Command Center
The Fallen Spear
Undisclosed Location

Around the conference table sat some of the most powerful of the Dark Councilors. Darth Ashen, The Fist of the Brotherhood, Lord Halcyon, and the Herald all sat at the table. The images of several other Councilors and Masters floated above the table’s flickering holoprojector like ghosts.

The silence loomed like a palatable entity in the Autochthonian vessel. The awful sickness was spreading. Reports trickled in at first, and then became a flood. The Plague had come, and with it a loss of connection to the Force for many.

Darth Ashen contemplated the holoscreen readouts before him. All across Brotherhood space the Brethren were rallying against each other, as they had every time that there was even a slight provocation. He seethed quietly at the situation. All his years of work, of bonds being built, and they fell to pieces. The invasion forces were just the nail in the coffin. Divided, they were corpses just waiting for the conquering worm to eat their moldering flesh.

The hologram of Master Korras spoke. “Taldryan, Sadow, and Tarentum are besieged, my Lord.”

“I’ve dispatched fleets to reinforce”. Muz kept the emotion from his face; from his words. “Do we know who is behind this yet?”

“They appear to be Imperial type ships,” commented Shikyo as he studied the holograms his deep intelligence network had acquired. “Perhaps the Hammer? Also, Arcona and Scholae Palatinae also report incursions and fierce fighting.”

“The registrations are wrong. It’s not them,” replied Lord Halycon. “Some early reports do seem like Imperial tactics.”

“Could it be the Jedi?” asked Fremoc bluntly. “They certainly could be spoiling for a fight after New Tython.”

“Not likely,” responded Halcyon. “The Odan-Urr are affected just as we are”.

“Any word from Plagueis?” queried Fremoc as he tapped his datapad swiftly. “I’ve got nothing.” He frowned. “Nothing at all.”

“We’ve lost contact with them,” replied the floating hologram of Vodo.

The Dark Lord merely nodded.

---

Meditation Chamber
Aboard the Fallen Spear
Undisclosed Location

In his heart of hearts, the Lion of Tarthos knew the Final Way. This madness must cease. The will of the Iron Throne was the irresistible force. The Brotherhood must survive. There was no other possibility. He would not let destruction come. Even divided, they would not fall. He would not allow it. The pressure of every fallen Brotherhood Dark Jedi, and the fallen Elders called out for revenge.

The Grand Master’s mind moved in deep contemplation, seeking the shatter point of the situation. The Krath and Dark Lord of the Sith was steeped in the lore of the Force. Old whispers spoke to him, spirits of knowledge lost to the vast majority of the Brethren. Muz had heard of ancient concepts in dusty holocrons and decaying scrolls. Knowledge is power to a Krath- and it was as well to the Sith of old. There was one holocron he remembered for it’s depth of especially evil knowledge.

The remembrance of lost and hidden lore brought back old memories… the unmistakable smell of rotting parchment, ozone from ancient holocrons, and the whiffs of decaying bones. His hands moved, activating the Eos holocron. Buried within the Black Adegan was an older Keeper, much older then Khyron. Even the ancient dead had secrets, and he would pry them from their dead holographic lips. Sorcery was his lore- the hidden knowledge of Bogan, summoning of the revered Dead. On occasion it served to enhance a dried holocron. As it did now. Power of the Krath mysteries swirled around the hidden chambers.

The dead, ancient, flickering vaporous shade of the esteemed Darksider appeared before him for the first time in many years after some pregnant seconds. “Darth Ashen,” chuckled the ghastly apparition as the sanguine light from the ancient Black Adegan flickered eerily around the chamber. “You are known to me, Krath Master. What is it you seek now?” The smell of ozone increased in the room as the ancient repository of information awakened. The feel of the Dark Side became oppressive in the room. Interesting things were afoot. The foul energy polluted the room.

“Knowledge, Ancient One.” Muz Ashen held the artifact with a millennia-old heart in his clenched fist. “Answers... or oblivion.” There was no room for hesitation in this game. The spirits encoded into the old fonts of deep knowledge known as holocrons must be dealt with severely and from a position of authority. This particular holocron, although of recent make, held deep secrets. It was a palimpsest of sorts. Rumor had it that Naga Sadow himself had appeared in the old recordings hidden within the Black Adegan but the oldest recordings had not been positively identified.

Sith holocrons were especially notorious for deceit and lies. Only those strong of body, mind, will and in the Force could pluck from them their deepest secrets. Points of light flickered around the room in chiaroscuro as Ashen’s fist began to squeeze mercilessly. His will would not be denied. A slight crackling sound emanated from the priceless holocron. It knew it risked destruction. And its seeker had a great amount of power and went deep.

“Indeed, we have conversed before on the subject of ancient Force lore in depth and surely will again,” whispered the shade of the ancient Sith of the Black Adegan as it nodded in reluctant compliance at Ashen’s powerful will. “Ask. Perhaps I shall answer with that which you seek.” The grim hollow-eyed countenance of the flickering holographic haunt frowned. It flickered as the palimpsest did it’s best to hold on to the shadowy recordings.

“What scourge makes men burn twice as bright and burn out twice as fast?” Muz Ashen’s eyes burned yellow as the Dark Side hoarsened his voice.

The hoary image flickered as the holocrons accessed its vast databanks. The unknown Dark Lord’s redacted visage smiled in chiaroscuro. “There is one reference in my mind.” It seemed to relish the visions of death that it now replayed for Muz Ashen. Death was a novel source of entertainment for the holocronic phantasm. Images of groaning people dying of hideous microorganisms on a small transport ensued. Their death throes were awful.

Muz watched impassively with eyes of ebon.

“In older times than even mine, a raiding party from the old Sith Empire stumbled upon a horrid jungle planet known then as Drongar. Of the original party of twelve junior Sith, only one that was a newly-elevated Warrior lived long enough to transmit a desperate call back to Sith space. The younger ones met death grimly, their bodies wracked and their essence torn apart from the Force. Their vessel became a ship of putrid death. Their anguished, savory moans mentioned the name of Lysu Thren. Lord Thren was a powerful bio-weaponeer, a failed student of Xo’Xaan.”

“Tell me more,” demanded the steely tones of the Grand Master as he wrapped arcane lines of power about the holocron. “Now.”

“All I can shall divulge is that a Sith warship of the old make of that time was immediately dispatched and the transport of concern left to drop into Drongar Prime’s gravity well to be vaporised in it’s fires. By orders of the Sith Council,” recanted the vaporous red-hued apparition, “They were burned to nuclear ashes, including those few that still lived. This vile Bogan thing was old, ancient even before my time…. Old indeed,” smiled the shade as it faded out. It whispered one last time. “It should have died with it’s creator.”

Lord Ashen set his teeth in a grimace. One alchemist Sith that he knew would be of some help in regards to this disturbing information, although he was totally insane. Muz’s hand reached for a comlink that was connected to the main communication arrays of the Dark Hall. “Shikyo, Get me Goura,” commanded his booming voice. “Now.”

Magnus Kaerner
Yridia II
Yridia System

The overwhelming clutch of night fell heavily over the watery world of Yridia II. Peace was a luxury in Yridia that was relatively unknown as of late. The outer defense perimeter had been entirely disregarded, as though the fleet had simply materialized and moved beyond all of the fortifications that Tarentum had worked to keep so intimately maintained. The Itaana belt was full of various traps set for outsiders, but these had all been bypassed, as though the approaching enemy had some amount of foreknowledge of what was to come among the inhabitants of the watery world.

The bridge of the Magnus Kaerner was not a bed of chaos and confusion. Every officer and crewmen aboard the ship was entirely skilled, and had seen combat on nearly every level. This crew was entirely prepared for ultimate destruction, and if the Marshal himself made an announcement that they would need to ram whichever ship lay before them to prevent Tarentum's ultimate defeat, or some other goal, the crew of the Magnus Kaerner would never even bat an eyelash, or stop what they were doing to give dumbfounded looks to their commanding officer. Instead, they would continue to follow through commendably to their last breath. They were simply that well trained.

While Tarentum could not call its Navy accurately a fleet, it was certainly one of the most-modern complements of ships that were possessed across the Brotherhood. And yet, even a modern setup could not defend against what the enemy had brought to bear in Yridia. Battlecruisers, Assault frigates,corvettes, squadrons of TIE interceptors and even Avengers could be seen battering any defenses Tarentum had been able to bring to bear.

And there, the flagship of the fleet assaulting Tarentum, an Allegiance-class battlecruiser carrying the designation “Halberd” almost mocked the proud flag of Tarentum's own force with its menacing appearance. Whatever the ship was that led this assaulting fleet, it had not fired a single shot, or released a single fighter. While the Magnus Kaerner led from the front lines, the opposing flag merely sat back and watched.

“They’re mocking us,” stated Anshar coldly. “There is something familiar about these tactics," the Krath Master stated as he continued to watch the retreat of his forces. They were still fighting off the enemy fleet that was now moving to pursue. "Imperial tactics, for certain, but there's no cause for it. No one has any reason to be assaulting us at this moment, from what we've been able to put together."

"Sir, incoming message from the Palisade platform," the communications officer shouted for both the Quaestor and the Marshal to hear. "The Dark Council has dispatched reinforcements to us, and they are en route."

Dragon's Graveyard
Kapsina
Jusadih System

“Faethor!”

The soldier’s voice, amplified by the mega-phone, caught the attention of the once leader of the Brotherhood. The once shadowy figure was now unmistakable in Asiatic style gold and black robes. The Grandmaster bounded between groups of battling Dark Jedi and the Infected. Scores of the unfaithful and invaders alike had met their end at his hands. Huge sand tanks plowed across his vision as Chi-Long took in his surroundings. His eyes accumulated so many things.... the wind, death, terrain, and the essence of the Force here. Power was his. It had been so, since long before the Exodus. The man was Legend. None would stand before him.

A literal horde of villainous scum washed up against his senses as he stood atop one tank. Oddly enough, the logos from the vehicles indicated a melange of Houses and Clans. “You are dead.” Faethor raised his hands against the invaders, and the Force replied. Waves of crushing power rolled against the lead tanks like a vicious tsunami. They were rolled against and aghast, their ribs broken and bodies ripped asunder as they flew about. A seasoned Grandmaster’s power was without parallel.

More telekinetic hell ripped limbs from bodies as he conducted his unholy symphony. Chaotic blue lightning crackled to finish off any who still moved in a parody of nature. The entire scene was an abattoir of destruction., fear, and adrenaline. Waves of the afflicted and the outsiders broke.

One desperate dying man grabbed the Grandmaster’s arm as he fell from Faethor’s hand. The grip caught Chi-Long’s arm as the putrefying corpse burst in squalid fetor. The ghoulish corpse hit the ground and deliquesced almost immediately. Chi Long grabbed the next Inflicted by his throat. In that instant a shatterpoint was reached. The infection grasped at his very soul as it ate at his body and mind. He gasped as his Force connection diminished. Thren’s Plague had him. It sucked the energy out of his body and shunted it elsewhere. No one was safe. Not even Him.

Around him a bevy of barking blaster-rifle wielding foes shot him down. The Force was no longer his to command. His arm was tired and heavy, and his eyes grew dim. The Grandmaster could see the ritual circles drawn in the sand they had led him to. The traitors had forced him into a trap. His newly numb fingers dropped the lightsaber as he fell to his knees. A death groan escaped his lips as he found himself powerless in the Force. No... not this way.

Blaster shots dropped him into oblivion as his carcass dropped. His body hit the sands among the ritual circles drawn for him. Around him the soldiers raised their weapons in a cheer. Soon they were quiet. One Captain spoke. “It didn’t work. Nothing’s Changed. Take him to the under.”

Tunnels
Nasva
Kapsina orbit
Jusadih System

“Go ahead comrades, the ritual is primed. He’s dead, and we will steal his essence to empower ourselves against the Scourge. The Horizon has him.” The cloaked figures gathered around a blaster-riddled supine man. One in red-tinged robes lifted the lifeless form’s hood encased head. “Soon I will see your beaten husk, but you will not see me.” These secretive Dark Jedi from across the Clans and Houses had united under a common goal- self-preservation and hatred of their superiors. Too long had they chafed under their unfathomable rule. Today was a great day- today, a Grandmaster died at the hands of lesser beings. Today, they took power for themselves from those who held it.

“Faethor, your body and shade will now meet the Dark Side.” One of the figures in a cloak with purple edges regarded the rest. “We still retain power, and the Equites suffer. The Elders have become weak. With this ritual, transference, and sacrifice we will become whole. What was undone will be retained”. The pounding drums rang unheard in the deep stone walls of this played-out mine. Each of the hooded, masked shapes of Bogan-cursed Journeymen raised clubs of black, knotty wood.

Around them hatred coiled like an invisible serpent that had envenomed each with greed and a fierce need to survive. This would be no easy execution, no merciful release. Instead they would beat him to death, the spray of his blood supposedly invigorating them. The cudgels rose, and then lowered with strength of arms and a lust for power. Brains and gore splattered the twinkling vein of Adegan nearby with congealed red giblets of flesh and blood.

From the area a wave of wicked power burst forth, washing each of them with unholy energies. A large portion of it simply drained away… away to feed it’s Master.

In the end, Nothing Changed.

SSD Avenger II
Kapsina orbit
Jusadih System

“I’m burning, burning...Plagueis is crushed.” The shrouded figure cast the robes off of himself. The armor he saw in his visions was of ancient and strange manufacture, a dull black suit of interlocking plates married to a mesh of fine dark red metallic skin from some reptilian beast. It literally pulsed with a sick aura of vile energy. Fingers thick with ephemeral smoke scrabbled at his chest as if to pick off vermin. In his mind the voices chattered. “Burns, so old you are, Bogan, Bogan…Chi Long is dead. Feel the power flow through ….you…you…you…”

His phantasmal eyes flashed red, the red obscuring the yellow of his Dark Side addled visage as he smiled evilly. “I can feel it…I must have my Skin. They will bring me the others… and we will crush them. Initiate phase two, Commander Arnith. Give them our gift from the ancient times. Our other gift from Thren’s tomb. Xo’xaan would be proud, her student finally did something. And our allies will be- surprised at the awful horror we unleash today. With each death I become more whole.” Flesh pulsed as the form tried to hold together. “With each death- a million deaths- I can claim my right.”

“Yes my Lord,” replied the Arkanian command officer. “All stations signal the rest of the fleet to converge on Antei. Bomber squadron Omega launch. Prepare for jump.” A vortex of missile gunboats supported by squadrons of Tie Defenders dropped from the Super class destroyer. They winged their way through the beleaguered Plageuis defenders. Although their technology was slightly dated, the equipment was still quite deadly. And the defenders were soon to be overwhelmed completely.

Plageuis’ forces still survived, but dared not entangle themselves too closely with the eight kilometer long Super Star Destroyer looming outside the orbit of Kapsina. Still, they had strength left even though most of their Z-95’s had been easily eliminated. Tie Avengers, and a few remaining Tie Interceptors launched from the NSD Ascendancy amd moved to intercept the bomber group. They soon balled into a roiling mass of blaster fire and chaos as they strove to stop the bombers. Seven bombers made it through.

Beyond them, the Super Star Destroyer moved away from the planet and jumped into hyperspace.

Half of the Missile Boats and Scimitar bombers unloaded their pregnant payloads. Multiple warhead missiles flew as aberrant Angels of Death dropped their payloads of misery and destruction. The pilots were fanatics; hand-chosen by their dark master. Each mistakenly thought they would be enlightened after the experience, transformed by the sacred marks writ onto their brows. In fact it was all a lie. They only found death as many were shot down by anti-aircraft fire. The delivered missiles themselves did not explode. Instead ports opened in the sides as they flew, dispersing spores and microscopic cysts into the air. They would ensure that this planet was never the same.

As the bio-warfare plague spores wafted across Kapsina on the wind, a planet began to die. The Dark Side surged in power as the spores began to feed. The spores twisted life, burned flesh, plants, and rotted bone.

The old and young literally began to burst with spores, rotting from the inside out like ancient leathery mummies bursting in the loathesome heat with a noisome fetor. Everything smelled of putrescence, pus, and fear. People died, and died again in droves. Every exhalation, every burst boil, every rattling gasp spewed more filth into the air and water. The Reaper had come calling to this world in his best outfit and coins for their eyes to pay the ferryman.

The formerly-dead shade looked deep into the vid-glass and contemplated the Void as the hyperjump began. Staring at Hyperspace was known to drive some people mad, but for him, the sight was somehow soothing. On Antei he would find his revenge. He could feel the power being transmitted to him from the dying planet. He would find that which was his.

Codei Prison
Antei
Antei System

The wind blasted the stones of this old prison. Modern elements of durasteel and communications arrays bloomed on the side of an ancient volcano, appearing as metallic growths on the cindery cone. A beetle-shaped transport dropped into view, bearing sloppy stripes of red and black across the normal Brotherhood grey cladding. The ship was ugly and showed blast marks across its hull with layer after layer of blaster scoring. Several new score-marks still glowed faintly red from the vicious battle in the skies above that it had just penetrated to land on the surface of Antei. The dust of old lava flows and pyroclastic blasts spread through the landing zone as it touched down.

The egress ramp opened with a hitch of servos and a puff of gas. It came part way open, and then seemed to stick as a red-armored man stopped amidst the gangplank. “Motherkarking vork-knocking frackalot!” snarled the Sith as he hammered the open switch with his gauntlet in frustration. “Piece of crap! Open, says me!” The hatch reluctantly slid the rest of the way open with a groan of abused metal. The madman chortled a bit as he strode towards the prison entrance tunnel. “Gonna have to fix that piece of poodoo before I can leave.”

Before him floated a hologram of the Herald projected from a small hand-held disc, Adept Shikyo. The hologram spoke. “And you are quite sure you were exposed?” asked the floating image.

“Exposed like a Twi’lek in need of money,” giggled the madman crudely as he reached the entrance and flashed his Identification card as a formality to the guards. “Totally exposed. Brains on my face. I enjoy the quest for intelligence, but that was not exactly what I had in mind. Nasty. Tasty. Hee hee.”

“And nothing? No symptoms?” Shikyo’s countenance belied his interest.

“Well, I was going to upgrade it anyhow,” giggled the Warlord as the pressure door shut behind him. “The enemy of the bottle, so to speak.”

“What? I don’t understand you, not that this is a new thing,” smirked Shikyo. “Still the same old Mac.”

“My liver. Had to replace it, Ninûshwodzakut,” replied Macron. “Happens on occasion. One of the unfortunate drawbacks of being half real. Your organs wear out. But otherwise I’m good to go. No effect so far- no drain, and no gain.” He opened the door to a small laboratory and cradled the holoprojector’s comlink with his neck. “Feck yeah.”

“Excellent. And you retain your Force abilities?” In the background, the image of Lord Ashen nodded as it moved through the projection area to somewhere else on the ship.

“Indeed,” frowned the madman as his boots echoed in the cavernous basalt corridor. “No change. I’m not quite sure why. My first order of business is to isolate a blood sample and analyze it. I’ve gone over the data you sent me from the Headmaster, and it is very interesting. Isolate- and replicate. I’m on this like a sand-tick on a Wampa’s butt. Wack Jack. Alchemist-out.”

Triumvirate Library
Antei
Antei System

“Lord Ashen, we have multiple incoming hyperdrive signatures. Our own fleet is enroute to support Tarentum. Initial reports indicate…. “The communication officer’s face became pale. “Deployment of some unknown bioweapon. The losses are horrendous, and they have initiated quarantine.”

“The same plague?” The Grandmaster’s hologram flickered, and beside it another of Macron Sadow ghosted. Another image of Lord Halcyon shortly joined them both. Fremoc stood besides the Grandmaster along with Ashia.

“No, my Lords,” responded the hologram of the mad Alchemist. “From the reports I have seen, this is something new. Without a sample I can’t say much more. However, it appears to be a fast-acting bio-fungus with viral and bacterial qualities. Horrid thing, really. Old in its method, and structure but elegant in effect. And totally dangerous to the user as well as the target.” The Alchemist rubbed his temples in thought. “Vader may have had it right with Falleen on this one. Might just be best to sterilize the entire place from orbit with fire. Kill everybody and everything. Burn it down from on high.”

“I see.” Muz Ashen looked impassive. “I felt it.” His countenance soured. He was a man of action and not wasted words.

“How so my Lord? Is the fleet not in Tarentum space?” The young officer looked confused as the holograms vanished. He would see it for himself soon. The bodies were stacking high already.

“No.” They only jumped a short way. Even a lie is useful in the grand scheme. I foresaw this eventuality. I foresaw Faethor’s death. Muz Ashen ran his hands gently over his lightsaber hilts. The battle was coming, and they would be slaked with death. The death of another was nigh. Two would fall this day. The danse macabre would be beautiful in it’s awfulness.

“The enemy fleet is headed directly for Antei,” commented Fremoc cooly. “Will they invade, I wonder?”

“Doubtful,” replied Muz Ashen as he stood. His leather warcoat flapped around him as he gestured at a holodisplay.

Halcyon shook his head in agreement. “No, they will hold off until they have what they - what He, wants. Then he will try to burn us to the ground from orbit. We’ll have to stop both operations and hold until the Clans and Houses arrive. Assuming that we get a cure, order will be restored. Once the invader is destroyed, then we’ll have to deal with his Remnant.”

Macron watched quietly. He couldn’t resist the urge, the need to ask a burning question. “And what is it they seek, Lord?” His russet armor glinted in the dim lights, reflecting hologram images lit and floated over the wartable like phantoms.

“Revenge.”

Halcyon responded to a readout. “Our fleet has re-entered orbit. A few ships from Arcona and Scholae are right behind them. The others will come as soon as they restore order. We’ll hold, and the invader will die. I will end him myself. We all stand here, as Brethren. All differences aside, and all united in Brotherhood.”

“Or in Death.” Muz turned from them, eyes regarding a different data stream.

Adas Plain
Antei

Cawel gathered the last of the remnants as his mind stilled to a laser like focus. “We begin.”

The Darksiders had fought fire with fire and summoned an ancient and hideous thing of pure dark Side hunger to the plane of matter from beyond even the time of Bogan. This was a Bogan Rite not attempted in centuries, perhaps not since the time of Lysu Thren himself. If they succeeded a disruption of the defending enemy fleet command above was certain.

A fire of mummified bones crackled with an eerie cold blue fire that flickered darkly inside the chamber. <“Chirikyât Dwomutsiqsa! > The White Current Adept lifted Lysu Thren’s grisly grinning skull, moldy earth falling from it’s gaping eye sockets. “I hold the seat of your essence, of Power over you.” Cawel’s hand touched a switch on his hand, sending raw power through cables connected to a deep purple Corusca crystal as large as his hand. The glittering gem dangled over an ancient carven stone block of granite stolen from the heart of Korriban.

The evil phantasmal Invader replied, <”Tsaiwinokka Hoyakut!”> The ancient words of the long dead Sith echoed in the room, a black stain upon the Force. The Sith Master threw a handful of dried sand stolen from Korriban into the crucible. Reverberations issued from the rite like waves on the sea... A literal gong-clap of power ripped through the sealed chamber and folded in on itself. The waves focused on the black stone bowl of burning osseous fragments. The angles of the room seemed all wrong, curves became angles and angles curves- or perhaps it was an illusion. The smell of burning bones. No trace of the bones remained, nor of the earth or other items used in the ritual.

An incoporeal vapor arose from the brazier. It was darkly self-luminescent and issued from the device like tendrils composed of the Dark Side. A tall, gaunt, ghostly almost skeletal form with wild white hair and long, clutching talons rose from the pulsing cauldron. It was nearly three meters tall, and did not speak. The presence of the thing in the Dark Side ran deep. The phantom’s eerie hollow eyes seemed to look at both Elders at the same time, and it’s ghastly face shifted between resembling one or both of them at the same time. The effect was profoundly disturbing.

The Starweirds evil voices hissed in their minds. “You have summoned me from beyond.”

“Animus, destroy the ones above, the ones in space that you so crave.” Cawel clapped his hands hard. “Consume them, and obey.”

The tension in the room seemed to release as the Thing vanished. The power cables once connected to the crystal fell like dead snakes with fat sparks popping from their severed necks. “It is done,” commented the Invader as he regarded the last vestiges of the ancient Bogan Rite. “The Starweird will eat their bones.”

20 K from the Dark Hall
Adas
Antei

Turbolaser fire screamed down into the night-side plain again and again for over one standard hour. The soil heaved in agony as flying globs of vaporized buildings, rock, and people. The amassed fleet of the intruders hovered in orbit above the planet, simultaneously dueling the Brotherhood fleet like gnats and pounding the ground with turbolaser fire and missiles. It stopped as a bevy of landing craft appeared in the skies. Directly below them the infrastructure, roads, buildings… all were pulverized. Smoke and dust clouded the entire area. Perfect for a landing.

The dropships reached the ground quickly. They burst open like rotten corpses, spewing the unknown Invader and his crew of various Force users like crawling maggots from a sun-burst corpse. Cawel, the White Current adept, and Narg Morko, Fallen Jedi, were among the first. All of the lot looked strangely different. Their forms seemed degenerated, their bones stiff, skin like curboiled leather… the nodes of their spinal bones stood from their backs like knobs on a crooked wheel. The eyes of all the Fallen burned with a strange aqueous luster, a watery pale shine that belied the disease inside them. They all radiated the Dark Side’s taint as an almost visible miasma around their fossilized flesh. Lysu Thren’s curse was alive and well.

In the distance the sound of pounding artillery and heavy combat resounded as the Remnant troops attempted to earn their keep and conqueror’s share.

Cawel spoke first. “Their seat of power is that way, My Lord.” He winced as the solidified shade’s mad eyes burned with inner fire. He listened to the air… Some seconds passed before the Elder replied.

“Yes, yes… we go.” The heavily-robed shade given flesh stepped towards it. The synthleather on the grips smoked where his tight, bony hands touched them. At his hip rode the ancient Bogan-borne Sword of Lysu Thren. “My brethren. Now we take them. Bring me to the Skin.”

As Narg Morko mounted his own speeder, he looked in Cawel’s watery Zabrak eyes. An unspoken communication passed between them as the Lord jetted away. “He’s gone beyond… his soul is rotting.”

Behind them, a horde of Darksiders followed with a promise of power and pain ringing in their collective ears. Their screams and shouts of bloodlust were lost in the wind as they surged forward en masse on speeders. They were led by Mylah M'bansu, the Zeison Sha warrioress, and Zahsim Simsizi, the Nightsister that had plundered the children from targeted worlds.

Deep Below
Dark Hall Vaults
Antei

The Vault doors hissed open, baring the hidden treasures within. Two bodies of Royal Guard flopped and twitched behind the heretics on the floor. Bony fingers reached to remove an ancient suit of armor from it’s mannequin-shaped rack. The ancient black plates showed the scars of many battles. The dull red reptilian skin that comprised the undersuit was covered in dust and dried blood. Flecks of carbon fell from the grooves and clasps as the revenant howled. His form was now wholly corporeal. It was time to claim revenge. Revenge on the Leaders of the Brotherhood. “Cawel, Narg, all of you. Follow Me.”

---

Worlds apart, they all felt the intrusion. Some knew the pattern of the form; all knew the story. Their collective senses drew back to the ancient vault, their minds focused on one of the sanctums of the hidden Star Chamber. They were the Lords of Eos; of Antei. Those who remained felt the intrusion.

And they knew him.

“Zoraan.”

-> Horizons continues... <-