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

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

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

The blind neimoidian sat back in his throne, his sightless eyes staring out into space. "You look like death, Darth Sia." He paused, before an anemic chuckle escaped his mouth at his own weak joke. Then, he frowned, head cocked as if he could hear something. "Your rebreather...it needs attention." He looked from side to side, dramatically taking in the wasteland they stood in. "...and it doesn't seem like you have much in the way of help." Apothos extended his hand. "I can fix it." Like the tendrils of a deep sea creature, Apothos' awareness extended and touched inner workings of the jawa Sith's rebreather, although Darth Sia's own will immediately repulsed him. Mechu-Deru could only do so much when uninvited. "Let me in, and I can restore it for you." He smiled again. "Consider it an investment." Apothos would not lie and say that he could be trusted, and he doubted Sia would have believed him anyway. The question was, would the jawa see the opportunity here...or the threat?

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

As the heart of the storm crashed overhead, so too did the beast-king of Aaris III. It’s razor-tipped legs that moved with grotesque grace were lithe and light but brought forth a needled hammer as they exploded soulfrost, ancient duracrete, and immortal ice with each rapid strike of blinding ferocity and hunger. Egged on by the dark side, a simple mind deranged by the touch of eternal damnation and brimming with vengeful hunger, the beast struck again and again paying no heed to the striking blades of the assassin as they clanked fruitlessly against it’s armored appendages. The blades carved furrows in the blackened carapace of the beast’s armored limbs and the poison hissed as it met mortality and was repulsed; it’s bite being consumed by both storm and the dark primordial poisons that flowed through it’s veins. The first of many appetizers had presented itself and the predator would have given chase had it not been for what happened next. An explosion of the force erupted to draw the fell beast’s attention as a creature of metal and stone turned to flee in pursuit of another tasty morsel. Its mind warped by the darkness, such a monster knew the call, could taste the fruits of victory as it began to salivate, giant globules of steaming acidic venom slathering from its mandibles onto the frozen ground below. With such dexterity and agility its kind were known for, the beast could not hope to catch the source of darkly erupting power, @Solus, but it mattered not; for to hunt, its kind had other methods. Augmented by the veil and the vengefulness of the dark side itself, it moved. The storm crashed. Peels of thunder filled the air. Wind and frozen pellets of ice tore through the air seeking purchase on flesh, earth, and whatever may foolishly stand before it unguarded. Turning, the fury of the storm enveloped the beast its crimson eyes to glow, all that could be seen before the eight blood-red rubies vanished into the thundersnow. Traversing along the razored edge of the veil, the beast ceased to exist within the mortal realm; transiting between death and damnation and the living. Time and space meant nothing, able to live between the worlds that had birthed it. The beast moved, unshackled by the laws of nature existing within the nothingness until it sensed it, the surge of force power as it highlighted the blinding rush of mechanized daemon. Bending its abdomen, the beast spat forth tethers of eternity-corrupted nature, sticky strands wrought as pliable frozen neuranium. They leapt from the frozen air of the storm, materializing with the beast in an expansive entangling web toward the Sith apprentice before he might strike at the the ill-armored prey of the beast. With a guttural hiss that sent sprays of venom flying in the wind, the beast turned to see his red-fleshed quarry dart down a hallway into the citadel of Inmortos. The beast’s daggered appendages scraped and clawed at the entrance to the hallway as @Karys Narat iv-Adas made his way deeper toward the unlatched door of Inmortos’ storehouse of hand-crafted experiments and creations. Realizing the futility of such efforts, the beast seemed to dissolve into the storm itself transcending between the mortal and immortal planes waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

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

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

Leena offered a slow deep nod in return. ‘Grandmaster,’ the term felt so foreign, so distant, and yet, somewhere deep in her heart the young Mon Cal knew the truth. She turned and gestured silently, bidding the Lord Commander to fall into step with her as they moved into the awakening city ”There is much to discuss.” She began, forgoing any sort of formal greeting. The young eyes of the healer gazing outward as if they saw beyond the destruction that lay before them. ”The people of Falleen will require a lot of assistance. Otherwise they will fall into want and come to see their freedom as an affront by the new Imperial dominion.” Leena wished that the new Sovereign Alliance had communicated with the Jedi before beginning their assault on this world. They had caught not only the Sith forces of Falleen and her citizens by surprise, but also the Jedi who had been infiltrating the world in an effort to purge the darkness from within. “The Sith are apparently not gone from the galaxy.” Leena gestured to the shellshocked world before them as evidence of the statement. ”Even if their empire is driven from the galaxy, their wizards of evil apparently lurk in the shadows even today. The beast that ruled this land cannot be the only one. It was Sith who destroyed your Hell Vault Prison was it not?” she asked, half rhetorically as she continued to speak, their feet carrying them around the corner of another city block. “It is not a Jedi’s place to rule. We seek to defend civilization, justice, truth, and light. These . . . Sith,” she almost spat the word, ”slaves of despair and destruction, must be found and stopped before they can gain another foothold. The welfare of these people, the people of this new Alliance, rests on your shoulders Commander; the shoulders of you and your brothers. To keep them from the darkness. That is your oath, lest the new light that rules this galaxy become an oppressor’s flame. We, the Jedi, will stand beside you in support of this cause; but we are not bound by the same servitude. We are called to a loftier goal, a holy calling governed by the force itself.” Leena stopped as they came to a wide set of stairs that cascaded down onto a once decorative brick promenade, now scattered with boulders and craters. ”Even now, there are Jedi seeking the Sith in whatever shadows they might be festering. To find them, to offer them redemption in this life or the next, that is our task at hand. To strengthen and protect the weak and downtrodden is our goal. And so our tasks are not mutually exclusive Lord Commander. As long as we both remain in the light, your Knights will have a friend in the Jedi.” Beginning down the stairs into the rising sun, Leena turned to look @Raphanel in the eye. “From here, I am called to the healing of a single ragged soul and the construction of a sanctuary for the Jedi and those who serve the cause of light; to heal, test, and equip those who safeguard all peoples of this galaxy and beyond. And what of you my friend? Where will you go next? Would you join my apprentice and I as we journey to the windswept world of Ilum?”

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

So the Alliance had done nothing at all to topple this order. So many had died. Her entire planet had been liberally scattered with sun nuclear munitions, half the population wiped out and the other half left to rot in their bubbled cities and the Sith Lords had fallen by accident or even worse by choice. The sith order and their galaxy spanning empire could not have just tripped and fallen on its own lightsaber because of a few selfish leaders. She wanted to reject its very premise. To spit in the face of the man that loomed over her and cry. But even in all his mockery she knew he was right. The Sith were gone. For now. Biding their time until peace made them weak. Until the fleets were reduced to balance a budget and standing armies disarmed in case of coup. A galactic cycle that had repeated every decade since the time of Queen Amidala. “Is that where I should send you then assassin? To the heart of Maw where mischance will pluck your life away from you? Where you can sit adrift for a millennia until hunger consumes you and you pluck out your own eyes to spite the madness? Where a master bides his time until we are weak again?”

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

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

Tears fell unbidden down Piotr's face, leaving streaks in the dirt and grime of combat. He couldn't pull his eyes away from her lifeless body. Luckily, he didn't have to. Lord Raphanel found him, throwing a cloak over her body. He blinked as he was pulled away, and as his mind settled and he realized what had transpired. He had killed someone. In a battle, in self defense, in a scenario that no one would ever blame him, but it didn't help. He felt nauseous, closing his eyes and taking a deep, shaky breath. Raphanel's words were a cold comfort, unable to put the doubts in his mind to rest. If he hadn't been here, if she hadn't had the misfortune of attacking him in her blind fury, would she have survived? Could she have been saved? Healed? How many siblings did she have? Would her parents be mourning her come the dawn? Would she have gone on to meet someone, have children? What futures had he just rendered impossible by being in the wrong place at the wrong time? In a moment, he threw his borrowed helmet to the ground, leaning forward as last night's meal came back up to meet Falleen's dirt. He coughed, trying to clear his throat of the burning sensation the vomit had left behind. He shuddered, trying to compose himself. In doing so, he felt ashamed. Even now, he was concerned with what they would think of him. That they might think him weak, or undignified in his composure. He struggled to his feet, regaining his balance as he glanced back at the form under the cloak. He didn't speak, but he glanced at the Lord Commander, nodding his thanks. He was far from over this, but unless he wanted to get them killed here in this trench, he would have to push on.

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

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

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

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

Leena set off, back into the slowly awakening city. She pulled her cloak around her shoulders before donning her traveler’s hood. She was not trying to hide, outright; but, truth be told, she was exhausted. As such, any undue attention she could avoid was worth it. Still, she was looking forward to getting back to Jedi business proper, not politics or positioning or trying to wrangle the Jedi’ position in the galaxy, just simple clean hard work. It was refreshing and after the long trek of war, Leena was ready for a simple and clean challenge. And then her comlink chirped. Leena let out an audible sigh as frustration tensed across her shoulders. Who is it now? she wondered as she took a deep calming breath before releasing it in a slow exhalation before reaching for the communication device. It was if on cue. Leena almost chuckled as a smile splayed across her weary face. Squibs. Short, chatty, and a downright pain at timed, the Jedi Grandmaster could not help but like them. A bulk of them had been vaporized alongside Jedi and Republic forces proper over Nar Shaddaa and still their tenacious spirit lives on. A translucent blue floating head materialized over the communicator. Beneath his oversized large-brimmed hat, the Squibian commander, Reaper Joe, smiled out at the Jedi. ”Ahhh most esteemed lady healer of the mighty Jedi. From far-off distances and forbidden most secret trade routes much word rumors came to us of a shadow stronghold of Sith slimelords to be attacked for the liberation of oppressed greenies. Even now elitest of elite forces of the Squibian Salvage Forces are combing the planet to look for,” the commander paused as he chose his next words carefully, ”survivors. Imagine my most shocking of surprising surprises to learn that you are here as well.” Leena smiled. Wherever there was conflict, wherever there was a chance to scrounge something of value from others’ junk, the Squibs inevitably found their way. Like trans-galactic Jawas, they plied the hauntingly empty spacelanes. ”And a good morning to you as well High Commander,” Leena inclined her head in greeting as she digested everything the small rodently being had babbled. ”What can I do for you?” ”Our newly minted most indomitable fleet requires most secretive of retrofitting and we have much salvage to offload in preparations for ventures beyond the edges of Known Space. It is imperative that we return to the ice world of Jedi secrets and pick our brother and sister engineering Squibian masterful craftsmen up with due zippy speed. Once,” he added, ”we finish obtaining any needed supplies from this ripe world.” Leena sighed as she chuckled under her breath. This was an opportunity to get back to Ilum, to help Keenava best her demons and refocus herself too. ”It would be an honor to accompany you when you depart; but first, I must find my fellow Jedi. She . . . “ The Squib warlord cut Leena off before she continue, ”Oh yes, many many Jedi on the dark planet recently. Squibian Intelligence Assets report at least a dozen, many leading bands of frighty fright freedom fighters. I can direct locations to your transmission device and we can pick you up by the end of business day.” Before Leena could respond, her comlink buzzed, a slew of different planetary coordinates, some within the city and some outside appeared in the small comm readout. ”Many thanks comrade. I am sure I will be able to find my apprentice by then.” ”Excellent! We shall pick you up as soon as we have finished out top secret salvaging rescue operations.” Leena smiled as the transmission ended. She knew better than to question the strange green furred squirrel privateer/pirate or their methods. They worked all too often. If they knew she was here and where a dozen other Jedi or Imperial Knights, she had no doubt they had a way of knowing where she was and would be too. It was yet another mystery of the force. Checking the list of coordinates, Leena noted a pair not terribly far away. Something felt right about it. Tucking her comm away, Leena hurried off hoping to find her apprentice. She figured that had Keenava still been lying unconscious in the temple ruins Reaper Joe would have said something. She had hoped that the newly minted Jedi could find her way. As a former Sith, Leena figured the Twi’lek’s survival instinct was well honed. Still though, she had not found the Grandmaster yet. Making her way down the street, Leena lurched to a stop as she drew up short almost colliding with a short red furred rodent in black tactical gear. “GAHHHHHHHAAAAYYY!!!” the Squib operative cried out in shock as she whipped around in shock, “Can’t you see I am spying on the Jedis?!” she pointed down the street toward @Keenava Dira

@RitaEstrazda @Hagark The Knight raised her eyebrows at both of their responses as she led them towards their drop shuttle. The battle was mostly over, though through the force she could still feel the distant pangs of death ticking at the back of her neck. She outstretched her senses but could feel little close danger save the intrinsic danger of those two that walked behind her. One was a creature of some degree of sentience, likely recently evolved on the galactic time scale, a being that previous galactic governments would have scoffed at giving any kind of rights to. The other was the Toruguta woman whome she did not know. Strange company to be found on a starship but such was the way of such things. The Knight gestured to the Dropship which would take them to the star destroyer. “If you have no objective in your travel then perhaps you can accompany us to Ylsia where the main redistribution and refugee camps are. Would that interest you two?”

The ground underneath Solus trembling made Solus begin to scare. He had no idea how Akheron figured out his exact position, but that didn’t matter now. Solus was caught, even as he tried desperately to crawl out from his hiding spot as the ground crumbled underneath him. He was stuck under the piece of hull plating of his ship. Solus felt the yellow mist in the Impossible Geometries. The danger was about to strike him. Turning over onto his back, he called upon the force to push the hull plating away from himself in the direction of his advancing Master. As the makeshift shield was quickly and steadily shredded apart by Akhron’s strikes, with Solus stuck in the ground, a sense of dread began to set in. On the back of the hull, in Solus' mind, the eyes of the Spider and the Fanged God looked at the Shard, eager for his destruction. Solus laughed as the dread consumed him. This was the way of the Madness. This was the way of the Fanged God. To kill and to be killed. Nihilism incarnate. Even as the potential of Solus' death drew near, the Shard couldn't help but love the fact. Solus threw his blade with all his might towards the makeshift shield that Akheron shredded. His Korriban recording had the side effect of enraging his master, that much was certain. And as Solus recalled from his own duel with the tree, Pure Rage was not the most defensive tactic. Solus had fallen into that trap. Hopefully, so did Akheron, and the blade would get a strike as the piece of hull was torn away. Immediately afterwards, Solus freed himself from the ground. With all sense of safety abandoned , Solus no longer cared if he had to overdraw on the Force itself, even at the cost of his own chassis’ energy. The burst of strength and speed allowed himself to roll over to his hands and knees. Solus followed this up by Force Jumping from his position directly at his foe. Enhanced fully with the Force Jump, Solus raised his right arm forward as if he was going to grab Akheron’s face. In reality, his left hand’s finger opened up, scomp link extended. There was no way he could get Akheron unscathed. The right arm was just a ploy and a sacrifice. But if for a moment, in all of Akheron’s rage and instincts, Solus could manage to get his off hand close, he could lodge it into Akheron’s eye and drain the very knowledge from his brain. He would suck everything he could out of that Sith’s brain, and if Akheron was weak or surprised enough, kill him then and there. As Solus rapidly flew towards Akheron with the speed of a bullet, Solus threw his off hand forward, scomp link aimed towards Akheron’s eye. All the while, the shard's voicebox continued to laugh and cackle madly. (Solus got caught in the Tremor Impact and was unable to get himself into a better position as a result. When Akheron attacked with Sawblade strike, Solus attempted a makeshift shield to hold Akheron back momentarily. Solus then threw his lightsaber at Akheron, hoping it would get a strike in, given his own experiences with rage and becoming defenseless. Following this, Solus is overdrawing on the Force, barely able to free himself, and Force Jumping at Akheron, attempting to Drain Knowledge with his scomp link. )

At Calypso’s words, the three Felucian’s looked at each other. Wherever they were expecting, it wasn’t this. They had not expected laughter and prideful boasting. When she left, the three spoke quietly to each other. “What you think? Is she wise? We follow, we chase, to our demise?” Pariah asked, crouched on the ground rubbing his face tendrils curiously. “Perhaps the Spore was wrong…” “Silence!” Virago boomed at the comment. “Or you won’t live long! Never deny the Great Spore’s works. No matter who the Spore does choose…” “Besides, what have we to lose?” Shaman added as she hobbled closer to Virago. She tapped on the large Felucian, who quietly bent down to scoop her back into a fetal position in his arms. “Follow, follow, let us follow. The Hunters come. Follow, follow, and let the drones have their fun!” Nodding, the two other Felucians took off after Calypso. The drones they left behind began to wonder in different directions. No longer guided, they would attempt to consume whatever they found. Eventually, other Felucians, trying to find the cult of the Spore, would find them and put them down. But by then, the trio would be far from the scene. _____ The trio arrived at the station just as Calypso disabled the communication dish. Silently, the three observed the dark lady’s works. When she rushed into the station, Shaman made a motion to be let down. “Follow, follow, find her plans. The Great Spore will need and army to command…” The two nodded and gave pursuit into the station. As they did, Shaman wondered closer to the building, towards the technician that Calypso had already killed. “The Great Spore will enjoy this delicious man” Shaman commented. Wordlessly, she shoved what looked like a small green pod inside the man’s nose, before pinching the nose together, breaking the pod open. Immediately, the spores attached and began to spread, rooting themselves into the man’s blood vessels, and, more importantly, the nerve cells that connected directly to the brain. Shaman stepped back. The corpse began to move on its own. The Great Spore had taken root and had created a new drone. One that was hungry. Shaman smiled as she began to follow the others. Virago and Pariah who followed, ignored the bodies and pursued. While Virago had to bend over to fit through some of the more tighter doorways, Pariah kept up with ease, giggling slightly. “Seeds, thats what you seek? Seeds,so soft yet sleek?” Pariah asked as he followed, bounding like a Kowakian Monkey Lizard. A Klaxon alarm went off. Someone monitoring a camera had noticed the intruders and sent out the small security team the research station could afford. Three guards popped around a corner, wielding blaster rifles. Without missing a beat, Pariah stopped and all of his face tendrils pointed towards the guards. A stream of thick green smoke-like gas shot out. As the stream struck the lead guard, the gas suddenly exploded outwards, clogging the hallway ahead. The guards began to cough violently as breathable air began to vanish, replaced by choking spores enhanced by mineral rich foods that Pariah had stored up in his body. Pariah drooled as he started to approach the guards, but Virago responded first. While the large Felucian had to slow down due to the small hallways, the smell of meat made him go berserk. With a roar, he shoved both Calypso and Pariah aside and into the choking gas. Moments later, a body was thrown outwards towards Pariah and Calypso, as screams continued, followed by chomping noises. “Oh, so sweet, always remembers…” Pariah commented as he jumped on the body that crashed before him. Pariah placed both sucked hands on the guards head and twisted, killing the man instantly. Following this, Pariah pulled upwards and ripped the skull right off, a trail of vertebrae following. “Even when starving, he cares for his members.” Pariah continued as he licked the newly acquired spinal cord. The guards' screams ended, and the only noise was Virago comping on something juicy “So seeds, that’s what we find? These seeds, exactly what kind?”

The first sign of something nasty heading towards Solus was in the Impossible Geometries. Solus could only describe it as a 'bad feeling' as it crashed towards the ship. Where Solus’ waves of hatred were a black cloud, his master’s was a storm. It was truly a sobering realization of how much a power gap there was between the Shard and the Sith. The second sign was the ship itself. It shook before it started to crumble, and Solus realized his first intentional strike was not going to cut it, literally or figuratively. He had to adapt as he leapt backwards with the wave crashing through the ship towards him. Even so, the wave sent him flying. His artifical body groaned as the blast ripped through the metal, but the leap had lessoned the blow slightly, enough for it to not be a killing strike. Even so, his fake Hilt broke apart on his back, and his holorecording did get somewhat damaged. Solus flew backwards from the shattering blast. However, his training at the Temple already began to show its benefits. The training in zero gravity, the practice of fighting in the open air, all of these forced Solus to think in three dimensions. As Solus crashed into the ground, he tucked his body in and rolled backwards into a stance, lightsaber drawn, activated and ready. " Ow. alright that was unpl... oh kriff" Solus looked up just in time to see his master swinging at him. The one advantage Solus had being in close quarters was, ironically, his size. Being smaller, his movements required less energy and less time to block what the Sith threw at him. However, it took most of his focus just to block the attacks, and the power of each one pushed Solus backwards slightly. With each strike, Akheron would get closer to beating the Shard into a defenseless position. This was not good. Solus thought. I need distance. Kriff, if only I had my original body from Ishvara! Then I'd crush him! The children of Ishvara would crush him toge- On the last blow, Solus blocked and held the strike momentarily, before giving his master what could’ve been described as a determined look. Or at least, as determined as an analysis droid could look. “Tear, now!” Solus shouted. In the Force, the Madness seeped out and attempted to lodge in Akheron’s mind as Solus performed the Ritual of the Wyyrlok again. Unlike before when awaiting his master’s appearance and calling up the image of some flying polyp, Solus influenced this final result. Here, he used a singular name to pull on the shared memories of both the aggressor and the defender. Specifically, the first memory of the two meeting the first time on Falleen. A memory where Solus had his own ally to use. A fellow child of Ishvara. A blood curdling howl rose up. From the ash and snow, the hallucination of Tear pounced towards Akheron’s back. He was much more twisted than before. The Sith Hound was caked over in spider webbings, as if it had been inside the great spider beast on the planet. Tear’s glowing red eyes had been replaced with numerous spider ones, each one reflecting an infinite starry night. It was as if this version of Tear had been inside the Kathol Rift and had been mutated by it. As the hallucination attacked with a mad fixation, Solus attempted to break away from Akheron. Keeping low to the ground to avoid any accidental swings in his direction, Solus moved around the Sith and moved towards the debris of his ship. During this movement, The Shard kept his sensors focused on Akheron, careful not to break the ritual. It was difficult, but Solus resisted the urge to mock his master. Instead, he deactivated his blade again and ducked to the ground, hiding behind some of the rubble. While this meant he had to break his gaze on Akheron, ending the Ritual prematurely, it meant he could attempt to vanish from sight. Solus crouched under what was the remains of an outer hull plating of the ship. While hiding, the training of fighting the Acklay beasts flashed in the Shard's mind. Deactivated blade in one hand, Solus retrieved his holopad recording and slid it out into the open, activating it. The holopad began to display its message of a Sith soldier and his urgent message. The damage it sustained from the Shatter ability made the thing flicker in and out, making it appear like it had been inside the ship and had barely survived. “Alert! Attention all Sith forces. Korriban is falling! Repeat, Korriban is falling! Imperial Forces have overtaken all sectors and are currently breaching the Praexeum! Repeat! Korriban is lost to the Imperial Forces!” The trap now set, Solus prepared himself for Akheron to investigate the urgent message. If the fall of his home world didn't interest the Sith master, then Solus doubted this was Akheron at all. When his master was in view, Solus would strike again. (Leaping from the ship and losing his planned attack, Solus is barely able to block Akheron's attacks, albeit, barely. He has taken damage and his fake hilt no longer would fool anyone. Forced into a corner, Solus had to use a mental attack with the Ritual of the Wyyrlok, and broke away to hide amongst the rubble of the ship. He is attempting to distract Akheron with the recording about Korriban's fall to imperial forces. )

Kirlocca literally just stood amidst those who now flooded the docks of the spaceport, slowly taking in everything that just transpired. Life was chaotic, as it always has been. Movement of Jedi, survivors and Sith all seemed to move rather fluently like a current of a river set upon its course to the sea. From his perspective of everything that had transpired, he wondered what new purpose the Force would hold for him. He took a small glance up at the ILH-KK currently docked at the mooring tower. His mind then turned towards Tarvo, the imperial who accompanied him on this journey. He looked around for a moment to scan the crowd, but after waiting for a good ten minutes and reaching out into the Force, it was clear to the Jedi Master that his friend was no longer with him. Letting out a sigh, he turned to head towards the mooring tower. His own feelings began to swell up slightly at the loss of his friend, the one who started the movement of his recovery from grief, or rather, his path to walk alongside it. But such was the way of life, and even more so for a Jedi. ********** Sitting in the cockpit of the yacht, the Wookiee closed his eyes to allow for the Force to speak to him. He wanted off the planet, that much he was sure of. But where to, he did not know. He was still slightly lost from the death of Raven. But he knew that he could not travel with Sandy or even Leena. He needed to travel on his own. Opening his eyes, he turned on the holonet and went through some of the new reports. He decided that he would follow the devastation and become a beacon of hope, as it would be what Raven wanted to do, and she would have heavily encouraged him to do the same thing. Having the ship begin to pull away from the mooring tower, Kirlocca quickly changed the name of the ship, as it had yet to be done. Oracle felt like a good name for the moment. He didn’t know why, but he felt it would soon be needed. After he changed the name and beacon, he had the ship pull away from Falleen.

As an Assassin, Dictum's knowledge of the Dark Arts performed by the castes of Sith Sorcerers was vaguely limited and estimated. His own realm was that of the Shadows, Death, and Chaos, a realm that few walked with sanity and decree. For him to assume anything of the veils beyond was mere stipulation and guess-work. And so, it did not surprise him of the reality in which he had mistook. As Inmortos appeared behind him, he turned to greet the Sorcerer with a degree of respect and acclaim. But that held no extended pleasure as the Master's words etched themselves in his mind and in his soul. For Inmortos' own reality soon forged its self upon Dictum's own. And in that very moment, as two realities collided, his just reward was just that. And in its consummation, became more. As finger plunged flesh, the seeping of soulfrost encapsulating the puncture, Dictum found himself delving a deeper understanding of pain, fear, and gluttony as Inmortos scratched upon his soul. There were no words that could allow comprehension of what transpired, only a simple layman's term could give subtle hints as emotions swept at Dictum's mind and soul. For pain stood at the forefront, inconceivable pain that treated both consciousness and spirit, and in the moment, fear compared to deathly fright filled his mind with anguish and agony. But Dictum's soul was not without strength, and it stood welcoming as the revelation of power consumed his heart gluttonously. Even as his form trembled and his soul ached in pain and fear, an almost freezing paralysis station of being, deep within the soul that Inmortos touched, a deep well of hunger resided, threatening to consume both. Yet, as Inmortos' finger found its scarred crevasse, and with a single motion tore out a portion of Dictum's soul, the world trembled at its awakened power. And in its final moments, Dictum fell to all four. Gasping for air, Dictum's strength wavered immensely as his weak bones threatened to crumble beneath his weight. He coughed, then gagged, before ichor vomited from his mouth and his gaze struggled to watch the moments as they transpired. But his hunger remained, the gluttonous depravity lingering in his soul as he held onto his power. And as the dust settled figuratively and the rumbling stone settled physically, Dictum found strength to rise once again to his feet as the crystals sealed his wound. Hearing the movements beside him, Dictum's gaze turned toward the mummified remains as they lifted from their sleep with true revelation. Dictum had offered his soul, and in it's acceptance, the devil arose. Now the time to unleash hell grew even closer. And upon the precipice of Chaos, Dictum stood between two worlds. No longer was he a mere Assassin of the Sith. No, he had became more, a living blade that stood at Death's Door. And in his gaze, he saw his mission. He was to answer those who came to knock. He was to be the voice of Chaos. He was, is, Death's Divinity. He would sow it's seeds and reap it's harvest as Harbinger.

Sia's mind verge upon the precipice of unconsciousness as he hung there in the air at eye's level, moments of consciousness lost to the cobblestone of time as his mind faded in and out. Only Apothos' words and presence would bring him back as his glowing lens flickered awake. Like a bobble on a fishing line, he hovered. "Not much of a choice, I have." Sia spoke incoherently, his tone weak and raspy as he struggled to breath. "Do what you will, but I will reject any attempts of discourse." With that said, Sia slowly dropped his guard as he allowed Apothos' in. Silently and closely he watched, the energies swirling around and through them as his pain became barely bearable. His bones etched and fractured by the intense lightning, his flesh scorched and tattooed by its immense power. This is what sustained him where mere mortals would fade. And yet, he remained cautious, not only in nature but in mind as well. Sith rarely helped another, and investments carried numerous debts. But for Sia, there was little option. Power had came at a cost, and as fractured as he was, power was the only thing keeping him from death's door.

Calypso's face remained passive as she looked down at the warped Felucian standing in front of her. Her nose wrinkled as the sickeningly sweet stench of rot wafted past her nose. The air around this foul procession hung heavy and unnatural, saturated in the wrongness that had rooted in their very core. They reminded Calypso of something... Then she laughed as it came to her. They reminded her of the Cthon. A different breed of aberration perhaps, but aberrations nonetheless. They were monsters, and Calypso was kin to monsters. "What twisted little things you are," she said, still laughing. "I like you. I won't kill you." A sweet, almost maternal smile spread across her face, though it didn't dim the dangerous glimmer in her eyes. "You want to know why I'm here? I'm afraid it has nothing to do with the Jedi. Indeed, I'd prefer to avoid them for now. No, I'm here for seeds." She gestured around her at the jungle. "This garden of yours will give me seeds from which I will grow pandemonium and fear." Her smile widened. "And as for gruesome work, oh yes, rest assured there will be the blood of off-worlders spilled before I am done. Come with me if you wish. Indulge in your appetites. After that...we'll see." Calypso did not wait for a response. Instead, like a beast suddenly catching a scent, she was tearing off through the jungle again. In her head, she did not know if the strange creatures would follow. In her soul, she was certain they would. The Dark Side walked along its own path, and this chance little intersection was important. Of that Calypso was sure. ___________________________________ The Sionver Research Outpost stood out starkly from the colorful backdrop of the jungle. A silvery dome with a communications dish set at the apex, it was an island of technology in a sea of wilderness. While there were only several dozen technicians and scientists stationed there, the dome was large and well-equipped for an outpost of its type. A sizable door on side, set halfway up the dome, held what Calypso suspected was the outpost's hangar, where the staff's shuttle would be kept for when trips to one of the cities was necessary. A second door, this one on the ground level, would be the one to lead into the base proper and act as an embarking point for the staff's skiffs when they wanted to venture out to take samples. Calypso waited outside the research station, first to look for any potential security measures, and then to give the corrupted Felucians time to catch up, if they had chosen to trail her. Finally, she made her move. She allowed a trickle of the Dark Side to flow through her, calling on her bottomless hatred with the ease of reflex. Her body shivered in anticipation, but she kept herself in check. It wouldn't do to let her full power out here, and draw the Jedi down on her. Instead, she made a small gesture with her hand, and a brief squeal of metal cut through the sounds of the jungle as the communications dish shifted on its base, sparking briefly as its connection was cut. Calypso did not have to wait long. The main door opened a minute later, and a technician stepped out and started moving towards a set of rungs running up the side of the dome, wearing a belt festooned with tools. He started up the side, and Calypso waited until he was halfway up before she held out her hand again. The technician stopped, and while clinging to the rungs he began feeling at his throat with his free hand, first slowly and then more frantically. Faint gagging noises could be heard as he futilely tried to suck in air. Then his strength failed him, and he tumbled down the side of the dome like a toy. Calypso caught a brief glimpse of the man's terrified face, and a thrill shot through her. Her breath quickened, and her eyes widened. She was going to enjoy this. She shot out of the jungle, and as she entered the opened door the technician had come out of, she gestured, and a large spanner jerked out of the now dead technician's utility belt and floated next to her as she raced inside. She couldn't use her lightsaber here, not if she wanted to keep the Sith's presence minimal. But that didn't mean she couldn't kill them in other ways. A scientist was in the entry chamber when Calypso came in. The woman only had time to open her mouth in confusion before the spanner caved in her skull. And then Calypso was past her and moving through the outpost.

There, in front of the ramp to the Falleen 578-R Transport, Solus heard his masters’ words. He heard his master calls of madness, and Solus, in his own special case of insanity, almost agreed with him. But he was not weak. Not in the slightest. His master, as much as Solus hated him, had helped make him strong. Akheron taught him to break each and every inhibition, and the Temple, in their strange and esoteric ways, helped Solus connect to something even greater. A ream of the Darkside that few would ever knowingly tap into. “Emissary of the Fanged God? Ha!” Solus shouted as he holstered his lightsaber. “Then I must be the ambassador of anarchy!" The Kaggoth had begun. Solus raised both arms and threw them forward. The Force reacted as a wave of tendrilled hatred flowed through the Impossible Geometries from the Shard’s center. As it flowed along the cold squares of the ground, the wave picked up everything it could. Snow and ash whipped upwards into a blinding cloud towards Akheron. Solus' memory of facing the that Tree Jedi on Nar Shaddaa flashed back, and the Shard recalled how he got some distance from that giant thing using a similar trick. This time however, neither the tree nor Akheron would bait him into doing something stupid. “I am your end heretic!!” Solus shouted as he pushed the snow and ash up at Akheron. Following this, Solus tapped into the Force again, leaping upwards and landing on the ship’s dorsal area with a resounding clang. The use of so much Force so quickly left the Shard slightly exhausted, but his training had taught him to push on. Retrieving his genuine blade, Solus crouched and awaited for Akheron to follow, limiting his own visibility from the ground. The Shard’s red blade would ignite and swing the moment Akheron followed. ROUND 1 (Solus opened this by trying to blind Akheron temporarily with the snow and ash of the planet, followed by Force Jumping onto the relatively flat top of the ship. He has prepared himself to swing the moment Akheron shows his body)

She faltered for a moment, the Hybrid considering the question and what she desired. A chuckle and a smile. "I guess for now I follow the stars where they may take"

If Solus was capable of doing so, he would’ve rolled his eyes. Sadly, he did not have facial muscles, so his look of disappointment was missed. It seems that this thing was in fact, Akheron. The emphasis on honor, the misguided pompousness of being closer to the Fanged god than Solus was, and now the delusion that Innmortos actually belonged to the cult of Bragsanu. There was no mistake, this was Akheron and not some false thing made by the necromancer. All of the Shard’s emotions on Falleen had been for naught. Solus was about to speak when the necromancer appeared. Or rather, his saber at Akheron’s side shook and the necromancer took form. “Oh look, the ghost of Aaris’ past.” Solus commented as the necromancer spoke. Once Innmortos was done, and issued that he would enforce the ruling of such a duel, Solus placed his hands on his hips and laughed. “I will accept your challenge, you heretics. But not because I actually respect your foolish beliefs Akheron, nor your puny threats, victim of vapor. Had my child not intervened, you would’ve already been dead, and the necromancer would be running from the spider’s terror. I have tapped into powers beyond recognition, and my restraints have been loosened completely. You Akheron, must die, and this… Kaggath is the best opportunity to erase your heresy from history. And as for you necromancer, you forget my very being! I have lived aeons already, less than nothing! I was banished from everyone, but I ascended! So if I lost and was banished to the insides of your planet, I would return again after its inevitable death!” Solus turned and began to leave the chamber, but stopped and faced the two. “I am not just Solus, nor the Golden Slave, nor even the Dragon! At the end of this, you will know my true name! Let the ritual of the Kaggoth begin!” At this, Solus reached into the Impossible geometries, activated his saber, and threw it upwards. As the blade slashed through the stone ceiling, it began to crumble as the lightsaber cut through a pivotal load-bearing spot. With this, Solus turned and dashed away from the crushing rubble. He didn’t actually believe the rubble would kill Akheron, the wraith-like Innmortos, or even blind Dictum, wherever he was. However, it would provide a distraction so he could get to his ship and make preparations. Solus called his blade back as he passed the room’s entrance and sliced at the roof above the door, crumbling it behind him as well. Any continues delays he could cause Akheron, the better for him. True, this wasn’t a 'honorable' tactic, but the playground Akheron had declared was the planet’s wastelands. To Solus, the entire planet was a wasteland, as well as what laid beneath it, like this chamber. Especially Innmortos, the living embodiement of the planet's wastelands. "Besides" Solus commented to himself. "I'm an assassin. Honor is for the weak" Solus dashed with the mania of a madman and returned to his ship, the Force fueling each step. Once inside, the Shard quickly got to work. First, Solus took the remaining webbing from the spider monster off of his cape and rewrapped it around his lightsaber. When he had been caught up in the webbing earlier, the strange silk resisted a lightsaber blow momentarily, and required Solus to hold the strike to break free. While he doubted it would last more than one strike from Akheron, Solus loved the idea of using his 'childs' gift on his weapon. At the ship, Solus did his second task; he made a fake lightsaber hilt. Made up of various parts from the ship that he had already dismantled to construct his latest blade, this fake wouldn't work even with a Kyber crystal. It was nothing more than a fake exterior prop. In his rush, the fake hilt would never pass close inspection, but in combat, it would pass as the genuine. Solus hid the fake hilt behind him and under his cape. Finally, Solus retrieved a copy of the Korriban transmission. He knew Akheron still loved his home, even if he didn't admit it. This battle would be more than just a test of skill. It would be a battle of morale as well, and the lord of rage would break under the shards' ingenuity. The message of Korriban falling under the imperials would be useful. Solus glanced up. He felt something. Something was happening outside his ship. The Shard dashed outside to meet it, his genuine hilt in hand. Whether or not it was Akheron, he didn’t know. But he would be ready for it. "Come heretic! Face your undoing!"

Keenava felt Si Si’s fingers between hers as they scampered down the dusty road. They took turns weaving back and forth and singing a song they’d made themselves. It was a joyful, trivial little tune that didn’t mean much, but as the first note of her sister’s music started... Keenava felt a sharp poke at her ribs. Blustering for a moment while she rolled restlessly on the ground, Keenava’s eyes sprang open, and she leaped to her feet, instinctively raising her arms into a defensive position. A few figures scattered with yelps of panic, and a gem clattered to the stone beneath them. They stood away from the Twi’lek with their shaking hands raised above their heads, but they made no further move. It was unclear whether this was due to an abundance of shock or an element of etiquette or decorum. Regardless, they stared at Keenava with wide eyes. The Jedi regarded them slowly, eyeing their empty hands and pockets. She scanned the rubble around her and took a couple of centering breaths before relaxing her posture and lowering her hands to her sides. She bent down, grabbed the gem and her bag, and took a moment to pat herself down and assess that all of her belongings were still together. She looked skeptically at the arrayed scavengers, shook her head, and then began walking away from the remains of the temple. Dawn rays broke over the horizon and lit her cheek, warming her from the tips of her lekku to her toes. She felt a tingling sensation tickle the base of her spine and something warm in her chest. It was odd. She wasn’t sure how she would feel fusing with her remaining alter, but nothing changed. Keenava came to a stop in the foyer of a broken home and ran over the past few weeks in her mind; she’d been cloned in a place she didn’t recognize, realized that she’d been purified, was caught fleeing slavery by a Sith killer droid and Grandmaster Leena on Tatooine, and then fell into a whirlwind of activity that filled every remaining moment after. Any time that she’d had to reconcile her past, had been rushed to accommodate conflict and functionality—at least until she had that moment with Furion when everything broke down after Leena’s massive purifying wave. It was the first time after her cloning that she was able to process and accept everything that had happened without the weight of expectation resting on her shoulders. She turned her head to see the rising light of the Falleen sun and smiled a little to herself. The sins of her past would continue to plague her, but now—as Roene had advised her on Ylesia—she was finally comfortable accepting who she used to be and moving forward with who she wanted to be now. And, all things considered, she was extremely confident that she would never fall again. She may not always agree with the Jedi, but there was nothing in or out of this galaxy that could convince her to go back to the dark side. No amount of power, or what the Sith called "freedom," was worth the toll. Keenava resumed her stroll through the ruins until she came upon a small contingent of armored people. She wasn’t sure what their affiliation was, but they weren’t looting or fighting, so she didn’t really pay them much mind. She was doing what she could to follow the message that Leena left her and was just about to leave when one of the figures in the mysterious group of people drew her attention (@Kyrie Eleison). An Anzati woman with dark hair and facial scars drew her eyes and stirred her heart. Cautiously, Keenava approached the group, her head cocked slightly to the side. She moved until she was standing in front of the woman and looked deep into her intense emerald eyes. The feeling in her heart swelled with warmth, and it reached out toward the woman the closer she got. But Keenava kept her hands to herself and didn’t get much closer than about six feet. She briefly stammered, spluttering as she tried to come up with something to say, but assembled her thoughts and cleared her throat before starting again. "I don’t know how I know you. In fact, I don’t even think I know your name. But I feel like I should thank you. If it weren’t for you, my life would have taken a completely different turn." Keenava said, her amethyst eyes glinting with hope. Keenava couldn’t explain the link or why she felt compelled to do that, but after she was finished, she turned around and walked away to restart her search for @Leena Kil.

The storm itself seemed to recoil for the moment, the winds dying as heavy snow continued to fall all about the challengers. Thunder rang in the distance as if to shake the citadel itself and atop the towering barrqcks Akheron had just exited the massive beast of Aaris materialized, clinging effortlesslesly to the crenelations As it watched the proceedings below play out; seemingly held at bay as its hunger filled the air with the snow. The hilt at Akheron’s side rattled and buzzed against the Sith steel armor he wore and in the stillness a flg of spirits descended from the storm, the sky, seemingly from the very planet itself. They hissed and screamed in agony, telltale signs of their eternal torture in the world beyond even as they sought refuge, shadows in this world, but servants to a god-king that transcended both who yet was bound by the shackles of inevitable truth. Yea, even a Sith sorcerer powerful enough to command life and death with a sweep of his hands, one day would owe the tax of the ferryman. From the cloud of swirling wailing spirits emerged a blackened haze, a wraith that brought bore before it and with it an otherworldly chill that touched all before it, sapping power and strength from bone and steel alike. Amalgamous in form the mighty wraith approached the Sith, master and apprentice. Slowly it began to take form. The heavy cloak of the necromancer was gone as was his skeletal form; what remained was a testament to the ravages of the dark side, to walking the precipice between two worlds and refusing to be contained by either. A humanoid form devoid of color and life, his body shriveled and twisted, muscled flayed out and long flowing hair, once colored as the rainbow muted to blacks and grays matted down the figure’s back and face. Pain and suffering from a thousand lifetimes were rolled out like a scroll on the visage of the body that approached. Ancient words etched in blood across every surface of exposed flesh that told of the sins committed by its bearer in life. A tattered robe of sackcloth was all the visage was afforded for decency and even that had been rent and torn asunder, flayed by invisible whips and hellfire. The being approached, walking atop the deepening snow and leaving no trace of it’s pacing. It cold pained eyes glistened with unseen power as the shackles of death, of the oath and ritual that had, for the time, bound Inmortos, materialized as he stretched out in an effort to strike both Solus and his master. Through the agony of his soul, tortured beyond recognition, the spirit of the god king of death himself was defiant. For as pained and crippled might he appear, his every movement was that of eternal command, a shackled king, and yet a master of the eternal and damned. Stopping to stand between the two challengers, the god king looked first at the mechanized man of metal, then to the steel encased warrior. ”I see you have found my gift” he spoke, his voice barely a whisper, yet it carried louder than the storm that raged all about them. It’s authority apparent as even the great beast above recoiled in tense hatred and animalistic fright, a shrill hiss of defiance winding into the winds above. The very pain and tortured undying of a soul betrayed on the breeze. ”The tears of the dead flow freely in this place and their eternal sufferings now clothe your body, drawing strength and life. Even now your life, saved by my oath, serves my will and shalt free me from the shackles of eternity.” He spoke explaining the curse and blessing bestowed upon the trailings of predestination before he continued, his gaze burning with an ethereal chill as he stared beyond the carapace of Akheron into his very soul. Slowly he turned his head from master to apprentice, the same burning frostfire weighing the Shard against the malevolence of eternity. ”And this right, this Kaggath, I have heard it proclaimed. By the rite of the Sith, I shall see it enforced in this life and eternity; for to break it is to resist the final shackles that lie unbroken by any Sith who has come before and to offer your body and soul up for eternal punishment beyond my hand.” As he stared, his eyes boring into Solus with a sickening hatred, he continued. ”And of this, your soul shall be damned to a world In which your tricks, your spider, hold no sway. You shall be cast into a lake of eternal fire and yet frozen beyond all understandings of pain. Every second shall be like an eon as you endure new and unheard of tortures at my hand; for you are too weak for this world, a mere stone unable to function without the crutch of a slave, driven by fear of an unseen master’s lash you have yet not felt. And why should you not? For you defy a god who by his very nature has allowed your heresies to build, a god by whom you cannot seek to understand lest beat. You defy your master. You prostrate yourself before a beast of madness. That very madness you will transcend in this defeat, as the legs are plucked from your spider one by one. You defy me, one who would give you eternity; one who has overcome the very god you seek to defy.” A cold shackled hand passed across both acolytes of darkness as Inmortos stepped forward to stand directly between the two. He outstretched gnared and teisted hands to place a palm against the metallic chest of each. Searing cold seemed to arc forth as frosty blackened handprints appeared on both. “By this you are bound.” he hissed as his body faded from sight, first his shackles and then his form, leaving not but his words, mark and bitter fold a testament to his presence. And as he vanished and the winds of the storm rushed in to throw cutting ice and ravage once more, his words whispered to the apprentice, “You are but a slave to the madness, a master known not to you but upon the surface; shackled so that you might never become what you are destined. You are already defeated and can blame no one but yourself. You could have been mine and in the end, it is inevitable. You shall.” And as the spiritual entourage screamed off into the storm, the spirit of Inmortos departed. Drug back to the hellish eternity or to lurk atop his throne remained to be seen, but he had appeared and bound the Kaggath within the law of the Sith and within the confines of eternity. Above, the mighty beast of Aaris stirred, no longer repulsed. It could sense the mark of death upon both and before the day was out would seek to devour each. Slowly, hanging by a thread of neuranium, it’s eight massive legs clacking against the wall, mandibles tasting the storm-swept air , the beast began to descend. To tarry he for but a word would invite another challenge, the challenge of life and death outside the bound of Sith rite and law, a sure defeat before the games could even begin.

Akheron could feel his apprentice intention long before he saw it, his connection to the Darkness and him easily allowing him to know what would happen next. His mind while engulfed in Madness was still easy to read for a Master of Darkness such as he was. As he swiped Akheron dodged with almost minimal effort, his Rage and Wrath threatening to erupt at such a cowardly attack. Or at least that' was how he viewed it, to strike while his back was turned. If he desired Death he would soon have it. His own. As he was about to answer the assault, the primordial beast the trio had spawned from the Darkness and profane ritual, took action. Reaching out to try and ensnare his wayward apprentice and this allowing Akheron a momentary reprieve. Heading forwards, Akheron entered the unlatched door, feeling called inside by something. Something ancient and engulfed in Darkness as if moulded by it and Death's very emissary. After entering, Akheron took the precautionary measure of latching the door after he entered to bar his apprentice from reaching him. From behind the door he spoke, hopefully his apprentice heard it loud and clear. "You would dare strike at me while my back is turned apprentice!? Like a coward. You will have your change apprentice at facing me and settling this dispute...but only when I deem it. Make no mistake, you and I have much to discuss and we will settle this...disagreement. A reckoning is coming mark my words but not yet." At least not until he deemed it. Looking around he moved anything not of value and used it to block the door just in case he opened it. Stacking items up until the door was entirely obscured and securing them via a Tetris like configuration with the Darkness at his command. Hoping that would do it for now, he looked around. It appeared to be some kind of storage facility or armoury. He noted the many obscure and unusual items, most were of no interest at all, while others only vaguely peaked his interest. Science was never his forte. Eventually he draw closer to the source of what he felt. Heading deeper into the room, Akheron descended down a single flight of stairs to a lower level of the facility. Down below, after moving along a dimly lit hallway, there at the end he finally saw what he had felt even as whispers of the Darkness warned of the dangers of approaching it. But approach he did, with caution. Slowly at first, holding the loaned lightsaber Dictum had gifted him close to hand. Within the dark of the room and dim light, he saw at the end of the hallway open up to a larger area. Within he saw it. A single grand pedestal, surrounded by blue flame lit torches, marked with ancient text and seemingly glowing. Approaching the pedestal, still with caution he looked upon it. Drawn to it. Stepping closer, he looked and observed. There up in it sat a most unusual looking armour set. It was a mix of loose plate and mail, and included a face concealing mask. A preference he liked. He could feel the armour, cursed as it was with the profane magic of the Sith. He could feel it trying to leach at his soul, but found only resistance and a unfathomable strength it could not break. A strength born of Darkness. Picking it up, he could feel it stronger now and could see the markings. What he saw surprised him. There upon it in ancient Sith language, was his name inscribed. It then became clear why he had felt it and it's purpose. This was all the doing of the necromancer, of that he was certain. Even if Death he aided Akheron, a fact he would not forget. It was a worthy gift, and he quickly set about replacing the rags he had been wearing. Soon enough and he looked the part of the Sith Warrior he was. Fully encased in armour. Next to wear once it has been, he noted another item of interest. A lightsaber he recognised as belonging to Inmortos himself. He felt something urge him to pick it up, even as fresh blood dropped from it. Yet he wondered how the lightsaber came to be here. Last he recalled Bernon had been holding onto it. Another mystery soon to be solved. Satisfied, Akheron looked around. Deciding to use the opportunity to find components for his new lightsaber when he constructed it. He quickly found them, scattered about and pocketed them for later. He now felt complete and so went back up. From there he would approach the door and set the challenge to his apprentice. If he wanted his life he would force him to do it in a proper way. The traditional way of the Sith to settle such a dispute. Listening to see if Solus remained, he called out. "I will open the door, but I expect no resistance. I wish to discuss a way to resolve our...dispute in a way worthy of a Sith Master and the Darkness. A way I think you will enjoy. You have my word you will not be harmed while we discuss it, I expect the same courtesy, you owe me that at least."

Kerriwarr pondered the question, walking through the clusters of debris toward the vessels and following as Master Sarna shifted their trajectory, making for the transport bound to whatever destination awaited them. Truth be told, there was no simple answer to her question. The council of chieftains had made strides towards avoiding war, but the reasons were numerous. He hadn't known their tendency toward peace was outside of the norm, let alone an outlier of some sort. He responded, his gruff vocalizations reverberating off of the stone and rubble around them. "There have been times whereupon we have called for war, and certainly the recent times have not been without their instances of aggression and toil, but as far as I've known, our better sensibilities have always prevailed." he said, reflecting upon the many meetings he had been honored to observe, "The council of chieftains, and our king, have long held Kashyyyk's peace as a high priority. Our trade is a large part of what sustains us. To enter into conflict, bereft of necessary preparations, regardless of how ravaged we become, stifles the potential of that trade. We prioritize our need, and keep our peace. We do not fight back, we endure and survive. As the Wroshyr do." He paused a long moment, contemplating the quality of his response and deliberating over its representation of his people. Assured it was fair, he pressed on. He had his own curiosities, and sought to see them satisfied in due turn. As they boarded the ship, the transport teeming with sick and wounded combatants of the Sovereign, they found their way to a set of empty crates, seating themselves as the ship continued to make ready for departure. "Master, I must admit, my induction has been rather swift. Master Silan's introduction to the Order was not exactly... formal, if I must admit. While I find no fault in her for this, and circumstances have certainly placed their demands upon all of us, I feel as though a more rigorous orientation might be of an order? If I may - and I mean not to overwhelm, considering the situation - I should like some correspondence on our destination, what my role is to be going forward as your protégé, and what your motivations are for taking me, both generally, and more specifically unto this path." he said, his elocuted speech more pronounced as matters turned to business.

Leena smiled, her fishy face twisting oddly as she warmly responded, her voice firm and full of love for the former Jedi. ”We are with you brother and we will stand beside the Alliance as equals. So long as the force wills it.” It was a simple statement; one Leena felt no need to expand on. The Jedi were not enemies with this new Alliance, nor was there a desire for any such thing. If peace could be found and maintained, all would be better for it. Nor would the Jedi become pawns of political currents as they ebbed and flowed. Such a thing had been done before and it always resulted in ruin, in suffering, devastation, and senseless death. Blindness to the truth. But these were things that did not need delved into. This Jedi and Knight knew such things and were able to find common ground. If they could do so, then there was hope for the galaxy whole. And while a young Alliance of unknown make and trajectory was not one the Jedi could blindly submit to, they would cautiously and eagerly stand alongside and help to nurture toward the light. They would adhere to their laws and customs so long as they were morally upright. To do so, was the Jedi way. The Mon Cal slowly turned to continue down the stairs and began winding through the debris field. ”Serve your masters well @Raphanel, serve the people, and above all, always serve the force. It lives and breathes through the galaxy; through you. I would be deighted to have you alongside us on Ilum, to work beside you and delve deeper into the endless mysteries of the force. I understand; however, should your duties call you elsewhere. A man of your rank and standing is needed a great many places in the days and months ahead. Your wealth would save many worlds. If you are able to provide transport for my apprentice and I, we will gladly accept.” She paused as she considered @Keenava Dira and all the former Sith had been through. She had come so far, yet Leena could still feel the fractured torment that raged within the Twi’lek’s chest. “She is troubled, like so many, by the demons of her past, of wars fought and innocence lost. In a way, she is analogous of the galaxy we now stand on the precipice of. By the will of the force, both shall be brought back fully into the light the stronger for it. Scars turned to gold.” Leena smiled as she began to walk away again, pulling the hood of her robe over her head as she remarked, a trickle of laughter playing in her voice. ”But I need to find her before the Squibs do. Bit rough around the edges those salvagers.”

When Calypso dropped, the drones turned their non-sentient gaze on her and began to reach for her. The fresh meat before them would be consumed. It would be devoured and added to their mass. And the remains, if any, would be consumed by the Great Spore, and serve as fuel for… “Stop!” Pariah shouted, raising a hand. He quickly used the suckers on his appendage to make several pucker sounds, to which the drones became still, unmoving but eyeing Calypso hungrily. “Is this what we seek?” Virago asked, laying Shaman onto the dirt covered floor. “Is this, the Vesh, the thing unique that the Spore has us meet?” “Perhaps, perhaps brother…” Pariah commented, crawling closer to Calypso. Even as she demonstrated her power, the two didn’t seem to hesitate to get closer. Pariah even began to circle Calypso, darting forward and back like a dog uncertain about a thing. “Or perhaps, this thing be an other, a false cover over a lonely mother?” “Ah but her power, little Pariah, do you see?” Virago commented, striding closer, his height more apparent with each step. “See how the force reacts to her a degree? That be power, yes it is…” “Power, or anger, ugly siz?" Pariah interrupted. “Anger is temporary, power forever. Can she call upon the Force whenever?” As the two spoke, not really acknowledging Calypso, Shaman finally held her head up from the ground, a pile of mud with worms in her mouth. “Silence you two, listen good. Listen to my words, as you should.” She blurted, slop spilling everywhere. The two quickly became quiet and backed off from Calypso. Shaman pulled herself up and swallowed the last gulp of worms in her mouth, and hobbled over to Calypso, her cooking pot dangling around her neck. The drones gaze turned to Shaman and slowly began to break off, turning their attention to the environment. It was clear Calypso was not their next meal. “If she who the Spore desires, then we help. And should she prove false, well, then we eat the whelp.” Shaman stood a few feet from Calypso. Her hunched body forced her to look up and the woman, and yet she seemed to not mind. “Tell us, Vesh, why you breathe our air. Why Felucia, the Jedi’s lair? You sought us, and we sought you. If you were a Jedi, we’d already eaten you. Did Hagark find you, maid of murk? Did you come to perform some gruesome work?“

It was hard to read the facial expressions of the Mon Calamari. Their faces were simply not made for such things and though it was disconcerting at first, Raphanel knew that the Jedi Grandmaster had no reason for any kind of deception. So he walked beside the short woman and listened as she spoke candidly of the situation on both Falleen and the Galaxy at large. “It would not be too far of a stretch my lady to apply what has happened here on Falleen to the galaxy at large. We have the resources of my family and Chandrila to help these poor people but without a strong and stable government it is unlikely there will be any lasting peace. We have seen the Sith not only here, but also on Naboo where they attempted to assassinate the queen and killed one of my knights as well as one of yours. They have gone to ground, planting their seeds of destruction. We must all face the evident facts that Nar Shaddaa was no great victory for us. Only a maskirovka, a grand masquerade.” He stopped his steps and turned fully to the Jedi Grandmaster. “I respect and honour the calling of your order, a calling I once took up upon myself.” He did not mention the schism by name, it would have only brought a fracture to their conversation. “But I must urge however I may against the Order’s desire for cultural isolation. If only because I know how much stronger the light may be if we walk together in its pursuit. You will always have our assistance if you need it, and should the moment come when the Sith arise again against the galactic verge I have no doubt our two orders will serve beside each other with distinction.” His eyes glanced heavenwards towards his family's Star Destroyer, which lingered in the pale blue sky. “I rejoice in your mission Lady Grandmaster, and will join you if you desire it if only to provide you the transport to Ilum and some construction materiel. Though if you deem it better that a broken soul not be around someone such as myself I also understand.”

For what seemed like eternity were passing moments as he laid within the warmed mud left by the energy that pierced his soul and mind, leaving behind a disabled and limp form. But Sia's consciousness, it remained vibrantly aware and energetic, taking in all that was presented to his gaze. To see the Galaxy in a whole new light, alive and bustling, and in one portion of himself, it sickened him. But my oh my, the energy, the pathways, the possibilities of corruption and potential to disease, it was boundless and infinite. His blinded gaze shifted as the words echoed around him, the energy within him glimmering behind the cracked lenses that once shielded his melted eyes. A soft lingering breath left his form as he took in another, his rebreather both fused and hindered to his lungs as he looked upon the energies of Apothos, energies that would have blinded him had he still held eyes. Like a spector, he grasped at the energies that flowed around his form and climbed an invisible ladder until he stood upright despite his lost limbs and his gaze was closer to eye level as the two blind beings met. "Neimoidian..." He spoke, his voice otherworldly and distant despite the two being mere feet from one another. His form remained limp, almost deathly, as he stared through the Cosmos upon this being before him. "I am Darth Sia. No more, no less. And you carry the Darkness upon you well." In the way he spoke, there was a subtle hint of hesitation, an almost praisingly aura of distrust in how he formed his words. And it would come across as so, his fascination with the energies that filled the alien's form to the point that he almost despised the creature. And yet, respected his potential and degree of power. As he lingered there above the ground, his robes flowing upon the freezing breeze as it's energy swirled around them, he gave an unwelcomed bow. But such was Sia's nature. He distasted and loathed other beings at face value on one hand, but tolerated them out of necessity and socially needs within the other. And for those like the Niemoidian before him, he respected them vaguely for their contributions and knowledge. And in his weakened state, he needed more help than what he wished to reveal. Even as he struggled to stay upright, his form swayed against both the air of Zoist as well as his consciousness as it threatened to fade again. He needed medical attention, and a new rebreather to replace the one that was fused upon his lungs, at the very least.

Jude was stirred by the navigators soft pings, he sat up straight as the McFerrin dropped from Hyperspace. Taking a moment to drink in the sight of Coruscant, the giant cityscape visible from orbit, and the scar still left in its crust. With a gentle hum, Jude began plugging away at the console, transmitting ID codes, making contact with Tower, and preparing for the ride in. He turned back to the cabin where his client slept. The privacy curtain was closed, but could hardly muffle the man's snores. "Hey, Jaque! We're coming down now, should make surface in less than Five!" There was a stir from behind the curtain, Jude turned his attention back to his flightpath. A few moments later, a slightly short human stepped up behind the helm. "Well? Were we-." "Nobody's behind us, or waiting at the port for us. Try to enjoy the ride, we'll be on solid ground again before you know it." Jude interrupted. Jaque had been stressed for the whole flight. To Jude it seemed irrational, that for some reason his co-researchers would send an assassin, or bounty hunter to steal his work before he could present it. He shrugged, thinking to himself that he maybe just doesn't know this persons working environment. Jude chuckled gently, the thought of some sort of Scientific Thunderdome sounded funny to him. Jaque jumped as Jude brought the McFarrin down onto the landing pad a little less than softly. He laughed "Don't Worry, Be Happy!" Jude smiled wide, standing from his seat and gesturing to the airlock. "C'mon, I'll see you to your shuttle and make sure you're off safely, alright?" Jaque frowned, mildly annoyed at the Devaronian. "You're not helping." The man turned to the airlock, the ramp had already come down for them to step off to the pad. The shuttle wasn't far from the port that was burried under the city that sprawled infinately in every direction. The sky was thick with traffic and noise. Jude couldn't help but lose himself in the sights, a feint feeling of pride washing over him as he stared into the increadable progress that this planet has experienced. Jaque waved gently as his shuttle departed, which Jude repaid. He'd stand and watch the shuttle disappear into the distance before turning back towards his landing bay. He had the day to spend, and intended to stop for something to eat before leaving again. On his walk he checked his communicator, not having realized he missed a message. His face lit up as he listened, and he smiled wide. He wasted no time responding to Azael, reminiscing about the friendship they'd shared. Hey!! I'd absolutely Love to come mess up some bad dudes! And by chance I just happen to already be on Coruscant for business! Shoot me your local and I'll be there ASAP. With excitement in his breath and a skip in his step, Jude made his way back to his pad, eager to hear back from his comrade.

"If you want identification, I can do that. Hack into the local database, add a name, then whenever someone tries to check your ID they'll see it's valid and registered here on Coruscant. A planet like this, the chances of any local authorities noticing an extra name is pretty small, and even if they do, they'll write it off as one of the other thousand bureaucrats clearing the ID." She motioned at her ship, chuckling at his next offer. "No guns here. She's quiet, and discreet, but if a fight breaks out I hit the gas and run. I know a guy who may be able to help though. His name's Jude, he's a shock trooper for the Sovereign Alliance. We used to run together, take out bad guys the rebels couldn't touch. Smugglers, mob bosses, slavers. We were really good at it, too. But that was years ago by now. Not to worry- he's good people, and he still owes me." She pulled out her communicator, staring at it for a small moment before sending a message to @Larvee. Hey Jude, been a while. I have a job for you on Coruscant if you're interested- Maybe get the old system going again, killing bad guys and saving civvies. Let me know if you want in. "I'll even throw in an offer- Like I said, I'm no good with hardware. Give me a datapad or a keypad and I can hack into just about anything, but if my ship takes a hit or I need to do something mechanical, I'm no good. I could use an engineer. Work for me for a little bit, and I'll get you hooked up with everything you need to be a freelancer. Guns, training, contacts. Credits."

A presence. Personally unfamiliar, though still recognizable in the force made its slow approach. A Jedi knight. No. This was much stronger and did not carry the haughty arrogance that he had long come to associate with the Jedi of the higher ranks. This was one of the new generations of the Jedi order. Those that had grown up in the fading power of the Galactic Alliance and had held their sabers aloft in the fight against the Sith Lords of Onderon. A generation they had come too late to save their own order from schism but early enough to save it from utter destruction. And Raphael knew, in his heart of hearts, that if this generation of Jedi had been leading the order some half a decade ago they would all have been united under a council of better men and women then himself. But there were some things that were better to not think of, and pining for what might have been would help no one on this planet at least. The lumbering Galactic Alliance had fallen twice. Once over Onderon and finally at Coruscant, and it had taken the last of the old Jedi order with it. And whatever bitterness he may have had towards the order had died with them. Buried under a trillion tonnes of duracrete on Coruscant and drying in the gutters of Iziz. So the Lord commander of the Sovereign Knights turned from his men and looked towards the tired Jedi Grandmaster. He gave a formal Chandrillian bow, though without a cloak to sweep behind his arm there was not much formality to it. “My lady grandmaster. You do me much honour by visiting us, let me give congratulations to your Knights in their defeat of the Sith Lords and their heathen temple. My time is yours as my men continue their clean up and treatment of the wounded. How may I be of assistance?”

The Mon Cal’s footsteps rang heavy as she hurried through the mostly empty streets of Falleen. Smoldering columns of smoke and haphazardly swaying spires encircled the landscape, but amongst them, she could feel hope. Hope radiated from souls free from their bondage and slavery; hope for a new and brighter day, and each one that followed illuminated more. Leena smiled as she felt this very hope in her own heart as well. It urged her tired and weary body forward. The Jedi’s aching bones spoke of the toll the purification this world has taken upon her, upon all of the servants of the light who stood arm in arm to pluck this world from the maw of destruction. As she moved, the sounds of a stirring world began to creep into the still morning air. The sounds of a people who were both joyous and cautious. Freedom was theirs, but along with it came a terrible toll and a world in need of rebuilding. In the shadows of doorways and still standing buildings, through the charred and broken remains of storefronts and shelled out vehicles, the people of Fallen began to pick up the pieces. They would need help. Of course they would. The assault by Imperial forces on the world had left it battle scared. Skirting about a still smoking crater, Leena shook her head. This was not the way of the Jedi; nor would they be beholden to it. The Jedi hurried on, her brown travelers robes scorched and covered in dried mud and ancient gray dust. Onward, toward her next task and the rebuilding of not just a world, but an galaxy and an order so manipulated and twisted by the magics and abuses of the Sith. Eventually, after winding her way across the war-torn city, the Jedi Healer came across the band of Knights, former Jedi and other light-siders who had taken a different calling, yet one still bound to the light. Stopping a short distance off so as to not intrude, Leena awaited an opening. Realizing the solemness that comes amongst a brotherhood in the aftermath of conflict, she was content to remain silent, meditating quietly, head bowed in reverence to the gravities of war even upon those who sought it’s end. When the moment was right, the Mon Cal would speak, her warm voice heavy with the weight of the office she now bore and the tiredness of a resolve that had been pushed, bent, but remained unbroken. “Lord Commander, a word.” Leena would wait for the leader of the Knights and when he could afford the chance, would walk with him into the ruins of a coty reborn to discuss that which the future held, not just for themselves or their orders, but for the galaxy itself.

He quickly shifted his eyes when she mentioned the sale of ID codes. Elliot thought for a moment, and decided that it would be ideal for him to have both counterfeit and legitimate identification for navigating the galaxy. His sovereign alliance registry codes were liable to bring attention, and worse, perhaps documentation. He did not want his family notified of his certain underhanded dealings, regardless of the danger. He pulled a death stick out of his pocket, and sparked it as he spoke," I'd like to get offworld," he said, looking back over at his ship, beautiful as she was," And I need to find someone who can update this thing with modern weaponry." Elliot thought for a moment, his mind flashing back to Bracca, and his experiences under the strict corporates that ran the planet. He wasn't looking to get harassed and bullied like that as soon as he stepped offworld into an even bigger pond, now. The woman he was with, however, seemed more well-armed than he, and fairly experienced, he'd hoped. At least the scar on her cheek lent to the idea, he thought. Elliot smacked his lips in frustration for a moment, crossing his arms as well," You're a freelancer, then? I could use an escort from a more well-armed ship."

Her returned attempts of humor were hollow, stirred by passion and without the subtlety that made humor interesting. The Sith couldn’t truly blame her, women were inherently terrible with even basic comedy. The way her fist seemed to ball, how the lines of pale white began to ring about her joints, the manicured fingertips losing their pallor spelled her next move as plainly as starlight. She was, at the end of it all, a spoiled child. The Sith Warrior watched the emerald bolt of blaster gas discharge, creasing his knee above the joint, stitching its way through his skin and muscle like a surgeon’s plasma cutter. He didn’t move a muscle, but the sulphoric eyes that panned slowly from the blaster pistol’s smoke to the child’s blue eyes. His own lips curled into an ungodly smile. The kid needed more education it seemed. “You asked why our order destroyed itself, that is the very nature of us. Our strength. The Darkness, invites rivalry and strife. It culls the weak.” Vorin placed his hands on the bars above his head, resting them nonchalantly upon the cool steel. “Those that survived… I know little of those others that fled in disarray; but of my own, I can say… The Devourer rests within the Maw. The Huntress was upon the fields of Cathar. The others of the seven, scattered in conclaves unknown to me. Of fleets, well... that was never the forte of the Court of Madness”

She could not help a smile that crept up upon her lips, almost unbidden by his strange sense of humour. His subtle insults no doubt carried a heart of truth, and it was revealing more about the Sith Lords of Onderon than she had thought to get from this man. She would answer wit with wit. A talent she had found useful many times, including at the council meetings of the now Sovereign Alliance. “Honour is of very little use, yes. It serves them not at all in whatever afterlife or shadowlife they have stumbled into. No doubt you have some other great use for yourself after you die. Resurrect on Korriban as a regretful ghost to some tourist perhaps?” She looked up to his looming form, his eyes burning like a fading coal in a fireplace. He was a scary sight, and if she had not been sure of the Ysalamiri that covered his cell, she would have backed away from the bars. Instead, she brought her blaster level with his left knee cap and depressed the chromium trigger. It felt good in her hand, and the trigger broke with a surprising ease. Letting loose an emerald bolt and a familiar ‘wop’ of discharging tibanna gas. Its viridescent blast intending to shatter his knee. Sending a message that would not be misunderstood. “Then tell me where your remnants lay. Where your fleets sit in repair, and where your old masters lie in silence.”

The Sith’s eyes narrowed, taking in the subtle change in the Queen’s countenance, the imperceptible way the skin around her eyes folded as she held an idea. She seemed younger here before him, smaller. Her presence on the battlefield had been commanding, but here she was but an attractive, petulant child. Her words still carried her ill-placed conviction when she spoke next, forming words upon soft, thin lips. Blackmorne cocked his head to her first statement; if she thought they had fought well and honourably, she was not much of a commander. His own words carried little bile, but the correction of a warrior to a new-blood. “Honor? That is a fool’s prize. Glory is of little use to the dead.” Vorin stretched, letting the pain of his wounds dig into his shoulders as he brought his hands before his face. He passed them in the mimicry of removing a mask, casting it to the floor at her feet. “Beneath my mask, I assume you don’t care who I am. Why retreat? It was an odd thing, unforced errors and the whole galaxy flips sides.” He shrugged his broad shoulders in an uncaring gesture, but continued, his countenance becoming grim. “We trusted the galaxy to a woman, and in one month we lost the whole damn thing. The changing of hands between one Dark Lord and the next can go terribly wrong.” The Sith Warrior leaned forward, his hands steadying himself on the bars, looming above the Twi’lek and the Queen. “Ask your questions more directly, Queen.”

Akheron stood in silence even as his apprentice attempted to belittle and insult him. A vain attempt at his own provocation, playing right into the Sith Master's hand...for all was just as he wanted. Even if the means of achieving it were unexpected. And yet he saw how little the Shard still knew about the true nature of the Sith and indeed the Fanged God, he still had much to learn. Especially in relation to a Father of Dust had with Death and how the Baptism of Blood had exploited that unique connection to assist his resurrection. Yet again would he learn a lesson in that respect. Although he was not a total loss, it seemed he had at least learnt a fundamental truth of the Sith. That to ascend the first steps in Darkness he would need to face his greatest challenge. His greatest rival and challenge his master. But if he wanted to achieve anything he would need to tap and crave the Darkness more than he ever had before. It would require a push, one his master was more than willing to supply. But first a unexpected challenger emerged. It seemed their disagreement would have to wait. The beast the trio of Akheron, Solus and Krath Inmortos had birthed in months past, had come to kill it's fathers and creator. A leviathan birthed of blood, death, madness, wrath and rage. A being born of Darkness and twisted wills. He too fell down a crevice, and beheld the wicked form of his depraved 'son'. Born in part of his blood. He could feel the beings malice, and despite this felt a sense of pride at what it had become. Far exceeding his expectations of the creature. As Dictum yelled out, he awoke from his brief awe and ran as requested. He was not yet prepared for that particular challenge, and so with his will and the Darkness he sprinted but not before feeling something. Something ancient and yet strong in Darkness. Among the hallways as he ran, he briefly stopped as he felt it. Enthralled momentarily by the feeling. He wasn't sure if Bernon had followed or not but he was drawn to this new Darkness. A little further and he found a door, into where he did not yet know. Only he felt Death behind it and the same ancient malice he felt before only stronger. A familiar malice that seemed to speak of Wrath and Rage eternal. Of being moulded by the Darkness. He was intrigued and sought a way to try and enter. No matter the price.

Ruin stood still at the center of the entrance chamber, looking around at the carnage that had occurred. With the combined forces, each and every Sith soldier had been shot, dismembered, smashed or torn asunder. While the Jedi’s lightsaber cauterized the wounds instantly, and the laser blasts were thankfully goreless, Ruin had seen to it that the room was bloody enough. “Kill…all Sith!” Ruin shouted, pausing as if he needed to pant, his programming selling the imagery that he was more barbaric than logic. >odd…< Fera beeped as she crawled over to Ruin’s leg, her attennea flicking every which way. >I am detecting a power increase compared to when we first entered the building. It is coming directly below us< Ruin glanced at the Buzz droid. “Bombs and bombings?” Fera crawled up Ruin to his shoulder, beeping into his sensors. >Unlikely. Opportune moment to cause maximum damage to invading forces has passed. It must have something to do with the forces stalling for time< Ruin glanced towards the floor. Then, without a word, he retrieved the Soulbraker hammer and positioned himself and slammed it into the ground. The unpowered weapon left a crack in the floor but did no further damage. >Wait, Ruin, halt, your arm is not properly fixed to…< Fera started to buzz, but Ruin ignored the small droid. Instead, with a twist of the hammer’s hilt, the weapon came to life. Red energy coursed through its insides as the powerpack began to resonate with the kyber crystal connected to the unique Sith alchemized shockwave/repulsorlift generators in the hammer’s head. Ruin raised the hammer and brought it down again. The Shockwave sent from the hammer made a deafening boom in the room as small pieces of debris and bodes next to Ruin went flying. Only Ruin, and Fera who clutched tightly to the Terror Droid, stayed in place. The effects were immediate. The building itself shook slightly as it absorbed most of the Hammer’s energy, but the floor was beginning to crumble. However, Ruin’s arm became noticeably disjointed, its outer plates literally shorn off as the backlash from the hammer affected the droid. >Ruin, halt!< Fera demanded. >This action is both illogical and detrimental. You will damage…< Ruin brought down the hammer again. Again, the building shook. The Floor cracked greater. It was obvious there was something was underneath, and Ruin, who’s arm barely hung on by a messjob of welding, would find it “Break and bash. Seek and smash!” Fera pled with her ward. >Ruin, I calculate a 99% chance of your arm not able to function at all with another attack. If you do so, you will be literally disarmed until…< Ruin didn’t listen. “Smash and kill all Sith!” He shouted as he brought the hammer down again, with all the force his chassis could bring down. The final smash shook the building again. Ruin’s arm, damaged before, shattered apart from the backlash. However, the floor broke through, and the two, Ruin still clutching the hammer with his good arm, Fera clutching to Ruin’s bad shoulder, as well as whoever decided to follow, fell downwards into the bowels of the building’s underground.

To percieve the flow of the Cosmos was almost maddening for a being who had only seen darkness and found brightness to be harmful. And yet, in a Miralukian sense, the brightness that born itself in the darkness brought new sight to be questioned and understood. His burn form now laying upon the stained snow, flesh blistered and scorched the only anguish of life felt in the moment, Sia grew weak and tired from his few meters of crawling and pulling himself toward salvation. Rolling over onto his back, the hiss of his augmented rebreather spoke of his struggle deeply, his fleshed lungs scarred to the bone just as the rest of his form. Even as he gazed upon the energies in the sky above him, he coughed and strangled on his own fluids, a mixture of mucus and blood threatening to drown him. And yet, he smiled beneath the cloth and bone that hid his form, for power attained was power to be used without consequence nor limits. For if knowledge was power, and Power was strength, then what he held in his scorched hand was a newfound strength to be bolstered and nurtured. With a bend of his thumb, he pressed the Holocron's activation symbol, his blinded gaze littered with the contents across the wind as it's energies fused with what he saw. And understanding was birthed... This holocron was forged from darkness and chaos, birthed to grant its contents to those willing to seek its knowledge. It required sacrifice and logic, faith and science, to truly understand the culmination of the Force and Energies, how the two intertwined and were symbiotic upon each other despite being two separations. And with this understanding came forth the knowledge born from understanding its separate and yet symbiotic flow with the natural and unnatural alike, a creation of the Darkside meant to coexist with the natural order of life. Fulgermancy was a natural order to the Chaos, a natural light amidst the darkness with the cruelest of intent and discerning. It was to know the enemy not only through a shared understanding, but to know their greatest strengths and weaknesses through the energy of thought and synapses. It was to know the mind of the enemy as much as one's own and to understand the electrical impulses both foreign and domestic within one's self as much as the others. And yet, it could be so much more, to understand the synapses and impulses of everything that makes up the Galaxy. And it's intent was to use this to its advantage. Metallurgy that could be enhanced to focus one's own proficiency, Machinations that could be created to exercise upon the weaknesses of others. And the energies to provide such understandings. It was all there for his mind to gaze through hollowed eyes. And yet, as he laid there gazing upon the brightened energies spelling out the information he took in, it held one last gift to grant as the energies collected by the lightning of Zoist's gluttonous storm pierced his mask and bore its contents into his brain before the Holocron returned to its dormant state. When he awoke to the energy latent darkness of his blindness, melted snow soaked his form and nerve endings twitched uncontrollably as he rolled back over and began to drag himself once again. Even as pained continously coursed his form, he fought to survive and relish what he had long sought and the power it granted beyond expectations. There was so much to do. So much to create. Damn his feeble form. (Fulgermancy Post 3 - Your post @Krath Apothos)

She followed him quickly out, resisting the urge to put a hand on her concealed blaster as he started to wheel the hyperdrive away. She had to remind herself that he was just an excited kid, not used to business like this. The problem with recruiting young is that many had potential, but lacked the experience to capitalize. As he spoke, she raised an eyebrow. He knew more than she did about starships, that's for sure. "I wouldn't know, I know how to find one and how to take it out of a ship, but that's where my knowledge ends. I've always been better with software than hardware. For all I know I took it out of the Queen of Naboo's personal shuttle." She checked her datapad, satisfied to see the agreed amount pending in her account. She met his eyes as he looked her over, crossing her arms as he spoke again. "Well, anything over the crater is a no-fly zone. Too much old military tech for them to let civilians fly around. As far as traffic, in a fighter you'll need some kind of unit ID, either merc or official to not raise eyebrows and get yourself tailed or tracked. That, I can definitely help with. I can make you an ID real enough to get you offworld if you want, or just real enough to get you around the planet. It's up to you."