Kaeth, Braecen – With a brief moment of silence, we honor the fallen Dark Side Adept, Braecen Kaeth, born on Corellia in the first year after the Battle of Yavin. His journey took him from a playful youth Oceanside to a purposeful scholar of the Dark Arts of the Brotherhood. He is survived by his Apprentince, Alaris Jinn, and a cadre of dutiful lieutenants within House Galeres. Braecen worked with great enthusiasm on opening upstart Journeymen and Equites to their full potential in the Force. This work would start and stop within several Clans of the Brotherhood before he retired to focus on his work in Clan Arcona. His work served a great purpose, but was soon nullified in the conflict against the Grand Master as all were slain by the Grand Master and his Iron Legion. He enjoyed golf, bowling and his worship of the Lord, Wedge Antilles. A memorial service will be held in a fortnight aboard the Darkest Night, a flagship Braecen previously served aboard.

The Resistance leader could not even scream her denial. A thousand explosions pounded her brain when the Grand Master unleashed a salvo of Dark Side energy against her consciousness, a thousand realizations of impending and unavoidable disaster. She leaped from her throne, slender hands twisting and clenching in the air as though they were trying to find something tangible to grasp, something that wasn’t there.
Atyiru’s breath rasped in labored gasps and wordless snarls issued from her gulping mouth. After a moment in which she could not calm herself, she heard one sound more clearly than the din of her own contortions. Behind her came the slight hiss of the wicked blade of opportunity. The Shadow Lady spun about there, and there stood Teylas, his face grimly and determinedly set and his blade between them.
“I had hoped that my time of ascension would be many years away,” the upstart Consul said calmly. “But you are weak, Atyiru, too weak to hold the First Clan together in the trials that will follow our-your-failure.”
Atyiru wanted to laugh in the face of her attacker’s foolishness. For some reason, though, she could not find the courage or conviction to refute her aggressor at that moment. She watched, mesmerized, as Teylas’ arm slowly reared back and then shot forward. The blade unfurled its deadly edge toward the Consul of Arcona. The teeth of the blade came on eagerly and dived into Atyiru’s flesh with all the Dark Lord’s fury behind them. Searing agony coursed through Atyiru’s body, jolting and racking her and leaving an icy numbness in its wake.
Teylas stepped over her fallen husk and climbed the perfectly ornate steps to the Serpentine Throne. Despite what would come next, he could not help but smile at the simple pleasure of being the First Consul of the Dark Brotherhood.

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

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

The hero of my
Dreams, turned to nightmares
In my final breath

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

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

This weapon is Oathbreaker, Ironbane, Hopestriker. Its white light stands against the coming darkness by casting deeper shadows. In the wake of its hue things are cast in harsh relief; a world - neither saintly or demonic - revealed. It tapers into a decidedly lethal point driven home by its wielder: the Grand Master must go.

We are the Shadesworn
Battle tested, battle born
To the Lady we have swore
That we will go to war

We will do all the things
Participate like we are kings
We fight for what we hold dear
That's the way we do it here