Honey guess what!
I'm pregnant!

High upon the peaks of mountain Or'ena, the ruins of the Velastari temple glinted in the setting sun. A loan figure sat crossed legged at the edge of the cliff, with his back to the ancient building. The winds shifted, tugging at the Miralukas' long hair and headband.

Revs reached inside of his robes and pulled out a flask. Taking a long drink, the alcohol helping fight off the feeling of being cold.
" Do you know why we don't call them targets?" The voice of his first master Celevon Erinos echoed in his head.
"Because a target implies that they may escape. We refer to them as deaders, because once you have accepted the contract they are dead. Failure will not be tolerated."

The words of his old teacher were quickly replaced by those of Marick Arconae. "Quit wasting time. You have one purpose, eliminate the threats and move on with your mission. We do not take prisoners, nor do we leave survivors."

Revs had been trained by some of the Brotherhood's top assassins during the time since he graduated from the Shadow Academy on Arx. His career started with killing petty criminals who were wanted dead by rival gang member. From there he would move on to take out major underworld crime lords in Port O'rval. He had fought in two wars. From fighting on the front lines, to assassinating enemy generals in their sleep. He had never questioned his training, never thought twice about taking a life. But now here with the Jedi…..things were changing.

He had come to Odan-Urr in a desperate attempt to get his younger sister away from the Shadow Clan. She had graduated at the top of her class, and the thought of his baby sister being made into a weapon or left to the hands of a Darkside user who used torture for a teaching tool made the Shadesworn sick to his stomach. Here training with the Jedi, her command of the Force had excelled. Even Revs himself had learned a few new tricks, and even found his entire outlook on things changing.

The Miralukas mind wandered to a recent mission he had run. It was a simple job, to hunt a rogue Togruta that had been harrowing a local village over whether or not they should live as farmers or hunters. It was a simple enough task. The assassin could have easily killed the target and been done with the job, but Aura had requested that he not kill the poor hunter.

The scene played out in Revs head again. The Togruta laying on the ground, the viridian blade of the Mystics lightsaber to its neck. One quick push and the job would have been over right there, but Revs stopped. The Zeltron standing behind him tensed as if waiting to see what the former Shadesworn would do. Revs still couldn't figure why he chose to spare the Togruta's life, but if it made the boss happy he guessed. Maybe he was going soft, maybe he was just getting sick of killing. Either way he decided to take his first prisoner that day. Much to Aura and the rest of the teams surprise.

*Maybe it's time to turn a new page.* he thought to himself. *Maybe it's time to just settle down and live a peaceful life for once.* Revs chuckled at the thought. "Yea and maybe I'll quit drinking and settle down. Find a good girl." He stumbled a little as he stood up, talking to himself "Or maybe I can go back to Port O'rval. Lots of good drinks and women there."

Revs turned his back to the setting sun and started to walk into the long forgotten temple. "I hope they still got some beds in here."

The doors to the Shadow Academy's training room slid open, allowing a Human dressed as an Arconan officer and a Mirialan wearing Novitiate robes to enter the training area. “Go get each of us a training lightsaber. We are going to work on Form Zero,” Cawthren ordered. He watched the apprentice slowly walk over to the weapons rack, seemingly distracted.

The Knight watched the younger Force user as he removed the top of his officer's uniform. “Are you okay?” he inquired. “You seem off today, as if something is on your mind.”

The Novitiate paused before grabbing the training weapons and turning back his instructor. “I've just been thinking a lot, Master. About the Collective.”

“Ahh. I see,” Cawthren acknowledged as he took the weapon from the apprentice. Activating the blue blade of the saber, the pair started to go through the motions of Form Zero in a slow, deliberate pattern. “So tell me. What is it about the Collective that is bothering you?”

The Mirialan shifted from one stance to the next as he thought carefully on how to word his response. “Well it bothers me how they hunt us down. Force users, I mean. There are even rumors that they will attack us here at the academy.” The Novitiate paused for brief second before finishing. “How do you deal with it, Master? I mean knowing that you and everyone you know are a wanted just because you command the Force?”

Cawthren increased the speed of the his strikes, forcing the trainee to react faster or be hit. “I train, every day. I read every report that is released, and I learn as much as I can about the enemy's capabilities.”

The Knight blocked a slow strike as the the flow of the training was reversed, putting him on defence. “That doesn't answer my question, Master. How do you deal with it mentally, the fact that an assassin could attack you at any moment?” the Mirialan responded

“I told you. I train.” Cawthren chuckled as he parried the a slash to his left side. “You never know when you will be targeted by an enemy, but if you train you will be more likely to survive the encounter,” the Officer informed as he reversed the flow of practice and started attacking again. “You must constantly work on improving yourself.”

Cawthren seemed to space out as he talked. The slow deliberate motions he was making for the training were now becoming faster and more frequent. “I train at least an hour a day. To not just maintain but improve my skills. I try to learn new techniques, new strategies, any trick that I can find to give me an advantage in battle!”

A scream brought the Knight's focus back to the task at hand. The Apprentice was holding his side. A red whelp had appeared across his ribs where Cawthren's training lightsaber had landed a blow.

“Are you okay?” he asked, showing concern for the Novitiate. As an Officer he tried not to make it a habit of actually injuring his subordinates during training.

“I'm okay, Master. It just stings a little.” The Apprentice winced.

“Well I truly am sorry,” Cawthren reassured. “Here, let me put up the training saber. You get to the Medbay and get that checked out.”

The Knight took the weapons from the Mirialan and helped him stand up straight. “Look, as far as the Collective goes. The stronger you are, the better you will be able to protect yourself and others around you. So, just focus on your training. Worry about the rest when the time comes.”

The Novitiate thanked him as he turned to leave the training room. Cawthren hoped that the advice he gave would work as well for the young Force user as it has for himself. But he may need to up his own training for the next time he spared with that one.

Cawthren rocked slightly as the Sentinel-class Landing Craft shook as fire from the Meridian defensive turrets splashed over the ship’s shields. A team of covert operatives had managed to infiltrate the station and shut its shield system down, leaving the base a vulnerable target to the incoming Brotherhood forces. This was a large scale cooperative operation between the Clans to inflict as much damage to the Collective as possible, with the hope of being a turning point in the conflict. The newly promoted Captain was taking these last few minutes before they made landing to go over their mission one last time with his troops.

“Listen up! I know you all have been briefed several times about what our mission is, but I'm going to kick this dead Bantha one last time.” A snicker went throughout the ranks of infantry following the last remark. Cawthren smiled.

“We are dropping into the station’s loading docks. Our goal will be two of the warehouses that our Intel claims is where the Collective is storing its supplies.” Shifting his gaze to his right, the knight continued, “First and Second platoon, you will be moving in to secure the objectives. You are to kill any opposition and load as much of their supplies onto this ship as possible. Third and Fourth, you will be securing the perimeter. Now there are other operations going on but I would still expect reinforcements, so dont slack off. It's your job to make sure we are not ambushed.”

Cawthren felt the ship start to slow its decent. “Okay, now Intel reports tell us to expect technocrat soldiers armed with riot batons, but don't be surprised if some have armed themselves with blasters or whatever else they can get their hands on since the assault started. Once those doors drop, I want my heavy gunners to be the first and last thing those cybernetic freaks see. The rest of you move out and start securing your objective.”

The young officer moved to where he had his own gear staged. He quickly strapped his medical bag onto his back, then checked to see that his lightsaber was securely attached to his belt. Confident that he had all of the equipment needed for the mission, Cawthren picked up his EL-16 blaster rifle and moved into position behind the line of infantry soldiers waiting for the transport ship to touch down.

The ship slammed down hard, causing some of the soldiers to lose their balance, stumbling into their companions. The locks that held the large bay doors in place hissed as they released, hinges groaning as the steel plates started to lower. Technocrat troops could be seen running for cover as the heavy gunners opened fire, spraying the loading dock in a hail of lazer fire.

Cawthren could hear the orders to move being bellowed by the platoon sergeants, as the Arconan troops started to rush forward out of the transport. The Knight charged forward out of the transport, bringing his rifle up to take aim at the Technocrat soldiers who were now pouring out of the warehouses. Squeezing off three shots, the Captain was able to see two enemy troops drop before he slid into cover behind a tipped over hover cart. So far any resistance they had encountered had only been armed with close quarters weapons and were falling easily before the Arconan forces.

What resistance hadn't been gunned down were now pulling back into the cover of the builds, realizing that they were out gunned. The first two platoons were moving into take their objectives, while third and forth were dragging whatever they could find into positions for makeshift barriers. Cawthren called over the platoon leaders for four and third. “Get your medics to start collecting and taking care of our wounded, I'm going to set up a triage point. Have them bring all injured to me.” he instructed.

Blaster fire could be heard inside of the warehouses. It seemed what security forces were set to guard the supplies intended to follow orders to the death. Injured infantry troops were now being pulled out of the builds. The injuries that the troops seemed to sustain hinted that the technocrat troops were having better luck with the melee weapons now that they were in tight quarters. One soldier had even taken a blaster bolt to the stomach.

Cawthren had set up his triage point to the side of the loading ramp to the drop ship. Soldiers who could walk were told load onto the ship. Two troops lay unconscious while the medic was applying a bacta patch to the blaster wound. “What are you doing stop!” he screamed at a group of troops who were starting to load storage crates onto the ship. “Help me get the injured onto the ship first. Then we will worry about the cargo!”

The four troops immediately dropped the crates and rushed over to their superior Officer. “Sir! Who should we get first?” the lower enlisted asked.

“Two of you carry the troop whose stomach is bandaged. Be careful with him, and make sure to lay him down gently. You two get the other two men loaded up.” Looking over the area that had been secured, the knight could see Arconan troops now coming out in teams carrying supply crates to the ship. Small bands of enemy reinforcements had started coming in random waves, only to be cut down by the entrenched soldiers.

Cawthren ordered his lieutenant to start getting a rough inventory of what was in the crates for report. Pulling out his comlink, he contacted the First and Second leaders. “Start planting the bombs sergeant. Anything we can't fit on the ship will be destroyed.” If Arcona couldn't have it, then there was no reason to allow anyone else to be able to use it.

Loading the ship took longer than the Captain would have liked, but within two hours the job was done. Five more men had been injured in some of the skirmishes with enemy reinforcements, bringing the total to twelve injured and one soldier killed, a number that was to high for comfort in Cawthren’s opinion.

The loading ramp slammed shut with a loud thud as the ship started to take off. “Lieutenant! What did we manage to get?” the the Arconan leader inquired.

“Sir! Most of the crates seem to be blaster, grenades, and personal shields. There are some with medical supplies, and armor,” the junior officer answered.

“It seems that the Collective is preparing some sort of offensive. The Consul will be pleased,” Cawthren responded as he started to establish a link to deliver his report. He hoped that this would be a hard enough blow to turn the tide for the next skirmish, wherever that may be.