20 BBY, Standard Year
Republic News Alert:

Reporting live from the Senate Building on Coruscant, where the esteemed General Tuxing, who you may remember from last years expose on the training and life of you Clones on Kamino, has just returned to his home planet for the first time in months, after completing what have now come to be known as The Alethia Incursion Campaigns.

The Alethian Field, as previously discussed, is a cluster of semi-habitable asteroids orbiting a dwarf star. Located on the front lines of the war with the Separatist Rebellion, the Alethian Field has been regarded as an impoverished sector, and has survived this long due to substantial aid from the Senate over the last several decades.

Approximately six month ago, Standard Calendar Time, a fleet of Separatists ships dropped out of lightspeed in the skies over the small colonies, terrifying the homesteaders there, and announcing their intentions to annex the entire system for a droid processing facility.

The esteemed Supreme Chancellor Palpatine immediately denounced the attack, stating the Republic would not stand by while droid armies were produced from within our own borders. General Tuxing and his fleet were immediately dispatched to the Alethian Fields, and began the long series of campaigns to expunge the now entrenched facilities and their armies, before finally succeeding two weeks ago, though sadly not before the Separatist forces badly damaged two Alethian settlements, apparently out of pure spite.

Nevertheless though, the Alethian people are free once more!

The people are already cheering for General Tuxing, the Alethian Hero!

20 BBY, Galactic Standard Year
Confederacy News Channel

Greeting, citizens of the Confederacy of Independent Systems. I, Count Dooku, regret to inform you that the war criminal known as General Roven Tuxing, has sadly managed to escape from our troops, fleeing back into the arms of the corrupt Republic Senate, where they no doubt seek to shelter him from retribution for his acts.

As you are no doubt aware, Tuxing first became known to us during his assault on the Alethian Fields, a small community which has been neglected by the Republic for years, receiving only paltry gestures of “aid,” barely sufficient to keep even one of their cities running.

A confederacy delegation arrived six months ago, offering our support in return for their hosting several of our droid facilities on their uninhabited asteroids, an offer the graciously accepted.

However, as is proved by the very existence of the miserably conflict, the tyrannical Republic broaches no descent within their ranks, not even from the ones they have already abandoned, and the vicious General was sent to subjugate the colonies once more.

After a protracted resistance, our forces were driven out in the wake of his unrelenting barrage, in which several Alethian Cities were decimated.

Know this, people of the Alethian Fields, we have not abandoned you. General Tuxing, your time will come.

20 BBY
Alethian Chronicle

As of today, the nightmare of the last few months has finally ended with General Tuxing’s withdrawl, apparently satisfied that his so-called “rebel cells” have been driven out of our system completely.

Hard to believe this whole thing started because we made a business deal with some off-worlders purchasing some of our unused land.

As always, our hearts go out to the citizens of Araba, Benta, and Ordal, the cities that were most heavily damaged in the cross-fire between the two foreign armies.

“Grhm,” came a sleepy voice on the other end of the line. “Whoever this is better have a very good reason for contacting me at this hour,” the Empress said in a voice that mixed exhaustion with the promise of pain in equal measure. Jon winced. He’d forgotten the time difference between this backwater planet and Brotherhood space. All well, he was already in the deep end as it was.

“Your majesty! Hello!” he exclaimed. He immediately lowered his voice when he heard the aggravated hiss over the line.

“Who is this?” Elincia asked. “I’m not getting a hologram. Just audio.”

“Yeah, so the planet I’m on evidently hasn’t developed proper hologram communication yet. Go figure. I had Artemis patch in to make sure this signal got through though!.”

Elincia sighed on the other end. “Silvon?” Apparently she’d recognised his voice.

“That is I you majesty.”

“What did you do?”

“Why would you assume I-?”

“It is the middle of the night, Mercenary. What. Did. You. Do?”

Jon wasn’t sure if the vague sensation of fingers around his throat was real or purely imaginary. Could she do that from this far away? Didn’t she need to at least see him or something? Jon wasn’t sure, and he didn’t want to find out like that/. Rule #4: Never Tempt Fate. She Loves A Challenge.

“Ok, so I need bail money!” When she didn’t reply, Jon just sighed forlornly. No getting out of it now.

“It’s… a long story.” Nothing but silence on the other end. “So, it started when I went for a walk….”

“Let me get this straight,” said Raiju. The nautolan, along with Ironius, Alara, and Mune, had evidently joined in on Jon’s call at some point. The lack of visuals meant he wasn’t really certain when, but that wasn’t really his primary concern at the moment.

"Less than twelve hours after being deposited onto a backwater planet, on an unsanctioned mission no less-”
“Which, I completed flawlessly! Can you really blame me for wanting to have a little...celebration, afterwards?”

“You threatened civilians, wrecked three squad cars, started a public disturbance in a nightclub,” Raiju listed off, one after another.

“Hey, in my defense-”

“Blackmailed a librarian, threw the head of the city council into the lake, left a virus on the flag ship’s computer in an attempt to increase speed,” continued Alara, without even missing a beat.

“Why is she even here? I’m not in you House, woman!”

“Unleashed all the inmates from the asylum, set three buildings on fire, knocked four down, locked the mayor in his own building, unlawfully imprisoned a group of rodians” continued Mune. Did they rehearse this? When would they have had time to rehearse this so well?!

“I had it on excellent authority those rodians were terrorists!” Jon insisted, though at this point the writing was on the wall.

“All while you were 'celebrating',” finished Elincia, in the most deadened tone he’d ever heard her speak. He wasn’t sure if that was a good sign, or a bad one.

“A very enthusiastic celebration, Your Majesty!” The crowd on the other end of the line was silent. “So, you’ll post my bail, I take it?” he finished weakly.

Cruel Nayaman
The enemy to our Clan
Fell to our forces

Thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk

Thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk

“See the real trick is never to lose focus!”

Thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk

“Which means I really shouldn’t be talking while doing this!”

Thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk

Silvon’s knife dived between every one of his fingers in order, and when it went through he’d flip his hand over and repeat the process, constantly maintaining a dizzying speed. This, he did to the awestruck looks of an entire tavern full of onlookers, all of them in varying states of inebriation.

He’d heard one or two whispering this man simply must have the Force, as no ordinary man could possibly do this without losing a finger or three. Which was completely false of course, as Silvon had seen men without the Force perform this game far faster than he would ever be able too, but he’d let the backwater hicks have their fun. The odds of any of these people on this little Outer Rim mining colony would ever see a Jedi or a Sith were about as high as his chances of becoming the next Grandmaster of the Brotherhood.

Hmmmmm… Mav does get an awesome ship, but all the paperwork, the endless meetings, the assassination attempts? But the ship…

In any event, his lack of Force ability was half the reason Silvon did stuff like this to begin with. Sure, anyone with mystically enhanced reaction times could’ve done what he was doing, but it required real skill and patience to do it without some kind of pseudo magical crutch.

Jon had spent years perfecting this little crowd pleaser, practicing in his off hours on whatever pirate or smuggling vessels had been willing to hire him that particular month. Always with a plasteel blade of course. The pirate captain who taught him about this used to mock him for that, saying that it was braver to perform with a real blade, but Silvon appreciated having all his appendages attached. Prosthetics were expensive after all,unlike toy knives, and back then he really couldn’t afford to waste even one credit.

Finally stopping, Silvon took a moment to twirl the knife in his fingers as an added bit of flare for his appreciative audience.

“Yeah, so the guy who taught me that called it “Five Finger Fillet” but apparently that’s considered racist by species with a different number of appendages,” Silvon said casually. He took a moment to appreciate the looks on his audience members faces as they apparently tried to determine if he was serious about that or not. That’s what made Silvon love being out in the backwaters of the galaxy. The people out here would believe anything.

“Now,” Silvon said loudly, over the clamor of his adoring audience (which proved unnecessary, as people immediately hushed to hear what ridiculpus but just barely plausible thing he would say next) “who wants to show me the way to your dart boards, so I can show you lot some really impressive blade work, hm?”

No question Nardash is a big city. Some people might even call it huge. Those people had never been to Coruscant, or even Nar Shadaa. Those were huge cities. As it stood, Nardash was just big. Twenty million residents, a few hundred square miles of concrete and steel, and the heart of the Meraxis Empire, naturally they would have a massive and strict police force to maintain absolute order.

And without a doubt, the Nardash Police Department (on paper a civilian organization, in practice a subdivision of the Military) was the picture of discipline, ever ready to crack down on the first sign of a crime, felony, or minor misdemeanor (really, they were all pretty much the same under Meraxian law).

Disciplined, dedicated, unwavering. So, naturally, they were a major hotbed of corruption. That’s where the Wayward Officer Correction Tribunal, WOCT, (Watchers, as their nickname goes) sprung up a few decades back.

The whole group was founded just two years after the coup that put the previous emperor in power, and only lasted for about two more years after that. In the decade since, they’ve become a kind of a ghost story among the populace, mostly cause of the weird rumors surrounding them, and the increasingly more weird rumors that have been popping up since.

Officially, the Watchers were an internal affairs division. The MP’s kept the populace in line, the Watchers kept the MP’s in line. The weird stuff was in how. See, the Watchers, they didn’t have the authority to make arrests, or even to open investigations. If an officer was accused of breaking the rules they were supposed to keep, the Watchers would simply “ask” them to come in for an “interview”.

See, that was another weird thing, nobody knew where the Watcher operated out of. They had no official base of operations, at least not one that was listed on paper. They’d just show up, at your precinct if you were lucky, if you weren’t they’d be at your house. And you didn’t have the option to refuse either. No word on where those souls went, but when they came back…

Take this one guy I heard a story about, Jaxos Reed...or was it Reen? Sheen? No no, it was definitley Jason Reed. Yes I’m sure, stop interupting!

So, Jack, he’s you’re standard slimeball, right? Taking bribes, dealing spice on the side, than using that money to set his wife and kids up in the nicest penthouse he could afford. One day he comes home to find a Watcher in that penthouse, sitting at the table with his wife and kids.

Jaxos didn’t show up to work the next day. His kids didn’t show up to school. Not for a week. Then two. Then four.

When they showed up again, they were the picture of Meraxian propaganda, “Hail the Emperor” and all that stuff. Reed punched the next guy that tried to bribe, the spice dealing stopped cold, and a lot of his regulars weren’t heard from again. I even heard a rumor that one of his kids nearly killed a classmate who said some unkind things about the regime.
What happened to the Watchers? Got shut down. Official story was “budget cuts”. Course you still always got the rumors. That they went underground to do their work more “efficiently”, that bad seeds still disappear and come back changed, that they’re the ones really running the Empire, that they’re a Sith sect or a bunch of disguised Rakatans or some nonsense…

Me? Well I take the Empire at it’s word. Course they’re gone. Take my advice, you tell people the same if it comes up. Just, trust me on this one?

Arron stalked silently through the trees and grass, carefully so not to spook the woodland creature before him. This new planet had an abundance of fresh and unfamiliar wildlife; a perfect hunting ground. Seraph was an unfamiliar planet to the Dark Jedi, but it was where Scholae Palatinae had chosen to make their new home. He needed to get acquainted.

He burst from the coverings, his claws flashing out, one set bone, one set metal. Green eyes flashed sulfurous yellow.

And the forest life would need to get acquainted to him.

Cathar was a wild planet, and its people were hunters of that wilderness. Hunting was in Arron’s blood, in his soul. And through his soul, he connected with The Dark Side.

It had been a hard lesson, long in learning, and cruel in living. It wasn’t until he had come to Antei, and learned of the Dark Side, that the scattered pieces fell into place. The universe was wild, and all in it, were the predator, or the prey.

The animal bleated and screamed, thrashed about, but Arron was relentless. He had let go of thought, let go of reason, and embraced the Hunt. He was predator, it was prey; this was the way of things, the Dark Side itself was proof of this.

The creature, a thing with black fur and five twisting horns, finally fell silent, and the woods fell quiet once more. It didn’t last long; a howl broke the night, and Arron could sense them coming in the Force.

A group of three broke into the clearing where Arron stood over his prey, large and bear-like, with vaguely humanoid forelimbs. The lead one, bigger than the others, and with a nasty scar across its face, stepped forward. The Alpha. And Arron was in its territory. That could not go unpunished.

The creature charged, bellowing in rage. Arron didn’t bother returning the gesture. He crouched low, waiting for just the right-NOW!

Arron leapt into the air, the Force granting him altitude no mundane body could reach, and landed on the monster’s back. Before it could react, Arron sent a stream of lightning into it’s body, and listened as the creature shrieked-

“Arron!”

Arron blinked his eyes open to see his Battle Team leader Callindra waving her hand in front of his face.

“C’mon, eyes open Arron, we’re landing in ten.”
“Right,” Arron said, the memory of the hunt a week prior receding in his mind. “I’ll be ready.”

That seemed to satisfy the Sith Lady, and she went to check with the other members of the Battle Team.

Arron stood to stretch, and caught his reflection in to metal of the ship. The bright yellow of his eyes was slowly fading back into its natural green, but flecks of yellow seemed to linger. That had been happening more and more lately, he knew.

As the ship landed, and the Team gathered to disembark for their mission, Arron allowed his thoughts to return to that hunt once more. It had been good, but the memory had begun to grow a bit...stale. He’d need to hunt again soon, after this mission preferably, to make fresh memories to meditate on. Perhaps see some of the other wildlife of Seraph…

The way of the Dark Side was the way of passion, and while many Sith and Dark Jedi chose to meditate on their rage, their hate, or even their lusts, he communed with the Dark Side through the thrill of hunting. Cathar were hunters, and in this way, he knew he’d surpassed the most legendary of his ancestor’s numbers.

The bay doors opened, and a humid wave of air, accompanied by the sounds of strange birds and beast heralded the sight of a lush jungle. Arron smirked. Or perhaps he’d get to hunt again sooner than he thought.

Is - is this thing on? It's working? Alright...Never recorded one of these things myself before...so uh...Shadow says I'm supposed to be "Recording my wisdom for future generations", whatever that means. At first I wasn't going to but....I thought of something you need to hear, whoever you are.
My nickname here is "The Hunter" because that's what I'm the best at doing. Other assassins have a simple job, kill the target without anyone seeing you, or leaving any evidence, which is simple...when they don't know you're coming.
Other times however, they expect you, and they try to hide, try to run. A hunter's job, in that case, is to find the target. In an whole galaxy, there's a lot of places to hide. The trick to it though, isn't knowing where to look, it's thinking like you're prey.
People think I'm a good hunter because I'm Cathar, we're natural hunters, and that's true, but it's not what makes me the best hunter, and it's not even because I have the Force. It's because I've...ah blast it, Shadow said the other's won't see this thing anyway...
It's because I've been hunted myself, and I'm not the only one in the Brotherhood either. A lot of us came hear to hide, to run, maybe you did too. Use that. Learn from it. It means you know how the Prey thinks, how the Prey will react, where it will run, when it will fight.
Now if you haven't, good for you. Now put this thing down, because you will never be a Hunter. Take the soft jobs, where you kill some fancy senator or mob boss in his pent house, or a thief in a cell.
Alright, I've said my part. Arron Saylos, signing out.

Manually added