Onderon

[The Sith Empire]

“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.

[Jaina Jade Skywalker]

Lungs screamed for air as vacuum absorbed her into peaceful oblivion, the ejection mechanism of Jaina's XJ7 betraying her into the arms of cold, welcoming, indiscriminate death. It was a fitting punishment for her deceit, nature's retribution for betraying the desperate yearnings she had shouted into the Force. The stars winked out one by one as shadow encroached on the titian light filtering through the blast shield of her helmet. Even commanding her heart to still and her circulation to quiet, the sparkling spots of oxygen deprivation began to take over her faculties.

 

Reaching through the Force, filtering through the detritus and active vessels around her, she looked for an anchor point by which to pull herself back towards the Alliance ships, hoping to make a hangar before vacuum got the better of her. Momentum began to gather through empty space, a surreality that Jaina's body seemed reluctant to process, when a flicker from her danger sense alerted her.

 

TIE fighters seemed so much smaller from the cockpit of a ship that could obliterate them as easily as breathing.

 

The starfighter clipped her leg, catching her in its flight path and sending her spinning towards the opposite panel. Struggling for equilibrium, she cursed under her breath, exerting the Force with a push of her hand towards the TIE's engines. The blackness of vacuum won out as her head made contact with the undercarriage of the starfighter's fuselage.

 

Quiet.

 

Cold.

 

---

 

"Darex asked me, I have to go."

 

"What am I supposed to tell him?"

 

"Don't tell him anything, he'll find out for himself. It's not like I can keep this from him. But he wouldn't understand. That's why I have to go, now."

 

A parting glimpse of her ship, bearing her live husband and deathly child, showed a flicker of the conflict that poured out from within Jaina as the Coruscant skyline began to dim. The battles of this galaxy he perceived to be beneath him. He had fought through a celestial plane Jaina yet did not understand in order to be with her. She, who remained one of his last living ties to the galaxy as Jaina perceived it. But she was a Jedi Master, and her word given to her Order was her bond. Until she could better grasp the balance between family and duty, for the first time that she could remember, she would lean on the side of duty. It did not escape her thoughts that even shooting at the ships of her enemies could be friendly fire, and a twinge of hope sent through the bond that stretched across time and space knocked at the shuttered gate.

 

The call had come, and Jaina would go to fight.

 

---

 

Cold.

 

Quiet.

 

Noncompliant lids refused to part company, and a slow, trembling hand snaked up to touch the back of her head. Her helmet was gone, and her hair was matted with sticky particulate dried blood that crumbled as she traced her fingers across her scalp. A thick metal collar hung around her neck, but she did not feel the telltale emptiness of the ysalamir's kiss. Ironic, that they bothered with a collar such as this one, without stripping her of the power that could free her. An oversight that she would use to her advantage should it come to it, but for now, the steady alert humming like an engine in her gut gave the impression that while danger surrounded her, volatility could be avoided with careful maneuvering until she could get herself out of here.

 

Where was here?

 

By sheer strength of will alone she peeled her eyes open, and was greeted with nothingness. The resemblance between the maw of her subconscious to the unyielding blackness of her surroundings was uncanny, but this was no netherworld of the Force, no alternate plane of reality.

 

If it were, everything wouldn't hurt so much.

 

Atgriešanās...

 

The hateful whisper refused to come with the dignity of soundwaves to pierce the air. The aether that called to her innermost being bore none of the good will nor the permeating regret that Raynuk's desperate cry had offered or engendered. But the steely bond to Montar's being remained quiet, and she did not hear with his understanding, not this time. By virtue of her youth at the hand of the Grand Vizier to Lord Ar-Pharazon himself, the language had been seared into her mind with the telling lash of a cruel master's patience. Rocky wastelands saw her blood and sweat as she struggled silently to do the bidding of the master whose dreams of her greatness had been the only thing sparing her from an untimely end. She had repaid him in kind for the strength he had afforded her, for the one lesson he had succeeded in teaching her.

 

Betrayal comes from anywhere.

 

The fractal presence that filled the air around her, that tested her with parlaying glances and the patience of a lunging predator who knew his prey could not evade him, was a thousand times more deadly than Bishop of Battle, though kin to Madness he had been. The hissing allure of familiar darkness tied a line around the same hook that had always found its mark. Heady and powerful, it threatened to whisk away all she had worked to build, with the simple whisper: return to me. The only light here was that which she had brought with her, and even with as strong as she was, it was dangerously dim. He was not to be trifled with, this man who watched her assessingly from nothingness.

 

Steadily, she pushed herself up on scraped palms to sit with her back to the wall, reaching for the Force that granted grace to her movements, even with her leg throbbing from where it had made contact with the TIE. A chill brought on by her movements told her that flight suit was torn and tattered, but no thought to her own modesty would have her back down from evaluating this new threat that watched her from the shadows like a tomb-dwelling laigrek waiting to strike. She had no way of knowing whether they could see her, but she did not possess the strength of will to pierce through the darkness to illuminate the situation. In that regard, she would have patience. But if they were waiting for her to open the discussion, she would not disappoint.

 

"You know, Sith holding cells really have improved in quality since the last time I was in one. The last one was full of water and the corpses of my friends, so I'll call this an upgrade," she began nonchalantly, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the wall. With a self-deprecating smile, she added in the Sith tongue that sprang too readily to her lips for her liking, "Es neesmu svešinieks tumsai."

[Krath Apothos]

As the message cut out, Nok shivered. Was it relief? Fear? Or a premonition?

 

Raise temperature by 3 degrees, and follow uploaded course to the indicated coordinates

 

"Roger roger" came the pilot's tinny voice over the intercom.

 

The air warmed again, and Nok relaxed. This was a new experience for him. As the ship wove its way through the debris and mines, he reflected on how little control he truly had right now. If the sith decided he was a threat, or just annoying or inconvenient, they'd kill him and he wouldn't even be a footnote in their day. His body would be left floating in the void beside the hundreds of corpses of those who had sought to challenge the Sith

 

Dead in the cold and dark

 

Increase temperature by 3 degrees

 

A hot blast of air washed through the room, the chamber now bordering on sweltering. Nok relaxed, the tension leaving him. He had been in situations like this before, and his intelligence, confidence, and pride had always seen him through. There were things he could still control. If this investment, this gamble, paid off then there would be nothing in this universe that would deny him.

 

___

 

The Bleeding Edge landed gently in harbor A3789, the luxury yacht's advanced shocks absorbing even the smallest jostle to ensure any passengers remained undisturbed.

 

"Sir," the pilot droid's voice came over the comm, "they are requesting we remain aboard until a full sweep can be performed."

 

Cooperate fully, and direct any who wish to speak with me to the suite.

 

Outside his room, Nok heard the muffled thuds of trooper boots and the quiet whine of heavy equipment powering on. Alongside were the muted clangs of his security droids shifting, no doubt to make room for the troopers as per his orders.

 

He smiled to himself as he poured another glass of corellian whiskey. They'd no doubt find some interesting things aboard. Nok had always had an eye for the unusual and valuable. His favorite possession on the ship though wasn't any of the works of art or historical artifacts or exotic trophies he'd collected. He looked to the end table, tucked into the corner and shadowed by the room's soft lights. Sitting on the table, almost negligently, was a skull. Anyone who'd seen the creatures would recognize it as the skull of a howlrunner of Kamar. The skull looked almost human, but with oversized fangs perfect for tearing chunks of flesh from whoever found themselves on the receiving end. Nok's noghri trainers has used two of the creatures as a final test of his self-defense training. And extreme training method but for the amount Nok had paid them he would have accepted nothing less. Armed only with his vibroknives, he'd been forced to contend with two of the beasts in a pit, after the noghri had starved them for two days.

 

Absent-mindedly, his fingers traced the scars on his chest, hidden by his robe. He'd not come away unscathed. He'd slain the most aggressive one with some impressive knife work he'd never been able to duplicate outside of real combat. The other had backed down when Nok cowed it by showing it the severed head of its companion. Nok kept the skull of the one he'd killed as a reminder to never let himself back down. He might hide, or lie, or withdraw, but he'd never give up. The howlrunner who'd backed away without fighting...Nok had him prepared for dinner that same night. Another lesson to remember.

 

Nok considered his glass of corellian whiskey, then walked over to the disposal and dumped it out. Reaching into the suite's cooler, he pulled out a bottle of fine coruscanti wine, the kind the affluent kept on shelves to show off, and poured two glasses. He sat back down, positioning one glass across from him while he sipped the other. The smooth, cool fluid flowed over his tongue and tingled as it trickled down his throat, a perfect contrast to the near stifling air.

[Exodus]

The impenetrable obscurity of the small cell crawled up and down the walls, an opaque so dense that it blotted out the distance from your eyes to your nose, filling the air between them with nothingess. An accompanying chill toyed with their sixth senses, hair-raising with how silent each of the bodies were, sweeping eerily between them as they breathed in suspense. The Jedi woman stirred awake, and the Spider watched her searchingly, knowing just who she was but held a keener interest in what she was capable of. The extremely high potency of his predaceous vision pierced the darkness and fastened tightly on even the tiniest of her movements, while the wolfish emerald wash of his irises bled a small measure of shine into the room as he watched. It took a brief moment for her to come to her wits, and then another few for her to draw herself against the back of the wall, before she spoke. And speak she did, in the profound language of the Sith, with a particular polish of dialect known to the Dark Lord.

 

"Lady Skywalker," the soft drum of his charming voice was strangely mimicked with an underlying cadence that could only be described as inhumanly devilish. "If water is what you desire, I shall have a maid fetch you a glass." Exodus spoke deliberately with sheathed satire, but the depth of his tone passed for sincerity. He took a step forward while she closed her eyes and leaned her head on the cold surface of the thick wall. He took another few to close the distance, but his movement went unheard, as if the echo of his steps played themselves curiously in a separate plane of existence. "..As for your friends?" Thrillingly, he now knelt one knee down next to his captive, the words of his voice brushing off the side of her cheek. "I have murdered far too many of them this time around, to appropriately fit their corpses here with you in the comfort of this cell. I am sure they send their regards." The expression on his face was impassive, even if she could not see it. He did not care to jest with this woman, what he spoke rang true, and before the night was out, many more would die.

 

Exodus leaned forward cordially, brushing aside the strands of her hair that matted  against the metal collar wrapped around her neck. He could smell the expired perspiration that had soaked into what remained of her clothes, the salted scent rolling off of her skin. A metal click then echoed off of the walls, and the collar that once binded the Jedi fell inoperably into her lap, circuits completely rendered. The pilots that had captured the practiced warrior took the precautions of the slave collar in order to execute her if she woke with resistance. A different force was before her now, and his presence alone would manifest a threat exposure parallel to none.

 

 

• "..Es neesmu tumsa. Es esmu tas ir Dievs."

 

Exodus returned to height, and he could feel the yacht shudder to a stop. Security protocols would be deployed before departure from the ship, and a thorough debriefing would be the follow up. But for now, this Jaina Jade Skywalker would have a moment of clemency, and an opportunity to inquire about what had happened since she fell. Her time was surrendered the moment she had arrived above the planet of the Sith.

[Camik Rhonik]

Camik listened to his master and stood a little straighter. He still hated the collar around his neck and plotted the brutal and bloody murder of those that would put one around his neck but he was not an idiot. He would have to work on internalizing his feelings. His master was right, wearing his emotions on his sleeve would do nothing but alert his enemies.

 

He contemplated what Oni said about his time as a slave. It was not how camik would describe it, but perhaps it was more like chains. Wasn’t that part of what the Sith Code talked about breaking chains? He had never thought about that part as much as he did right now.

 

As he noticed movement coming towards them he realized this conitplation was for another time, perhaps after a sparring session with Oni-bot.

 

Seeing the new Darth walk into the room Camik marveled in his armor. It seemed to put his simple black robes that he wore to shame and Camik made a mental note that he needed to find a better wardrobe. It was obvious that his Master, as much of a bastard that he was, was a figure of importance and was going to be meeting with other powerful individuals. Camik was his apprentice and was sure he could be considered a herald in some situations. He was his Master's representative and needed to look the part, first impressions were important and Camik needed to think what he wanted that to be.

 

As he was introduced to the Darth he gave a bow of his head but kept silight. While he had most of his emotions under control he did not trust himself to speak at the moment. The collar still burned around his neck and he still had a ways to go to master his outwardly shown emotions.

[Jaina Jade Skywalker]

The world before her was painted in enough color within the hallows of her mind itself that Jaina had no need to subject her corneas to the indignity of searching for the light that would not come. With every step that he took toward her, this Darkest One brought to bear on her psyche a kaleidoscope of charcoal black as rich as Kuatian caf. The carefully cultivated seething within him was as multivalent as the most thickly woven web. This was not a man given to evil tendencies, a casual criminal whose habits were supported by situational degeneracy. His every breath rang with the truth of depravity, of carefully calculated movements, a Master of Dejarik facing her across the board. Here, the Sith put their best piece forward, a gambit of whose repercussion she was not unaware. Here, there be monsters. Here, there was no need to open her eyes because light was not permitted to exist.

 

And yet, here she was, a glistening spark of starfire, perforating the fabric of reality by her presence amongst this level of hell. His breath like silk cascaded across her cheek, bearing words like poison under the guise of a scent that reminded Jaina of twinfruit or spiced wine. But she, the woman who walked dauntless through the halls of four Grand Masters of the Jedi and four Dark Lords of the Sith; she, who had managed to hold the hand that had disrupted creation, could find within herself neither remorse for those who had lost their lives willingly in the name of the galaxy's protection nor intimidation at the hand of her captor.

 

But nevertheless, she would choose her words carefully.

 

"Citi ir apgalvojuši, ka ir dievi. Vīrieši, katrs pēdējais." The haze of dusky emptiness was at last graced by the fiery hazel-auburn eyes that clashed with his sickly emerald like lit sabers in the penumbra, laden with more curiosity than defiance. "What it is that makes you different?"

 

It was no challenge, nor a request for proof: there was obviously something about this man that set him apart from the Emperors and Dark Lords of Jaina's mixed history. There was no way of knowing what, exactly, he wanted from her, or why he had spared her to begin with. But since a man such as this did not trifle, she was here for one of three reasons: to extract information, to make an example of, or for the pure sport of her company. Her very presence among such captors did not serve as conclusive evidence to the outcome of the battle: such a high-ranking target would, in fact, fetch more unsavory attention than Jaina herself was prepared to admit or acknowledge. Perhaps, having obtained her in their strategic move, the Sith had withdrawn. Alternatively, having lost her, the Jedi themselves may have withdrawn to cut losses.

 

Her self-deprecating smile faded into a weak grin as the initial shock ebbed and the throbbing of her leg would no longer be dissuaded, so given was she to shielding her mind from the particular investigations of this enigma. Swallowing felt like rubbing sandpaper up and down the insides of her throat, and she added, "If you're offering room service, I wouldn't say no to a nice Corellian brandy."

 

From across an indeterminate distance, Jaina's carefully constructed defenses were assailed: not from without, but from within. The darkness that called to her had echoed throughout her soul, reverberating with enough strength to awaken the bond that had lain dormant. And from across the length of distance, an unexpected reply rang with enough force to rattle her concentration.

 

Dažreiz tumsā ir draugi...

 

For the first time since Jaina had returned to herself in the confines of this cell, she was truly afraid. Mephitic recklessness melted off like the early morning cloud cover in early Alderaanian spring. Despite herself, damned be her self-made promises of strength and resolve, she found herself reaching through the adumbration for the reassurance of the celestial mind that was dead set on her. At the hand of this Dark One, this woman who had everything and nothing indeed had much to lose.

[Karys Narat iv-Adas]

It pleased Karys to know that this particular Sith didn't seem to mind his presence or apparent interruption. In fact, he appeared to welcome the reprieve somewhat from what he could gather. Extending his arm, Karys greeted the man in a likewise similar manner and indicating he also saw this man as an equal as well.

 

Albeit one slightly more advanced in his skill set but an equal all the same. He lowered the mask and hood, revealing his scarred face, and tattoos that eerily glowed upon a bald red head. Here he felt no real threat or need to hide his true self from this man or his apprentice. He would try to remember the name.

 

Darth Oni.

 

One of only a few so far to show him signs of friendship. And if it was one thing Karys knew, true allies were hard to come by. As the young Cathar bowed, he returned a bow of his own before speaking.

 

“He seems very quiet, am I that frightening.” he chuckled “A pleasure to meet you both, I haven't had much opportunity of late to interact with others of our brethren and those interactions for most part I have had, have not been the most conductive to my health. So I welcome the opportunity.

 

It gladdens me that you rejoice in my species revival, it is true we have had a rough existence. But if anything we are a resilient and deviant lot and prove time and again...that the Dark protects those who place faith in it, despite the efforts of others to destroy us.

 

But alas where were we? Ah yes, Sheog The Mad. Indeed, he is a Master of the Order, in fact by my understanding his well respected and a master of the more archaic arts of the Sith. A Master of the Krath. He is one above all others that has my utmost respect and admiration. For it was he who truly made me, and helped me to mold myself into that which I have become. Despite his rather....unorthodox methods.

 

I owe him a debt that could not be repaid. It was his efforts with the battlemind, combined with my efforts and others that just recently assisted with the defeat of our enemy above this planet. I'm certain you can still see the result of that fight outside or if you were to leave the planet. It is a shame you missed it.”

 

Pondering a moment, the Massassi continued.

 

“But I'm sure there shall be other times. Maybe in one of those we might fight together some day, it is always admirable to witness another warrior at work. As it happens however, I am in a bit of a hurry, so my time here is short. But as I said it is a genuine pleasure meeting you, if its one thing I'm short on its those on whom I can rely or can trust, true allies and friends. I have a feeling you are one whom can be trusted, so I am taking a risk and extending the hand of friendship. If its wanted...no matter if this was a meeting of chance or not. My instincts tell me that it is the right choice and much can be gained for us both by this.”

 

As Karys waited, he wondered if his instincts were truly right. Was this risk worth it? He would soon find out.

[Delta73]

“Well we win some and we loose some Zalis, sad about Bespin, but you know we can always take it back when they aren’t looking. And I’ll be honest I have no clue who Yuri On Ice is or what their report is full of, i’ve been running a warzone here and we will be running straight into another one soon enough. I’ll try to find the Dark Lord and my daughter, they are probably somewhere on the Scarab so join me here.”

 

He didn't mind the Black Sun Vigo all that much, in fact he had died beside her on a whim just to smoke some furries, so he wouldn’t mind her company for the next journey. He continued his very long walk towards wherever this long dark corridor brought him. As he composed a message to the Dark Lord on his wrist mounted datapad.

“The Victory has cost us little and brought much pain and death upon the Tripartite pact of Jedi, GA, and imperials. My Lord, we are on the verge of victory and we must continue our press into the Core before they have a chance to rebuild we must strike their allies while the Iron is hot and bring the Empire to ruin. I submit the target of Kuat as a place to begin our assault on the Core. I eagerly await your reply, also say hi to Jaina from me. Thx - Blood Prince”

[Commander Valinor]

As the midnight sky was alight with falling space debris that scarred the heavens with omber grey trails of ash and brief gouts of yellow fire, the disciples of darkness hunted. The bright falling chunks of Mon Calamari ship design cast harsh shadows from the tall trees of Onderon to briefly hide those who sought refuge in their darkness. War had rules, rules for prisoners of war, rules for treatment, for warcrimes, all of which were ignored by the Acolytes of the Spider as they surrendered to their lust for blood. Led by the Felix Legions shuttled down from the Super Star Destroyer, the packs of near feral warriors of the Sith rushed through the underbrush, tripping and falling over each other in the attempt to get to downed Galactic Alliance or Jedi escape craft. The Felix Legions running beside those that had surrendered to their base instincts, their long handled lightsabres casting bright red light from the long blades as they crashed through the jungles.

 

Valinor, lord Admiral and commander of the Legions of Felix glided through the underbrush, his feet making not a sound as he headed a pack of hunters towards a Jedi Escape craft. He could feel the cold fear emanating from the small craft and the ten or so occupants who were trapped under a bough of a jungle tree that the shuttle had smashed into. He held up a black gloved hand and the wave of Sith and Black Sun skidded to a halt behind him, panting, their eyes bloodshot and weapons held in loose grips of men that had long ago lost their minds to the lust of the Sith Mind Meld. It would not surprise Valinor if they would cannibalize their victims.

 

He gestured to an Onderonian Defense Forces leader, or Brigadeführer in their local tongue and the white haired man stepped forward, his breaths slowing and some clarity returning to his eyes.

 

“We shall rescue them and bring them the hospitality of the Sith. Accompany me. Felix!”

 

The snap of a hundred boot heels crashing together in attention brought a warm smile beneath Valinor’s masquerade as he walked towards the trapped shuttle. The members of his legion stepping out of the crowd of hunters, their dark armour and long black Chlamys inlaid with silver with the crimson spider upon their chests marking them as being of the Felix, the long handled lightsabers held in two hands beside their heads, blades perfectly vertical in the aggressive Vom Tag stance. Fifty crimson blades that formed a circle around the downed shuttle and provided light for their Lord. The hunters behind them, waiting, lusting for the chance to strike.

 

Valinor and the Onderonian leader stepped beside the shuttle, and with a quick slash of the blade, the tree that trapped it fell, cracking in the wind that whipped through its branches. With a hiss and a rush of air that stirred his dark cloak, the Jedi shuttle opened. Its occupants laid bare, all with hands in the air, and frightened expressions on their faces. Two jedi and eight crew members, perhaps of the reformed Antarian Rangers.

 

The Jedi stood to her full height, a tall Arkanian, with long white hair that fell past her shoulders, to lay like snow upon her cloak’s hood. Her apprentice was a young twi'lek girl of middle teenage years with bright green skin which shone a ghastly yellow in the light of the red sabres and she stared with wide scared eyes at the ring of sabres and the fearsome Lord before them.

 

Valinor extended his hand to the pair, his voice echoing through the clearing. “Come children there is nothing to fear.”

 

His lie was amplified by their own hopes, like nerfs into the kill chute the tredded out of the relative safety of the shuttle, surrendering their weapons and keeping their hands raised above their heads. 8 Antarian Rangers and their two Jedi. Whome Valinor knew they would defend to their lives end. A cult of personality.

 

mēs atzinīgi vērtējam viņu nāves gadījumus tev, zirneklis

 

The chanting was soft and was barely audible at first as the captives were marched into the centre of the clearing with Valinor beside them. He reached a tender hand out and lay it upon the Twi’leks head. Her headtails twitched in fear, and her voice stammered when she replied.

 

“Leena Kemma sir.”

 

“Do you wish to leave the life of the Jedi behind you?”

 

Her voice took on the edge of a teenager who was willing to do anything for her morals in an attempt to please her masters. Disgusting. In response Valinor’s hand drifted down to her lekku, caressing them with durasteel manacles. Her Master started forward, her Arkanian eyes wide in alarm.

 

“If you leave the Jedi behind I will let your friends and master go free…”

 

Her eyes widened at this moral quandary, trying to find her master’s eyes to find an answer.

 

“Aren’t you supposed to protect the innocent little one?”

 

“I can’t…”

 

The manacle clamped down on a lekku ceasing all struggles from the girl as he wrenched her head around to watch as the Antarian rangers were kicked to their knees by the Legion. Their protests were sad and pitiful, begging for families, of parents, or the Jedi themselves to save them. The captain though was stoic, his hard eyes looking mournfully at the red sabres. He would be first then.

 

“Look then child at the results of your selfish choices.”

 

A legionnaire extinguished his sabre and withdrew a long needle-like bayonet from his belt and drew it skillfully across the man’s face. The icecold blade carved to the bone in swirls of sith like tattoos. Finally eliciting a scream and shouts of protest from the other nine captives. With an additional skillful cut, the legionnaire removed the skin from his skull, peeling it back like the skin of a fruit and keeping him very much alive, eyes staring unblinking as pitiful sobs coursed out of his blood flecked lips. He would die in time. Several days maybe.

 

“We demand that you treat us according to the proto-”

 

The protest of the Jedi master was cut short with a quick backhand that snapped her jaw and left it hanging loose and unhinged, blood dribbling lazily down to mat her white hair.

 

“I’ll do it!” Screamed the young girl. “I'll do whatever you want, just don’t hurt her. Please. Please, please…” Tears were now running in rivers down the Twi’leks face.

 

“Oh sweet child...”

[Sith X]

Oni gazed upon the Sith Lord from beneath his own mask, watching his facial expressions, movements, and hearing his words. Observant, was he, the demon that was Lucas Chism also known as Darth Oni, or so was the names he carried. But that was for a different day and a different story to tell. For now, Oni smiled, removing his own Mask and revealing the blonde locks that hid themselves beneath, his brown gaze revealing a rather kindred heart within the beast if the Massassi chose to look within them.

 

"Forgive my Apprentice's silence." Oni spoke in jest, placing a palm upon the Cathar's shoulder with a humble grasp, much like a father would in pride of his son. "He's not too happy with me at the moment. A former slave does not like being required to wear a collar once more, but a lesson is a lesson. he must learn to live with things that anger him, just as with any emotion, lest it control him to the point of savagery."

 

"It is necessary to feel emotion, but not let it control you." Oni spoke, turning momentarily to Camik as he gave one last bit of advice. "Emotions can empower you, strive you forward even in the most dire of moments. But once it takes you over completely, you become a hindrance and complication to yourself and your allies as much as your foes. The Darkness is a double edge sword in most cases, as deadly to yourself as much as it is to your enemies. This is why I urge you to express yourself, yet, retain your composure. Do you understand Camik?"

 

Oni sat in silence for a moment, allowing Camik to think on his words and granted Akheron a moment to offer any input he wished before he continued.

 

"Indeed Lord Akheron. There will be ample opportunity for us to fight side by side. I feel it in the winds." Oni spoke, a humble smile crossing his face. "And like you, I find allies and friends to scarce these days, especially among our brethren." His mind momentarily turned toward Nurgle, Ki, and Haphaestus causing his eyes to briefly glaze onyx. "But no, I will not receive your hand of friendship, Lord Akheron, but rather your hand as a brother. I can sense nobility in you, and even perhaps honor, true signs of a Warrior. This pleases me." And Oni meant his words whole heartily. There was something about this warrior before him, that gave Oni a sense of fellowship. Only time would tell if Oni had placed his faith rightfully, this time at least.

 

R.I.P. Nanny (6/3/1941-1/9/2012)

R.I.P. Papa (2/14/1936-2/7/2012)

R.I.P. Big Mike (5/12/82-11/9/2012)

~Revelations 21:4 (KJV)~

 

*******************************************************************************************************************************************************

 

Meanwhile, another GA captive is brought forth before the Dark King Exodus and placed on knees before the Sith Sovereign, his green eyes blindfolded and his long silver locks of hair identifiable by two names. Once known as Scorpio Armegedon GA Lieutenant and former Jedi Knight and once known as Anakin Starkiller former Sith Lord trained under Lord Furion, a long outstanding warrant for his death and execution having lingered upon his head with extreme measures, issuer unknown.

 

Galactic Alliance Lieutenant(Acting)/Former Jedi Knight(Self-Exiled)

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

Telperiën stood in silence, watching the exchange between the Jedi Council Member and the Dark Lord of the Sith. Listening and feeling the exchange of words in the force, feeling how it ebbed and flowed between them, basking in the darkness of the planet, the fight between them was an ancient one. Light versus the dark, prey and the predator. And Jaina Jade and the rest of the Allied fleet had walked straight into it, eyes held aloft into the heart of darkness. And here in the thickest of the webs of shadow, the Spider would bite them, wrap them, and devour them. Their intentions, their loves, their light. None would er escape him, no matter how hard the beautiful jedi tried to squirm away, she was held fast in the web.

 

Below on the surface of the planet, terror waxed to its fullness as thousands were sacrificed on the steps of the stone halls of Iziz. The Sith would rend the force with their violence, turn it to their will and break it. The Dathomiri inside Telperiën was terrified of messing with such natural tides of the force, but the fruit of this venture would be worth it. No matter the cost.

 

The force echoed from the woman to parts unknown and Telperiën stood in silence beside her Lord her face downcast while she listened, her large eyes half lidded as she listened to the will of the force. Her fingers of her left hand drumming on the hilt of her sabre in soft military cadence as to mark the executions of this woman's compatriots.

[Krath Apothos]

As the interrogator left, Nok let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. An (unfortunately) well-known bit of trivia about neimoidians was that when they were distressed their lung pods would expand and contract convulsively, leading to the common joke that neimoidians had an entire organ dedicated to worrying. Nok had trained himself through repeated exposure to stressful situations to keep himself from that obvious sign of weakness, but he could still feel a twitch now and then when he got truly nervous. The interrogator had been thorough, and had brought up facts about Nok he'd thought long since buried, even citing his involvement in his first rival's murder. A murder Nok had never been associated with. He couldn't be sure if the interrogator had been force sensitive or not, or if the Sith simply had excellent intelligence operatives. As he considered, he conceded that he might have a standing file with the Sith Empire. Given his business practices, he'd likely run afoul of at least one sith official at some point, though perhaps not directly.

 

Oddly enough, and perhaps promisingly, Nok's illegal and questionable activities had not earned him expulsion. Indeed, the interrogator had actually seemed interested in one particular act of sabotage from Nok's early career that he was rather proud of. He'd been forced to hide in a duct for two days while waiting for a shipment to return, sprinkle a tiny fragment of kessel spice onto the pilot's coat, and then wait another day for his own ship to arrive. The pilot had been caught and searched for spice, along with the ship, delaying the critical shipment and allowing one of Nok's own small shipping companies to snipe the shipment and the lucrative contract that came with it. The interrogator had grilled him on how he'd planned it, and as the conversation wore on Nok suspected the man was asking for his own interest and not for any report.

 

In the end, the interrogator had given him a provisional pass, explaining that the pass would allow him access to the city, but that he would be watched carefully given his record. He also warned that any infraction on Sith ground would likely result in heavy "penalties". Nok didn't know if he'd simply lucked out with an interrogator who ignored his criminal past or if the Sith simply relied on their own harsh reputation to keep the criminals drawn to their empire in line. He suspected both.

 

Nok wandered the city, keeping his security droids aboard the ship. The interrogator had been quite firm in that regard. No security hardware of military grade was allowed to holders of provisional passes. Nok had considered arguing the point, since a troop of bodyguards would have done the same thing and not violated the requirement, but decided against it.

 

The interrogator had directed him to the Hall of the Mynock, and impressive structure where he might find a Sith Lord or Master. He warned Nok that due process did not restrain such figures.

 

The implication was clear. If they wanted Nok dead, no one would help him.

 

As he walked through the streets, he noted the trains of prisoners being led through the crowds. His lip curled. Nok had always had a knack for reading people, something he suspected his talent with the force had given him an edge in. A few of the prisoners had the look of caged beasts, quiet for now but simply waiting for an opportunity to snap at their captor. But the rest simply looked defeated. Broken and done. And that was their choice. They let themselves be cowed, let their pride die. People like that didn't own their own lives no matter what they might say or think. They were fodder for others, and that was as it should be, an obvious truth. As disgusted as he was by his own species' cowardice, he had to agree with them on that point.

 

Those who could take deserved what they had.

 

He approached the temple, finally noting it's grand architecture. A good sign, he thought. He'd read histories about the Sith, how they'd hidden themselves away for so long, quiet but undefeated. While he agreed wholeheartedly, the grandiose ostentations of the current Sith appealed to him. The display of power was a power itself, one of perception, and far more sweeping and insidious than any weapon or magic.

 

Nok took the exhibition to heart, and approached the temple sedately, letting his robes glide along the road while portraying a picture of dignity and pride.

[Karys Narat iv-Adas]

Karys now Darth Akheron likewise gases upon the visage of Oni, just as he was observing his expressions and facial movements, so to was the Sith Master having his measure weighed. As Oni removed his mask, the Massassi smiled slightly, this was not the first human he had ever met, but he was perhaps the first with whom he truly felt a kinship, at least who still yet lived. Someone who understood him better than most.

 

Both were kindred spirits of a sort. Warriors to the bone.

 

Within he looked and within he found that similarity, it was that moment he was certain...without a doubt he had chosen correctly and as if to further confirm his suspicions that his gamble had paid off, Oni denied his offer of friendship...at first, resulting in a look of confusion that was soon replaced by one of understanding and acceptance. His words brought pride to his heart and pleased his soul. Rare was it that he met someone with whom he could truly be at rest, with whom he could form a fellowship.

 

Karys listened carefully, remembering well Sheog's lessons and how they had helped shape him. In much the same way Camik was being shaped and molded now. Taking the hint he offered his own advice...advice born of his own experiences and hard lessons learnt.

 

“It is true what he says young one, your emotions if left unchecked will become your end. They can be your greatest asset, or your worst nightmare if you so chose it. Listen to your master well and take in the lessons he imparts and I guarantee you this. There shall be no limit you cannot reach, and no enemy that cannot be matched given time and training...even death itself may be overcome in time. I am proof of this. I have died three times in the service of the Sith and each time returned. Death is but an obstacle that can be overcome like any other.

 

I also offer this advice. Find your own path, your own way of doing things...your master will not always be there to guide you nor will the force. In those situations you may be your own enemy.”

 

Falling silent he allowed Oni to continue talking before replying in kind. Chuckling slightly before regaining composure.

 

“You had me worried a moment there... I too accept the hand you offer. As a brother. For I sense some sort of nobility, honour and wisdom about you, a kindred spirit maybe. In the ways of the Warrior. But to perhaps shed some light on the matter, it is true I am of nobility. The blood of the ancient and powerful, long dead Sith King Adas I runs in my veins, I am but one in a long line of his descendants. Raised from a child for one purpose. To serve my people and the Sith with honour and bring ruin to our enemies.

 

To me the greatest battles are fought not from the shadows but when facing your enemy face to face. There is no greater thrill I find. But alas I am afraid our talk must end, as regrettable as it may be. I must now tend to the other business so spoke of previously, it appears someone is running around causing more trouble than its worth for the militia and our troops. And they are proving a difficult target apparently. So it falls to me to put an end to it and see they are brought to a swift justice at the Sith's hand. Until we meet again, Darth Oni I bid you farewell. And may the Dark watch over you always”.

 

Leaving the two be the massassi begun to leave, heading down the hallway he was close to the exit when he felt it. A strong presence in the force from close by, one not born of Oni or Camik. Looking about from beneath the hood and nask he had raised once more, he soon met a Neimoidian. Bankers if he recalled, yet he wondered why one would be here of all places unless he were looking to make a deal of some sort. If he was in for a rude awakening.

 

On closer inspection he found this was the one he had felt. Indeed, he could feel the creatures dignity and pride flowing like honey out of a jar from him. Curious as to why he was here, he approached cautiously and yet fearless. The mask of Darth Akheron was up and it was he whom the Neimoidian would speak too.

 

“You seem a little lost. You are far from your home world Neimoidian, what it is you come seeking? If it is a trade I think you'll find us most uninterested. As you can see from outside we are rather busy.”

[LiveDieLiveAgain]

Borsk stared down at his comm as he received a message from his elusive and deadly child-leader, the wanderer-Sith known as Terra. Short and brief, as were all her communications to the veteran warriors under her command, his contract was complete and new orders were issued to return to their fire-bound home, Qat Chrystac. New jobs and oppurtunities to win glory and blood were sure to follow, as the forces of darkness advanced toward the Core Worlds. A victory had been won, inspite of the fact that the Trandoshan had narrowly avoided being fried, the fleets of the Tri-Partite Pact destroying his ship as they blocked for the massive Super Star Destroyer of the Sith.

 

Borsk figured it would be most ungrateful to leave without wishing farewell to the dashing Commander of the Black Sun, the legendary clone Delta. In his interactions serving beside the Clone Prince of Crime, Borsk found that the hype was indeed founded, (although the man was somewhat shorter than the Trandoshan expected.) Before Borsk departed for his shuttle and his home base planet, he asked around amongst the hordes of Black Sun personnel, and eventually tracked down the Black Sun leader as he made preparations to depart.

 

"It has been an honor, Money-Hunter." Borsk grunted out, a tone of respect almost audible in his gravely voice. "My thanks for the armor. I think we shall meet again on distant battlefields, and perhaps hunt the Lowe Ja (Jedi Cowards). Ashkrik (Bleed your foes dry)."

[Krath Apothos]

Nok turned to see a warrior.

 

He could not think of any other way to describe him. His stature, his posture, his armor, the twin vibroswords on his back... The finer details of any of those would have exposed the man's true character, but what grabbed Nok's attention was nothing so obvious.

No, it was the man's confidence. Not even confidence, but a sort of ease by which he saw the world. Nok couldn't explain exactly what it was, but he had felt this before. He'd felt it from his trainers, noghri hunters who'd killed for sport. He'd felt it from a few select mercenaries he'd hired over the years, soldiers of fortune who knew the quality of their own work without misplaced arrogance or pretense. He'd felt it from the howlrunner whose skull now sat in his ship as his most prized trophy.

This man killed, and was comfortable in the knowledge of that fact. Not a murderer, not a madman. A warrior.

 

Nok's eyes landed on the lightsaber hilt at the man's side, ornamented with sigil and bone.

 

A Sith.

 

Dead in the cold and dark

 

Nok inclined his head respectfully.

 

My apologies, I do not know the proper term of address. I am Nok Morliss, and I'm not here as a banker or businessman.

 

He raised his head to look the Sith warrior in the eye.

 

I am force sensitive... He made it a statement, not a claim or question.

 

...and I come here as a student.

[Karys Narat iv-Adas]

Karys practically laughed at the Neimoidian, caring not what he thought of the act. And yet deep down in the depths of his soul he used the force and was taking a measure of the creature before him...seeing if he was worthy of the attention he sought. Below he found there was perhaps potential but then again his most sudden arrival just after a major battle made Karys suspicious of his intentions. He wasn't entirely certain what he said was true.

 

That and he recalled something he had heard of the species. That, Neimoidian's were not known to be the most trusted of individuals. In fact a vast majority were more than happy to double-cross someone or make some deal behind the back of a friend to get one up on them in their society, and that was after being forced to starve as a child to teach them greed.

 

Which only further added to his suspicion. If the whole species was taught like that, how was he to trust the man's word. But as the man spoke and mentioned he wished to be a student it brought up something that before the Massassi had not really thought about since he first became a Sith Lord. He had yet to take an apprentice of his own.

 

Someone whom to impart his knowledge, a worthy successor of his skills. Looking upon the Neimoidian, he wondered.

 

Could this be such a man? Surely not.

 

There was only one way to find out, first a slight interrogation of sorts.

 

“Forgive my laughter, but I find it most amusing. That you would turn up now proclaiming such things...it is most unusual given the circumstances, and to be frank...highly suspicious. How are we to know you no spy and to be trusted? All this on top of the most important fact. A force sensitive you may be, but worthy attention that does not make you. You may call me Darth Akheron, or Lord Akheron as the case may be.

 

What makes you worth the time of any Sith in this hall? Be they Sith Lord or Master? What makes you think your good enough, worthy enough to be noticed? That you have what it takes? Consider your choice carefully, deeply. The path of the Sith is one not easily walked and once begun it cannot be undone. Forever shall you be open to the force, both given a gift with it's blessing...but also a curse. One that will mark you forever. The Dark is a double-edged sword. It gives but it also takes, sometimes more than you think possible.

 

That said I do sense something of potential within you. You are strong in the Force...stronger than most and as it happens I am searching for a worthy apprentice having recently become a Lord myself. Perhaps you might be worth my attention...perhaps. But first you need to prove yourself, prove you are worth my time and effort and you have just what it takes. As it happens I require assistance on my current task.

 

Follow me, assist me in whatever I ask of you, no matter how it may offend you or any morale you might have, and we shall see what might be made of you. If anything. Come.”

 

With that the Massassi led Nok out of the hall, and out back into the city. Walking he didn't stop to wait for Nok to keep up, instead letting him catch up. If he desired an apprenticeship that much he would work for it. Soon he approached the area the Commander had mentioned and begun looking at the aftermath of whoever had caused the problem he spoke of.

 

It appeared there was certainly some skill to whoever was responsible. That meant a worthy challenge which excited him. He spoke.

 

“To prove you really are who you claim to be, I wish for you to prove you are capable of doing things, questionable things others might find offensive. To prove hat you can take orders and kill without question or remorse. Morality has no place among the Sith...to an extent the Sith have no place for the weak of will. This shall be a trial of sorts, a test to see that you are indeed worthy of attention, your task is simple. To hunt down a fugitive. A highly skilled Galactic Alliance escapee from the previous battle, who as you can see left quite the mess and has some clearly defined combat skills

 

Kill them and return with proof and then I shall consider taking you as my apprentice....just maybe. But only should you succeed. I shall only assist when it becomes necessary, for this the task is yours alone. Here take this.”

 

With that Karys unsheathed one vibroblade from his back and tossed it into Nok's hands.

 

“Use that to complete the task and return with the proof I seek. Be that a sabre, head, scalp or otherwise. So long as it is from the target. Now begin, you are on a timer... I give you until dawn tomorrow and no longer to accomplish it. Good luck, you'll need it and try to return that sword in one piece.”

 

With that the Massassi left Nok to it, albeit silently he would be observing. Hidden from sight but observing all the same both with the Force and with his eyes.

[Krath Apothos]

As Lord Akheron left, Nok wondered if he'd made a mistake. Maybe he should have let his dreams be dreams. He had a corporate empire most of his fellows would kill their own children for, enough money to earn a hutt's respect, and an endless supply of life's pleasures to amuse him till the day he died. What was he doing here, butchering like a merc for some self-styled lord, Sith or not? Why was he proving himself when he had torn his fellows down and stood on their heads to reach the wealth of worlds? The Force was powerful, but so was money, authority, and image. Why was he here?

 

Dead in the cold and dark

 

Nok's lip twisted. What was he thinking?

 

"You can hear me," he said aloud, a simple statement, as if talking across a table at a restaraunt to a colleague. "I don't know you. You don't know me. I don't know how you got here, what led you down this path. You don't know what's driven me, how I've become the man I am.

 

You ask me what makes me worth your time, worth the time of any Sith. I don't know if I am.

 

You ask me how I know that I have what it takes to walk this path. I don't know if I do."

 

Nok shook his head ruefully.

 

"But you ask me to make a choice. A choice between taking power, no matter the risk, or going back and hiding in my world of silks and credits."

 

Nok spat in the dirt.

 

"If you're to be my master, then I expect you to break me. I expect you to shatter me and force me to put myself back together piece by bloody piece. I expect you to make me wish I was dead, and then deny me. I expect Hell and for you to be the laughing devil pushing me in.

 

But...don't insult me.

 

A choice between power and risk or safety and weakness? That's no choice.

 

Those who choose power are the ones who deserve it, and anyone who chooses weakness could never be anything else. I have lived my life taking what I want from the weak, and cutting down the strong who stand in my way, and today is no exception.

 

You see, Lord Akheron, I'm not complicated. In fact in many ways I'm quite typical.

 

I'm an avaricious man.

 

I want everything."

 

Nok reached up to his shoulder and undid a hidden clasp on his robe. With a whoosh, he shucked off the heavy, silken red robe and left it crumpled in the dust. Beneath, he wore traditional noghri leathers, tailored to his size. His four vibroknives gleamed, now visible in his wrist sheaths. His hold-out blaster, the polished metal reflecting the setting sun, sat nestled in his hip holster. Nok held up the vibrosword for inspection.

 

Fine piece. Not my style but it'll do.

 

He reached up, plucked off his black cloth headdress and tossed it into the rumpled heap of his robe. After a moment's thought, he cut a strip from his discarded robe and tied the sword to his back in a makeshift sheath. Then with a grace beat into him by his trainers, he dropped to all fours and crawled into the tall grass.

 

People always underestimated neimoidians. They saw the robes, the elaborate headgear, the droids, and once they heard the average neimoidian's sniveling voice their minds were made up. They saw money-grubbing, backstabbing, two-tongued scum suckers. Dangerous in a boardroom maybe, but not creatures of any substance. So they didn't think to learn the other tidbits.

 

Like how neimoidians grew up on a planet with greater gravity than most human-settled worlds. Or how the dim sun and perpetual fog had driven the neimoidians to evolve keen eyes.

 

Four years ago...

 

"No! I heard you breathing!"

 

Nok rubbed his head as he stared up at the diminutive noghri. Master Miwak, as he demanded he be called, held his simple quarterstaff out threateningly, implying he would love nothing more than to knock his student around again.

 

"How am I supposed to keep you from hearing me if you can hear my breath!?" Nok demanded.

 

Miwak struck Nok again.

 

"Either stop breathing, or don't give me the chance to hear it."

 

Speed. Speed and silence. At his height, there was no way this soldier wouldn't hear his long limbs rustling the grass. But if Nok moved quickly, the soldier would never know exactly where he was. And that would make him nervous. Nervous prey did stupid things.

 

Crawling on all fours, Nok fell into the fluid motions he'd perfected under the eyes of Master Miwak. His arms and legs sliding along the ground, his body moving with the smoothness of a speeder, he stalked through the grass. In his mind's eye, he saw himself move through the terrain, tracking a grid pattern that systematically swept the plain. No matter the hours it took, the rifleman couldn't hide forever.

 

And Nok listened. Listened for that shift in position, for the click of a rifle being raised to a shoulder, for the deep breath and exhale before a shot...

Edited July 9, 2018 by Guest

[Zalis Krales]

Zalis was quick to track down Delta after she had landed onboard the Scarab. She knew that he would be pleased with some of the weapons and progress she was making on Ord Mantell. As she walked, she posted a special operations upon the Bounty Hunter's Network. Walking up to Delta, who was now with a few other people thats he did not recognize, she gave only a head nod to everyone present.

 

"Delta, I must say, I would have thought you would have made a bigger mess in a battlefield here. Glad to see that you're alive and still kicking. No worries about about Thyferra, if Agent Nathan had even sent the message to you. They back out of the deal. I'm going to try a new angle before I let you blow it up. But since you clearly have a new target in mind, may I show you what the factories on Ord Mantell has produced for us to try."

 

Zalis made a very loud snap with her fingers to have LP4 present the other Black Sun Vigo with the present she promised to show him.

 

"Their other progress has stalled out, but they offered up this as a way to cool my anger. They have a full week to produce something that's a bit more worth my excitement then this garbage, but at least it's a new toy. This is the hardworking of Project Kyber Dart: A blaster that holds a dual purpose. The whole frame work is designed around the main mechanics of the Wookiee's Bowcaster. It fires a quarrel that is strong enough to prices through many of the armors. But upon hitting something that it cannot pierce, or if the quarrel is broken by say, a lightsaber. Then it explodes into shrapnel and the gas pellets on the sides release, making it a dangerous weapon to be used against any foe."

 

Zalis glanced around at the Trandoshan, whom she now began to wonder if he was someone worth testing out the other. The scientists gave her three. She wanted Delta to try one, and she was willing to tag along into the battlefield to give one of the others a try. But she would need someone to have the third...

[Exodus]

• =======================
   
  // Onderon, Edge of the Wall.
   
  //// DRAGONS' GATE —
   
  =======================

 

 

 

As the words left her mouth, an uncomfortable hush followed the sound of her echo. Exodus stood as a monolith of black stone, an expression of indifference shaded dimly across his face as she spoke. He considered the manner in which she chose her words, how the nature of her voice heedlessly articulated how certain of her life she was. The skin of her porcelain white teeth chewed as she accented the insidiously heavy speech of the Immortal Sith, dangerously unmindful of who she stood before. Unrevealed inside of the silence, was the absence of an answer to the question the Jedi had posed, knowing that she would soon uncover the answer for herself. Perhaps she had surmised that the Spider was no different than the fools of the past, and if that was the case, there would be a powerful revelation on her heels before long. "..The Language does not belong to the Light. Cut out her tongue if she speaks another word of it." Dispassionately, the sudden decree fell from his hems and broke the calm, addressing his venomous apprentice that stood quietly in wait. The woman appeared perky, and disinterested in the unmitigated slaughter of her own people. Her temperament felt unusually suspicious, while an air of improvised confidence belched from her every word and movement, despite the gravity of her situation. The charade she kept could not breathe like this for much longer, the darkness would choke it from her throat. There was an abundance of her people out there, hunted into exhaustion and cut down without a trace of humanity. The brawn of her allied fleets snapped like soft branches beneath the might of the Axis, leaking their unsightly corpses across the black of space without the honor of proper burial. Survivors bellied their deepest screams for mercy, but would find only the comfort of cold stone. Before this Jedi stood no fool, just a man measuring the fortitude of his enemies, and the findings were bleak. Exodus did not allow her distractions to falter his study however, conscious to a deeper realization that something else meddled inside of her, an anomaly he had felt on Kashyyyk not long ago. How well did she believe her secrets would be safe here?

 

 

Exodus fanned his hand nonchalantly, the devilry of his Force manipulation, shifting cogs and a chain of gears beneath the floor. The steel-laden bulwarked hatch sputtered as the latches loosened, then opened whole from bottom to top, ushering in a small flourish of visible radiation from the lavish yacht. A pair of Elite Sith Troopers covered in dark reflective armor, secured the room from the outside, remaining motionless with peculiar halberds held across their chests as the doors peeled free. The aluminous vibrancy of the ship interior dashed forward and freed the small cell from the blinding black, washing the three individuals with color and detail. The wild nature of his eyes now fastened with those of the Jedi for a brief culminating moment, magnetically enamoured with the hint of dark side that crawled inside of her savoury skin. Then it all made sense. The Dark Lord turned from his prisoner and took leave of the small cell. “Come with me.” The Spider stood majestic, a hardened tunic of leather, and the most exquisite dark velvet hugged tightly against his strapping abdomen. A long-stretched cloak of imperial sanguine mantled around his broad shoulders, braced and buttoned by brooches carved with the insignia of his Empire. His weaponry remained veiled from sight, but efficiently close. His brooding watch swept over the vicinity and now stationed around him were a number of advisors, Sith Lords, and councilmen that awaited the word of the Dark Emperor. "Inform the Blood Prince that he has my blessing to proceed, I will meet with him shortly." A councilwoman nodded, and made her way to the console.

 

 

Most of personnel uniquely rendered their services to the powerful and ever-expanding machine that was the Sith Empire’s monarchical government in Iziz. Their fresh triumph over the Galactic Alliance and the Jedi had spurred a hungry fervor among the people, and a serpent of raw exhilaration rounded itself throughout all of Onderon. Exodus stalked towards the landing ramp of the ship as it unfolded, impatient militia prodding the Jedi Master to follow suit. Slowly, the Emperor approached. His march was a thrum and thunder inside of those that surrounded him. His passive power was an intoxication of the mind and the body. His movement was simple and polished, but an unbearable heaviness sat in the atmosphere around him while his blood cloak thrashed powerfully behind him. Each step he took was a tremor as the ramp unfolded, an unnatural rhythm that provoked a fear of death and destruction, magnifying it the closer he came.

 

 

 

• And there it was..

 

 

 

A towering fortress of pure adamantine bedrock, carved into from the brim of the escarpment, standing as tall as the highest of spires. This was the outermost region of the Wall that circled Iziz, a complete marvel of stone and power, a bastion between common civilization and the beasts that lived on the other side. This was Dragon's Gate. Since the first arrival, and the outing of both Faust and the GA-Jedi occupation, the Sith Empire had put in motion an extreme redevelopment of the capital at large. And today, as one of the most feared to have risen to power in such little time, Lord Exodus and advisors understood that he would quickly become a high profile target. As the winter solstice winds breached the chartered yacht, Exodus stood at the withdrawal of the ship and stared towards the highly concentrated fortress. There were masses of men and women, completely immersed in their active duty. It was impossible to assume just how many there was, but legions of the Sith Empire commanded this Fort and supervised the coming and going meticulously. Winds of change crashed into narrow gaps of the secured landing, carrying with it the chill of snow.

 

 

The atmosphere here was less joyous than on the streets of Iziz, there was business to be dealt, and the queues of chained prisoners being ushered into the hindquarters of the fortress was a telling sign. As the Dark King moved off of the ramp four Temple Wards surrounded him and their exquisite appearance made some of the others wheeze with wonderment. These Wards were seldom seen and offered a powerful presence that bested many, and their black and golden blend of reflective armor stood out just as richly as their long-red cloaks did. In a larger perimeter there was a strict margin around the Emperor where hundreds of Sith Elite Troopers absorbed into Exodus' formation. They stood uncompromisingly in their boxed arrangement, their dark armor revealing nearly no space for the crowds of personnel to see through. The moment the Dark Lord had passed them with his regal stride, a thunderous march sounded off at his rear, thousands of them trailing their victorious King and his company proudly. This staging area was secured by a vast array of emplacements, as construction and auxiliary divisions of troops kicked up a racket, the assemblage of noise from flesh and machines did little to smother the hungry screeches of the revered Drexl that soared high above. The reptavian winged warbeasts scoured the white skies in flocks, more aggressive than they've been in months, and in record numbers. Flesh hung from bones as the survivors crashed fatally into danger zones, their open wounds producing a putrid scent that attracted carnivorous breeding grounds for miles. The aftermath of war was unforgiving.

 

 

Jaina could be next. The wound to her leg hampered her movement more than she had let on. Bruising and internal bleeding stifled her natural muscles and decayed her ability to keep proper march. As much as the presence of Exodus unearthed an incredible awe from the world around him, there was similar interest in why this woman stood at his side. She captured a rare degree of beauty all on her own, even as she hobbled about, her dark jumpsuit torn haggardly over her desirable shape. Exodus himself was not naive to her physical allure, and the lend of her bejewelled eyes was where it all began. Her facial features were lean but her powerful physique exemplified that she was indeed, a warrior at heart. She chose to align herself with an order and men that evidently, did little in exposing her true potential. They were pretenders, playing at a game far more dangerous than they were accustomed too. She settled for less in the entirety of her career, the writing was on the wall. Although she was not chained down, and could have pounced to her freedom, there was no escaping the Spider, especially in the shape she was in, and her realization of that continued to sink it's teeth into her. Her comrades were everywhere, and some looked towards her with hope as trains of prisoners filed out of sight, while others held their heads down in defeat and disappointment.

 

 

He could feel Telperien and her emotions rise as a supernova. The thrill of power was both refreshing and dangerously new to her. The level of exposure that she had been introduced too now was electric. There was death in the air; suffering and pain, fear in abundance. Exodus was proud in a sense, for she conducted herself with calculation. She remained a shadow in the midst of chaos and strolled forward as an extension of the Dark Lord, cloaked in reaper black robing. A secondary perimeter defended by lesser Sith complements were beyond the main formations, and the space between them was lethal territory. Indiscriminate of who you were, whether the highest of ranks to, the lowliest of curious citizens, there was no passing through this perimeter. The Dark King was unfamiliar with this level of immunities, easily able to fend for himself in any given situation, but there were now levels to governing such vast deployable elements. Cleared at his side was the apprentice, the prisoner, and a few advisors that were monitored by the Wards. Passed that, there were different areas of jurisdiction managed by the rest of the Sith Empire, and anything remotely suspicious would be weeded out with no exceptions. To defy these standards, marked you as a hostile, and that would be tantamount to suicide within the Dragon's Gate.

 

 

There were elements to this entire scheme and layout that were kept as a surprise however, there were forces hidden in plain sight that had never before been revealed, panels of the platform flooring that contained ray shield technology. Mobs of, what appeared to be nobles dressed in all black, looked on from the vast expanse of the titanic platform. From what rumors spilled, they were hailed from a higher echelon of the Anzati people, whispers of a Vermilion Covenant played on the ears of a few. There were others more heavily armed that littered the working populace, squads of what appeared to be defected stormtroopers that were lightsaber equipped and outstandingly armed for the deadliest of firefights, seemingly prepared for the fallout of this war. Every building along the path the Dark King took had personnel inside, snipers covered the high walls of the fortress and militia in plainclothes wandered the invited crowds of citizens. This was the migration point of the entire Sith Empire, and a hive of denizens heaved to and fro in audience of a show that was about to begin. "..My King, shall we pin her with the rest?" An advisor pointed towards an awning where a small band of Onderonians dressed in casuals stood, parading with cheer in the face of a few captured prisoners. In the short distance, bloodily pinned to wood through their ligaments, these individuals were nailed and harassed by the folk within The Gate. "An Aryian Darkfire, formerly of the Jedi. A man known as Scorpio, enlisted with the Galactic Alliance, and others that are still in processing. What will we do with this one?" The advisor had all his physical features covered, but sneered towards the Jedi woman derisively. Exodus smiled, and redirected the march towards the makeshift gallows, eyeing his old friend. The crowd grew quiet as he approached..

 

 

• ".. Lord Darkfire. To what pleasure do I owe this visit?"

[Ary the Grey]

Aryian's breathing was labored. There were maroon stains where he had been nailed to the wood, and other stains of fruits from where lucky throws from the gathered crowd had managed to splatter him with overripe vegetables and fruits. Humiliation was the name of the game here, and it was something the Sith were well versed in almost from birth. Ysalamir below where he hung prevented him relying on the Force to prevent his pain, though he still bore it well. It was as if it was still something he'd wanted, despite the agony. His reply was audible, but not loud, prompting the Dark Lord to lean in.

 

"A blessing...a curse. This is where destiny has brought us. The diff-...diference is I knowingly chose mine. You-" Aryian coughed loudly, his body convulsing against the restraints dug through his flesh, coursing pain throughout his body, nearly causing him to pass out in the midday heat. But that was not his destiny. Coming to, he composed himself as best he could, straining to speak words as well as form coherent thoughts through the pain. "Your destiny is to end me, and through me receive a glimpse of your own future. Prophecy. Or else your precious Empire will crumble."

 

A moment more the grizzled Jedi paused, his gaze shifting to Jaina. He wasn't sure if he recognized her or not, but her role was clear from what he'd seen. "You...are to bear witness." He stared at her a moment longer before dropping his head, saving his strength for holding as much of his body weight as he could up on his feet, so to prevent the gashes in his arms from widening.

 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Several accidents and spilled goods later and a particular parcel was bound for an incorrect owner. There was a particular Lord Ono in the order, but a typo had bound the parcel to Lord Oni. It was a small package of simple goods, mostly a particularly expensive brand of caf beans that Ono had shipped in every month, but a routine inspection and subsequent mixup at the shipping office had caused a small metallic pyramid one of the workers had found on the street earlier to be bumped into the open box moments before it was resealed and shipped.

 

The tetrahedron itself was small, nearly three inches to a side, and appeared solidly metallic with very tiny patterns etched into the entire surface were one to look very close. An experienced user of the Force would immediately be able to tell what it was, but wouldn't be able to access it without further study. And while it seemed rather random that such a device had found its way to the person that it did, the truth of the matter was that there was nothing random at all about it.

 

Of course, nobody would ever know that. Not that it really mattered in the grand scheme of things. What was important was that it happened, not how.

[Camik Rhonik]

Time it seemed was not a luxury that Camik was going to receive, at least time to regain his composure. Time to internalize his lessons. He needed to master his emotions now so that he might move on. Shoving his anger into a deep pocket of his mind, it was something he would deal with latter but as his Master and this Lord Akheron says, his emotions had not place in this time. He needed to be thier master not let them master him.

 

Taking a breath, when he spoke his voice was composed and calm”I apologize for my silence Lord Akheron. I was internalizing a lesson that my Master had given me, I had no intention on being rude or showing fear.” Fear was so far down his spectrum of emotions he had not even noticed if it was there when this Lord of the Sith had arrived.

 

”I do thank you for your advice, I shall take it to heart.” It was much the same as the lesson his Master had given him, but hearing the same words from another Sith hammered the lesson home. He needed to be the master of his body with his past only a tool to be used to to rule him.

 

After the Lord of the Sith left to deal with the Neimoidian, Camik turned back to his Master and repeated his words from before. ”Would would you like of this one?” While the words the same, and Camik had chosen this time very carefully, the tone was vastly different. Before they were devoid of emotion, a slave talking to his Master. This time they were simply words asking a question. He choose them to ask the question to show his Master that he had grasped his emotions under control, at least for now. These words, this time, were not spoken with disrespect but instead was the tone of an Apprentice wanting to know what his Master wanted him to do.

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

Telperiën stood beside her master as he carried out his will, as they entered the Dragon's Gate she walked behind him, trailing in the vapours of his presence. Her hand on her hilt of the lightsabre she wore on her hip. The body she now wore was beautiful in its own right, with full hips and porcelain skin that reflected the lights of the planet. But as with every body she wore, it was a burning fuse to destruction. Already the corruption that plagued her last form was beginning to eat away at her, the beds of her nails and her gums bleeding black blood as the force that stirred so heavily within the daughter of Ar-Pharazon ate away its mortal cage. Life itself was a curse to her and she knew that she would need to bounce from entity to entity until she finally left the mortal plane. But she was yet alive and would need a new and stronger vessel within the next few days. Perhaps such a vessel would be here, on Onderon.

 

Her steel grey eyes caught a Galactic Alliance officer’s, an ex jedi according to his sentencing and his presence was very strong. His aura alluring. She licked her lips in anticipation, spreading a bit of black blood like lipstick over her full and beautiful lips. Her master had plans for the Jedi master and her body, but this one....perhaps.

[Exodus]

The smallest traces of snow fell amidst the strained words of a broken man, thawing prematurely into drops of water against the heat of Dragon’s Gate. Exodus reviewed his old nemesis, appraising the twisted metal that was immersed into his body. The blood from his open wounds soured quickly from the unclean steel pitched into his feet, hands and biceps. Dangerously pale was the hue of his skin, all color from his body draining into the puddle of red that pooled beneath him. Aryian Darkfire was dying, and fast. Tension painted the air, and the presence of hundreds in solemn march did little to ease the prisoners, even though their numbers was what kept the Drexl from gnawing at their flesh. Exodus leaned in closely despite the excretion of the force, abstracting the meaning behind his words, wondering if there was value in the wisdom of this ennobled Grey Hermit. The Horde of his Militia remained motionless, and the furious swarm of onlookers became a docile audience, surrendered to awe.

 

 

• ".. Death will not come slowly then, Grey One."

 

Exodus took one last look, and then retraced his footing several feet, retiring from the field of the ysalamiri. With the wash of the force instantaneously relapsing into his body, he submerged his command into the mind of a pair of foot soldiers. Two demolitionists that were separate from the formation, who busied themselves with the construction of small barricades to field resources, responded without hesitation. Their reflective-trooper armor was stained in a noticeable bronze, so their approach was recognized immediately. These men were heavy-set by nature, conditioned to manage hundreds of pounds in weight at any given hostile situation. What each of them now carried in their arms was terrific barrels of fuel for a band of speeder bikes assigned to patrol imposts. At that moment hooded servants emerged from a peripheral gloom, with smaller pots of oil and sponges held in their hands. The cowled servants slithered through the crowd, and made their way onto the execution gallow, while the demolitionists followed their trail. Exodus looked onward curiously, and wondered what were the thoughts that ran through all of their heads; Darkfire, Jaina and Scorpio—reparations of war. The small troupe carrying their particular resources came to a halt before the three effigies of wood. One was empty, awaiting the bolting of a third, and the other two were engorged with the blood of the two prisoners prior. The demolitionists planted the barrels at their feet, while the hooded men knelt and turned to face Exodus from the podium, bowing so low that their clothed foreheads touched the ground as both pot and sponge were set aside. “Lady Jaina, councilmember of the Jedi. I bid you a one-time offer,” Exodus pointed towards the third wooden slab, the one that divided the prisoners Aryian Darkfire, and Scorpio of the Galactic Alliance.

 

 

“Your allies, or rather, your friends are before you now. I will allow you to spare just one of their lives.”

 

 

 

Ambrosial pillars of smoke and fumes heaved skywards from large metal braziers situated at each end of the execution platform. A single torch illuminated the center frame where the vacant wooden slab was positioned. Exodus reached behind his head and gathered an exhaustive amount of his dark mane, bounding it back into a simple ponytail with his off-hand. A much darker counselor approached from his sanctioned fellowship, darker in a sense that this individual personified a most sinister evil. His attire was the shadows themselves, with blackened trinkets that covered him whole. He handed Exodus a simple leather band to tie with, and then pulled a decorated jewelry box from his robes. “It is time, my liege” The menacing councilman whispered low enough with a slowed speech impediment, every word dripping like poison, but the words were for his Master alone. He cracked open the box and an unusual gem sat inside. Turning, the creature seemingly glided towards the podium and placed the fist-sized gemstone on center-stage.

 

 

 

• 
  "If it is mercy you choose, take the place of just one, and he shall be freed.
  If it is cowardice you choose, both men will suffer..
  And if it is mercy that you seek, you must confess the name of the traitorous Sith that has chosen you over his own.
   
  ..Choose wisely.”

[Sith X]

Oni smiled at Lord Akheron's words, finding a sense of solace within them as he spoke, for none truly understood the Darkside better than those whom were born from it; The Tsis. Bowing as the Tsis took his leave, Oni turned to his still silent Apprentice, searching for the young Cathar's feelings and wondering on his next steps in his training. Thinking back to his duel with the Dark King's own Apprentice, Oni had noticed a few flaws. But these flaws were due to Oni's own inexperience and held no fault over Camik. For the former Apprentices of Oni were like he, Alcazarin's, and thus held power over the Force where as Camik relied on it naturally. Oni had grown too used to the benefits of being Alcazarin that he overlooked the basis of the Sith foundation, and that fault alone laid with him. A fault he would soon rectify as Camik's words came across his ears, this time noticing the difference behind the feel of the Cathar's words and finding a sense of pleasure know that his words had been taken to heart. Yet, if he was going to train Camik in the ways of the Sith, he needed to be a Sith, something comforting in that thought as Oni finally managed to push Exodus' words from his mind.

 

With a humble smile Oni went to speak, before he could, a local parcel carrier approached, and with him, a familiar presence he could not quite place at first. "A package? for me?" I questioned, unsure whether to sign or not, but did so anyways. "Yes sir" The parcel carrier spoke, a little fearful of being in my presence, although as to the why, he wasn't quite sure. Oni had never been to Onderon before. "Directed to a Lord Oni of the Sith by care of Sith Palace. The receptionist told me there is where I could find you." With a half hearted chuckle, unsure as to why or how, I took the package and tossed a credit to the carrier. "You've got me." And with that, he disappeared as quick as he came, the presence he felt earlier remaining rather than leaving perplexing me even more. Cautiously Oni opened it.

 

The parcel definitely wasn't his, Oni recognizing this as soon as he had opened it. A few bags of caf beans, a bottle of fine rum, which by the way Oni pocketed right away, and some silken Robes. But what laid beneath the silken robes puzzled Oni the greatest, a holocron unlike he had ever seen before, smaller than most, with designs he did not recognize. Cautiously reaching in to pick it up, Oni was struck with a vision, the outside world oblivious to this. There, on Mechis III, sat Aryian Darkfire discussing philosophy with a being shadowed in black, six wings protruding from it's slender form as words mumbled forth from the grotesque and decaying being, his words mimicking the exact words Oni had once spoke to Aryian years ago when he tried to recruit the hermit to Nurgle's cause. Yet, this being was not Oni, nor could it be. Oni's mind quickly freed it's self from the vision, but words echoed in his thoughts as he planted the holocron into his pocket and grabbed the robes as he stood up. The words were simple, yet complex and riddled, and yet Oni couldn't help but find them familiar. "The Lord of the Black Death was never meant to exist, the Diathim's soul forever tainted by the Maelibus."

 

Confused, Oni turned toward Camik, subconsciously observant of what had just transpired and the presence he felt from the holocron now being felt in a distance, sadness washing over him. He knew now that Aryian Darkfire was on Onderon, his holocron now in Oni's possession, and that death laid imminent for his old friend, the gray Master accepting this fact which put Oni at a crossroads. Oni cared for his old friend, yet was loyal to the Sith despite his wish to rush to action. If he could, he would tear through and rescue Aryian was he free to do so. But Aryian's acceptance, and Oni an obvious part to play later down the road, he withdrew himself, accepting his friend's wishes and contemplating whatever they may have been. And to add more to the pyre was this vision, uncoincidental. Whatever it all meant, would be shown in time. For now, there was a path to follow, and the Force would reveal all when it felt it was time.in Silence, Oni said his goodbyes to Aryian, his gaze staring directly in his direction.

 

"You have grasped the basic concept of the Force, Camik, yet now it is time to know more. I know that you have your heart set on combat, but before you can be effective in it, you must hone the basic skills and ready yourself. Follow me." Oni spoke before jumping upward, the force propelling him high above the city as he leapt from footing to footing aside the Palace walls, his speed and grace a mere blur to onlookers gazing upon his sight. "Keep up with me if you can."

 

R.I.P. Nanny (6/3/1941-1/9/2012)

R.I.P. Papa (2/14/1936-2/7/2012)

R.I.P. Big Mike (5/12/82-11/9/2012)

~Revelations 21:4 (KJV)~

 

*******************************************************************************************************************************************************

 

I flinched in fury as the nails were drove into my skin and muscle, my gaze unfaltering upon the beasts that bound me, blood and spit spewing from my mouth as the beasts butted my face with the hilts of their weapons in my defiance. My composure was all but gone, and I could feel Anakin within me beginning to stir, or rather, the darkness he once stood for. My breathing shallow in my struggle, my blood infuriating me at the mere sight of it, I struggled against my bindings, trying to free myself from the nails that pierced me, uncaring about the muscles and tendons that tore as I squirmed. By now I was nothing more than mere beast, and as Exodus appeared, my strife only grew that much more stronger.

 

My gaze shifted from the Spider toward Aryian, a Jedi I had never formally met, yet knew his story all too well. Public Knowledge of it at least. Husband of Armiena Draygo, a Master I had long ago met upon the Eternal Vigilance and was nearly Apprenticed to, their exploits against Faust, their unbridled love for each other, they were beings of Legend. Yet, as he spoke, I could sense the sadness and acceptance in his voice, and despite the disheartening feeling that washed over me, my gaze shifted back toward the Spider.

 

"Exxxxxxxoooooooddddddduuuuuusssssss!!!!!!" I growled with nearly all my strength, so much that my head felt as if it split in two, the feeling of the blood rushing to my cheeks and forehead causing my vision to momentarily flash red and blur, yet my gaze was one of hate and if looks could kill alone, then the Spider would have exploded before my eyes as I wished it. "I shall have your head just as I claimed Furion's. Make no mistake Spider, you will one day feel this Scorpion's sting."

 

But alas, despite my struggle and strife, this was my last day of life, and somewhere deep down, I knew it. I just refused to accept it. And even as my gaze shifted about, it stayed fearless even through the onslaught of rotting consumables that were thrown at my face for my spoken words and the barrels of oil that were laid before our feet and death became imminent, soon coming to rest upon the Spider's Apprentice (Telperien). Like a cornered animal with eyes that refused to accept death, I gazed upon her as if I could pierce her soul, and hauntingly enough, grinned.

 

Galactic Alliance Lieutenant(Acting)/Former Jedi Knight(Self-Exiled)

[Karys Narat iv-Adas]

Karys watched cautiously and with care as the young neimoidian disappeared into the surrounding area. Yet always he kept close tabs within the Force, tracking his movements. Before he disappeared, the Massassi offered a final piece of advice regarding his motivations...his great sin. Avarice.

 

He recalled this was perhaps the greatest of all sins. Avarice was a desire...an extremely strong desire for money or possessions...whatever those possessions took the form of. It was perhaps the most dangerous sin, for many times those who had been entangled in the sin had fallen prey to its promises of power. Would Nok fair any different Karys wondered?

 

He would soon see. He laughed a little as Nok went off.

 

“Ah Avarice....Greed. The greatest of the sins, the most dangerous some say. We shall see if you survive its embrace.”

 

As soon as Nok was in the long grass, the Massassi kept note. Yet despite this he felt something drawing him. Calling almost, from the Dark, a great gathering of the darkness. Towards the edge of the city wall, where a fortress stood. He did not know the name of it, but he knew it served as a gateway of sorts. It would not catch his attention if not for the fact he felt a great void...the same he had felt before when among the battlemeld that drew him.

 

He still wondered who could possess such a strength? Who was this being that held such a command of the Dark. Time would tell if the two would meet, for now he did his part. Seeing if another was worthy of joining the ranks most coveted above all else.

 

—-----------------------------------

 

Sweat trickled slightly down the face of the human. J'boath Lorentz. His blonde hair now coated in a thin layer of snow and pollen picked up by the grass he had travelled through...evading thus far capture by a remorseless, unthinking enemy. He thought he had seen war and death but nothing compared to what he witnessed on the hollowed ground of Onderon. He had seen it with his own eyes the day the battle had ended. Many lives snuffed out thousands burnt alive or worse. The Sith were truly the monsters some claimed they were to his eyes, monsters that now he was forced to run away from. To survive.

 

He prayed the special forces training he received did its job, and he remembered it.

 

Then he heard a snap. A twig in the distance, someone approaching most likely. Luckily he had the time to prepare beforehand and silently set up varied traps in the area. Traps designed to maim and wound, guerilla tactics mostly. He opened fire shooting in one direction, to draw attention away and allow him to move to better cover. From there he could activate a trap or two.

[Krath Apothos]

Nok froze as blaster fire cut through the chill air. Nowhere near him, but Nok heard no telltale sounds of someone scrambling for cover either.

Deliberate then. To either draw him out or draw him in. Nok held still, heart thundering and spine held rigid enough to hurt as his mind treated him to a holovid of a burly commando spotting Nok prone in the grass and putting a blaster bolt through his skull.

Night was going to fall soon, and the frigid air would turn icy in the blackness.

 

Dead in the cold and dark.

 

No. Not today, not here. Nok had not done all he had done to earn an ignominious death in some field against a faceless soldier of an already dead army.

 

This sniper was fighting a last stand in a battle lost. He was likely trained for this kind of fight, and the fact that he'd survived this long against the odds indicated he'd taken that training to heart. Nok had self defense training, and though the noghri considered stealth a key point in self defense, he was no commando. The sniper was better armed, better trained, and was fighting defense, making the terrain his armor and weapon. No gambler would put money on Nok, a businessman more at home stealing the sniper's veteran pay than slitting his throat.

 

Nok smiled. He'd bucked odds before. And if today was the day he'd die, it wouldn't be in the dark. He'd have this soldier's head before sunset.

 

Nok loped on all fours through the grass, snow crunching under his hands and feet, fingers wet and wrinkled from fresh melt. He changed his pattern, now spiraling in towards the point of gunfire, attention focused like a laser scope as he listened for-

 

TWANG

 

Something flashed to Nok's left, whooshing through the air before a THWOCK drove him to the ground on his belly.

 

A dull ache spiderwebbed out from a spot on his back, just under his left shoulder blade. Nok reflexively pulled himself away, only for something to hold him in place, like a leash drawn to it's full length.

 

Twisting his head around, Nok gritted his teeth at what he saw. A combat knife, and a good one, lashed to a long branch that trailed off into the brush and to some hidden anchor. With the combat knife buried in his back, the homemade trap held Nok fast.

 

The sniper had set up traps. Judging from this one, he knew guerilla warfare. The branch had been bent back and hidden in the grass, a tripline set to release the trap and skewer whatever unfortunate soul walked this way. Had Nok been standing, the trap would have hit him like a bullet. As it was, the knife had only halfway buried itself in Nok's flesh, his combat leathers doubtlessly slowing it. Even so, the full ache he felt now was only a precursor to the pain to come. Now Nok had no choice. With no bacta patches or even bandages, the hunt would only get harder the longer it took. He had to catch this kriffer soon.

 

First, the knife. Nok drew one of his own vibroknives, and allowed himself a brief smile as he saw Master Miwak's sigil on the hilt. With a flick of a switch he powered it on, the blade humming, barely audible. Reversing his grip, he drew it along until the vibrating blade met the branch, then parted the wood like slow-cooked grubs under a knife. The severed branch trap fell to his side.

 

Alright, easy part over.

 

Nok drew out his hold-out blaster, turning off his vibroknife and using the tip to pry off the casing just behind the barrel. Underneath, the connection between the powerpack and emitter looked crude and ugly compared to the sleek aesthetic of the outer cover.

 

Hold-out blasters often found themselves in the hands of the affluent or those who fancied themselves blaster enthusiasts. The one thing both groups had in common was a need to "customize". A quick search on the Holonet would bring up countless results on how to illegally adjust the weapon's power settings. What these self-proclaimed "blaster hackerz" didn't often mention was that hold-out blasters weren't built to handle the charges insecure office workers looking for thrills liked to pump out of them. If they were lucky, the blaster burnt out. If they were unlucky, they got a bigger blast than they hoped for, and a few burn scars to lie about on single's night.

 

On the other hand, if you wanted to decrease the bolt power...

 

Three years ago

 

"Ow! Stop hitting me!"

 

Mistress Kida ignored Nok and hit him on the forehead again with the butt of the hold-out blaster. Nok knelt before the weapon's expert of his trainers, the only way the diminutive noghri woman could reach Nok's head to beat it.

 

"You let the barrel corrode! Another fifty shots and you'd be down to 6 shots per power pack!"

 

"I dont know if you noticed, but I've had meetings with a hutt to keep me busy. That tends to occupy my attention. And it's not like I let it break, and I can always buy-"

 

With a shriek, Mistress Kida leapt onto Nok's head and scrambled across his back, punching and kicking. Nok imagined an avalanche of stones pounding into him as his teacher drove him to the floor.

 

"What's lesson one!?" Kida screamed as she lifted Nok off the floor by his collar.

 

"My weapons...are my life," he gasped out.

 

Nok couldn't help grinning at the memory as he finished adjusting the blaster's power to the lowest possible setting. That lesson had saved his life more than once.

 

Now for the fun part.

 

Not giving himself time to think, he reached up, grasped the hilt of the knife buried in his back, and pulled it out. His eyes blurred as hot tears ran down his face and hot blood pooled on his back. He pulled the combat knife to his face and bit down on the worn leather handle. Then, feeling around and pressing the depowered blaster barrel against the wound in his back, he fired.

 

___

 

Nok opened his eyes. How long had he blacked out for? Judging by the sky, not long. A few seconds? A few minutes? The fact that he wasn't lying in a puddle of his own blood, combined with the throbbing knot of sizzling pain in his back, told him he'd cauterized the wound.

 

"Thank you Mistress Kida."

 

Nok drove the pain from his mind. A distraction. He sheathed his vibroknife, adjusted his hold-out blaster back to normal power and holstered it, and after a moment's thought he pocketed the still bloody combat knife. He started moving again, slower, the network of fiery lines in his back protesting every move. Changing direction, Nok headed straight for the last point he'd heard the sniper fire from. Either he was still there or he'd moved off...and whatever path he took would be trap free...hopefully.

[Jaina Jade Skywalker]

Light entered her cell with a vengeance that split her mind asunder, the neurons angrily straining against the suddenly added burden of sense perception. Clad in the raiment of daylight illumination, the figure of this velvet-adorned demigod proved no less intimidating than his consequential presence had indicated. Those flashing green irises lost none of their brilliance with the addition of starlight; indeed, it rather accented them, the eerie luminance they gave on their own taking on another level of sinister in the startling anti-dim.

 

Heeding the Spider’s command, her faltering footsteps trailed after him into the glow of day in Iziz. The city bore little recognition to all that she had seen in holovids: crawling with troopers bearing the Sith insignia, the skyscape itself formed to the will of this man that she had little choice but to obey. She’d take her chances with the deadly King of the Dark, if it were the alternative to dealing with the hordes of his overeager minions. Something in his demeanor had shifted, however, at the sparkling touch of Raynuk’s mind within her soul. With little idea of the fate that lay at the center of the spider’s web, the steps that carried her forward were nearly meditative in their precise rhythm.

 

The path that they walked drove spikes of dread into Jaina’s heart with every step, just like the fragmented bone in her leg drove further into the muscles which failed at the task of holding her steadily upright. All around her, the stench and decay of death was punctuated with the flaming wreckage of the overhead battle. Dejected prisoners of war, familiar faces from the Coruscant temple, surrounded her, pleading for the hope she could not give them.

 

She was no savior, and she was not here to rescue them.

 

With the roar of militant footsteps behind her and before her, she took her place in the grim parade into the center of Iziz. Curiosity filled the milieu of emotions pouring through the Force, and she could not bring herself to meet the eyes of those who dared her to answer to their desperate hope. Her place at the right hand of the Dark Lord’s processional bore an uncanny familiarity, a frighteningly comfortable recognition.

 

In truth, it was startling how confident she felt, clinging to the mercy of the Emperor of the Sith, falling comfortably into his shadow as he glided along the gauntlet of his worshippers.

 

Gazing out over the crowd, she almost missed the halt and consequent greeting that escaped the silver tongue of the Dark Lord as her quizzical outreach was rejected by the unforgiving emptiness of the ysalamir’s blister. Turning her eyes upward to the first man greeted, she could not keep the horror and regret off her face as she beheld him, broken of body and feeble of spirit: Aryian, who had halted her fearful departure on Kashyyyk, in the effort to focus her attention on the peace generated by gathered servants of the light. What twists and turns had brought him to become a martyred prophet?

 

At the mercy of the horde, all she could feasibly do was exactly that which the crucified captive asked: bear witness, and pray with all yearning that the Force would not allow this magnitude of darkness to rise unabated, unrivaled. Perhaps all she was ever meant to do was to serve as some sick kind of galactic historian, chronicling the glorious victories and tragic failures that she watched firsthand, never to offer peace or understanding to those who tore at each others' throats from birth until the last fateful swipe of their enemy's saber marked the end of their fruitless lives.

 

Perhaps that was why her steps had taken her here.

 

I will bear witness.

 

What had she done, across the years, within the halls of Kings and Emperors, within the hearts of Demigods and Celestials, but bear witness? She had been the sole survivor of massacres, the protege of paragons, the student of megalomaniacs. All of them, lacking wisdom, lacking foresight, lacking understanding. For all their power, they failed, every last one of them, by underestimating one another. They had one thing in common: all of them managed the same betrayed look as their eyes beheld her face in the moments before death.

 

And she, who walked the fine knife’s edge between light and dark for decades; she would bear witness to their folly.

 

A sudden outburst from the man in a Galactic Alliance uniform beside Aryian gave her a name for the Dark One, as his desperate challenge dared death to come more swiftly. This broken man, cut off from the Force, had no recourse for the wrath he invited. He was dead already, and she knew it as well as this Exodus, whose smug confidence remained cool, even clinical.

 

Then his eyes turned to her, and her dread grew tenfold.

 

The lids of her hazel-green eyes slammed shut like blast doors in explosive decompression. I will bear witness, she repeated to herself as his hateful question fell on her ears, demanding her admission to her greatest secret. I will bear witness.

 

The roar of the crowd shrank to a murmur, and even the unearthly braying of the drexls overhead could not quench the clarity that silenced her fear, the echo of the Force within her mind that whispered the future to her. Her path, that which she knew she must take, seemed at odds with the self-sacrifical code of the Jedi. Death had been promised swiftly to the bloodied Darkfire, and the Alliance soldier would not survive. What, then, would her death gain them all?

 

The emerald tint of her hazel eyes grew all the brighter for being echoed in the Dark Lord’s as she returned his redoubtable gaze.

 

“I will bear witness. My friends give their lives freely to shield others from the darkness, and I am not naive enough to believe that such terms are free from conditions.” Her voice was quiet, and there was no defiance, no customarily feisty overconfidence in her manner. “I am no paragon. I have no interest in standing against the dark. I chose my path freely, but that is because I have walked the dark as deeply--maybe even more deeply--than those who you trust.”

 

Her heart pounded in her ears as she looked back toward the empty place on the wall, that which practically had her name emblazoned above it. She smiled regretfully, the searing pain from her leg pulsing within her mind, illuminating the outline of the mark of Slaanesh etched into her forehead. It was a warrior’s gaze that met Exodus’ eyes when at last she looked back to him, as though she could see her very life in his hands. “This is a fool’s choice, Lord Exodus,” she said in a low voice that almost bore tones of sultry. “If you want me dead, there is little doubt in my mind that I cannot prevent such an outcome.”

[Andon]

 

 

 

The sun was high on the horizon, casting the shadowless haze of day upon an unfamiliar skyline; wholly alien, yet surreally familiar as a face long forgotten: an identity outside his grasp and a name just beyond the tip of his tongue. Andon stopped in his tracks, hand finding his brow in order to bide precious moments for his eyes to adjust to the harshness of the light and warmth of this world. He turned and looked behind him, perplexed to find the landing ramp and ship exactly as he had left it within the snowy cascade of Coruscanti starlight. Yet turning to look at the world before him, it was DISTINCTIVELY not Coruscant. Unconsciously, our Traveler caressed the silver band upon his left ring finger with the pad of his thumb.

 

“Jaina.”

 

The name was an exclamation as much as it was a revelation. She was here, he knew it in the depths of his heart. The ache of his spirit had led him to this world, but he could not reconcile what he was ACTUALLY doing here. He did not intend to walk the Fields of Infinity in order to chance a reunion with his beloved. Yet here Andon stood, a face among many in a crowd that witnessed a great and horrific procession of maleficent pomp and circumstance. He looked behind once more to ensure this was not a dream he had wandered into, but the ship and the Coruscant night were nowhere to be found: there was only a sea of endless faces. This was no dream, he was here on Onderon, in some form or another. He was sure of it. Mostly sure of it. Probably.

 

He moved through the crowd with ease, bypassing plebeians and proletariat guard alike in his search for the epicenter of this grand display of might. He traveled as a specter, the echo of a life long forgotten. A ghost within the day. Indeed, there were a great many things about his abilities that he did not comprehend.

 

So he walked as a reflection of unexistence among their lamentations and declarations of righteousness, the calls of all witnesses to this movement either falling on inherently indifferent or unwilling ears. What is this spectacle?. Whatever it was, he was reaching its center, for the density of Sith Troopers and sprawling citizenry intensified to near claustrophobic levels. Or they would have been, could an infinite being perceive such a concept as being trapped. The familiar anti-life of the ysalamir hung in the vibrations of the air, as they bore from within themselves an organic void within the Force. He felt a layer of his essence shudder and retreat from the bubble that nullified the senses of Jedi and Sith alike. But he was so much more than that singular definition of power now, for his strength did not dwindle, despite the ysalamir’s scourge of influence.

 

There, at the event horizon of the procession, was a Great Shadow. And within the perpetual shade of its starless midnight, stood a single lantern of resolve against the dark: Jaina. His heart skipped a beat and his breath caught in his throat. Andon did not mean to come to this world, yet irreconcilably, he had found her.

 

A moment containing all of forever poured outward from the depths of the ancient wellspring that called his body home. A subconscious bridge had been created between Onderon and Coruscant, with Andon at the pinpoint of its junction and all beings in between now interwoven to him but for a moment.Yet within that moment, not a single heart exchanged a beat within the form that contained it. Lungs exhaled no breath, gills abstained from extracting waste dioxide spent, photosynthetic respiration refrained from metabolization, and membrane permeation of osmosis gas exchange halted: all beings everywhere held their breath with this celestial being gazing upon his wife, synchronizing the pulse of their life force with his own. It was but a moment, but countless worlds gazed upon Jaina with longing, just as he did. Andon exhaled and the bridge fell within itself, obliterating a link so subtle, not even The Traveler of Anyhow and Everywhen realized it had been forged.

 

Andon’s footfalls brought him beside Jaina and he dared not think too loudly, for fear she would hear him. He looked upon the form of her tattered flightsuit and hobbled leg, having the power to do anything and the ability to accomplish nothing here. For her mind had not called to his… it had thought of another. Not once had a single thought of hers crossed the threshold into the secret place within her heart that had always remained just for Andon. He could gaze through the very essence of reality, and yet in Jaina’s mind, there was only silence toward his presence.

 

He had been remanded to but a visage, cloaked to all and hidden to himself. For whatever reason, she had chosen to leave her husband behind in this endeavor. Perhaps she did not need him for this. Maybe, she had grown past her need for him, period. For all his ability, he could not see what lay in a woman’s heart. He could only do what he had always done: help her be Jaina. And for now, that meant putting aside his selfish need of her, to let her see the task through which she had not found him worthy of being at her side to complete. Because she wanted it that way… perhaps even needed it. He reached out with his left hand, hovering the tips of his fingers centimeters from the strands of her matted chestnut brown hair. His evanescent touch traced a phantom caress that he dared not kiss her form with, for he would not be able to hide his presence from her.

 

“I would have followed you.”

 

Involuntarily, he uttered these words to her. Andon thought she almost turned her head to look upon him, but a gust of wind came slow across the horizon, lapping at the outer edges of her chestnut mane and drawing her attention elsewhere. A stray strand lifted from the crown of her head and time hung in an elongated fraction as his eyes watched it draw near to his skin. He could simply let it touch his hand and she would know that he was with her. That no matter what, Andon would not abandon her and leave Jaina alone in the dark. The auburn strand bathed in the sienna hues of the midday sun stretched for his grasp and his resolve weakened as the light’s reflection twinkled across his wedding band. The air vibrated between the closing gap of skin and keratin as the impending tickle of his love’s hair danced across palm, a mere molecule’s breadth between them.

 

Andon flickered out of existence, like the memory of a ghost evaporating in the rays of day’s light.

 

****

 

Addendum - This is for narrative dramatization purposes only, to reconcile the time jump from the Beta Forum. His presence is akin to a comm transmission sent from one thread to another. Andon is still very much on Coruscant, waiting for a moon to extinct the planet.

[Karys Narat iv-Adas]

J'boath Lorentz was relieved when he heard the twang of the wire and the first trap catch the neimoidian off guard. He smiled as the tree trunk and knife combination struck him in the back but the moment of reprieve he found was to be short lived...he noted this neimoidian was resilient and persistent.

 

Relentless even in his pursuit. Hearing the man coming for his position, J'boath got up and ran, heading towards another location nearby. One he had scouted as a possible position to set up a last stand if needed, as it seemed was the current case. As he ran he briefly stopped, hoping to avoid contact with any troopers as he lay another improvised trap. One made from a thermo-detonator and hidden beneath several leafs and stones covered in snow that would be activated if the man stepped on or near it.

 

As he spotted his adversary closing in, he let out several shots from a custom DL-44 heavy blaster. Taking careful aim he hoped to land at least one hit, if not the trap he hoped would do the trick and the shots would lure him into it.

[Delta73]

“Well Zalis, we were thinking of kicking in the empire’s teeth with a swift and decisive battle at Kuat if you were interested, though such a thing may not be suitable for a lovely lady like yourself.” He winked viciously and pointed to the twin star destroyers Erdgeist and Mephistopheles, “With our numbers, as well as the Sith fleet, we can lay waste to the uppity empress and her Remnant once and for all, seize the shipyards of Kuat-” He accented this by grabbing hold of her hips and pulling her into an unwanted embrace. Until he could whisper into her ear with laughter on his voice. “-The Trellent Trade Route, Balmorra, Neimoidia, and situates the Colonies and the outer core firmly in our hands, in your hands rather to exploit however you desire.” Some Sith deck officers were watching with open mouths and one looked just about ready to dial for the constabulary to file a ‘me too’ complaint in Zalis’ favour. But Delta knew that she could very well fight for herself, and fully anticipated a knee to the groin.

 

He laughed again and released her, running a hand through his short cropped hair. “Can’t you feel it? An awakening? Our victory is almost at hand!”

 

________________________________

 

Outside, the Fleets began to form up, refueling and aligning hyperdrives with the Sith Fleet to make for Kuat. Victory was only mere hours away.

 

Information packets were distributed to all Black Sun Agents, Mercenaries, and allies that had taken part in the last few battles detailing orders, codes, and rendezvous points outside the Kuat Sector.