Fiction Gallery

"This? This here is a .48-caliber Enforcer pistol, packs enough punch to blow your head clear off. The Jedi are so used to deflecting blaster fire that this little baby often takes them by surprise. Can't bounce back a bullet, y'know. Pravus? Can this thing kill Pravus? Well sure. Pravus' no god, even if he thinks he's one. But nah. I'm not getting paid enough to take down the big boss. I'll leave Pravus for the Jedi to deal with. No, this baby's for taking down whatever target the Inquisitorius- or Arcona- point me toward. If it came down to picking which side I'll have to stick with, I'll probably stick with Pravus. Boss' nuts, but pays well. And if he's taken down, easy enough to slip away in all the inevitable chaos. The Jedi and Resistance got bigger game to go after than some grubby merc. No matter where I go, though, this gun’s staying with me. "

"I'll draw you, my Ryyk Blade, and you'll slam Pravus in the face, right before piercing his darkened heart. You've served me well when facing my enemies, now we'll face an enemy of us all. Let his poisened blood flow! Let his screams echo for years to come! You, my Ryyk Blade will end his reign."

Wuntila smiled at the one way mirror. I knew that he knew I was watching. Time to march in.

"I'm Ranarr Kul" I stated, "and I have some questions for you. ... And you are?"

"Don't play games" he stated in an uneven, unemotional way, "you know who I am."

I seductively smiled, as I fixated my dark green eyes directly upon him. He quickly fidgeted and involuntarily averted his own eyes away. I knew right then he began to sense my strength and feel the fear and he didn't know why.

"…And?" I casually replied with an even more alluring smile, careful not to show my teeth. It was then I detected beads of perspiration that had begun to condense on his forehead.

As Wuntila just sat there, not replying to my questions he could begin to detect a slight scent of my anger that now mixed with his scent of fear.

"You know we have evidence of you killing Telona! You didn't handle for yourself! Who ordered the hit?!"

Suddenly, the door swung open and in walked some confident and cocky young Sith, Tahiri Drakon Night-Thorn. "Let the fun begin!" she grinned as she called upon the Force to put some pressure around Wuntila's neck. "Who ordered the hit?" I aked again.

"No! He'd kill me."

"What do you think I'll do?" grinned Tahiri while she tightened her grip.

"Was it Pravus?" I growled. Tahiri tightened her grip even more. "Was it..."

"YES! It was Pravus... "

We are the shadow in the dark, the obscurity in the blackness. Illumination is a lie. Fight and be prepared to die!

I don't feel a thing Anger left me long ago No fear or regret

An enemy made A friend has come to aid us Together we stand

We move for vengeance We keep stalking our pray Together we hunt

With caution we move With anger but also with fear Together we stand

“The report is damaged my Lady.” The Soldier trembled before Atyiru, uncertainty laced every word.

“It matters little, play the audio, I wish to hear.” She sat upon the throne and reclined back knowing this would be grim, knowing what Nath was capable of. Interference rang within the chamber and eventually the audio began.

“It’s been awhile.” Nath’s voice was the first to speak.

“I see you’ve grown a bit since last we met.”Wuntilla spoke much more calmly than she, her voice had been laced with anticipation. A ringing sound of a blow reverberated through and silence descended.

“Why did you kill her?” There was a resonating sound of joints being popped, the Iridonian gearing up for more physical violence no doubt. More interference boomed through the audio, whatever occurred next only Nath could tell, the Consul made a note to summon her regarding it.

“No need to get excitable Iridonian, I killed her because I was ordered to do so, the fact that she intended to unite the three Clans under one rule was just a bonus for doing the dirty work.” The Battlelord seemed unphased by the Krath’s violent outburst.

“Enough.” Atyiru commanded. “Where is Wuntilla now?”

“They remain enroute my Lady, they have already requested for urgent medical aid and Nath Agrona has departed them.”

“Ensure he survives, and find the Iridonian.” She dismissed the Grunt with a wave of her hand, the chamber descending into silence as she was left to her musings.

The beat hastens now. Faster, we sprint to our goal fearless to the end

Nath sat hunched over, her hands clenching and relaxing slowly.

She had decided.

There was a certain satisfaction in killing things with your bare hands, watching slowly as the life drained away. The emotions and stages could be observed, in those moments you saw who you were really killing.

She wanted to see whom she loathed and whom wanted so passionately to see her family’s extinction.

I am unclear if this requires a regular stanza poem or a haiku, I have provided both, with the stanza poem being my submission if the bit about a haiku wasn't making it required.

Haiku: Cold fire within Betrayer looms in shadows Wrath not yet sated

Regular Stanza Poem: It should have been expected, to trust and be betrayed I should have seen it coming, but my mind was far too pained. The selfish Dragon did as needed, for Arcona to be saved, I understand but don't forgive, Krath's vengeance must be sated.

Today everyone forgets how useful a dagger is. Easy to use, easy to hide. It doesn't make noise like a light saber and can make an unexpected move.

He sat in his quarters staring at nothing, slowly turning the bottle in his hands. He felt the rises in the glass that gave various information about volume and alcoholic ratio. Ridges ran around the base ostensibly to give the bottle style and make it more difficult to slide across flat surfaces in an effort to avoid tragedies. To say Bleu had destroyed bottles much like this many times in the past was an understatement, he'd both started and ended fights with them. "Kill tha Grandmaster, sure," he muttered as he popped the top of it off and proceeded to drink. Only person he was likely to hurt in a fight like this was himself.

Instead of immediately marshaling forces to assault the Iron Throne while several of its fleets were out razing other Clan's homeworlds in a fit of paranoid insanity, the alliance decided to plot. This included such things as coming up with battle songs and brooding over how the various members would try and kill the man in the chair. Also investigations on why the so-called 'Dragon of Selen' would murder a member of an allied clan in cold blood on the orders of a mere mercenary. The result of this delay would be later apparent when the full naval might of the Grandmaster's fleets were arrayed against them, the punishment for dilly dallying.

Manually added by Savant Darkblade

An ancient tether snapped. An alliance, easily unmade. And all in the space of time As the flash of a hand grenade.

We stumble 'pon the dark abyss In a sea of turmoil and dark. Our Consuls seek the mend us With words we must now hark.

A new alliance, forged again With bonds yet tighter still. A plan to kill tyrant Pravus ....but who then his boots will fill?

Tan-grey fingers glided over an array of digital button, entering various codes and commands into the control panel. Dark amber eyes darted up to focus on a small group of three moving silently within one of the top most floors of Level Delta, Phantom Complex. Zujenia watched as Edraven signaled to the pale figure of Bol’era and the hulking red Kaleesh a few meters ahead of the Umbaran.

A chime forewarned the Half-Ryn of the incoming holo-call before the blue light filled the room. The face was easily recognizable, the newly elected Voice and former Gate Keeper, Marick Arconae.

“ Zujenia, how goes the training? “

“The team will be prepared for any evacuation missions if needed. With Galeres’ aid in the battlefield--”

“ Zujenia, I was talking about yours. Are you prepared? “

The Gate Warden bit the inside of her cheek, her mind escaping her. She couldn't ignore the tightening sensation in her gut. Was she good enough to lead the battle team successfully against the forces of the Grand Master? Port Ol’val is one thing, Pravus is another. Who’s fate is she signing off on? A taste of copper drew her back to the Holo-Hapan, a faint downturn of the corner of his mouth was the only sign of his concern.

“I will do all that is in my power to not only succeed, but to ensure each member returns home safely.” Zujenia replied, amber eyes burning with determination

Tra'an Reith limped out of the hallway, making his way towards the surface of the Dark Hall. Easing around a collapsed pillar, he slowly made his way for the dimly lit glow of the surface. His right arm cradled to his chest, barely able to hold itself in place from the damage he had sustained fighting the assassin, the ghost, that was Darth Necren.

The sadistic bitch was still out there, hunting him. He had gotten lucky in her last rush to finish him, and scored a strike across her right knee with his lightsaber. He only had one arm, but she was having trouble moving. It seemed fair to him since she had almost killed him from behind the first time.

He emerged into the dusty light of the surface of Antei, and blinked. There before him, perched on a pillar, was the she beast herself, Having discarded her robe at the start of the fight, she stood tall and regal, the cut on her leg from his sapphire blade having been healed enough to restore her mobility,

Against the background of a dusty, setting sun, it was an imposing sight that caused him to laugh.

"Really? Now, after all this, you try and intimidate me? Come finish the fight you bitch!" He barked at her. The return look she gave him was impassive, almost introspective, before she leaped at him, lightsaber swung behind her to ensure maximum power on the strike, Tra'an drew his disruptor and waited, knowing that timing would be crucial.

He partially depressed the trigger as she closed the distance, landing only a few meters in front of him. As she charged, he lifted the pistol just enough to fire into the ground she was advancing on, the blast forcing her to dodge aside to avoid it. He did it again, and again, forcing her into a pattern. The fourth time he feinted, and when she jumped, he did too,

Closing within her striking distance surprised her, and even as she pivoted to bring her lightsaber to bear, he slammed into her. As they tumbled down, he placed the disruptor between them, barrel nestled into their stomachs and pulled the trigger.

Fallen from favor, and their Orders dishonored, A bargain struck, a friendship earned, Krath of the Clan of Death, and an Obelisk of her Arconae ally, Beware of those wearing a mask, Brotherhood be wary.

Sister clans together in turmoil, assisting but untrusting, Grand Masters’ orders, the Undesirables’ cleansing, Betrayal by the hand of a friend, fallen is the magic forever mourned, Iron throne upheld by blood, the friendship of sister clans be torn.

"You'll have to do better than that if you expect to defeat a Grand Master! Again!" The sound of Havok's hands snapping together caused the weary Equites to get up off the ground. They groaned in agony, nursing bruises from practice sabers and settled into their default positions.

The scenery around them stank of the ocean. The hangar of Castle Tarentum was not a pleasant place to be, and even less so when under the personal tutelage of a reclusive Grand Master.

The practice sabers rose into the air as Havoc readied himself, and then attacked without warning. Whirling blades of simulated death struck, forcing Tra'an Reith to block and dodge, even as Timeros Caesus Entar Arconae sought to avoid them.

None of it worked. Again and again, the telekinetic mastery of the fabled third Grand Master would find the flaws in their chosen forms. It seemed inevitable that they would lose, yet, Tra'an Reith snarled and a focused burst of telekinetic energy smashed a lightsaber, reducing the number coming at him by one. And yet they were learning.

Timeros vaulted through the air, landing on his feet as he rushed Havok, engendering a smile from the old man. Right as Timeros thought that he would have, and brought his blade sweeping in to strike, a hammer blow in his knees sent him sliding into the point of one of the training sabers.

"Better, but not good enough. Again!" and with the clap of his Hands, they reset.

Son of a Bantha, Atra thought as he glanced across the main hall. A copper taste filled his mouth... blood. His blood. The Combat Master turned his head and spat a crimson ribbon to the side before wiping his lip.

Across the shattered hall, Darth Necren was already rebounding from their initial clash. "You live," she observed with a voice that matched her harsh exterior. "That will soon be rectified."

"Fun fact, I'm not with these guys," the Seer called out. He rose to his full height before twisting his neck, sending an audible crack echoing through the ruins of the Dark Hall. If there was anything he had learned during the Council Assassin's initial attack, it was that she was fast and skilled. Couldn't exactly throw a punch like he could, but enough of them in the right spots still took down even the largest of targets.

Atra Ventus just happened to be a large one... and Necren was still on the move. The Seer wondered if she ever bothered to stand still.

"You stand with them," Necren stated flatly.

The Combat Master's pale fingers wrapped around the hilt of his saber, turning his knuckles white as they tightened. "Sure looks that way don't it?" he asked rhetorically.

Clearly finished with the admittedly brief conversation, the Assassin rushed forward as a blur of motion. Atra had to actively tap into the Force to accelerate his own movements just to keep up. His silvery, surging blade hissed to life in time to intercept the humming crimson edge of Necren's long-handle lightsaber. "Huh, compensating?" Atra couldn't keep the remark on the inside, prompting not so much as a response from the Darth. She merely countered with a kick aimed at buckling his knee and a cart wheel to the side as he stepped back.

Atra followed her movements with a horizontal slash, aimed at catching Necren as she landed. Instead, a surge of lightning forced him to stand in place, grounding the shock with his saber. The Darth landed with nary a sound and quickly spun backwards. Her hand flung out mid-step, lashing onto a nearby segment of a toppled pillar with the Force. The telekinetic grasp fired the heavy stone at the Combat Master. Emphasis on 'heavy'.

He recognized the pending threat and pushed out with both hands, sending his own concussive strike through the ethereal landscape of the Force. The debris faltered, trapped between their opposing wills, and veered away just in time, leaving Atra safe — aside from an ashen coating from the dirt trailing the projectile.

"You know... Starting to think convincing you of my loyalties is secondary to killing you," he growled.

Alarm tolls through the Citadel, Once, twice, thrice. They each hold dear to their Opinion, fear, anger.

Others cry Treason, violence, a treaty broken. Only one sits with level head, Seeing yet not, tall and firm. The Mountain of Selen.

Dark, swirling faces loom from the depths of space. Our Allies consorting with such vile things, A plague as their name base, En-slavers of beings.

With millions of innocent souls erased without thought, The Grand Master stands at high a greater villain. Yet, morals question whether we ought To cure the sickness with penicillin.

the death was swift and fast futures have laid waste to the past

both clans are seeking the truth of familia why the death by Wuntila

Telona was a master, a mistress of the dark the death of her echos, the bit of the shark

together they have to rise above all together, the dark lord will fall

Both the clans, separated by years come together to end their fears

standing in unison avoiding extinction by a dark lord's discretion

Both looking to end the conflict their passions is their convict

now comes the calling to Arcona to destroy the iron throne persona

"Why are we shooting...this thing?"

"Moving targets are better. Also i understand he did something questionable to gain the ire of his Consul."

"What, Rainbows and Sunshine get's mad at people?"

"Hey, I don't question it, I just fire the blaster cannon. Little twerp is quick, though, only managed to singe him so far."

"...these things are on training settings, right?"

"Sure."

It was a quiet day, when Tarentum was dragged to war. A single death had awakened a sleeping horror that dare not be woke, and inside it churned a fire fanned by the anger and lust for vengeance held by the men and women who were the heart and soul of the beast.
But those same men and women refused to let this anger blind them. Were they to allow themselves to lose sight of the truth, of how vastly unprepared they were, they would surely rush head first into the fray and promptly be decimated by the will of a stronger monster. But that was a fate worse than failure. The Tarenti and Tarentae would rage against the dying of their light, fight tooth and nail till they reached the conclusion to the precipice that was their struggle, and they will have done so knowing full well that any spare moment of theirs before the coming days had been spent in preparation. Samael Ozriel was no different.
When he gazed upon the creature known as Darth Necren, he knew that his death stared back. His arms were sore, chest burning from exertion, and mind ached from the furnace of rage that billowed off of his enemy, but he would not go down easily. Necren was no fool, having heard of the Umbaran and his tricks. She knew of his penchant for hiding, and mockingly gave him ample opportunity to do so. It would only entice her rage further. Samael, however, had made it the remainder of his life’s mission to annoy the Iktochi as much as he possibly could.

“Nice shot...if you want the target to die right away.” said Samael, staring at the target that Ranarr had masterfully riddled with shots.
“Generally a soldier does not play with his enemy. He kills, or is killed.” said Ranarr, checking his weapons and placing them down in front of him.
“That’s all well and good, but there’s just one thing I gotta know…” said the Umbaran, “Can you always shoot that good? Even when under pressure?” “Of course.” he said proudly. “Really?” said Samael, a grin kissing his face as he focused on the Cathar.
“Wh-what are you doing Samael?” asked Ranarr, but it was too late.
The Cathar looked at the Umbaran, seeing on his features a swarm of insects and vermin. They snaked from his nose to his mouth, his tongue infested with thousands upon thousands of maggots. Ranarr shook his head and tried to focus, the Dark Jedi filling his head with insidious laughter as he watched. “Shoot the targets, or they’ll shoot you.” he said. As soon as the words hit Ranarr’s ears, the targets seemed to come to life as they pried themselves off of their bases and began to approach the Cathar. “Sometimes, I hate you.” said Ranarr, his hands trembling as he began to fire. “Me too, sometimes.” said Samael as he laughed at the hilarity of the Cathar missing his shots. He only stopped when the Cathar placed the gun to his head, promptly causing the illusion and terror to end.

Work together because we feel obligated A peace treaty that is old and dated We took it for granted, said that we meant it 'We are your Allies, defend you against it'

Haven't been there lately, not in the picture With the Purge an' the Treason in the mixture There's stories to tell, we been through it all Still your ally, you need only call

You lose some and win some But the outcome is income First Clan wants it all and then some But this tragedy dims their lights some

I'm not losing my mind 'bout what ain't mine I just keep hearin' about reprisal through the grapevine This hate is just jealousy and love at the same time But this drama aint as good as this rhyme

When light meets darkness, one snuffs out the other When darkness meets darkness, both grow together Plagueis and Tarentum, they walk the same path Joined as one in response to another's wrath While the first purpose that bound them has since come and gone A common foe keeps them driving on.

When the throne goes awry, they will be tested But when darkness meets darkness, they're not easily bested Armies may come, soldiers will die. But these bonds will hold, whatever they try They will come out on top, no matter what force is sent Against Tarentum and the Clan Ascendant.

I marched through the darkness with only my fear to guide me. I was lost, afraid, and naked without my ambition to power my actions. I had been born into an eternal struggle as a member of the Dark Jedi Brotherhood, but with it gone I was nothing. This was my only chance.

My hands gripped the cold metal of the stairwell as I hauled myself upward further and further. It seemed like an eternity as I stomped a slow death march towards the Dark Lord of the Sith. I knew him to be a powerful and evil man, but I also knew he had done fantastic things with that power. Terrible, yes, but fantastic. I also knew that only the Emperor could give me the aide I so desperately needed.

A sound stopped me in my tracks. A heavy labored breathing from my right. Instinctively, I reached for my weapon and activated it. My green blade was met with a powerful blow from a red blade. I watched in horror as my weapon was pushed back into me, the edge biting into my shoulder. A terrible visage of power adorned in blacks of all kinds stood before me. I instantly recognized him for who he was from the history books I had read - Darth Vader. I tried to plea my case, but he would hear nothing of it. On and on and on, he came with a combination of powerful blows and wild techniques in the force. As his blood red blade plunged into my heart I could only regret what would not pass. I could not tell my story, share my knowledge and usher in a new era of darkness to a galaxy so desperate for order.

Careful where you stand I'm a death dealer by trade Telona murdered by my hand I won't let Arcona's glory fade

I went against the trend Thought I knew better, a Krath High Priestess Trusted an old friend Now I won't be there for this fight, to lead us

One clan under control of a Dread Lord, The Iron Throne, trying to Ascend it The other with the power over life and death, working to become transcendent

With their powers combined (Yelling 'wonder twins powers activate!') They give their heart, soul and mind (To stop Darth Pravus reign of hate)

"I am Shawnathan-"

"I know who you are," replied the Sith Equite, Shawnathan's appointed tutor in the Alliance. "Your reputation precedes you. Most in the Alliance have heard of you and your prowess with weapons."

Shawnathan bowed low, a bit embarrassed.

"That skill will be of little use to you here," the Sith went on. "I am to tutor you in the mystical, the Dark Side of the Force, we call it. This is a test of your mind and your heart; meager weapons will play no part. The Force is the true power of our people!"

Shawnathan accepted the berating without reply. He knew that the traits of this seasoned Sith was boasting of were also necessary qualities of a true fighter. Physical attributes played only a minor role in Shawn's style of battle. Strong will and calculated maneuvers, everything the Sith apparently believed only he could handle, won the duels that Shawnathan fought.

"I will show you many marvels in the next few weeks," he went on, "techniques beyond your belief and ways to manipulate the Force to a power beyond your experience!"

"Perhaps I should start with your name?" Shawnathan asked, trying to sound somewhat humbled to be in the man's presence.

Ranarr stood on the stairs of the Dark Hall, a grin and a pair of bright orange eyes were all he could see underneath the cloak of the woman approaching him. His boots were dirty, his coat was ripped, his left knee was even bruised from tripping over some rubble. The Cathar had tried to keep this individual at a distance while making his way through the ruins on the, once glorious, surface of Antei. There was nowhere left to run now, it was time to face the one who was hunting him.

Lost in his opponent’s eyes, Ranarr heard her soft but threatening voice echo through his head: “You’re plotting against the Grand Master himself, therefor your life must be brought to an end!” The dark figure revealed herself as she threw of her cloak gracefully. “It is time for Pravus’ reign to come to an end!” roared Ranarr, without revealing his true emotions. Her eyes, her horns and teeth, accompanied by the Sith runic tattoos all over her well-toned body, surely left an impression on the Major.

With one hand on his neuronic whip and the other on one of his pistols, Ranarr found the courage to take a step forward. “There have been more attempts on Pravus’ life, and as long as he is in power there will be more. If I’m not one of those, able to bring him down, others will rise to face him.” Ranarr inhaled deeply. “Do what you’re tasked with to do, I’m not afraid to die. But know one thing, I’m not going down without a fight!”

“Hades”

The friendship of many Is as fragile as the body of one.

The hatred of one Is stronger than Oblivion’s inexorable song.