Zendrin

     The Quarren marched slowly, his gilded black robe gliding across the cobbled path as it dragged gently behind him. He was illuminated brightly by cauldrons of deep orange fire, and candles symbolically on each of his shoulders. Robed figures lined the hall, whispering their chants over a flickering flame held atop a candlestick. He spoke from the back of his throat the Prayers of his burning god over the torch flame he carried reverently.

     “The great flame, the birthplace of civilization…”

    With each step, the roaring crackle of the fires around him grew.

    “The birthplace of the spirit…”

     The chanting became more uniform, many voices becoming one.

     “The birthplace of the mind…”

     Their voice echoed in the chasm, their long silhouette cast their solidified darkness in contrast of the flickering yellows and oranges that illuminated the cavern

     “Around the great flame we gathered, we lived, we loved, we lost…”

     Slowly the echo balanced, becoming one with their resonating voice.

     “Around the great flame we found our souls, longing to be awakened…”

     The sound amplified as it harmonized.

     “Around the great flame we created, learned, studied, and evolved.”

     Before the spire, in the dried fountain, a tower of kindling held aloft the body of the Sith. The one that plagued his nightmares, his ceaseless visions of the woman that would restore order, that would humble the galaxy with their message.

     “With this great flame we call for rebirth. Let us be the instrument of your enlightenment! Bring us the champion of your devouring inferno!”

     He pressed the torches light to the construction of kindling. The fire took and quickly rose up the grave, engulfing the lifeless corpse.

     “Let us burn our path to salvation!”

     The chants rose with the fire toward a great crescendo. The blaze roared, burning its visage into the eyes of all who gazed into it. With a burst akin to a solar flare, sparks and ash rose to the ceiling, depositing a thick black soot above the spire. In that moment there was silence, the powerful gust blew cold each and every fire meticulously placed in keeping with the ritual.

     From the center of the ash coated spire cracked a blinding light, widening to reveal the shadow of a woman. The black form stepped hesitantly forward into the settling ash. Her summoners knelt silently before her radiance. The Quarren turned, behind him an acolyte offered the crown that bound her to this reality on a crimson silken cloth. He took this artifact, turned back to face the woman and kneeled to her.

    “My Queen,”

     The wind howled over the gaping canyon, its cliffs stretching endlessly into the sky above him. The cloaked Quarren was safe, or at least safer in the canyons where the sand didn’t burn his eyes and tear his skin. He knew of a place here, one hidden from the watchful eye of the Sovereign, a place where he could nurture his vision.

    The march had been long, his faith nearly faltered in the days of travel in this desert, but his patience would be rewarded. Through dusted goggles he saw it, the mouth of a cave, carved by a civilization long forgotten to time. A sinking feeling filled his chest, one of fear, excitement, and above all else, anticipation. He drudged forward, his exhausted body fighting his every step, but his commitment to this cause was strong, his faith shielding him from the aching.

    The sun was setting, the cold shadows filled the canyon as he reached his destination, before him lay the gaping entrance to his new home. With determination he stepped forward into the blackness. Inside this place he found nothingness, his footsteps didn’t echo, the wind no longer howled, this darkness had been untouched by light, by adventurer, by local, by anything in at least a hundred years. With a deep breath he lit his torch, the orange glow burned into this place where darkness had held absolute authority for so long. The fires radiance inspired him to push further and further, deeper and deeper, until before him carved into the stone, an ancient city lay dormant.

     With religious purpose he began lighting the sconces along the walls, revealing ancient architecture, places that were once homes, schools, hospitals, and markets. Dried foliage lined the streets, channels that once ran life bringing water stretched alongside the paths. At the city's center a spire reached up towards the ceiling, surrounded by what was once a fountain long since dried up. Behind it stood the imposing church he would appropriate for his following. He ventured in, the stale and heavy air filled his lungs. Stone benches flanked him on both sides of this great room, at its end, raised on a stage stood a wide podium. This is the place he would begin his rituals of fire.

Tyra turned her attention away as the sublight engines began to push the might of her fleet into its firing position. The light tone of her communicator pinged while she walked the halls towards the hangar, directly from Darth Mavanger. Darth Tyra, fall in with my transports, and board the Misericordia. Your assistance is required. Always so to the point, he was efficient, to say the least. She didn't bother sending a reply message, if he were securing the hangar the distraction could be frustrating. Though that said, it wouldn't be the first time he'd answer while in battle. The memory of that session still stung, in her mind, irritating her.

Kahla sat comfortably in the ever embracive chair at the helm of her Fury Interceptor, she sank deep into the leather seat as the thrusters pushed them out of the hangar. Next to the fighter she'd flown last, it handled like a boat in molasses, but the ride was smooth and inviting.

She fell in with four other shuttles, two of them other Fury classes, two Lambda. Accompanying them was two wings of strike fighters to make up an escorting force. As soon as they'd gotten clear of the fleet they were being assaulted by flak corvettes, hammering down on them as they made their way towards the Misericordia. Fighters started breaking off to engage other interceptors that would try their hand at such juicy targets, their escort dwindling as they slugged through the chaos of Nar Shaddaa's orbit.

Thanks to Darth Mavanger's earlier approach, the defense around the hangar had been all but eliminated. But the surviving craft were formidable, and now battle hardened. As the five shuttles bolted to the hangar door the bore down with incredible speed. They made short work of the last three fighters and quickly chewed into one of the trailing lambdas. Its unshielded hull shattered as the enemy's cannons tore through the engine's plating. It exploded in a blinding detonation.

The Fury interceptors bursted through the shielded doors and were able to slow and land further inside the hangar. The last Lambda shuttle came in high, clipping its upper stabilizer on an overhead catwalk. While it was able to vertically land, it wasn't in the condition to leave.

Sith troopers piled out of the crafts, spreading into the hangar and finalizing the securing effort. Beside her own craft, Tyra's Elite stepped out, clad in their personalized armour; they took security arround the landing ramp of Kahla's craft just as it hissed open. Darth Tyra stepped out, her heavy boots thumping down onto the deck as she scanned for her former master. She approached slowly, feeling the despair of loss echo in the psyche of the men and women around her. She stood silently, letting the moment sink in, for the emotion to settle heavy on her soul.

The lull of logistics was always the worst part. Sitting and doing nothing, waiting as supplies were loaded, ships were fueled, crew was swapped. Each day there'd be a new face, one to replace another more familiar. The feeling of unfamiliarity, of being lost in you own home was overwhelming. It hung over Tyra every minute of the day, she was truly uncomfortable, finding solace only in training, the sense of battle now becoming one of the few things with a sense of normality.

A mishap during refueling left the Eye of Sagittarius' sub-light engines completely crippled caused a week long delay in her fleet. Kahla was furious at the prospect of being late to the party, perhaps even missing out in her chosen role. In her blinded rage she ordered a 'shortcut', one that passed through less stable lanes, and straight to Nar Shaddaa. The trip was taxing on the fleet's hyperdrives, each lightyear making a potential withdrawal more and more difficult. 

But at that cost, they had arrived, hardly slipping in under the wire. Already ships had begun slugging it out, and bloodlust soon filled the eyes of the young Sith. A platter laid out before her, and she drooled at the choices.

On studying the moon's entourage she saw the potential of her fleet. A group of ships, Carracks mostly, sat in it's defense along side supporting craft. An easy hole to punch, to simply sit just out of range and pick off each ship one at a time. With a quick nod she motioned to Harris, and he quickly caught on.

"Support craft on standby," he called calmly as he sat forward in his chair. "We make for the moon, use our bigger guns to our advantage."

A grin grew across Darth Tyra's lips, hungrily awaiting the first salvo.

An off silence fell on the room as Tyra was caught so off guard. She'd not been accustomed to the generosity other Sith could show, and she was taken aback by the warmth of Lord Blackmorne's words. Kahla stayed her tongue as the Dark Lord pushed to conversation forward.

The offer was made, to challenge the seat of power, for a position 'unearned' through combat. But there was no need for such a challenge, Dark Lord Nyrys fit the role very well. No one needed to see her in direct combat to bear witness to the destruction she sewed.

"I was there for the opening barrage at Naboo, and took part in the ground invasions. I've seen the power you wield, and you wield it dutifully. I am honoured to serve under you."

Darth Tyra bowed her head and patiently listened to her next orders.

The ramp hissed as it dropped slowly into the gravel, the dust settled as the Fury's thrusters died away. Not a hundred meters away towered a massive door into the mountain, thick black clouds rolled over the rocky surface of the mountaintop, stretching far into the horizon. Flashes of white plasma illuminated the furious storm above, in their wake followed ear shattering thunder. A soul crushing darkness filled the depths of Darth Tyra's heart as she stepped forward to the colossal stone doors. Each of her breaths felt labored, the air was thickened by the hatred that fueled this place. An icy chill ran through her veins as her left hand made hesitant contact with the ornate basalt. Her focus honed onto the darkness of this place, the darkness that she'd allowed intertwine with her being. A crack of lightning struck her landing craft, sparks flew by her as the great mechanism that had held the seal shut for so long worked, clunking and thumping before the doors loosened, and finally opened.

She'd spent a long few hours in the bacta tank; waiting patiently for the more grievous wounds to heal to a more malleable state. Finally it was time for her to find some semblance of reward for her actions; in taking up this mantle in the absence of the one that came before her. She stepped forward into the depths of the tomb, with only a simple signal flare to illuminate the damp halls in crimson light. Great pillars held the weight of the mountain above her head, stone coffins held the bodies of ancient warriors of the Sith, her heavy footsteps echoed as she drudged on, deeper into these catacombs. As her mind drifted into the depths of the darkness, she'd failed to notice the thick grey fog fill the room. No longer could she perceive the walls, but could only barely make out the pillars around her. Her feet had begun to resist her, and each step no longer echoed a stone floor, but a muddied shlop.

The final room laid ahead of her, as she stepped through she could feel her legs snag on a steel wire that gripped against the cloth and plates of her armor. The cold had sept in, waring at her skin, slowly chilling her flesh. She shivered, slowed by the heavy, damp and cold air. Then, finally revealed to her, a podium upon which an ancient artifact sat. A crown of broken and jagged bones, with a faceplate of black steel with a curving Y shaped eye slit. It was beautiful in its unsymmetrical structure, seemingly favoring the left, with each tooth of bone on that side reaching higher than those on its right.

The Serrated Diadem

With both hands she lifted it from its cradle and peered into the depths of its mask. A horror came over her, dread filled the room. Her resolve had to be steady, and she pushed against what felt like an immovable object in her soul. She turned the crown, as panic began to force her heart to drive, her every instinct to tell her to drop it and run for the doors through which she entered. With great willpower she lowered the crown onto her head; and then silence, blackness.

The thunderous boom of a shell impacting the mud, causing the soil to eject into the air before raining down. The whine of bolts blitzing past. There were screams, distant and near, of suffering and despair.

And then, nothing. No screams, no bullets, no shells, wires, mud, fog. Just the amber hues bouncing off the black stone walls. The sudden silence was haunting, but the worrier was prideful in her seeming triumph over the Sith illusions. There was still a great deal of adrenaline in her system, and she jumped at every sudden noise that came from the halls as she egressed the tomb. As she sat at the helm of her Interceptor, the adrenaline washed out of her, her heart steadied. It had seemed this Echo of the Past had run its course, and now this artifact would serve her purpose. Soon it would be time to discover how it would do so.

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As her craft began its final approach of the Sith Command center a familiar presence washed over the ever present darkness of the helm. And a shuttle had already claimed one of the designated landing areas. The ship rocked as the landing gear made contact with the ground, and before long Darth Tyra made her way into the command center, where in other Sith had begun to congress. She was drawn here, into this room of new faces. She'd never been good with meeting the rest of this empire, but she felt at the very least it would be necessary to report the finding of her artifact to the one commanding over this battle. Kahla had come in behind a very commanding figure, one still addressing the room. Silently she fell in, stepping to the light only after the lady had finished speaking, so as not to interrupt.

The more posh of the men spoke next; speaking very highly of the fourth, and final Sith in the room. If the claim were true, that this one had felled the Grandmaster was incredibly impressive. Kahla could only be hopeful to ever live up to such an accomplishment. The unfortunate task of following up such an impactful statement fell upon her shoulders, and she knew she couldn't hesitate in her response.

"An extraordinary feat to say the least, Lord Blackmorne." She bowed her head respectfully. "While my claim could never be equal, I successfully slain a defending Jedi Knight on temple grounds; and defeated her pet in the process." 

There was surprise in the Sith's eyes as the crimson plasma drove into the Jedi's body. She'd done well so far, avoiding the majority of her blows, or at least deflecting them enough not to do substantial damage. Was this a trick? Was she simply playing into the Knight's hands? The thought that once again, all was for nothing plagued her mind. The memories of defeat after defeat circled her thoughts like a powerful typhoon.

The Jedi twisted out a knife, one clearly not meant as a weapon, more a tool. She had to be desperate. Kahla flicked her offhand saber to deter the improvised attack. The muscle in her shoulder ached and throbbed for being forced to flex. As the second blade caught and flung the steel implement she was blinded by the sky blue light that came forth from the carcass of the spear she'd severed. In an instant Kahla extinguished her left saber, to keep it out of the way as she pulled her primary blade up in her metallic grip. The vibrant red blade hastily burned through the Jedi's clavicle before twisting left to catch the spear's point in its path.

As Kahla turned similarly to how the Jedi had, their blades met. The strength in metal shoved the spearhead down from its fetal path, but not completely free of its collision with her body. The azure plasma burned a path along her hip, only just missing the bone. Once again Kahla roared in pain, near crushing the hilt of her sabers in her iron grip. As her head lifted her gaze met the endless rows of predatorial teeth as the maw of the beast began its brutal path.

She lacked the strength to further force her off hand into action, and so she simply made a deft stab towards the creature. As its eyes caught the scarlet blade it hesitated, seeming to have associated the warm hue with the pain she'd caused it. The beast retreated for a moment, only long enough for Kahla to turn her attention back to the Jedi.

She had fallen.

Confusion once again captured Kahla. She hadn't sensed the death of this warrior's spirit, though she laid so seemingly lifeless. Had she fallen unconscious? Perhaps the pain of the near severed shoulder had pushed her beyond her limit. The Sith turned once more to the screeching acklay, staring it down as it paced forward and back, advancing as it ached for a chance to get to the duo, but receding in fear of the looming figure. Kahla knew she couldn't continue the fight, too exhausted and injured to resist the creature any more. The hilts of her saber clasped to her waist before she pulled the split spear to her hands, a trophy for her to claim.

Never breaking her eye contact with the monster, she retreated to the front line, Sith forces still holding the rebels occupied. They seemed mostly unconcerned with the withdrawing Sith.

A shuttle had set down in the opening before her, the ramp hissing as it opened to let out the next wave of troopers. They ran past her, few batting an eye, never to question the dealings of their betters. Though a medic halted, choosing to follow Kahla back to the shuttle. She would have time soon enough to revel in her victory, for now her health was her top concern.

Kahla grinned widely as her saber met the flesh of her enemy. Finally it was time for the Jedi to feel the pain that she had known. The statistic satisfaction of contorted empathy she felt poured through her being as she made ready for the defense she'd have to put up. As the beast to her back encroached the Jedi began a quick succession of stabs. Kahla gripped the force around her, molding it to her will. As if in slow motion she watched the bright blue blade pierce the air towards her. She ducked her body down and leaned her head to the left. The molten plasma ricocheted of the right of her faceplate, just below her cheekbone. The heat seared and burned beneath the mask, as the steel, while durable, was nearly as effective as placebo against a lightsaber of any form.

Kahla could feel the ground quake as the creature behind her continued to approach. As it did, the Knight reared for the next stab, this one coming for her shoulder. Kahla had to quickly reverse her momentum, swaying herself out of harms way as she twisted and leaned away from the blades path. While not making contact, she could once again feel the warmth of the blade bleed through the armor on her chest. At first it was almost comforting, but quickly grew to a cooking heat just as the spear was once again retracted.

She could nearly feel the breath from the animal on her neck as it reared for its next attack. The Jedi's weapon came once more, this time in a lower blow. This time Kahla had prepared herself, pushing through the natural instinct to run from the beast behind her and instead focusing her entire being on the spear aimed at her. With her right hand, she flicked her saber to catch the Knights and divert it from its path, redirecting the blade further right. As she did so she turned her body to the right, and with a tense grip brought her left hand saber down towards the shaft of the spear, hoping to split the weapon. She'd placed everything on this gamble, that if she could manage to disarm the Jedi, even for a moment, she could deal with this pet once and for all.

Kahla continued her spin, coming face to face with the Acklay as its massive claws came down toward her. She called upon all her strength, both in the muscle of her body and the steel in her arm as she swung to catch the creature's left claw head on. She could hope to wound, or even disable the weapon-like appendage, but at the very least she'd knocked it from its fetal course. As she continued the turn off the heavy strike, the other claw caught the larger left shoulder pad, yanking on her shoulder and tearing it from its place. The serrated claw sliced against her flesh, and ripped into the muscle of her shoulder. The pain was unlike what she'd experienced before, sharp, yet dull, and anything but a clean slice. Kahla roared as the pain gripped her being. But she had practiced, she took the pain, using it to power her hatred like a great war machine. The roar she cried was not just of pain, but of warning as she continued her spin, ending in a lunging stab towards the center of the Jedi, one that channeled her hatred to a fine point and aimed like a weapon of its own.

As blood splashed into the mud, blending with the brown muck, Kahla focused her fury on the Jedi for turning such a creature loose on her like hounds to an escaped prisoner. She would prove herself no such prisoner, that she now wielded the power that once oppressed her.

((Defensive Actions/Damage Taken)) ((Attacks made)) ((3))

Kahla’s boot slammed into the ground, cratering into the soil to kill her momentum when the Jedi slipped past. Her upper body lurched forward as it tried to comply with the command. Quickly she turned the momentum into a duck, barely avoiding the hilt of the knight’s spear, which glanced off the back of her helmet. Kahla pivoted, planting her right foot behind her to brace, while her left stayed cemented in the dirt. In that instant an all too familiar scorch slashed through the armour on her knee, while the blade didn’t contact the skin directly, her flesh seared and boiled under the blade’s path. As the pain shot across her body Kahla grinned under her helm, embracing the burn once again. Just as the pain brought adrenaline into her veins, so too it brought strength in the force.

As she delved into her connection in the force the insect-like creature reared, it’s carapace claws rose. Knowing the pain in her knee, Kahla snapped her left arm out, once again releasing her saber at the creature. The pain the Jedi inflicted on her, she would reflect on the Acklay as she guided the carmine blade through the force towards the middle left leg’s joint. Again, she charged the woman as the sharpened claws came down toward her. They clamped down on the cloth of her shoulder, anchoring it to the ground. Kahla's shoulder snapped back, halting for only a second. She forced herself through the snag, and the cloth tore loudly as she was released into an empowered lunge. Each step was supplemented with the force, she'd lost momentum, which meant more time for the Jedi to prepare. Her knee ached with each step, begging Kahla to stop, but no halt would come as she thrusted her saber in an aimed stab towards the right side of the Jedi’s chest. As she did so her offhand saber whirred back to her. She twisted left from her stab to charge behind her and brought a wide slash across the back and shoulders of the self-righteous woman, the blade steered from upper left shoulder to lower shoulder blade of her right side.

It was a pity that the Jedi would bring this creature to fight for her; to subject it to the horrors of the battlefield like this. Leave it to the mercy, or lack thereof, of any Sith that crossed their path. To blind it with attachment the way she likely had, Kahla knew that should the Jedi fall, the creature would stop at nothing to destroy her killer. And so, it too would have to fall.

((Defensive Actions/Damage Taken)) ((Attacks made)) ((2))

As the crustacean let out its deafening roar Kahla's attention shifted to the Jedi that stood before it. She let out a deep breath, stalking forward in protest to the Jedi's request. "How about No." She grinned beneath the mask of her helm. The girl was only a little taller than the Sith, though the mountain of armour Kahla wore brought them more or less eye to eye. From the distance she couldn't make out most of the woman's features, though she was decently good looking, despite being warn from battle.

There was no use in waiting any longer, her body ached for it's chance to purge these people from this planet. Both of her lightsabers were lit and ready, the crimson blades humming in anticipation.

With a tight flick of her right wrist she let loose her saber, guiding it with sinister intent towards the Acklay's face. In that moment Kahla lunged, dipping to the left as her metal boots kicked the dirt free from the ground in her wake. As she approached the Jedi she guided the saber she'd thrown back around, pulling it in behind the girl as she raised her left saber up, bringing it down with practiced efficiency at her shoulder.

She pulled the flung blade into her grasp and swung from low to high, conserving what momentum the hilt still had upon reaching her as she continued her charge. Kahla's speed and aggression stayed true to her training, her heart pounded with the adrenal rush of breaking her anticipation.

 

((1))

The shuttle shook and rocked as it burned through the atmosphere. The uneasy tension brought by the dark enclosed bay twisted around Kahla. Being unable to see and experience the outside world, pulling away her control over it, had set her in an anxiety almost unfamiliar to her. Her armour clattered as she steadied herself against the violent shake of the craft. They must have been flying through flak, it had to be, The soft blue of the dim interior light gave Kahla a cold and damp chill down her spine. The waiting drove at her mind as she stared at the indicator light. She allowed her heart to race, for the uncomfortable tightness of the hull to close her in. With pain as her ally, comfort would be unattainable in the time of battle.

The light flickered as the craft slammed down, the door hissed open and sith troopers stormed to pull security. The shuttle had taken small arms fire from the ground, the rebel holdout was dedicated, it seemed. With her shoulders rolled back and her chin high, Kahla marched forth from the darkened shuttle, the loose cloth over her shoulder and hips bellowed as the shuttle took off. Her saber hissed to life in her right hand. As she stretched out her arm she growled "Wipe the filth from this planet." Without another word the troopers stormed towards a possible breach in the defenses, outlined by ISR. There was no doubt the Jedi present would try to secure it, and so Kahla would once again play the huntress.

As soon as she laid eyes on the entrenched forces surrounding the temple grounds she came under fire. There was no easy way to mask her silhouette, and so she started sprinting at the enemy. Her hatred of their resistance fueled her body like a great war machine. She made the Force submit to her will, guiding her blade as she deflected blaster bolts. Those that made it through her own defenses ricocheted uselessly off her thick armour. There was a group of maybe twelve in the 'breach', their fortifications partially destroyed in an explosion of some sort. In her left hand she pulled her offhand saber, infighting its luminous red glow. She swung a wide underhand arc before releasing the hilt into the air.

With the force bent before her, she guided the blade as it sang an unholy screech, spinning through the air. It caught the abdomen of the first, and then the chest of a second before plunging into the center of a third. As she pulled the saber back towards herself she could hear the shouting of the rebels. There was surprisingly little fear in their ranks, and it was only a moment before she understood why. Not far behind their ranks stood tall a massive beast.

Attention was turned away from her and towards the troops she brought with her. leaving a perfect line for a greater engagement. Her head shook as her heart sank at the realization. She let out an irritated grunt as she spoke to herself. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me." 

Perhaps she really was here for a hunt.

Her flagship was once again split off from the greater force, though in this instance she forgave the necessity. The Sith Home world was seeing action, and Kahla felt quite honoured to send the ship of her pride their way. While she'd wished she had accompanied them, she herself had a greater purpose. The Sith at Lehon were showing promise, but needed reinforcement, that was her purpose. Perhaps today she would earn in her own mind, the title bestowed upon her.

Shortly after being dragged from the lakes of Naboo, and once she could stand on her own again, she began putting the pieces in place to prepare for her next battle. Her first demand was an armor set with detailed specifications. Under a large hood she wore a helmet, the mask had a single eye slit, through which allowed no light. Though the visor didn't follow, the recognized T shape was present, through to a well defined chin. Over her left shoulder was a cape of sorts, typically seen in ceremonial uniforms. In place of the broach however was a thick shoulder pad. It was layered, and angular with its distinguished edges. Adjacent to it, the right shoulder pad was smaller and less pronounced, though it followed the same aesthetic. A diamond-shaped breastplate covered her chest and abdomen. Armored Faulds covered her hips, and held her lightsabers in place. From her hips hung a short, split tabard that cut just below the knees. Her left boot was plated in durrasteel, the shin guard protecting everything below the knee. On her right was a matching guard, and thickened armor, grafted and welded onto the prosthetic limb. She'd taken a liking to the dark crimson of her robes, and made sure the armor she wore followed in its expression.

She was sluggish at first, unfamiliar with the weight of the plates she wore. It tooks weeks of practice before she could even consider sparing with her droid. But in time her familiarity grew, she learned the strengths of wearing such cumbersome armor, the limitations in her movements, and resourceful means to work around them. She had become comfortable, to the extent of spending near every waking moment in her armor.

In the time that she trained and studied the interceptor she favored so much had seen much attention. Mechanics and dock hands worked day and night to bring the wreck back from the grave a second time. While seeing such a beautiful peace of history in such a state brought Kahla great sorrow, she came to understand that it was necessary to put everything on the line, play every card she had and push herself to the very edge. She'd learned this when she embraced the fires that seared her flesh. Everything, or nothing.

Over time she'd began to notice a fear in her crew, they always seemed shifty, uneasy in her presence. Even just in passing they'd make sure to give her a wide berth. While she tried to put it out of her mind it still gnawed at her. Of course, she knew exactly why they were all so hesitant around her, word had spread fast of what she did in the opening moments of Naboo. To an extant she'd regretted it. The thought that her "True Sith" ideology might be wrong had crossed her mind more than once. Perhaps soon she would try to understand the modern Sith, as apposed to those from a bygone era.

Kahla sat quietly in the chair that overlooked the bridge. Lehon laid before her, almost as if served on a platter. She drank in the suspense, knowing her fight was quickly approaching. Her heart began to pound with excitement. The failure that loomed over her now pushed her like a great oceanic wave, she stood from her chair, darkness seeping from her form, and began marching to the hangar. In place of her own ship, that was still undergoing repairs, an Imperial Assault Shuttle, another ship from the old Sith empire, waited for her.

Victory and Failure had blended their meanings, as regardless, Kahla knew that there was only progress ahead.

Time seemed to slow with the adrenaline pumping through her veins. The metal was cold, very cold; and sharp, so sharp. It pressed gently against her skin at first, in the center of her abdomen. Then a popping sensation as her flesh split, no longer able to resist the pressure of the blade. It burned not unlike the fire roaring in her ear at first as it burrowed through her flesh. As it came to a stop it got so cold. Freezing; like a bitter spear of pure ice pierced her core. Her rage and anger faltered, giving way to fear, panic even as death loomed like a heavy storm over her.

The feeling of being lifted by the blade was so strange, she wasn't just picked up, but something inside her pulled her off her feet. "You are quite the Warrior, little Sith" His breath reeked and Kahla held back her gagging. To be called little was so insulting, she'd accomplished much following the footsteps of her master, and it felt as though he completely disregarded her effort, despite complimenting her as a warrior. And that he hardly payed attention to her, distracted by the battlefield. In that moment her rage built inside, she wanted so badly to retaliate, but she was near frozen by the pain.

"I expected the Great Moon to call home our souls and cleanse you, but she has decided otherwise. Pity. You are dishonored and tainted. I don't know why she chose to spare you. Perhaps there is something she can see in your soul that I cannot." She was disgusted by his religious preaching, his voice droned on about the god he followed, and how she was 'tainted'. But such was the fate of the Sith, and if Taint lead one into power, then she would have to embrace it. In a moment of recollection she understood. Perhaps failure would have to pave the path to personal glory. Interrupting her thought, the dog continued "I will leave you to your wounds. Survive, or do not. I can care less."

As she felt herself flung free of the blade in her stomach Kahla understood her chance. To learn, to improve. Trial and error had gotten her this far, and with each foe she grew to better understand not just her enemy, but herself.

There was a hiss as her body hit the water, blood blended in the current, the last few moments of consciousness spent hazily watching her life essence spill and disappear into the lake, like dust lost in the wind.

The light was blinding; everything a bright white, surrounding her. She hated it. Medics seemed to claw at her, 'fixing' her, sewing her mangled flesh back together. Kahla let out a roar of pain before the world went dark once more.

The Phantom's Spear dropped into a familiar orbit, the sublight engines hummed and droned. The Harrower felt so at home at Korriban, with its ancient devotion to the Sith continuing in the modern era. The dedication of the vessel matched only by the crews under Harris' watchful eye. They were a little late to the party, however, being among the last few Imperial vessels to arrive.

Tyra's fleet joined in the formation, though the Eye of Sagittarius hung back, the massive maelstrom cannons nearly drooling in anticipation for their chance to wreak havoc on the rebel fleet.

Artillery Battery (Incendiary) Cruiser and Support Craft Melting Iron [Green: 1]

Hussar Class Cruiser: Xhal's Influence (10/20}

Raider II Corvette: HF-11306 (2/1)

Raider II Corvette: HF-11307 (2/1)

-

Artillery Battery (Gravity Crusher) Cruiser and Support Craft Eye of Sagittarius [Veteran: 0]

Gladiator Star Destroyer: Eye of Sagittarius (10/20}

Raider II Corvette: HF-11302 (2/1)

Raider II Corvette: HF-11303 (2/1)

-

Tactical Support Escort Cruiser and Support Craft Naïve Miscreant [Green: 1]

Arquitens Class Cruiser: Wretched Litch (9/9)

Kontos Class Frigate: Feared Ring (3/3)

Kontos Class Frigate: Kuat's Dread (3/3)

Raider Class Corvette: 11304 (2/1)

Raider Class Corvette: 11305 (2/1)

Pain and hatred swirled in her head like a tornado, feeding off each other, fueling the inferno that coursed through her mind. The holes torn in her shoulder now burned, embers had found their way into the wound and festered. The pain had become intoxicating. As her nerves were seared under the older flames, there was an odd sense of euphoria. Her left shoulder still burned, but with less intense pain. The fire however still raged across her right shoulder, and had found a balance as it scorched her flesh. She sucked in the pain, internalizing it and enthralling herself in the sick pleasure she felt.

There was an ear drum shattering pop in that moment of indulgence, followed almost instantly by an equal explosion. Her instinct sharp, and the force as her guide, she leapt into a long roll to her immediate left. The metal shavings plunged into the joints of her prosthetic leg. The flame on her back flickered in the roll, but had spread down her back. Her knee and ankle clicked resiliently as she stood. Something had become jarred, it hadn't rendered the leg immobile, but a great degree of force was required to move it as normal.

Kahla sneered as she turned to the flea ridden mongrel. He had made the mistake of putting one of his men in her path to him. She started a maddened sprint towards them, the loose soil almost hardened to stone under the pressure of her force aided tear across the field. Pure agony and fury drove her forward, through the infuriating defiance of her metallic leg. The next two canisters of flechettes were nearly vaporized by the burning crimson plasma of her lightsaber, cut down in a wide flick of her left hand. In her right, the saber blinked away before she stowed it on her belt.

With both hands she gripped her left saber tight, lifting the blade over the smoldering flames before bringing it down with the might of pure rage that had festered inside her, seeking to cleave the soldier from shoulder to hip. Lost in the reverie of the burning that tortured her back, she carried the momentum back up and into an opposite sided slice, from the other shoulder nearer to the lower chest.

Her attention turned quickly to her wolfen foe, who now brandished a blade of his own, her right hand loosing its grip as she brought her saber over her right shoulder. Kahla sprung forward, her robes struggling to keep up with her as they flew in the breeze. She drew her right handed blade from its rest, holding the inert hilt outstretched as she brought her first blade down in a wide, arching slash; the force pulled at her arm like a rope tied it to a speeder. At the apex of the swing her second blade whirred back to life, quickly following the firsts path with equal speed and precision. The scarlet hues danced and blended with the bright oranges and yellows of the fire that roared across her back.

Her mind was almost trapped under the seething and boiling of her exterior, the fire itself became the nourishment of her rage and she embraced the pain like a loving mother would her child.

((Offensive Actions)) ((Defensive Actions/Damage Taken))

((3)) ((This was a great duel, I had an absolute blast writing it!))

It was exciting to see them scramble for position, caught so off guard and surprised. She could almost taste the fear in the air. But the fear didn't last nearly as long as she'd hoped, as they began firing almost immediately, even nearly hitting one of their own. They must have been special forces, or at least in service for some time. Thankfully she hadn't lost the chance to instill dread into their hearts.

At the center of attention, her skills would be on full display. The force as her guide, her blades twisted and visibly distorted, swung at unfathomable speed to catch the blaster bolts launched at her. As she tapped into the force the burning of her shoulders couldn't be ignored any longer. The pain went from an irritant to much more present problem. It was searing into her flesh now. She could stop now, retreat and deal with it before it got out of hand, but a moment of genius struck her. If she retreated now she'd be out of place, easily countered, she'd stand no chance. The fire would have to continue burning, and it was because of them. The pain that coursed through her mind and body was because of them.

The pup that lead the group had singled himself out, a challenge to be sure. Kahla saw through the distraction, citing in her mind that he'd purposefully put himself in harms way for his men. A pathetic rebel sentiment. While her own men meant a lot to her, at the end of the day her power was absolute, she could accomplish more in their place, their sacrifice would be heavy, but for the greater good. She snapped her attention back to the man she'd failed to slay, who avoided her stab with a simple jump, the fire in her eyes burning as bright as the flames she wore. If she had to burn because of them, then they will know her pain tenfold.

As Kahla lunged, her steel foot digging into the soil, and a cloud of iron grazed across her unburnt right shoulder. Though only a few, pellets had embedded themselves in her flesh and muscle, and had torn her robes, inviting fuel for the spreading fire. She sprinted to him, the determination and hatred showed no outward sign of the pain the metal had caused. He'd put barely enough distance between them for her to be weary still of the bolts that chased her, and so she pounced into the air with a high leap to throw off the lead shots.

Kahla brought her sabers down with absolute malice and distain as she fell unto the man, both of his shoulders were her target. Her sabers cried out as they impacted the dirt, and without hesitation she turned and bolted to the second one she'd swung at in her first flurry, Her left saber came down in a slash from shoulder to hip, her right saber quickly followed up with a stab towards his chest. She locked eyes with the mutt, she wanted him to watch as she cut down his men, one by one. Of all of them, even herself, he'd experience the most suffering this day.

((Offensive Actions)) ((Defensive Actions/Damage Taken))

((2))

Kahla peered out over the glistening blue waters where smoke had begun to billow from debris left behind in the splashdown of the enemy vessel. The waves had not yet settled, and a clear path could be drawn to follow the touchdown. Its path had skewed, and they were moving fast enough that it's likely they'd run aground. With a deep breath she filled her lungs with smoke and particulate, the once fresh air of the planet tarnished by the rot of burning; wood, cloth, concrete, flesh; all of it combined into a sickening soup. A mixture of oil, fuel, and other materials dripped down from her Interceptor, their beautiful orange glow splattering onto the ground where they continued to burn in a small puddle. Her ship was banged up, badly, but the memory of what it was when it first arrived filled her with confidence that it could be restored again.

As she took her first step towards the exposed soil, Kahla fell to her knee with a metallic thud. Her breath shortened and her heart weighed on her. A wave of unrelenting, unbridled emotions cascaded through the force unlike anything she'd felt before. As if a dam had burst, a whole slew of emotional energy overwhelmed her resolve. Pain, anguish, regret, fear... Her mind spun down into the whirlpool, a single self reflection stood out to her. Before she had first arrived at Korriban, she lead the mutiny aboard the Unwavering Pursuit, they killed their captain for the same thing she was doing now. The faces that helped her on her way to where she is now faded in memory, all just a blur in her mind. The further she went down, the more time felt distorted, her eyes clung shut as pain took hold in her expression. Did she have to trample them in her march of self progress?

In that moment of reflection, the blast in the force twisted about. Pain turned to rage, regret into determination, fear became resolve. Kahla's eyes snapped open with raw dedication, the lives she had taken would not be in vein, the power she sought would bring the end of war, by force if necessary. This influx of emotions, she was well familiar with them. Darth Mavanger, whatever happened, whatever he had done, tides were shifting in the force because of him.

She stood in the wake of the blast, an eternity in the mind was mere seconds in reality. Persistence and determination had gripped her in full, adrenaline flooded into her body as the ripples in the force calmed. She had no pity for the rebels she would flatten in her charge. Kahla marched from her craft, through the dripping flames of her vessel, and began her hunt for the survivors of that crash. Her enemy would taste the plasma of her sabers.

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

Like a signal calling to her from the tree line, smoke stretched into the darkened sky. Without so much as a thought she began her charge, dashing towards the crash site. As she got close she slowed, keeping to shadows, dipping into craters. Hopefully she could catch them off guard, tending to wounded and pulling security. Their ship was large enough to pose a threat, though Kahla was quite certain that only a few could be combat ready after a crash like that. She made her way into the tree line quick and quiet as she could.

Approaching from the ground would be a fools errand, no doubt she would be spotted and mowed down effortlessly, even if it were just a rag-tag team, thrown together, disorganized, to disagree on how to do their job. Kahla made a leap into the branches, using the force to propel herself between the trees. She was high enough up not to be spotted immediately, but she was far from soundless. anyone paying enough attention would hear twigs snapping, leaves rustling as she made her way. Hopefully it could be passed off as lumber displaced by the crash.

A wolf among men. They were geared and ready to move, the dog barked orders to march on Theed; perfect, they'd pass right under her. She crouched in the branches above them as they started towards the fallen city, and in her study of the men she grew conscious of a warming in her left ear. No, it was hot, burning... She shut out sensation, ignored it. There were more pressing matters, as the troops had just gotten by her.

The Sith dropped from her perch, landing only meters away from their rear security with a heavy thud. She rose to her feet quickly and her saber screeched to life in her right hand. The red glow to her right blended with the burning orange on her left. Her left shoulder was ablaze where the burning concoction had dripped and caught her insulated robes. They were meant for the heat of sabers and blasters alike, but there was no more ignoring the pain smoldering fire.

There was no time to deal with it, as there was no pause before she began her onslaught. She raised her saber high, but swung low to catch the soldiers legs. Towards the end of the swing she turned the hilt around and stabbed towards the next man in line with the force aiding her every lunge. In her left hand her second saber shrieked and hummed as she slashed at the third trooper. The fire was irritating, annoying, Kahla's frustration began to boil through her attacks. She had gotten herself into the center of their column, she hoped to cut them off from each other. She got between the third and fourth man, both sabers ready. The fire had begun to spread slowly after each swing.

((1))

The craft had already put decent distance between them, and the weight of the Fury was dificult enough to accelerate. It would be a minute at least before she could lock on, longer still to get within gun range. Kahla held the pressure to her throttle, as if trying to push it beyond its limits, though it didn't help much. Tension worked its way up her back as she leaned towards the blinking console. The anticipation was starting to drive her mad as she pondered the nature of the craft she pursued. It looked like a Search and Rescue craft, was it there to evacuate the city? Maybe an important figure? As far as she knew the queen was still on the surface, and a vessel like that would be a good candidate. Not as conspicuous as a Royal starship.

The radar flashed to life with four new friendly signatures quickly gaining on her. Too big for interceptors, too small for full bombers. Kahla was unflinching on the throttle, still holding it tight to max thrust. But the four fighters had no issue catching up, even overtaking her ancient craft. She hadn't requested an escort, this was her chace, and she would see it through. Soon the lead pilot radioed in, he was short spoken, to the point. "Darth Akheron sends his regards." His voice was monotone, almost robotic; it was as if his every word was practiced. Kahla sighed, a little disappointed, though quite intrigued at the play the other Darth made. She knew him only by name, he was taking part in the campaign in the outer rim, though she'd never met him in person. Curious indeed.

"Two of you form up behind me, the other two are to attempt to disable the craft. The kill is mine." She ordered greedily. This time she wouldn't be sharing in her meal.

The fighters that took off ahead of her reminded her of her own craft in a way. More modernized, thinner. Almost like they got rid of everything not completely essential. Not a terrible craft, but not as robust as hers.

The screens flared and power surged to the auxiliary weapons, the enemy was within visual range now and Kahla's steel thumb teased the launch button. The tension worked its way through her every muscle, her shoulders stiffened as she inched towards the vessel. She couldn't make it so simple as to launch a missile; no, she wanted to see the looks on their faces as she cut them down. The two fighters she had sent forward had taken damage, a rear turret was giving them trouble, forcing them back into formation behind the Fury-class.

The atmosphere engulfed her view, a vibrant shade of blue at the edges of sight, but towards the horizon, darker plumes of smoke, orange flames burn cities under clouds of black. The invasion was in full swing. Kahla smiled, knowing her part in the destruction. She drew her attention back to the forefront, just in time to duck the first volley of neon green bolts sent her way. "Break off, Keep anything that can still fly on the ground! I'll handle this." She shouted over the comms. The Acklay fighters had no trouble pulling out of the steep dive as Kahla pushed the advance.

She pulled into a large corkscrew as the next field of bolts stormed towards her. Finally, the massive, juicy engines were within range, and Kahla cackled as she crushed the flight stick in her metal grasp. The quad laser cannons let loose a burst of relentless death. The targeting system was precise, impacting the large port side engine. In her determination Kahla accepted the traded fire from the larger craft, the green bolts quickly stripped her shields, and before long started ripping into the hull on her right side. Flames burst out of the fresh holes, but her aim was true and her enemy would soon impact the water beneath them.

The control surfaces fought her as she pulled the throttle back, deploying the airbrakes that promptly blew off. Kahla felt herself sucked down into her seat as she hauled back on the stick, forcing her craft to level. Just as she met the horizon line a streak of burning light carved its way through the atmosphere. In the distance beyond Theed an unrelenting explosion ripped through the ground and sky. She grinned in awe of the devastating blast. What a Brilliant message this will be.

Her interceptor started losing its speed, and with alarms blaring its nose dipped. The ground flew up with destructive speed, and Kahla knew there was no correcting her path. A deep laugh escaped her as she rolled the craft left and yanked the stick back. It wasn't enough to turn, and she was sent into a sideways belly dive. She lept from her chair and made for the port side airlock as the wing smashed into the stone ground, leveling the interceptor onto its underside. It slid thrice its length along the ground before coming to a rest in the Naboo architecture. Fire leapt from panel to panel on the hull of the vessel, and black smoke rose to the sky.

There was but a beat before what was left of the slammed against the uncovered soil. A dark cloaked silhouette stood, contrasted by the glowing red caution lights of the craft. The figure stepped forward with malice and driven intent.

The cold chill rolled down her clothen spine, the seat of her Fury-Class Interceptor embraced her, sending chills through her body, piercing her flesh and stinging her bone. Kahla shuddered, the throttle's leather cooled the skin of her palm like an icy steel. The flight stick in her right hand creaked, unfamiliar with the metal grasp. Reaching up she flicked the necessary switches. The engines spun up with their signature whine, and as she willed, the gunboat of a ship lifted off the hangar floor.

The engines blared with a mighty roar as she blew free of the hangar door, her muscles clenching as she slammed the throttle forward. The pull of acceleration pushed her into the seat behind her and she grinned like a child on life day. And as her childish hunger for adventure began seeping in, the ugliest of freighters violently dropped from hyperspace and bolted for the planet. There was no doubt in her mind; no true Sith would fly such a vessel. She was as disgusted by it as she was with the rotten hut she had the misfortune of smelling.

There was no hesitation in the robotic movement of her craft as she turned to give chase. Excitement filled her soul at the thought of finally earning, in her own eyes, her place as a true Sith. So much has led up to it, the merciless, indiscriminate slaughter of innocent and deserving alike. The ideal of 'the Ends justify the Means' swirled in her head; the power she craved would be hers, and any that stood in her path would be cut down.

Kahla stood with her chin high on the bridge of the cruiser. watching carefully as they dropped out of hyperspace. Her flesh still burned from the weeks of practice with her droid, though thankfully thus far Vance hadn't managed to kill her. They were only slightly behind Darth Mavanger's war party, trickling in just in time to see the swarm of fighters and dropships make for planetside. A sight troubled her mind, something she couldn't quite put her finger on, long she stared into the massed fleet, studying it. Then, with a wave of understanding, she counted only one Harrower, the Phantom's Spear. Her heart skipped a beat, though she suppressed her outward response to little more than a hard swallow.

"Roll out the guns, Burn everything, save for Theed itself." Her stern voice bounced, devoid of empathy. "Prioritize civilian infrastructure." The captain's eyes widened in shock, bad enough already he had to lead such a horrible ship, but this? He hesitated, his mind racing as a bead of cold sweat dripped down the side of his face. He couldn't help but fixate, putting himself in the shoes of these people. The days they've lived and loved, worked and celebrated, he thought back to home, where his younger brother was studying to be a doctor. Where his mother lived her twilight years at home, tending her garden.

He froze as Kahla turned to face him, unable to look away, unable to hide the fear in his soul. How long had he hesitated? Seconds? Minutes? Surely there was no turning back now. With all the courage he could muster, his voice cracked out "T- To what end, my lady? They are of no threat to our empire." Kahla locked eyes with the man, her expression unchanging though her head tilted ever so slightly. "Anger makes our enemy reckless, they make mistakes when fury takes hold of their actions. There is no more efficient a method to anger our enemies than to put the innocent in danger." She spoke matter of factly, her voice came so steady in contrast to the shakiness of the captain. "Then there are other options." He proposed. "No. What we do today is reprimand for opposing us so openly on this campaign. As Darth Mavanger has made abundantly clear, this scum should step aside, lest they be trampled under our march." She started to stalk towards the taller captain who fearfully stepped back. "I will not allow such unforgivable, indiscriminate murder of innocent lives!" His voice raised to a shout as he found a foothold to stand his ground. The thoughts of families being so mercilessly torn to pieces.

Kahla smiled as she watched his bravery overcome his fear. It was impressive to her, to see someone so devote as to stand against her order. "I respect your decision, Francis, and admire your courage. Thankfully, Captain Numa will carry out my order." His eyes widened as he gasped frantically for air, the thoom of the igniting lightsaber reverberated through the open space of the bridge. At first he didn't feel the burning, but the stench of burning flesh drew his attention the the blade in his stomach. Kahla drew her saber away before quickly stabbing up through his chin.

Vera stood, confused at first by her name being preceded with the title of captain, and in an instant she understood. Like a beam of lightning the saber's stabs came, the crimson blaze flashing for only a second before dispelling. His body fell limp to the ground with a tump. The seared flesh smoldered as Kahla turned to the newly appointed captain. "The hospitals will be first, captain." Her voice was so cold, his life meant nothing to the Sith, and his death had no weight on her mind. Vera nodded in affirmation before taking the captain's chair. The smell was revolting, nauseating to the young woman. The infirmary crew came to retrieve the body shortly after Kahla left for the hangar where her Fury Interceptor was waiting, fueled and armed.

A chill ran down her spine, the same chill she'd had every time she'd taken the helm. With antipathy she pushed the throttle forward, hatred brewing inside her as she made way for the surface.

Her head turned and twisted as she dwelled on the thought, watching the seasoned lord leave. An anger bubbled up in her, but behind it, shame. He Was Right. She could sit and try to justify herself but it was useless, a waste. She held a title now, but what did that bring to the table? There was nothing to show for.

The cup shattered with a loud splash of glass and steeped water, hurled at the wall with the ferocity festering within Kahla. She ripped away the tubing, smashing the monitors as she stood. Her foot fell with a metallic clank. Oney jumped back, outside of combat he wanted little to nothing to do with Sith affairs. She hadn't thought about him, and didn't care to in that moment. She was simply too frustrated to acknowledge his presence. He crossed his arms, unimpressed with her antics.

A tantrum won't help. The thought tore through her as she found her balance, a deep breath fills her lungs. She was smarter than this, emotions fueled her but reason trains her, hones the mind and body. Unworthiness filled her soul as she made for her makeshift quarters. She payed no mind to the lifeless eyes that followed her as she made her way. The medical robes she wore weren't kind to her figure, the thin cloth near weightless did little more than cover her. Her footsteps so unsymmetrical, the plap of her bare left foot, and the ring of her prosthetic. It bothered her in a most strange way, it seemed so unreasonable that it dug at her, even with her doing her best to ignore it.

The door hissed open with the wave of her hand, she didn't waste any time getting changed. She wouldn't dawn her full robe, leaving the hood and cape behind. She'd lost one of her boots, and while it upset her, she knew she couldn't grow attached to inanimate objects, lest she be consumed by a horde of useless items. As she clipped her lightsabers to her belt, the communicator on her bedside rang out. About Time she thought to herself, haphazardly dropping it into her pouch. As she turned to leave the room the mirror caught her eye. There was a gash on her cheek, burns on her neck. Her hair was a rats nest, an unfamiliar arm reached back and she paused, staring blankly at her reflection.

Luck was a terrible word, undeserving came close but couldn't quite grasp the feeling. She had failed, the hand that helped to tie her hair was a mark of shame, not a trophy; one that she would forever wear. She stared angrily at herself for far too long. She wouldn't be able to come to terms with herself here, she could only try to learn, and improve herself. In her mind she stripped herself of the title of Darth, Kahla would have to earn it in her own mind, no one else's.
 

Through the windows she could see the ugliest hauler to fly among her fleets, and it was cleared to dock with the cruiser. Kahla stalked her way to the airlock and waited impatiently for the doors to open. It took restraint to keep her from pacing. Her toes tapped in her boot, her fingers tapped at her thigh.

The door hissed, and a grimy, sleezy, short, stout man shouted "Tadaaaa!" with the energy of a used freighter salesman. Kahla's disinterested gaze chipped at his smile, but he pressured on. "My lady, let me introduce you to Vance! The TC-Series Proxy Droid!" He steps to the side, showing off the tall blue, almost skeletal droid. It stepped forward, leaning to an enthusiastic stature. "Greetings, Mistress! It is a Pleasure to meet you!" Without acknowledgement she handed off the credit chit to the gross man. "The price agreed by Harris, No more, no less." The filth smiled, "Go on now Vance, take Care of the lady." He grinned, his yellowed teeth on full display. He bowed, then tturned back to the tin pot he called a ship.

Vance stepped out from the airlock, the doors shutting quickly behind him. "I'm most excited to work with you, mistress!" The droid's chipper voice was abrasive in its contrast to the doom and gloom of the cruiser. Kahla straightened her back and finally addressed the droid. "Can you kill me?" She asked plainly. "Of Course mistress! I have many training modules of both Jedi and Sith alike!" The droid said confidently. "Good. Your mission is to do just that. However, There are some rules. You cannot attack me in my sleep, when I'm with company, or am already engaged in combat. If I defeat you, you cannot attack me for the rest of that day, unless instructed otherwise. And you cannot attempt to kill me in a non-lethal spar." Kahla finished, her demands set. Vance was quick to respond. "As you wish, mistress! I can't wait to get started!" 

She smiled at the droid, she wasn't a fan of the pleasure he seemed to have, but she was sure it would prove a great asset. She began leading it down the halls, and toward the open room she had repurposed into a training ground. "Alright, let's get started." She drew one of her sabers and waited.

The 223-BFDS Blaster Pistol is a heavier gun-slinger's blaster, catering towards outlaws and bounty hunters. A single cartridge feeds the platform as a whole, with enough tibana gas for eighteen primary neon-green bolts. In exchange for its high weight, the pistol has a lot of utility, with an interchangeable secondary weapon system built in. The shooter can choose between a high yield bolt that consumes a third of the cartridge, or, an under-barrel disrupter that consumes the entire cartridge, and won't fire unless the cartridge is full. The blaster features a top rail system for mounting sights, and a built in laser pointer on the frame of the weapon. Due to its specialized nature, the weapon comes at a premium, the disruptor only being available on the black market can easily cost more than the platform itself.

(With credit to 'HQ Model' https://www.cgtrader.com/3d-models/military/gun/223-pistol-blaster-pbr (Most prevalent source))

The Phantom's Spear dropped in next to the command ship, the two Harrowers stacked together had a foreboding presence. The Sith Empire is Here. Their late arrival however meant greater risk, but Captain Harris sat lax in his chair. He knew nearly every ship to have ever left a dock inside and out in vivid detail. Strengths, weaknesses; their every capability. His experience in the scrap yards would come in surprisingly useful in his new position.

"Cardinal, Deploy a defensive net around yourself and our artillery, the Krayt's Fury and Phantom's Spear can cover each other. Captain Jarvus, Captain Harris, Point us at the action."

No small part of him thought Darth Tyra a fool, though he'd never say it. Her fleet was of.. Decent composition, but spread across the galaxy like this was a terrible idea. What was the point anyway? Why not put Trulalis on hold until the full strength of the fleet was ready?

At the end of the day it didn't matter, they were here now, and had to be ready for a fight. Thankfully the guns they brought gave them the firepower to compensate. At least, he'd hoped.

With the time she had to relax, the pain that quaked her mind had begun to mellow, and lost in her meditation, delving into the flow of emotion aboard her cruiser she felt his presence. It was almost fun to study the echo in his wake as he quickly navigated the halls of the vessel. Kahla smiled, her fingers metallically clicking as she tapped the arm of the bed. Her grin rose to a smile when he stepped in, letting him the moment to take in before he spoke.

"While I am please to see you live yet, I am most disappointed that in the state of our fleet. We have two cruisers with critical damage, and their frigate escorts received damage as well. The should have been virtually no damage against a lone carrier and its escort. What happened?"

Kahla let out a gentle sigh. "As much as it pains me to admit; I, and my squadron were simply outmatched. While we did manage to cut down a few of theirs, we suffered the greater loss. My gunboats did well at deterring the bombers, however the faster, more maneuverable fighter-bombers slipped past; with one of the two of course stopping to retrieve yours truly." She reached to her left, retrieving a cup of tea from her side table. Her flesh still burned with the sensation of thawing. Her right hand grasped the bottom of the cup as she brought it to her lips, the dark carbon steel, although outdated was a very beautiful metal. The warmth of the liquid filled her chest, and for the first time since her landing on Korriban she felt calm, and comfortable.

Or, maybe that was just the Ludacris amount of painkillers in her system.

"My SAR assets are fully equipped for fire suppression, and of course the Xhal's Influence has extensive redundancy in case of... immolation. I won't make any excuses, and I admit to my failing in combat, and in extension the damage to the fleet. I believe however that the fleet will be fully operational in only a few short days." She sat up, setting her cup down as she did so, then leaned in to address Mordecai. "But enough about me, how was your expedition?" She smiled, her genuine interest filling the air.

His perfectly shined boots clicked and thumped as he walked into class. He wore an off putting, toothy grin on his wrinkled face, his grey hair thinning, his shaven face. Everything about him made Kahla stew with anger. And not just him; the lecture hall must have been designed to be uncomfortable, the flat metal chairs, the short desks, cramped conditions. This whole academy was sick. A breeding ground for bullies, people with a sense of self-worth pinned higher than the greatest authority. Everyone came from some big imperial family and boasted about it day in and day out. Being here wasn't her passion, Just get through it she'd tell herself, It'll be worth it. 

"Today, each of you will experience rapid decompression, and we will test you on what you've learned this module." The room filled with murmurs, which he dismissed quickly with a raised hand. "We will put six students into the airlock at a time, and at the buzzer the emergency vent will engage. Medical staff will be on hand for anyone who should fail this test. Are there any questions?" Next to her, Altis raised her hand. "What's the point of the test? Everything that isn't a fighter is built with such extensive redundancy that the chances of any one of us ever actually putting this knowledge to use are astronomical."

"But not zero." he responded, lifting his chin. "And there's a reason for the redundancy, the survivability of command staff is paramount. You, are the final step in that redundancy." Before anyone else could say their piece, two medical officers stepped into the room wearing fully sealed environment suits, and began ushering the class to the airlock. As Altis passed Kahla could feel her anger, like a boat leaving its wake. There was a hint of distain and pettiness, like a light salting on top. Kahla stood and followed her out of the room.

When they arrived, the first group was already leaving their seats. Moaning and shivering in their discomfort. Kahla had to wait and watch as near every other student took their plunge. Some of the lesser studied were swiftly rushed to the infirmary, some stepped out pretending they'd never been better, showing off how 'resilient' they are. She knew they were lying, that their reputation meant more than their health.

Finally it was her turn to step to the plate. She'd had time to cool her nerves, cover her fears with the sheet of meaninglessness she'd warn to class every day. These chairs were no comfier, one by one they were strapped and buckled in, the inside door sealed shut and the medic gave the go ahead. She drew her last breath, and exhaled everything she could, dumping the air from her lungs.

FOOM

The door that kept them from the vacuum shot open, all the air left in her system sucked out with extreme force. The sound pulled from her ears, and the cold enveloped her wholly. Each second stretched into eternity, her vision blackened at the edges, and just as she started to feel herself slip into the arms of asphyxiation the door shut, and the vents spilled the air back into the chamber.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Her first moment of consciousness was of immense pain. Her ears bled with the shrieks and screams that immitted from within her. Tears welled in her tightly closed eyes, her every muscle pulling against her restraints. The medical droid had no patience for her bellows of agony, and simply continued working tirelessly on her. With a long needle pushed into her neck, her vision faded again, and the eyrie sensation of dropping through the floor took hold.

"... And when the torpedo hit, your fighter nearly disintegrated- well not actually, but, it looked like it. Goliath Two managed to get out of the conflict long enough to pick you up, then slammed the lever home."

Her mind pounded against her skull, it felt like it was trying to squeeze itself out through her eye socket. The voice looming over her was only vaguely familiar. One of the pilots? No, this one was too old.. She pondered as the man droned on in her ear, somehow crystal clear against the throbbing of her head.

"Oney..?" she mumbled out. "Yeah, had to save your hide again." His voice wasn't serious, but it definitely wasn't just a joke either. "Are you my guardian angel?" Kahla strained a grin. "I may as well be! Next time I see you you'll be crawling on a beach, burning to death" The faint chuckle that came from her stabbed at her gut. She knew she wouldn't be up for a while, for sure.

Flashes of the last moments in her fighter slammed against her memory. The burning cold the chunks of craft blowing past her. The bright blue planet below her, peaceful, uncaring of its orbital conflict. She could see a storm brewing, and in the same glance, the sun reflecting of the diamond blue ocean. It was beautiful. The silence only seemed to amplify the image, burning its every detail into her memory.

Maybe that pilot was a true ace, experienced in their field... Maybe if things were different, I'd offer a drink at the bar when this was over, share our stories.

Kahla laid and reflected on the battle. This time things felt different. She had no ill-will towards the pilot that shot her down, it wasn't personal. It felt more like a friendly game of Dejarik. There was no competition, no need to boast, to tell herself how much better she was because of her position. She enjoyed her reflection, studying on it in her mind, the emotions, and the physical battle. It seemed a fitting change of pace, it felt... Mature.