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Asuka sat at the transport ship as she was holding a cup of some sort of “strange” green liquid. Some people would call it tea. As they dropped into the atmosphere the ship rumbled, small tea drops dropping to the floor as Asuka adjusted the cop “Hey!” She shouted out to the pilot, a pout across her face. “Careful there! You’re carrying precious cargo!” She shook her head as the pilot complained that Asuka wasn’t exactly a master to be honored to be carrying around (they had been arguing for quite a while). “Not me you fool!” She yelled back “The tea!” The pilot simply shook his head and returning to piloting, Asuka smiled as she continued drinking. Slowly they started to descending onto the landing pad. She had finally finished her basic training as a Youngling, studying, practicing. Getting ready for the new chapter in her life as a Padawan! The adventures she would have. The stories she would be able to tell. The people she would help. She wouldn’t have a boring moment! Heck, pranking her master with her new contraption sounded just as fun! With a smile on her face and the tea in her hands she stepped off the ship, looking around the place to try and find whoever was supposed to meet her. She was supposed to wait…. Right?

It's actually all from the Malleus Maleficarum. Copy pasted from the 1929 translation by Montague Summers. Yes I'm replying many, MANY years later than the OG post; but this stuff bugs me.

Kirlocca smiled as he deactivated his lightsaber and put the hilt upon his belt. The spar was very refreshing for him, as he had not done so since well before he was given the role of Grandmaster long ago. And how grateful I am to not hold such a title and role now. The thought of how much work he had to hold was not really him. He was a teacher, a duelist and a fighter. While he was a leader in many ways, he was not that type of leader. He allowed for space for Alcmene to teaching Keenava. The two seemed to have quickly formed a strong bond, to which he was very well pleased to see. And the fact that Keenava was well aware of her own instincts brought a smile to him. He turned upon the Twi'lek finishing her comments on the spar towards Alcmene and gave her a nod. << You have done well in training thus far. Spars like this are good every so often. It for sure helped me- both of you honor me with your time. >>

The inscription of sorcerous glyphs was a precise and taxing work, the cleaner and more correct the text, the more reliable and potent the outcomes. The natural order was a logical fallacy, the faith of the unquestioning that the world was not only as it was meant to be, but that altering it was some kind of sacrilege. Those people would still be living in mud huts if not for their betters. Nature was ungoverned happenstance, while sorcery was seizing unclaimed power from the heap of random outcomes and putting it to greater purpose. Idrija sculpted the spiritual presence of the flail’s chain and head to better fit the Sith warrior’s grasp, while also inscribing wards and curses to thwart the manipulations of enemies. The flail’s head boasted eight pointed flanges, each marked with curses that would amplify the physical potency of strikes through the hatred of the wielder, as was the ken of Sith warriors. She infused the weapon with the bombast and charisma of a leader, enhancing the weapon’s clamor to shout with the voice of cracking thunder. The peal of its impact would be a rallying cry and the assurance that the warrior still stood. The fire of the forge was suddenly joined by the artificial lights of the building flickering to life. Power seized for greater purpose. Some people called the Sith a religion, but the heart of their creed was to refuse faith in anything other than their own ambition, declaring war on complacency and unquestioning acceptance. The coals of what was would birth the galaxy that the Sith would place their thrones.

Real Name: Asuka Bakuchiku A.K.A: Firecracker Homeworld: Mindor Species: Human Physical Description Age: 13 Height: 5’1 Weight: Unknown Hair: Light Blue Eyes: Red Sex: Female Equipment Clothing or Armor: A black cloak with a simple utility belt. Light armor on the chest. Common Inventory: Simple every day toolkit, basic Jedi toolkit and a comm device. Faction Information Force User, Force Sensitive or Non-Force User: Force Sensitive Archetype: Guardian. Alignment: Chaotic Neutral Current Faction Affiliation: Jedi Order Current Faction Rank: Padawan History (Some of the following categories may not apply to you at all. All are optional, but sometimes appreciated. Detail all the following at your leisure. This is also a good place to add any categories you feel are important info about your character.) Force Side: Light Trained by: Not yet! Trained who: Not yet! Known Skills: Basic force abilities, pull, push, mind manipulation. It may go haywire though! Due to her “wild” flaw Asuka decided instead to train in the art of the lightsaber, being proficient in almost all the basic forms of combat. Concentrating more on an offensive stance rather than defensive Background: Asuka was born into a farmer family in the planet of Mindor. Even though they didn’t have enough it was quite enough for them. Her loving family taught her the ropes on how the world worked but she never found herself in her family’s world. She wanted more, she wanted to see the stars, travel the galaxy. Her first few years of her life were boring but happy times. Helping out in the vast grounds of her family’s farm, taking care of the animals, all the normal stuff farmers daughter did. That is, until she turned 3. A strange traveler had come into her home planet for some kind of research into culture, people were weary of him since he had a strange way about himself. But Asuka’s mother, who was a bit too much trustworthy, decided to take the man in. Make him work as his rent. That’s when Asuka met the man and they soon built some kind of relationship. Asuka talked to him about her planet, the man talked to him about his research. The man was researching the Sith. That’s when she found out about him. A figure clouded in mystery, a figure that had a HUGE impact in the past but was forgotten about for some reason. She got obsessed with what little she could get, although she never got a name it was enough for her too know what she wanted to do, but information didn’t come easy especially where she was from. That’s when she had the great idea of joining the Jedi Order. Thankfully Asuka was force sensitive, one Jedi had found her and took her to the order where she trained as hard as she could. Her mastery of the combat styles was outmatched, at one point she was called a prodigy. Unfortunately that was short lived once she figured out the cost of her awesome lightsaber skills, her force powers were “wild”. No matter what she did, it went haywire. If she wanted to use force push, anything could happen. She didn’t have any trouble learning the techniques, she had trouble controlling the intensity. If she targeted a chair, it could be sent flying by accident or not move at all . She knew the force, she had studied all the different techniques but nothing she did could outsource her one flaw. Instead, she turned to her lightsaber forms. Tutoring with different masters on all the different forms, she hasn’t mastered all of them but she has the basic understanding on all of them. Could be considered quite ferocious when wielding both her lightsabers, some would even say she is suicidal! Ship Registration Name: N/A Class: N/A Model: N/A Manufacturer: N/A Length: N/A Armaments: N/A Armor: N/A Anti-Personnel Defenses: N/A Modifications: N/A Appearance: N/A

Eisa walked through the ruined streets with purpose, her cloak hiding her armor and her saber. Kadi had asked her to pick up a new hopeful while she was on Duros finding a monk, and Eisa had obliged. She had just finished up a mission near Kuat to find a pirate craft that had stolen a few minor Jedi artifacts, and had been close enough to help Kadi out. And, as it turned out, it was a good thing she was. She had arrived on the planet to find the hopeful, a young man by the name of Arghalon, only to find him captured by a few of the Mandalorian Crusaders that still hid on Coruscant. They were on the edge of Ground Zero, the ridge of the crater from when Hesperides struck the planet, annihilating most of the ecumenopolis. Now, most of the city was under some form of reconstruction, but this area was still incredibly hostile. Law and order were a rarity rather than a given, between the scavengers, the Mandalorians, and the other such criminals, most who couldn't handle themselves stayed far away. She was more than capable of handling herself. The Mandalorian camp was unassuming- if she wasn't looking for it, it would have blended in well with the wreckage and upheaved ground. A pair of sentries stood guard, raising their weapons as she approached. She lowered her hood as one spoke. "Get lost, scav. We don't want whatever you're peddling." Part of her wanted to reveal her lightsaber- it would be the most direct option. They would know who she was and why she was here. It was also dangerous- The Mandalorian Crusaders enjoyed fighting Jedi, and a fight risked young Arghalon's life. If one did break out, she would have to hope he could handle himself until she could find him. "I'm not peddling anything. You've taken a captive. A young human male. I've been hired to bring him back. I'm not foolish enough to pick a fight with a camp of Mandalorians though- I'll pay ten thousand credits for his release." "No. Now leave before I decide that you'd look better dumped into the crater." Eisa sighed. It would be tricky to attack the camp, even for her. If Kadi were here it would be no problem- they were a great team, and both veterans of the Sith Empire's downfall. But Kadi was half a galaxy away on Duros, and time was limited. She shifted her cloak, revealing her lightsaber. She opened her mouth to rephrase, to issue a command that they release the boy, but they opened fire before she could. The shield on her arm flared to life as she lifted it to defend herself from the hail of bolts, using it as cover while she rushed forward, using the Force to augment her speed. A bolt glanced off her armor, and another whizzed past her head, but most impacted harmlessly on the shield. She ignited her lightsaber, the cerulean blade illuminating the area in a harsh glow. On of the Mandalorians realized her plan, and drew a vibroblade, but the other was too slow as she knocked his weapon aside with her shield. She drove her saber into the man's chest, throwing him quickly so the ground and pivoting, raising her shield against a downward slice from her second foe. She pushed against him, driving him backwards as his weapon slid off her shield. He lost his balance and hit the ground, his weapon skittering away as he hit his head on a chunk of metal hard enough to knock him out. She used the force to send his blaster flying into a pile of debris. She could only hope Arghalon took the fighting as a que to make his escape.

As the Duros man approached her with a bow, Kadi returned the gesture. She wasn't one who felt bowing to a Jedi was necessary, but she understood it was a sign of respect, not fear, and the least she could do was reciprocate the gesture. He was older than most hopefuls she'd met, but the Jedi order was still rebuilding after the Sith rule. They weren't exactly in a place to be picky about who they recruited. She gestured to her ship with a smile. "Roozemom I presume? Please, come aboard. We have much to discuss regarding the Jedi Order." She turned and walked towards the ship, feeling a pang of guilt. She had returned to Felucia, seen Eisa again, but their duties made those meeting incredibly rare. It was difficult keeping a close friendship and burgeoning relationship going in such conditions, and for the briefest of moments she felt resentment towards her position as a Jedi. What she would give to just settle down with Eisa on a planet like Kashyyyk and spend a few years uninterrupted by Sith attacks and hopeful recruits. But she quashed those feelings as fast as they arrived. It would be a pale immitation of peace, knowing that they both had the knowledge and ability to help the galaxy heal, but had chosen to run away. In a way, it would be even more miserable for them both. It was wishful thinking to believe they could drop everything and hide from the world together. She looked back towards the Duros, addressing him again. "Why choose the Jedi Order now, after so long living as a monk with the Force?"

The leaves follow the wind. They fly. And—without friction—they would do so freely. Keenava could still feel the force singing through her lower body. Her muscles were spongy and responsive. Her stance was an adaptive one. Instead of putting all her weight on her heel and toe, Keenava put her weight on the balls of her feet. Therefore, when Kirlocca’s wave of energy washed outward, Keenava launched into the air and flipped backward. She allowed her body to follow the flow of the blast and touched down twenty meters away on one of the large trees that lined the outskirts of the landing pad. Her maneuver mitigated most of the damage, but she could feel soreness in her calves when she found purchase with the callused soles of her feet. The exertion was not negligible, and she needed a moment to let the vertigo pass, but Keenava didn’t let it phase her. She felt alive. The skin of her upper arms rose from the exhilarant activity. The corners of her mouth were up, and you could see the ivory-white teeth of an open smile on her ebony face. Once her head cleared, Keenava put what energy she had left back into her legs and launched herself close to where the Wookiee and her new master stood. “What did you feel when combat began? How did you harness the force, and what did you find in the depths of yourself when you harnessed the force to strengthen blows?” Keenava heard the questions as her adrenaline subsided, attempting to let them wash over her mind as she came down from the spar. “I suppose, when the combat began, I felt some trepidation. My most recent fight was on the planet Falleen. It was intense and fraught with dark-side corruption, which tested my resolve. And before that, all I knew was my former master's strategy. Each fight had stakes. My teachers and environment taught me to anticipate lethal strikes and dangerous blows at all times. It was refreshing to start combat and not expect to get stabbed first thing; not to mention, it was refreshing to see you step up to defend me when I thought this was a one v. one v. one.” Keenava took a deeper breath and stretched her shins behind herself, feeling her quads engage. She wrung her wrists together, then held her arms behind her back to give her shoulders a nice flex. “I had to harness the force differently, which has been the hardest transition to deal with, if I’m honest. Before, I could rely on my passion to tap into the world around me. But passion is mercurial. It doesn’t flow with the energy around you and encourages you to fight against the grain. Instead, as Master Sandy and Master Leena instructed me, I just listened. I opened my mind to the world and let it flow through me. I let the flowing pools of energy filter through my readied muscles and embraced the force instead of trying to control or tear it apart. It was a part of me as much as my arms and legs.” Keenava replied, her amethyst eyes relaxed and open. “As far as what I felt when I used the force to strengthen my blows and what I found, I can't say I encountered anything. Before I struck, however, I felt several things. My Assassin training taught me to case buildings, assess danger, find weak points, and utilize those weak points to achieve an objective. Those tenets were a part of me. There were a couple of points in the fight when I acknowledged subtle urges to follow my previous training. But that is all they were—urges to be acknowledged and let go. Thanks to you, Master Leena, and Master Sandy, I am better equipped to empty my mind when performing force techniques. Thank you both for the spar!” Keenava bowed low in deference to the two masters before her.

Argahlon's CHARACTER SHEET Identity (Basic Info) Real Name: Argahlon Vexius A.K.A: Arg Homeworld: Coruscant Species: Human Physical Description Age: 16 Height: 5’4 Weight: 110 Hair: Dirty Blonde, Medium length. Eyes: Ice Blue Sex: Male Equipment Clothing or Armor: Typical Jedi Tunic (Dark Brown) Weapon: Broken Lightsaber, durasteel Bo-staff. Common Inventory: Comm Link, Grapple Extension, Smoke Grenade. Faction Information Force User, Force Sensitive or Non-Force User: Force Sensitive Archetype: Sentinel. Alignment: Neutral. Current Faction Affiliation: None Current Faction Rank: None History Force Side: Light Trained by: N|A (yet) Trained who: N|A (yet) Known Skills: Knows how to assemble droids and build small ships, as well as basic skills with a Bo-staff and Lightsaber. Also knows the first stages of Alter Environment. (Learned from mother) Background: Born and raised on Coruscant, Argahlon found himself bound to the beauty of the city lights, mass traffic, and the history of the planet itself. His father was a security guard at one of the local cantinas, while his mother stayed at home to make sure Argahlon was prepared for the journey of life. He did not know that he was special, but Arg’s mother knew all too well what he was, because she herself was once a Jedi as well. Only now the older woman found herself more in exile, as she still feared the Sith would come back to hunt them all. Because of her knowing that Argahlon was force sensitive she would take the time out of their day to train in secret. Arg always wondered why they would do such things, but in the end it would help him grow as a man for what was to come. Still very young and full of questions, Argahlon would go on their way at the age of 16, in search of more in life. Training, love, and power. It would all come together in the end.. Ship Registration Name: Ember Class: Interceptor Model: ETA-2 Manufacturer: Custom built (Junk) Length: 5.47 meters Armaments: Laser Cannons and Secondary Ion Cannons. (Don’t work yet) Armor: Light plating. Anti-Personnel Defenses: Close Ranged Sensors Modifications: Painted white and blue. No other modifications yet. Appearance: https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/starwars/images/f/f8/JediGeneral-SWZ.png

The force moved among the three of them, first as a whisper, a glimmer of song caught at the edges of her hearing. But now it moved in fierce melody pounding through its rhythms as they each began to focus on the force and draw from its miraculous powers. How wondrous it was to feel how each of them tapped into that song. Keenava’s approach was foreign, a tactical thing, guiding her movements as she attacked the Jedi Master. Using the force to quicken and to strengthen as her blows found purchase, speeding each strike as she wailed upon the Wookiee’s arm. Numbing and disrupting. Kirlocca reacted in kind, summoning the force to him in a blast of force fed energy that would surely send the woman flying. The exercise had served its purpose, and though deep within herself she wanted to continue on. To bring her lightsaber up and strike Kirlocca in the back, she depressed the switch on her sabre’s hilt. Watching as the silver blade disappeared with a ‘snap-hiss’, she next let the energy shield deactivate before she held up her hands to both of them. “Enough my friends. Keenava you did very well, and Master Kirlocca I cannot tell you the pleasure it is to cross blades with you. Thank you for holding back.” She gave a wry smile. “What did you feel when combat began? How did you harness the force and what did you find in the depths of yourself when you harnessed the force to strengthen blows?” This question was asked generally, to cause reflection from her apprentice and allow a teaching space if Kirlocca wished.

The Duros Monk heard the Force Beacon call out to him as he meditated inside of his room. There was no mistaking the Beacon's meaning, which was that his calls to the Jedi Order had not gone unanswered, and that meant that he needed to move out immediately. He then grabbed his Durasteel Quarterstaff and began to walk towards the intended meeting location, and as he walked he thought about what his new life would be like in the Jedi Order. He understood that it would be somewhat familiar due to his monk background. He then turned the corner and found himself inside the room of the meeting location. The room was crowded and it even had an interesting smell. He then looked around the crowd and singled out the woman that he was supposed to meet with. Roozemom Ramzenssor walked down to the woman named Kadi Silan and then he bowed his head in honor. He continued to think about his future within the Jedi Order as he waited to be addressed. While he understood that the situation would be somewhat familiar, he also knew that the Jedi Order was much different than most Monastic Orders were due to their specialization in the Force.

Kadi stepped aboard one of the many orbital stations around Duros, looking out at the planet through the observation deck. The planet suffered under the whims of absolute industry, the Duros shipyards and manufactories choking out most living beings. She couldn't imagine what would drive a species to do such a thing to their own home. It was a type of pollution utterly alien to what she was used to- More complex, more complicated. When she had to cleanse a world of the effects of the Dark Side, it was as simple as righting the natural order, and removing whatever was causing a disruption in the Force. To cleam a planet of the smog that covered Duros would take trillion of credits, and probably close to a hundred years. Even still, such a restoration could never be perfect. She wondered what species would never see the galaxy again, what plants were forever lost to industry. She was glad she didn't need to approach the planet itself. The hopeful she was to collect and assess was on one of the many orbital stations, the one that she had just boarded. She had left her lightspear aboard her shuttle, opting to bring an more traditional saber that had been gifted to her. She wore her traditional Jedi robes- she knew who she was here to find was a Duros, and expecting her, and hoped that without a way to contact him he would be able to spot her in the crowd. She closed her eyes, reaching out in the Force like a beacon, telling the Jedi hopeful her location.

Duro (also known as Duros) was the heavily polluted and depopulated homeworld of the Duros species. Located on the Corellian Trade Spine in the Core, the planet itself was mostly abandoned, mainly housing food processing plants. Most of the population lived in one of the twenty orbiting cities. Duro was also home to a large number of orbital shipyards.

Identity Real Name: Roozemom Ramzenssor A.K.A: Master Ramzenssor Homeworld: Duro Species: Duros Physical Description Age: 35 Years Height: 01.8288 Meters Weight: 72.5747 Kilograms Hair: Not Applicable Eyes: Red Colored Sex: Male Equipment Clothing or Armor: Monk Robes Weapon: Durasteel Quarterstaff Common Inventory: Comlink Faction Information Force User, Force Sensitive or Non-Force User: Force Sensitive Archetype: Jedi Guardian Alignment: Lawful Good Current Faction Affiliation: Jedi Order Current Faction Rank: Hopeful History Force Side: Light Side Trained by: Monastery Trained who: No One Known Skills: Martial Arts Background: Roozemom Ramzenssor was born on the world named Duro. He had never known his parents that well. His mother and father were both murdered whenever he was five and as a result he was taken into the local monastery to become one of their monks. Eventually he was promoted from Junior Monk to Senior Monk due to several years of hard work and engagement within his studies. Whenever he had become even more aged and matured he was promoted once more but this time to the rank of Master. He eventually noticed some subtle signs that alluded to his Force potential. That was whenever he decided to test himself. He soon realized that he was indeed Force Sensitive based on his Midi-Chlorian count. He then contacted those who worked with the Jedi Order to spread the message that he was willing to join. Ship Registration Name: The Durasteel Sword Class: Starfighter Model: Z-95 Headhunter Manufacturer: Incom Corporation Length: 11.8 Meters Armaments: Two Linked Triple-Blasters Armor: 14 RU 20 SBD Anti-Personnel Defenses: None Modifications: Two Concussion Missile Launchers

An impossibility. He moved with such speed and strength that his huge form was a blur before her eyes. She had not even a moment to fully process what would then befall her. The last Dathomiri priestess. The last of her bloodline, cursed to die and live again until the Dark Lord freed her of her bondage. A dark lord that had long since left her far behind. What was she in the end? Another young mind corrupted by the addiction of power, lusting for its promises while the promise stayed ever a finger length out of reach? How was that her fate since she had been born? A flash of incomprehensible rage passed through her mind in a flash as she felt the lightsaber burn its way through her arms. It was unfair. It was an outrage. How could she loose to this? How could the heir of the great Ar-Pharazon and Qaela the Darkmother, loose to a wookiee apprentice fresh off the teat of its master? How with all she had sacrificed on the alter of power could she be left bereft of it when she needed it the most? As superheated plasma cut through bone and sinew she screamed in her anger. A roar of guttural rage. A roar that became a wail of despair as she fell to the ground at the feet of the Jedi Apprentice. Her eyes leaking forbidden tears as she confused in the desiccated grass. In the end they all had abandoned her. Her masters, her mother, her power. Gone like the tears that leaked down her dirty face into the dirt she had made barren as her heart.

The swirling emotions that any form of battle or duel always stirred up the need for control. It was something he found to be true even within spars with padawans, that emotions rose and it was within those emotions that, while more strength and sense of purpose could lend a person, rarely if ever allowed for one to see the entire field at play. Alcmene deployed her shield in a strong array of a defensive maneuver that protected against the kinetic energy that blasted off his lightsaber. A true defensive form, one that kept her pinned to defend. It would break up the rhythm temporarily of a one on one on one and change the field to two on one. Not entirely surprising though, as he would expect for a master to protect their padawan, if Keenava was the padawan. The move for a new or younger padawan would be slow to come around to make a counter. But Keenava was neither of the two, so he narrowed his focus onto the energy that could surround her, which he had to assume whom he was feeling out behind the shield deployment of Alcmene. The Twi’lek sprang almost immediately upon the wave blast finished, making use of the saved Force energy not extended to protect herself. He quickly positioned himself against the charge, only to pick up that such defense was wasted and predicted. The quick strikes to his left arm sent tingles and waves of sensations through, having him quickly change to his right hand as the one to hold his lightsaber- a move that only worked through the fact that he was holding the hilt with both paws. Had he not, it would have dropped his lightsaber. It was a very good move by Keenava, and even better by her quick movement to accelerate out from him, moving well past any defensive saber move. She was good, and there was a small sense of pride in the fact she was as good as she was. His turn to follow her was very much wasted through his inability to keep her close with a saber swing. But she was not out of reach from being tossed even further away from a Force push- to which the Jedi Master used so easily. Not with great force, not enough to hurt her, but enough to either expend Force energy to resist and stop, or to let it aid in her already movement away from him and take her out of any counter strike position. A move though that he almost regretted as he realized his sense slightly dropped to make the move and he had turned fully away from Alcmene.

Rising from her tumble, Keenava felt a shrill peck at the base of her neck. Several small but intense sensations rang on the periphery of her senses, though she could not decipher the source. As she collected her thoughts, she realized—too late—that it was the Force telling her of the Wookiee’s imminent kinetic blast. Waves of tarmac gravel blasted into the air, throwing rocks the size of small pebbles everywhere. Keenava braced herself, tensing the muscles in her legs to prepare to catch herself if the blast sent her flying. However, the blast’s severity was cut short by her new master’s artful adaption. Her shield cut through the blast like a fan blade through a typhoon, sending the gravel and excess force outwards on either side of the pair. Keenava could hear the subtle dings of rocks as they hit the hull of the Bloated Tortur nearby and even more as they struck surrounding objects. One stray piece of sediment successfully grazed the Twi’lek’s cheek, but other than that, she remained unharmed. Keenava was confused. At the start of combat, she assumed they would all be fighting each other. But this tactic left her new master open. Alcmene exposed her back. Her only form of defense was currently protecting them both. It was a gesture of goodwill, and not something the Twi’lek was used to. Some darker parts of her whispered to take advantage of the opening. But they were easy to discard. That isn’t something Jedi do. That isn’t something good people do. While the blast played out, Keenava held fast and tapped into the force around her. She kept inside her mind and relaxed, pulling energy from their surroundings into her ready muscles. Any excess energy that blew past her new master’s shield, she let wash over her, conserving the blast and fueling her maneuver. Then, after the last rock fell, Keenava shot out like a bullet. The force of her feet on the ground but the barest whisper as she torpedoed out and toward the Wookiee. The Twi’lek aimed her assault straight on, bluffing a full charge at force-propelled speed. Instead, she came in low and used her momentum to aim several precise knuckle blows at key pressure points in Kirlocca’s dominant arm, her fists formed with the index knuckle protruding a little further than the rest. The precision was crucial. The calculations needed to be immaculate. Too much force could cause semi-permanent damage, and too little would not achieve the effect she was looking for. Then add that he’s a Wookiee, and a tricky situation gets even trickier. The force needed to disable a Wookiee’s arm is considerably larger than a human’s. Therefore, Keenava guessed less force than she thought for the blows. Worst came to worst, Kirlocca would be agitated by the attack and distracted, allowing Alcmene to counter, or she'd miss, and her maneuver would've been a waste. But, if Keenava's assault worked, the Wookiee would drop his weapon and temporarily lose feeling in his arm. Afterward, because the Twi’lek was neither stupid nor cocky (not anymore, anyway), she continued her accelerated gait out past Kirlocca’s defenses and retreated to a safe distance. ((2))

The Quarren marched slowly, his gilded black robe gliding across the cobbled path as it dragged gently behind him. He was illuminated brightly by cauldrons of deep orange fire, and candles symbolically on each of his shoulders. Robed figures lined the hall, whispering their chants over a flickering flame held atop a candlestick. He spoke from the back of his throat the Prayers of his burning god over the torch flame he carried reverently. “The great flame, the birthplace of civilization…” With each step, the roaring crackle of the fires around him grew. “The birthplace of the spirit…” The chanting became more uniform, many voices becoming one. “The birthplace of the mind…” Their voice echoed in the chasm, their long silhouette cast their solidified darkness in contrast of the flickering yellows and oranges that illuminated the cavern “Around the great flame we gathered, we lived, we loved, we lost…” Slowly the echo balanced, becoming one with their resonating voice. “Around the great flame we found our souls, longing to be awakened…” The sound amplified as it harmonized. “Around the great flame we created, learned, studied, and evolved.” Before the spire, in the dried fountain, a tower of kindling held aloft the body of the Sith. The one that plagued his nightmares, his ceaseless visions of the woman that would restore order, that would humble the galaxy with their message. “With this great flame we call for rebirth. Let us be the instrument of your enlightenment! Bring us the champion of your devouring inferno!” He pressed the torches light to the construction of kindling. The fire took and quickly rose up the grave, engulfing the lifeless corpse. “Let us burn our path to salvation!” The chants rose with the fire toward a great crescendo. The blaze roared, burning its visage into the eyes of all who gazed into it. With a burst akin to a solar flare, sparks and ash rose to the ceiling, depositing a thick black soot above the spire. In that moment there was silence, the powerful gust blew cold each and every fire meticulously placed in keeping with the ritual. From the center of the ash coated spire cracked a blinding light, widening to reveal the shadow of a woman. The black form stepped hesitantly forward into the settling ash. Her summoners knelt silently before her radiance. The Quarren turned, behind him an acolyte offered the crown that bound her to this reality on a crimson silken cloth. He took this artifact, turned back to face the woman and kneeled to her. “My Queen,”

Umbra let the boy talk himself out, watching in silent judgement as he darted in and out of the shuttle to avoid the local authorities. So it wasn't a trap. The boy had sent a broadcast out into the black of space in the genuine hope that a Sith may hear it and come to aid him. What would he have done had Umbra not found the wayward transmission? If the Jedi had found it? Or worse yet, the Sovereign Alliance. The Sovereignty struck down Sith sympathizers with great prejudice, and would have likely killed this boy without a second thought. Still, he was young. These were things they would teach him. "I am Krath Umbra. I work for Sith Intelligence. Before I take you off this planet and on to my ship, I have a few questions. Rest assured, the authorities are no threat to you under my protection. Even if they attack, I will dispatch them. Answer my questions in any way you like. It is my duty to ensure those we recruit are free of the malaise and the hubris of those that came before, to ensure that the Sith Empire will rise again, stronger than it has ever been. If your answers are deemed appropriate, I will take you aboard and ferry you to the Sith. If I do not like your answers, I will leave you here to die by the authorities." He examined the prospect before him. He was fit, armed, and armored. But was he truly worthy to become a Sith Warrior? "You call yourself a terrorist. Violence incarnate," Krath Umbra chuckled. "but what is your doctrine? A terrorist has a goal, a message, a political or military end that their terrorism is a means for. Are you a terrorist, or just a perpetrator of wanton violent acts, lashing out to inflict pain and suffering for nothing else but the joy it brings you?"

What good hath silence ever done? Mandalorian garbed soldiers marched in their blackened armour, the only distinctive marking the slight red glow of their ‘T’ shaped visors. If there had been abundant light there could have been seen the symbol of the Darkwatch, but they moved in darkness. Practising the manoeuvres of war in the barren rain coated canyons of Ziost. As one body they moved. Their blaster rifles spitting bright crimson bolts of tibanna spun energy into human sized silhouettes. It had almost become boring the soldiers had become so used to endless trainings. Endless watching of holovids and docs that outlined old conflicts. Conflicts they had only a small taste of. Perhaps had things gone differently in the many years before, they and their leader could have found respite and redemption. But that was not the fate of the Mandalorian soldier. There had been a time that the mandalorian people had stooped to the grovelling and beggardry of the mercenary life or the disgrace of farming. Or even worse, had bowed the knee before a government that had hated and despised them. A government run by the Jedi. Their enemies for a thousand thousand generations. The Darkwatch would see the end of that beggardry. They would walk beside the Sith as they had the last decade. The beginnings of an army that would sweep through the galaxy like a storm of blood.

Marcson Moonmous was now on the run. The Corellian Authorities would be here soon. No matter what he could not allow that. He made sure to rush down to the coordinates that he had been handed. He knew that the Sith Order had answered his call and that time was also short. Two Corellian Authorities moved around in the corridor that he needed to use. He knocked them dead with his T-6 Thunderer and continued on his run. He soon made it to the coordinates that he had been handed. He looked around and noticed the man named Krath Umbra. That man looked like he stood out in the crowd. He walked down towards where he was located and then removed his Battle Helmet as he made his introduction. "Hello. I am Marcson Moonmous. I want to become the next Sith Warrior." He waited some more and then continued his introduction with even more detail. "I am also known as Terrorist Moonmous. I have been called violence incarnate." Marcson Moonmous saw some Corellian Authorities move around the crowd. "There is not much time. We must move now." He moved into the civilian shuttle and sat down where he would not be seen. Whenever the Corellian Authorities had cleared out he came back outside. He then moved his T-6 Thunderer back into his holster. He calmed down somewhat whenever the coast was clear. However he was still cautious as he needed to be in this situation. His Battle Helmet was back on whenever he had come back out as well. He made some more introductions. "I have no Mother or Father. Those are the basics about me." He was now done with introductions. He then saluted the man named Krath Umbra as he would another warrior. He then made one last comment. "I will serve the Sith Order with honor and I will never waver in obedience to their cause." He meant those words with as much conviction as he could muster.

While Darth Idrija worked on the weapon, Darth Mavanger set about establishing the foundation for the new Sith Empire, and their new capitol of Ziost. He had the manpower- Those Sith that had sworn allegiance to him came with authority, and their slaves. Those that did not had been killed, and their slaves donated to surrounding warlords. And yet, those people only cared about what would bring them power. Armories, garrisons, factories. Infrastructure and spaceports were beyond their care, shipyards were beyond their power, and any form of inter-planetary empire was going to take more than a ragged band of warlords and tyrants. That was what his job was. Motivating those he now commanded to devote their resources to the betterment of the empire. It was a common adage that only two things were certain, death and taxes. It was less common for there to be a choice between them. He wouldn't be able to coerce resources from them forever, but he could do it long enough to show that they were not being poorly used. But first he had to establish his own base of operations on the planet, at the very least so that there was a place to route the upcoming tithe to. He could only remain on his flagship for so long, and while it was fully equipped to serve as a military hub for military operations on a local galactic scale, it was no use on a larger galactic scale, nor was it suitable for an administrative hub. He didn't have the slaves that the others did- He was never one to take slaves. In all his time he'd only ever had one- The girl from his homeworld. His first day. It had been so long ago. She had remained on Korriban until it fell, and had been evacuated- He treated her well, and in time she had forgotten her hatred of him. She was currently on special tasking combing through the fractured data-logs they had evacuated for anything useful. Regardless, he needed builders. The next shipment of slaves would be his. If they worked fast, worked hard, worked well, they would be set free within reason. If they didn't, they would die.

Krath Umbra watched the world below with keen disinterest. The world had been largely untouched in the last war. There had been a minor skirmish for the planet once the rebels had begun to appear in force, but the planet had always held sympathies to boths sides of conflict. In the old Republic, it was staunchly loyal to the Republic and it's values. When that became the Galactic Empire, it's loyalties changed with it. And again when the New Republic took power. It wasn't a place known for it's rebellious sentiment. And yet, in the blackness of space and the annals of hyperspace, the Sith Empire had found a signal. One broadcast calling to the void for any remnants of the Sith that could hear it. Someone was looking to join the Sith, or at least they wanted people to believe that. And now, Umbra was in a race against time. Could he vet the prospect, contact him, and extract back to Ziost before the Jedi or Sovereign Alliance monitoring stations heard the call? Only time would tell. He nudged the ship down, a standard civilian shuttle meant to blend in with local system traffic. It wouldn't outrun any fighters or outshoot any gunships, but hopefully the anonymity it would provide would stop either of those situations to begin with. He sent a message to the relay that sent the message. "Meet me." Attached were the coordinates to the landing pad that he had been assigned. Either he would be met by a prospect, or by a trap. Either way, he was prepared.

Identity Real Name: Marcson Moonmous A.K.A: Terrorist Moonmous Homeworld: Corellia Species: Human Physical Description Age: 25 Standard Years Height: 1.8288 Meters Weight: 82 Kilograms Hair: Brown Recon Eyes: Hazel Round Sex: Born Male Equipment Clothing or Armor: Battle Armor + Insulated Clothes Weapon: T-21 Blaster + T-6 Thunderer Common Inventory: Data-Pad + Comlink Faction Information Force User, Force Sensitive or Non-Force User: Force Sensitive Archetype: Sith Warrior Alignment: Neutral Evil Current Faction Affiliation: Sith Order Current Faction Rank: Potential Recruit History Force Side: Darkness Trained by: None Currently Trained who: None Currently Known Skills: Guerilla Combat Background: Marcson Moonmous was born on Corellia where his Mother and Father were murdered whenever he was twelve. He learned to both thrive and to survive on his own. He made sure to crush those who were weaker than him in order to assert his dominance. Whenever he became seventeen there were terrorist attacks on his Corellian homeworld. He had come to hate the authorities on Corellia and made sure to become one as well. He murdered and assassinated. He marauded and burned. He became violence incarnate. However in several combat encounters he had come to notice several Force Sensitive attributes. However there was no medical center on Corellia that would test him due to his wanted level. He decided to make his next move based on his hunch. He made sure to research the various Force orders that existed within the known universe and the ancient Sith Order was the one that stood out to him the most. He then sent out several announcements directed towards the Sith Order that detailed his wish to become the next Sith Warrior.

Danger sense, though slight, slithered up her spine. It was not the familiar signs that accompanied the roar and terror of a battlefield, instead it was soft and calm and barely perceptible. A sign of the restraint of the great Jedi Master, and a reminder that she still had much to learn about control. A glance to her side told her that the Twi’lek had certainly been trained in fighting before, but whatever the next move sent by the Jedi master might overwhelm the still recovering woman. She reached up with the hand holding her lightsaber and pulled at one of the leather straps holding the shield lattice to her left arm, releasing one of the two points that kept the shield firmly attached to her arm. This allowed her to pivot the golden shield in her hand, the long kitesque bottom of the shield being held horizontally to the landing field. The length when held at full extension enough to cover the both of them from the long arcing attack of the Jedi master. This of course broke her rhythm of defense, over stretching herself as to defend the both of them, but allowing the Twi’lek to attack without having to worry about a defense. A method that many pair duelists on her home planet had perfected over the centuries. Though she had her doubts her father would have been proud at such a move. It was improvised, and nothing like the fluid and beautifully deadly duels of house de Moriès-Outremer.