Fiction Gallery

Walk ‘neath the halls of darkness, where allies Cavort to bring down a tyrant leader. Together they hope to find, the answer, Before chaos once again destroys them: One who remembers the old emperor, Who, hid from sight, brought Jedi to heel; A second, masters over life and death, Will follow their king to oblivion. The tertiary clan, per Kessel rules. The shadows breathe, steps forth those who serve dark, Another sworn oath turned aside to aid.

Strategy is their only solace here, Against a monster, a beast in armor. Strike when the shadows fall, extinguish light, That the tyrant exudes in his own mind. Hold fast as legions in iron approach, The slaughter of all who resist their call. A lure tossed into the sea of stars, A tempting treat to one so arrogant. The trap is placed, the wire strung, patience, And the stroke of victory is complete. Sic simper tyrannis, his slaves arise.

Wretched sins and diabloical dreams Two clans of darkness, of death and life Signed in blood, allied it seems To fill the Brotherhood with strife.

Skies will burn and the dead will rise Children will weep and families wither Di Plagia and Tarenti will have their prize, But is the alliance a mere whisper?

An Alliance that had gone neglected, Between Allies that were once connected. That younglings only knew as lore, Has been shattered to its very core.

By Wun's hand, in one decisive blow, Two juggernauts threatened to row. A war avoided by the shallowest breath Over the loss of Tarentae's Angel of Death.

Bound in purpose by the Dark Lord, They've pledged to battle the Iron Horde, Across the stars until the final bell tolls And Darth Pravus' head rolls

A pledge of honor behold the two; Those whom serve the Sith King And the Ascendant Fleet, too. To which all their hopes cling.

Abadeer dived behind a fallen pillar as a stream of lighting cut through the air above him. This Iktotchi was far too much for him. She’d been flipping and dancing all around him, and he couldn’t keep up. The Togruta poked his head over the top of the pillar, before immediately ducking back down as another bolt of Force powered lighting shot for his face. Abadeer didn’t recognize the woman at all, but in the face of a battle such as this, he expected to be hunted. He was a commander within Plagueis’ forces after all, and assassination attempts were to be expected. If the commanders of the combined forces fell, then the assault against the Grand Master would fail. Taasii took a deep breath steeling himself for the fight to come. He rose tall from behind the pillar activating his twin sabers. Makashi had proven ineffective against the aerial assaults of the woman, but perhaps Jarkai could give the edge he needed. Another bolt of lighting shot towards the Togruta’s body, which he used both sabers to absorb. Abadeer didn’t waste a moment before racing towards his opponent. One saber was kept at his front to defend any more incoming blows, the other held low and back getting ready to strike. The Iktotchi woman stood firm, her saber held low with one hand. Taasii focused on the Force, pulling the mystical power into his body, reinforcing his own strength. The Togruta leapt forward, and at the last second added a spin, both blades turning in a violet blur. The attack wasn’t nearly enough though, as the assassin stepped in, extended her blade and easily stopped the attack. She then crouched down, and flipped over Abadeer’s considerable height, then lashed out backwards as she landed. Taasii sensed the attack only moments before it landed, barely allowing time to for a block. Taasii jumped forward trying to gain some distance between himself and the assassin. Taasii knew he was in trouble though, as he sensed the woman easily keeping up with his movements. He spun around to face his pursuer, but when he turned she wasn’t there. The tiniest shimmer to his left was the only warning he got before the Iktotchi rematerialized swinging right for his head. Abadeer again brought his blades to block the strike, but then the woman ripped around him attempting to land a series of continuous strikes. Abadeer was not slow but he was having a hard time even staying faced towards the woman who was overwhelming him. What was he supposed to do?

Word count: 428

Abadeer stood on a hill overlooking the proud House of Karness Muur. Standing with him was Karness Muur’s Quaestor, Arden Karn di Plagia, as well as the House leaders of House Mortis, Scion Tarentae and Geosh Romanae. The two houses were engaging in mock battle scenarios, preparing to assault the forces of the Dread Lord. “We are not prepared,” Arden remarked, “You two young ones have not seen the power that the Grand Master wields, he would decimate us as we are right now.” Scion nodded at Arden’s summary. “We would need the utmost unity to be able to take down Pravus. He is not one to be trifled with.” Scion replied. Abadeer’s fist shook with rage at the thought of someone who could wield such power. “Then let us give our House’s here something to be unified about.” Abadeer stated. He drew out his new twin sabers, letting them ignite before running down the hill to engage the two houses. “He’s a brash one.” Scion commented over to Arden, who slowly nodded while watching the Houses reform into one unit. “That he is, but he does have a point.” Arden replied before leaping down the hill himself to join in the battle. “Oh what the hell. Let’s go Geosh.” Scion said to his quiet companion, before joining in the melee himself.

When Death and and Dread stand together And Shadow races over the land Is there a chance for He Who Rules To begin to withstand the tide

There is nothing but darkness For as far as the eye can see Only one will stand, the rest shall fall The unstoppable force, or He Who Stands Above All

We thought the dark days were past But truly they’ve only barely begun When friend strikes down friend The death of Telona will hurt us all

Wuntila betrayed the departed And now there is no stability Will Tarentum destroy the Arcona Or can the three come together again

“Message to all Tarenti/Tarentae: Gear up and head to the Dajorra System ASAP, exact coordinates will follow.” Consul Frosty Romanae alerted all of Tarentum.

While heading out, the transport received several coordinates through the comlink. Where were they heading? As many thoughts went through Ranarr’s mind, he started feeling lighter in his head. Only minutes later he passed out.

“Hrrnnn…rrmm...” As Ranarr regained consciousness he found himself on a small island, he wasn’t alone. The Cathar was sharing the limited space on the island with a Plagueian and Arconan, both recovering from a black out as well. The Arconan looked around: “Selen…” “So, that’s where we are?”… The Arconan nodded.

Almost simultaneously the voices of Augur Atyiru Caesura Entar, Warlord Teylas Ramar di Plagia and Warlord Frosty Romanae Tarentae interrupted the silence, bringing one and the same message to their members: “We brought you to this group of islands on Selen…” the Arconan was right. “…and teamed you up with our allies. We need to prepare for the big thing ahead and we want you to share your knowledge and skills with each other.”

Ranarr looked around and noticed more islands in a distance around them. “Each our own little training spot huh?” The three members looked at each other with suspicion, but agreed on the fact that they all had their strengths and weaknesses.

“Let’s do this!”

The Onderonian sighed to himself, glancing around the ruined halls as he adjusted the cloth mask over his nose and mouth to give his lungs some protection against the swirling ash and smoke. Somehow, the remains of this once great structure still burned as though the sacking of Antei were just yesterday. Acrid smoke drifted along the ceiling, escaping to the remnants of the upper levels through cracks and outright gaping holes in the stonework. Just from a glance, Celevon could tell that the ceiling was the furthest from being structurally sound - if anything, it could fall around his ears at any moment.

Normally, the Assassin would be the furthest he could away from the dangers of the crumbling and burning ruin. This, however, was not a normal situation. The former Quaestor of House Qel-Droma had been tasked with the mission of investigating rumors of someone close to Darth Pravus being spotted coming and going from Antei.

Celevon stepped around the remains of a footlocker half buried in ash and stopped in his tracks, listening closely. Just above the hissing and spitting of the smouldering wreckage, the Arconan could discern the faint echo of booted feet falling in a purposeful stride, occasionally muffled completely - his best guess would be the ash.

The Onderonian quietly drew one of his slugthrower revolvers, barrel aimed in the direction the footsteps were coming from. No one lived on this planet anymore, not since the former Grand Master had destroyed the surface. Antei was barren, barely capable of sustaining microscopic lifeforms. Therefore, it could only be his target.

The Assassin steadied his breathing as the booted steps grew ever closer, the trigger half-squeezed in preparation.

When the cloaked figure turned the corner, Celevon fired. The target seemed to blur as she dodged, only for an ominous rumble to respond to the sharp retort of the slugthrower going off. Within seconds, part of the hallway collapsed, spreading a cloud of ash toward him.

Momentarily blinded, the Onderonian listened carefully for any indication that his opponent was still alive. A snap-hiss and a blur of crimson, barely visible in the clouded corridor revealed that she was, indeed, alive.

And ready for him. Celevon returned the slugthrower to the holster on his thigh, pulling the green-hued Sith Dagger from his waist. His eyes stung, watering from the airborne ash cloud as he struggled to keep his eyes open.

Countless members of the three Clans - Arcona, Plagueis and Tarentum - trained together, Force Users and their Mundane counterparts alike, preparing themselves for the inevitable assault on Darth Pravus. In one area, separate from the rest, Elders of the three Clans coached others on honing their Force Powers and improving skills with lightsaber combat. In a range on the far side, both Force Users and Mundanes worked to increase their precision with ranged weaponry of all types - blasters, slugthrowers, pistols, carbines, rifles - a few even held bows, both the primitive and energy variants.

By far, however, the largest of the groups were those sparring with bladed weapons, bare hands and feet. Close-Quarters Combat was an essential skill to fall back on when the range your enemies were within touching distance. All manner of Hand-To-Hand Combat were practiced throughout this group, detailing the most effective means of disarming, adapting to the particular situation and overcoming obstacles, as well as methods of silently eliminating the opposition.

The three Consuls watched proudly as their subjects threw everything they had into preparing for the rising storm, occasionally lending a hand where necessary.

Every single one of them would need everything at their disposal to survive what was to come.

With a life taken, More is taken away. Every move of a chess piece Brings us to less ease.

But still it lives, And Darkness it gives, The alliance of them and us.

In Darkness we found our ally  In absence we see we're not alone  For they are here with us  Feel joint hate burning your soul 

We despise them more than you could know  And their rage ignites us from within But there's no escaping our bitter destiny Bound in abhorrence, them and us

Darkness and Death they pair, like a cigar and fine wine.

From the shadows they both do come, to take life and leave nothing.

The Dragon of Selen is, a snake by another name.

Larger and deadlier, it still bites the hand that feeds it.

Oh hey this guy is killing everyone Should we do something about this Eh why bother he's not after us eh Let it go he'll get bored eventually

Oh crap did he just come after us Great now we're all gonna fricken die Hey look he's after those guys too Guess we better team up to survive

He had not spent long in the Brotherhood, all things considered. Still he had to admit he was impressed with how quickly those loyal to the Iron Throne had been to contact him. He knew the Sadowan Overlord and his cronies would be vigilant, but it wasn't going to be enough. Word had already slipped of Jac Cotelin's strike against his old home. Though the Consul and his Jedi dog tried to supress them, rumors were already running rampant that the Orian system would be the Grand Master’s next target.

Night had fallen in the streets of Kel Rasha and even the Sadowan overlords were sleeping at this hour. Reaching into the bag he clutched in his right hand, the man withdrew a small disc. Placing it on the ground, he stepped back. As the device powered up, the miniature form of a human cloaked in the robes of the Grand Master’s Inquisitorius gazed at him.

“Were you followed?” The figure tilted its head up slightly in a show of arrogance, managing to reveal only a clean-shaven lower face. “We already know that many in the Orian System still rebel against Pravus’ rule.”

“Don’t worry, they don’t suspect a thing. The Summit of Naga Sadow is as blind as they are stupid. Despite their rebellion, they would rather to retreat and hide behind so-called higher ideals. There are no fighters among them, only cowards behind facades. The Consul would as soon as hide his head in the sand as let the Jedi sacrifice the people of the Orian system. The real losers in this are going to be the Novitates and the Journeyman who blindly follow them."

"What does that make you, Adran?" The barest hint of humor was heard in figure's voice as it leaned forward.

"I am just a practical man." The Loyalist shook his head. “I would rather to spare those we can. If turning over a rogue Jedi and a spineless coward would grant the people of Orian some reprieve, I would gladly turn them over myself.” A cool wind blew threw the street, chilling the human slightly as he spoke the words.

The sound of a throat clearing drew Adran’s attention away from the holoprojector. His eyes grew large as they focused on the tall form of a cloaked figure.

“Is that right?” The Dark Jedi pulled the hood of the cloak back to reveal sharp figures. His eyes were narrowed at the Loyalist. “You would rather to sacrifice a man than to offer up yourself as tribute? I suppose the lives of others are cheaply sold.”

Adran felt as though he were rooted to the ground. Steely-blue eyes bored into him, causing his legs to tremble. “Aedile….O’Maille…..Master…..Sir…..” each of the words fell from his lips with little conviction behind them.

Zachary pointed toward the barracks on the horizon. “Get out of here now, coward and traitor. I will deal with you in the morning.” The holographic projector clicked as the image of the Inquisitor paced back and forth. “I will show you how my people deal with such dereliction of duty. Are you not also a protector of Orian, worm!?”

Lost for words, Adran stiffened to attention, giving a salute. “Sir.” Turning on one foot, the soldier began to jog away.

O’Maille turned to the projector, prodding at the device with his feet. “What would Locke Sonjie think if he knew your people brought something like this here?” The figure did not respond beyond a grimace. “What panic would it raise if he knew doubt had been sewn in our ranks and that our own were turning against him?” The figure reached off to the left, a scowl barely visible.

“Just one moment.” The Sorcerer’s voice dropped. “The man is right about one thing. If sacrificing a coward can spare many more lives it is a worthwhile bargain. Things are sour in this so-called Clan. Perhaps my destiny is calling me away from certain destruction. After all,” he spoke slowly, “wouldn’t it be helpful if you could get information almost directly from the source? I am an Aedile, the protection of my House is paramount. If we can minimize casualties, what is a little betrayal?”

The figure was no smiling cruelly. The contention between the Consul and Proconsul didn’t matter as much to the Corellian now. He had people to protect, and he would not have his path stopped thanks to the foolishness of the Summit. You had to protect family, right?

Seng Karash Aeotheoran Orian System

Rain fell, scattering the crowds. The public had been listening to one of the Mayoral candidates speak. Not all of them had managed to gain access to the building it was held in, so they watched it via a holoscreen that cast a shadow over the town square.

The Traveler stood on the stage, the robed figure had been discussing the situation that the city found itself in. There had been many incidents during the election campaign. Too many to discount as mere coincidences. It had begun with rumours and whispers about the past of both candidates. There had been claims that one had committed criminal acts. Another rumour had been that they were defrauding the local tax authorities. Sanguinius didn’t believe them to be true however, they were most likely products of the rumour mill.

The Augur had taken great interest in the result of the election. He was determined to ensure that there was a free election. Sanguinius believed it was in the best interest of the public that they knew that the Warhost and Naga Sadow were not dictators. They were there as protectors of democracy and peace.

Sanguinius was standing in a doorway, using the porch as cover from the rain as he continued to watch the debate. The two mayoral candidates were continuing to argue over the finer points of their manifestos. The Proconsul had favoured the Traveler originally, as he believed that Maya Nikeisha was not the leader Seng Karash needed.

His mind wandered back to the rumours that had spread across the city as the election had progressed. They had turned serious when an intern on Nikeisha’s election team had disappeared, only to turn up dead two days later. Sanguinius had used his position to gain information from the local authorities. The peacekeeper’s investigation was still ongoing, but the preliminary report believed the cause of death was homicide.

The Entar pursed his lips as he watched the debate moderator pause the ongoing discussion to take another question from the audience. Passers by hurried past the Jedi, protecting themselves from the rain with umbrellas. The death of the intern had only been the beginning of something much worse.

Upon learning of the murder of the intern, Sanguinius had informed his fellow Sadowan supporters of the Traveler. Rumours and accusations had flown, blaming the Traveler for the death of the young man. The Sadowans knew better. They knew it was the work of the criminal element who were determined to keep their hold on Seng Karash. The Sadowans had investigated further. Jades and Darius had visited several seedy establishments, made a few contacts and spread a warning for the criminals to back off.

They hadn’t listened...

No, it had escalated. Financial information had been leaked that made it seem like Maya really was committing tax fraud. The paperwork claimed that she hadn’t paid taxes for over eight years. Despite the upheaval that the Orian System had gone through, the authorities had demanded that the populace continue to pay taxes to help rebuild the cities and provide services to the public. The paperwork was damning, but the Sadowans supporting Maya had found out the records had been falsified. It had been a close rung thing though, Maya almost had to withdraw from the race.

She had bounced back from the forgeries, but it showed that the criminals were getting smarter. Smarter and more courageous. Next they had targeted rallies and disrupted them. They had threatened supporters, warned them away from the polls. They had even bombed the Traveler’s campaign office. Luckily no one was there at the time, otherwise there would have been several deaths.

The rain slowly ceased, which led to more people stopping to watch the televised debate. It was good that so many members of the public had engaged with the election process, but the continued existence of these criminals was a blot on the well being of the city. Sanguinius’ com-link beeped, drawing his attention. His left hand rose to his left eye to press the receive button. “Yes?”

“We have him in our sights.” Aul informed the Augur.

“Are Aexod and Jades in position?” Sanguinius enquired.

“As instructed.” Aul replied.

“Excellent, I’m on my way,” Sanguinius moved out of the doorway and began to move out of the square, “Take him down if you get the chance.” the Augur instructed.

“Understood.” Aul ended the transmission.

The group had gained information on the identity of the bomb maker via a combination of bribery, informants and peacekeeper cooperation. With luck, the capture of the insurgent would lead them to the leaders of the criminal underworld. Sanguinius was determined to ensure a free election would occur. Regardless of the outcome, democracy would reign supreme over fear and violence.

CLUNK

The shuttle lurched as it rose from the spaceport and headed out over the city.

“Hey, I don’t want to lose my lunch over here!” Aexod called over the pilot of the shuttle, his face a mixture of frustration and mischief. The Commander turned his head to Aul sitting next to him and winked, a grin spread across his face.

“Yessir! I think our refuel line was caught in the landing gear. All’s good now. Will be at our landing spot in a few minutes,” came the reply from the cockpit.

“Bunch of amateurs,” Aexod mumbled to himself. The rest of the crew giggled.

“Promotion getting to your head?” Jade asked Aexod, laughing as she poked fun at Burgoo.

“Who doesn’t like to flex their powers a bit, right?” Aexod replied, as he sat back in his seat and took a bit from an energy stick. He chomped loudly in an apparent attempt to annoy everyone around him.

“Why didn’t you just fly us, then?” Aul inquired of the Clawdite.

“Long night at The Boom. Too many girls on my mind,” Aexod replied, nudging Aul in the ribs with his elbow. The smell of Corellian Rum heavy on his breath.

“Ah, a little celebratory escapade, say no more,” Aul laughed.

“So, tell me straight, Celsus, what do you think of Traveler?” Aexod asked Aul, his face betraying a subtle undertone of skepticism.

“What do you mean? It’s simple, I think he’s the best man for the job,” Aul replied confusedly.

“No, no, no, that’s not like you at all. I’ve been around you enough to know that you don’t just throw your support behind something as big as a political race; I’d expect you to consider it a waste of time. Some nonsense about your research being more important. So, why is this different?” Aexod shot back, his question a little more aggressive than before.

Aul was taken aback. He hadn’t expected Aexod to be so pushy on the topic. Maybe it was a mixture of fervent political pride and alcoholic inhibition, but he decided to give in to the question. There was no room for causing a rift in the team with the mission ahead of them; they had to identify the source of unrest before the population fell into complete disarray. Though Aul was primarily along as a medical support so the team didn’t have to reveal their location by traveling any great distance to another facility and not a combat or intelligence role, he felt the need to keep the team tightknit.

“Ok… here’s the thing. I’m tired of the establishment. I’m tired of career politicians who at the drop of the hat will lie to your face in order to push forward their agenda. Maya is fine; she’s nice and she’s been working for Kel Rasha for quite some time. But I just don’t trust her. Her family is too influential. It’s because of people like her that we have to handle these criminals in the first place. Why wasn’t it under control?

“The Traveler is different. He stands not on his image, because he has no image to stand on. Only his message matters, and his message rings true to me. For example, his support for veterans means a lot to me, because those willing to lose their lives for the safety and betterment of others is a greater message to the people than promising a better economy, or stronger infrastructure. If the people aren’t behind you, then none of those promises matter. Traveler puts his support behind the people, not behind the political machine. Done and done. What more is there?” Aul finished with a sigh.

Aexod looked at Aul quizzically, his head cocked to the side.

“That… doesn’t sound like you at all,” Aexod blurted out. “Where is the talk about statistics? Where is the talk about numbers; and over-analysis of all the ways one would help and the other would fail? Where is Aul?”

The Mystic laughed. Aexod was right; even he didn’t sound like himself to his own ears. Something was different now, and he couldn’t quite place a finger on it. Why didn’t he care more about the critical analysis of options? Why was it that Traveler motivated him to action when historically Aul would have been as complacent as an off-worlder?

“You’re right. And, honestly, I don’t know. All I know is that Traveler is the only one in the race that doesn’t give me the glob-damned heeby-jeebies. If Maya wins the office, I fear for the future of Kel Rasha. Why? I have no idea. This isn’t what I would normally say, I know, but right now I’m trusting my gut. It’s done me well recently, and I guess I’m learning to trust myself. With all that’s happened recently, how could I not?” Aul explained.

“Aul, you’re full of surprises, you know that?” Aexod chuckled.

“Even to myself,” Aul smiled back.

“Engaging landing gear. We’re here,” came a call from the cockpit.

The smell of copper burned within Kul’s nostrils. Its pungent stench stung all the more as he realized what the source was. It hadn't taken long, the splattered walls and still bodies were testimony enough. His eyes blazed with fury as the rest of him fought to understand that his whole world had just ended. No amount of training or illusions of peace could prepare him for the emotions that boiled within.

His family lay before him, their bodies lacerated by the humming blade in the Jedi’s hands. Kul remembered having seen the man talking with his father. An attempt to recruit him to what was left of their order. Of course his father had refused, explaining that his place was with his family, and his ability to wield his power (the “Force” the Jedi had called it) was merely an extra tool with which to provide for them. Had the Jedi not liked that answer? From what Kul had heard in stories, the Jedi were supposed to be protectors of the peace, not murderers.

Kul then noticed that the Jedi was wounded as well. As the man turned with his left hand holding his side, Kul saw the look in his eyes. It was a look he had seen many a time in the eyes of his prey while hunting: the look of defeat. Knowing one’s time was up. The Jedi quickly changed expressions, a crazed glint in his eyes as they stared past the young Zabrak.

“I will not allow the Sith to take him! With my death, I ensure your defeat!”

Kul had no idea what the man was talking about, but he knew what his feelings told him. Vengeance.

Having returned just recently from his Selenoren, Kul still had his trusted zhaboka in hand, blade freshly washed and sharpened after his battle royale with the other clan’s sons. The ones who had been foolish enough to keep challenging him, in any case. The trap had come as a surprise, another attempt by the Drols’ enemies to put them down. Instead, more than a few clans would be in mourning. All thanks to the training Kul’s father had provided him. The image of his father’s face grinning with pride brought him back to the present. His vision narrowed and everything became tinted in red as if a veil had been pulled over him.

The Zabrak gripped the polearm deftly, and roared. His body moved of its own accord, and he suddenly felt lighter and stronger than before. His legs propelled him forward and his arms thrust the weapon stiffly ahead. The Jedi had no fight left, and was sent smashing into the wall when the blade struck home. The force of the blow left the long handle of the weapon impaled into the wall, the Jedi hanging lifeless.

Kul stepped back as the rush of power began to overflow his emotions. His senses were alert and prickling. They warned him of another presence to his rear. He turned sharply on his heels and saw that he was not alone. A man, his face and body augmented with technology, stood in the corner, draped from head to toe in black armor with a cloak dusting the dirt floor. Two humanoid eyes took in the carnage appreciatively as his metallic jaw clicked to one side. Kul realized it was his form of a grin. As the being spoke his original voice was masked by a synthesizer and seemed to echo throughout the building.

“Defeat? You failed to calculate one detail, Jedi. The Force can be found in others, but a master lies dead. Your order grows smaller, while mine grows.”

The eyes locked onto Kul and their pupils seemed to swivel and shrink like the scope on a rifle. The Zabrak, still under the influence of his rage, yanked his zhaboka from the wall and spun it with blade pointed at the android. He completely ignored the Jedi’s corpse as it fell with a thud and sneered. He knew he should be terrified, yet his lust for blood had risen exponentially within the last few moments. His only thought was the desire to see these invaders pay for his family’s murder.

The android saw the look of hunger in the Zabrak’s eyes and his remaining cheek muscles tensed as his mechanoid body tried to laugh. The being swept aside his cloak with one arm, revealing a metal cylinder at his side. Delicately coaxing it into his hand, he spun it once for show before it burst into light. A long beam of crimson faced Kul’s blade of weak durasteel.

“I sense your anger, boy. Perhaps we can make something of you in your father’s place.”

We? Kul frowned and could not resist the curiosity that statement brought. He fought the urge to pounce.

“Who is that? More Jedi? I will kill you all!”

The Zabrak’s threat was not lost on the android, but at the same time not considered a potential possibility. The young warrior’s ignorance of outside matters amused him greatly.

“Jedi? No. I am Sith, a group who recognizes the Dark Side of the Force as our guide. It’s power releases us from the shackles of the weak and makes us free. As you can now feel. That strength flowing through you know is you innate power coming forth. The Dark Side calls to you. My clan can help you grow and achieve great things, boy. Now. Come with me.”

Something in the back of Kul’s mind struggled, like water attempting to burst from a dam. It wanted out and he felt the power he had noticed before. It felt...good. His eyes gazed over the Sith’s body. But at what cost? The android smelled of corruption worse than when his father’s crops had soured two harvests ago. His peripheral reminded him of the bodies around him, and made him wonder just where he’d go if he stayed. He was reminded of his father’s words, spoken in a time when there was nothing but the world available to Kul as he approached his Selenoren.

’Power is a nice thing to have, but it doesn’t bring you peace. Remember that, little Kul.’

His decision made, the Zabrak grasped his polearm tightly and began to circle his opponent. The Sith stared calmly, well aware of his advantage in pure strength. As Kul’tak found his opening he dived towards the Sith, driving the polearm towards where he thought the android’s heart might be. The Sith merely stepped to one side and flicked his saber upward. As Kul’s momentum drove him forward, he tried to stop and turn using a defensive technique of K’thri, but was caught as he watched the front half of his zhaboka fly the opposite direction. His weapon had been severed cleanly, and with no resistance.

The last image of his home was of the Sith driving a fist down upon him.

A haze remained as Kul came into a weak state of consciousness. Everything was dark and foggy, but he felt the presence of multiple people around him. One stepped forward and sudden pain lit up his insides. A strange voice screamed at him, but it was partly muffled by what he could only guess were drugs in his system.

I’m going to die, he lamented. The pain began to wake his body to his surroundings, and he could make out the voice now.

“You serve Karness Muur now! Your life belongs to Plagueis! Say it! Whom do you serve!?”

His body was racked as another wave of pain passed through him. He saw a flash of bluish light and it reminded him of the stormy nights he’d spent in the woods with his father and younger brother foraging for supplies.

He heard screaming as the next wave hit. Is...is that...me? I...make it stop.

“Whom do you serve, slave!?” The voice was just background noise now as Kul’s view began to clear slightly. The pain was driving his hearts to work twice as hard, speeding his adrenal process and cleansing his blood of toxins. They could not stop the tendrils of energy that coursed through him, however. But this meant nothing as his eyes fell upon the android, a shadow in the corner with a metallic smirk. An image flashed through Kul’s mind as the lightning began to take its toll on him. Bodies lying in a bloody heap, and an emotion triggered at the sight. A flash of green and a word: Jedi. All Jedi must pay.

Whom do I serve? This Plagueis? Fine. If they let me serve my vengeance, I’ll bend a knee.

The android turned and left the room, speaking to a red-haired girl who stood waiting by the door. At his remark she gave the Zabrak an appraising glance, but only nodded in response.

I’ll kill him, too. Wipe that smirk away. But to do that, I need to live. That power I felt...it must be the answer. I will have more.

Another stream flowed through him and sparked across the table he was strapped to. The jagged tattooes across his body bulged as his body convulsed anew.

“Whom...do...you serve!?”

Kul managed to move his lips, causing the torturer to lean forward, their face shrouded in cloth. Kul felt the muscles in his body twist and flush with renewed strength as he drew from the power he’d sensed lingering in the back of his mind. It responded as his anger took hold, passing through his being and satiating his need for quick energy. His voice leaked out as a weak whisper.

“Pla...gueis.”

The torturer’s eyes squinted, a smile on their hidden lips. They turned to report their success in reforming the newest slave, but it was at that moment Kul struck. His empowered arms tore the straps from the table, and slammed together. The torturer’s neck snapped cleanly, and Kul ripped his feet free. The red-haired woman merely took this all in, accepting Kul’s freedom with a nod towards the floor. Unsure of these Sith’s traditions, but aware of their clan status, he hazarded a guess and knelt groggily on the floor. The woman strode forward, smaller than himself, yet possessing a presence his instincts immediately became wary of. She allowed a slight smile to cross her face as she laid a small hand on his horned head. His breaths were long and gasping, but he knew that his time was not ending. It was just beginning.

“Rise, my apprentice.”

He had returned to his barracks to get his datapad before he was able to go on his weekend pass. After he retrieved it, Armad turned and caught a glimpse of something barely sticking out from under his pillow. Armad looked around to see if anyone was watching or paying any attention in his direction. Carefully lifting up his pillow, Armad was able to see that it was just a piece of folded flimsiplast. Thinking that that was odd, as Umbarans as a whole, had moved on to all things technology. Armad looked around again to see if anyone was paying any attention to him, but he was the only one left in the barracks. Picking it up, Armad unfolded it and read what was on it.

“Phanius.”

Just one word, and it seemed familiar somehow. Curious about what this meant, Armad immediately left for his office at Shadow Security to do some research. Armad typed the name into his computer and a wealth of information scrolled up on his monitor. “A Jedi Master, huh?” Armad thought. Though there was not much written on this Umbaran Jedi Master, it did mention that he was intelligent and charismatic while in the Jedi Order. But he did abandon his oath and leave the Order, possibly causing the Fourth Great Schism, and subsequently starting the New Sith Wars.

Of the various Commanders that were listed on both sides of the war, only one caught Armad’s eye, Belia Darzu. But what had really made him zero in on her was that she had perfected the art of mechu-deru. Armad had always had a fascination with all thing technology, as most Umbarans were, so coming across something like this was a boon for him. It said that she had a hidden fortress on Tython, so he knew that that would be a place that he would need to visit, and soon.

But another planet had continuously popped up during his research, Ruusan. It was a planet had been ravaged from many battles that had taken place there during the war. There was something about saying Ruusan aloud that gave him a longing to venture there. Armad pulled up the navigational data on the two planets, and found that either would take him longer to get there than he had the time at the moment. Longer than what he had for the weekend, and his duty to finish his military stint kept him from leaving right then. He only had a couple of months left and then he would have the time he need to pursue this quest. Scrubbing the history from his computer, least someone came across it and used it to their advantage, Armad went about with his plans for the weekend.

Over the last couple of months of his military service, Armad kept having a feeling that something was pulling him back to the information that he’d found earlier. It wasn’t until he had about a month left that he realized that he had a slight problem. Most Umbarans weren’t permitted to leave the planet unless it was for official business, and even that was rare anymore. Thinking about it for a moment, Armad almost forgot that he was now the CEO of a rather prominent Security Firm. As such, it would give him a good reason and opportunity to leave the planet. Armad smiled as he started to make plans to first travel to Ruusan then to Tython.

“And that's how we came to have an Ewok Dark Jedi Master!”

The speaker was clearly intoxicated, his speech slurring and his incessant grin annoying the onlookers with its obliviousness. A varied collection of tumblers, glasses, flutes and mugs were arrayed before him, like a trophy case, for all the world to see. His comrades, equally inebriated, but infatuated with the man, grinned and chortled as the man had expected they would. Give him credit, at least he knows his audience.

“I wouldn't make fun of Arania, Thran. You have no idea what she's like now,” said a deep voice from a nearby booth. The drunk man, presumably Thran, leaned forward, his jovial nature descending into anger. He stood, leaning unsteadily, and glared at the occupant of the booth.

“Arch, is that you?” he said, staggering towards the speaker. In fact, the booth was occupied by three people, and Thran invaded their personal space with a cloud of alcohol fumes. Evant looked to Xen, who shook his head. Archangel, however, looked up at Thran, and smiled.

“I wouldn't joke about her, Thran. She can be mean,” the huge man said, a small tumbler of whiskey cradled in his oversized hands. Thran let out of a belch, before laughing himself silly, almost falling over in his excitement. His cronies, watching from afar, laughed and applauded the man's antics. Archangel's eyebrow rose slowly.

“I've seen her, Thran. She's a demon. I've seen her wade into a platoon of troops and come out the other side, bloodied and grinning. I've seen her rip into the face of a Jedi, giggling with glee. I've seen her attack an AT-ST walker by running up the leg and stabbing her lightsaber through the wind shield. Do not joke about her.”

“And what would she do about it?!” Thran slurred, a glass in his hand distributing his contents around the local area, “She's not around, and I can make up stuff about a silly teddy bear with a lightsaber as much as I want.”

“It's not too smart, Thran,” Archangel said, before taking a slow sip of his drink. Evant's grin disappeared, his eyes staring at something behind Thran.

“Especially,” Xen said, through his mask, “When she's standing behind you.”

The cold water of realization dawned on the drunk man, his face dropping from an off-kilter grin to a frown of horror. He was stuck, standing in the middle of a bar, but he couldn't, wouldn't turn around. A Dark Jedi Master was a terrifying creature to behold, but an Ewok one, who he had up until very recently been making fun of, was worse.

Something tapped the back of his knee, and he screeched, scrambling away and falling over a chair, and the man who'd been sitting in it. Evant, Archangel and Xen let an uproar of laughter blossom from them. Where Thran had been standing, Rayne was grinning, a tray of drinks in her hand for the table.

“Your toe?” Xen asked, raising his drink in a salute to the woman.

“Just a little kick,” she replied, her grin somehow becoming even more mischievous.

–

“And that's how we got Thran to wet himself in public!” Archangel said. The journeymen around him were staring at him in disbelief. One younger one raised her hand.

“Master, do we really have an Ewok Dark Jedi Master?” she said, not sure if it was a stupid question. Archangel smiled.

“Of course we do, Apprentice. She's right behind you.”

The apprentices laughed nervously.

“Nice try, Master Archangel.”

An angry clearing of a cute, cuddly throat echoed behind the assembled apprentices. As a group, they jumped, turned and bowed to the Ewok. Archangel threw a salute to the Dark Jedi Master. The ewok nodded.

“That story true, Arch?” she asked, waving the apprentices away.

“It is indeed,” the large man replied, before walking towards the command center.

“Alright, apprentices,” Arania started, “Time to learn how to hunt. Where is Adept Thran?”