CNS Invite Only RO: Laws of the Jungle

KEF Masarao
Phare System
Specific Location Redacted

Time is an illusion that tries to manifest through calculations, devices to assist with calculations, and words to label units of time. It’s not until an individual recollects the events of their life that they truly see how intangible time is. 3 years. 3 years since he’d returned home, since he held his wife, since he faced his family. Now, he’d finally be able to end the drawn out agony of isolation and complete his mission.

Shikyo looked through out onto the void of space at the planet before him, fighting to contain the anxiety that was building in his chest. He pulled a communicator from a pouch on his belt and clicked it on, listening to the chimes ring once before obsidian eyes stared at him.

“Brother, I’ve confirmed the identity of Esoteric.”

“I know,” replied the former Grand Master, voice cold and calculating.

“He has a task force within the Phare system. If they are dealt with, it’ll finally put an end to their intelligence network. However, the situation is… complicated.”

“How so?”

“Their ranks have grown. Their knowledge in alchemy is unlike anything I’ve seen, despite my teachings. I require assistance.”

There was a slight pause before the Lion of Tarthos responded.

“They’re not too much for your skills, are they ototo?”

“I’m not a god,” Shikyo said, voice sharper than usual.

Silence filled the bridge before Muz let out a deep sigh.

“I’ll contact Locke and see what assistance he can pull. Keep this quiet and remain off the record.”

The younger Keibatsu nodded before letting the hologram cut out. Katsuhide turned from the helm and stared at his commander, face more heavily scarred and wrinkled since the operation began.

“Returning to Sadow, are we?”

Shikyo sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “It’s a necessary evil, my friend. I haven’t forgotten the past but I will not charge into this fight recklessly. We’re too close.”

“You’ve grown more wise. In the past, we would’ve gone in, blasters blazing, and damn the consequences.”

The Wolf smiled at the Nihilgenia commander before pulling out a metallic disc. He flicked on the image and saw a woman with three claw-shaped marks under her right eye. She was holding a child in her arms, smiling with pride and sorrow within the expression. He knew it was risky to keep such a memento but it was his saving grace from the hells he volunteered for.

“Too much is on the line. Not just for me, but for the Brotherhood.”

Location Unknown
Phare System
Ullyr

It hadn’t been long since Drake Squad landed on Ullyr and already the operation was proceeding ahead of schedule. Darth Suurik refused to waste time on his mission once they had discovered a holocron owned by Lord Sidious. The fountain of knowledge from the one man who put the galaxy under his heel opened up a new realm of possibilities for the Sith. What he did here could seal his place as the right of Darth Krayt, if not surpass him. Glory would be his and where others failed, he would succeed.

The scarlet twi’lek entered a grand chamber deep within the stone temple his team had secured. Standing amidst a series of laboratory equipment and biological specimens was a Mon Calamari woman, flipping through the pages of various journals, mumbling frantically. Darth Firax was an oddity in the mind of the twi’lek. While so many Mon Calamari found themselves on the side of the Republic, he had managed to find one that not only despite the Jedi, but yearned for the teaching of the dark side. He had found a rarity in the galaxy and she would be his ticket to ascension. Suurik cleared his throat and the sound was met with a startled gasp and the clatter of glass.

“Kark! Suurik, this better be important. Timing is the essence with experiments such as these. I don’t need you interrupting me. Not now.”

“I felt a tremor in the Force. Did you notice it?”

Firax narrowed her eyes at the man before extending her arms at the equipment before her.

“I’m playing with alchemy on the level of Palpatine and you ask if I’ve noticed a tremor. We’re creating our own with the powers we’ve obtained. I swear, I think you’re looking for an excuse to kill something.”

A sinister grin found its way to the lips of Suurik as he ran his fingertips along the hilt of his saberstaff.

“And you’re not?”

“I’m working on something to do the killing for us. Now, is this important?”

Suurik peered at the Mon Calamari for a moment before turning his back and waving her off. “Just be mindful of your work. We may have company soon.”

“Then leave me to it. If I need anything, I’ll contact you,” Darth Firax said before moving between a series of beakers and microscopes.

The Sith Lord moved to exit the chamber, letting the echoes of his boots on stone act as a cadence to his stride. His companion made a point. It had been far too long since he’d had a fight that was worthwhile. He remembered the man in the black mask and the exhilaration of finding someone he found as an equal. As he continued his walk, the echoes of his footsteps awoke memories of the battle and he wondered how long it had been since that fight. As he made his way out into the surrounding jungle, Suurik hoped the euphoria of that battle would returned. There would be no better way to herald his rite of ascension than to finally overcome his nemesis.

Level 13
Cenota Facility
Gamuslag
Orian System

Vats of gelid goo bubbled merrily as Macron worked above the scarlet-litten operating gurney deep in the bowels of the Cenota facility. The Gungan convict’s screams and jabbering had proven annoying, so the Sith had just finished removing the amphibian’s voicebox. The madman wiped his hands on an operating towelette and chuckled as the hapless alien’s eye stalks writhed in pain. “Me-sa show you twue agony,” he said mockingly in the Gungan dialect of common. “You-sa really f@cked. Bwaha!” He gestured at a waiting IT-3 droid. “Blinky, finish cauterizing the incision. I want him nice and fat for the sushi table and a new set of luggage.”

The hovering droid mewled an odd cat-like sound. Macron responded. “No anesthetic. In fact, use a pain enhancer. All Gungans should suffer collectively for the worthless abominations that they are. Only one good thing ever spawned from that planet and it was a Sith Lord, not some slimy bug-eyed moron.”

Just then, the incoming holotransmission node chimed. “Dammit, I told you not to bother me when I’m….” His eyes drifted to the screen. A familiar face floated there. Macron’s scarred face tightened. One word passed from his lips. “Locke.” Silence ensued for a moment.

“Macron. I’m transmitting on a secure encrypted Black Guard alpha three channel. Do you have a moment?” The hologram flickered from the heavy encoding.

“I do, Consul. Go ahead.” The Adept put down his surgical tools and wiped his face clean. “I must say, I’m surprised to hear from you. But I am also curious as to why.”

“I see you are up to your normal… proclivities,” mentioned the figure as it glanced distastefully across the room. “I’ve received a transmission from Lord Ashen. It seems Master Shikyo has need of agents loyal to the Clan to assist in a strike in the Phare system. Your name was specifically mentioned, as was your knowledge of Force Alchemy.”

The Alchemist held his chin thoughtfully as the Gungan flopped it’s arms about in the background while the torture-ball worked on it. “I see.” He closed his mismatched eyes, feeling for impressions in the Force. Only one was clear- that bloody battle and a chance to inflict suffering would be his. The Elder opened his eyes. ‘I remain loyal to my Clan, Grandmaster Ashen, and Shikyo who has been my ally in the past. Send me the coordinates and I will come.”

“That’s good to hear. I will pass the word. Locke Out.”

The hologram faded as the Sith giggled. “Yes…yes. Perfect time to try out the new weapons.” He gestured towards an ASP labor droid. “Load the new enhanced breeder baradium charges onto a hover-sled. Do be careful… or we’ll be needing new droids and a new tunnel.” Macron took a bit to think as his thoughts pinwheeled. “They mentioned alchemy…” His twisted mind worked overtime. “Someone on the other side… probably yeah.” The Elder took stock of his fluids and reagents. “More to break down, and not so much to build up this time methinks.”

Master’s Chambers
The Fallen Spear
Kyataran Space

Muz walked slowly down the dimly lit path, the smooth sound of his boots snapping against stones quietly punctuating the sound of chirping insects in the meditation garden. It was part of an extensive refit, the small trees culled from Kyataru, from Dathomir, from Autoch, the vines trying to choke the path and stones with their green fingers and deeply colored flowers. There was a sense of peace here, which was the entire point, he supposed. The path wound through the gardens, over a bridge that crossed a creek and pond stocked with fish from near Kuroshin castle. The whole deck had to be reconfigured to accomodate the soil and water, and three droids were tasked with maintenance when he wasn’t in state. He paused, arms clasped behind his back, looking up at the ceiling, at the simulated stars and crescent moons of simulated night-time. The gardens had UV lamps on a timer, simulating the day and night cycle of Kyataru. He prefered the night-time walks, the tranquility of the darkness, much as he had back home.

His arm chirped, the blinking light alerting him of a message from the bridge. He looked at it for a moment, then turned, walking back toward the entrance, the corridor between this little slice of nature, and the rest of the ship. It had become more of a home tohim than anywhere else. He chewed on the thought for a second as he walked. He never was at home on Antei, and Kyataru still held painful memories. There always was Tarthos, or the apartments on Coruscant, but they were more like staging areas than home. The door opened before him, exposing the dim lit hallway to the turbolifts and beyond, to his lab and dojo. He turned, facing the turbolifts and willed the display on his arm to open, the display showing Darius on the bridge.

“My Lord, Sadow’s Summit has responded to your message.” His accent was crisp, punctuating the hard sounds with more emphasis than a native speaker would. He was Autoch, like the ship was. Muz had inherited the ship from one of their dignitaries, and him with it. He was a good man, a stalwart ally, and if he was a bit less professional, they might even have been friends.

“What did they say?”

“Macron’s preparing to travel to Phare, as is several of their summit. Apparently, they are taking your request rather seriously.”

Muz paused for a second, processing the situation. The situation in Sepros space must have been settled, then. It seemed that there was always some incursion, some rebellion taking their time and energy in their home system. Perhaps things had finally settled down. Or Locke was more concerned with staying in his good graces to convince him to help devastate them when they returned home. He shrugged off the thought. Either way, it would be fortuitous. The targets were ripe for the taking, and the clan would be able to use the spoils. Locke was many things, but short-sighted was not one of them.

Blackwind looked away from the screen for a moment, glimpsing something on his own datapad. “It seems that your Herald has arrived in-system as well.”

Muz chuckled quietly, then stepped toward the turbolift. He felt her coming to him, her essence purer than it had been in many moons. And something else… He smiled briefly, then banished it from his face. “Commodore, set a course for Master Herald’s location. Engage once Lady Keibatsu has docked.”

“Yes, my Lord.” The display clapped shut as he stepped into the turbolift, quick fingers tapping the code for the docking bay. The air pressure changed and the lift rocketed downward, opening on the broad hall and high ceiling of the utilitarian bay. It was distinct, his sigil painted and sealed on the floor, his boots clacking the metallic flooring as he gazed out through the mouth of the ship, into space, the sliver of his homeworld barely visible at the corner of the opening. The small transport turned out in front of them, facing him as it crept closer. The haze of the airlock bubbled around the nose of the ship like water, allowing the ship in, but keeping most of the vaccuum out. The underpressure hissed at his eardrums as the airlock bounded back to normal, the transport fully within the bay.

The whoosh of pneumatic landing gear and the hum of the doors mechanically opening filled the deck, as the Lion watched his Lady step from the ship, then watching as another came from within. She smiled at him, then at the other.

“Sanjuro.” Muz smiled at his son, then back at his wife as the ship slid into the grey miasma of hyperspace.

“Just like old times, eh?” He laughed, reaching out to embrace his father.

“Let’s hope not so bad.” Muz hugged him, then turned to Ashia, drawing her into his arms.

“The worst is over.” She smiled up at him. “This is just cleaning up the rest.”

Muz nodded at her, watching them both head for the turbolift. She was both right and wrong. The War may have ended on Korriban, the Brotherhood’s Dark Crusade ended with the Rite in those deep sands, but he was far from done. He and his still fought to end the threat that the enemy still posed, even as Pravus and his machinations convinced the clans otherwise.

He wanted that cursed chair so badly, Muz let him have it. Duty meant more than a piece of furniture. It was better this way. Freed from the politics and wasteful bickering, Muz and his own Council could do what they needed to do in order to safeguard their destiny, to keep their foes at bay.

And that started with Phare.

Consul’s Office
Temple of Sorrow
Sepros, Orian System

Several weeks prior to the Awakenings conflict.

The hour was late on Sepros. Locke’s office inside the Temple of Sorrow was quiet. A hologram of Cethgus hovered over the large desk that dominated the room. Cethgus nodded.

“A significant amount of Sadowan Jedi have answered the call to assist Lord Ashen. I have transmitted the exact numbers to your personal data account.”

“Good,” Locke said. He analyzed the data on one of the screens that sat on his desk. The numbers seemed sufficient. “This should be a good experience for our people. Witnessing our Elders in action will show our members what their destiny may one day be, and even the most selfish will see the chance of power in their future.”

“Indeed,” Cethgus replied. “Anything else?”

“I may assist them,” Locke said, “but I’ll let you know. Continue as you were.”

The link closed, Locke sat back to reflect. He had not told the clan what little he knew of what they would be facing, but they had to be skilled and hone their abilities. Locke knew in his heart that there was a great threat out there - the Crusade had felt too much like a trap to be otherwise. Even if few others would listen to him, he was now in a position to significantly strengthen the Brotherhood and his clan.

The Krath reflected on the state of the clan. They had established a blockade on the only known hyperspace route in or out of the system. This had allowed them to reveal themselves to the system, and focus more on leading and constructing infrastructure than worrying about their cover. It had also allowed them to focus on their own affairs. Even now, Tarthos and Aeotheran were slowly falling under more firm control. Eventually, however, they would have to be loyal. Locke would not accept the possibility of another uprising on his watch. One way or another, the denizens of the Orian System would accept their rulers.

Still, there was some dissent, and the blockade was not perfect. Someone had bypassed it the past week, and Locke had immediately sent the Krath Darkblade after them. From the missions Darkblade had run as his Black Guard, Locke knew he could count on the other man.

Fortunately, he had managed to eliminate the individual who had escaped, and the few he had told, before returning safely to the Orian System. Still, it had brought about a very real issue: the blockade was not perfect. There would be more escapes, if there hadn’t already been.

The thought was alarming, so Locke had tasked the Quaestors with expanding Sadow’s influence in the surrounding star systems. The clan’s agents had already begun to infiltrate the local area, and were situating themselves to intercept any data or individual who escaped the system. In addition, they had been tasked to search for stockpiles of material and resources which the clan might acquire in the future. Their military was still fairly fresh from the conflict on Korriban, and any equipment they could acquire would be essential to future operations.

And then, the clan could more safely expand trade to known safe locations outside the system.

In this way, Locke hoped, would the military and economic power of Naga Sadow quickly grow. Even if limited in territory by the confines of the Orian System, and in the size and power of their miltary by the Iron Throne, they would push those rules to the limit, and form a force to be reckoned with.

In the meantime, Locke felt that the system was fairly safe, and that he could depart personally to the Phare System. Perhaps there he would have the opportunity to learn something himself, as his skills still had much room for growth. He had found few users of Sokan, but had heard that Muz was a master of it himself. Locke hoped he might learn something there.

He summoned an aid a moment later. “Prepare the Violator”, he said, referring to the clan’s modified Starwind class yacht that typically served as the Consul’s personal vessel. “I will accompany those aboard the Hyperion. Inform Cethgus that he has temporary command until I return.” One part of Locke was hesitant to trust the other man, and he never truly trusted anyone, but he did have other eyes watching, and Cethgus had done much to prove himself in the recent months.

Locke had tasked the Hyperion - the clan’s CR90 corvette - with serving as transport and home away from home for the clan members who went on this mission. It would likely not be the only way members got there, but it would make a good, central base of operations for the time being. Furthermore, it was unlikely to raise suspicion while crossing the galaxy outside the Orian System.

Unknown Location,
Mymidon,
39 ABY

Darkness and the soft humming of ventilation filled the small office that situated inside the depths of the Sith Temple in the city. It wasn’t as glamorous like that of Sepros, and held many modern pieces of technology, but it was right for learning and sponging the power that the Dark Side released. Curling over the dusty desk in the corner with only a glimmer of light, was an olive toned man. His hands were cradling the relics of an old tome, also filled with dust and scratchings of unknown origins.

“Very interesting approach on the healing of others. The mind does have loopholes. Does it not?” The man said out loud, not entirely to himself.

His emerald eyes slowly rolled over to look at the contents of a very large and thick jar. It was layered with thick leaves, whilst twigs and pieces of fruit poked from the mess. Inside a herd of slimy and boneless Dagobah Swamp Slugs crawled around and chomped on the fruits presented to them. His concentration lost in the tranquil lives of his pets, as he pulled out a notebook and began noting down brief descriptions.

“The Dagobah Swamp Slug is a mysterious creature that hails from a far away planet. It’s usual diet is the algae grown inside the swamp waters, yet there’s no swamps near this forest so I must make my own in this jar. They can live for thousands of years and grow up to four meters long. With over a thousand teeth, I’d pity the being caught between them.” The man monologued to himself as he wrote it out.

The Sith reflected on his curiosity of these creatures. They were predators purely by nature, and their existence were to clean and cull their lands from the weak, the sick and the unworthy. When encountering a predator like themselves, he imagined them to fight glorious and blood-drenching battles most suitable for kings and champions. His mind revelled in the imaginative scenes of arena battles with his companions in the jar. However, they were still hatchlings and only had many more years to grow.

The rest of the clan were also filled with the likes of the weak; the sickly and the unworthy of this power he was obtaining from the books. Their lives needed to be culled and wiped from the face of this brotherhood but he couldn’t do it alone. This was going to be a struggle for him to succeed in and the Sith Philosophy demanded he acted on this.

Through power, I gain victory.

The soft ringing of his holocommunicator echoed from his desk and immediately opened. It was the tall image of the Consul of Naga Sadow, a man of great experience and leadership within this Clan. He was also a Krath, one of several dying Orders. The man’s choices were made a long time ago; to join the Sith and be rid of his weakness in combat. But this Krath still kept the weakness inside of him. Absolution demanded the olive-toned man to do something about it. But not right now.

“Lexiconus Aurelius is it? I want you on the Hyperion, As a Sith Warrior of the Clan, I’ll need you to join Dark Adept Macron Sadow for an important assignment. Master Shikyo and Lord Ashen will join us at a later time. Get to the Hyperion now, Lexic.” The hologram was rudely cut short to leave the man without a chance to reply.

Lexic slowly stood from his chair, grabbing his jar as he exited the office and into the corridor. He reflected on the message as he walked, as he could think of nothing else. The most important piece of the message stood out with clarity. Macron was a Sith. An Elder of the Sith Order, one who was famed for being a Master Alchemist, is going to be there on the Hyperion. With his limitless knowledge on the Dark Side and his experience with eradicating the weak, Lexic needed this Elder to come in aid for the culling. He remembered from the tomes in the temple that Shik used to serve the Dark Council and was a Krath. Grand Master Ashen was a familiar face from Lexic’s younger years under Valtiere, as the former leader of the Brotherhood. Both were in the weakest order of the clan and needed eradicating. But now wasn’t the time. Lexic reached the end of the corridor and the metallic doors hissed away for him to stride outside and towards the spaceport.

Once out on the flat runways and elevators of the spaceport, a pilot adorned in interplanetary gear was waiting for Lexic and saluted the Sith once in arms’ length.

“Sir! The Consul has ordered me to retrieve you from Mymidon. He requires your service on the Hyperion at once, Sir!” The pilot shouted out through his gas mask, before saluting again.

“Thank you, pilot. Now please take the navigation console and fly us into the hangar of the Hyperion, now!” Lexiconus replied, who then marched into the shuttle.

The pilot quickly twisted on his heels and jogged quickly behind him, slamming his hand against the ramp door controls the close the ramp. He approached the Sith who walked up the front of the cockpit and looked for which chair to sit on. The pilot rushed to the Equite and stuttered in protest, tapping Lexic’s shoulder constantly.

“Uh, Sir? The Consul has ordered me to teach you how to fly this shuttle. We will not be arriving at this ship without you docking there.” The man hesitantly interjected.

Lexiconus looked at the pilot once more turning and sitting in the pilot’s seat, getting comfy in the chair.

Don’t worry, Lexic, this is just one more piece of knowledge to learn. After docking, there’s no harm in killing him.

KEF Masarao
Phare System
Specific Location Redacted

Shikyo watched the incoming hyperdrive signal closely. It was a transport alright- but one with an overclocked high-output powerplant, reduced cargo hold, heavy armor and shields, and fairly serious firepower for a ship only 49 meters long. The beetle-shaped craft seemed to be leaking plasma slowly and looked like absolute hell from the long range viewpoint. It was no stealth machine by any means. The transport was covered in battle scars, blaster burns, meteor pocking … it was truly an ugly ship.

The Master smiled. It could be only one ship- the Nachzerer. Macron Sadow had been the first to come to his call to arms. “Not surprising,” commented Shikyo to himself. “Bloodthirsty Sith as ever.” He keyed his comlink on the Masaro’s controls. “Macron. Please acknowledge.”

The response was quick in coming. “Macron here, Master Shikyo.”

“Still flying that piece of space junk?” asked the Krath Master with a chuckle. “That thing is uglier than a bantha’s exhaust port.”

“Aye. But she can fight- just ask the Vong. Except- they are dead, muah ha ha,” came the crackling reply. “I understand you need some people hurt. As your old ally, I am ready and willing to help.”

“Yeah. Rendezvous with the Hyperion. Others are on the way. I’m sending the encrypted coordinates.” Shikyo checked the incoming signatures of other ships.

“Copy that. I’m on my way. Rendezvous in twenty minutes. Lexiconus will join me soon for… further training per… the Consul. The Hyperion will rendezvous with me first. We aim to lay on the absolute Hurt on our foes at your command. Alchemist out.”