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The Sith Empire

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  1. Durstan sighed heavily, realizing their luck couldn’t have been worse. He walked slowly to where Private Shiro had pointed and took a peek down the hall himself. His visor revealed only so much, the power supplies in this vessel quite clearly failing. He shook his head hopelessly, knowing now that danger was everywhere. He tapped his metallic cuisse and reached into a hidden compartment to pull retrieve the datapad he just received from Captain Iven, “Well Private Shiro, you’ve got lead now.” He entered a sequenced password and confidential information booted to life. Captain Iven: “.. Make no mistake, soldiers. The Hexa is a derelict warship helmed by the infamous Galactic Alliance. All record of its existence has been wiped from most databases, but we’ve stubbornly tracked it failingly for decades. Most of us drew this ship up as a rumor of war, nothing more than another fairytale to inspire our rebellion. The Hexa is nothing more than a glorified prison barge, operationally off-the-books, disconnected from the holier-than-thou governing body. An alliance I spit on. Once those bastards fell, once the Galactic Union rotted from the inside-out, this vessel was abandoned. They condemned their own as a sacrifice, authorizing the unsanctioned slaughter of countless prisoners without trial, in the dead of space. I don’t know what happened here, most of the cells are emptied, others have taken their own lives, and those that remained have been mutilated beyond recognition. Madness has taken hold of any we’ve come across. The Hexa is dead in the water, the power sources have been drained or stolen to a necessity. The commander of this ship returned against their strict order, but they did not expect to jump into the collision of Hesperidium and Coruscant proper. No one anticipated where this thing came from, but neither the Cabal or the Crusaders had the patience to understand what had landed between them. Their anonymity went unchecked, but Imperial Intelligence demands that we discover what was hidden here. The commander? She--She (inaudible words, static) neurotic (inaudible words, static) no maintenance, no direction, and unable to preserve the livestock aboard the Hexa. We attempted to access the terminals, but she hangs and cycles on any attempt. There is a darkness on the bridge, an artifact, or maybe a few. The Cabal are not themselves, there is something controlling them. They do not adhere to their usual scouting report, they are inconsistent. They are unpredictable. They are feral. Not to mention the (inaudible words, static). Orders are to retrieve the Seal! Then evacuate before this place blows to smithereens. I fear I will not see you all on the other side, stand strong and long live the Empire!" The Immortal Seal of the Empire is used to mark correspondence from the Emperor to the Galactic Senate, and is also used as a symbol of the sovereignty itself. The central design, based on the iterations of pre-existing Empires, is the official coat of arms of the Emperor and also appears consistently on emblematic designs throughout their worlds. The seal of the Emperor was developed over a long period of time before being defined in law, and its early history remains obscure. A political signage for the ruler of the galaxy. The Galactic Alliance had this secreted away on the Hexa, as this is an iconic and empowering tool politically for the old Imperial regime. “Private Shiro, this information is incriminating, even though the GA is no more, we are in dangerous waters.” Private Durstan walked over to the nearest terminal, handing over the datapad to his new leader before leaning into the terminal behind him. He went through familiar processes and then the transmissions systems cracked awake. The entire ship could hear this now; GREETINGS. GREETINGS.. I AM YOUR HOST, CONSTRUCT 0854329-ERR. (SOUND CUTS OUT. STATIC) ERR- I AM YOUR HOST, PRISM. PLEASE EVACUATE THE HEXA AT YOUR NEAREST CONVENIENCE. THIS FACILITY IS HOME TO CRIMINALS FROM ACROSS OUR GALACTIC SPACE. THE SECURITY SYSTEMS HERE ARE STATE OF THE ART BECAUSE YOUR SAFETY IS OUR HIGHEST PRIORITY. LONG MAY THE GALACTIC ALLIANCE PROSPER! THE GALACTIC ALLIANCE HAS FALLEN. ALL SYSTEMS HAVE BEEN COMPROMISED. PLEASE EVACUATE. PLEASE ENJOY YOUR STAY. GREETINGS. I AM PRISM.
  2. SHIRO THE BRAVE The mess hall was a disaster, there had been a struggle here, and one that lasted for quite awhile. When was in question, but the men here were too fearful and desperate for salvation to deliberate the details. This new unit did not come with hope either, but rather a brash truth that was hard to swallow. It was hard for these Sith Troopers to not wince behind their helmets, braver men than them had perished before this moment, but now they were asked to do a thing they wanted no part of. Even if the three of them knew each other for the briefest of moments, the direness of their situations bonded them as one. The injured trooper fell in and out of consciousness, unsure if this is where it would all end for him. Blood pussed from the severe crack in his shin-bone, and any attempts in stopping the bleeding at this point was a challenge itself. His mate tried her best, she was no medic, and she had to be softer with her naked hand as she padded the wound. She trembled with fear, holding the life of another within the grace of her palm, unable to make a real difference. Private Saldana could only close her eyes as she heard Private Drustan unsheathe his pistol. He took two steps forward, kneeled in order to hinge the blaster under the jaw of his disabled crew-mate, and then yanked the trigger. The sound was cold, a simple merciful execution, but a chill could be felt between the two as the spirit of their Captain extinguished like a dying flame. The body of their leader fell slack, completely empty of life, but the blood still ran down the arms of a terrified Saldana. Her first kill was a thing of adrenaline, but to have someone die in her arms, she held back the urge to puke. Private Drustan on the other hand, holstered his pistol and scanned the cluttered hall, swearing he had heard a shift of movement before he shot his Captain dead. He ignored it, and made way for the unit that had just arrived. He saluted, manipulating his ego to stifle the urge to shoot Shiro square in his face. “Private Durstan, sir. Sorry, who are-” The HUD of his metallic helmet pinged as friendly, but the readout of just who this man was, continued to come up as a registry line corrupted. He smacked his helmet once, and then a second time, but perhaps it was defected. Saldana still sobbed as the weight of Captain Iven slowly pulled from her grasp and eased onto the frigid embrace of the steel floors. Durstan had an odd feeling of suspicion creep up the back of his spine, realizing that he did not know these people, and communications were still dead-in-the-water. And, with the intelligence that Captain Iven had entrusted to him, this could turn ugly fast.
  3. The corridor began to fill fast as formations scattered throughout the Sith Dreadnought to present themselves to their commanders. The shifting of armor, the shuffling of feet, and the ringing of alarms were loud enough to feed the rawest of adrenaline rushes. If the mind was not sharp, the sound of the body would become a distraction. Instructions were blared from each end of the hall, from the echoes of neighboring ones, with leadership commands droning out directives. One peak outside of a view-port would reveal pandemonium. Star-fighters were engaged, blasting into an enemy they were uncertain of. Perhaps the remnants of the Crusaders were really here, perhaps raiders had invited themselves to the chaos of Coruscant, and perhaps it was both. There was so much wreckage, that it was difficult to see what was truly out there from a glance. One could only image what the heart of Coruscant really looked like now. Time would soon reveal more. The major laugh maniacally nonetheless, the white of his skin unmatched by the white of his teeth, taunting the feverish soldiers before him. "Reports are that the enemy has a Heavy Cruiser roaming the debris field, a Dauntless. Our objective is to capture it. Boarding operations have began, and you all are late! Launch bay B47 awaits your arrival. Go now, and long live the Empire!" The Major saluted the many in attendance, the expression in his face a most determined one, wondering just how many of them would by alive to see another day.
  4. The weapon was a classic choice, common amidst the basic infantries applied across the armed forces of the Sith-Imperial. A peculiar man with skin as white as snow, and a head of hair that seemed to inorganically blend with his own flesh, stepped into the hall with wild curiosity sunken into his features. An aristocratic collar covered his neck and further up onto his jawline, the piece of attire was so vividly rich with the color of crimson, contrasting his pale and powdered face. He too held an E-11 standard issue blaster rifle, although his was slung across his shoulder. He surveyed the soldiers that wandered these halls, eyeing a particularly nervous individual. "...Standard issue for our Infantry, the E-11 can alternate between semiautomatic, fully automatic and pulse-fire settings, and is designed to use a variety of ammunition," The officer spoke loudly, clearly commanding the attention of the fresh batch of soldiers within his section. He worked his hands through the weapon, indicating what he spoke of. "An enhanced scope compensates for the most obscure of conditions, while this supplementary scope displays information specific to the weapon's current operating mode." Again, his hand motioned and tapped the two scopes. "You have a maximum range of three hundred meters and can nail anything with ease within a range of a hundred meters. This is crucial for your close-quarters firefights, especially the narrow confines of enemy installations and star-ship corridors you may find yourselves entrenched in." "You understand, Private?" The versatility of the blaster would be wasted if the creature that wielded it was not prepared for their lives to be weighed against another's on the field of battle. The field officer searched the rookie with a curious look, deliberating the nature of his arrival and assignment within his mind. The potential for him to be nothing more than a spy, was something to watch for. The influx of soldiers had been accelerated poorly with their transitioning from Kuat to Coruscant, fundamental operations keenly riddled with negligence. When the time came for pause, the prospects would suffer the malignant pressures of the Inquisition. "Have you ever seen Coruscant like this? Are you ready for what comes next?"
  5. The cantina seemed to quiet down at the mere whisper of that name. The scoundrels that drank their filth, drank a little slower with their eyes cocked a little wider. The old man did not react, seemed frozen in time as it were. You see, the mention of Jedi in these parts could leave a man hung from the lamp-post of the darkest corners, for they were few and hidden, and the Sith would sniff out any trace of them, no matter how small the crumb was. And so, the haggard fool stared with wonder, weighing the ignorance of an archeologist frolicking in the slums. There were others here, more than likely sharpening their blades and fixing a mental target to the back of the little lady. These were creatures of the bad kind, little to lose and everything to gain, and they preyed on the foolish. "Listen 'ere--" Glass slammed into the table, breaking the awkward silence. A drink for the lady, delivered in timely fashion by the inquisitive bartender, stamped on top of a brochure that he deceptively placed just a second before. The usual sound of the glass hitting the table, was a passive cue for the rest of the room to continue with whatever backwater business they were engaged in. The sound also suppressed a rising curiosity that nearly bellowed from the old drunk, again, with a timing that was unmatched. "Excuse his bad manners, the place you seek is right here on this pamphlet. Normally, there is a jolly little excursion planned for tourists to experience the Moonkeep route, but that has been shutdown for months now. Outside the walls have been far more dangerous than recent years, I'd be careful if I were you. Travel light and in the light." The bartender smiled with a row of clean whites and tipped his strangely fitted top-heavy. The long whiskers on his face gave hint to his peculiar species, and him twisting them between his fingers was something of a nervous twitch. All the while, the old man still watched her from top to bottom with an unflinching eye, the haze of his drunkenness seemingly drained from his appearance.
  6. The old cantina was but a small outcrop that squeezed itself between the seams of the newer establishments, sticking out like a bruised toe against the many more popular options that now made themselves available after the war. Development in Iziz was at an all-time high, and opportunists from every wretched corner insisted on leaving their mark. Familiar faces enjoyed the company of familiar faces, and those that frequented this particular bar knew the smell of fresh meat all too well. "..Yer none the better trading in rumors, darling. Yer super-guy might be fixing you for a bad time, naming things to strangers that you darn sure shouldn't be naming. Unless yer one of them witches now, that's what they'll be needing up them ways. Hair like fire I tell you, pretty face too, ain't never seen you around these parts.. But-but what was it you said you did again?" His haggard and heavy face drew closely to her own, promising the full punch of his alcohol-sweetened breath to roll delicately off of his sour tongue and into her little button nose. The old man had tired feel about him, his features sagging and his voice nearly coaxing black smoke from out of his throat. His bald head was the shiniest thing he owned, and judging by the fill of dirt between his nails, probably the cleanest. He dressed himself in typical civilian attire too, except his was more worn and worked in, loosely keeping to his old bones. He had a knowing look about his brown eyes though, eyebrows intrusively questioning her place here amongst thieves.
  7. The eldritch composition of the Sith fleet brooded across the lower orbit of Onderon. Black color-crafts trimmed with the red of battle blood washed each of the vessels that prowled the dark skies. The Black Scarab mounted the planet as crown jewel while the rest of the flotilla moved into a synonymous formation. The Sith Star Dreadnought steered the likes of the Imperial II-class Star Destroyer, the Bleeding Kyber. Warspite, Sunder, Hyperion and Blackblade cut their vessels into the black of space as an escort to their command ship. The collective armies and the bodies that conducted them were now aboard and moments away from their jump to the rendezvous coordinates. Those that abandoned the call of their King, would be ostracized from their ruling campaign indiscriminately. (Sith Fleet leaves for Space.)
  8. The words of the Massassi were hard to discern over the thrashing climate, rain and wind pounding terrain ceaselessly, and a film of smog that made it even harder to see. Darkness settled in, and the remnants of dawn bled from the black skies. A howling from all angles shrieked loudly, unapparent where the calls originated from. They were hungry, they were cries more alarming than the fierce atmosphere all around them, more intimidating than any creature one could call to mind. Erupting from the treelines, four enormous bestial shapes lunged with extraordinary speed. The four dashed across the field with a predatorial acuteness, all converging towards the loud and outspoken warrior Sith. Their bodies were a reflection of raw power, skin as hard as steel and a frame broadened with the power of the dark side. Each of them, easily comparable in sheer length to a stalwart speeder, covered from head to toe in dark bristles of hair. Monstrosities was what they were, mountainous bodies but with a swiftness that betrayed their brutish physical appearance. Their natural weapons were thick and sharpened enough to puncture armor of all kind, teeth and talons long and protruding. As they trudged heavily into the wet earth, the mud violently shifted beneath them. They were malformed hounds, salivating uncontrollably as they charged towards their mark. They carried no distinct formation, none that was obvious first-hand anyways, but each of them collaboratively rounded towards the Sith Warrior. Before he knew it, the four of them pounced towards him, all from different inclines, ready to tear him to shreds.
  9. "A frail child representative of the infamous Black Sun, the stoic boy Prince of Panatha, a mongering Neimoidian, the Dathomiri apprentice of the Dark Lord himself, and a giant f—king snake.." They might need a name— Valandil smiled with stained and broken teeth as they approached, as they mingled, and as their presences unrolled amidst the group. Each of them had a very vivid personality about them, even if nothing was spoken, there was much to be said in silence. Valandil watched amusingly as the inception of a small drama unfolded, but knew this was neither the time nor the place. "Okay! Okay!" The supervisor swung the sash of the spear from his shoulder, and planted the butt of his weapon firmly in front of his feet, sound loudly echoing off of the bridge they stood upon. Three Growler-556s were stationed all around them, all retrofitted to fit a pair of passengers instead of the customary 1. "We've got some hunting to do! Pair up!" Valandil brushed the unkempt hair from his face and pointed his spear towards the destination that they would soon find themselves. Their second-handed chariots that would get them there, were individually painted with distinction for identification purposes. Valandil kicked his first foot forward, and the metal pistons in his legs pushed functionally towards the all black Growler. The white one to the right held a fair bit of rust beneath the front-left turbine, while the red paint on the third landspeeder was peeling from front to back. Valandil strapped himself into the driver seat, and flared the engines, roaring the old engine across the walls of Dragon's Gate. He would allow them a few moments to get sorted, and wondered which of the five would find themselves accompanying him in his own cockpit. [OOC: Pair up, and let's get rolling, the fun begins now]
  10. S I T H C A M P A I G N [The Scourge of Nabara] Centuries ago, a ferocious legion of Taung tribesmen rampaged across this land, but were halted at the Battle of the Blood Reef by the power of an estranged Dark side sorcerer and his minions. The March of the Tyrant, as it was known, unleashed brute Sith Magic to defeat the warrior horde on those very plains. Stories tell of the Tyrants' raw ability to manipulate the land, subduing and imprisoning the unrelenting tribes beneath the war-torn terrain. Over time followers and survivors of the proud people began worship over the final resting place of these tribal warriors and built catacombs of cold stone over the battlefield in their honor. The influence of the Hjertet av Raseri is beginning to thaw out an ever ancient power, warming spirits of the dead that have long been lost to the annals of history. It is a plague that has resulted in a quarantine of a large circumference of land in the deep South of Onderon, investigation reveals that the plague was created by the aggressive expanse of the nearby Hjertet av Raseri and is centered around a festering populace of afflicted fauna. A team of scout troopers enlisted to survey the area, but communications with the group have been nothing short of failure. A distress beacon has recently been deployed in the thick of it, but the objective is buried too far beneath the deep cover of the forest. It is impossible for our ships to rendezvous, you must adhere to the ground game. Several stationed speeders are untenanted just outside of Dragons' Gate, use these to spark your journey, for travel to the South is long-winded. The damp forests of Nabara was known as the dwelling-place of these Taung, and those that now occupy the area reflect the gladiatorial qualities of those that were before. The forest was a haven for those that lived for the hunt, who were able to survive and live off of the land. Nabara is a large expanse of connected woodlands, with long, murky streams running along the relentless undergrowth and a magnificent variety of animals living in the foliage of the incredibly tall trees. Most that live in the region still build their homes like their ancestors did, constructing houses and huts high into the trees and on the treetops. Since Nabara can be and often is a cruel home, few of these settlements are permanent. These forests are also home to a great variety of dangerous beasts, ranging from the more mundane Tee-muss all the way to terrifying Drexl and Gutkurr. 1) Reach the Beacon 2) Eliminate the Afflicted 3) Optional: Redezvous with the Scouting Party Guide: Lord Exodus Participants: [sith] Exodus [sith] [Telperien Ar-Pharazon] [ MISSING ] [sith] [Nok Morliss] [ MISSING ] [sith] [snake] [ MISSING ] [sith] [Milenko] [ MISSING ] [Ally] [Celora Karth] [ MISSING ] OOC THREAD* - Look Here ============================================================================================== Chapter One R E N D E Z V O U S Valandil Simmons is an exceptionally handsome man, but beneath the good looks is a shallow, abrasive personality. He often stares vacantly into the distance, mentally dissecting the intricacies of his lifeline. He is perceptive and has good knowledge of survival in Onderon and is usually seen buried in traditional card games. He usually wears a black robe and has his spear slung over his shoulder. His long chestnut hair reaches down to his waist and wears a strange pair of goggles to shield his eyes. Beneath his robe he wears a custom-built plate barding that's adorned with green lining and jungle motifs. Valandil is envious of those that immerse themselves in the adrenaline of adventure, for his time as a Onderonion hunter ended prematurely when his legs were viciously ripped from their sockets by a pregnant Drexl. He spends his days hoarding small treasures and trading for art, and anything that he so desires. Nonetheless Valandil is a true patriot, and would do anything for his people. He is fiercely protective of his fellow citizens and foreign allies. By the narrow neck of Dragon Gate, he watched for five particular individuals who had been assigned to his post, knowing his message had reached them the night prior. Just outside of the bastion, Valandil was accompanied by several ground-speeders, all of varying sizes. The odd folk, or hunter, or trooper would pass him by and enter through the Gate, or would follow the fork in the road to enter Iziz by other means. The cold and dark bridge however is where he pondered a great many things, mostly alone. With nothing but the scruff of his beard in one hand, and a chewed smoke-pipe dangling from the tip of his lips, he sat and waited..
  11. “Mr. Morliss, your timing is a curious one. The ruins and corpses that your vessel swims through, came seeking the Sith all the same. Be careful what you ask for. Proceed to harbor A3789, you will be processed for inspection. Thorough coordinates are being uploaded to your navigation system, it is strongly advised that you do not deviate.” The uplink muzzled out and the directions through the minefield transferred to the Bleeding Edge. Other off-world transports would tail behind this ship, just as ships that had come before were accelerating towards a similar pathway. Traffic towards Iziz City would be choked until the minefield was bridled by the same operations team that had laid them. Once the Bleeding Edge had touched down, a dedicated sweep of the ship, and an interrogation of those on-board would be customary.
  12. "Lady Darksong," The world-weary voice peeled from the shadows casted by the metal walls surrounding the entrance to the command center, and now the full figure of a man approached her slowly. A smooth and synthetic black armor covered the messenger entirely, no trace of who or what he was. He was no a muscular creature, for traveling the shadows as he did, beckoned him to be the lightest he could be on his feet. The helmet that sheltered the world from his features shared similarities to that of the common Sith Trooper, but this held no color and carried the etchings of a spider-web scratched into the full-visor. "..It is an honor." The Shadow bowed deeply and knelt onto bended knee, expressing his admiration for the power that this woman held. "There has been a development on the world of Korriban, Vardin Valley has been restored to health." As he spoke, he turned his palm over and then opened it to reveal a chained medallion. This one differed vastly from the ones that the newcomers of the Valley were now in a rave about. This medallion was crafted diligently, compounded with the finest of metals the Krath had access too. Buried inside the centerpiece of the medallion, an exquisite black jewel laid asleep. The messenger extended his lanky arm, and offered the important piece of jewelry to Master Darksong. "He has chosen you to rule over the Bastion of Pelko." The Shadow, through his otherworldly tone of voice, waited patiently with the gift in arm.
  13. ___ Over the course of the weeks prior, the capital of Onderon and the settlements that neared, lifted their hesitations of the new administration of power. It was an unfamiliar aura, one that the people believed would doom them as soon as the peaceful acquisition was completed. Truth was, this civilization had been anchored from the poor supervision of those that came before. Occupations opened up all across the districts; developmental work on structures that were left in poor conditions, professions that the Black Sun provided the people, depreciated defenses that left the public at risk had now been re-tooled and reinforced. The treasuries swelled, public morale sky-rocketed and the safety of the general population had never been this invested in. Crime was at an all-time low, and order had been established across the board with teams of councils to dole out new legislation. Open trade boomed louder than ever, which was illustrated by the amount of off-world vessels that charted back and forth. The alliance between the Sith and the Black Sun coined a brilliant theme of collaboration that the communities took note of, and even employed into their own everyday lives. Ever since the Jedi had abandoned them, enthusiasts made their voices well-known, condemning the dogmatic preachings of the Jedi and embracing the freedom and liberation that Emperor of the Sith had driven. Consecrated places of worship became a new trend throughout Iziz, a service to the Dark Lord and what his power meant to them. This was the healthiest the settled localities of Onderon had been, especially with a subdued fear from the creatures that remained outside of the wall. The Sith and Black Sun made it sport to hunt these creatures, and host monumental feasts with the public in celebration. The communion between the Onderonians, the Sith, and the Black Sun had bonded the three parts into one. They began to share their beliefs to the core, and preach them as their own, a mental conviction of strengthening self fundamentally by any means. Growth of Onderon, and its people, was at last blossoming.
  14. The bedfloor of sand that covered the expanse just outside of the Praxeum reminded him of an amphitheater that he and others would spill blood in for sport. It was a time when war ran deep between all factions, and indiscriminate murder was how one survived. The smell of sweat and blood still stained his nostrils, and he could never soak the stench from his skin. His scales reflected a profuse red, perhaps forever drenched in the life force of those he had slaughtered. The mildew of Korriban was different now, and the caliber of warriors that existed paled in comparison to what it once was. General Omm reviewed the responses from the children before him, noticing the another that had arrived at the burly gates. Sickly eyes, filled with the curiosity of a carnivorous reptile, searching all three men thoroughly. Their emotions, their body languages, and the tone of their voices all provided detail into who and what they were. "Acolytesss Camik, Acheron, and Nieve. You three will be the firssst of many, to usssher in a new era. You have come ill-prepared for battle, but I asssssure you, that will change ssswiftly under my command. Wherever you carry yourssselvess, you must be prepared. Your life will be challenged. If you are not ready for thisss, your journey will end before you know it." General Omm reviewed the three of them, and extended his powerful arm to the West. "There exissstss an inssstitution to the Wessst, your admissssion into the Sssith beginsss there. Enter the deposssitory and retrieve the bassicss of whatever weaponsss you desssire. Tell them the General hass ssent you. When you've gathered yoursselvess. Take the carrier to the Wesst and you will come upon the Academy. I will sssee you all there." (Access the small facility, take a starter melee/ranged weapon that will represent the combative direction you want your character to take on, and then take a small transport West to the Academy. It will be a new topic, which isn't created yet, but will be. So look out for that.)
  15. Ships of all classifications hailed across the lands. An outpouring of meticulous Sith task forces bled into the forests and small settlements. Creatures covered in black armor from head-to-toe moved unnervingly with eerie discipline and formation. Battalions moved swiftly to subdue the opposition without an inkling of mercy, enslaving those that survived and butchering those that clung to their stubborn insistence. Their presentation was a first for the galaxy at large to bear witness too, for the movement of the Sith Legion had only existed in stories decades old. They were here now, as invasive as any nightmare, and overwhelming in presence. There were vessels that hauled large quantities of these soldiers, monstrous vehicles, and also ships re-purposed for the detainment of fresh slaves. In the midst of these enormous deployments there were few who were cloaked in the wicked vestments of a Sith Lord, and these were the creatures that marshaled an animosity that shredded the opposition with blinding terror. Kashyyyk was no match.
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