The Dark Hall
Antei
37 BBY

Armored transports bristling with weaponry dropped angrily out of hyperspace, their occupants wearing dark armor and darker expressions borne from the experience of protracted warfare. Hatred, disgust, and contempt burned at their core and announced their arrival with a wave of emotion. The Dark Crusade had exacted a heavy cost from the independent units and many believed the price had been too high.

The shuttles descended through Antei’s atmosphere to six designated landing platforms. Each shuttle landed at precisely the same moment and unloaded its occupants with parade field precision. The Grand Master’s Legion, dressed in ceremonial black, stood at attention and presented arms in salute as the Consuls and Quaestors of the Dark Brotherhood walked between their ranks. The Legion fell in behind the leadership of the Dark Brotherhood and served as an honorary escort as they marched to the Dark Hall.

Grand Master Ashen watched the procession with macabre interest. Some of the individuals marching in the formation had recently decried him a murder. He was unsure if they were attempting to compliment him or offend him. Murderer? What were their lives if not pebbles to be dashed against the wall? Others sought open rebellion, the fools. Rebellion? What did they know of rebellion? The procession was a collection of bleating sheep who had come running at the sound of their shepherds call.

The Grand Master had invested heavily within many aspects of the Dark Side, but none more so than the human domain. It was the weaknesses of sentient beings that fascinated him and it was the systems they needed for comfort that he exploited. The Dark Brotherhood and all of its sub-components was one such system of comfort. Institutions, ideas, and history made the houses path dependent and resulted in all of them converging at this place and exactly at this time.

Muz Ashen smiled. He was the causal mechanism.

Each independent unit of the Dark Brotherhood came today because Muz Ashen willed it. Some would be elevated, others would be reduced, and others would be left in the perpetual horror of their own mediocrity. Their desires to receive the mere trinkets of victory were indication enough that they were dependent on the systems he had created. They were his.

“They always come when there is a Sapphire Blade to be had,” Ashen intoned mockingly. The Fist of the Dark Brotherhood nodded in deferential respect at his Grand Master’s words. Sith Warlord Valhavoc was one of the more junior Dark Councilors, but he had recently been brought into Ashen’s inner circle and was now tasked with executing the final stages of the Dark Crusade. Valhavoc’s eyes watched the combined leadership of the Dark Brotherhood march into the entrance of the Dark Hall with mild disgust. They were here to celebrate the ending of the Dark Crusade, but it had just begun.

“My Lord, the preparations have been made and our forces are arrayed and prepared to execute War Plan Orange,” the Fist stated.

War Plan Orange was the culmination of nearly a decade of machinations, pursuit, and dedication. The Dark Brotherhood was about to be ushered into a new era and the Grand Master would be the one to lead them there.

“Execute.”

NSD Predominant
Khamar Krote Hyperlane
37 ABY

Seabr'imsto'nedansr stood in an immaculate white uniform with his shoulders pulled back, abdominal muscles clenched, and chin slightly elevated. His red eyes deftly scanned the bridge of the Nebula-Class Star Destroyer Predominant and observed the crew’s precise movements. He had been given temporary command of the Predominant as a reward for his achievements in the Dark Crusade and he had every intention of making the command permanent. In less than sixty days he had elevated the ship’s performance and increased the efficiency of the Predominant by 17.2 percent.

A part of this increase in efficiency was his staunch belief in training. The space superiority Scythe Squadron had executed their tenth practice escort run of the day and would continue training until they got it right. The XJ Class X-wings were impressive craft and even more impressive under the command of a training focused leader. Brimstone had demanded precision drill and Scythe was finally approaching acceptable levels. Unfortunately, the Predominant’s successes were in direct contrast to the recent cultural changes that had occurred within Plagueis.

Forgoing sanity and civility, the previous House leadership had determined that mimicking a raiding culture would achieve their goals of galactic domination. Brimstone argued against this strategy and proclaimed it madness. Foraging and raiding cultures were by their very nature inferior and barbaric. Order and discipline would bring power to Plagueis, not the amateur pirate band they advocated. Why would Plagueis sacrifice the modernity of their system to become a roving band of marauders? Why would they give up so much in return for so little? A system, industry, and all that came with it for a simple space station. Madness.

This madness had brought the Predominant to its present location along the Khamat Krote hyperlane. Sith Warlord Dacien Victae and Battlelord Montressor were due to return from Antei. In order to ensure the secrecy of the Anchorage’s location, the summit had to make multiple hyperspace jumps, one of which would bring them here. Brimstone had been tasked to wait along the Krote for his Quaestor and Aedile and serve as their escort back to Plagueis’ new home.

Brimstone’s thoughts were broken as the radar station’s tone announced the arrival of an incoming ship from hyperspace.

“Admiral Brimstone, we are detecting a ship exiting hyperspace,” the radar officer stated.

Brimstone nodded in expectation, Montresor was on time. “Excellent, inform Scythe Squadron to assume reception protocols and open a communication channel to receive our Quaestor’s guidance.”

NSD Ascendancy
Khamar Krote Hyperlane
37 ABY

Montresor’s finger tapped the arm of his command chair nervously. He was a soldier who was comfortable with his feet on the ground. Space travel, and in particular, hyperspace travel, had never suited him. Unfortunately, this trip was outside of his span of control. The Grand Master did not leave room for discussion or refusal when he summoned the entire leadership of every House and Clan to Antei.

The trip to Antei was ceremonial and pompous, but it had been fruitful for House Plagueis. He had been elevated, Dacien received a sacramental award, and multiple members of the house received honors from the Dark Council. More importantly, Plagueis’ banner was marched ahead of all other Houses and Clans. They were declared first among equals and they were rewarded before all others. Montresor could still feel the hatred and disgust in Arcona and Taldryan as his entourage marched past them to receive their awards first. He knew it was the Grand Master’s desire to shame the other houses by making them watch Plagueis receive their awards, but that did not diminish Plagueis’ accomplishments. They had defeated everyone and they had done so in convincing fashion. The era of Arcona domination was dead.

Dacien Victae watched his Quaestor tap the command chair of the Ascendancy with an amused smile. Unlike Montresor, Dacien had spent the majority of his adult life on the bridge of Star Destroyers and he relished the opportunity to stand on their helm He had commanded an Imperial Star Destroyer and Battle Groups of Star Destroyers within the Emperor’s Hammer and missed the life of a naval officer.

“We will exit hyperspace within the minute,” Dacien relayed to his Quaestor. Their trip had taken been delayed prior to leaving Antei and they were an hour behind schedule. Dacien could feel Montresor’s impatience and desire to return to the Anchorage.

“Communications, as soon as we are out of hyperspace contact the Predominant and inform them that we will be immed…..”

The feeling was nearly imperceptible, but Dacien Victae was a nuanced practitioner of the Force. Montresor’s voice echoed his thoughts, “I feel it too.”

“Shields up, red alert,” Dacien’s elevated voice alerted the bridge.

“Sir, arrival in at the rendezvous in five, four, three, two….”

The star lines of hyperspace reverted to real space and all hell broke loose. The debris of what had once been the Predominant littered the Ascendancy’s viewport and blocked her flight path. Destroyed support shuttles and fighters burned, ejected crews tumbled through the vacuum of space, and large sections of superstructure rammed into the Ascendancy. Dacien Victae, the former Admiral of the Imperial Class Star Destroyer Relentless, commanded on instinct.

“Emergency evasive! Forward power to deflector shields and bring our weapons on line.”

Dacien stormed forward to the command viewport and gazed at the carnage before him. The Predominant was gone, obliterated, and all that remained were the burning ruins of what had once been the Ascendancy’s sister ship.

“Nav, bring us out of this debris field. Comms, open all channels and scan for emergency beacons.”

The communication officer initiated emergency protocols and scanned all frequencies for signs of life. The sound of static was broken by a few words.

"Sir, we are receiving an distress signal on one of our emergency channels. Admiral Brimstone is alive."

Nar Shaddaa
Gambling District
37 ABY

Morotheri Mithfaron sat cross-legged on the on the floor of a bare apartment on Nar Shaddaa. His hands rested lightly upon his knees and his head tilted downwards. His thoughts expanded outward and his consciousness took in the connections between the items within his apartment, expanded to the building he was within, and then expanded to the city planet beyond. Unlike the Sith he relentlessly sought, Morotheri looked outward and expanded his mind when in meditation.

The emotions of Nar Shaddaa colored Morotheri’s vision. The Living Force was omnipresent upon the planet and flooded his mind with the shades of a million different possibilities beyond the mere notions of light and dark. Morotheri embraced the feelings until his mind became a calm lake amongst the storming tides of Nar Shaddaa’s population.

The visions came to Morotheri with the same ease that they came to most of his species. His past flittered in flashes of his home Alphredies, his sister Katara, and his master Kaizen Nar. A warm flood of emotion washed over him as he gazed with fondness at those he loved and cherished. The past and all of its experiences had created the Jedi that Morotheri had become and he was eternally grateful for them.

The past washed away as quickly as it had come and snapshots of the present flooded his mind. His mission on Nar Shaddaa, his relentless pursuit to right the wrongs created by the Dark Brotherhood, and the training of Odan Urr apprentices near Menat Ombo. These visions filled Morotheri with a sense of purpose and satisfaction that he was serving the Living Force.

The future burned into Morotheri’s mind with intensity that the past and present were unable to contend with. Images travelled at hyperspeed through his mind and flashed the triumph of the Jedi, the continued prosperity of Odan Urr, and the golden bliss of transcendence. Morotheri Mithfaron was at peace.

“I can feel your presence Dark Sider,” Morotheri’s clear voice said aloud.

The robed Teltior stepped out of the room’s shadow and walked behind the meditating Jedi.

“They typically do not send Dark Councilors on assassinations,” Morotheri stated.

“I typically do not conduct assassinations, but the Grand Master felt you required a personal touch. You have been a thorn in our side for far too many years and we have grown tired of playing with you,” the Teltior’s mocking voice responded as his lightsaber blade ignited.

Morotheri Mithfaron remained seated, his mind remained the perfect calm lake, his voice responding with the unnatural clarity of one who knew the future.

“We all have to die, Orv Dessrx d’Tana.”

The Herald’s face twitched in annoyance and his lightsaber blade arced through the air into the cross-legged form of the Jedi before him.

“Not all of us.”

Nar Shaddaa
Gambling District
37 ABY

The Herald of the Dark Brotherhood was annoyed. Nar Shaddaa was a disgusting collection of filth and the sooner he was off world the better. The only reason he had lowered himself to coming to the planet was because the Grand Master’s decree left no room for interpretation. Morotheri Mithfaron and Odan Urr had become a threat and the Dark Council would eliminate it.

Orv Dessrx pulled his hood closer to his bald head to fight off the uncommon Nar Sahddaa night chill. His pace increased as he hurriedly jogged along the back alleyways of the gambling district. He could feel his anxiety raise as his desire to leave Nar Shaddaa increased. His recon team and exfiltration team would be waiting for him and then he could return to ordering individuals deaths, not executing them.

The stupid Jedi. Orv had dealt with their kind for years dating back to his role as Chancellor of the Emperor’s Hammer Imperial Senate. They always proclaimed their strength in the Force, yet when the time came to prove it, they simply accepted their fate. Morotheri Mithfaron was no different. He simply sat on the floor and accepted his death with the grim proclamation that “we all have to die.”

The Herald spit at the notion with what little saliva he had left in his drying mouth. He was calling upon the Force to expedite his arrival at the extraction point and it was causing him to inhale larger volumes of oxygen. The filthy night sky of Nar Shaddaa was permeating his overly sensitive taste buds and his mouth filled with a bitter taste.

Bitter.

Orv Dessrx d’Tana stopped running. The slightest flicker of the wind tickled at his perception and drew his eyes inexplicably downward. There was no pressure. There was no force of impact. There was no pain. There was simply a smoking hole in the center of his chest.

“We all have to die, Orv Dessrx d’Tana.”

The Jedi had seen it all. Morotheri knew of his own death and knew that this assassin would die shortly after.

The Herald staggered and fell face first onto the ground. His hand slithered upward, reflexively covering the hole in his chest. His mind spun and his vision swam. The signs had been there. The chill, the anxiety, the taste in his mouth….bitterness. The Force was crying out to Orv Dessrx and he had not heard its call.

A boot pressed into Orv’s shoulder and rolled his dying body over. His vision cleared and his mind recoiled at the figure standing above him. The stealth armor, the face plate, and the presence within the Force were unmistakable. The Sith Lord Esoteric was Orv Dessrx’s executioner.

Except Esoteric’s face plate was raised and the man behind the armor was something altogether different.

“You have betrayed us all.”

The overwhelming taste of bitterness returned and was accompanied by a vortex of Force Lightning. Orv Dessrx d’Tana, Herald of the Dark Brotherhood, screamed as the white hot agony of obliteration consumed him.

Outpost J-5 Abandoned Facility 37 ABY

The meeting was conducted in secret beneath the surface of the dead planet. Painstaking efforts had been taken to mask the movements of a small cadre of Dark Brotherhood Elders. Amongst their rank sat Dark Jedi Masters, Dark Prophets, and Grand Masters. They were the hands that pulled the invisible strings that controlled the Dark Brotherhood and they had come to discuss the recent events that had transpired across the galaxy.

Grand Master Ashen was pursuing artifacts and original Sith Worlds in a pursuit that was as of yet divined, the One Sith were conducting operations well beyond their capacity, and the Dark Brotherhood was suffering attacks from within. The recent destruction of the Predominant and the death of Orv Dessxr only fueled their suspicions that the One Sith threat was much greater than the ease of the Dark Crusade indicated.

It was their task to determine exactly what was happening and destroy those who were responsible. No matter who they were.