Fiction Gallery

"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.

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?