There had been a lot of stories told about Myrefall even before the town had become a mining town overnight. Cimozjen had been told by the Overlord about the importance of the location. A quick read over the dossier already revealed a good amount of the common knowledge about the outpost that had been converted into a village. Not all wanted to live in the cities of planets like that of the Markosians or the Dakhani. Even New Eden could not tempt those who wanted to stake their own claim in this Outer Rim system.

It wasn't as though Cimozjen could blame any of them, really. He had been driven back out to the Orian system again after many drunken days and nights around Coruscant. The visions were maddening enough on their own. Usually, even before he was given orders by the pretender to the throne in the New Sadowan temple, he was granted some vision by the Force. Strangely, such premonitions were completely absent of the worn Adept's hours, either day or night. He didn't consider himself a seer by any measure, but where visions failed, Kurios could normally depend on the dossier's provided by the 'rightful' masters of the system.

Stepping off of the speeder, the Coruscanti man turned to pay the transport's owner. The older woman's eyes darted up and down the single, long street the bisected Myrefall. The wrinkled human barely spoke a word as she scooped up his credit chips and tossed the change into his waiting hand. It was as though she couldn't get out of the place quickly enough. As Cimozjen turned to survey his surroundings, he heard the speeder lifting off. The sound of the speeder was quickly swallowed by the fog surrounding the town.

"Hey, you!" A Chiss glared up at the Sadowan Elder from his spot against a permacrete building that was designated by a simple sign as 'Myresfall Station'. An overturned hat, half-empty bottle and a mixture of seemingly random trash sat beside the alien as he strummed a scratched and scuffed quetarra mindlessly. "What brings a fella like you to our doomed little town?"

This caused Cimozjen to blink twice. "I heard something had befallen this *quaint* little place," he tried to choose his words as diplomatically as possible. "I was sent by the Overlord to ensure that we provided whatever aid you required."

The Chiss laughed at this. "You think that your lot are going to be able to do anything? The lost women, the lost children, the lost men and beings of all stripes are gone?"

"I know that phrikite ore can be quite valuable. We want to be sure that you all are safe."

The Chiss stood up, now clutching the bottle that had sat at his side. "I have heard the stories, stranger. We know the sorts of things your lot are willing to do in order to achieve power. You have twisted lives, you have twisted lives, you have twisted the very energy that binds the galaxy together to try to achieve your own wicked wills."

"We," the Sorcerer paused at the words thinking, "all have our burdens to bear. We cannot change the past. I can not undo what 'our lot' have done here. Surely you have to understand that you cannot hold the children responsible for the sins of their fathers?"

The fog seemed to creep in as the old man tilted his head backward in a throaty guffaw.

"The planet, the people, the damned Force- none of them give a damn for such moral nonsense. You could have stood up against them."

"What did you expect me to do?" It felt like the fog was pushing in on the too men. While Cimozjen glared into the alien's red eyes, he was overcome by a feeling of deep melancholy. "I can not be expected to solve all the problems of the galaxy. If the Jedi couldn't do it and the Sith just make it worse, what is there that we can do? So many of the Mundane population seem happy enough to wait for some hero or some space mystic to come out of the wood work and to save them. What do YOU expect ME to do?"

"You," the Chiss waved a single finger and shook his head, "you know there is more to it than that. The guilt has been eating you up all this time, pretender. You speak of the master you call Overlord as though he is the only one who is playing at a part. You know well enough what is happening here, Zachary."

"I have no idea what you are talking about." Cimozjen's tone was cold and flat.

"Oh, which part?"

"I don't know anybody by that name, and I don't know what is happening here. I was sent to solve a problem, and now I have some piece of poodoo who is trying to pin the galaxy's woes on me."

The Chiss chuckled, moving in upon the Sorcerer's personal space. "Something is killing people out here. They are being swallowed by the mist, and then they are being left as mere corpses. There is a monster out here that doesn't carry your colors, Sadowan."

"I am not a Sadowan."

"You might not claim that any more, Corellian, but you have the same blood upon your hands."

Cimozjen sat, thinking through what he was being told to him. "What is this thing? What does it want? Where did it come from? How can I stop it?"

"It is older the hills itself." The Chiss made a grandiose gesture. "It is a beast more alien than your Twi'leks or Aqualish, and more cunning than your humans or your Chiss."

"Aren't you a Chiss?"

The accusation brought a smile and a nod. "We are ancient, Sadowan. We are beyond your simple understanding, Corellian. And I can tell you, Zachary O'Maille, that there is nothing that you can do to stop us. One of two things will happen this day. You will submit, and be committed to the madness, or you will fight and become worm food. Your kind refuse to recognize their proper masters. Even when one of our kin came through the portal, you chose to fight our rightful claim to your world. You fought back against us, and you fought one of ours into a state of oblivion."

"This is madness."

The Chiss smiled, showing a gnarled mouth of teeth. While Chiss teeth were sharp, these teeth were arrayed around even soft surface. It was an unending grinder which lined a seemingly bottomless gullet. It both horrified and memorized the human for what felt like hours. "Perhaps it is a sort of madness," the not-Chiss's voice was unaltered, " that you all will suffer. Your asteroids contain several further gateways. There are nexuses that will allow us to use the Force itself to open new gateways. In time, we will find disciples who will accelerate the opening of the gates."

"You really think that we will not stop you? Do you think we won't fight?"

The not-Chiss let out a breath. It was like a sigh of resignation, but unnaturally deep and loud for the alien's slight frame. "Alas, you have made your choice Zachary. Whatever you may call yourself, we should have expected you turn from the path of wisdom in the end. It is sad really. We thought given the cowardice before that you might choose the right path out of fear. It appears," the fog closed in as the Chiss contined to speak, "that we were all mistaken."

------

"So, you are telling me that his corpse was all that you found?" Bentre Sadow looked down at his second in command from the hard throne in the New Sadowan Temple. His tone was usually business-like with his Proconsul but today he was in a far less charitable mood. "All those people turn up dead, one of our best free agents in the Clan turns up dead as well and we are no closer to figuring out what this whole disturbance in the Force is about! Surely, this can't be done by just one person. We need to figure out who these people are and how they are doing this."

"Sir, he isn't our best agent. There are plenty of others. We could call of Master Muz or any number of other Sons of S-"

"We are NOT getting any of them mixed up in this nonsense, Takagari! Tell me that you understand me!!" Bentre was standing now, feeling the heat in his face as he yelled.

A mixture of emotions washed over Darkhawk's face as the Consul stood there, shoulders heaving in anger. The Overlord's second was well-used to these kind of outbursts, but for once he felt a wave of his own anger pass over him. The Clan was doing the best that they could. Point them at a cult of force users or some low-life rebels and they would have the matter dealt with in weeks, on average. Even when the likes of the Collective could not be immediately sorted, they at least had a plan of attack.

This was something else.

"What do you propose, *sir*?" Darkhawk tilted his head.

"To the Hells with it all!" Bentre snarled. "I will have to go down there and sort out this trouble by myself!"

As the Overlord stormed out of the dark hall, Takagari had a feeling in the pit of his stomach that this matter would not be so easily resolved.

// Author note: this threat was not drawn from any outside influence I could pin down, outside of maybe the 'vengeful spirit' cliche(?) or idea