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Date: 12.06.11

**Dark Hall

Antei

Antei System**

With the Jedi in their place, and all his pieces returning to their homes, the Grand Master paced the small, dimly lit room easily. There had been much to consider, and just as much to replay over and over in his head, but the time for that had passed. What he needed for once, was quiet. Peace.

A gentle pressure let him know his wife, the Aedile of Taldryan, was there as she laid her hand on his shoulder, “Its fascinating.”

He loved her deeply but still his words cut deep, “Quiet. You cannot speak of him like that”.

Ashia drew inwardly reflexively, but regained her composure with similar ease, “I'm sorry, Love.”

Muz was too. He reached for her hand and stood there with it in his as he stared at the lone object floating in the repulsor field before them. Wooden, unadorned, it could have passed as meaningless, worthless, and uninteresting to one trillion beings before someone, maybe one, gave it a second look. None-the-less, the Grand Master knew full well the lengths at which he would go to recover it should some poor soul find it in their possession. Michael Halcyon, for all he had witnessed, knew not the fury that the Lion of Tarthos could unleash.

With a deep breath he broke his glare and looked into Ashia's eyes, “Come, we haven't enjoyed one-another's company in far too long.”

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**The Citadel

Estle City

Selen**

A conceited smirk crossed Wuntila’s visage; visible only to those perceptive in the Force. In reality, his face held an icy appearance and revealed none of the inner joy and passion that danced within him. He sat at the head of a table that stretched twenty meters. On it lay the finest in drinks and food. No expense had been spared on this feast, celebrating Arcona's victory over the Jedi. Seated nearest to him on either side of the table were the present Arconae, notable Dark Jedi whom had served the First Clan wisely and courageously for many years. Further down the line, ignoring all established protocols (as one of the house droids had reminded him more than once to its own misfortune) sat the heads of the various Clans and Houses.

He looked at each of his guests, noting with particular delight Shaz'air Taldrya seated at the very furthest reaches of the table, “Gentlemen!”

The clamor of the feast died as the Consul rose from his seat. Taking a glass of crimson wine, a local variety, he cleared his throat, “I wish to make a toast...”

“You ARE toasted!”, shouted Ronovi with a wild look on her face suggesting that it was she that had perhaps imbibed a little too much.

“Be that as it may, I still consider it only appropriate to honor those among the Arconans that did not return home from New Tython. Similarly, I wish to honor the sacrifice, and effort, the Clans and Houses of this Brotherhood contributed to our war against the Jedi.”

Amongst the Consuls and Quaestors there were no looks of amusement in stark contrast to the wild cheers and jubilation of the Arconae.

“Furthermore, I wish to extend an offer of detente with each of my esteemed peers. For far too long have our petty grudges and bickering hampered our march towards dominance. Let us work together, for... mutual benefit.”

He finished with a coy smile upon his face. The Arconae were just as silent as the rest of the seated Dark Jedi. Wuntila raised his glass slightly higher and then drew it to his mouth. The others hesitated for a moment before doing likewise.

’Arcona has only begun you fools’, he thought to himself.

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Location Redacted

Eiko glanced back at the shuttle casually as he left. It wasn't his, so he held no personal attachment to it, but it had carried him away from what would only fade into the memory of a few select individuals. He hadn't thought the day would come when he would have uttered the code phrase, Someone needs to walk the Nek. Revanite operatives, assets, and informants all over the galaxy simultaneously went to ground and the entire network was cold. Quiet.

The Raken Protocol. A contingency plan devised by the shadowy House's founder. In the event of a massive failure of operational secrecy, a traumatic loss of life, or other unforeseen circumstances that endangered lives or ability of operatives to act: the House would cease all activity. All Operators and Assets would go to ground; disappear. Then, one day, if it could be managed, connections and lines of communication would be reestablished. That day would be long in the coming however, the former Quaestor mused.

The masked man went over the events of the past year, wondering where along the line he could have done more, could have done something, to have prevented this from happening. Things had been going well. Revan had its fingers in everyone's secrets. Even the Grand Master, the Dark Lord of the Sith, himself had relied heavily in times of need upon the resources of Independent House Revan. It had all been going well until the appointment of the Voice in fact.

Assets in Clan and House systems began going quiet. Slowly at first, but then as it gained steam, all at once it had felt like. Less and less was his presence requested by Darth Ashen. It hadn't escaped Eiko's attention that where-ever the Grand Master tended to be, so did his Voice as well. Attempts to penetrate the Voice's network had proven difficult. What little he had learned suggested that he was not alone in his predicament. The Shadow Hand's network, long established by the career Intelligence Officer Halcyon Taldrya, the Voice's on-again/off-again mentor, had suffered as well at the ascendancy of the junior Dark Councilor's efforts.

The war against the Jedi had been but a distraction for the Twi'lek, that damnable Taldrya. Eiko had expected the fell-blow to emerge from one of the Clans or Houses seeking an attack of opportunity. Instead its untimely end was met at the hands of the shrewd manipulations of the Voice. Revan may no longer exist, but its spirit lived on in each one of its surviving Operatives.

Eiko wasn't without allies. Halcyon Taldrya would take him on as his Praetor, an arrangement they understood to mean that Eiko would utilize to neutralize the Voice's efforts. He would be meet the Voice in his own court and bring him down.

As he continued to walk, the shuttle which had borne him to this backwoods spaceport exploded spectacularly. There would be no evidence of its origin or purpose.

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Korriban

Tendrils of the Dark Side carried his consciousness through time and space. He gazed upon the formation of stars, the deaths of great leaders, and the locations of secrets long forgotten. Much of what he saw was disjointed, fragmentary, and brief; prone to change, misinterpretation and guile. One image stuck out in his mind however. A simple case, little adorned.

The case, held close by a dear enemy, intrigued him. He couldn't determine its worth to either its owner or those around it, but it was clear by any measure of purpose that it was worth more to those who guarded its very existence from the eyes and ears of those that surrounded it.

Neither the Brotherhood, nor its Grand Master, were a secret to those in the know. Some would say that the ebb and flow of time had long since relegated the adherents of the Dark Side to the past, but those same people had said that after the defeat of Naga Sadow, before Revan and Malik's return, after the Ancient Sith Empire's return and destruction, and after the Battles of Ruusan. Disciples of the dark path knew all too well how fragile their existence was, but also generally of the well-being of their would-be allies and eternal rivals.

The Brotherhood was nascent in terms of the span of its existence compared to the likes of the Dathomiri Witches or the Prophets of the Dark Side; they were better equipped, better trained and better organized than many of the much newer Imperial splinter groups, break-aways, and rogue factions. It was for this reason he kept a watchful eye on them. Hidden behind their veil, the Shroud of Antei, he could only do so much with the resources at hand, but he would triumph. Ultimately, victory would be his. There was no other way.

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Things have been busy lately. A water-main, at the Dorms where I work as an R.D., burst across the hall from my room. My floor was flooded. Maintenance staff were called to come clean up after the Fire Dept. had stopped the gush. I had intended to publish this fiction a few days earlier, but alas...

On top of my list of things to talk about are my goals in Character Development. I want to spearhead an initiative that will focus new and old members into developing, flushing out, and exploring who and what their character is. This may be more useful for our newest members but its never too late to come up with some new twist on the old. Many of my upcoming competitions will feature themes and settings tailored to inducing loss, pain, emotion, self-reflection, and the concept of a Hero's Journey.

I will encourage all whom participate to self-canonize the experience; that you would adopt in your character history the events and effects of the submission. I will grade entries with a slight emphasis on the quality of the character development within the entry. Don't take this to mean that the person who changes most will win. It means that in a situation of a tie, I will give precedence to the one with the better quality of development.

Next, I would like to say that I'm always open to suggestions for projects that members believe could benefit the Brotherhood. Please send all your reasonable ideas to Dralin, my Praetor. (see how I dumped that on him without telling! :P )

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Competitions:

Loss

Gain

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His Excellency,

Vodo Biask Taldrya

Voice of the Brotherhood

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