Star Wars Legacies - Abridged

[Dmitri]

[Please do not post in this thread. Due to the multiple chapters this Abridged Version will have, I would like to keep it all in one place, with a new post per chapter. If you need to post a comment, question, concern, critique, etc., please post so in SWRP Timeline 5 Abridged Version.

(more to come on the first post; the opening post will have an intro and a dramatis personae added to it later)

 

[Dmitri]

Spoiler: Prologue: Dark Hearts

Prologue: Dark Hearts

1,007 Years After Battle of Yavin

The horizon was turning into a soft glow of oranges and deep red, slowly fading into cooler blues as the sun set. Andelka sat, her knees drawn to her chest, eyes flickering over the towering obelisks and distant ruins. There was a dark energy carried on the harsh winds, and if she listened, she could hear them whispering to her bones. Andelka often wondered what her bones would look like inside of her body. Like filigree, she thought.

She was pondering her work here. In a way it was an education in itself, a chance to watch real energies being worked, with real things at stake. But there was no fun in it. There was only silence at dinner, and useless anger, and a new kind of dread.

Darth Vereor had been around earlier in the afternoon, an interesting display of the Dark Side, but Andelka had since lost track of the Warmaster, suspecting he had returned to the academy. A Sith crusader named Geist Weiss stood by one of the excavation sites, giving a lecture to a balding acolyte. Right now Andelka was too focused on the beautiful sunset to really care about what he had to say. The crusader was a well-known sight in the Sith. An illusionist and alchemist by trade, he was normally wrapped by illusions, his skin the appearance of reflective silver. She hadn’t taken a class with him before, but had heard he was a bore. The only interesting part about him was gossip about what he truly looked like under his illusions. There were a few others in the Valley, mostly minding their own business.

Pulling a rock towards her, she let it levitate, focusing her mind on its spots of weakness, letting it turn red hot. It glowed so brightly she had to squint her eyes, and when it finally cooled down, wispy, seductive curls of smoke beckoned to her. Dipping her fingers into the molten rock, she formed smooth petals, and a stem, making an intricate stone flower. When it cooled, she let it float beside her, mimicking another certain acolyte's trick.

Admiring her piece as some lost idol did Andelka realize someone had approached her. An Arkanian. The person was vaguely familiar. Named Makkun Telkanin, he was a Sith sorcerer who had obtained some popularity with current Dark Lady of the Sith Darth Aevum for silencing a meddlesome Moff. Other than that, she knew little of him. Even littler so, she knew not why he was approaching her. However, the sorcerer made his cause known quickly, annoyance unveiled. "A flower, Acolyte? Is this a weakness I've found? Perhaps I should cleanse you of it," he said suddenly, his voice crisp and loud in the cool night air.

He walked around to stand in front of Andelka, glaring down upon her. It would be quite obvious that he thought he should shatter the flower and then use the shards to torture the love of plant life out of her. "Recruiting standards must have dropped since I joined the Sith," he continued. One of his four-fingered, and clawed, hands came forward, aimed towards the girl's little stone flower, as if he were offering to destroy it for her. Then he burst into mocking laughter, hiding his hand once again. "Tell me, little girl, why are you so close to the Valley, at night, with no one else with you? Don't tell me you don't know about the beasts that live down there," he finished, flashing a darkly-humored grin.
Andelka looked up at the towering Arkanian, and smiled at his words. The young Acolyte very much wanted to Force Push the smug bastard into a copse of boulders, but he looked like he was powerful. Much more powerful than she was. Instead, she wielded her words like a scalpel, and like a precise surgeon, she knew exactly where to strike.

“A weakness?” He was standing in front of her now, glaring down at her like she was not worthy of his presence. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, is it not? Do not be so quick to assume that enjoying the company of flowers is a weakness.” She motioned to the flower. “That is a replica of a white oleander, a very poisonous flower. So poisonous, in fact, that if it were real you'd be a writhing mess.

“As for beasts, the only beast I see at the moment is you.” Her tone was not mocking, nor arrogant. She was simply stating her dislike for his intrusion. “No one else with me? I see you. Or do you not exist?' She tilted her head slightly, her long silver hair brushing against her side as she studied him intently. She considered making a Geist Weiss joke, the man was the butt of many existential jokes, but decided against it.

As if to counter Takkun’s claim, a young man approached the pair. "Singularity does not entail ignorance," he said. Andelka turned to see the quiet form of young man. He had stepped into the circle, steeped in what seemed like the air of a king, and he looked at her flower, disregarding the Arkanian. The contrast between the flower and the stone it was carved from made it beautiful. A work of art. "Pretty. Did you make that yourself?" The corners of her lips turned upwards slightly, pleased that finally someone had admired the beauty in her creation.

“Oleander time,” she said. “Lovers who kill each other will blame it on the wind.”
The flower floated up to the man's face, hovering in front of him like a twirling, deadly flora. Carefully, she made a few quick gestures with her hands, and the petals pulled apart from their earthen stems, circling the now bare stalk like a flock of birds. As quickly as it had started, the flower cracked in a million places and dropped to the floor. She briefly glanced back to the Arkanian, wondering what he thought about all of this.

“Basic Alchemy,” Andelka said quietly. “Some mock me for creating kinetic, beautiful sculptures like that but I don't see a problem with it. It's all I ever wanted, that revelation. The possibility of fixed stars.”

"I see no reason to mock such beauty." The voice belonged to Geist Weiss, having abandoned his student to address the situation. "You seem to have a gift," praised Geist. Andelka felt pride in her. Geist Weiss was a master alchemist, so the compliment held weight. She was glad more people saw the beauty in the flower than disgust, like Makkun had.

The illusionist eyed the Arkanian. "It would advisable not to pick fights so early and with too many people. Fight too much and eventually you'll bite more than you can chew." He gave a quick acknowledgement to the young man who had complimented her flower just moments ago. “Acolyte Gabriel.” The young man Gabriel bowed slightly with moderate respect, though didn’t break visual contact with Telkanin.

The tips of Telkanin's lips twitched as his rage built. It was one thing to be insulted by two acolytes, who weren’t even considered true Sith yet. However, a fellow crusader dared to take the side of these teenagers over his fellow Sith. The Arkanian eyed the three of them with contempt as they went on with their conversation, acting somewhat like he wasn't even there. Finally, his rage flared and he reached towards the ground beside him, using his command of the Force, and his skills in Alchemy, to show the insolent girl that he'd first approached what true skill in the art was, if she were going to craft something from the ground.

A chunk of the earth was torn from the ground, and then the Arkanian began to form the chunk into the shape he'd pictured in his mind. The stone was being crushed with pressure unimagined and infused with energies of the Force, forging into the shape of a spear. Makkun unleashed his fury like gunpowder. The spear spun through the air, embedding itself into one the large walls around the Valley of the Dark Lords. Then he turned and glared at them, allowing his anger to be seen plainly in his eyes, the dark gaze lingering a bit longer on Geist, letting him know he would not have himself insulted by another Sorcerer of all people for reprimanding an Acolyte for using Alchemy for such a mundane purpose.

"I will not be insulted by an Acolyte, let alone two of them!" he snarled venomously, his rage coming through in his voice. "If you have an interest in Alchemy, that's fine, great for you. How about you find a way to experiment on a real white oleander one day. I'm sure the results will be most enjoyable for me," he continued, his rage coming back down to a simmer after allowing himself to vent for a moment. He knew there was no way to experiment on that flower any time soon for the Acolyte, at least, not without some form of death involved. That had been partly the point, in his moment of fury.

"Insult is in the eye of the beholder," Gabriel said. "Inferiority is a perceptual disease. You can taste its stench for miles." His eyes leveled on the Arkanian.
A young woman approached the group, the commotion obvious to others in the Valley of the Sith Lords. "How about being insulted by three of them, then?" The voice was smooth, chilling to the bone, like the icy winds of Hoth. She crept out of the shadows, the darkness almost begging to cling to her as the dust trailed behind her. The setting sun painted the sky a blood red behind her, serenely amalgamating with the azure stretched out behind it. She paid no heed to this, however. She had been observing the group for a few moments before making her presence known. Andelka knew the woman well. Her name was Andraste. Apprentice of Darth Exodeus, she had been the one to teach Andelka how to make the flower in the first place.

Andraste came to stand next to the two acolytes, surveying the situation. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a glass rose she had concocted from sand. She held it up in front of Telkanin. "Look what I made. Isn't it a travesty? A complete and utter betrayal of the Sith? Won't this make the Order crumble and fall to its knees?" Her voice grew mockingly concerned. Her eyes were wide. "Oh no! Not… Not a flower! Surely anything but a flower…"

Andraste was not alone, though. The student who had been in a lesson with Geist Weiss was coming over too, to defend his fellow acolyte. Geist glanced at the acolyte. Geist urged the acolyte to not approach by a warning of “Inquitious…” but the acolyte Inquitious continued forward.” You insult four, fool," Iniquitous spat, his deep voice carrying powerfully. Iniquitous twirled dual blades experimentally; the whoosh as they cut swiftly through the air came off to compliment Iniquitous' already menacing air. He sent a sharp prod towards Gabriel to alert him in the Force before tossing the second blade to him, taking on a strong two handed grip of his single blade. "Your insolent tongue will be the end of you this day," he called, taunting the crusader. He radiated confidence in waves, and his eyes glinted with defiance. "The power of the Sith will be strengthened this day as we cull those unwise enough to seek beauty and watch one's own mouth." Others were watching, including a well-dressed crusader who was keeping his distance. He like a few of the other spectating Sith who were watching the scene like a bunch of tuk’ata awaiting their prey, watching to see what would happen.

Things were spiraling out of control. Geist had hoped that Makkun would back away, but neither he nor the acolytes were conforming to his hopes. Geist tried putting himself between Makkun and the acolytes. It was obvious the acolytes were edging Makkun on. "Now, now, no need for violence. Don't let ignorance of beauty be interpreted as arrogance. It would be bad form for all of you to gang up on one measly crusader, thinking he insulted you." He was not giving a lesson. His voice was not like a lullaby putting a bored mind to sleep but silk trying to defuse an itch.

Makkun’s rage was very quickly turning into hatred, and the Dark Side began building up around him, preparing for a surge of power. His hand fell to his very real lightsaber, and he brought it up for the Acolytes to see. "You insolent brats! You want to fight me? Then come on!" he snarled, particularly at the latest Acolyte that had arrived.

Geist reached to his side and pulled out his lightsaber, igniting it. However, instead of pointing it at the acolytes, he twirled it around to point at Makkun. While his face was hidden by the metallic looking illusion, the tilt of his head indicated he was staring at Makkun. "Pathetic," Geist said to Makkun in a cold voice. "I expected more from a fellow alchemist. Just because a work of art came from one of lower rank than yourself doesn't make it 'ugly'. If there's anything 'ugly' here, it's the disgrace you're showing. Bad form is an insult to Darth Aevum and her beautiful empire. Perform another offense, and I will kill you myself."

Makkun was furious with Geist’s maneuver. "An offense? It is a flower that I insulted, fool, not the Empire, and you are an idiot to make of it something it’s not. And now you side against me?!" he growled. He activated his double-bladed lightsaber, the two violet blades casting their glow across the rocks around them. He brought his weapon up, sending Geist's weapon off to the side as a warning. “How dare a coward who hides behind masks thinks he can defeat me!” Energy formed around his hand, and then shot forward, exploding at the feet of Geist and his pupil, a warning. "I will fight you if I must, but I will not hold back if you attack me! Not even against a fellow Sorcerer and Alchemist, Geist," A snarl filled his voice, though waved slightly. He knew that it was more of an empty threat for Geist, since he and Telkanin were actually equally matched, but for the Acolytes, it was more than an empty threat, although in his anger he was not taking into thought the fact that he was completely outnumbered and outmatched with Geist helping them.

Geist hadn’t moved from where he stood, though Inquitious had taken a step back. Andelka wasn’t sure if it was confidence or arrogance that had kept the illusionist there. "How hideous," Geist complained. "And here I was trying to end this needless mob by intervening. I see that you don't care for help. Since you'd rather have me as an enemy, then I accept. Good bye, Makkun."

With a burst of speed, Geist charged at Makkun, lightsaber arcing to slice his fellow crusader. Makkun barely had time to react. However, before blade could kiss skin, Geist was suddenly hurled ten feet away landing in sand by an invisible force.

Andelka didn’t need the Force to deduce who had caused the divergence of movement. The well-dressed crusader was closing in, smelling blood. "Geist, you weak fool! Makkun is already being circled by sharks and you join them as if they need additional help? You take the easy route where you think you will be safe, avoiding any danger to yourself. I cannot tolerate your existence in our Order.” The well-dressed human threw only a quick glance over his shoulder to all of the Acolytes. "I care not what you do with Makkun, he is all yours Acolytes, this one is mine!" The lack of care in his voice told a tale different than what he told Geist. The man wasn’t seeking to prevent Geist from ganging up on a fellow crusader. The man was only seeking to find excuse to attack Geist.

The newcomer bellowed in rage and channeled Force Lightning upon Geist Weiss. The illusionist raised his lightsaber, the beam absorbing the energy. “Enough with the fake comradery, Montross!” The words were barely out of his mouth when the crusader Montross smacked Geist square in the chest telekinetically. The strike knocked the lightsaber to the side. The electrical machination found its target, throwing the alchemist farther away from Makkun. A smug grin on his face, Montross began to walk towards Geist.

Makkun was distracted for only a few seconds by the carnage between Geist and Montross but that was all Gabriel needed. Opportunities forged alliances. His grip tightened on his new blade. It was lighter than what he was used to. But it would suffice. Rocks were everywhere in the Valley of Dark Lords. Gabriel's eyes fell on one behind the Arkanian. It was too big to be called a rock. Too misshapen, too rough. It was a boulder in its rawest form. Perfect. Gabriel's hand rose, palm beckoning. The boulder heeded his call. It flew through the air, soaring towards the Arkanian's upper torso.

Right as Gabriel launched the boulder at Makkun, Andraste jumped into action, ducking out of the way of a Barabel she barely realized had been there. She had opened up a telepathic link with Gabriel and Inquitous. Without a word, she pulled on Telkanin’s legs using the Force. This was a forward motion meant to work right along with Gabriel launching the boulder. Inquitious was moving in synch with the others. Lightsaber in hand, he charged with the intent of stabbing the crusader as he was unbalanced by Andraste and Gabriel.

“Enough!”

Andelka stood suddenly, rising to her feet and shouting like a feral beast. Dark energies swirled at her fingers, crackling like the static of a lightning storm. She looked over every one in the circle, cold eyes wide and brows furrowed as if she were calculating some complex and impossible formula. She looked to the lascivious Inquitious, to the boiling Makkun, to the mysterious Andraste, to the other acolyte steeped in sin, and finally to Geist. The older crusaders were spitting like animals.

Her fingers were spread so far apart that the webbing between each digit began to burn. In the strange circle of malice they had formed, the ground in the middle began to glow a white-hot, smoking rising up in strange curls. She twisted and pulled her hands, lips drawn tight in concentration, watching as a large lump of molten earth rose from the ground. She walked over, kneeling, focusing her attention on her fingers to make them impervious to the heat.

“Some of you mock us who use Alchemy to create beauty,” she said assertively. It was not in her nature, but she had come here to watch the sunset. And it was gone, now. She dug her hands into the mound of liquid sand. She was forming a large, curling stem, pulling the leaves and thorns out like a skilled glass-maker would. The petals were large and meticulous, her fingers working delicately to make them razor-sharp yet appealing to the eye. The double-edged sword of vanity.

She stood up, using The Force to keep the wobbly still-hot glass from falling over. And suddenly as she had started, she was finished. It took a few quick hand gestures for the glass to cool and she sat back down, drawing her knees to her chest in the same manner when she first came here.

Andelka looked at her creation: A large, gleaming glass flower in the middle of a barren waste, petals and leaves as sharp as any sword. “You call yourselves Sith?” She had resumed her quiet, analytic nature, still a tad bit embarrassed that she had exploded like that. She was supposed to save that side of her for the canvas. “If we are to be evil, we must appreciate good.” She looked up the sky, the stars twinkling with jovial mirth. She smiled weakly. “The wages of sin are not measured by one's actions alone,” she walked over to her flower, running her fingers carefully over the glass edges. “They are measured by reactions. If there is no one around to witness evil, is evil valid? The beauty of my creations is being judged right now, so tell me, what do you all think?”

Brave her words were, her speech had only distracted the acolytes temporarily. The boulder missed its target, so Gabriel was running after Inquitious to plunge lightsaber into the heart of the insolent Arkanian. The Barabel in the crowd let loose the Dark Side energy he had been gathering with an explosive roar, the Barabel dropped down into a crouch and pressed both palms down into the ground while pushing out with the Force, causing the ground to rupture with cracks splitting off for several yards. Igniting his lightsaber with a sharp snap-hiss, the Barabel drew himself up to his full height and said in a low hiss that echoed loudly and stopped anyone with a wish to keep their life in their tracks, his tail snapping out like a whip threateningly. "What iz it exactly that you all think you're doing?"


Telkanin turned and stared at the Barabel for a moment, and then tried to come up with a reply to the scaled Sith's question. Andelka could understand the fear of this Barabel that flooded into him, more than the crashing wave of acolytes had instilled. The Barabel was Warmaster of the empire, Darth Vereor himself. Few were thought to be more skilled than he in battle. An excuse pieced together in desperation, the Arkanian spoke. "My Lord, this fight has erupted because of these fools here turning an insult against a flower into an insult against the Empire. They continued to enrage me further with insults and otherwise, and so I thought to teach them a lesson in respect," he said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. He was tense, ready to spring back towards any of the Acolytes as soon as they tried to make another move on him. He knew he sounded like a tattle-tale, but he was infuriated at the moment, and he simply didn't care all that much for anything other than severely harming those Acolytes, and in more ways than one.


Andraste wielded a different opinion. "That fool attacked us acolytes over mere words. We consider him unworthy and wish to end him." In that moment, Andelka wondered how much Darth Exodeus’ favoritism could benefit the young woman. The Barabel looked at Andraste with an unchanged expression. He was at least taking her seriously.

Montross landed in a crouched kneel before Darth Vereor and hissed an answer, "Purging the weak from our ranks, my lord." He kept his head lowered as he struggled to hold back his anger, "I request your permission to finish the culling, my lord." The crusader hoped to attach himself to the same plea the acolytes held.

Geist struggled to his feet and bowed to the Sith Lord, a process evidently painful. The illusion hid the pained expression on his face, though one could feel it in the Force. "My apologies you had to see such barbarianism and savagery being shown by us Sith here," said Geist to Darth Vereor. "It appears that those of higher ranks think of themselves a little bit too much. Makkun Telkanin got into a fight with acolytes, bound to be a losing battle. When I had attempted to stop the fight from occurring, since Sith killing each other only weakens ourselves and makes us easier targets for our mortal enemies, the Jedi, Makkun attacked me, misjudging my attempt to end the conflict as an act of support to the acolytes in an attempt to take him out. Unlike some self-centered individuals-" Geist made a near-unnoticeable glance at Makkun Telkanin. "-I felt it necessary to prevent unnecessary bloodshed, especially Sith blood; if any blood needs shedding, it should be Jedi blood. However, I am not foolish as to not defend myself. I countered. However, Montross Vandergruff thought to find it amusing to put himself and his ambitious over the better good of the Sith by taking advantage of the situation. While I was in conflict with Makkun, Montross attacked me. As I serve the Empress to create her machinations of alchemy, my strong suit was ill-useable-”

Darth Vereor glared in annoyance at the simpering attitude Weiss conveyed. Snapping his tail out, Vereor swept the injured Alchemist off of his feet, glaring down at the man as he fell into the sand, ending Geist’s brown-nosing speech. “You will do well to remember your place, Weiss. You have just been defeated, and rather handily. Perhapz you should spend less time on making yourself a master of illusion, and more time on learning how to handle yourself in combat.” A smirk fell across Montross Vandergruff’s lips.

Turning away in clear dismissal of Geist, Vereor turned his attention to Montross Vandergruff. The Barabel reached a clawed finger down and used the sharp point to push Montross’ chin up to face him. “This one witnessed your attack on Sorcerer Weiss. It waz an impressive display of the Force, without a doubt....” He trailed off for a moment, allowing the complimentary air to hang before jerking his hand up, his sharp claw lacerating the skin cleanly from the chin up along the cheek to his left ear. Reaching out with the Force and growling under his breath, the Sith Lord picked the ambitious crusader up by the throat and threw him into the rocky outcrop behind him, pinning him there. His sanguine eyes clearly promising death if he struggled, Vereor prowled forward and hissed, “Fool! Through your actions you could have very well maimed or even killed one of the few high-level alchemists the Sith Order has. We need both of your skill setz for the coming war against the Alliance! What did you think would happen once you killed the only other powerful alchemist who specialized in a form of Alchemy different than yourz, that you'd just be able to catch up to what he knew and excel at it within a few weekz?

“Despite your excellent showcasing of ambition and opportunism, allow this one to make something very clear. If you ever sacrifice the combat readiness of the Sith Order in the coming war for your own personal ambitions again, I will see you thrown upon your very own creations. Are we clear?” Dropping Montross and turning to face the other Sith, Vereor took a deep breath and started to pace in front of them, his tail snapping out in agitation the only physical sign of his anger. Through the Force however, his rage could be felt as clear as the heat of the sun beating down on them, threatening to suffocate them.

“Allow this one to clue you into something, my fellow Sith. Very shortly, we will be at war. The Alliance is our enemy, the Jedi our true nemesis. You are all behaving like vulturez, swooping in to attack and kill people for no real grievance but to satisfy your blood lust. The Acolytes were within their right to defend themselvez from a foolish Crusader who thought himself the better. You all on the other hand.... you shame the name of Sith. Treachery is our way.... but so iz cunning! So iz intelligence, and with that comez knowing the time and place to act. The initial advantage may, in the long run, turn out to be your humiliation.” As he finished his mini-lecture, Vereor hooked his thumb back towards Montross, citing him as a primary example of the flawed thinking that seemed to have poisoned this group into warring with each other.

Turning his back towards the crusaders, almost daring them to go against what he had just said and strike at the open target, Vereor gripped his lightsaber and whispered in a hiss that carried over the entire area as he observed the Acolytes, “This one trustz that he will never be force to witness such blatant stupidity again.”

Horror entered Makkun’s eyes as he realized what Darth Vereor was granting. Taking little time to contemplate their allowance, the triad of acolytes engaged the crusader. Makkun had one thing left he could do. Using the Force, he threw his lightsaber at the closest Acolyte, hoping to disperse them. Then something happened; the Force warned him too late. His instincts told him to turn and defend himself, but he could no longer move, his injuries to great for him to defend himself any longer. Suddenly, pain flared in his body, and he knew he had lost...

 

[Dmitri]

Spoiler: 137 ABY to 1,011 ABY

Chapter I. 137 ABY to 1,011 ABY

End of the Second Imperial Civil War
In the aftermath of the Second Imperial Civil War, a fragile cooperation between the Galactic Alliance Remnant, the New Jedi Order, and the Empire-in-exile proved to be the dominant galactic force after the fall of Darth Krayt’s Galactic Empire and the One Sith. Krayt’s Empire fractured and scattered, as the Empire-in-exile initially did not wish to affiliate with those they considered traitors. The Sith, shamed into defeat once again, went into hiding in the Unknown Regions, where they would plot an eventual rise in power once more.
An Era of Peace
With Darth Krayt dead and his empire in ruins, the Galactic Alliance Remnant officially renamed itself the Galactic Alliance and reasserted its claims over a number of star systems it previously held. Those that had remained loyal to the Alliance after the One Sith sabotaged reconstruction efforts after the Yuuzhan Vong War returned to the Galactic Alliance immediately, and many of those that had seceded to join the Empire returned upon realizing that their secession helped bring Darth Krayt and his forces into galactic dominance.

A number of worlds that had belonged to Imperial forces prior to Darth Krayt chose to remain under the authority of the newly reorganized post-Krayt Empire, allowing the Empire to build up a sizable Imperial Space in comparison to the Alliance, which was still dwarfing the Empire in the systems it was collecting.

Meanwhile, the New Jedi Order also began to rebuild its numbers from the remnants that it had been dwindled down to, and many Jedi previously thought dead came out of hiding to help mend their broken order. In order to ensure the safety of their ranks, the Jedi mostly congregated in the Core Worlds near Coruscant, though they did plan to expand beyond the Core once their numbers were sufficient.

As the Alliance and the Empire brought worlds back into their domains, both governments recognized the urgent need to prevent another war between them. Neither side believed that they could withstand another galactic war for dominance, nor did they desire one. Although the Empire had always been an imperialistic, expansionist government, the Emperor decided that, at least for the time being, they would focus on rebuilding the territory within the systems that willingly joined them.

In order to help prevent future conflicts, the leaders of the Alliance, the Jedi, and the Empire came together and reaffirmed the Galactic Federation Triumvirate, a cooperative pact that would transfer some sovereign decision-making authority to the Triumvirate while allowing most decisions to be made autonomously by the governments. Given that they had previously joined the Galactic Alliance, the Chiss Ascendancy also had a measurable amount of influence within the affairs of the Triumvirate, though the Chiss government did not have a seat on the Triumvirate itself.

The Sith, however, did not go quietly into the night, hoping to use the influence they had gained by infiltrating different planetary governments to topple the Triumvirate and, in effect, its three individual member bodies. The galaxy had all but turned away from the Sith at that point, so the remnants of Krayt’s followers found that their influence was nearly non-existent.

After years of trying to infiltrate governments, the New Jedi Order learned of the Sith scheming and set out to defeat them once and for all. With a sizable group of Alliance, Imperial, and Chiss forces, the Jedi led a campaign into the Unknown Regions against the Sith, causing the Sith numbers to drop to near-extinction.

The Jedi, knowing that the Old Jedi Order had been fooled by Darth Bane’s Rule of Two, did not intend to simply believe that the Sith were destroyed. They spent years searching out Krayt’s followers until finally they could find no more. The Jedi did not believe that the Sith were extinct, and they continued to monitor the Unknown Regions and beyond for any sign of Sith activity, but none presented itself.
The Centuries Go By
As the centuries went on, the Galactic Federation Triumvirate continued to prosper, even as governments such as the Chiss pulled out in order to focus on their own autonomous regions. Galactic wars had not broken out, nor had regional wars. The largest conflicts were generally planetary and, in some cases, system-wide, during which time the respective central governments that oversaw that territory would deal with the issue. The other two Triumvirate members would assist when requested.

By 538 ABY, however, all three Triumvirate members agreed that a lasting peace had been established, one that the governments at the time did not believe would devolve into war. Deciding to take a chance on full autonomy, they dissolved the Triumvirate and replaced it with the Treaty of Csilla—the Chiss, having become a neutral world, agreed to host the conference.

The treaty included a non-aggression pact and a non-expansion pact, the latter of which came with the caveat that if the Alliance or Empire wished to expand, or the Jedi wished to set up additional outposts, they would consult with the other factions prior to doing so in order to prevent hostilities and mistrust.

With time moving forward, the Alliance and the Empire both recognized that if they attempted to evolve militarily, it would create suspicion and mistrust on the part of the other government. The Second Treaty of Csilla, held in 551 ABY, created the promise on the part of the two governments that they would not significantly expand their military numbers. Technology could be improved, however, with inspection by the other government.

Maintaining large fleets became expensive for the Alliance and the Empire, both of whom chose that, due to the peace that had been maintained between them, they would reduce their number of forces. Fleets were mothballed and hidden in secret coordinates all across the galaxy in the event they were ever needed again....and some still remain hidden, lost and waiting to be found again.

During this time, the Mandalorian society also saw itself on the rebound from its previous shambles. Under Boba Fett years earlier, the Mandalorians became more of an army for hire made up of farmers on various Mandalorian wars. A strong leader rose to power in 573 ABY, however, and evoked the traditions, glory, and honor of the past to re-inspire cultural pride and remind his people that, under the former Mandalores, their culture was thriving. This leader was declared Mandalore the Resurrector, and he set out to rebuild the once-great society.
Return of the Sith
Throughout the centuries, dark cults and mystic tribes practiced the dark ways of the Force in secret, quietly carrying on the legacy of the Sith throughout the ages. Explorers in the Unknown Regions, where these cults and tribes lived in solitude, uncovered countless holocrons throughout the region. These contained the teachings of the old Sith ways, documented long before Darth Krayt, Palpatine, and even Darth Bane. These were the Sith of the Old Republic, spanning from the empire of Naga Sadow to the empire of Revan and beyond.

Years went by and the memories of the old Sith quietly circulated throughout the shadowy corners of the galaxy until one dark warrior, emboldened by the confidence instilled by the Sith teachings, chose to act upon the ways of the old Sith and form a new order of Sith Lords that would rival even the likes of the greatest Sith emperors in history.

This warrior was a woman named Layda Aren. She was a fanatic from a cult that worshiped the dark arts who chose to stop worshiping and instead revive the Sith. Aren journeyed to countless worlds that were seeped with the dark side of the Force, from Lehon to Thule, from Conscio to Korriban, gaining strength and followers.

Once on Korriban, Aren, accompanied by a small band of her followers, went scavenging through the tombs of the ancient Dark Lords of the Sith. In the tomb of Darth Invidius, Aren was anointed Dark Lady of the Sith by the spirit of the Dark Lord Individus himself, carrying on the legacy of the great Sith empires of old. She took upon herself the name of Darth Aevum and set about to forge an empire the likes of which the galaxy had not seen in centuries. Aevum swore that the Jedi would fall, the Sith would have their revenge, and Sith rule would be restored to the galaxy.

In the years that followed, Aevum and her followers, the first of the new Sith Lords, trained a host of new Sith warriors, ones with a talent for infiltration in order to secure the power the Sith would need to rise again. In 972 ABY, when they were fully prepared, the Sith began infiltrating the empire. They worked in secret to ensure the teachings of the Sith and the promise of new galactic domination were disseminated amongst the ranks, and they created for themselves a god-like stature for the Sith. All of their manipulation within the Empire was to ensure that, upon revealing themselves, they would be welcomed with thunderous applause and unquestioned loyalty.
On the Brink of War
The Sith finally revealed themselves to the Empire in 1,002 ABY. Most of the Imperial forces swore loyalty to Darth Aevum immediately, but some, including the Emperor, resisted. As a show of strength and domination, Aevum used the Force to crush the neck of the Emperor in front of his forces. Rather than suffer the same fate at the hands of the thousands of Sith who followed her, the Imperial forces swore their loyalty to Empress Aevum, who secured her hold over Imperial territory.

Not all elements of the Empire swore loyalty, however. The Imperial Knights, sworn to protect the Emperor ever since the days of the long-since-dead Fel dynasty, defected from the Empire immediately upon the death of the Emperor. They chose to remain independent, not allying with any other government, where they would use their powers to attack the Sith-ruled Empire from afar in an effort to topple the Sith dominion.

The Alliance and the Jedi watched in horror as their ancient enemies returned and once again took control of the Empire, something they did not anticipate. Unlike the wars of old, however, they did not cast blame upon one another, and the Alliance knew that there was nothing the Jedi could have done to prevent the Sith takeover. The Alliance knew all too well that the mistake of turning on the Jedi resulted in the Great Jedi Purge and the rise of the First Galactic Empire, so they were not about to turn on their long-time Jedi friends. Instead, they integrated their forces together, as only their combined might could defeat the new Sith empire.

The Mandalorians also watched from afar as the Sith declared themselves to the galaxy. They had been enemies of the Sith for thousands of years, and they blamed Alliance inaction for allowing the Sith to return. The Imperial Knights, which had a dialogue with the Mandalorians after their defection, felt the same way. The Mandalorian war machine geared up for a new conflict, and they were ready to face the new threat.

In 1,010 ABY, as the Empire was preparing to launch its war against the Alliance, Aevum was killed in lightsaber combat by her apprentice, Darth Judicar, who anointed himself Dark Lord of the Sith and the one who would fulfill the charge of Darth Invidius and lead the Empire into victory over the Alliance and the Jedi. The Sith ranks, impatient after a nearly a decade and yearning for a leader who would take decisive action, pledged their allegiance to Judicar. The few who opposed him were swiftly destroyed.

No government spoke the words, but, as of 1,011 ABY, war was all but inevitable...

-Holocron of Jhon Cordatus, Jedi Sage Master

Spoiler: Chapter II. The Demon of Konstellan

Chapter II. The Demon of Konstellan
Strapped to a grandiose looking chair that was clearly imported from off-world, a shaking sobbing man struggled uselessly in his bonds, his fingers bloodied from clawing at his eyes and forehead as if he had been trying to dig into his brain. Dark red blood ran down his face and into his once immaculate suit, a pool of liquid running down from the seat of his chair towards the floor and the reek of a man who had soiled himself filled the air. Behind his chair was a small crowd of men and women clad in dressy business attire, huddled together in fear and shaking under the trained barrels of two men in fatigues and combat armor and broken camera equipment next to the body of Kunsan's technician.

Standing before all of this was a tall being wearing a dark cloak, the frayed and travel worn but still voluminous cloth draping around the beings entire body, hiding anything beneath the cloak. The deep hood obscured his face in shadows, leaving only pearly fangs stretched in a cruel smile visible in the light of the Senate Rotunda. His power in the dark side stood out like a beacon for anyone in the building with the ability to sense it as a dark aura surrounded him, his mind bending around the bound man and forcing him to face all of the horrors of the galaxy in one continuous stream of thought. Shifting from within the depths of his cloak, a long and thick tale snaked out behind him, the metal surrounding most of it gleaming in the low light and the wicked looking blade stretching along the tail causing one of the female senators to cry out in fright.

This being was Darth Vereor, and while all appearances indicated that he was getting nothing but pleasure from these actions, inwardly he was bored and frustrated. The reptilian Sith Lord had been sent here to turn Kunsan, a general from Konstellan whose coup was positioning him to become a warlord of the neutral world Konstellan, into a pawn of the Empire. Warmaster Vereor’s plans required a secret Forward Operating Base within the Core before the real war with the Galactic Alliance started. Since Vereor had arrived on this miserable planet with the Sith Varek Rayth in tow, however, he had been treated like nothing more than a lackey. Growling under his breath, ignoring the squeal of fear that emanated from the bleeding man in front of him, he reflexively clenched his fist. Battles were happening all over the planet as Kunsan’s coup tore the planet into civil war, and he was here torturing and babysitting power hungry weaklings for Kunsan's viewing pleasure, whenever he happened to retrieve the holocubes out of the rotunda camerabots circling the room.

Whipping around in frustration, Vereor swung his tail up behind him and buried the poisoned blade into the right lung of the Senator, not even smiling at the sudden screams from the other Senators as the poison set to work. The senator had started to sweat and shake, bubbles of blood bursting on his lips with each gasp as his eyes widened. The hallucinations began and through his struggles the chair fell over, the arm snapping as it hit the floor and allowed the senator to bring his hand up towards his face, crying out in fear as he gouged his own eyes out. After a few moments of struggling, the man's breath rattled in his throat, a copious amount of blood pouring from his mouth onto the marble floor before he slumped down dead.

Growling, Vereor flicked a clawed hand out lazily and gestured for one of the soldiers to drag the body and broken furniture away towards the side with the other already dead men and women. Looking up at the viewing balcony off on the other side of the rotunda, the Sith Warmaster nodded for the sniper stationed there to maintain his position before going to turn back towards the assembled Senators. "Do you know why the dark will win?" His voice was a cold hiss, menacing and terrifying as his aura flared, his powers bending in towards the Senators.

"The dark is generou......" His voice trailed off in a satisfied hiss as he turned towards the sky, his sharp predatory eyes focusing through the transparisteel towards the sky above. Something was stirring within the Force. "Varek... I do believe we may have... visitorz shortly."


...Thoughts, scenarios, statistics, variables, hints, clues, traps, doubts. He had to. There must be a way. He had to think of ...something, some way to save these people. The situation seemed so incredibly dire. A live broadcast had been threatened. Whether or not it meant anything more than misdirection was up in the air. Plans were already set in motion, and fears had crept into the corners of the mind.

Aboard one of two jet-black landing shuttles held relief from the Jedi Order, two Jedi hoping to end the violence on the planet. Though lacking numbers, they were somewhat well-known faces. Kemp Aeschylos had been Padawan to the Jedi Grandmaster himself, Beric Kanasur. Jarek was a fellow Jedi Knight who had accompanied him on numerous adventures. He wished Predor Logath and Matsu Ike were on Konstellan too. Alas, Beric had turned down their request to assist Kemp and Jarek.

Kemp had pounced on the opportunity to settle the civil war. The Sith had returned, taking over the empire. The Sith had shown self-restraint, not warring outside their lands since the Sith Insurrection. Policymakers seemed to hold their breath towards ever incident that occurred in the galaxy, as if one could spark a war between giants. That fear had grown after Darth Judicar had slain his master, the former Dark Lady of the Sith, Darth Aevum.

The Jedi Knight turned his head to look at his reflection. He wondered if those fears were true. When he had left the Jedi temple on Coruscant, he had managed to argue with Beric, requesting more reinforcements to go to Konstellan. If Sith were in the shadows as Valafar and Es Cade feared, then they needed to be prepared. Instead, Kemp was accompanied only by Jarek.

Kemp let his mind wander, compiling ideas for how to rescue the Senators in the Erwartung House of Representatives. He swore he would rescue them, to keep them from harm. A problem was how to get to them. The roof was a likely candidate. The sewers were…

Kemp’s face drained of color. He could feel something coming from the Erwartung House of Representatives. Kemp had guessed right, almost. There were -two- there. Kemp's head snapped right, in the direction of his best friend and nodded, as if acknowledging a realization both were struck upon. He had all his lightsabers equipped this evening, though only the pike could be seen. Kemp was standing so close to his friend, that they would incidentally seem as one presence in the Force; though this was more intended to reduce the supposed size of the group as a whole against simple terrorists, working now also against the two Kemp felt below. At this distance there was only one Force user felt to be present among the two approaching crafts. And as they both attempted to hold in their focus, their singular presence would not seem like much of a threat. At least, that’s what they hoped.

Ghost ships, almost entirely dead in the air and moving towards their objective; they would spring their own trap. The layout, the logic, and the light-side of the Force were on their side.
As Kemp was preparing himself mentally for the fight to come, Jarek’s senses remained alive. Eyes widening, he shouted, “Evade!” The pilot in the cockpit took a second to comprehend what was being yelled about. Unfortunately, that pivotal second cost the man dearly. A land-based turret ripped through the cockpit, annihilating the pilot instantly. The stealth shuttle rapidly descended. Kemp and Jarek used the Force to cradle the fall, slowing it down. The ship fell on top of the Erwartung House of Representatives. The crashing craft shook the entire building, knocking out several installations on the base, including communications. Kemp and Jarek followed two Konstellan marines out of the burning wreckage, the others still reorienting themselves.

Kemp was about to ask the sergeant his status when the shuttle exploded, leaking fuel igniting. All four were thrown aback. Kemp used his momentum to alternate into a roll, softening his landing. Standing up, he surveyed the carnage. There were several bodies on the ground. Death in the air made it difficult for him to distinguish survivors from the dead. He could sense Jarak was alive, though he couldn’t see the Jedi Knight. Letting his eyes consume more stimuli, he saw that the sergeant had made it. The sergeant picked up his weapon and took aim to search for an enemy. Yet, in that moment of gripping his weapon into a steady aim, his throat ripped open with a spray of red coupled by the trailing sound of swinging metal. He looked up and over in desperation to Kemp, who could do nothing but stand there in shock of the whole disaster, then a beam of light pierced the sergeant’s chest and he collapsed through a hole in the ceiling that covered the rotunda. The darkness of the sergeant’s killer stank in the Force, yet his eyes could not see the demon behind the bellowing flames.

Kemp could not see the Sith from his angle, but knew he had to act now. Kemp stuffed his free hand into his belt and yanked out a frag as he sprang into action, priming the grenade before releasing it to shorten the 'safe time'; then dunked it down the hole with a blind attempt to catch the Sith off guard, hopefully too distracted by his recent kill. And though there was still solid durasteel left beneath the glass between Kemp and the Sith below him, Kemp dived away from his throw to keep moving along the rooftop.

The demon Sith walked passed the flames into clear view as the grenade neared him. The Barabel frowned at a sudden warning and flung his hand back, the frag grenade dropping inexplicably and suddenly into the rotunda underneath the ceiling, directly over the hostages and exploding, shrapnel flying everywhere, some slamming into the hostages. A few of Kunsan’s own men were caught in the explosion, catching more harm than the hostages.

Darth Vereor snapped up his lightsaber in an en garde position and hissed out in anger, "Face me Jedi... stop running and meet your fate." The demon was a nexus of pandemonium, encompassing the area with terror, the Force his crafting tool.

"I can't let you hurt those people down there..."Those words echoed in Kemp’s mind. He bobbed back and forth with his hands upon the hilt, fingers relaxed and ready to release for any necessary freedom. His breath was steady, his eyes wide like that of a child. Should he run? Kemp could not turn away. He'd been pleading with every opportunity that came up, seizing every chance he could to take part in combat. He'd gotten what he'd asked for, and then some. Kemp's head shook subtly back and forth, a mixture of meanings unbeknownst even to Kemp. He couldn't give in. He couldn't lose!

"...I can't!"


Smirking as he poured more power into his Horror aura, the dark side power bending around the Jedi Knight and attempting to drag his fears and bad memories into the forefront of his mind, disturbing his senses and crushing his spirit to fight, Darth Vereor shrugged out of his cloak and stood in front of the young Jedi. Pitted and scarred krayt dragon scale armor covering his chest intermixed with a tattered black inner tunic, a kama and vambraces protecting his legs and arms. Obsidian keratin scales gleamed in the firelight of the shattered hovercrafts, reflecting the fires of hell in the sanguine eyes of the reptile. A fang saber hilt matching the one in his hand was secured at his side along with a second saber, covered with sharp edges and dried blood, a calf holstered pistol and some fingerprint keyed explosives, a plain leather sack containing unknown items hung knotted at his belt. Stretching out behind him was a long and thick tail covered in a dull metal, the tail getting progressively thinner and more whiplike until it ended in a curved and serrated blade, looking deadly and coated in some sort of brown paste.

"Oh didnt you know young one? You already hurt them for this one. This one could feel them die, peppered with the fragmentz from the grenade you tried to throw at thiz one.... couldn't you tell? A man and a woman... particularly gruesome, a fragment az long as my finger went directly through her throat. And into hiz eye. You've made this one'z job much easier...."

Spinning his lightsaber with a lazy flick of his wrist, Vereor suddenly sprinted forward, blurring as the dark power of the Hungry One filled his body and made him swift; his saber swinging low towards the ground before suddenly slashing up diagonally in an unexpected feint. The Jedi demonstrated his skill forged by the Jedi Grandmaster by deflecting the strike.

"Do you know why the Dark will win, young... foolish... very much doomed Jedi?" Darth Vereor taunted.


Kemp's worst memories flooded the forefront, as he let listened to the evil Sith before him. His first memories of family, a broken household of his mother's transgressions, her husband's reminding words to him of lacking worth and muddied taint. That man telling him he can't, and all others who told him he can't; it boiled inside of him as he listen to the Sith describe the two deaths below. Kemp's lip shivered. "N-NO!! I ..I don't believe you!"

The young Jedi boiled over. He was of a different sort; the competitor, the victor. The Sith's attempts only made Kemp feel a dark pull, unable to doubt himself when so many others had before. And the Sith's outright attempts at putting on a show of scare tactics pushed Kemp to want. If this was to be his end, he would face it ...as a Jedi.

And then the Sith attacked, like many others had against Kemp in his endless duels within the temple. It seemed both Sith and Jedi tact had their similarities. Speed. And though Kemp was not used to such a level of mastery, he reacted as he always did; and when most expected others to retreat from attacking speed, Kemp advanced. He'd learned how to read the initial spasm, how to sense the incoming burst of movement, and how to gauge the intended direction. Closing the distance, as he often did, surprised even the most experienced - as they were locked in their advance before attack, and unable to counter or change direction in such speed. And being ambidextrous helped Kemp even further.


Kemp reacted first and thought about it later, thus living in the moment and making it more difficult for others to foresee his attacks in battle. He was an aggressive volatile, wishing to punish evil. And he'd give his best!


Grinning widely at the sudden move of the Jedi Knight, the Warmaster immediately dropped low into a curl and rolled, his years spent traveling through tight air ducts and tunnels on his home planet of Barab I making him surprisingly lithe and flexible for someone his size. Still, as he tucked into the roll he could hear the sizzle of scales crackling and burning as the saber burned a long gouge along the shoulder plate of his armor. Continuing in the roll, the Barabel’s long tail flicked out behind him, the wicked blade slicing toward the Jedi’s exposed side as he moved through the air past the Sith - the position of his arm and the saber leaving the young Jedi wide open and helpless to dodge midair as the blade came crashing towards him.

Hissing in satisfaction, Vereor dug his claws into the concrete bit of the roof and used the momentum to pivot himself around, crouched low as the Jedi Knight continued his leap towards the end. Fangs glittering in the firelight, the Sith Lord threw out his hand and sent a burst of Force energy forward into the Jedi’s back, aiming to propel him into the burning hover craft that Kunsan’s forces had destroyed earlier.

Bringing his saber up across his chest in a defensive gesture, the Barabel continued to speak as though he were sitting at a table casually drinking with a friend - the low hissed tones echoing menacingly across the wreckage strewn roof. "The dark is generouz. It's first gift iz concealment. Our true facez lie in the dark beneath our skins, our true heartz remain shadowed deeper still.... Thiz one can sense your heart, young Jedi... and it iz darker than you can imagine."

As the Jedi crashed through the weakened metal wrapping that made up of part of the wing. The Jedi Knight rolled on the ground, snuffing out flames that bit his robes. He gathered himself and stood once more. Cockily, he spoke, "Ya?!? Here's another gift from the bottom of my heart!"


The Jedi's youthful inability with words led to a quick retaliation. From behind the pillar of smoke, the Jedi was a mere flicker compared to the blaring Sith presence; her let loose his shoto with a surprise attack, throwing it with the rising anger in his short tempered soul. Feeling it a satisfactory concealed fact, the Sith Lord was not as easily tricked.

The Barabel snorted dismissively and reached out, his Force prescense clamping down on the flying saber and reaching with all his power to yank the blade out of the mental grasp of his young opponent. The Jedi was drifting closer to the dark side, giving in to his anger. His usual connection to the ebb and flow of the light side was being disrupted by the rage pulsing from his heart like a beacon. To the Sith Lord, the Jedi Knight stood like a beacon in the force, his light presence flaring and spitting at the darkness rising from within it; to see someone on the cusp of darkness was always a satisfying moment, and to have pushed a Jedi to such a point made the Warmaster nearly hiss in pleasure.

The Barabel did not need to move in to attack... with his lost focus, the Jedi would come to him. The Jedi would make mistakes. And that was all he needed. "Its second gift iz comforting illusion: the ease of gentle dreams in night’z embrace, the beauty that imagination bringz to what would repel in the day’s harsh light. But the greatest of it's comfortz is the illusion that dark is temporary: that every night brings a new day. Because it’s the day that is temporary. Day iz the illusion.... and the twilight of your life is approaching as fast as your fall, young Jedaii. Nearly az fast az the death of your friend...." His eyes were focused on the arid black smoke plume the Jedi had disappeared from, but his senses were everywhere, his saber held prepared. He was ready. He was waiting. The consummate hunter who had finally found the prey.


Kemp's lightsaber was taken from him, having lost it so easily and almost releasing it at the Sith's tug; the Sith deactivated the lightsaber by twisting the crystal out of focus. Kemp's focus was on the Sith himself; searching, studying. He readied himself for his next attack to find the shatterpoint.

But then, the blasted Sith began to spout off again. Again with the gifts. Kemp was losing it. And finally the bit about his friend, Jarak, the mental bulwark shook. It was only then did he realize he could not sense Jarek anywhere. Kemp combusted.

"NOOO!!!"

He threw out a piece of metal straight at Darth Vereor, large enough to conceal Kemp as he blasted forth right behind it. As he neared Vereor, Kemp ducked underneath the metal with a twist upwards and a slash to cut up through the beast's legs. Kemp was determined and rocketing through the Force. He felt the need to engage this threat head on.


Leaping into the air at the last moment, Vereor flipped and slammed his hand down towards the metal plate, unleashing a powerful buffeting Force push to slam the electrified metal piece down on top of the Jedi. The Jedi barely managed to dodge the metal shard.

"Its third gift is the light itself: as dayz are defined by the nightz that divide them, as stars are defined by the infinite black through which they wheel, the dark embraces the light, and bringz it forth from the center of its own self. With each victory of the light, it is the dark that winz."

Standing with his legs spread and planted, his lightsaber held diagonally across his chest in the higher tier Soresu stance, the obsidian scaled Barabel smirked, the firelight dancing in his blood red eyes. "Can you even feel your light anymore, young Jedi? Or haz it finally dawned on you that this one haz already won, and it iz only a matter of time.... Either by your death, or your fall... the Dark will win. The Dark always winz..."

Letting out a battle cry, the Jedi swung his lightsaber at the Sith Lord’s neck. Smirking as he snapped his saber counterclockwise to redirect Kemp's diagonal strike away from his shoulder and down towards the ground, Darth Vereor drew more and more of the Dark Side to him as he eyed the Jedi Knight. Kemp’s light presence was almost completely obliterated by a rising darkness, and though he seemed faster and stronger, it was but a temporary bonus. The Dark Side was a double edged sword to those unfamiliar with the powers it gave, and soon not only would his advantage be shot, but his ability to sense the ebb and flow of the battle would be diminished; his usual clarity sacrificed to the darkness.

"The Dark iz generous, and it iz patient. It is the dark that seeds cruelty into justice, that drips contempt into compassion, that poisons love with grains of doubt. The dark can be patient, because the slightest drop of rain will cause those seeds to sprout." The Barabel suddenly exploded into motion, his saber coming up in a simple jab that twisted into a feint directed at the Jedi’s midsection while his other hand slipped down to his belt and grabbed his second saber, the crimson blade spearing into existence through the space the Jedi’s currently occupied. Holding his left saber close to his body, Vereor lashed out with his right saber in a swipe designed to remove the Jedi’s leg at the knee. "The rain has come, the seeds have sprouted, for the dark is the soil in which they grow, and it is the clouds above them, and it waits behind the star that gives them light. The dark’s patience is infinite. Eventually, even the starz burn out..... yourz already haz. A disgrace to the Jedi..."


Kemp listened to what the Sith said as his blade was taken down across his body, only now truly hearing his words. Kemp began to feel an out of body experience, peculiar...

He swirled with the same boosted speed, the same boosted power; having only just begun his bolstered edge. His left hand had been concealed from the Sith, as the Sith's first guiding motion had brought Kemp's blade down. Just as the Sith tried, Kemp shockingly released his hidden hand right by his shoulder with a Force Push; simultaneously shrinking down into a bent spin away from that left hand. Kemp's blade, already having been brought to the ground and now leading this spin, easily deflected the sprouting beam from the second saber.

As he roll away, the groggy feeling seemed to speak to him; echoing familiar words of reason and wisdom. Kemp was readied for the next engagement, eyes widening in a sort of trance.

"Even the noblest of intentions can end in disaster, Kemp. The desperate urge to do what is right can often lead to the very worst wrongs.”

It was his Master, his Master's words. Grandmaster Beric Kanasur’s words.

"I need to know, NOW, if you are capable of taming that darkness I can feel inside you. The hatred, and resentment and anger that you are carrying like a rope around your neck, I need to know that you can overcome it."

"I need to know.. I NEED TO KNOW… CAN YOU OVERCOME IT?”

...The words were like a pounding fist upon fogged glass, an unknown trying to get out. It was an unknown. Kemp had not let himself, truly - himself - into the world. He'd contained himself in all of the walls and barriers of his life, only remembering the touch of the Jedi at his most strenuous moments in a duel. It was fitting that he find himself in a duel, enlightened on all the things that troubled him. In the now, he let go of his past. Forgiveness, in this moment of peril and a possible end, set him free.

Kemp bloomed with a Force Enlightenment, feeling more than rejuvenated, anew; glowing with a serenity and a purity. He was on his way back to the Light. Kemp's movements were fluid and confident, facing the desperation of his end of forgiveness. His body angles were complex and difficult to hit with reduced body zones, and his reading of the battle was clear yet fleeting. Lightsaber in hand, he leapt into the air to deliver the coup de grace the demon of the Dark Side.

"The Dark is generous! It forces us to find our Light, and ignite it! For even a small spark is enough to find our way through it! And it is never too late to rekindle our spark deep within!"


Grinning widely at the Jedi’s response, Vereor stepped back and deactivated his lightsaber, the emitter pointing diagonally towards the roof... and exactly through the space where the Jedi was flipping. The Force within the Darth seemed to cry out in joy as the left red blade burned through the air with a muted *snap-hiss* as his right blade swung up to block the strike aimed for his neck. The crimson line of fire from his left blade entered the Jedi’s body just as his body straightened in preparation of landing, the lightsaber punching through the Jedi's body armor and burning through his body. Pulling the lightsaber out, Darth Vereor turned to face the Jedi as his body fell to the ground and looked down at him. The Hungry One rejoiced, the Force practically sang with his joy as the Darkness surged and choked the entire area in a suffocating aura.

"The spark is defined by the darkness it illuminates... the depthz of the shadowz that hid your soul... This one haz seen your soul... haz corrupted it... and have now destroyed it. Pitiful Jedi...."

The Lord would, in the back of his mind only, admit that the Jedi had been spirited, and had the makings of a warrior. With more time, he could have been a truly capable fighter for the Light....... but now he would be just the first of many. The first to fall… The first to die... And the one who would carry his message.


"PMPHHBHHP!"

Kemp blurted the clenching tighten of his muscles as the blade interrupt his body's flow, landing with a cluttered collapse as two parts of a whole. Kemp's legs pattered down to a dying series of twitches and his torso plopped onto his back, as his helmet fumble off of him as the back of his head smack onto the rooftop. His face revealed, Kemp's mouth foaming with a thick red drool. Kemp looked up at the Sith, his arms bent out to his sides up off of the ground in a trembling shiver as his bottom lip pouted to release a flow of newly released blood from his system.

As he lay there staring at his executioner, a single tear loosened from the corner of his right eye - streaming down the side of his temple. It was not in sadness, not in fear, or hate. Kemp heard those words from his Master once again, with a fulfilled heart. His only solace in death, that he fulfilled his promise; his one promise in this existence. Thinking of Jarak, Kemp thought only of how he'd apologize once he met his friend after life. Thinking of his brother, Kemp only wished he had seen him one last time...

Kemp struggled with a numbness to the severe pain, as only a torso with arms and a head; his elbows pressing against the ground to extend his head off closer to the Sith, his deathly angel. With a smile, another stream of blood came pouring out of the childlike face that was Kemp's iconic innocent feature.

"YOU ...are the darkness that I-I... ...illuminate. I am the spark that will bring... will bring... a wave... of..."

Kemp's words trailed off, his head slapping back onto the now pooled blood soaking up his hair with a release of strength and an end to his life; only having whispered the last words of his existence. He had died, in a halo of blood over the hostages, the ones he had sworn to save and protect.


Smirking at the Jedi's last promise, Vereor looked down upon his young visage. The Jedi Knight had been younger than he thought he would be, his skills suggesting that he would be quite a few years older. Summoning his cloak towards him with a negligent wave, the Barabel Sith Lord reached down and picked up the Jedi's lightsaber. Clipping the Jedi's saber to his belt, Darth Vereor gestured for Varek to join him on the roof and hissed as he stared down into the House of Representatives, his eyes tracking the small silver balls as they rolled across the floor towards the hostages clustered in the center of the room. Ignoring the panicked screams coming from the bound men and women, Vereor turned to walk towards the downed shuttle smoking across the roof. "Varek... retrieve the ship. We are leaving."

The screams were cut off in a flash of light and a roar of flame as six thermal detonators activated and vaporized the hostages and the surviving infantry men of Konstallen. Eying a floating cambot, Vereor raised a clawed hand and pulled the droid towards him, the frantically beeping recording droid containing what could only be a full recording of the fight between the Jedi Padawan and the Sith Lord. Plans began to form in the Sith's head; he hadn't revealed too much in the fight that would be visible from the distance the droid had recorded and this was just the thing he needed.

Varek had joined him on the roof, the unconscious body of another Jedi, his life force flickering; faint but still there. The Jedi had fallen to the rotunda where Varek had seen to his neutralization. Holding the Cambot in front of him, the Barabel Sith Lord gestured and watched as the Warmaster’s lightsaber melted into the chest of the Padawan, killing him instantly and leaving a gaping and smoking hole in the center of his chest. No mercy. No quarter. The Jedi would suffer, and this weakling certainly didn’t deserve to live to tell the tale of this battle. Retrieving the holocube from the depths of the Cambot, Darth Vereor dropped it into a pouch within his cloak and pulled the body out of the hovercraft.

Dropping the body onto the ground next to the halved remains of the Jedi semi-worthy of being called a warrior, Vereor bowed his head and waited for Varek to their transportation. Konstallen had been an experiment, a chance to test tactics and his own battle readiness before the real war started. The success of the General Kunsan’s coup didn't matter to the Barabel Sith at all: He had bigger plans now. They would leave this planet... and the two Sith would not be leaving alone.