only creates narcissistic bonds and twists the fabric of who you are to reflect your own misdeeds. I’ve committed patricide, homicide, arson, and any number of other hideous crimes in your name and in others. But none of it did anything except leave a gaping hole. Will you let me— No. You’ve had years to speak—almost a decade! You will let me speak, and then you will leave. Keenava cleared her throat and held Lallu’s hand. Lallu swallowed slightly, but her voice replaced Keenava’s. I told you that you were my friend. You were my savior. You were my lover. You were my desperation, my devotion, my love, my obsession, and everything I could have ever dreamed of. Lallu was almost on the brink of tears, but she didn’t move or hesitate. You were the only man I could ever trust. You were the only man, woman, or being that had ever shown me anything close to kindness, outside of my mother and my sister. And yet you constantly pushed me away. I ached for you. I yearned for you. And maybe that chased you further away. But I didn’t know. I didn’t know until now. Love is a power, but it’s also a weakness. The vulnerability I showed to you opened me up to all sorts of repercussions and to so many feelings that I hadn’t felt in a long time. But, unlike the monsters of my past, you never took me. Every time I followed you, obsession writ across every feature, you never physically used or abused me. Not once. And for that, I am very thankful. But I didn’t realize your torture was ever more malicious. Your words cut so deep that I couldn’t find who I was beneath your lie. I used to think you were the most extraordinary man I had ever met. But now I know. Lallu looked at Keenava with a feeling of deep sorrow in her ruby eyes. Keenava nodded and grasped her hand a little harder. The shadowy form attempted to speak once more, but this was Keenava’s mind. Furion would have the power she let him have. If she let him have any at all. After a moment of letting her tears fall in silence, Lallu continued. Your response was: How can you expect me to love you more than myself? I was devastated. Not a second went by that I didn’t play that moment in my head again and again, hoping for another outcome. But it never came. That fantasy that I held onto for so long was so much dust in the wind and would never coalesce into the picture I wanted it to be. But the tumor of pain, loss, and obsession you fostered through the darkness took root. I couldn’t ignore the searing reminder every time I touched the force. Every time I tried to take anything for myself, you were there. Because the dark side is pain. The dark side is shame. The dark side is regret. Only when I was freed from that agony could I see any hope of redemption. Maybe you did me a favor by rejecting me, allowing me to see beyond you. But you don't deserve to be recognized for incidental victories. And while my feelings for you may never truly be gone, I can say with certainty that you have no power over me anymore. Lallu’s face was thick with tears, but her eyes were cold. Keenava nodded with a warm smile, continuing to grasp her alter’s hand. A beat passed, and the three of them sat in silence before Keenava and Lallu fused. A wreath of light passed over their forms as they joined, and Keenava almost started crying as the residual feelings poured into her. But she maintained her composure. The Furion form stirred, still fighting against his muzzle. I have another chance—a real chance. I get to choose my destiny and who I want to be. I hope you are okay wherever you end up, but I have no further thoughts for you. With a wave of her hand, the Furion specter disappeared into the black. A memory of her and Si Si playing together as kids replaced him. Keenava looked on, deepening her warm smile and let herself glide gently into sleep.

The silence broke as a man screamed, and in a moment, the entire cabin erupted. The killing had begun in earnest now and he moved to kill the next man before him, but stopped short when he felt it. A vain effort to stop him, an attempt on his life, fueled by hatred. The girl tried to stop his heart. A step in the right direction, but she wasn't there. Not yet. He fought her off with relative ease, grasping the man's neck. Darth Mavanger's attention moved back to the girl "No. Not yet. Not until you understand the mistakes that have led to this slaughter." Anger filled him, and with a powerful squeeze he could hear the sickening pop as his neck was snapped and his spinal cord broken. He fell limply from Darth Mavanger's hand as another tried to run past him. A young boy, likely the same age as the girl. Another future severed as his blade caught an arm, sending the barely surviving boy to the ground. He would likely not survive his wound for long. Another refugee, this one met with a knee driven into her ribcage hard enough to shatter ribs like shrapnel, tearing through her body. "This could have been prevented, if not for one's mercy."

Calypso fell within herself. On the outside, she seemed mundane, not at all an ancient Sith reborn. Her tattered clothes were gone, replaced by a simple brown worker's frock that wouldn't be out of place on an assembly line. Her yellow eyes had dulled to a sickly ochre, and her pale skin and white hair now looked more the result of a lack of sun and early aging respectively than of any connection to the Dark Side. Perhaps the one thing her master had been talented at was hiding in plain sight, and she'd picked up the knack herself during her time building her strength underneath the Jedi's notice a thousand years ago. Inside, however, a black torrent of emotions swelled and waned to her will. Fury and disgust at the universe mingled with her ever present hatred, and the Dark Side responded as it always did. She let it flow through her, an icy burning that scoured her and left her painfully cleansed. It was only in moments like this that she ever felt truly whole, and she took a moment to savor the exhilaration, before turning her will to the task at hand. She directed the power out into the world, willing the Dark Side itself to manifest in the physical plane, a perfect blasphemy. The power left her, and she opened her eyes. ...Nothing. Frustration curdled her cultivated reservoir of emotions, and she briefly considered letting them out in a display of power. She quickly decided against it. The ship was coming up on Felucia, and she would not risk being discovered by the Jedi now, not over a reckless release of emotions. Better to wait until they'd landed, and the planet's own life energy would act as camouflage. Speaking of which... She got up from her unassuming quarters and exited out into the hall. The other colonists on The Ottega Dawn milled about, excited to be landing and starting their new lives in Har Gau. None of them gave the thin, meek Sith Master a second look, and she shuffled her way towards the bridge. As she walked further away from the living quarters, the crowds thinned. When she reached the final door that led to the ship's command center, she did not pause, but gestured with her hand, and the door whooshed open. Where the crew should have been, only a single Ithorian remained at his station. By the symbols on his drab uniform, he was the captain of the ship. The rest of the crew lay piled into a single corner, charred to the point of their various species being unrecognizable. The captain's response to her presence was immediate and visceral. Letting out a high-pitched whine that would have been more fitting coming from an animal, he cowered, tucking his head down in a futile attempt to look as small as possible. Calypso strode over to him, and the man began quaking in fear. "Are we landing soon?" The Ithorian could only nod. Up close, scorch marks and burns became apparent, a testament to the hours and hours of "meticulous" attention Calypso had bestowed upon him after she'd disposed of the unnecessary bridge staff. She did not have any long term plans for the ship, and so she would only need the captain for now. "Good, land as planned. Then await my instructions." She did not need to threaten. The two of them perfectly understood each other. The utterly broken, wreck of a captain could only nod again, shaking so badly Calypso was mildly surprised he could stand. If her time among the Cthon had taught her anything, it was how to break a beast to her will. ______________________ The Ottega Dawn touched down outside of the city of Har Gau. Colonists, eager to make a new start for themselves in the city trickled out. No one noticed the single woman disappear deeper into the jungle.

The force was filled with a sense of despair and fright. Without commanders and without further direction or battlemeld, the Sith aligned forces were now nearly on the edge of route. The Knights and their soldiers had punched a salient into the lines of defence around the capital city, while the Jedi Knights took out their command and control. An effective if entirely accidental result which had led to where they were now. Sith combat units had landed in system directly after the Knights had arrived and had been swiftly engaged and killed by the Jedi Order. An impressive feat which had revealed far more information than the Sith likely wanted to let the Sovereign Alliance know. They had not died at Nar Shaddaa, and their ships that brought them here were to be found and the hyperdrives analysed. He held up his sabre again and glanced over to Tygo who had held forth a brilliant flash of light to protect young Caridian Heir. The dour young man of Noctural was proving himself more than useful every day. Adrienne was doing well with her rifle, but they were still outnumbered. A brief counterattack that used the last of the Sith strength that was quickly beaten back, but young Malczewski was down. Raphanel took a breath and directed a blast of the force towards the remaining Sith soldiers, flattening them and allowing his men to finish them off with quick blaster bolts. An application of the force and he lept to where the young man was. Frozen, staring at a young casualty. A death at his hands. The first in close combat, and one he would likely never forget. “Tygo, roll up the rest of the line.” He shouted, “I’ll cover the boy.” The battle was won, and it would be finished by the competent Falcon, it was time to look to their own. Stepping close he shut off his saber and snapped it to his belt as he unclasped his cloak and threw it over the young woman’s body. Its rich folds of grey covering her soft features from his view. Adrienne took one arm and Raphanel the other and they lightly pushed him to sit and lean against the side of the trench. “Strength lad, you freed her from the pain and evil that had possessed her. Feel no shame in such a thing.”