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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fiochmar listens oh does he ever listen. The sound of the saber the squeals of pain from the rodent. The smell of fur and flesh and sinew rending and searing brought a wicked smile to his face though oddly enough reminded him he was hungry, stomach rumbling and licking his lips, however he put that aside listening to the huntress and her words of wisdom and guidance. He focuses on those feelings, the blood lust, the thrill of the hunt. The thirst for blood and the kill. Focusing on these things, these feelings and memories in order to channel the dark side, rage and anger were useful but the huntress was right using the hunt felt so much better, stronger, easier to tap into! Closing his eyes reveling in the fear and agony of the rodent drinking in all those delicious and delightful feelings. Pushing out reaching with the force he can feel it coursing through his veins like the blood that gives him life. His athletically toned body seems to gain a bit of bulk and mass as he channels the force into his legs and arms, corded muscles twitch alive with energy. He can feel and hear his heart beat quicken and strengthen everything is feeling alive! The muscles and his heart feel almost electrified or on fire even! Fioch's eyes snap open alight with energy, eagerness and excitement. "I Feel it, I feel it so much stronger, so much better than before! It's like the hunt makes the connection stronger! Yes, yes stronger much stronger!" His nerve endings alight and electrified from the power of the darkside flowing through him he grins, snarls and leaps into the air weapons drawn angling toward the rodent!

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

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

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

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

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

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

She looked again to her friend Esmernia, seeing if there was any indication on suggested course of action. But this was something that only the Queen of Naboo could decree. Their society had no death penalty, they had no decrees for war, no punishments outlaid for dealing with an assassin. An oversight by previous queens more obsessed with galas and the like instead of a proper rule of law. If she could have her own way, a simple blaster bolt to the temple would end the threat of the man in white. But that would be murder through and through. A step that she was not likely to take. He was a combatant in a war that was not yet finished. And he had much to teach their young society about the ways of Sith Warfare. The first step to this man’s redemption was an act of trust. Perhaps a foolish act, and if it ended in her untimely death then her people would learn of some violent prison escape that had claimed the life of their dear queen. If it went the way she hoped, then the Naboo had gained a powerful weapon, and an opportunity to redeem a man long fallen. “I hear there are some great numbers of them still living on Onderon. And whispers from the Alliance of other small kingdoms among the ruins of their mighty empire.” She put her hand forward and pressed her thumb against the lock on his cell. The silence was deafening as the lock unlatched, and the man in white was now completely free. But she was not afraid.

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

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

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

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

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

Aeon bowed at the words of Dictum. “How do I forget that despite your blindness, you see better than myself? First your words on my master, and now this! Fellow child of the Dark, your words once again ring true in my very Shard! How fortunate we are to have you amongst us.” Then the necromancer spoke. Despite his hatred he was currently experiencing towards the undead creature, Aeon kept his composure. The idea of speaking privately with the thing did not appeal to him, but he was still on thin ice, and needed to practice some restraint still until a more opportune moment came to pass. “Hmm, your idea has merit, oh great one!” Solus added, indicating towards Dictum. “The clan always needs more members of his caliber. Perhaps we can do an induction ceremony for Dictum at your ship, much like how we inducted you on Akheron’s ship. Of course…” Aeon paused and raised his still working hand to his face, as if in thought. “I don’t think we have witnessed your ship, have we necromancer? But you must surely have one, or is your title of Lord-Captain just a formality? Unless of course you think this planet is your ship? If so, then I'd love to see this fine, pale vessel in action against the Alliance! Haha!” Aeon laughed at his own joke, an effort to simultaneously lighten the situation as well as poke some fun at the necromancer.

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

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

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.

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?”

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.”

Sulphoric eyes, stained with flecks of crimson, narrowed at the queens words. But they relaxed as the emotional strains of her voice echoed in the small cell; she was, beyond all that regality and posture, a frightened girl. When he answered the first parts of her question, it was with a soft voice, calming and sympathetic. He didn’t glance to the pistol, he knew he had little protection from it in the small confines. Either he lived and survived, or he died to a queen, one who seemed to want to be good. Death would be a step to drawing her into darkness. “Men and Women die in war, that is a reality that a Queen must accept.” The distant sound of knuckles popping made the Sith smile despite the pain. Simple Bravado of those unmarked by real war. So typical of bodyguards to glittering prostitutes. It drew a deep, grinding laugh from his throat, a sound not unlike the grinding of ice upon granite. They always showed the weakness of pride. He glanced to the queen with almost an apologetic eye, but one filled with the dark mirth of unresistable challenge. He lulled his head to call down the hallway in a lustful, goading voice “Worry not children, your wine-drunk harlot will have her mouth full in a moment.” The Sith warrior spread his hands before him, watching the small trickle of blood come from one of his previous blaster wounds, opened by the movement. He turned his attention back to the Queen, staring into the deep blue of her eyes, reflecting in that ocean. The warrior let the drips of blood fleck upon the cell floor like a pattern of stars. How he wished his blood was drawing a design upon her naked flesh. “Do you truly believe the Sith are gone? That the great Lords would fracture and fall into oblivion in one battle? The Court of Madness still twists and turns, The Spider spins his web, the Heart of the Revel still beats.” Vorin stood shakily, his form flexing against the pain. He towered over them both. Despite the rush of agony, and no relief from the force, Blackmorne gave a small bow. “I did not intend your death, Queen. In the great game, just like within Dejarik, one can simply find a path to victory through the movement and capture of pieces. One pawn, a simple Warrior of lowly rank, from the Sith is captured, and yet two of the Jedi’s best bodyguards lie rotting in Naboo’s beautiful sunlight.”

Finally the spirits were vanquished, denied of their prize. Akheron defied them and Death itself, yet again to bring forth his Wrath and Rage upon the galaxy, at least eventually. It seemed more had been asked of him, even as he stood in the bitter cold with his makeshift robe and a unnatural fog seemed to gather with a familiar voice carried up on it. Calling upon him, demanding even. Although he could not be demanded, for he would not be ordered about like some hound. He was Sith. Although it did not mean he would not honour the commitment, he would look after the place as a favour nothing more. Even despite the fact he needed to retrieve his ship. Besides he had another matter to attend too here...albeit his designs had been altered slightly by the disappearance of the necromancer but he would adapt. As they returned to the reality of the real, Akheron felt him. His Apprentice was calling out in the force, the Darkness with his Madness. Threatening to consume them, and yet Akheron resisted as he walked. A unusual sight, for he still stood in the toga he had constructed with a borrowed lightsaber. One he would hold on to, unless asked otherwise and until his own were constructed again. He could feel his apprentice Envy. His Rage was palpable, and his thoughts open. How he viewed what had happened as heretical. How little he knew. A smile crept across his lip, it would be as was needed. He needed to provoke him, to push him past his current limitations. To crave and tap into the Darkness more, and to face the final test of his current trial. This was the perfect opportunity, although after it would forever change their dynamic. He knew that much. For as with all a price would be paid for his ascension. He wondered what Dictum and Bernon would make of it. Bernon most of all for all would be affected. As they ascended and made it to where his apprentice stood. His expression was plain and devoid of emotion, yet his presence in the Darkness spoke volumes. He spoke. "My apprentice. Tell me were you successful in your endeavour? Did you secure what was asked and accomplish the task I set. Show me your proof and I will begin the next step."

Across the whole of Falleen, the Living Force moved, blossoming in fonts of purifying power and light. At the eye of the cascading storm of purity lay the devastated temple, a temple formerly dedicated to the worship of The House of Dragons and their perverse god. The mount was bathed in light, great wings of purifying energy arched forth from there and swept over the world, driving shadow before them as it was extinguished in holy splendor. As each Jedi and light sider hidden upon the world meditated upon the cleansing waves of the light side of the force, upon goodness and justice and right, the sweeping cleaning tide grew as it swept across the world. From the battle weary guardians, a cleansing fire that gave chase to the darkness, devouring that in it’s path. From the ever watchful sentinels, an unblinking eye from which no darkness could hide. From the sage counsellors, warm light that bathed the world in healing energies. Leena felt the power of the force wash through her, over her heart, mind and soul in a tingling charged wave. It passed into her, over her, and through her, baptizing she and her fellow Jedi in the purity of their cause. It glowed a blinding untainted white as the crystals, attuned to healing, gave up their color and amplified the energies until they were visible from horizon to horizon, even from well beyond orbit. The Healer felt as every Jedi, every soul touched by and purified by the light, joined the healing trance and contributed to it. They were an Order bound together in a unity of purpose, to save the lives and very soul of this world, to be the watch guards of civilization and safeguard her from the darkness that lurked in the souls of every man. And given time, the entire world of Falleen became awash in the healing power of the light side of the force, the Cosmic and Living force intermingled to pull the world back from the precipice of destruction, to right it’s path and offer unto it a chance at redemption, a cleaned consciousness and heart free from the temptations and addictions of the dark side. The iron grip by which @Karys Narat iv-Adas and his false religion of tyrannical violence had not been loosened, but crushed until none remained but ash. Their presence, their power upon this world washed away, purified as if it had never been upon Falleen. And as the world seemed to awaken with the sunrise, the first rays of a new day dawned over the cities of Falleen. Leena slowly opened her eyes. The work of the Jedi upon this world was done, if for the moment. Weary and energized, Leena smiled softly. The people of Falleen had been purified of the cancerous dark side. Their healing now rested in their own hands, in the protection of the fledgling Sovereign Alliance. Glancing about, the stones that glowed so powerfully began to mellow, their colors returning to them as heat and light dissipated into the air. Leena saw @Keenava Dira lying there across from her, the newfound follower of the light sapped and drained by the battle of light and dark within her very soul. Leena reached out to brush a sweaty tendril of ash from the twi’lek’s brow as she whispered, “Rest easy apprentice, where we go, we will contend with these spirits who plague your every step.” Securing her saber hilt back upon her own waist, Leena slowly stood and began to collect the healing crystals spread throughout the devastated temple mount. Hefting the final crystal, Leena considered the deep plum color of the stone, striated by faint wisps of green and orange that swirled into the warm core. She felt the light of the force glow warm and comforting within. Stooping forward, Leena cradled the stone in the twi’lek’s curled hand, a subtle reminder of all that they, that she herself, had accomplished here and a message calling the apprentice to Leena’s side when she awoke. Righting herself, Leena considered the city all about. It was almost silent and yet, peaceful. Faint cries of birds, long silenced by the oppression of the dark side called out over the cityscape. The scars of battle were still visible between Leena and the horizon. Yet, the rays of the dawning sun arced across it all, bathing the city in warm hues of yellow, pink and orange. A new day was beginning for the people of Fallen. Slowly, Leena began to careful make her way through the rubble and down the stairs of the devastated temple. She would need to coordinate with the head of this offensive, a commander of the Alliance, or whatever they were calling themselves these days. Her fellow Jedi knew what to do. They would follow the will of the force until they met again. For now, the force beckoned clearly across Falleen, beseeching each Jedi to follow it’s guidance out into the galaxy to carry it’s will to the people. The darkness had been driven from the galaxy, and yet the need for the Jedi remained strong.

The Wookiee bowed his head deeply as she took the berry to her mouth. He could tell from her reaction its effects functioned as he intended. Almost simultaneously, he too heard the crackle of the commlink of the fellow Wookiee and the voice which emanated from it. He listened with keen interest, and as Sandy gave him directions, he bowed his head, capitulating as he withdrew to a meditative state of mind once more, his presence in the Force reflecting such as he began to - not entirely deliberately - flourish in its etheral light. Despite his eyes being closed, his observation could not have been more keen as he peered into their very spectral forms, watching as they poured their essence into the planet. His recognition of the words of the woman were not physically manifested, yet they were heeded nonetheless as he steeped deeper into meditation with her guidance and stewardship. It would undoubtedly seem evident that this, too, was something the Wookiee was somewhat proficient in, even if on a more primal, unrefined level than compared to the Jedi Masters before him. He began another rumbling chant in the ancient and mysterious tongue of the People of the Trees, singing to the grace of the Mother of Life and to the Seeds of Peace as his energy germinated, sprouting and swelling like the climbing branches of a great Wroshyr tree. In this midst of his ritual, the Wookiee attempted to heed the advice of the Master before him, implementing it in due turn as he cast his mind to a place of serenity. The cliffs of Mak'shyyr came to mind. A picturesque grove dominated by a wall of ivy-covered stone, with tranquil lapping falls and fragrant Orga flowers dominating the lapping waters of the pond at their bottom. It seemed only correct to think of such a beautiful locale by which to find his center, and guide the power needed to find the beauty of such a shattered, broken world. With the guidance of Master Sarna and the strength afforded to him through the use of his people's incantations, this ethereal tree began to sprout roots into the very earth below. Kerriwarr fostered his own connections as his presence swelled, linking with such esteemed presences upon the otherwise desolate world as their minds melded to one, coagulant force, blossoming into the very essence of the planet itself and purging it of its darkness. The roots of the Wookiee, seeping into the very presence of the planet, wound through its energies, finding its natural sources of light and illuminating them, like the drooping flowers of the Shi-Shok tree finally blossoming after a long and harsh winter, the Wookiee was the bearer of a warm spring light upon these unblossomed flowers, bringing forth the serenity of a new age of life and fragrance to the world - the Wookiee did not heal the planet, he gave way for the planet to begin to heal itself.

As the heat of battle began to cool in the closing of the veil, the air became reminiscent of the soulfrost the hung upon the walls of Inmortos creations. Fog filled tomb and his breath visually hastened as his form threatened to tear itself asunder in every direction. In the eyes of the dead, his true form was undetectable, and for a brief second, fear could be found in its gaze until release found its way into the demon's heart and torment once again filled its soul. Blade removed from its skull, it fell lifeless upon the ground, the masque that it once wore in life falling upon the ground beside it and revealing the being that once hid behind it. Dictum bent down and grasped the mask, his mind's eye gazing upon the poor sod. So powerless. So refined to its own damnation created by its own machinations. Never had it truly grasped the concept that was Chaos, and never had it accepted Chaos as its own. That was its true damnation. Chaos swirled in Dictum's mind and guided his blades as he fileted small slivers of the dead's skin, first with the one he gazed upon, then upon the others until he held enough hide to fold away in his Satchel. And then he turned as the voice spoke and the elder of Inmortos was revealed. There was much respect given to the bound soul that was the caretaker of Inmortos' tomb and library, a remembrance of what sacrifice and liberties it forgave in order to hold such sway and power as it did. And so Dictum listened and understood as it gave their final orders and lifted them from its halls and into the reality of the Galaxy at large. Gazing upon the others, Dictum only gave a solemn nod before heading up the stairs that led to the world above. At least until another voice pierced the reality the resided within and threatened to grow them all mad. And with it, a presence he had to come to know all too familiarly. Tuning the screeches down, Dictum turned to Akheron and spoke. "Your Apprentice beacons." Folding the layers of the undead skin and placing them into his Satchel, Dictum turned back to the surface. There was semblance of music to the shard's screams, or at least to the Miralukian's ears of Chaos, that was how it came to be perceived. But as the trio crossed the threshold above, Dictum saw the abomination he had conjured as his gaze peered across the landscape. With open arms, he yelled across the surface toward Solus. "Welcome!

District 3 was far enough away, and Elliot found himself back in the cockpit of his ship. Quickly, he booted up the systems and, with a beautiful hum, his ship came to life in the hangar. He cleared his dispatch on comms, and his ship ascended from the hangar into the smoggy Coruscant air. Sunshine rays made of charred oranges and poisoned yellows beamed over the metro that somehow kept an eternal hue of rusty brown over it. Elliot liked his new life well enough, but he missed being able to see the earth below his feet when he was out of the house. Still, he knew a far better life on the industry-riddled mega-cities of Coruscant, even if they were new ones built on the ruins of others. He even thought of diving back into his preferred trade of ship-breaking, as he heard rumors of a few hangars in the derelict parts of the old cities. The comforts of the manor his adoptive father called his own were too alluring, though, and he felt no desire to return the grime and muck of his old life. He flew his ship low and slow, curving around bends like a painter with a brush, taking in every sight his eyes could behold. It was far from his first joyride, but it was extra sweet, knowing he could take his joyriding off-world. He always wanted to visit Naboo. He'd seen commercials for a luxury resort on the holonet. Elliot's imagination could barely control itself at times, and the prospect of being some sort of swaggering galivanting luxurious swindler was something he could see in his head. All to be humbled brutally, he was certain. Still, the sugar was coated heavy on his tongue and mind when he landed in hangar 72B, putting his ship down slow, as if this person he could only guess about would be impressed by such a thing. With a few final clicks and whirs, he came out of the cockpit and dropped down to the floor with grin. His surprise from seeing, of all things, a slender chiss woman was more than a pleasant surprise for Elliot. He extended his hand at the woman who was waiting for him. "Evening. Elliot, as I said. You're..." he stopped for a moment," I'm gonna go with Zu-Zu," he said with an abysmally weak-hearted chuckle.

@Krath Inmortos Coruscant, Heart of The Empire. Elliot had turned his speeder downward, spooling over the neighborhoods guarded by Imperial troops into the less well-kempt neighborhoods. He pulled his speeder around tight bends, narrow alleys, and dangerous drops before he found his way to the docking station of a bazaar deep into the depths of the rebuilding city. He pulled his speeder aside, and gave the valet a few credits to hold it for him. The bazaar of the city was open to all, but those who were clothed as Elliot were forced to be careful, on account of the thugs and desperate schemers in the city. Elliot kept his coat closed, but the high quality of the materials made him a target. Tucked in his sleeve was a spring-loaded vibro-blade, but he was more ready to rely on the credits in his account. The young man, scorned with a furled brow by most of the patrons of the bazaar, made his way through the market, nose being assaulted by the spices and odors of the poor folk scattered around this market. As he closed on the center of the market, the crowd got denser, and the smell became more pungent. He swerved off to the right, and found his way all the way down the concourse to the shops lining the walls. He perused for a while, just window-shopping, before he happened upon a cultural shop. He stopped, and somebody bumped into him as they passed on, muttering slurs under their breath. He looked the shop up-and-down, and decided to walk in. An old woman, hunched over a small stall in the back of the shop, stood over herself, looking up at Elliot. Elliot's proud face betrayed his deeply sunken eyes, and the tired-ness of his look seemed to interest the young woman. He stared at her for a moment, before continuing onward. Crystals lined the walls, and effigies sat in glass display cases, all borne to an ancient god of the many worlds in the galaxy. He ran his fingers across the embroidered leatherwork in the shop, and turned to the woman. "I like this place," he said," these are quite interesting." "Thank you, sweet boy," she said, pattering over to him," these are hand-made pieces, and many of the things we have here are from old worlds, long lost to time." "So I see." Elliot smirked weakly, and looked around further, passing almost over the tiny old woman before him. He looked up and down, until he found what he was looking for. From Bracca, his home planet, he found an idol of a long forgotten god. Next to it, from worlds unknown, was a goblet. The only truly gilded item in the shop, the goblet immediately drew Elliot to it. He looked it over, wondering where it came from. The craftsmanship was excellent, but the jewels were clearly fake, perhaps remade from the original. He reached out and touched it, and he felt something, from beyond the physical, pour over from the cup onto him, almost in waves of influence. He felt something wrap around the back of his brain, tendrils of darkness touching the stem of his mind. He, in a flash-moment, had a vision, and dropped the cup on the ground when he felt it.

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