Fiction Gallery

Silent Death from Above by Dante

Ptolomea Jormungand Quarry MAAT Dropship

Darkness was their friend as the troop laden dropship flew at near ground level at high speed over the grassy terrain on Ptolomea.

As far as most combat drops went, this one was tame as no laser blasts or heat seeking projectiles shot up from the sky to greet them as they approached their target, but the team knew that they would be engaged with enough trouble in just a few minutes.

Each trooper went about their normal combat gear check as they approached their landing zone. Calm and collected, each of the members of the 90th Legion had been picked by their Field Marshal and former Quaestor for this mission.

The green light popped on, the ship slowed, and quickly flared to a near stop as it hovered above the ground. The doors on either side opened, and the door gunners brought their weapons up at the ready.

“GO! GO! GO!” yelled the dropmaster as the dozen troopers dressed in dark gray armor and one lone figure dressed in all black dove from the aircraft just as it began picking up speed again.

The last man out rolled as he hit the ground and brought his rifle up to his face searching for targets. “This is Shadowstalker Lead… On ground and moving to target,” said Dante as the group formed a column and headed out for the cave that held their target.

Looking at the HUD inside his helmet, Dante could see that they had landed in the correct LZ, and their main target was just 2 klicks away. Darkness shrouded them as they made their way to the communications station. The internal feuds that had occurred over the years in Scholae Palatinae were occasionally bloody, but this one was hopefully going to be over quickly. There were too many external threats with the rise of the New Order and the recent destruction of the capitol of the New Republic.

The forward air controller unpacked his gear and aimed the targeting beam on the door of the cave.

Suddenly, a heavy rocket appeared as if conjured from the shadow world and slammed through the heavily guarded blast doors. Penetrating down into the mine shaft before exploding, the large warhead decimated both the guards and the various remaining members of Excidium.

Dante and his men could hear the screams of the wounded, but these stopped as the area was bombarded with turbolaser fire from orbit. What was remaining of the area of the quarry had been reduced to pretty much slag.

The comms NCO looked over at the Field Marshal and said” Sir, what are we doing?"

“Time to bug out. Call in the dropship for a quick pickup, and let’s get the hell out of here,” said Dante as the smoke continued to rise from the enemy forces.

The MAAT came roaring across the plains of Ptolomea. A swath of enemy forces had been cut to provide a very narrow track through which the MAAT could safely grab the assault team from the primary LZ.

Malice took a sip of her drink, mulling over the day's events. She enjoyed the alone time, using it as a means of escape from her everyday schedule. Most of the other drinkers knew well to not bother her. She'd been known to punch teeth out when she felt like it. She tensed slightly as she sensed two people coming near her, and silently wished them away in her head. Unfortunately, wishes were for children, and the two took the empty seats to her left side. She groaned inwardly as the two started laughing loudly together, and she saw the bartender glance her way, raising an eyebrow. She shrugged back, indicating that she had no idea who the fools were.

They were both female, at least a few years younger than she was. The armory lightsabers at their sides indicated that they were also someone's apprentices, and she pitied the force users who had to deal with them.

"I accidentally lit my home on fire. It was enough force energy that my master picked up on it and came to ask me if I wanted to train! Of course, I accepted, my parents were so annoying." One of them spoke up slightly, reaching for the drink she'd ordered. Her companion laughed slightly.

"Well, I accidentally killed three people before I knew I was force sensitive!" She said proudly. Malice tried to drown out their obnoxious voices, but her attempt was interrupted as one of them turned to her.

"What about you?" She asked, sounding very full of herself. "You look around our age. How did you find out you were force sensitive?" She was almost so annoying that it was amusing, as she seemed to challenge her to top killing three people.

Malice glared at them from out of the corner of her eye before sighing and finishing her drink off. She turned in her seat to face the two of them, clearing her throat.

"You think you're something special? Either of you? I didn't have parents to raise me, and I killed a lot more than three people. When I first showed signs of being force sensitive, my parents tried to get rid of me. They tried to dump me with the Jedi, and when I was too old to be accepted, they abandoned me on the outer rim planet Cholganna. It's a wild and dangerous planet, covered in thick forests and vicious creatures. The most dangerous of any of them is what I was raised by. The Nexu."

She grew more satisfied as she saw the girls eyes grow wider and wider, their egos slipping with each sentence.

"They accepted me almost immediately, teaching me to survive in the forest. Leaping through the trees, killing from the shadows, you'd be dead the second you stepped into our territory. Not even your bones would remain after we were done with you, they'd been ground down and crushed by even the smallest of cubs. Even with all their ferocity, that doesn't stop Nexu from being a highly sought after prize. They're used for their fur, their teeth, their spines, as arena beasts, even as pets if you think you've got what it takes.

One night as we all slept, poachers arrived on our planet. They scoped us out easily, sleeping in the highest branches of the trees. They quietly set fire to our forest, using it as a means to draw us out. I just remember waking up and feeling my throat burn as I inhaled the smoke. My mother handed me her only other child and had us run as far as we could the other direction. Even if I was fast, one of the hunters had us cornered almost immediately, and none of the grown Nexu where there to protect us. We didn't' even know if any of the others were still alive. He was getting closer to us, until all of a sudden he was writhing on the ground. I felt something I'd never felt before, some sort of power. It only grew stronger as I got more angry, so I thought about everything he'd done. How we might never see our family again. I thought of our mother, and how she must surely be dead now. I watched his eyes roll back into his head as he fought for breath. I watched all the different colors his face turned, watched as he slowly began to look more like the monster I knew him to be.

We went after the others after he was no longer a problem. The fire was put out quickly, it's purpose now served. Many of the people had left already, their prizes secured as well as their bounty on them. We tortured the rest. I wanted to make them suffer, make them beg for death. Even when they finally did, we savored their pain, the cub and I. We allowed one to escape after the others were dead. Who better to spread the fear than someone who had just watched his comrades eyes bulge out of their sockets? We wanted to stop anyone else from coming to our world, and it worked for the most part. There were a few groups that thought themselves strong enough to best us, but as the cub and I grew, we only grew more deadly. Some were killed instantly, others we played with, toying with them and playing mind games. No one left the planet alive. Until one day, word got around to my master, Selika. She heard the tales of a wild girl using a mysterious power and recognized it as the force. I must have peaked her interest because she paid us a visit. We didn't kill her right away, we were more curious than anything. I sensed in her the same thing I had in me, and she eventually convinced us to join her. So please, go on about your three deaths and your measly fire. I'm sure we're all dying to hear more."

The girls were silent, and one of them had their mouth hanging open in surprise. Their confident gazes had been completely taken over by fear, and Malice dropped a few credits on the counter as she stood from her seat. She glanced at them once more before turning, smiling smugly to herself. Nothing welcomed new recruits like intimidating them out of their minds.

Though I will provide text here, I will also provide a google document in case you want to edit it. https://docs.google.com/document/d/1bMaPTHv6zq3kbuQm_DIUJF60OPbsAi_9yZ-p2X4equ0/edit

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Stygian Caldera Classified Location

34 ABY

Aboard the ancient space station the cult - or Clan, as they referred to themselves - called home, a scarred Pantoran man, frail but in his prime, found himself in an especially unique position. Having been asked by the Dread Lord for a meeting, Laren had entered the large, square conference room to find the Dread Lord dead, and a masked assassin caught off guard by his arrival. Laren’s yellow eyes had focused within microseconds, and he had drawn his weapon and fired a bead faster than he had ever thought possible. The humanoid assassin had, as well, dropped to the ground in an unruly heap, the pair of bodies contorted in such a way that it was clear their bodies were limp with an all-too-recent death. This left Laren, his D-C-seventeen still billowing smoke from its short barrel. As far as Laren was concerned, and according to the traditions set forth in the ‘Clan’, Laren was technically the new Dread Lord.

The doors behind him opened, two heavily armoured and black-robed individuals entering, lightsabers already at the ready. Understanding Force-users a little more since he had been working with Plagueis, Laren assumed they must have sensed their Master’s death, and perhaps even the intruder who had seemingly killed their Master. Of course, the first thing they see is Laren’s blaster smouldering from a recent shot, and they slowly began to bare down on him.

“Okay, listen. This is some sort of mistake!” He began stepping back, as the guards drew closer and closer, lightsabers no deactivated but resting at their sides. “You know that I definitely couldn’t have shot the Dread Lord. Even I am not that good.” Laren had passed the elongated conference table, his back now against the wall of the room to the right of where the bodies stay lay. His blaster was held at the ready, waiting for the first strike of these dangerous individuals.

Suddenly the guards kneeled, their lightsabers laying atop their exposed knees, heads bowed in complete reverence. Though heavy heartedly and with a touch of hesitation, the two in unison said, “Dread Lord, we are yours to command.”

“Excuse me? Now, listen, I know you folks have your laws and your traditions,” Laren basically spat out the last words, pausing to catch his own train of thought. “But you can’t be serious in calling me your Dread Lord -”

“You think we want this, Dread Lord?” The guard to his left asked, his face covered by a black veil, but his blue eyes were steeled with defiance. “You are one of The Willing. How you ever became a Second, let alone now the Dread Lord? I should strike you down where you stand -”

As the man stood up, about to activate his lightsaber, Laren put his hand out in earnest, simultaneously also raising his blaster to the ready in his left hand. “You wouldn’t want to go doing that. I may not wield this so-called Force you all value so dearly, but I know as mere guards to the Dread Lord that you are not powerful enough to stand up to the other di Plagia who will surely try to usurp this position.” His two companions were now standing, Laren slowly making his way toward the far end of the conference near where the bodies lay. “Let me be your leader, your puppet. Your scapegoat. I may not know the Force, but I am not a fool. They will be making their moves, gathering their support. But if you throw your support behind me, the man who killed not one but two Dread Lords to assume the title, you would be unstoppable. The popular support would fall behind me, and thus you.” Laren could tell he was getting through to them. The dirtiest way he knew how to win a battle was with words. You could always do so much more with words than a gun.

“Do what your Clan namesake did. Plagueis ruled for years in the shadows, manipulating the Galaxy to his advantage. He was more than willing to leave his legacy to the shadows.” Laren holstered his blaster, pointing down at the bodies behind him.

“Greatness isn’t measured by history. It is measured by your own power, and the ability to wield it. Their power has been gifted to me - and thus, to you. Make me your power, your tool to be used, and take the Clan for yourselves. What say you?”

Laren had never been a gambling man. Gambling required chance, and chance was never a factor Laren relied on. He had taken many risks, and would hopefully take many more in his long, blood-filled life, but he had never gone in blind. Gambling was blind chance, the odds determined by the balance of the Universe. Laren always made his own odds, bending the circumstances to his will. But he was gambling his own life, now, with these two ambitious and power-hungry humanoids. He hoped that using them to suit his own ends wouldn’t be his own undoing.

They spoke in hushed tones, looking over at Laren and back toward themselves again. This went on for a few moments, though there was no time to dally on a decision the likes of this.

“It is decided, bounty hunter. You will be our Dread Lord.”

Laren’s face slowly lit up with a smile. It was devoid of any form of happiness. His smile was one of victory, one of resolve, and one of deceit. For the first time in possibly ever, though only partially so, a Non-Force User sat atop a throne of Clan Plagueis. Though he would not have the backing of the other Lords, and he may even face outright hostility, if he had the Legions on his side through his own overseers, there would be no denying his authority.

“Let’s get to work."

https://docs.google.com/document/d/13Eu4V2GoTWSCBLxRMogynjxQGIoBrnaX6iteu-QKN7w/edit?usp=sharing

Talis knelt behind a large boulder with the rest of his squad. His first day and he had let his squad get pinned down by a marksman. Talis heaved a heavy sigh as he shook his head and passed his gaze upon the three remaining members of his squad. Corporal Clevis’ aura was drenched in red and Talis could hear his strong breathes as the rage filtered through the man. The two privates were both pretty worse for wear as Private Gillis’ aura was turning blacker by the second. He was slowly dying from the blaster shot that had hit him in the chest.

Talis knew it was only a matter of time and so did his third comrade, Private First Class Tawney, the squad’s medic. His aura was a swirl of yellow and orange. He was nervous about Private Gillis and his anxiety was mounting. Talis knew he had to muster them or they would not win out the day. A scream from the field on the other side of the rock broke his attention away from his squad mates to the wounded man out in the field.

Talis turned towards the noise ignoring their cover and looked straight through it at the man laying a few meters from the bombs they had laid to clear out a rocky path. Sergeant Palov laid with the contents of his stomach in his hands as a rainbow of emotions swirled over him. Above him, ten meters, was the sniper that had dropped a frag grenade upon the unsuspecting squad.

If it had not been for Sergeant Palov’s quick actions, the entire squad would be out there mortally wounded or dead. Talis took a deep breath of the sulfuric air and calmed himself as he devised a plan to take down the sniper. It came to him suddenly and it was so simple he couldn’t help but laugh. The three remaining squad members looked on in bewilderment.

“Young Master Jedi?” Gillis rasped out through a cough that covered his hand in blood. “I know what we need to do,” Talis replied with an evil grin. “I don’t know if I like this idea already,” Corporal Clevis retorted as he adjusted his rifle uncomfortably. “Just follow my lead,” Talis paused and pointed at Clevis, “You come with me Corporal and stay close.”

Talis stood and made his way to the edge of the rock and began reaching out with the force towards the swirling pools of water just below the surface. He kept his gaze turned towards the ground for a good minute as he watched the swirling energy of the planet. Corporal Clevis knew he was waiting for something so he stood close to him and readied himself. With a rumble and rush of steam, a geyser about ten feet away and off to the left a bit exploded with energy. Sending a plume of hot sulfuric water into the air.

Talis bounded to the base of the geyser and looked up at the ledge where the sniper was perched. The shot that Talis had been expecting never came, confirming his suspicions that the marksman had an infrared scope. He was clearly waiting for the cloud to dissipate. Talis would use that moment to remove the sniper from the equation as he began pooling the force in his right hand while brandishing the hilt of his lightsaber in his left. He tossed a smirk at Corporal Clevis.

“You might want to cover your eyes Corporal.” The Corporal looked confused at first until Talis lifted his right hand. As soon as Corporal Clevis’ eyes were shut Talis jumped through the cloud activating his lightsaber and took a defensive stance. A blaster bolt echoed down at him causing him to leap to the side as he batted the shot away from his concealed companion. Talis knew the sniper was looking at him and was not going to be expecting what was coming. With a snap of his finger the Miraluka summoned a bright, blinding flash. The exclamation of surprise and pain that followed told Talis that his gamble had worked.

He cleared the last twenty meters quickly as he scooped up Sergeant Palov in his right arm while deactivating his lightsaber. A few more paces put him at the detonator. He slammed his fist down on the trigger detonating the blasting charges that were set in the mountain side. One after the other the explosives detonated like a stairway up the mountain. A yelp of fear cascaded down at the squad as Talis turned and summoned what little bit of the Force he could muster into his legs and feet. He sprinted back towards cover past Corporal Clevis who provided rear security for the duo. Talis came to a sliding stop behind the rock and a few moments later Clevis came trotting around the stone.

The look of the squad improved immensely and then dropped heavily as the realization of the Sergeants predicament washed over them. Talis could feel their fear and sorrow at the sight of their mortally wounded squad leader. Immediately Private First Class Tawney set to work on putting Sergeant Palov’s stomach back together. The sight was too much for the other two as they both fell ill in unison. Talis shook his head as he tried to push through the pain and sorrow. He had to keep the squad in the fight. The medivac would not approach without a safe landing zone.

This was supposed to be a simple mission. Go in and secure a viable landing zone for an expeditionary force to set up an outpost. Now he was down to one combat effective squad member and two wounded. Tawney wasn’t going to be much use and Talis wasn’t sure if Clevis was going to be able to pull himself together to finish the fight. Talis could hear the landing shuttle off in the distance holding its flight pattern. Something would have to be done and it would have to be done soon. Talis felt the exhaustion creeping over him with every breath. He only had one more trick up his sleeve. Talis turned to Corporal Clevis.

“Corporal I need you to help me finish this fight,” Talis forced a smile through the fatigue. He felt the sweat dripping down the back of his neck and the burn in his lungs. He had to push through like so many days he had spent training with this squad. “Yes sir,” The corporal wheezed out, “What do you need? “I need you not to miss.” The statement clicked as a dark blue wave washed over the corporal. Talis nodded as he looked through the stone for his quarry. The sniper hadn’t moved very far from where he had been dropped to. He was perched on the rise of some stones with a minimal silhouette showing over the rocks. “He is about ten meters out from us on the rise of some rubble.” Talis paused before he looked back at the Corporal. “Don’t miss Clevis.” “I won’t,” The tone was calm and the aura was focused. He was more ready than Talis for this escapade. The Miraluka smiled and drew strength from the man’s feelings as he prepared himself. Talis positioned himself just behind the sergeant as he began pooling the Force in his hand again.

With a nod to Corporal Clevis, Talis stepped out from behind cover and threw his hand out. Instead of the brightness of a thousand stars erupting from his hand, a few feet in front of him a small black orb popped into existence. It was blacker than a cloudy moonless night. Talis began pooling more of the Force into his arm as he took off sprinting. The sniper cursed and shifted for a better shot. Talis tossed up his hand and reached out with the Force. The black void of unconsciousness met him before he hit the ground.

After what seemed like an eternity Talis awoke to two figures kneeling over him. A Kel Dor draped in near black Jedi robes and a human Talis had only ever seen in fleeting glimpses. His short military style hair and thin beard made him unmistakable paired with his broad shoulders and overall height. Seraphol’s robotic hand that was pressed to Talis’ chest had a slight golden glow to Talis’ sight. He felt his vigor restoring as the Kel Dor next to him stood and looked back toward the collapsed hillside.

“You made quite a mess with those explosives Padawan.” Sa Ool stated flatly as he gazed across the battlefield. “How are?” Talis was stopped by Seraphol’s raised hand. “Sergeant Palov didn’t make it.” The grief struck Talis’ like a mountain at Seraphol’s words. As he felt the tears dampen the cloth that covered his vestigial eye socket Talis heard a familiar voice. “But you saved Private Gillis’ life with your quick thinking,” the Miraluka’s gaze was tore from Seraphol’s upraised hand to the Togruta woman standing over the covered remains of the enemy sniper. Aaleesha’s visage was stern as she ran the battle through her mind.

“So why did you waste an entire armament of explosives on that one sniper?” Sa Ool cut in. Talis paused as he tore his gaze from his battle team leader and looked at the alien aura for a moment before answering. “We didn’t seem to have much of an option with Palov screaming in agony and Gillis moaning in pain,” Talis stuttered out before he paused and sat up to better talk with the Sentinel. “My primary job was to get my injured behind cover while providing any form of cover I could find.” “And what cover did you use to accomplish your mission?” Sa Ool’s tone turned to ice as he stared down the Miraluka.

“I utilized the geyser to bring up a rear guard to a point, then I broke cover drawing his fire towards me and blinded him.” Talis paused as he looked from Sa Ool to Aaleesha, then to Serephol who stood up. His gaze came back to Sa Ool after he rose to his feet and wobbled a little. “Then I detonated the explosives and ran with Palov in my arms. We utilized what little power I had left to distract the sniper and then I stunned him giving Corporal Clevis a shot.” There was a long pause as the three Equites stood there silently.

“That was reckless and stupid,” Sa finally broke the silence, “There were multiple other avenues of approach, that could have gotten you to the assailant that would have mitigated the damage to the squad and yourself.” “I didn’t exactly see them while I was being shot at,” Talis paused for a moment before muttering under his breath, “not to mention I don’t have eyes so I can’t see.” Talis’ statement drew a laugh from Seraphol as he walked towards the dropship. “What was that?” Sa demanded sternly. “Nothing Master Sa Ool.” Talis replied quickly. “I thought so,” Sa leveled what Talis reckoned what was a glare in his direction. “Did you learn anything from this?” “Be patient?” Talis answered sarcastically as he tromped past the Kel Dor. His exhaustion still present, but lessened by Seraphol’s assistance. “Where do you think you are going Padawan?” Sa shouted as the engines of the drop ship spooled up to speed. Talis just pointed and continued towards the ship. He was too tired to argue with anyone. If his master could have been here for this moment Talis would never have lived it down. He could just hear the Zabrak’s voice now. Talis missed his master dearly, but this was war and their enemy would require both of their full attention.

Talis deposited himself on the bench in the dropship and looked over at Corporal Clevis. “Good shot Clevis!” Talis yelled over the hum of the engines giving the Corporal the thumbs up. “It wasn’t me sir.” Clevis was barely audible over the engines as they revved a little. “What!” Talis shouted at the Corporal over the roar of the engines. Clevis pointed at a figure hunched over Private Gillis. Private first class Tawney held in one hand the clenched fist of his friend and ally and in the other, the rifle of the late Sergeant Palov. A little shocked at the news, Talis just smiled and sat back as the dropship lifted off.

Getting into the ship yard would have been so much more difficult in the days of the Empire. Security in the current age was not as stringent, and access could be attained at a small price. No longer were the Emperor’s stormtroopers a constant presence throughout the Galaxy, the First Orders soldiery being fewer in number, and scattered further than their predecessors. Quo doubted that they weren’t trained as highly either, his few encounters with them showing them to be able, though nothing more. In the days of the Empire this place would have been crawling with white clad troopers, all with specific areas of authority, and a determination that could only be achieved from years of training, and the ability to choose only the best, which was established through the use of clones. Every one of them was exemplary. Every one servile to the Emperor.

He sat at the bar of a run down drinking establishment. Even with his Zabrak features he didn’t stand out here. Every patron in the subterranean dive was too busy looking after their own affairs to be interested in anyone else. In here he didn’t need to use stealth or subterfuge, in here nobody else was interested, and that was just how he needed it to be. Ordering another drink from the bar tender he waited. He had been waiting for three days. He well knew that there was a time restriction on this mission, but his opposition would be experiencing the same problems as he was gaining the proper paperwork and passes for the ship yard, but he had a couple of extra tricks he could use should the need arise.

Before he even arrived on this temperate, soft world he had put wheels in motion. Passing himself off as a Jedi escapee he had put the feelers out through the Corellian underground for somebody who could get him close to the ships. Someone who could get him inside the security wall and under the local security services radar. He knew that the real Jedi would be doing something similar to get to the CR90 Corvette that they so desperately needed. There weren’t many that fitted the bill, and only two that worked from Corellia, and the other one was on the opposite side of the planet, so the odds were in his favour that this one was doing the same for his quarry.

In between bouts of isolationist socialising he had rented a single room directly opposite the main entrance to the yard, above what was loosely termed an eatery. His evenings spent watching the entrance, and patrolling the perimeter fence, he had gathered the shift patterns of the workers, and even learned some of them by sight. He knew the patterns of the private security guards, and who were the weak links. The hours of study would pay off later he told himself secretly wishing for the chance to spread some death and destruction about. That would have to wait though, this was, after all, an Inquisitorious mission, he was meant to be subtle.

The communicator at his belt vibrated. Plucking it from his belt he held it to his ear, listening intently to the incoming message. He finished his drink, spinning from the bar whilst tossing a credit chip to the barman. “Keep the change,” he said as he made his way out to the city. Exitting the bar room door he glanced left and right along the street. It was raining hard, and the light was glinting from the pavement and puddles, reflections glinting in his eyes. Turning left he followed the other foot traffic up to the main thoroughfare through the suburb.

Capital Spaceport was teeming with life. The colours and sounds bombarded the senses though Quo made his way as though he knew where he was going. He was heading for the waterfront, it was time to meet his enabler. Passers by didn’t even cast a second glance at the horned man as he made his way towards his rendezvous. There were so many people of so many different races and species here that another oddity didn’t warrant any interest. Moving down the stair to the harbour he looked out to sea, over the top of the playboy accoutrements that were berthed at the moorings. The stocky Zabrak was down by the water in no time heading to the predetermined meeting point, a small bar set back from the water down a nondescript alley way. Disappearing into the gloom Quo entered, his senses seeking out any sign of danger as he entered, unconsciously his arm moving the fabric of his tunic away from his lightsaber on his belt.

Entering the bar by a small set of steps leading down into another dive. Quo glanced around before heading to the bar. “Ale,” he said as the bartender came by, throwing a credit chip across the bar top. A bubbling green liquid filled glass was slid back to him, connecting with the Sith’s right hand. Turning away he made his way to a small seating booth at the back of the room, deep in the shadows, away from prying eyes. As he sat a small, thin looking Rodian slid into the seat opposite. A sense of deja-vu swept over Quo, he had a bad feeling about this. Placing a small translator unit between them the Rodian keyed in a code on the upper surface of the module.

“Welcome stranger, funding do you bring?” The little machine approximated Zabraki, although the dialect was not one that Quo recognised. Reaching into his belt pouch he produced his data pad, turning it so the Rodian could see the screen. The green man opposite nodded his assent and Quo put his thumb to the screen followed by the Rodian, the screen confirmed that the funds had been transferred.

“Many you kind I helped, stopped never have they,” the translator warbled, ”Kungo called am I, happy to help I are.” His lips curved upwards in an approximation for a smile, his arms spreading to either side of his shoulders.

“For the right money you are,” replied Quo, then thinking better of it to maintain his cover as a Jedi, “but thank you for your assistance”

“Papers I have of you, very good, very good, tell them from real will nobody. Guarantee will I.”

Quo forced his face to soften, this trying to think like a Jedi was harder than he thought. It left a bitter taste inside his breather. Regardless, it seemed to satisfy Kungo as he sat back and chuckled, his large eyes glinting with the merriment. From beneath the table he produced a small folder. Sliding it across the table, glancing at the other patrons as he did so he theatrically bowed as Quo swept them into the shadows with his arm. Catching the folder in his left hand he flipped open the cover, taking out the identification card, ship yard pass, terminal pass, and a very official looking manifest check sheet. Looking them over Quo was genuinely surprised. This Kungo character was good, scrutinising the identification closely he revised his assessment. He was better than good, he couldn’t tell that this was a forgery. He would make a note in his database that this Rodian was a true artist. He would be a good contact to nurture.

“These are very good, I may well be contacting you for more of these for my, er, friends. I applaud you Kungo, you are an artist.” Again he gave the softened Quo look, nodding sagely as he spoke.

“Please am I, and welcome you are. Many things for friendship I can do, all is needed is asking,” Kungo was grinning from ear to ear, or as far as his undersized mouth would allow, “but now I am for leaving, and hoping you are coming back after over the troubles.” Standing his gave a short bow, in one movement he had wheeled away and disappeared into the gloom. Quo finished his drink slowly, no reason to attract attention to himself, and no telling who was watching Kungo’s movements, either in here or out on the street.

The next morning Quo was awake early. The shift started at 0600 local time and he wanted to look around the ship yard. Joining the mass of workers he approached the security gate, his identification ready in his left hand. The security was waving through all the regulars, the ones he recognised by sight, checking around a tenth of the entrants to ensure their credentials were in order. Stepping in front of the Zabrak he waited, his right hand extended before him.

“Identification please.” He looked the Sith directly in the eye awaiting his card. Quo passed it to him, waiting patiently as he read it, scanning the image contained against the face that was before him. “No problems mate. First day?” A smile was affixed to the wide, generous mouth.

“Yeah, working on that old cargo runner, short term contract.” Quo looked over his shoulder at the throng of workers moving past.

“Right mate, over to the left, there’s a large green hangar, in there. Thanks,” handing the ID back to Quo he turned, seeking out his next target for checking. Moving off Quo headed where he had been guided, following the flow of people heading to their designated work areas. As he approached the hangar his eyes took in the layout. The entrances and exits, the staircases that climbed the outside of the building, leading to differing levels for access to the ship contained inside. It was a massive building, it would be very easy to lose yourself in a place like that, or get lost on purpose.

The throng had thinned as the other workers headed in different directions. As he approached the building there were only about thirty or so workers heading to the hangar. Hanging back slightly he let the others continue on their way, opening a gap between himself and them. This was not a high priority area, the CR90 was an old ship. It was an old ship thirty four years ago when they had been used at the battle of Yavin IV, and these days there were better ships available. That was probably why it had been selected by the scattering Jedi, nobody would be taking any notice of an old hunk of junk. Watching as the workers approached the hangar he could see no sign of security on this particular bay, but he watched for another minute or two as the workers dissipated to their various stations. Satisfied that there were no hidden security measures he made his way directly to the main hangar doors. Most of the workers were up on high, carrying out repairs to the main systems of the ship, down here there was nobody to be seen. Working his way across the floor he headed for the underside of the Corvette, taking in her shape looming above him.

Quo was at home in the shadows, and used them to his full advantage, ensuring that no-one saw his movements. Searching the underside of the vessel he was looking for something in particular. Just aft of the ventral docking port was an access hatch, only for use in emergencies where the engineers could leap to the safety of space wearing EVA suits in the event of emergency. It was hard to locate in he gloom, but Quo had studied the plans for this vessel in the briefing, studied hard and long, ensuring that he knew the ship inside and out. After a couple of minutes he located it.

Pressing the emergency access button a hiss of escaping gas, and a cloud of hydraulic steam marked the port acceding to his control. Reaching out with his senses he checked the other side of the hatch, sensing nothing there he climbed aboard, reactivating the control panel once he was ensconced inside. The hatch closed with a dull thud, and a breath of vapour. Looking up the access shaft he assessed the ledge above him to be some twenty two feet higher than his current level. His legs bunched thrusting himself upwards, his body becoming an arrow, easily making the distance. A couple of taps on the door control and he was inside the ship proper, his feet on solid bulkheads, the light soft but fully illuminating.

He needed to stop this thing getting away from here, and bringing explosives on boards through the gates was not an option, he would have to improvise. He was near the engineering compartment, but he had a feeling that there would be workmen in there. He had the correct clearance to enter there though thanks to Kungo. Working his way aft and upwards through the maze of corridors he was stood outside the engine bay within ten minutes. The door was open to the control room as well as the double doors to the engines themselves. Entering the control room he was surprised to find that there was nobody there. Quickly he made his way to the consoles beneath the viewing windows to the bay beyond.

His fingers danced over the controls, bringing up the schematics for the power control relays. If he could access them there was a chance that he could cause a feedback loop in the main power conduits and either destroy the ship, or delay it long enough for Brotherhood forces to pounce on her as she attempted to escape. Reading quickly he found two that could likely be made to do that. Turning he made towards the first of them. As he reached the door instinct made him stop, recoiling as a bright blue saber blade sliced millimetres from his face. Stepping back his own saber leapt from his belt, snapping into his mechanical hand with a reassuring ‘thwack’. Instantly it ignited, bathing the room in a crimson glow, the reflection flashing from the glass of the viewing area.

“A Sith,” came a voice from the corridor, “I haven’t seen one of your kind for many years.” Rounding the corner was a large human male, easily two and half meters in height, with a chest the size of an escape pod, or so it seemed to the young Zabrak. ‘How had he sneaked up on me?’ thought Quo, his body dropping into the relaxed stance, one foot slightly forwards of the other, shoulder width apart. Reaching with his left hand he drew his vibroblade from its scabbard, holding it in a reverse grip.

“Where have you come from young Darksider?” The Jedi before him strolling slowly and deliberately across the room towards the Dark Knight.

“I come from your nightmares, Light walker,” spat Quo, his eyes flashing gold and red, filled with venom, “I am the envoy of your demise.” Striding forwards towards his adversary he twirled the saber in his right hand, the left hand twirling the blade in his other providing a constantly moving target to the Jedi.

The Jedi set his stance, wide and low, his saber levelled at the Sith warrior, a gesture from his hand clearing the mobile consoles away to the sides of the control room, their movement seemingly of their own volition. “Your over confidence will be your downfall young warrior, the Force is to be caressed, not bludgeoned.” Quo wanted to wipe that benevolent smile from his face.

A leap covered the distance between them, Quo’s saber swinging downwards toward the head of the huge human. The smell of ozone, and crash of the impact almost deafening them both in this confined space. The Jedi was already moving to his right, his left hand extending, spread. The Zabrak felt the pressure of the push hit his chest, throwing him backwards across the room, his feet scrabbling for purchase. Stopping himself from hitting the wall behind him, a single bound brought him back into range of the Jedi. The blue blade was arcing around at waist height in a double handed grip, the Jedi adding power to it by leaning into it with both shoulders. Quo met it with his vibroblade, the blade whining as it deflected the blow, spinning across the room, knocked free from his grip by the power of the blow. The Zabrak’s own blade followed the fist that he threw, feinting the strike, a dummy which the Jedi succumbed to, attempting to block it with his own saber.

Quo’s left hand shot forwards, flashes of blue lightning tendrils reaching forward from his finger tips, enveloping the Jedi in a cloak of blue and white energy, his body pulsing with the power. The Sith’s eyes narrowed as he urged more and more power to surge through him. The Jedi groaned under the onslaught. Abruptly it stopped, Quo reaching backwards, hand open, summoning his vibroblade back to his hand. With a ‘zing’ it left the floor, flying true to his outstretched palm.

The Jedi rolled back onto his shoulders, flipping himself back to his feet, adopting the same wide stance, looking in pain, but sticking to his task. A roar marked the next attack from the young Dark Jedi, the twin whirling blades leaving gouge and scorch marks on the floor of the control room. Seeing the approach the old Jedi retreated step by step, drawing the Zabrak, in his frenzy forwards towards him. Sparks showered the room, the clanging and whirring noises deafening to both of the fighters. Quo stepped quickly, his attack frenzied and relentless, the Jedi fending off each alternate blow from the rising and falling blades. The lust for victory gleamed in the red and gold eyes of the Sith.

As he kept up the pressure his opponent gestured upwards and backwards with his free hand. Suddenly Quo was airborne, crashing through the glass of the control room. He felt himself tumbling as he fell, trying to right himself, balance his spinning so that he could attempt to land on his feet. The ground came up too soon, and with a crunch he hit the floor, his momentum sending him into an uncontrolled roll, his limbs flailing as he came to a stop.

Dazed, his brain reeling he tried to stand, finding his legs failing beneath him. He couldn’t focus, images zooming in and out uncontrolled. His breather didn’t sound right either, the valves seeming to stick, causing a wheezing noise and restricting his breath. Rolling onto his back he looked back to the control room, the old Jedi was stood at the broken window looking down. With a leap he landed on the engine room floor, a mere two meters away from him.

“I would like to say that you will learn, young one, but I’m afraid that I cannot allow you to live. Rest reassured that I take no pleasure from it.” He strode across the floor, raising his saber above his head, readying for the fatal strike.

Quo’s hand reached out, the prosthesis withstanding the impact better than his real left arm, bruised and battered at his side. Fingers outstretched he snapped the fingers shut. At the zenith of its swing the blue blade above his head paused, the Jedi looking down with compassion in his eyes. It made Quo feel sick inside. Gesturing a pull one of the huge shards of glass front he broken window leapt from its resting place, unseen to the ageing Jedi. Before he could begin his killing stroke the glass passed at shoulder height, severing both arms,. and more importantly, the head of the Light Side advocate. He was dead before his body hit the floor.

Exhausted and wounded Quo regained his feet. He had a job to do. Gesturing with his prosthetic he called first his saber, then his vibroblade back to him, replacing them into their places on his belt. Moving slowly he knew he had to rig the ship. Within an hour he had set the power control conduits to overload once the ship was in orbit. It would either cripple her or destroy her, he wasn’t bothered which. He hurt, and he had to get out, and do it when it was quiet. Making his way down the to the hangar floor through the same network of corridors and hatchways he waited until night fell. Under its beneficial cover he made his way back to his rented accommodation, signalling the Inquisitorious that his mission was successful, filling them in with all the details. For now he needed to sleep, to recover. There would be no rescue from this one, he would have to make his own way back to Sepros. Later. When it didn’t hurt as much.

His vantage point looked over the entrance of the jail building. Its massive walls sheer and standing at over five hundred meters in height. His field glasses took in the facade of the eastern side seeking out any weakness in the defences. There were none that he could make out from this distance, he would have to get closer.

Packing his gear into his belt pouches he worked his way down the escarpment, trying to be as stealthy as possible, using the twilight shadows as cover. Using the natural bracken and rocks he was a shadow morphing its way across the landscape. Like a finger of rock the ridge cut a line directly to the ground level of the jail, leaving a short sprint of about twenty meters to the wall itself. Within ten minutes Quo was crouching looking over the open area to the wall from the cover of an overhanging rock formation. Watching the ground around the base of the wall the only sound her could hear was the inlet and outlet valves on his breathing prosthetic pumping oxygen into his damaged lungs. It sounded like thunder to his ears. The only other sounds were the local wildlife, whistling and chirruping in prelude to their evening chorus. His eyes, never still, scanned the ground looking for any signs that there were alarms or detectors. In this light it would be difficult to ascertain.

Crouching low he moved quietly across the open ground, balanced on the balls of his feet as he moved fluidly through the night. Without warning beneath his right foot there was a click. Quo threw himself forwards, leaping a full three meters into the air, twisting and somersaulting as he flew. Landing gracefully he froze. Logically he knew he had just trodden on a mine, and should be picking bits of it out of his body, or bits of his body from the surrounding scenery, but nothing. Crouching low he waited. There was always a possibility that it was a delayed trigger, or a ‘jumping jack’. The three seconds he was waiting seemed like an eternity. A vibration from just below the surface briefly pre-empted the explosion of earth as the mine leapt from the ground. He dropped, flat to the ground, expecting the explosion and shrapnel impacts to hit him any second. Inside his head his brain counted the seconds....two......three.......four.... he risked a glance upwards from his prone position. Turning his head as his eyes scanned he watched the mine disappearing upwards, far more upwards than it should have done.

He watched as it cleared the height of the wall, exploding a split second later, murdering a small bird and approximately twenty roofing tiles. Standing and dusting himself down he started as a pin landed two inches in front of his feet. An eyebrow arched upward, the only sign that Quo had registered it at all. Well, he thought, there goes the element of surprise. Turning he craned his neck backwards, looking up, watching the falling masonry twisting and turning in the fading light. Moving across toward the wall he waited for the alarms to start. His cover had been blown, and there was now no way he would make it inside undetected.

The first impact from the roofing material hit the ground about thirty meters away from him. Bits of masonry and tiling struck in a staccato rhythm into the path that he had recently covered, the vibrations setting off several more of the mines buried beneath. The resulting volley erupted in all directions, some out to the surrounding country, a couple arrowing towards the jail wall, their journeys being marked by gouges in the brickwork, some of them even breaching the wall, disappearing inside. Again Quo hit the deck, narrowly being missed by another explosive device on its whirling track towards the young Zabrak. Shards of the masonry rattled down onto him, covering him in a light coloured dust. With a zinging noise it careened into the distance, rebounding away, further along the wall line, its impact setting off more of the over sprung devices.

The debris from the initial impact of the first land mine ever to achieve near orbit had registered on the automated laser defence system. Beams of white hot energy erupted from the batteries, their combined rate of fire lighting up the evening gloom. Quo watched as the evening erupted into a pyrotechnic display worthy of any provincial celebration. Laser bolts arrowed across the sky in all directions, with little or no directional control in evidence. Shots rained down in all directions as the blaster canons spun and danced on their mountings randomly. Quo pushed himself to his feet, and leapt fully thirty five meters to the cover of the rocky outcrop. Rolling into cover he watched as the pandemonium continued.

The more the mines erupted, the more the batteries fired, filling the space with smoke and debris, fragments and explosions rocking the outside of the wall as the bolts of light left scorched etchings along its surface. Several of the batteries momentarily concentrated their fire on a particularly vicious brick at the base of the wall, pulverising it into submission before it crumbled into dust. The sheer destructive force of the defensive barrage was wearing down the opposition of the stubborn invading jail with every volley. Quo could only watch in awe at the firepower amassed against the sedentary opposition.

A crack appeared at the point of the demolished brick, small at first, but growing with each passing second, creeping across the surface like a dark vine. Vibrations and impacts only hastened its course as it climbed aloft along the line of the wall following the line of least resistance. With every passing second the barrage inflicted further damage, the cumulative effect weakening the whole eastern wall at the point where Quo was watching. The ripple of destruction was spreading away from the epicentre, eruptions widening the area of damage. It was already halfway down the side, heading for the corner.

A crunch from above drew his attention. The crack had reached the top, and an offshoot had formed a pincer movement on the concrete of the wall at the top. Several laser bolts ricocheted against it rocking it forwards away from the jail building. With a roar it detached itself from the rest of the wall, the huge piece tumbling on its end as it fell. Twisting, seemingly in slow motion, it crashed back onto itself, fracture lines appearing in the face of the wall, dislodging several other large pieces which did their own damage on their plummet towards the ground. The blasters focussed on these large pieces, bolts rattling and shaking them as their energy dissipated through the jail.

Quo could feel the rumblings through his feet, the low growls of the tortured structure shaking his organs within his torso. Turning the ran, this muscles pumping as he put distance between himself and the impact site. He moved as a blur across the landscape, his only thought to get the frell out of there. His legs pounded, arms pumping, as he drove his body higher up the hillside. The only thing that was important now was getting himself a good distance away. Faster than seemed possible he was standing on the ridge overlooking the jail, looking dishevelled and more than a bit second hand.

The explosions continued for the next hour or so, the blasters continuing their tattoo on the structure, before they eventually toppled and fell into the growing rubble pile below. Ceilings of individual floors fell from above, crashing through the floors below, walls tumbled in all directions sweeping all before them. Eventually the dust began to settle, and the whole scene was revealed before Quo’s eyes. The whole jail had collapsed in on itself, aided and abetted by the defensive machinations of the weaponry. The survivors were scurrying backwards and forwards over the debris field, dazed and confused. He had been sent to infiltrate the place, and failed. He didn’t like failing, but at least another team wouldn’t required much help getting in. In his mind he was calling it a win, after all he had breached their defences.

Tarentum Consuming, powerful Reaching, moving, searching Power, conqueror, fighter, failure Rotting, betrayed, languish Dying, still Nightsister

Over a dark world A dead army waits for us Our vengeance will fall

(The middle one is my "serious" entry. Didn't know if multiple entries were allowed. The other two were funny and I mostly just wanted to share them.)

OK I guess I'll Try this necromancy thing How bad could it be?

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Sometimes I look in To your eyes. Remembering When your blood was warm.

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Supercalifra gilisticexpeali docious my haiku.

The cockpit of the Tie Oppressor was cramped, they weren’t really designed for comfort, more for the sake of practicality and functionality, and it was a place that Quo felt at one. Feeling the ship respond to his input on the controls gave him a comfort, if comfort can be allocated to a Sith. His reactions and concentration were not forced in here, it was more reflexive, more of an instinct than a chore. He’d spent many hours making this ship his own. The parts that he had added were bespoke, his own hands had manufactured the parts, his own brain had designed them, and the ship was the better for it he felt. From the modification that he had made to the main bomb bay, making it into a cargo hold, right through to the advanced electronics and sensors that he had installed it was down to him. The very seat he was sitting in was moulded to fit his body perfectly, cushioning and caressing him as the ship twisted and turned under his ministrations.

From the very first time that he had seen her, after he had unearthed her from her sandy grave on Jaaku, he had known that she was his. She had called to him through the Force, nagging him incessantly, guiding him to her hiding place beneath the golden ocean. He had brought her back to life, resurrected her, and brought her with him when he had arrived on Sepros. He had repaired her damaged systems, and through a process of cannibalisation of some of the rusting remains that he found in the forested areas of the planet he managed to get her ready for flight again. He extended the fuel tanks, and put in protective plating over them, boosted the shields up to one hundred and seventy three percent of optimum.

Deep in the jungle he had found several turbo cannon, that were in various states of degradation. Cobbling all the parts together, and manually carrying them back to his makeshift workshop in an abandoned hangar. Working all the hours that his body would allow he managed to get one of them working, the tree stumps and fragments of wood around stood as testament to its destructive power. Mounting it onto the air frame was a battle and a half, but through trial and error Quo managed eventually to mount it as close to the centre line of the fuselage as made no difference. He uprated the twin laser cannons that were already mounted on the wing stubs of the craft, recalibrating them and upping their fire rate so that they could almost match an X-Wings. Installing three extra battery units also improved the recycling of the shields, although it did little to improve the aerodynamics of the craft. There was a new rear cockpit added, courtesy of a crashed Tie Fighter so that he could carry another person, or more equipment if necessary. When he had finished, and all the new panelling was added to correct some of the deficiency she looked like a Tie Oppressor that had some strange kind of glandular problem, but Quo didn’t mind, she was his, and her bite was definitely worse than her bark. She was a fine ship, with a fine name.

The Eenzaam. It meant ‘Solitary’, and it was perfect for her. She was the only one, and Quo was proud of her. He had built her into the craft that she was, and he treated her as his own. He had never had a family, and probably never would, but the Eenzaam was his offspring, and he would look after her like she was flesh and blood. She would fight to her last breath, and could take on ships that were a lot better on paper. He had cured all of her shortfalls, from the sluggish response to the controls, to the poor quality of the sensors, to the lack of speed. She now carried an extra cannon, extra batteries, and proton torpedoes, and was still faster and more agile than any other Oppressor in the Galaxy.

Once all the work was completed he managed to get some time inside the main hangars, more specifically the spraying bay. The Eenzaam was given a coat of matt black paint to her hull, with three blood red slashes across the bow, looking like she had been raked by a rancor. Quo thought it was fitting, in that she had been a wounded animal when he had been led to her, and now she stood, newly recreated, with her scars and modifications she fitted his own persona. He too was scarred, and had a few prosthetic modifications of his own. They were a good fit together, they suited each other.

Now, seated in the front cockpit, he skimmed the surface of Sepros, swooping down over long abandoned cities and temples, feeling the g-forces squeezing his body into the custom made seat, he truly felt alive. Nobody could take this time away from him, and his mind went on journeys that his body could not follow. Confusions that angered him on the ground were as clouds around him as he flew, dissipated with the gusts of wind aloft. Spinning and looping his ship, diving down crevasses that were barely wider than the Eezaam, vortices whipping behind as he whirled and rolled. His mind was calmed, his thoughts blessed with clarity, and even the seemingly insurmountable problems of his earth bound alter ego were solved and processed, even as his body, strapped tightly into the ship was carrying out physically demanding aerobatics. He understood where he stood in the Galaxy, what direction he should follow, and knew the power of the Dark Side of the Force. Quo was as at peace as he ever was, he was home, home alone.

The sun beat down on the pavements of the island paradise of Pandemonium. The light was glinting from the windows of the focal point of the resort, the skyscraper built in the middle of the island. Holiday makers thronged the streets, buying the wares of the vendors before making their way towards the beaches and bars of the tropical destination.

Quo had taken the bullet tram to the destination, travelling as regular holiday maker. The rucksack on his back felt foreign and unwelcome as he left the station, sunglasses perched on his nose. Clad in a loud shirt, shorts, and walking boots he had never felt as ridiculous in his life. Glancing from left to right he took in the sights, making his way towards the bars that huddled together around the harbour like a flock of predatory birds, attracting in the passing trade.

Quo made his way towards them, looking for one of the taverns in particular. Searching the garish signs that winked and twinkled above each individual establishment he soon found it. Merrinbah’s. Looking at it from the pavement outside it was a mass of colour. The hoardings outside the main entrance advertising the wares that could be found inside. There were foods from other systems, dancing girls, live acts, and more alcoholic concoctions than you could shake a stick at. To the young Zabrak it was some form of technological nightmare, not a place he would normally frequent. Biting the bullet he entered.

The inside was, if anything, even more garish than the outer. Thousands of lights blinked in sequence as music battered at his hearing, the bass reverberating against his chest, the vibrations enough to take his breathe away he thought, even with a prosthetic breathing unit. The onslaught on his senses was incessant, his brain reeling to try and take everything in. Scanning over the room he took in the bar, the dance floor, the staging area, and the exits. There were two doors at the rear of the room, each one with a guardian dressed in black evening dress complete with bow ties. The one on the left was another Zabrak, the one to the right a Deshade.

Ordering a drink he took a booth against the wall, small, just enough room for two, and blanketed in shadows. Sitting down he watched. The writhing figures on the dance floor seemed to be lost in the rhythms of the music, or lost in each other in some cases. Watching and waiting Quo’s eyes reflected the dancing lights. He knew that his target was close, but he hadn’t seen her yet, she was never very far away from her base of operations, and this was ground zero. He paid particular attention to the guardians of the doors, watching the foot traffic that occasionally approached and was passed through to the area behind the solid looking doors. All of the people had one thing in common. They all had a slightly blue palour to their faces, and the eyes seemed to be a little too dark, as if they had sunk a little too far into their sockets.

Seven hours later he was still sat, watching the room, and was on his fourth drink, this time a fruit based mixture, sweet and cloying as it hit his mouth through the drinking tube, although not unpleasant to the taste. That was when she entered. He had never actually seen a Miralukan before, but he recognised her instantly with her visor. Even without it he would have noticed her. She was beautiful beyond words, and moved with a slinking gracefulness, oozing sexuality as she crossed the room. The dancers before her on her journey across the dance floor seemed to part before her as if pushed aside by an invisible force. Watching her was hypnotic, but Quo knew he had a job to do, he was here for business not pleasure.

As she approached the Deshade the hulk of a man stepped sideways, opening the door for the woman as she approached. For his size he managed to do it with a fluidity that belied his bulk, the woman sweeping through the portal like a spirit. The doorman closed the door behind her as she disappeared into the space beyond.

Quo watched further. A group of kids were heading towards the door, Quo realised what they were doing. They needed their fix, and having watched the king pin walk in they knew that they could get what they required. Quo knew that he could not sneak by the doorman using invisibility, the species had a partial resistance to the Force, and he wasn’t going to take the chance on his discovery. Joining the worse for wear revellers on their journey towards the door, making himself appear as intoxicated as they were, stumbling and rolling as he walked.

“We get zum biz-niz?” drawled the leader of the group

“Hmmmm,” replied the dinner suited behemoth, a thumb over the shoulder given as a signal to enter.

En masse they entered. Within the room were four more sentries, all wearing the pre-requisite evening wear. Sitting behind an obsidian desk, shiny and black with scrolled legs sat the Miralukan female. The seat she was occupying was tall backed with wings, matching the glittering table. She sat bolt upright, hands resting against each other at chin height, the index fingers steepled under her chin.

The self-proposed leader of the group spoke. ”We need some, ma’am. You know, like, enough for all of us.” He smiled as he spoke, his head slightly bowed, subconsciously giving respect to his benefactor.

“Five hundred creds,” came the lilting voice of the dealer, a wave of her hand to one of the minions to her left, who turned, retrieving a package from a cabinet placed near the wall, “money first”

The group began scrabbling in their pockets and wallets, passing the credit chips to their leader. Quo took the chance. Moving his pack round to his front he unzipped the top, reaching inside with his right hand. His hand wrapped gently around his lightsaber, letting the pack fall to the floor. The ‘snap hiss hum’ filled the room as his blade ignited. Three of the four henchmen reached beneath their jacket, trying to grab for the blaster pistols secreted beneath. Quo’s saber arced around to the right, the flight of it sending the blade through the neck of the first without diminishing the power of the throw. Too late the second saw the blade spinning towards him, entering his body through his upper arm before bisecting him across the chest, never getting a chance to level the blaster and fire on the young Sith. A gesture from his right hand brought the pommel back to his grasp with a gentle ‘slap’.

Quo was already rolling to his left, hopping from right foot to left as his body pirouetted through the air, each step closing the distance to the two men to his left hand side. His feet landed squarely between them, the crimson blade already chopping towards the right, blocking the blast that erupted from the pistol levelled at him, a serpentine twist of scarlet rotating round the blaster as the beam severed the hand holding it. With a gesture of his left hand blue and white lightning exploded from his fingers, enveloping the other where he stood, his skeletal structure flashing through the flesh as his being was torched in blinding light. A flick of the right wrist brought the saber blade around again, plunging to the hilt into the chest of his former target killing him instantly.

The revellers took flight for the nearest exit, scattering in all directions in an attempt to escape the carnage. Quo covered the ground to his ruck sack in a stride, his left hand diving inside the darkness.

The Mirulakan woman had vaulted from her chair, her slight frame belying the fact that her muscles were taught and well toned. Her legs propelled her backwards, the chair falling backwards, the occupant rolling backwards into a ready position, her left hand raised at chest level on her centre line, the right hand rising, fingers folded around a stubby blaster pistol. As she came to her feet she fired a burst of three shots. Quo’s saber danced, deflecting the shots away from him, their impacts hitting both ceiling and wall with a thud, the third skipped over his shoulder, hitting one of the running boys in the leg, taking him down as he ran. Quo spun on the ball of his right foot, two throwing knives arrowing towards the woman, the first taking the pistol from her fingers as the second buried itself in her shoulder, the force of it driving her backwards into the back wall, the protruding blade ‘thunking’ into the wooden panelling, pinning her in position.

Feeling rather than seeing the door to his rear right open Quo rolled forwards, twisting as he did so, reversing his direction. The curving path of his left arm continuing as he released another throwing knife towards the entrance, taking the other Zabrak in the throat, sending him backwards out of the room. Raising to his own ready position he watched as the Deshade decimated the door, charging through it with a bellow, sending splinters of wood in every direction. His charge took him through the retreating revellers, swatting them aside with his massive hands, leaving them in crumpled heaps as he zeroed in on the Sith warrior. With a roar he altered his trajectory to intercept the Dark Knight. Quo balanced himself on the balls of his feet, the left foot slightly further forward of his right, shoulder width apart, his saber held at waist height angled diagonally upwards.

The sheer mass of him drove the Dashade onwards, tearing through anyone that stood in his way. Quo waited, relaxing his body until the man mountain was within two meters. With a slide Quo dropped into the splits, passing below the grasping arms of the door man, and between his legs, seeming to disappear before the moving megalith’s gaze. As he dropped he thrust the saber upwards and backwards, then forwards with all his might, cleaving the massive frame from groin to throat. The Deshade’s momentum took him forwards, falling into the desk, smashing it to smithereens with his tremendous bulk.

Quo stood. Looking around the destruction was less than he had imagined... for him anyway. Making his way through the devastation he removed his blade from the pinned figure on the back wall. She looked for all the world that all the pain in the room had coursed through her body. She looked spent, exhausted.

“Clan Naga Sadow will not tolerate drugs within our territory” Quo stated flatly, brokering no argument with his tone, “and you, Pellara, are the most prolific of traffickers, at least, ... you were”

Quo walked across to his ruck sack, producing a pair of binders, attaching them to her wrists.

“Quo here, send a squad.” He spoke into his wrist communicator.

“On their way, Sir.” Grasping her beneath her armpit he led her out of the building. One down, lots to go he thought. Picking up his rucksack up as he left the establishment he knew that the Clan would be pleased with his work even if they didn’t agree with his methods.

It was dark as Quo entered into Sang’s accommodation. Nobody saw him enter the area, and nobody would see him leave, his form merging into the background. Without sound he made his way through the living area towards the sleeping quarters. Listening intently at the thin door he tried to make out any sound issuing forth from the room behind the plasteel divider. There was no sign of movement from inside, no discernible echoes of habitation. Placing his prosthetic hand against it he used the precision engineering piece as an amplifier, feeling for slightest vibration. There was none. Easing the door sideways he entered the bedroom of the human Jedi.

Looking around he could see little in the way of ornamentation, save from a stack of data pads, and old fashioned books lining the back wall, surrounding a small desk and computer terminal. The bed didn’t look as though it had been slept in for several days, the bedding crisply laid on the bed looked undisturbed. Scanning the area for any sign of intrusion Quo could see no such evidence. The doors to the wardrobe slid open at his touch. Looking along the neatly arranged clothes nothing seemed out of the ordinary. His eyes took in the garments that were hung up, the all appeared to be pressed and clean, although something nagged at the back of his mind. What was it?

His hands opened up the built in drawers one by one, everything laid out in order, and everything apparently in its place. Opening each one told a story about the Jedi beneath his every day face to the Clan. He liked everything to be in its rightful place, organised, regimented. Maybe it was the way the academics brain functioned. Even the footwear at the bottom was arranged into pairs, with the fastenings tucked inside. There must be something more, his instincts were screaming that to him. As the last drawer opened at his touch there was a noise from the back that did not seem normal to him, not part of the operation of the unit. Pulling it forwards to its full extent Quo used one of his throwing knives to slide along the side, dislodging it from the runners that supported it. A click signified that it was now free of its shackles. Pulling sharply on the drawer it came free. The Zabrak placed it on the floor in front of the wardrobe.

Reaching into the dark space his fingers searched for the source of the noise. After a few seconds he felt it. A minuscule difference in height between the floor of the space and the object. Whatever it was was extremely thin, no more than a couple of microns thick at the most. Gently stroking it forwards it finally made its way out of the darkness, into the semi gloom of the room. It was a micro thin piece of acetate, clear and shiny, and in this light it was difficult to assess what was on it. Taking it gently in his hand he placed it into the same pouch as his interface unit, at least it should be protected within its plasteel shell. He replaced the drawer as it had been before, making sure that it appeared exactly the same as it had done before his disassembly of the unit.

Turning to the desk he scanned it, looking for the minutiae of ever day workings. No sign of anything being slid across its surface, nor any clues as to what Sang had been doing before he left. Quo moved over to it, lifting up the lid of the portable terminal. A hair detached itself from the lid of the unit, drifting on the currents of air until it landed on the work surface. Quo lifted it gently, rolling it in his fingertips, trying to ascertain from whom it had come by sight alone, failing utterly.

It struck him. The clothes. There were none of Sang’s combat fatigues hanging up. The ones in the wardrobe were either social or ceremonial wear, none of it had any use except for showing off in. Looking around he searched, it was here, he knew it was. Placing his face as close as possible to the wall surfaces he used the available light to highlight any abnormalities not usually detected. As he approached the third wall, the one to which the head of the bed was aligned it hit him. There was another hair, but this one was protruding from the wall itself. Moving closer to it, now standing on the bed itself, Quo’s fingers drummed as he scanned, gently, barely grazing the surface, but giving enough feedback for his ear to pick up as he pressed it to the wall. Approximately three feet above the head board the sound changed. It became more metallic, with a distinct echo.

Pressing gently in the middle of the area of the new sound he felt the click rather than heard it. Sliding out from the wall was a secret cubby hole. Extending itself away from the wall’s surface Quo could make out a data chip held within a suspensor field. Reaching out he took it, retrieving the hair at the same time. These would have to be analyzed. Pressing again on the front of the panel it retracted leaving no trace of its existence. Remaking the bed, and replacing everything as he had found it Quo egressed the quarters. He had to get somewhere where he could work on these parts of the puzzle.

His cloak of invisibility was his greatest ally, he remained fully concentrated on the image as he made his way back to his own quarters. Checking his own door for signs of tampering and satisfying himself that there were none he entered. His room remained in darkness as he made his way to his own litter, setting the windows to fully opaque, and setting the internal sensors to scan for any incursion into the immediate area. He switched his own desk light onto its lowest setting he arranged his interface, along with the data chip and both hairs onto his simple work bench.

Inserting the chip his pad lit up. DNA access required. Who’s though? Taking one of the hairs he set the sensors on the pad to read it. He watched as the small computer ran its scans, data scrolling across the screen, it shouldn’t take long for the owner of this particular hair was known to him. He would process the second as soon as this one was complete.

His mind reached out, searching the surrounding corridors for any signs of life. There were a couple, but they passed by, seemingly uninterested in the Zabraks ministrations. Still there was no harm in being extra cautious in the current series of events.

A beep signified a result. Glancing down he read, one eyebrow lifting slightly. It wasn’t Sang’s, and the owner was well known to the Sith. Tasha’Vel Versea, his Master. Quo saved the profile and placed the second hair onto the sensor area, again the pages of data scrolled across the view screen. Quo waited, he was good at waiting, championship material in fact.

Several minutes passed before the familiar tone signified the completion of the task. The results were in, his data pad displayed the results on the viewer, no surprise there, it was Sang’s. Quo was about to try that one first as the machine suddenly emitted a squeal, the screen went haywire, and then black. The Sith’s finger hovered over the access keys, the screaming interrupting his button press. The machine flashed back on, a holo-projection of his master appearing in the centre of his room.

“Well done my apprentice. I had no doubt you would figure out the clues and activate this message. You always were a clever little Sith,” a smile crossed the image’s face, “I am taking Sanguinius away for a while, although I shall return as soon as possible. We have to protect him from the mad ravings of the Grand Master, so I have taken your ship and have left to a place of safety. I’m taking him to Degobah, that should be far enough away from this madness. Cover our tracks my friend, I have complete confidence in your ability to do this, and shall return as soon as I possibly can. We can’t have two ranking officers disappear at the same time can we? Thank you for this my apprentice, I know that I have put you in a terrible position, but I shall explain all on my return. Thank you my friend.”

The interface closed down, before rebooting to it’s default setting. Quo scanned the database for the recent activity, the DNA files, and the message. All were gone. His Master had done a good job with the programming on the chip, which now displayed as empty. Taking the chip from his pad he held it in mid air, hovering, seemingly flying on its own, before igniting his lightsaber, incinerating it completely within the burning crimson energy beam. Nothing remained, not even dust. The hairs were treated to the same inconspicuous end, a brief smell of singing entering his nostrils as they were vaporised.

Cloaking himself in the Force again he made his way back over his tracks. Time to cover the trail. He knew that his Master would have done everything to cover the course of her actions, however, he knew that there would be no harm in double checking. This Grand Master was thorough if nothing else.

Rulvak sat in his quarters with a datapad in his hand, pondering if he had done the right thing. It was his first time having to punish anyone for anything. Insubordination is a serious offense aboard any vessel, as the crew has to have respect for the operation to work as a whole. Rulvak knew this in his mind, as he continued to dwell over what had happened.

30 Minutes Prior

“This is not a game Egregious. You do not get to just sit in your bunk all day. We still have a ship to take care of, and if I order you to do something, then it needs to get done!”

“Sir, I’m not sure this really pertains to the matter at hand,” the Falleen replied almost in a whisper.

“This definitely pertains to the situation. An order is an order. If you decide not to follow this one, how can I count on you to follow other ones? It doesn’t matter if I am asking you to go get me a snack, or if I am asking you to escort VIP’s. The overall concept is the same, follow the damn order. I shouldn’t have to repeat that again!” The Sephi was clearly upset.

“Captain Qurroc, Admiral Arcia on the long-range comms,” called out the nearest communications officer.

“Transfer it to my quarters,” the Captain replied quickly before turning back to Egregious. “As for you, the next week will be janitorial duties. I expect this ship to be spotless at the end of it. I hope you haven’t made any of the other crew members angry enough to make your job harder.” Rulvak then nodded to the Commander, who quickly called the bridge to attention at the sign of the Captain leaving.

“Carry on!” Rulvak shouted over his shoulder as if left the bridge.

Once he got back to his quarters, he thought he may have been a bit harsh. He did ask Egregious for a snack afterall. No, the pinciple remains. He must follows orders just the same as everyone else.

“Ah, Arcia, how are things?”

“Captain Qurroc, things are well. In fact, I will be coming to visit very soon…” Arcia started as their conversation transitioned to her new position aboard the Nighthawk.

Quo woke feeling very strange. Not only did he feel like he was about five years younger than he had when he had lain down to rest, but there was a weird feeling about the place. Raising from his litter he showered and dressed, not able to shake this feeling of foreboding that was filling every part of his being.

Crossing the courtyard in front of his quarters it niggled at his awareness again. What was that? It was a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time. Jedi! A lot of Jedi! Usually he could feel a couple of them, Sang and Malik, with all their light side goodness purveying his consciousness, but there were more than fifty of them here. His mind felt like it was covered in sickly sweetness, and it was not a feeling he liked at all. His mind was reeling with all the goodness that he was feeling.

Heading towards the training area the feeling got even more cloying than it had been in his accommodation. Entering it hit him like a wall of oddness that made him feel physically sick. The younglings inside the training quadrangle were concentrating on the drills that were being given by their instructor.

“Deflect the blows, and immobilise. We are not here to kill the enemy, remember we are guardians of justice throughout the Galaxy, we do not wantonly slay those that stand before us,” the instructor continued his mantra as the young trainees attempted to stop the bolts randomly generated by the drone from hitting their bodies, jolting them if it should do so. “We are negotiators, not executioners, we attempt to achieve a diplomatic solution to our problems, however the opponent may not, therefore we must be able to dissipate his attacks without bodily harm if at all possible”

Quo stood, bemused at the rhetoric that the instructor was spreading to his pupils. What in frell’s name was he talking about? The clan stood for domination. Domination of those that could not resist. It stood for gaining power through whichever means was the most practical. The Sons of Sadow were interrogators, torturers, inveiglers and infiltrators, they were not diplomats. Inside his head he knew what they were.........and they definitely were not this!

The instructor turned, and Quo finally got a look at the face behind the twisted monologue being delivered. Bentre? At least it looked like Bentre Stahoes, but there was a smile plastered over the Corellian’s face. What the.....? Ben was a Sith, through and through. What sort of warped power had caused this? Reaching out with his feelings Quo probed, only finding lightness and conscience inside the human.

“Sith!” Stahoes started making his way towards the Zabrak, his pace quickening with every stride. His blaster leapt from its holster into Bentre’s hand, the big paw folding around the grip precisely, muscle memory guiding his movement through years of repetitive exercise. As his arm came up in front of him he squeezed off a couple of shots, dead on target. Quo’s Lightsaber leapt from his belt a split second after Bentre’s blaster, igniting in a crimson flash as the pommel slapped into his hand. Reacting to the double blaster bolts his wrist and fingers guided the weapon in a short arc intercepting the shots, their paths deflecting away from his body. Almost immediately there were three more blasts, a single followed by a double zeroing in on his body. Rolling the first away over his shoulder Quo flipped to avoid the second volley. The gap between them had narrowed all the time as they both covered the open ground. With just a few yards left between them Bentre’s own saber replaced the blaster in his hand, the familiar ‘snap hiss’ of the blade’s inception in juxtaposition with Quo seeing the light blue blade, rather than the expected red.

The blades clattered together, the air around them smelling of ozone, each blade trying to interrupt the flow of the other. Quo had already softened the impact by letting his wrist be pushed back towards his own centre line, allowing Ben’s to slide down it slightly, the Jedi increasing his own push against the stasis. Quo snapped backwards half a step allowing Ben’s own press forwards to over extend the Jedi, the young Sith shifting his weight first to the right, pushing the azure beam of light downwards and away from his body as his blade slid in a curve over the top of it as he moved his centre of gravity to the left. Quo’s right hand whipped forwards, his wrist cocking, bringing the scarlet blade down towards the Corellian’s head. Even as the blade began it’s decent Bentre’s left hand gestured, shooting forwards in front of his body. As if struck by an invisible wrecking ball the Zabrak warrior was thrown backwards, landing on his feet mere inches from the perimeter wall.

A snarl of rage escaped Quo’s throat, guttural and animalistic. His feet gripped the floor as his muscles tensed powering him forwards with superhuman speed, Bentre only just able to adjust his position to meet the new attack. The savagery of the Zabrak’s attacks forced the Light Side Jedi back step by step, blow after blow raining down on the defence that was being offered. Quo’s own anger and confusion fuelled his grip on the Dark Side, his gold and red eyes gleaming with the intensity of the feelings surging through him. The sheer speed and fluidity of the attacks were breaking down the beleaguered fendings of the Jedi before him. Whirling like a dervish he drew out his vibro sword with his left hand as his right continued the hammering blows with his lightsaber, the doubling of the attacks wearing his opponent down even though Bentre was summoning every trick that he knew to avoid them.

A reverse strike with his vibro sword jarred the sapphire coloured blade to a standstill, preventing the parabola of it’s path. Quo’s arc continued, the red saber slicing through flesh and bone, decapitating the human warrior, the head falling to the tiled floor of the training yard, the eyes rolling into the back of their sockets. The body fell where it stood, crumpling backwards into a heap, separated from its cranium by a couple of feet.

Quo looked down at the corpse of Stahoes. Shutting down his saber, and returning his vibroblade to its scabbard, his eyes took in the sight. A single thought crossed his mind. Ben wouldn’t like to live like that, better to put him out of his misery. Turning he strode away. This was going to be a busy day.

Asajj Brave, faithful Fighting, Surrendering, Dying Slave, Padawan, Apprentice, Nightsister Leading, Damaging... Dreaming Skilled, cruel Ventress

Nightsisters Powerfull, Dark Deceive, Battle, Explore Spirits, Illusions, Shadows, Darkness Reorganise, Ally, Survive Powerfull, Dark Tarentum

The second she'd woken that morning, Malice knew something was wrong. She sat up quickly in her bed, looking immediately around her own room. Everything seemed to be as she'd left it. Aiya was still sleeping where she had been the night before, and the sleepy Nexu twitched in her sleep. Still, Malice could still feel something was different, and she was determined to find out just what it was. Making sure not to wake Aiya, she got out of bed, quickly pulling on her normal outfit and clipping her lightsaber to her side. She opened her door, peeking her head out cautiously. Everything seemed to look the same outside her hallway. A few people she didn't know walked by, but that wasn't cause for alarm, there were many people she didn't know yet.

She walked around, glancing through different windows and doorways, trying to find what in the world could be throwing her off so badly this morning. Passing one of the training rooms, she had almost completely passed it, when she realized who it was inside. Kalon Entar sat, seemingly in meditation. That was odd by itself, as he wasn't one to find any use in the practice. She entered the room carefully, still fully on guard. The Savant seemed to sense her presence immediately, and a warm smile lit his face, making Malice freeze mid-step. Kalon was smiling? Actually and genuinely smiling? He opened his eyes, getting to his feet and coming over to her.

"Kaila, it's good to see you. Have you come to meditate as well?" He asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.She pushed it off, frowning.

"I told you not to call me that." She replied, her eyes filled with suspicion and a growing paranoia. Kalon's warm face turned to one of confusion.

"What do you mean? Why would I call you by anything but your name?" he questioned. He could see there was something wrong with her today, and he was starting to grow worried. "Kaila are you feeling alright?"

"What's going on, Kalon? Something is wrong and I can feel it, and now you're not acting like yourself." Malice shot at him, her voice starting to raise. Kalon didn't answer, but slowly pulled a holocommunicator out, speaking into it.

"Can we get Master Selika to training room C-74? Her apprentice is here and she's acting...out of character."

Perfect. If anyone knew what to do, It would be Selika. Leaving Kalon behind her, Malice approached one of the training dummies, deciding to take some of her frustration and anger out on the unsuspecting target. After a few well-placed kicks, the dummy's head ripped clean off, hitting the ground with a soft thump. She glanced over, not realizing Selika had already entered the room and was sharing a few worried glances with Kalon. They both looked at her, not saying anything at first until Selika raised her hand.

"Kaila. May we speak with you?" She called. Malice flinched. Even if Kalon calling her that had simply been a slip-up, there was no way in the galaxy that Selika ever would. Selika was the one that had given her the name Malice, telling her it was her new name and her old name was dead now. She approached the two slowly, eyeing each of them with suspicion.

"Kalon tells me you're feeling strange today." Selika started, her face painted with worry. "That was quite a bit of...aggression you displayed over there. Has something happened? Would you like to talk to us about it? You know anger and hate are not the Jedi way."

"Well, of course it's not, I'm not-" Malice cut herself off quickly, realizing it would be a short conversation if she'd finished her sentence the way she almost had.

"-feeling well. I'm not feeling well. Kalon was right. I just feel sick today."

Selika and Kalon's faces both relaxed instantly, their concern seeming to dissipate now that there was a believable reason for her behavior. They were both dripping with light side energy, and while Malice was still determined to get to the bottom of it, she was slowly beginning to wonder if perhaps she was dreaming. That would certainly make sense, and the more she thought about it, the more she began to relax.

"Would you like me to escort you back to your room?" Kalon asked, his warm smile returning. Malice nodded. Perhaps if she went back to sleep, she would wake up back in her actual body.

Kalon gave a small respectful bow to Selika before heading out of the training, room leading Malice back to her own quarters. She followed him silently, still trying to formulate how she was going to get out of this dream world. Currently, going back to sleep seemed like her best shot, and she was so busy concentrating, she almost didn't realize Kalon had stopped in front of her door.

"I hope you feel better tomorrow." Kalon said, inclining his head to her.

"Thanks. I hope I-" her sentence halted and she winced, looking down at her finger. Her hand had slipped reaching for the door code, and she'd somehow managed to cut her pointer finger. A small drop of blood beaded and dripped from her hand, falling to the floor. She looked at it in horror, her breathing starting to quicken.

"Kaila? What's wrong?" Kalon didn't get an answer. She just continued to stare at her finger. It was beginning to sting as she stuck it in her mouth, cleaning the blood off of it. After a short while, she muttered one sentence under her breath.

"You can't feel pain in dreams."

See Starfighter See Starfighter Flee Pew Pew Starfighter, Pew.

On Dathomir, the Nightsister know the Dark Side Better than anyone.

Just fog and witches Tarentum seeks new knowledge All death is new life

I walked into my rooms after a very long day of studying at the Shadow Academy libraries and later being beat up by my Master at the training hall. I was sore, had a killer headache and really felt old. Maybe accepting the offer to join the Brotherhood was a mistake. Lilith was fitting right in and had already made a name for herself as an outstanding student and as a healer.

“Lil? I am home ma love. What do ye want for dinn-“ I stopped an looked around. Something felt off. I could not place it, but something… I dropped my training gear and books and unhooked my saber from my belt. Calming myself, I slowly searched our rooms looking for anything that was amiss. Nothing, they were empty. I went back and grabbed up my gear where I had dropped it and went to the kitchenette muttering to myself. It was then, while I was getting myself a drink, that I noticed the holocom light blinking. Still trying to shake off the odd feeling something was amiss, I thumbed the activation switch. I popped the cap on my cider fully expecting Lilith to be messaging me that she would be late for dinner. No surprise her Master had her slaving away at the Shadow Academy and she had not been home on time for the past 10 days.

The static of the holocom made me turn and look at the unit and stopped cold when I saw who had left me the message. That miserable Twi’lek Ch’Cadick had the gall to call me again.

“—anos, I have t—ken Lil—th with me back to D-s—un. She isn’t h–rt and I wi— send h— back when she h—heal--- ----st—r Th---lan.” The image jittered and shifted because of the distance and the scrambler on the device. “I had ho—d to avoid thi- if y-- would have he-ped me befo---. By t-e –ay, the sec-rity whe—re you are at is a joke. Ju—t lik- th--- scrambler on the holo was able t- trac—you e—ly. Nice apar--ment you have." Screaming in rage, I smashed the holocom against the wall causing it to short out in a shower of sparks. I lashed out in anger I punched the refrigerator door leaving an imprint of my fist deep in the metal. Seeing red as I looked at my broken knuckles as they bled and started swelling, I fell to my knees and wept in frustration.

Fifteen minutes later I was in the medical ward with my hand healing rapidly in a kolto tank. I had a droid bring me holocom so I could contact my Master. When he answered, he could see the medical staff behind me moving about. “Janos? Why are you contacting me from the medical facilities, I trust you weren’t injured to badly during our sparring.”

“Nae Master, I broke ma hand punching the refrigerator in ma rooms. I need your permission ta go off planet an track down a piece o stinking filth that has kidnapped Lilith.”

“Wait, you punche—who would kidnap Lilith and more to the point. HOW did someone kidnap Lilith? Are they in the Brotherhood, from another house or clan?”

I removed my now healed hand from the gel and flexed the fingers to see if they would be a problem. They were sore but would be fine in the time it took me to get to Dosuun. “A former Padawan I trained with back on Dosuun, a Twi’lek named Ch’Cadick, managed ta sneak on planet an take her from our rooms! He somehow tracked me here, slipped through the security, which he says is a joke by the way, and, and HE TOOK HER! He took her to Dosuun ta heal Jedi Master Thuallan” I started to get angry again at the situation. “So ah’ll be a need'n ta goo an faind her an get hair back from thair!” I yelled my accent coming out thicker than usual, as it often did when I had lost my cool.

My Master smiled at my anger and an evil glint appeared in his eye. “Janos you have my permission to take the first shuttle off planet and to where you need to go. I will make the arrangements and speak with Atra and Darkblade. We will monitor your journey and assist where we can. I want you to promise me something though. When you find this Twi’lek, and this Jedi, if he lives. Kill them.”

“With pleasure my Master, with pleasure.”

Within a few hours I had packed and made my way to the spaceport to catch the outbound shuttle. Settling into my seat I began to meditate, forcing my mind to revel in the death that I was going to be bringing. Within moments, I was deep in a trance.

I transferred from shuttle to ship and back again quite a few times before I made it to the wild space and the Dosuun System. I hid aboard a cargo shuttle heading down to the planet and waited in the hold, using the Force to cloak myself from everyone on the ship. When we landed I waited until the right moment and made my way off ship.

I got my bearings and realized I was about a day’s journey from where I needed to be. Looking about I spied a speeder that would do nicely for getting me to where I needed to go. Waiting until dark I made my way to it and stole it, heading into the jungle. I traveled for hours, skirting communities and the numerous First Order outposts that had sprung up in the years since I had been there. Only resting when I needed to, I made my way to the small commune hidden deep in the forests.

It was quiet, very quiet. Many of the buildings showed signs of neglect and the grounds where I spent my youth training were overgrown in some places. I let the Force guide me as I reached out and sensed where my love was. I could feel her Force in a far building along with my enemy and a very, very weak feeling. I stood up and shucked off my cloak then removed my saber from my belt.

“Ch’Cadick!” I bellowed, “It’s time for you to die along with the rest of the miserable Lightsiders here!” I strode forward out of the woods onto the grounds. “I will raise this place and bury you in an unmarked grave for what you have done!” Igniting my Lightsaber, I slowly and purposely walked forward. An adolescent rushed towards me yelling a battle cry and waiving a practice saber over his head. Without a thought I parried his wild blow and cleft his arm from his body. Screaming in agony, he rolled about until I killed him. I looked up and grinned at the horrified look on Ch’Cadick’s face. “It is your turn next my friend.” I mocked.

Ch’Cadick ignited his lightsaber and the blade was a brilliant blue. I raised my indigo purple blade in salute and charged him. The clash and arcing of the blade brought Lilith to the door. I could see she had a black eye and fat lip. she also looked very tired. My eyesight turned red at the thought of this alien laying his hands on my wife. Slashing with all my might, I forced him back towards the door. He countered and with the grace of one who has trained for years he leapt away and positioned himself for another attack. “You can’t beat me Janos.” He said. “I trained under Master Thuallan after you fled, and I learned what you never could learn. How to focus and control my anger. Now I am a Jedi Knight and you still wear the sash of a Padawan!”

“Aye lad, a Padawan ah may be but ye will never be my equal, Jedi or no.” I countered, stepping towards him again. “Ah have the love o’ a good woman, an a master that has been teaching me ta use my emotions an ma anger ta fight with.” I snarled reaching forward towards him with my left hand; I blasted a bolt of lighting at him. Caught unaware he barely blocked the bolt with his lightsaber. Drawing inward, I looked him in the eyes and sent a crushing blow of terror into him. His eyes widened as his fears took hold of him. Using the opening, I gripped my saber with both hands and I stabbed forward. The indigo blade pierced his left shoulder causing him to drop his saber. Holding the hilt of the saber against his shoulder with my left hand, the blade sizzling with his blood, I reached down to my belt and drew forth a corroded and beat up vibroknife. “Do ye recognize this lad? I killed our master with it. Right in the heart no less.”

“And that’s what you will do to me now, stab me in the heart too?” The now panicked Twi’lek asked. Fear and tears were in his eyes. For a moment, I hesitated, thinking that he no reason to die. Then I thought of Lilith and his taking her.

“Nay Jedi filth, this!” I stabbed the blade just above his groin and drew it upwards eviscerating him. I looked him in the eye as his guts and blood splashed down over my legs and boots. Then pushing the blade further in I cut out his beating heart.

Turning off my saber, I let his corpse fall among his entrails. I turned and saw my wife recoil in horror at my gore-covered appearance and the red of my normally blue-grey eyes. “Stand aside wife, Ah have me orders.” I growled and stepped towards the door.

“Janos, JANOS! Stop! He’s dying, he’ll be dead very soon.” My wife sobbed, “Please, stop! You don’t need to do this. I, I, I couldn’t save him, it’s to late.” I watched as she curled inward sobbing at her inability to save someone. I knew it was her greatest fear.

“Lass I love ye, but Master Stahoes has given me an order. Now step aside an let me finish ma work here.” I said gently pushing her aside. I entered the darkened room and went to the figure lying on the bed. The Jedi Knight lay dead; his hands limply grasping the saber I had seen so often him flourish with gusto and grace. I felt my eyes tear up and could not understand why. After everything that had happened between us, the fighting, the yelling, all of the grief he gave me trying to make me into a Jedi. I found I couldn’t hate him “Goodbye..Ma, Master.” I whispered tears streaming from my eyes. Lilith came up beside me and we watched as the body dissolved into shimmering, sparkling light.