Kyrie Eleison

The woman let out a small breath and released the string, feeling the thrum of energy through the limbs of the bow as it rushed into its transfer of energy, causing the fletching of the arrow to whistle as it leapt from the string. Emerald eyes sparkled as they watched the arrow split the air, cracking to speed as she passed her own energy into it, blessing it with the song. The shaft glistened with white fire as it dashed into the target a hundred meters away, exploding into brilliant wisps of fractal light. Kyrie felt the air pass about her, whisking with it the sounds and smells of the rusting city. She could feel its life in the air. She could see its spirits. The breeze tousled her tangled braids, obscuring her vision with the black hair, the starshine highlighting its ivory streaks. A moment of peace before the storms of war came again. The moment passed as a commlink buzz beat harshly against her ears, causing the Exorcist to turn on her heel, swinging the wooden bow across her broad shoulders. The bite of the string against her neck caused a swift adjustment as she stooped to retrieve the commlink from amongst her discarded robes. A hunger burned within her for a moment, the darkness that stained her soul, that of the Krayt. She shuddered and keyed the buzzing commlink The voice that crackled to life was that of her fleet commander, Al-Afdal Dyrrhachium, Maréchal of the Order of Captains, “Grandmaster, we are being prepped for Kuat by the Rebel command. Do you wish us to participate? I do not bow to these dikut Rebels, thinking they control our Order!” Kyrie nodded sternly, considering his words. The Revanchists that made up the commanders of her forces rarely played well with others, the natural consequences of the Schismatics. She kept her voice cool and kind, spinning a small braid between her thumb and forefinger. “Take on their advice as needed, Maréchal, but we are not under their command. Remind the Emp-… Remind… Raven that she lost our fealty when she resigned and are not hers to command.” A small laugh tinkled across her lips, nervous anticipation of the war to come. Kuat had bitter memories. “Prepare for war, if we need to rid ourselves of these allies we will, but not now. We must unite against the greater enemy, which is, as always, The Dark Side.”

The Imperial Knight stared hard at the corpse that lay beside her, a humanoid female with a tangled mess of dark hair, draped in a white sheet. The woman had perished only hours ago in the underworld, a victim of predation slavery, and was kept biologically alive via bacta and artificial blood-flow. The Azanti sighed, her probiscis flicking weakly at the air. She felt it inside, the fire sat like a weight of molten lead in her belly, flaring out through her veins with every breath. The pureness of the Light Side of the Force held within that fire was contrasted with the corroding and corrupted vessel within which her soul was contained. She shuddered, fear creeping its way up her spine. …Why hide from death? Why fear the burial mound? The Exorcist stared up at the candlelit ceiling, at the phantom-eyes of Il-Andon Rorik, and at her own mortality. Pain wracked her in a shuddering cough. She had barely survived Korriban. She stared into the darkness, contemplating the temptations and the shadows of the past. She held her lightsaber to her chest, cradling its worn handle in shaking hands. Why leave us? This darkness does not bargain. You do not reason. You are rot. The longer you hide from us, the longer our shadow grows. She could feel it within her, wrapping its hands around her heart, tearing into her mind with ravenous hunger. A desire for power. And now you have taken hold. Will you take the seat of my soul, devour me until there is nothing left? Do you want us to? Would all my suffering will be at an end? Would the darkness finally give me peace? Taste and see. The hunger became a primal beat, twisting the song until it was all she could hear. She could see the Jedi fighting her now, her silver blade piercing the heart of Sandy Sarna, cutting the life from her. The reflection of a devilish delight with the woman’s fading eyes. No. Horror came to her then, shocking disgust at her own fantasies. Shame. I will not allow this. She turned her mind to the Sith. To fighting the Spider and its minions. Her fingers twisted the saber spear, her every ounce of strength devoted to one act. She would listen no more to the voices of the underworld. I will go to the bed of demons; I will look them in the eye. I will go to war. Snap-Hiss The Exorcist drove the shimmering, pure, silver blade deep into her breast, piercing the rotting heart below. Black smoke poured from the wound as lifeless fingers dropped the sparking spear. The white sheet moved, and a pale hand caught the falling spear. A tinkling, laughing voice came forth. A new voice. “In the end we all fall, even the gods from their heavens, but it is not yet my time to rest eternal.”

The Exorcist could not hide her disappointment at the lack of Sith response to her prodding, to the trap she had set. She dug a bootheel into the shifting sand and shaded her eyes against the harsh sun, staring hard at Master Sarna. She had no love of the Jedi Order, but this one had treated her differently. An unnatural kindness for those who forsook life itself by the tenets of their ridiculous code. At her feet, in the emptiness of fractured stone, revelation stirred. “Tis… but a world of ghosts. Nothing of any worth remains here for the Sith.” The woman knelt, her probiscis flicking at the dry air, as if beckoning battle to come to them. She placed a hand within the warm granules of sand, feeling the radiant heat against her bare skin, focusing on the physicality of it. An anchor against the darkness in her mind. She let out a small sigh of relief and opened a leather pouch at her side, filling it with the twisting, sparkling sand. It felt like a black weight on her side, as if it contained a revenant. More practice. She turned her face to the east, to the setting sun and walked towards extraction and the U-Wing that would bring the team back to Alliance Command

The Master of the Exorcists could feel the sand shift beneath her feet as she walked, hunched in her cowl against the beating sunlight. The lights were dazzling. She felt incredibly small against the inherent darkness of this place. Even the ysalimiri could not keep the intrusive thoughts of the Dark Side at bay. Do you enjoy the touch of the dark? The sands twisted beneath her feet and she stumbled away from the party, her gaze diverted towards the northwest. Towards the Valley of the Dark Lords. Unnatural temptation. She desired to reach out, to call out in the force. You gaze into the dark, girl. The Imperial Knight stepped to the edge of the lizard’s influence, letting herself regain some strength. The air itself was repulsive. It stank of ancient death. Echoes of crimes and torture clung to her traveler’s clothing, and she shook herself as if to shake them all off her. Her mind formed the lessons of Il-Andon Rorik, her former master. …When darkness stains life, it is at first a slow spread. That of temptation, of lowered defenses, of the sweet caress of vice. Kyrie breathed in a lungful of the heated air, letting it fill her lungs. A simple thing, a touchstone of physicality that would help wrench herself from the psychosis that plagued her. Finally, before you are aware, you are a wanderer. Darkness has changed everything; it has turned your home into a foreign land, and those you hold as beloved into strangers. Kyrie turned her eyes back to her team and retreated into the dampened force. If any Sith had sensed her, it would be that stirring potential of an apprentice, of a partially corrupted thing. She would be a temptation, but nothing more. When she spoke to Master Sarna it was with an almost different voice, a different personality; that of a harnessed lord of war. A dragon in chains, awaiting its opportunity. “Yes… We will stake out the perimeter. If any Sith come, they wont know what hit them.”

She felt small against the tide, pulled this way and that by the emotions and personalities that crowded her mind. There had once been a fire around which they would all crowd for warmth, but now the flame had diminished with the influence of the force-eating lizards that inhabited the shuttle, and the voices had increased to a howl and like wolves they were hunting. The Anzati huddled into the crash webbing, bringing her armored knees to her small chest, hugging herself about the ankles, burying her eyes into the darkness. Her jaw was set , stress and self-hatred boring their way through her defenses to make them grind. Her lips moved in a silent song, one she sang to keep the wolves at bay. You come here… To Korriban? The Imperial Knight winced and brought her head up to stare out the viewscreen apart from her. There was flickering and reflective sand. Flitting lights swam in her eyes, distant cries echoing on silent winds Look around and you will see them. The burned, the tortured, the slain. Here they lie, desiccated in the sands and drowning in the Phlegethon. She could almost smell the burnt flesh. The tormented screaming. Her fingers clung to her crash webbing, white as alabaster in the sunlight. Did you think the dead lie still here? This is not a place of rest. Her torments were fast becoming her elements. A voice cut into her wallowing terror, that of Sandy Sarna. “Well lets hope they don’t just shoot us down eh.” Kyrie turned her head to look at the woman, taking in the reassurance of her humor, the warmth of her smile. It was almost enough to stoke the flames of her internal fire, but the lizard’s influence was far too great. She winced back a forced smile, her stutter pronounced as she pointed to the lights on the sands that only she could see. “Do you see the t-them c-coming? They yearn for life, hunger for it - like a pack of wolves on a hunt…”

Father… Kyrie winced as she felt her father die, the sudden anguish exterminating the joy of victory, washing the confidence from her mind. Harjav Fieldgrey was gone, and with it her last living connection to the galaxy. The grief turned a key and something arose within her. …Did you think we were truly gone, after all this time? The Master of the Exorcists stared into the faces of her compatriots, pain overwhelming her vision with a dark veil. She could feel her flesh screaming as it knit itself together, the natural reaction to something infested with darkness to even the healing touch of the light. …You cannot rid yourself of your shadow… The Imperial Knight breathed out a hiss as the burns reversed themselves retaining their ghostly embers within her nerves. Shockwaves of pain washed up and across her body, but she redirected the expressing of it into a mask, a shy smile. The voices of her youth had returned, blending with that of the Krayt. The Exorcist took a steadying breath and the colors of the world seemed to shift their tone. Amethyst eyes blinked and her probiscis flicked at the air, as if tasting for the first time. She heard music. The woman passed a scarred hand across her vision and bowed the Jedi apologetically and walked slowly to the shuttlecraft they would take to their next mission, slinging her longbow over her shoulder, a strange smile alighting her features.

The tears continued, burning trails of pain dropping to the decking. All she could feel was the monster within her, consuming her fire, deafening her song. It burned. Horrendously. Why does it burn? The Exorcist coughed, tasting the bitterness of ash and soot. ...Do you think you can purify… Me? The basest touch of sin, the impurity of the dark side rose from her heart to her throat with a surge of bile. She shuddered against the unforgiving decking. …I am a Sin Eater; it is my duty to consume in order to purify… She breathed in a ragged breath, sobbing into the deck as she burned internally. …Redemption is yours if you allow it. Or you have death. Smoke curled from her lips. There was a warmth. A kindness. A hand was upon her skin, flooding her with life. With the Force. Kyrie channeled the healing warmth inside of her, like a breath upon the coals of a forge. She breathed in a steady breath and it was like a bellows upon that forge, that fire of the Exorcists, driving her eyes open. In that moment she overcame the immensity of the Sin within, and the Krayt’s immeasurable evil burned like straw. It had chosen redemption instead of death. She drew in the living force around her, turning it into silvered fire that wreathed about her, driving through her flesh to burn the Sin into ash. There was her song, changed. More predatory. The Exorcist’s probiscis flicked at the air as she turned towards the Mon Cal that knelt over her, taking in the smile and the kindness of the healer. She raised a trembling hand and touched the skin of the healer, took reassurance from the purity she found. She had been living in the grey for too long, swallowed up by the ashes of what she consumed. Kyrie flashed Leena a shy smile, burning away any impurity of sin around them with the purifying power of the Light Side. There was another presence, one all familiar to the Imperial Knight, that of Sandy Sarna. She was shining in the Force, stronger than the Exorcist had remembered. The Grandmaster of the Exorcists pulled herself shakily to her feet, the cauterized wounds sending waves of pain through her nerves. Her armor was a mess, burned and shattered from the battle for Corellia. …Our triumph. She held her head higher, her probiscis tasting the air in time to her predatory song. Her words were slow, basic never having been a fluid tongue. When she smiled, it was the smile of a tamed Krayt, a reflection of what she had taken into herself and sacrificed for the will of the Force. Before she had formed the Exorcists, she had been leader of the Jedi Guardians, and it was their training of body that she used now to even keep standing. “I apologize for… my appearance.” The briarwood handle of her saber-spear felt heavier in her palm as she hefted it, spinning it like a baton several times until it rested upon her armored shoulder. “Do I… Have time to… Change… before our next… fight?”

Kyrie’s black and forest green TIE-Ugly, that disorganized amalgamation of Y-wing and TIE-Interceptor broke from the bonds of hyperspace to soar above the criminal world. The Imperial Knight’s breathing was ragged, each rasping gasp tinged with pain. The wounds of the battle with the Sithling were a heavy cost to bear for the victory of Corellia, but the weight of the soul she had consumed was heavier still. Her song was weak. Gwn Marwolaeth. A wicked name. The residue of what she had burned away from the Sith made her feel wretchedly disgusting. There was an almost inhuman soul that was burning within her still, like a great unidentified beast, unconquerable with even her fiery heart. There was another name that was filtering through her song. What are you, unholy darkness? A voice, reptillian and cold …Ysgithyrwyn Mwynfawr… Draig yr anialwch… Ar ôl difa, nawr am ddim… The Exorcist breathed in another ragged breath, letting the autopilot take her TIE-Ugly towards one of the hidden landing pads of the Rebel Alliance. The ship pitched towards the southern pole as Kyrie began to sweat profusely. She felt cold. Feverish. The fire was burning out. Desperation came then, overwhelming her senses with her consumed sins. Her fire was burning out. Blood leaked from the partially cauterized wounds that adorned her flesh, black and smoking. She tried desperately to summon her flame, to cast it even at her own flesh, but none came. Her song of summer was gone, and with it went the flames. Her mind turned internally as the ship began to shake upon atmospheric entry. Ysgithyrwyn Mwynfawr. Kyrie could feel it now, a dragon within, writhing amongst the shadows of her mind. The soul of the desert. A Krayt. What did that creature do to me? The TIE-Ugly touched down, and Kyrie dragged herself from the yawning hatchway, half collapsing upon the decking. She cast about in her desperation, but no flame came to her now. It was gone from her, that song that had carried her from Ord Mantell. That song of summer was no more. Steaming tears ran in rivulets down her face, flicking from her probiscis to evaporate on the decking. She was an Exorcist without purifying flame, cursed with the soul of a dragon.

The Song changed its rhythm and the Master of the Exorcists stared beyond the silver orange glow of the saber-spear to a now fallen opponent. She was surprised, in the rush of war she had not foreseen the fall. She had miscalculated and struck out against the Sith without first stretching to feel… There was little darkness left in the darkening Forest, and there was only a slight touch of it upon the wind. The other Darkside presence within Coronet city had been extinguished completely, while the one before her was weak to the point of non-existence. Kyrie breathed in, listening. The air tasted of death upon a faraway breeze, but there was something else beyond the natural smells of a forest, even one that was partially ablaze. Deeper than the aroma of boiling sap. A corruption was what the spirits spoke of. The Song vanished as she exhaled, and the full sound of the Forest swarmed in around her. The crackling of dried underbrush ablaze. The worried calls of nightbirds. The echo of a heartbeat behind her. The Exorcist turned and stared at its source, the fallen Wyrmsteel blade of the Sith Pyromancer. She shifted her gaze to the fallen woman and saw a rise and fall of her chest. The Sithling still lived. The Imperial Knight extinguished her lightsaber with a satisfying snap-hiss and strode carefully to the Sword, listening. It bore a heartbeat, but one as if heard across a placid lake, echoed and formless. A name sprang to her mind as she touched its hilt …Gwn Marwolaeth… A burning hunger crawled up her spine as she ripped the Sith’s blade from the forest floor, and the forest itself seemed to relax. With the relief a wash of pain roared through Kyrie, as her own concentration and adrenaline began to fade. She hissed and looked to the blistered flesh on her arms, and the trickle of blood that leaked through scorch-lined cracks in her left greave. With greater effort, the Imperial Knight hobbled to the fallen form of the Sith Assassin, watching the pained breaths come from the form, accompanied by a mewing cough. Her probisci flicked at the air, tasting and wanting. Hunger. The Exorcist breathed in a staggered breath, holding the sith sword up, her every instinct crying for her to strike the blade into her opponent’s flesh. Starvation. The probisci writhed in her vision and she breathed in another breath, this one more determined, and she spoke aloud to herself. Ardenter, oh, that gluttonous eagerness… The sword rose higher and the Exorcist screamed and forced her probisci to touch the Wyrmsteel May you devour poison! Her scream became frantic as she drew the heartbeat from the sword itself, casting it into the fires of her own heart. Pain rushed through all of her, for it was like swallowing a viper’s fangs. She hugged the Wyrmsteel to her breast and cried, collapsing beside the Sith’s broken form. She took upon herself the sins of Gwn Marwolaeth and consumed them like they were her own. She had to consume to burn away evil. Her screams began to subside as the name was burned into her soul. The heartbeat she did not destroy but purged with her own agony. The sword’s words were of death, but they were also familiar. Long ago her father Harjav had named her sister Hayley as his inspiration in such a tongue, calling her thereafter Awenydd. The Master of Exorcists gave the sword a new name, Llafn Tân, or The Blade of Fire and laid it on the Sith’s chest, wrapping the woman's fingers about the hilt. Drawing from her belt the medkit, she slipped the knives from the Sith’s shoulders, packing the wounds with clotting form bacta. She only had one usable bacta spray and used it on the Sith’s wounds before she bound them with scraps from her Kama. A Sith redeemed was far better to the Force than a dead one. With the Sith medically stabilized, she slipped away, back to her own ship in order to meditate and heal.

Kyrie felt more than saw the Sithling’s sword, the wyrmsteel glistening in the fading light of Corellia’s sunset pass by her, to plunge its corruption into the forest floor. She could feel the forest’s repulsion by the blasphemous incursion as she passed her locus of control about her, feeling for any continuation of the attack. There was none, and the Sithling leapt away. The Exorcist’s eyes fell on the quiver of black-feathered arrows on her side, wishing she had brought her barrowyew longbow with her from her ship. At least then she could have dispatched the Sithling from a distance. The Master of the Exorcists continued to press into Silence, at that bitter wrath and hunger. The Sith was like the Maw, consuming for the sake of power but gaining no life. Such were the ways of the darkside. Eternally seeking power with no longevity. The voice of the Sithling came from the smoke and darkness of the forest, filtering as if from a thousand directions The Sith seemed eternally able to conjure words from her mouth, even in the heat of battle where conversation was both unwanted and loathsome. The words of the Sith were dripping with poison, taunting the Exorcist of her struggle, that unending discord between her own flesh and the fires of the Force. The Azanti physiology of her form had set a profound craving within her, deep enough to touch the bedrock of her psychology. The yearning was devious and was held within her depths, but it was stirred by the Sithling’s words. For Kyrie, the depravity of the flesh was a consuming void at the very center of her soul, and she could feel its touch within the words of the Sith. What was strong enough to stand against that? The Exorcist breathed in and listened, stilling her disquiet. The hunger gave off no song, no fire of life. Against that darkness there was something greater. There was the song, that ever-present heartbeat of the Force. The promise of life. It flowed around her, caressing her with its melody, drowning out the discordant tones of the Sith’s words with its rhythmic radiance. Her locus of control moved to her belt and quiver once more as the song moved from her lips. She seized three arrows with her mind familiarizing herself with their fletching and bodkin tips as she added them to her locus, along with her remaining stillettos. She pressed the song against the Sithling’s influence, her eyes finding her opponent’s. Asperges me incendium, et mundabor, lavabis me, et super nivem dealbabor… That was the inherent weakness of the dark side, even a small candle could hold it at bay, and to such darkness, the Master of the Exorcists was a bonfire. Kyrie’s flesh began to glow with wreathing flames of silver. There was intent to the fading evil and the Imperial Knight adjusted her stance to a more mobile Mezza Porta di Ferro, the guard of the middle gate for the circles of the spear. Pain from her burns protested, but through crucitorn she passed it into her internal flame. With the guard of the Middle Gate, The Imperial Knight straightened her back, engaging her core and taking a step backwards with her right foot, letting her left foot lead once more as she rose to the balls of her feet. Her shoulders and arms relaxed, and she held the shaft of the spear loosely, her fingers caressing the briar-wood with anticipation. Both hands moved closer to the balance and she gripped the cortosis-inlaid wood with only the first two fingers on each hand, sacrificing grip strength for mobility. Images cloaked in flame surrounded her, twisted abominations of her past. They felt sick within the Song, and as they approached, she discovered the source of their illness. They were birthed of perversion, warped mimicry of her own flame. To a Master of Exorcists, such aberration was an anathema. Her remaining stiletto knives whipped from her belt, hovering beside her, glowing white with her holy wrath. As the demons closed in, she struck, channeling her power into her legs. From her mobile stance, the Imperial Knight stepped from the centerline once more, spinning and sweeping her saber-spear in a full arc, the brilliant blade of orange and silver protecting her front while the weighted pommel protected her rear. The sweep was easy to achieve from the stance, as the balance of the spear was close to her center of gravity. The defensive arc set off an explosion of as the impure fire met with the pure, and from it, Kyrie leapt towards her opponent, her kama trailing smoke. A splash of pain echoed from her legs, a touch of the Sith's impure fire had burned her calf. She had grown weary of this pyromancer who could turn her own flame against her. The Master of the Exorcists landed in the guard of the middle gate several yards from her opponent, and when she spoke, her voice carried a stutter but a bitter confidence. “Turn from your… Evil… Or be destroyed by it.” A crack in the air indicating the remaining stiletto blades zipping from the raging inferno behind them, her locus of control bringing them up to the speed of sound, angling them for the Sith’s center of mass at converging angles before releasing them. The three arrows she had passed into her locus were used with less finesse, their steel bodkin tips glittering with translucent white fire as they spilled from their quiver, cracking to speed in a whistling swarm, released towards the Sith’s chest. ((3))

The Master of the Exorcists watched her opponent fly backward with the strength of Summer’s Song, listening to the Force as it moved about her. There was no change to the mournful song, no melody that marked the departure of the soul from flesh. The Sithling was not out of the fight, which… Excited her? Battlelust was of the Dark Side. There was the pounding of hunger’s laughter within her. Why did it sound so much like Hayley’s tinkling laughter? Kyrie took a deep breath, letting her flames surge internally while her locus of control came back to within her circle of the spear. It was a simple calming technique, to fall back upon one’s training to remove the worry of the mind. The circle of the spear was larger than the control of the sword-circle, which itself dwarfed the circle of the knife. It was how she had been taught on Ord Mantell, the longer the weapon, the greater the circle of control, and the harder the blow to be delivered. It was simple physics and geometry, the tip of a weapon that was longer than another when moved by the same hand was faster at that tip than the shorter. But why did it sound like Hayley? There it was again, Rage and Hunger. The Song intensified, the words flowing from her lips Redde mihi laetitiam flammum tui: et spiritu principali confirma me... The Imperial Knight’s violet eyes narrowed. She let her fire imbue her flesh once more, knitting into the sinew and muscle. A great intensity of strength and energy washed through her. There was something off. Kyrie’s hands gripped the shaft of the spear as she held the stance of Posta di Fenestra Destra upon the forest loam. The Song of Summer had been perverted This Sithling was wreathed in its own flame now, and it somehow held some of the energies of Kyrie’s attack within its armor. A curse dripped from Kyrie’s lips around the song, seeming to spit from the probisci as they whipped at the air. ...Maledictus magicae! As if to answer her curse, the enemy’s power intensified, and the attack came. It was a great bestial thing made of the perverted flame and wind, bound with Sith magic. It was bound in smoke, which would act like a shield for the Assassin behind. Storm’s light raged in her flesh. The Master of the Sin Eaters let the form of Posta di Fenestra Destra transform, falling back with her left foot, letting the force of concussive blast send her backwards, but she controlled her stance. She closed her eyes against the burning ash, trusting in the Song’s guidance. Kyrie’s armor smoked, the forest-green cloth that made the sleeves of her armor burning away to ash against the Sith’s onslaught, and pain began to creep into her. Patches of the flesh on her arms turned red and black as they were scalded by the Sith's fire. Pain was a base emotion, and one that she had learned to embrace with her mastery of Crucitorn. She passed the surge of adrenaline and its spike in her fight or flight instincts into her flame. She had to sacrifice everything to fight the Sith, even her human instincts. It was what made her an Exorcist. Held as it was by her head, the spear-saber’s balance point in the right hand and the left hand by its pommel, it was relatively easy to control. Her stance continued to transform, and she allowed the force of the Enemy’s attack to enhance her backstep and help her escape the centerline. The Imperial Knight stepped her left foot back at an angle, as her saber-spear met the physical attack. Her saber’s orange blade embraced by its silver lightning caressed the Sith’s dark wyrmsteel that made the forge-bound Gwn Marwolaeth, and there was a shock down the briar-wood handle of her spear. The Sithling’s strength was impressive, but a sword’s strength meant little to the control of the spear. Even against a Beidhänder, The Circle of the Spear was the best at defense. Kyrie’s grip on the balance loosened a fraction and she guided the pommel with her left hand as her stance pivoted into a right foot forward Posta di Vera Croce, stalling her retreat. Her left foot was now carrying the majority of her weight with a bent knee while her right leg was straighter and stretched towards her opponent. She guided the Sithling’s diagonal strike down and to her left, using the Sith’s reckless strength and momentum against her. Kyrie channeled a portion of her flame into the act and the lightsaber appeared to be wreathed in silver fire as it danced. Once the enemy’s attack’s momentum was passing beyond her own centerline, Kyrie flicked her left hand which still gripped near the pommel, driving the blade up and towards her opponent’s chest and unprotected armpit. It would appear as silver and orange lightning, of unnatural speed due to the circle of the spear. Now that the Sith was closer, The Master of the Exorcists applied her fire in a different way. She poured her flame into a war against the wrath and hunger that drove her opponent’s connection to the Force itself, able now to apply Silence, now that she was sure of the Sithling’s source of power. The Holy Flame itself leapt between the two minds, Kyrie attempting to burn away at the Wrath and Starvation as one would set a controlled fire in a control line to defeat the rage of mighty forest fire. She would consume the fuel that gave the Sithling strength. Docebo iniquos vias tuas: et impii ad tu destrui… ((2))

Her opponent took the form of Dente di Zenghiaro or The Boar's Tusk, with a wicked looking blade of Sithmetal. The fulleration in the three-foot blade caught the fading light of the evening, giving the sword an impish gleam. On Ord Mantell, such a sword was called a Beidhänder, and it was not a weapon a woman such as the one before her would normally carry. It made the Exorcist cautious as the Sith advanced across the forest floor. She expanded her locus of control across her body, settling a portion upon her weapons. The wind began to blow through the trees, marked by the rattling of the bare branches of a Thyassup above them, the dark-barked tree having long shed its leaves with the change of the seasons. The Song continued its mournful rhythm, and the Saber-spear reverberated with its words. The faint white glow that wreathed its long shaft became a firestorm of light, flowing from the Exorcist’s hands. She sang with the rhythm, letting the words of the Force flow through her. Cor mundum crea in me, deorum et flamme rectum innova in visceribus meis. With her own blackened boots making almost no sound, Kyrie modified her Hellepartan stance into Posta di Fenestra Destra, her saber-spear igniting into an orange glow, sparking with bolts of silver fire. The stance was one seldom used in the treatise of Vom Tag, but it allowed for balance and control in the defense. Her forest-green kama whipped with the wind as she moved. The Exorcist’s left foot came forward, but a larger portion of her weight she held over the right. Her left hand caressed the cortosis-enweaved briar-wood two handsbreadths above the base of the spear, while the right held the wood loosely and close to the balance which she brought up, close to her pointed ear. Starvation… and… Wrath. Such an amplification of emotions was unnatural to the Exorcist. It was a wicked twisting of her own internal struggle. They began to take on their own flames within her but paled against the Holy Flame within her. It blazed far greater, an unstoppable inferno of righteousness, which consumed all before it. The willpower of the Master of the Exorcists was strong. Her probisci flicked at the air. Tasting. Hunting. The ashes of the sin that she had consumed sat like lump of beskar upon her mind, burning but never melting away. The new fires had left a stain upon her, more weight within her soul, and it drove her to engage. The Exorcist sighed with the mournful songs of the Force as they converged about her. Ne proiicias me a facie tua, et ignis sanctum tuum ne auferas a me. The hunger had an external origin and she let forth a portion of the flame that had been fed by it. The Imperial Knight focused upon the Sithling before her, giving the flame life, bonding it to the wind that moved around them, and letting it go. The brilliant white flame leapt from her saber-spear, taking the unconscious form of an all-consuming tempest, rushing to take the Sithling from her left, where the form of the Boar’s Tusk was strongest. From her locus of control, Kyrie whipped one of the six-inch fixed-blade stillettos on her belt with a simple expression of the force. It cracked as it was brought to a dizzying speed before she released it from her minds control. It was angled at the Sithling’s right shoulder in a wide arc to the right, from which the Boar’s Tusk stance was more vulnerable. Together the attacks would hit on both sides at a forward angle. The Exorcist pressed back into the Hunger of the Song, seeking the influence of her opponent. Now she knew from where this Assassin took a portion of her power. ((1))

As the Imperial Knight walked, the forest’s damp odor began to take on sweeter tones, floral and rich. The humidity caused sweat to bead upon her pale skin, drawing insects to swarm about her in a thick haze. The forest loam beneath her boots became more sticky, black mud clinging to every footfall. The fallen trees about her carried fungal growths upon their bark, overcome like lepers by their sores, driven to destruction by the entropy of nature. When from this land I go, what will become of me? Her proboscis flicked at the air, writhing from her between her lips, filling her mind with the taste of rot and broken earth. The song that passed from her was of her own sorrow, for her future and the fate of all Sin Eaters. A fallen creature caught her eye, its matted fur half-submerged in the dark mud, surrounded by carrion. The rich scent was coming from its rent flesh, nauseating, yet enticing to the Jedi’s appetite. A part of her mind spoke into her, reaching out for acknowledgement. It would be delicious, and she was starving. Kyrie’s eyes narrowed as she halted her footsteps towards the rotting creature, willing herself to focus. She threw her starvation into her flame, burning away as much of the feeling as she could manage. She stared at the Kath Hound, willing herself to see. Its flesh was moving. Still alive? Another step, No, the carrion had started their work. The fur was moving from the wriggling of maggots beneath. Lidless eyes were swarmed by flies. The mud was strewn with unraveled viscera. The Force began to scream about her, the reflection of her song was that of warning. There was a deeper hunger here, and it streamed from a nearby being. The Exorcist wheeled her stance into the Hellepartan variation of Vom Tag, angling the staff of her lightsaber towards the mud at her feet, her grip on the cortosis-touched briarwood loose and wide. Her right hand touched the weighted pommel, caressing the beskar that had been inlaid into the dark wood. She extended out her locus of control, touching the world about her with fire. Strange words streamed from the figure as it stepped through the mud, the dwindling light obscuring her full vision. It was of the basic tongue but spoken swiftly and in the bubbly form of a preteen. The little she understood spoke of hunger. The darkness that streamed through The Song made the origins of this figure unmistakable. Sith. A wrapped protein bar flew from the Sith’s hand, an offering, for the creature must have sensed The Jedi’s hunger. Kyrie cast out a net within the force, capturing the offering within it. The words of the Exorcist came stumbling from an unstable tongue, filled with a reserved malice. “Tenet insanabile multos peredo cacoethes…” (The incurable desire to consume affects us all...) The probisci flicked a challenge, and the protein bar was consumed in bright white fire. The Exorcist began to pour her own emotions into her inner fire, building up her flame for battle. Fire wreathed her exposed flesh, imbuing into the handle of the lightsaber, causing a faint glow in the twilight. The song became mournful once more, Eternal happiness far away, must my portion be...

The Force, that beautiful and haunting song that crawled through the mind of the Exorcist, broke into reverberating cries of pain. The Sith had arrived. Kyrie steeled her psyche against the eruption of emotions that spelled the Sith’s arrival. It was as if the force itself was in mourning for what was to come. She channeled the misery into her internal flame, letting herself grow bright with fire’s touch. The cockpit of the TIE-Ugly began to glow a faint white. The Song began to return in her mind, a deep and animalistic thing, a reflection of the natural beauty of space above Corellia. The Force moved. The Song changed its rhythm as more voices were added. Her Watchers had awakened, and they sensed the Dark Side. In the harrowing of her soul, there would be salvation. The Imperial Knight sucked in a breath from the flight helmet, letting the air fill her lungs, spreading its energy throughout her body. She let her fire grow, stoking it to life within her veins. She would need it to devour the sins of those she was to fight. A mournful cry. There was another song, one speaking of a dark future. A sick intention. Flipping the control yoke of the TIE-Ugly, she sent her starfighter into a spin towards Coronet City. The darkness would strike at the heart of the Rebellion, its citizens. Those unfortunate innocents that were always destroyed in war. The Dark Side was reaching out its hunger, telling of its desire to consume all life. Her own hunger echoed it. Kyrie did not know what the attack would be, nor its soldiers, but while her fleet would battle above, she would fight on the ground. Her lips parted and her breath left, the words of her song forming inside the TIE-Ugly’s cockpit, transmitting to her Watchers. A land of deepest shade, unpierced by human thought… A crashing shook the starfighter as it ripped into the atmosphere, a sonic refrain following it. According to her readouts, the Starport was heavily fortified, but the numerous large leisure parks were undefended. She angled the starfighter toward the massive botanical garden complex that made up the centerpiece of Coronet’s Diamond District. The sudden pull of gravity set her head swimming, and the autopilot took over as she released the control yoke. Slipping from her crash webbing, Kyrie leapt from the yawning cockpit of the TIE-Ugly, landing on the soft loam of the forest. Even through her boots, she could feel the softness of the moss and the spring of the soil beneath her. She ripped her flight-helmet from her head, shaking loose her multitude of ebony braids before sweeping them back behind her pointed ears. The breath of the fresh air spoke to her of pollen and rotting vegetation, of mud and entropy. Of life. Her probisci reached from her cheeks, striking against the air, desiring the soup of life. A hunger rose along with disgust and she breathed it away, feeding it to the fires within. Unclipping her saber-spear, she began to walk through the trees, letting her somber song reverberate across leaf and stone. That weary region of the dead where all things are forgot…

Hyperspace unfolded from its illuminated brilliance into a tapestry of deep black, interspersed with twinkling starlight and at its center, a jewel of the Core Worlds, the planet of Corellia, orbited by its moons. The planet was aglow with citylight, a contrast to the background of space. Close in orbit was Centerpoint station, the goal of the Imperial Knight Expeditionary Force, and the sight of countless battles. It was a vast battlefield when viewed through the cockpit window of Kyrie's TIE-Ugy, and she was glad that she would not be in direct fleet command, the job taken up by Al-Afdal Dyrrhachium in her stead. Dialing in her comlink, the Imperial Knight caught the beginning of Dyrrhachium’s broadcast on all-comms. She checked the battlemaps, watching as the fleet set into parallel with those starships belonging to Godfrey d'Outremer. Dyrrhachium’s gravelly voice cut into the silence of her ship like a vibroknife, “...Forces of the former Empire. Former Pirates. Rebels.” His voice almost snarled the last word, he was no great supporter of some of those in Rebel Alliance Command, and he enjoyed working without their authority. Kyrie and her Watchers set into an escorting formation, opening their scanners for enemy fighters. For now they would be on interception duty, until a Sith Lord revealed himself in the Force. Then they would destroy them with extreme prejudice. “We are here to free Corellia from the Sith. It fell without our support in great slaughter. On whom, therefore is the labor of avenging these wrongs and recovery fallen, if not upon us? The Fleet commander let the words hang in the static. Kyrie wished she had the strength of tongue enough to speak like the older man, but it was not her fate. He continued gravely but with passion, "We have been conferred remarkable glory in arms and courage, let us fall upon the Sith with the intent of destruction. We shall hound them until their miserable end!” As one, the all-comms alit with responses. Even the Lend-Lease forces responded resoundingly with the calls of the captains as one voice; “The Force Wills It!” ____________________________________________________________________________ Imperial Knight Expeditionary Force: Task Force Deimos Destroyer Group: Turbolasers Task Force Experience: Green (1xp) Nova-Class Cruiser Ascalon (9/9) Captain: Symeon Philomelium, Maître-Escuier of the Order of Medicine Second-in-Command: Ma’arrat al-Durman, Frère-Sergeant of the Order of Medicine Crew: Hapan Recruits Nova-Class Cruiser Edessa (9/9) Captain: Embriaco Jaffa, Frère-Chevalier of the Order of Knights and Exorcist Second-in-Command: Chanson de Geste, Frère-Chevalier of the Order of Knights and Exorcist Crew: Hapan Recruits Imperial Knight Expeditionary Force: Task Force Phobos Light Defensive Escort: Suppressing Fire Task Force Experience: Green (1xp) Star Galleon-Class Frigate Clermonte (3/3) Captain: Abressa Tudebode, Connétable of the Order of Captains Second-in-Command: Manuel Boutoumites, Frère-Chevalier of the Order of Captains Crew: Former Imperial Navy Vengeance-Class Frigate Chartres (3/3) Captain: Adhemer Hautville, Connétable of the Order of Captains Second-in-Command: Curthose-de-Gauder, Frère-Chevalier of the Order of Captains Crew: Former Imperial Navy Interceptor-Class Frigate Francorum (3/3) Captain: Pelecanum Tatikios, Connétable of the Order of Captains Second-in-Command: Kilij Arslan, Frère-Chevalier of the Order of Captains Crew: Former Imperial Navy Consular-Class Frigate Tancred (3/3) Captain: Eskişehir Yibenah, Connétable of the Order of Captains Second-in-Command: Sarmin Sharazir, Frère-Chevalier of the Order of Captains Crew: Former Imperial Navy Sphyrna-Class Corvette Guiscard (2/1) Captain: Doukara Chios, Laypirate and Conrois Commander of the Hastalion Eschiell Second-in-Command: Kerbogha Siyan, Laypirate Crew: Former Pirates of the Hastalion League Sphyrna-Class Corvette Dorylaeum (2/1) Captain: Dreyfrak Chios, Laypirate Second-in-Command: Alpedrai Knocazi, Laypirate Crew: Former Pirates of the Hastalion League Paladin-Class Corvette Yağısıyan (2/1) Captain: Hainut Mercurius, Laypirate Second-in-Command: Demetrius Confrerai, Laypirate Crew: Former Pirates of the Hastalion League Free Virgilla-Class Corvette Alexandretta (2/1) Captain: Ridwan Harran, Laypirate Second-in-Command: Soqmahn Orotoque, Laypirate Crew: Former Pirates of the Hastalion League Rebel Alliance Lend-Lease: Task Force Enyo Precision Strike: Carrier Group Taskforce Experience: Veteran (2xp) Quasar Fire-class Cruiser-Carrier Azincourt (9/9) Captain: Max Pillate Second-in-Command: Fleet Officer Brigzman Harrate Crew: Rebel Alliance Fleet CR-90 Corvette Maelstrom (2/1) Captain: Anders Rowson Second-in-Command: Halparese Eltoro Crew: Rebel Alliance Fleet CR-90 Corvette Languedoc (2/1) Captain: Atalie Tate Second-in-Command: Shaz Felltow Crew: Rebel Alliance Fleet CR-90 Corvette Vivarais (2/1) Captain: Shir’wer’tho Ande’thekrian Second-in-Command: Snyd’an Ther’rallek Crew: Chiss Ascendency Expedition DP20 Corvette Coeur d’Lion (2/1) Captain: Sev’Dence Ra’teal Second-in-Command: Ald’rev Ek’rati Crew: Chiss Ascendency Expedition DP20 Corvette Augustus (2/1) Captain: Mikalae Shaderna Second-in-Command: Tilli Vasren Crew: Rebel Alliance Fleet DP20 Corvette Hussar (2/1) Captain: Kilgre Redger Second-in-Command: Ongeri Fetchi Crew: Rebel Alliance Fleet

The Grandmaster of the Imperial Knights had little interest in receptions and feasts, it seemed like there wasn’t a day that went by without this Rebel Alliance dallying with feasts instead of marching to war. As Kel presented Adenna, Kyrie turned to leave, but her mind wandered to the reports of destruction and the slaughter of a station of innocents. With sadness in her heart, the Exorcist spoke softly as she went, directing her words to the newly come Jensaarai, “Beware bastions of light, for they cast the darkest shadows.” Nodding her head, the Exorcist departed in a swirl of dark braids, heading towards the barracks and her assembling forces. The Imperial Knights had been assembling a fleet under the secrecy of the Order of Captains, supported by the treasury, and now they had a destination; Fondor and its vast shipyards. Slipping her datapad from her tunic, she opened the intelligence briefing, staring at the approximated wealth of such a prize. To wrest it from the Sith and their corrupt allies would bring the Imperial Knights one step closer to winning the war. The war this Rebellion should be leading. Instead they feast. Stepping into the cafeteria, her blackened boots slapping softly on the hardened flooring, the Imperial Knight noticed one of her own dining alongside the Jedi, Sandy Sarna. It was Aidan, the Order’s newly minted diplomat to the Jedi. He wouldn’t recognize her by her features, every time she saw him now she was in a new body, and it distressed her how much she had failed him as a Master. Kyrie studied his features and saw his smile. It wouldn’t be a good time to interrupt him. Instead, she typed a message on her datapad to him while grabbing a handful of ration cubes beside the door. Tapping on send, the Exorcist entered the docking bay for her own people. It was a smaller and separate hanger, apart from the rest of the Rebel Alliance. She had requested as such to keep her Orders operations secret, away from spies and the Dark Jedi that were a part of the Rebellion. The Imperial Knight caught sight of her friend that awaited her, a tall man all in black, with a headscarf and white beard, Al-Afdal Dyrrhachium, Maréchal of the Order of Captains. He would be her admiral for the fight to come, and to him she jogged, bouncing on the metal plating of the flight deck. Al-Afdal bowed his head in respect to her as she approached, the old man smiling widely. He had just finished transmitting reconnaissance data to the assembled Captains, and was now awaiting her departure order. “Grandmaster, the fleet is yours.” Kyrie smiled and bowed back, her tousled braids covering her vision “I will meet you in space, Maréchal, I will fly with the rest of my pilots in our TIE-Uglies.” The man sighed and turned back to ensuring supplies were being loaded properly by the Dagermends and the Dagets. “Fly safe among your Watchers, Grandmaster.” With farewells said, Kyrie slipped into the confines of her TIE-Ugly, a bastardization of a Z-95 Headhunter and a TIE Interceptor. The seat was of worn leather, and formed to her as she began to check the preflight data. Her flight-helmet was worn loose, the breathing apparatus causing her enough claustrophobia as it was. Taking a deep breath of the recycled air through the nosepiece, she smelled the mixture of spices she had placed into the air-flow, bendrak root and crushed harrion seed making each breath taste of fragrance and giving her peace. Preflight checking done, The Grandmaster’s TIE-Ugly cleared the hanger, and departed into hyperspace and to lead her fleet to victory

Admiral: Al-Afdal Dyrrhachium, Maréchal of the Order of Captains Leader: Kyrie Eleison, Grandmaster of the Imperial Knights and its Orders Imperial Knight Expeditionary Force: Enyo Precision Strike Carrier Group Task Force Experience: Green (1xp) Strike-Class Cruiser: Erebus Prime Captain: Imperial Knight Argo Montferrand, Tucopolier of the Order of Captains, Former Jedi Ace, Trained by Atho Ben-Drassa Second-in-Command: Gonzo Lockjaw, Gonfanonier of the Order of Captains, Purified Sith Recruit from the battle of Gala Crew: Mainly Cardian recruits to the Order, buffered by Kuatian and Corscanti refugees. Fighter Complement: Z-95 Headhunters Bomber Compliment: Y-Wings Supporting Ships: Lancer-Class Frigate: Almaric Captain: Melisende Bar-Koron Second-in-Command: Hodierna Bar-Koron Twin Sisters, both of the Gonfanonier rank of the Order of Captains Crew: Mainly Rylothian natives, buffered by Cardian recruits IPV-2C Corvette: Navarre Captain: Aslous Armack, Castellan of the Order of Captains Second-in-Command: Psalter Fomat, Prior of the Order of Captains Crew: Refugees from Haruun Kal IPV-2C Corvette: Melitene Captain: Morphia Iovetta, Castellan of the Order of Captains Second-in-Command: Azaz-del-Vasto, Infirmarer of the Order of Medicine Crew: Refugees from Coruscant IPV-2C Corvette: Adelaide Captain: Nablus Conkessa, Castellan of the Order of Captains Second-in-Command: Afriak Ban-Harab, Exorcist Crew: Cardian Recruits IPV-2C Corvette: Tripoli Captain: Thoros Cadmare, Castellan of the Order of Captains and Exorcist Second-in-Command: Vladislaus de Craon, Bailli of the Order of Medicine Crew: Recruits from Oovo IV Background: The Cruiser and Frigate starships of Task Force Enyo were built on Kuat in response to continued Sith incursions into Imperial Territory under Exodus, before the fall of the Empire and the dissolution of the Imperial fleets. Without Imperial oversight, the weapons fell into pirate hands before they were recovered in a skirmish over Oovo IV. Once recovered by security forces, the hulls were ransomed by the treasury of the Imperial Knights without the knowledge of the Rebel Alliance. Having fallen into the hands of a revanchist military order, the first of the starships to be recommissioned was the Strike-Class Cruiser Embegrasso, which was renamed into Erebus Prime and eased into carrier action under its Captain Argo Montferrand, as his first action as a newly minted Turcopolier of the Order of Captains. As his second, he named the former Sith Apprentice Gonzo Lockjaw, a Barabel that Grandmaster Kyrie Eleison purified personally on the battlefield of Gala. The Lancer-Class Frigate Andraste had been badly damaged in the battle between the Oovo IV security forces and the routed pirates and was sold to the Imperial Knights at scrap value and was put into drydock over Ryloth where it took several months to retrofit and repair, where it was crewed by Rylothian resistance fighters and placed under the command of the twin Twi’lek sisters Melisende and Hodierna Bar-Koron, both newly ranked as Gonfanonier for the Order of Captains. The four IPV-2C Corvettes of Task Force Enyo were commissioned with tithes and donations from burgess families in the Core Worlds and other Imperial Holdings. Their captains and crew were selected based on the donations raised for them, with the majority arising amongst the refugee populace. Task Force Enyo first saw action against pirates around Nar Shaadaa, moving in stealth against several gemstone pirate gangs which consisted of strike fighters and freighters which were mopped up with relative ease, with only the Melitene having to reroute from war patrol for drydock to repair damage to her sunlight engines. Now, under direct command of the Grandmaster, Task Force Enyo was rationed and resupplied for departure for the invasion of Fondor by the Imperial Knight Expeditionary Force. Imperial Knight Expeditionary Force: Task Force Phobos Light Defensive Escort: Suppressing Fire Task Force Experience: Veteran (2xp) Star Galleon-Class Frigate: Clermonte Captain: Abressa Tudebode, Connétable of the Order of Captains Second-in-Command: Manuel Boutoumites, Frère-Chevalier of the Order of Captains Crew: Former Imperial Navy Vengeance-Class Frigate: Chartres Captain: Adhemer Hautville, Connétable of the Order of Captains Second-in-Command: Curthose-de-Gauder, Frère-Chevalier of the Order of Captains Crew: Former Imperial Navy Interceptor-Class Frigate: Francorum Captain: Pelecanum Tatikios, Connétable of the Order of Captains Second-in-Command: Kilij Arslan, Frère-Chevalier of the Order of Captains Crew: Former Imperial Navy Consular-Class Frigate: Tancred Captain: Eskişehir Yibenah, Connétable of the Order of Captains Second-in-Command: Sarmin Sharazir, Frère-Chevalier of the Order of Captains Crew: Former Imperial Navy Sphyrna-Class Corvette: Guiscard Captain: Doukara Chios, Laypirate and Conrois Commander of the Hastalion Eschiell Second-in-Command: Kerbogha Siyan, Laypirate Crew: Former Pirates of the Hastalion League Sphyrna-Class Corvette: Dorylaeum Captain: Dreyfrak Chios, Laypirate Second-in-Command: Alpedrai Knocazi, Laypirate Crew: Former Pirates of the Hastalion League Paladin-Class Corvette: Yağısıyan Captain: Hainut Mercurius, Laypirate Second-in-Command: Demetrius Confrerai, Laypirate Crew: Former Pirates of the Hastalion League Free Virgilla-Class Corvette: Alexandretta Captain: Ridwan Harran, Laypirate Second-in-Command: Soqmahn Orotoque, Laypirate Crew: Former Pirates of the Hastalion League Background: The Hastalion League had been a thorn in the side of the Imperials in the Bilbringi system for nearly the entire existence of the short-lived Empire under Empress Raven, but had never done enough consistent damage to warrant a full response beyond the occasional skirmish with the routine patrols of the 114th Fleet. Shortly after the fall of the Empire, the pirates attempted to disrupt Sith supply lines from Bilbringi with a cohort of eleven corvettes, but were countered handily by the Sith’s 72nd Hellraisers and the remaining four corvettes limped into hyperspace to make good their retreat. Unfortunately for the pirate-captains of the Hastalion League, their arrival at Nar Shaddaa brought them face-to-face with their old enemies, the Empire in Exile. With their Corvettes too badly damaged to fight the entire Imperial Fleet, the captions of the Alexandretta, Yağısıyan, and the sister ships Dorylaeum and Guiscard surrendered to the Imperial Knight Yaldar Coredrella, who invited them to join in the secret fleet of the Order, which they gladly accepted. With the irony of fate, the redeemed pirates would be paired with the remnants of the 114th Imperial Fleet, their old adversaries of the Bilbringi system. The pirate-lords were given the title of Laypirate, marking them as redeemed soldiers. The former 114th Imperial Navy of Bilbringi, had been reduced to a paltry four frigates during the disastrous first battle of Kuat and had been drydocked and purchased from Imperial warlords by the Knight’s treasury. Unified with their former enemies, a fast comradery developed between the former Imperials and the Hastalion League, creating a unified task force which was focused on bomber interception and defensive action. Imperial Knight Expeditionary Force: Task Force Deimos Destroyer Group: Turbolasers Task Force Experience: Green (1xp) Nova-Class Cruiser: Ascalon Captain: Symeon Philomelium, Maître-Escuier of the Order of Medicine Second-in-Command: Ma’arrat al-Durman, Frère-Sergeant of the Order of Medicine Crew: Hapan Recruits Nova-Class Cruiser: Edessa Captain: Embriaco Jaffa, Frère-Chevalier of the Order of Knights and Exorcist Second-in-Command: Chanson de Geste, Frère-Chevalier of the Order of Knights and Exorcist Crew: Hapan Recruits Background: After the establishment of the Empire, the captains of the Ascalon and the Edessa, Symeon and Embriaco, began to seek the teaching of the Exorcists and took up the cause under the leadership of Al-Afdal Dyrrhachium, another Hapan noble-in-exile. All three had become cynical with the leadership of the Hapes Cluster, and saw the influence of the Dark Side in every movement of the enemy, and established a resistance within the Hapes Cluster based out of Gallinore. Despite their courage and fighting spirit, they were unable to stop the corruption of their system, and were forced to flee with what weapons and crew they could gather. With a purely Hapan crew and leadership, the two Nova-Class cruisers were set apart within the Imperial Fleet without much usage beyond routine patrol of supply lines in the Outer Rim. With the fall of the Empire, the firebrand Hapan Noblemen were taken in by the Imperial Knights and the Ascalon and the Edessa were retrofit for active duty. Their combat readiness was tested during the retreat from Oovo IV, where they engaged pirates which were working in tandem with Sith forces to attack the refugees. Drydocked for repairs and marked as total losses on the ledgers, both ships and crews were transferred in secret to the Imperial Knight Expeditionary Forces with a firepower designation.

Living is harder than dying, it is my choice to defend life. The Force gives us strength, it is my choice to use it to defend and not conquer. It is what sets us apart from the Sith… Strength to feed chaos, or to set the galaxy at peace. I will protect those I hate. Even if the one I hate the most is myself. ***** The Exorcist straightened herself from her battlestance, flipping the spear on her hand for it to rest against her bare shoulder. The wooden handle felt cool against her skin, driving the fine hairs to stand on-end. When she spoke, her voice was gravely but kind. She stumbled over the basic, as the tongue was not her area of expertise, “Give your message, and stand to ease,” The officer relaxed visibly, running a hand through his sandy hair before speaking, “Trouble again, as always with the Jedi Order. There occurs another fracture. This shard names themselves the Jensaarai, and they are here on Nar Shaadaa.” Helden gave a sigh and extinguished his lightsaber’s blades, stowing it in a leather holster on his belt. He crossed his arms and gave the Grandmaster an irritated smile “The Jedi Order fracturing and crumbling is hardly news, it seems to happen every bloody week. No Grandmaster can keep them together…” Kyrie shook her head, her dark, shoulder-length hair coming to rest over her eyes. The tie had broken in their skirmish, and she brushed it back with her fingers. “I would have thought that Adenna would be up to the job, but she doesn’t have a diplomat’s deftness.” She smiled at Helden and bowed to the blademaster. “I shall meet with them. Pray to the gods for unity.” The man bowed back and walked her to the door of the training room, placing a hand on the small of her back, leaning in to whisper in her ear. His breath smelled of juja berry wine, badly disguised by mint tea. “If we cannot unify against the Spider, then we will all fall.” Kyrie nodded gravely, and passed from the room, blinking against the brightness of the hallway. We must unite instead of divide. When did it fall to me to be a diplomat? Rebel troops and civilians moved in the halls, and she caught their surprised stares. She glanced down to her sandy battle-kama and chest-wrapping, and turned towards her chambers, not wanting to offend the Jensaarai with accidental immodesty. The Jedi Master increased her speed to a trot, her bare feet making almost no sound upon the hallways’ flooring. It was smooth paneling, cold in comparison to the warm sand upon her toes, but not in an unpleasant way. The maze of hallways finally wound its way to her simple quarters and she slipped through the sliding doorway. Her medical supervision, a 2-1B droid that had the Tranzel Medical Systems name emblazoned on its chest piece greeted her at the doorway with its sarcastic tone. “Mistress Kyrie, back so soon? Did you break something?” The woman ignored the droid with a wave of her hand and brushed past him into her bedchamber, and to her drawers to find a more appropriate clothing for her encounter with the Jensaarai. Kyrie selected a simple black tunic, with a leather belt for her various weapons and a bandoleer upon which her saber-spear could be slung upon her back. As she changed she looked into the mirror. Her skin was ashen, a byproduct of the Anzati form, her eyes a bright violet. There was a slight rise to her cheeks where the proboscis-like feeding tendrils were stowed, but she had yet to use them. She had no desire to give into the hunger of death that was natural to her species. She tied back her long black hair into a series of braids, tied with a leather thong, and a headband of black cloth. She covered her feet with black boots of combat design, but of lighter material to add to her flexibility The Rosary of Il-Andon Rorik caught her eye. It’s onyx beading and ornate design contrasted sharply with her simple dress, but it was her totem. It was her burden as a Master Exorcist, and so she wound it about her ashen wrist, letting the star upon its end hand into her palm. With her preparations in order, she turned and left towards where the Jensaarai were quartered according to her datapad. They were disembarking in the shuttle-bay. Speeding to a run, she made her way swiftly there, her lithe form and dexterity allowing her to weave through the crowds with relative ease. Kyrie caught sight of the Dorin, Kel, standing before a shuttle where armored and unarmored beings were disembarking. To them, she made her approach. She reached out with the Force first, letting the fiery presence of a Master Exorcist wash over them before she got all the way to them. Odd armor. Almost look like cultists. Stepping beside Kel, she placed a scarred hand to her chest and gave a small bow while giving the Dorin a smile of greeting, “Kyrie Eleison, of the Imperial Knights and order of Exorcists, bidding you most welcome.”

It all hurts. A burn beneath my skin fueled by hunger. It’s a deep and twisting pain, worse than when I was starving on Nar Shaddaa. This is something else entirely, like a command from the force itself. I hunger beyond imaging... ***** A consistent chill ran through her skin as the Exorcist moved through the warmed practice ring. The pungent perfume of exercising soldiers clung to the air and wrapped around her like an arachnid’s web. She was always cold now, even a month out of the bacta her new form’s physiology and nervous system was an enigma that even weeks of training had yet to unravel. The sand shifted beneath Kyrie’s bare feet as her opponent drove the particles to the side with a wave of the force, causing her to stumble mid-run. She twisted the fall into a roll and brought the long wooden weapon to bear against the rusty-haired man. The leather-bound grip of the polearm wrenched from her hands as the Imperial Knight snatched it with the force. Kyrie watched it sail away through the musty air to drive into the sparkling sand behind Helden Rave, her weapons-master. It was a polearm of her own design, the handle a meter and a half in length, with a meter-length blade a handbreadth in width, hewn from Shadnalyn briar. The reddish wood reflected the natural light that filtered through the skylights above and seemed to mock her weakness. In her distraction, Heldon brought his orange-bladed lightsaber crashing into her side, before igniting the weapon’s second blade and batting it across her pelvis, pivoting on his feet to sweep her into the sand. The blades were on a practise setting and left scorching welts upon her skin. He let out a roaring laugh and spoke in his calming Festian accent, “If I must fall, I will rise each time a better man… or in your case a better Anzati.” He offered her a hand which she grasped with scarred and nail-bitten fingers and jumped to her feet. This form was vastly less strong than her first, but much more lithe and dexterous, another change she was getting used to. “Always bond your blade to your hands, weave it to you with the Force’s Embrace. You know this.” His tone carried disappointment but also understanding, but it did not make the hit to her self-confidence any less. Hate of herself rose unbidden, but she confined it again in its cage in her mind. She would work against it later, she could not afford to allow it to undermine her strength today. The polarm shot into her hands as she focused upon its form. She could no longer hear the song, how she had always found the force before, now all she had was hunger and a Revanchist’s resolve. To place the universe right, to destroy the Sith and their evil. It was a colder view of the force, no more was the life of the song attuned to her, and only through dispassionate focus could the Force answer her. Kyrie fed her self-loathing into the foci of her resolve and let it form into fire, tendrils of light bound her weapon to her hands and the wooden blade sprang to life with silvered flame. A revanchist’s resolve; to fight until the Sith were eradicated and the torturous enslavement of the dark side was banished into the Maw. Only then could she die and finally rest. In truth she hated the whole galaxy for the burden of it. I will protect those I hate. Even if the one I hate the most is myself. The Revanchist steaded her feet within the sand, feeling the rough grains bite into her feet. She lowered her center of gravity by bending her knees and began to circle the larger man, letting her natural litheness reset her into the more predatory and aggressive form, Ataru in a way she had modified for her spear-like weapon. Helden was fond of Niman form, utilizing both his weapon and the Force to overwhelm and disorient his opponents, so she circled him with caution, slinking through the sand like a Vornskr stalking its prey. She held her weapon one handed, the polearm’s handle adjacent to her forearm, steadied against her shoulder, the blade tracing down through the sand, leaving a wisping trail of silver flame. Kyrie breathed in his scent, allowing her hunger to focus on him. There… She could almost see his intention, a half dozen combinations of attacks to offset her balance and destroy her. The choices cycled as he turned, starting to narrow in upon her footwork. She answered the intent by slowing her right leg, and he immediately focused on it. Trap laid. As the sand shifted beneath her right foot, the Anzati girl sprang from her left foot, spinning into a crouch and animalistically transitioned her form into a hasty stance of Djem So, lowering herself even closer to the sand, but that itself was a trap. He advanced on the defensive posture with confidence but she bounded into his advance, channeling the Force through her legs, the lower posture giving her more momentum in her vaulting jump. She directed the leap to his saber attacking side, letting his momentum bring him into her blade. The tip of her weapon smashed into his gut, and she passed behind him, driving the pommel into the ground as if to impale the larger man on a stake and leapt on his back. The Exorcist channelled his faltering momentum into his off-foot and rode him into the sand where his pained laughter began to filter through. “Godsdamn, Kyrie. I haven’t seen you fight like that.” He tossed her off of him, and she landed gracefully on her feet, sliding into her true form-stance, that of Juyo, a ferocious spirit rising from her in the Force, tinged with hunger. “Godsdamn dirty that wa-” An officer pointedly coughed on the side of the practice ring, drawing their attention. Kyrie stood swiftly, embarrassed for not noticing him earlier. “Message for you, Master Kyrie. Of some urgency.”

The air was familiar, filled with the scents of childhood. Of rust and blood, of crime and dispassion. The Jedi Master’s breaths were labored and slow, tinged with the whisper of a rattle. Through her darkening sight, she could see the glow of iridescent lights, sparkling as if the glow had been reflected upon a placid lake and she beneath its surface. A voice came through the water, muffled and nearly imperceptible, even in the stillness. The struggled gasping from the Jedi became a gurgling, pitiful scream. Pink-tinged froth bubbled from her lips. The voice brought a groundquake that birthed ripples, which rose into waves upon the lake and the light became hazy. She could feel the waves move her, contorting her form beneath the surface. She strained to hear the voice, desperate to make out the words. Upon the medical cot, the Exorcist seized. The thrashing of the water felt like a storm upon her, and the voice became louder until it was a scream that shattered the world Time’s up. Kyrie let the water take her, letting herself be washed from the struggling form. Thank you for giving me life once more. The body on the cot became still, the breathing returning to normalcy as the healers continued to work. May we meet again, in this lifetime Kyrie’s spirit recognized the world as her homeworld of Nar Shaddaa, the irony of rebirth was not lost, even on the dead. The Force Provides. The Exoricst focused upon the song of the force. It was filled with the stoic rhythm of Jedi, and the harsh fire of her own Imperial Knights. The melody of the two orders working together was hauntingly lovely. The brightest fire she could sense to be Lok, and the stoicism of a Grandmaster was unmistakably Adenna. Kyrie focused harder as her own power began to wane. There was a pull now, like she was on the event horizon of the Maw. There was a part of her that wanted to let go, to embrace the infinite harmony of the Force’s song, but she knew that was not her path. To abandon the galaxy now, would be to leave it in darkness. Discordant Tones. Living. Soulless. The body was not her own. Breath. Emptiness became numbness. Numbness became tingling electrical fire. Her whole spirit fought to harness each neuron. All was pain. Every feeling was new. Everything hurt. Breathe. The lungs burned as they inflated, as if she was sucking in the soot and smoke from one a Mustafari volcano. For now, only the lungs worked to her command, and it took all her strength to control each breath. The Exorcist let out a soft whimper.

-̰̩̞̲͘-̷̥͔͡ͅ-̬͖͎̺̯̪̟̘̥͢͝-̸̡̤̙̠̼̥̦̥͢ …Thirst... Darkening thoughts reverberated across a dire mind. It had not always been as such. Scientific brilliance had fallen into shadow with the shattering of the heavens. Baser nature was all consuming. The abyss was watching. -̮̜̰͉̲̬̮-̥-̸-͇͖͉̩̘̹-̛ ̗͎̝ The Imperial Knight, listened to the words of Lok, followed by those of Adenna. The Force had led her to them for a reason, and that path was now offworld. Away from the shattered world. She nodded to herself, her heartbeat filling her ears with its unsteady rhythm. Something else lurked behind her struggling heart. She could feel a sense of unease. The Exorcist slowly drank from the canteen beside her, washing her mouth of the sour bitterness of her stomach’s rebellion. She focused instead on the anxiety and felt a fleeting spirit to it. She spoke through gritted teeth. Bluntness was her only respite. “Then let us leave.” The wounded teenager struggled to bring herself to her feet, and with help from Lok she succeeded. She leaned heavily on him, her fingers gripping his armored arm as it was the only way she could keep above her swimming mind’s collapse. As the soldiers assembled to move out, Kyrie meditated, leaning on the stronger Imperial Knight beside her. The unease she felt lay upon their path towards the stars. She touched it and felt no humanity. -̹̬-̨̥̺̖̭̣̭-̭͞-̞̻͎̹̠͙͍--̹̜̼̞̼ Shambling nightmare, unspoiled by neither lucidity nor benevolence. Deprivation. Boundless suffering, unbroken by death. A shade of the tombworld …I still hear their screams… -̧̼̪̲̙-͇̜̼͟-̢̼̤͇-͙̹-̯̭͖͙͍͇͔-̰̣̥̻̬͍͞-̠͙̟͍ As they walked, The Exorcist focused on her own apprehension. They were climbing towards salvation, but she could feel only the advancement of inhumanity. She stepped away from Lok as they crested the rooftop. The team began to prep for the oncoming shuttlecraft, but she was focused on a heartbeat that was not her own. A cold sweat beaded upon her neck. …Who are you? --̭̥͕̫͍͖-̛̝̜̫͕̻̖ͅ-͈͎̖̳̠̀-̹̲̘̰̪̹͖̀-̟̙̖̦͔͡-͏͇͚-͔͜ Indignant zeal gave way to discontented pain. Unrelenting starvation, the ravager of sanity. The depravity of instinctive mania. -͏͕-̱̺͎͍̥̻͕-̳̹͙͍̗̯̱--̵͇̫͖̯-̢̳̯͈̜̲ͅ-̯̥͕̹͉̹͘-͖̺̙-͈͚̼̪̲̪ The Exorcist bled all of her remaining power into her spiritual fire. The Malice was rising. Advancing. Hungry. A form tore itself from the shadowed sprawl of the ruins. …Sagitta spiritus A bolt of pure white light leapt from the Exorcist’s mouth, as bright as lightning across the shadows, striking the rushing form in the throat. The wave of ravenous hunger gave way to a swell desperation, before it began to fade into the background song of the Force. The form seemed frozen where it stood, silver flame pulsating from its neck. Kyrie stumbled as she approached, and both she and the form collapsed onto the rooftop with a clatter. ...Help... M̱͇̠̫͈̜e̱̝̺͉͖̰͔.͎̖͍.̗͈̱̬͙.͕ It was a young woman, the twisted form of an Anzat. Black blood bubbled from her partially cauterized throat, gurgling bubbles portrayed unspoken words. Her orange eyes were full of fear. Full of the terror of the abyss. The Exorcist gripped the humanoid’s hand. Silver flame connected them, consumed them. When the Jedi spoke, it was with grace and compassion. “Te Liberavimus.” The desperation left the searching eyes, replaced momentarily by peace, before the gaze fixated and faded. There was a mewing sound that passed from her chattering teeth, and then there was nothing. The Exorcist collapsed beside the body, still grasping the dirty hand in her own. She stared into the heavens and no longer saw the abyss of endless night. She coughed up blood of her own, spattering her face with crimson. She could hear repulsar engines. Her eyes searched for Lok. Consciousness faded. “The Force Provides.”

The young Exorcist took the Jedi’s words into her mind as they came, processing them slowly. Her brain felt like it had been drowned in the swamps of Dagobah and washed up on the misty shore. She hadn’t been able to clear her mind in weeks. She shook her head once more, trying desperately to clear the mist from her mind. Abomination… Why was she so fixated on that word? Kyrie breathed out a heavy sigh, but still her mind would not do anything other than spin the word over and over through her mind. She couldn’t feel any condemnation from the Jedi Master, but within her, something recoiled. Do they hate me for what I have become? The Exorcist’s dirty fingers clenched into fists as she hid them against her chest, beneath the veil of her cloaks. She tore at a loose nail, feeling the pain sear through her as she ripped it from the skin. Pain cleared her mind for a moment. She could feel the blood well up on her fingertips, and she fought the urge to suck on the wound. She lost, and her voice was timid as she spoke around her fingertip. Her words were directed at Lok but they did not sound her own. “Do you hate what I am?” The Imperial Knight repressed the impulse to hit herself in rebuke. Why would you say that? Kyrie ground her teeth, revulsion rising in her stomach, amplifying the nausea with a deeper feeling of self-hatred. Realization came as she emptied her stomach into the mud. There was a crimson stain to the bile, but it disappeared into the tar-coloured ground. Teenage Insecurity. This is the ghost of my other soul. Her voice was frail as she spoke again, but it held her own intonations. “It is true, we must separate.” She spit out another mouthful of bile, wiping her trembling mouth with the back of her dirt-stained hand “Cloning data of my own form was destroyed on Kuat. The Force will find me a new form…” She smiled at Lok, a masquerade of stained teeth to hide her own self-doubt “If not… The Force is with me… And I am one with the Force.”

Kyrie welcomed the assistance of the reconnaissance troopers that had accompanied the Jedi, letting them support some of her weight as they moved to deeper cover. It was another collapsed building, but one that was much more intact than many she had explored since the death of this world. The permecrete was crumbling, but most of it was cloaked in the façade of the standard officeworks. She didn’t recognize any logos, and nor could she decipher the faded arubesh on the rotting scraps of flimsi that piled up in the ruins. It smelled of ranat urine and stagnant water. She could sense the roaming spirits of those that had died there passing about her in a haze. She could almost hear their laughter. Side effect of being so close to a wound in the force. The young woman drank the protein solution, letting the bitterness of it dissipate in the rising nausea. The force was illusive, and she could barely feel its strength. Every time before she had drunk from its river and it had always restored her, but now that water did not flow. All she could feel now, was the unease of her rescuers. Mutterings of souls were of little comfort to non-exorcists. She took another swallow of the protein solution and stared at Lok and Adenna through her violet eyes. A pensive smile passed over her face “Master Alluyen, of all the ideologies of the Jedi, those that the Exorcist follow, run the knife’s edge that is the boundary between the light and the dark.” The smile turned into a frown “We take the dark side upon ourselves, consuming and debriding the wound that is left so that it may heal. I fear somewhere along my path, I strayed.” She stretched out an arm, letting the cloak fall away from it to reveal the anorexic flesh. Gone were the muscles and strength that she had been once blessed. “In that stain of corruption, the crucible of my soul was shattered. The dark side was used to resurrect me, but for what purpose, I do not know.” The girl glanced between the two Force users. With the expression of her internal frustration, a few tears swelled in her eyes unbidden, blurring her vision. “The soul I share this body with is dark. A tortured pawn of dark sorcery. It is because of this I can only see the Force as though through the reflection of a shattered mirror.” The Jedi shook her head, the tousles of muddy blonde hair bouncing with the movement. "What you ask is for an Exorcist to become at peace with what she swore to destroy."

The Jedi let her eyes drift shut as the Lok Skyshatter picked her up. The man had followed her in her desertion of the Jedi Order, trained under her friend Knight Alekseyev, but she felt she hardly knew him. All she had known in her time as Grandmaster of the Imperial Knights was war, and the Holy Crusade against the Sith that had driven her from the Jedi Order. Chaos had led her into the arms of the Empire. She breathed out a restful sigh and focused on the faint murmur of his heartbeat that filtered from beneath his armor. She reflected on the life around her but could only feel the looming terror of the Sith above. Their darkness was like the circling carrion, feasting on the death and destruction of a dying world. There was a distant familiarity to the darkness. It stank of greed and filth, an odor far more potent than the unwashed humanity that clung to the skeletal remains of triple zero. As the man set Kyrie down, her eyes opened once more, and the peacefulness drained from them. The levy, that great isolation of the dying world, that which had brought her peace, had died. As his rough hands began to bandage her wounds, her voice was grave and haunted. “I did die on Kuat. I fell fighting a Sith Master and his legions.” The Exorcist gazed into the bloodied mud, remembering his face. Remembering his agony. Remembering his redemption. “He is one with the force. At peace, at long last.” Kyrie stared into Adenna’s blue eyes, her own violet eyes flashing with the reflection of the Holy Fire that had been the death of her and the Sith army on Kuat. She winced as Lok scraped some of the debris from her wounded leg, channeling the pain into laughter. It was a sound the old Kyrie would never had made. She swept her hands over herself, indicating her much younger form. She was half a decade younger physically than when they had met on Kashyyyk, but her soul was much older. “I was called to this body by its owner, and it is not my own. I do not know how much longer she will keep me. ” The Imperial Knight placed a hand on Lok’s head, giving him an awkward pat to try and indicate he should let her rise. His hair was matted from the journey, but it still smelled faintly of the standardized Imperial cleansing solution that all the refreshers were equipped with. She looked to both of them now as she slowly got to her feet. The pain seared through her mind, but she spun it away into the force, helping it to disguise her presence further. A mask of pain and suffering on a dying world was an easy disguise. She indicated the sky with a pointed finger, “You know how those scavengers love their dying Jedi. It would be like lighting a flare.” Kyrie took a step, focusing her strength into not falling. She appreciated his offer but it was too risky. “Best not to let this party be ruined by turbolaser fire.” The girl gritted her teeth, feeling the nausea grind through her guts, tinging her tongue with sourness. She reached out for his arm to steady herself. Another breath and she wretched out the emptiness of her stomach. Her shoulders straightened, and she brushed her hair from her eyes. “The Force is with me, and I am one with the Force. " Her eyes looked towards the horizon, concealed as it was by smoke and flame. "Let us leave.”

-Snap-Hiss- She heard the lightsaber far before she could see it. It pulsated in her senses like a beacon of warning. There was a faint feeling of friendliness, but the world was a tumultuous storm of emotions now. The spirits were crying and it made detecting friend from foe much harder, as the wound in the force masked the signatures of all The Jedi scrambled backwards as the Rodian and the Wookiee made their attacks, but her attention was fully on the oncoming lightsaber. She gathered herself, letting the Force flow to her muscles, allowing her to quickly move over the shattered stones, ignoring the pain from her torn and bleeding feet. Silver... Its illumination crashed through her foes, and she could feel their spirits fade before the smoking pieces crashed into the rubble. Smoking blood stained her face. It burned but she hardly noticed. The form was familiar in style, the strikes fluid in their subtle brutality. He wore armor. ...Alekseyev? Did you not die with me on Cardia? The Exorcist rose to her feet, the mudstained cowl concealing her trembling hands as they clung to the long-handled lightsaber beneath. Her matted hair half fell into her vision, and as the lightsaber moved his face was revealed. She breathed out a breath of air slowly, and with it her anxiety and her prepared strike. “...Master Eleison?” With a bloodied hand, The Imperial Knight moved her muddied tangle of hair behind her ear, and she shot the man a sheepish grin. Nausea twisted her belly, eating only a protein cube in the last week had taken its toll, and now that the adrenaline was draining away, her relief turned to sickness. Her feet dug into the broken permecrete, trying in vain to steady her, but it was to no avail. The permecrete cut long gashes into her legs as she teetered and stumbled barefoot towards the growing number of allies, before she crumpled to her knees. “As subtle as a bantha, as always, Lok.” The Jedi Master gazed at him from behind her violet eyes. She longed to embrace him, she was far removed from the soldierly stoicism of her command. Behind him came another, one she recognized from the old days when she had been pledged to the Order. Her old form had barely spoken, but in a stuttering rush. Now she spoke with the accent of the Outer Rim, off the Shantilan Trade Route. “Forgive this reincarnated form, its master called me and I was reborn. It is not my own.” She glanced to Lok’s companion and bowed her head, cringing at the pain that racked her body “Master Alluyen, it has been many years.” Kyrie’s mind turned to the Jedi, distaste souring her tongue. She bit back the nausea. The Jedi had shown up to a crisis, and it was a welcome surprise, but not one that filled her with ease. “How does The Order fare under Trevelian’s leadership?”