A read-only archive of discourse.darkjedibrotherhood.com as of Sunday May 01, 2022.

Dark Crusade


The Beginning

Dark Jedi Brotherhood Space
36 ABY

They came in silence. Sleeper cells, some dormant for over a decade, activated and moved with the precision and purpose of zealotry. Safe houses became occupied, dead drops filled with supplies, and orders were given. It was the unnoticed starship mechanic, the abused functionary, and the hordes of disenfranchised Dark Jedi who formed the unseen Army. They were the silent ones.

Their recruitment was conducted over several years in a painstaking effort to identify those beings with placement and access within the Brotherhood’s halls of power. Greed, vengeance, and power motivated the lower echelon of the Dark Brotherhood’s power structure, but it was the Horizon’s plague that provided motivation for the force sensitive nobility.

Journeymen, Equites, and Elders who had once sworn loyalty to the Iron Throne were disillusioned. The Dark Council, Clan Leadership, and House leadership ordered the execution of Dark Jedi and carried out the task with ruthless efficiency. Those who had once knelt on bended knee in service to the Final Way knew the truth. All were expendable.

Reality eroded lifelong loyalties as Dark Jedi turned against their home and accepted the role of traitor. A few turned into a dozen and before long the ranks of the Dark Jedi Brotherhood bulged with those who would see its demise.

Phase I

Dark Jedi Brotherhood Space

The first attacks came like a tidal wave as the cogs of bureaucracy turned against the Dark Jedi Brotherhood. The day to day activities of the unseen turned sinister as security doors were left unattended, computer networks were sabotaged, and defense systems were brought offline. Droids; the invisible hand of empires, disabled hyperdrives and began to conduct surveillance on their own masters.

Routine inspections stopped, early warning systems were disabled, and perimeters were breached. Quick reaction forces failed to respond, armory doors remained unlocked, and loyal guards failed to report.

The traitors within the Dark Brotherhood had opened the doors to their new masters.

And the One Sith walked in.

Phase II

Dark Jedi Brotherhood Space

Musashi Daraku Keibatsu watched the carnage across multiple holographic displays. Reports scrolled across the screen at a breathtaking pace. A construction worker at the Great Hall on Karufr detonated a suicide vest seriously injuring Keirdagh Taldrya Cantor, a disillusioned officer turned his weapon on his leadership at Fort Hammer on Ptolomea before killing himself, and three Mandalorian Commandos bearing the mark of the Erinos Clan had assaulted the Citadel on Selene.

Things became worse after that.

The Dark Council, in totality, was under siege. Reports indicated the Headmaster’s droid body laid in ruin in the Shadow Academy, the Fist was wounded multiple times at the Spike, the Herald was suffering from smoke inhalation and serious burns, and the Seneschal had been poisoned and was now under the care of Krath Sorceresses.

The Clans and Houses fared no better. Images flashed again and again as first responder teams reacted across Dark Brotherhood space. Clan Naga Sadow DSOG fell from the sky as their ship’s reactor cores exploded and controls malfunctioned, Tarentum’s triumvirate of Oberst, Bloodfyre, and Ashar stood bloodied at the steps of Castle Tarentum, and Odan Ur’s Jedi reacted to multiple explosions at the Halls of the Watchman.

Keibatsu’s fingers tapped the throne. The Dark Side was at play in these attacks and only one person would dare the Iron Throne in such a manner.

The Dark Crusade

The Dark Hall, Antei
36 ABY

The Grand Master watched as his Shadow Hand strode through the throne room doors of the Dark Hall. Raken’s tattered robes clung to his red rippling frame, slick with the blood and gore of failed assassination teams. Muz’s head dipped slightly, a small sign of respect for the Deputy Grand Master’s ability to survive the attacks. “What of the Voice,” the Grand Master asked. “They expected Vodo,” the Deputy Grand Master replied. “Unfortunate, for them,” the Grand Master smiled.

Turning from the Deputy Grand Master, Muz activated multiple holographic projections. Clan Leaders, House Leaders, Praetors, and select members of the Old Folks home appeared within the air, their miniature bodies failing to hide injuries and duress.

Within minutes, orders were given and targets were identified. The Dark Jedi Brotherhood would not stand idly by while outsiders attempted to usurp the Iron Throne’s rules. The Grand Master’s directive was simple and clear. The Dark Brotherhood would go on the offensive and take the fight to those who would destroy it.


Encrypted Burst Message

S-Thread XRL - DELTA
Author - Esoteric
Intelligence Rating: Known to be true.

Subject: 30 Day Summary

Multisource intelligence indicates a five person element consisting of Methyas, Kalia, Atra, Araxis, and Archangel have successfully captured the Super Star Destroyer Avenger II. This element operating in tandem with multiple Dark Brotherhood assault teams eliminated high value targets and high payoff targets across the ship’s superstructure. Code Name Red Tower reportedly secured and completed egress with Dantella Novae. Novae’s whereabouts presently unknown. The successful raid to secure the SSD Avenger was followed by two time sensitive strikes on the worlds of Nfolgai and Krayiss II. HUMINT indicates the complete destruction of One Sith Forces due to an unexpected display of dominance by House Taldyran. Dark Jedi Master Shadow Taldrya was identified as destroying Tor Siva in personal combat while an additional 5 x Taldryan elders were observed securing key terrain.

House Plagueis operations on Nfolgai were highlighted by overwhelming participation down to the lowest ranking member. Solus Gar was recorded by observation drones conducting individual combat against Yobd Nan. Gar’s victory has earmarked him for potential elevation within the Brotherhood command structure.

Dark Councilors have identified the planets of Rhelg and Khar Delba as potential follow on targets. Grand Master Ashen and his advisors have observed an anomaly within the Force on Rhelg. This information has not been shared with subordinate Houses/Clans and explains its limited selection by Brotherhood forces. Additional analysis is required to determine if certain units are avoiding direct confrontation in order to appear stronger than they actually are. MTF.

Collection operations continue as scheduled.


The Dark Hall
Dark Council Chambers
36 ABY, 96 hours ago

“I have dismissed their Royal Guard!” The FIST of the Dark Brotherhood’s face flushed as adrenaline and anger manifested in the form of physical expression. Hatred, disgust, and a million other emotions rose and crashed in the crescendo of a gauntleted hand slamming the table separating the members of the Dark Council.

“They’re openly moving against me by utilizing the Combat Center’s cadre as security!” The Fist rose from his chair, palms braced on the fragmented tabletop, his body poised to strike. “The Combat Master has broken from our teachings; he is training disciples with unpredictable techniques. They seek to unbalance the Brotherhood.”

“The balance of the Brotherhood has already shifted,” The coarse voice of Shikyo Keibatsu interrupted. A fellow Son of Sadow, Shikyo’s voice carried a casual and calming reassurance to the FIST and others within the room. The words served as an appetite suppressant for the sociopathic explosion threatening to overcome the Dark Council.

“The reemergence of Taldryan, the surprise of Plagueis, and the success of Naga Sadow in capturing the Avenger indicate a monumental change.” Shikyo’s fingers steepled and then collapsed upon themselves as the weight of his chin rested pensively upon his hands. “And we must consider the other alternatives. Arcona’s diminished performance may be indicative of more than their waning power.”

SSD Avenger II

Nache Bhelfia hyperlane**

“Netcall, Netcall, all Flags report,” the communications officer’s voice broke six hours of radio silence. One by one the Command Ships of the Dark Brotherhood checked on station. Flagships, support vessels, and starfighter escorts moved with the military expertise of seasoned warfighters enhanced through the effects of coordinated battle meditation.

“All stations, micro jump in 5-4-3-2-1, jump.”

The symphonic precision of the Dark Brotherhood’s combined forces harmonized in a singular jump point existing at two separate objectives. Drop ships, assault shuttles, and starfighters poured from hangars as magnetic fields dropped microseconds after capital ships hyperspace. Turbo lasers flared, ion cannons flashed, and proton torpedoes erupted in a cacophony of destruction blazing a trail for the invading forces.

Grand Admiral Kuderka, commander of the combined fleet, wheeled from the view port of the SSD Avenger II and inclined his head in a respectful bow to the figure watching from the bridge’s command chair.

“Grand Master Ashen, the invasion of Khar Delba and Rhelg is underway.” Muz stared at the viewport before him, the paltry One Sith defenses melted away instantly under the Brotherhood’s power. Everything was going according to plan. Everything was too easy.

“Grand Admiral,” a voice bloomed from the communications deck below.

“We have lost contact with our advanced forces Rhelg and our ships are falling out of the sky on Khar Debla.”

The Grand Master’s eyes shifted from the communications officer to the viewport once again.

“We have been betrayed again.”


Location Redacted
Plagueis Command Centre

The taste of ash made him want to spit. Pride kept it in his mouth, as bitter as his anger made him. The conquest of Khar Delba and Nfolgai had made them hungry. It made them remember what they were, not frightened children, tested only against ragtag militias and the occasional rogue Jedi. No.

They Were Sith.

And they would quench their steel in the blood of their foes. They followed the path of the Dark Emperor, growing their power as they stole victories at Sorzus Syn’s Mausoleum, at Naga Sadow’s False Citadel. They harvested their power, grew their pride.

And Sadow sowed their rage.

Tra’an had been careful so far, his counsel with Eiko and Ronovi helping him decide which of the theaters had the most advantage for himself, for Plagueis. They had been astute, moving their forces in silence, quick shuttles deploying while the others were still moving heavy battlecruisers into place. It was an advantage that they used to good effect, and the praise was heaped on them.

They would have their choice of the spoils.

But it was not their home.

The venom all but frothed from the Sadows, and it seemed that the Lion was encouraging it. Rage would drive their blades to be faster. Hatred would coat their weapons. And the chains that they had made for themselves of nobility, of inheritance, of restraint… They were breaking them. He could see it.

Sadow was coming for them.

He called them in, fewer than last time. Several hadn’t reported back after Khar Delba. Unacceptabe losses, but those he would have to work around. He had heard rumors that Taldryan would be headed to the same field this time, weary of fighting Arcona. They expected an easy victory. He would have to be better than before. He would have to prove that it wasn’t a fluke. He had to be ready.

Sadow Palace
Sepros, Orian System

In the dark, he coiled around the fear, feeding it until it became rage. She stood there, smiling, the sweet ichor of lazy failure dripping from her lips. Her lies meant to comfort him, to help him sleep. He couldn’t. Not after Macron had disappeared to tend to his own maddening demons. Not after his Proconsul had left, seeking answers somewhere in the deep. Not after he lost another quaestor, and they had done nothing. Her words were carefully chosen to calm him.

They had the opposite effect.

She kept talking of supplication, of measured responses, of genteel discussions with the enemy. Of how victory wasn’t that important. How nothing was important, compared to their birthright. That the politics of the Council would see them granted their due. That their friends in high places would undo the damage wrought upon their psyche on the battlefield. She kept talking, her Coruscanti accent somehow strange to him as the words became sounds, disembodied and formless, the ideas gone from them. She mouthed platitudes, just as she had been trained to do. Her voice kept going.

Yet all he could hear was the weakness of the sleepers.

“Tell the masters…” Locke spoke slowly, his voice as mirthless as the grave.

It wasn’t a heartbeat before his hand was around her pale throat, rage burning through his blood, muscles laughing as they lifted the woman from the floor, her eyes widened by the sudden display of strength, at how quickly the Force answered the Consul’s call.

“Talk will cost us our birthright.”

His other hand flickered in the dark of the private chamber, her only warning before the Force erupted from his hand, the dull roar of power punctuated with the cracking of her ribcage, of the shattering of her spine. He watched her eyes well up, the pale skin of a woman bred for gentler purposes purpling under his grip, shock deadening her pain.

He dropped her, motioning for the black-armored guard to take her away as she passed out. She would have plenty of time to scream later.

The sons would not be happy with him.

It suited him well. He was not happy with them. And if they were not willing to bleed for their name, at least he would. He would embody all that he was taught, all he was raised to be. They had grown fat, complacent. They forgot the joy of combat, the thrill of victory. They had forgotten that they had to fight for their destiny. He hadn’t forgotten, and he would make the Clan remember.

Locke knew where his destiny lay.

It was in conquest.

He would not fail.

Belarus-class cruiser Impenetrable
Bhargebba Orbit

Liam paced the room warily, hands clasped behind his back. His Jedi were in transport to the fleet as he stepped. He could feel their signatures getting stronger, their essences more clearly in view. The Quaestor of the Brotherhood’s only light sided house paused, his mind’s eye reaching out across the world that spun below them.

This was his chance. This was their only chance.

This paradise would not fall under the shadow of the Sith once more. He would not allow them to defile it. He could not allow them to…

He felt the seed in the back of his mind grow, the same as he felt another of his Jedi grow nearer. To feel their deaths in the force would jar his senses, make him recall those dark times. Before.

Revak and Morotheri stood silent, watching him with eyes wrapped in bandages, the Force telling them all that his heart told him.


Liam stopped, breathing deep, letting his mind be still for a moment, letting his breaths take the poison emotion from him, giving his heart time to remember the code.

The green gem beyond the transparisteel needed him, needed them all. The Force cried out to them, pleaded with them, demanded that they act. He shoved the fear aside. There was no death, there was only the Force.

He would not let them turn Bhargebba’s grasses to dust.

NSD Excidium II
Descri Wris

The Zeltron paced around the armored masses of the 31st Legion. Since reaching the rank of Dark Jedi Knight the need to truly prove his worth had become as much a part of his as the beating of his heart. This crusade was to be the single greatest opportunity of the Dark Knight’s life in the Brotherhood. Following the last two planets of failure he knew it was now or never. He could feel the peering eyes of the men around him. Soldiers took orders, but expected great leaders to deliver them. When the former apprentice of the Emperor was expected to fight along side them, Eether knew he had to deliver.

“Trying to get to know the men?” a voice rang out. It had a familiar quality yet was different enough to still be alarming to Eether. The calm eyes of Kell Dante met the Zeltron’s.

"My father worked with men in every legion we have. So have I. They know what is coming." Dante continued.

"Do they? Do they know what really is at stake?" Eether asked. Dante laughed.

"Come on. There is a small meeting." He gave the soldiers one last look, then followed the Zeltron through the ship, their shared silence echoing across time. They knew what was to come.

The door opened with a hushed whisper, casting pale light over the dark interior, the red holographic planet hovering before the Emperor and the Celebrity.

Xen’Mordin stared into the eyes of those who had just arrived in the conference room.

“We’ve been smashed back twice now. Enough. The Empire is strong. We grow now. 'm not about to let the Arconan’s walk away with this.” There was a fire burning in the Quaestor’s eyes. He saw it reflected each of his fellows.

"For the Empire." Thran Occasus said with an easy grin.

"For the Empire!" Echoed Xen and the others in the room. It was do or die and each person in the room knew it. Blood boiling, Xen motioned for the greats of Scholae Palatinae move. They knew what needed to be done. War was in their very souls.

And tonight it would be let off the chain.

ISD-II Eye of the Abyss II
En route to Bhargebba

“Marick, fleet status report.”

Proconsul Marick Arconae nodded at the hologram of Arcona Consul Wuntila Arconae. "All ships in the Arcona Expeditionary Force report all stations go, Lord Consul."

“As to be expected. Our troops?”

"Prepped and ready for deployment, Consul."

“Most importantly, our forces?”

“All summits await your command, Consul.”

"Do you think we’re ready, Marick?"

He paused and cocked his head. “Are you questioning our preparedness?”

“Not as much as I question our desire. All Clans and Houses are prepared.” He paused, turning away from the display, adjusting the straps on his bracer, careful to avoid the sharpened edes of his fistblade.

“Easy victory breeds lazinees. Complacency.”

Marick nodded, waiting for the man as he lowered the open faced helmet over his head. Fast hands adjusted the seals of the gorget as he continued. “If we are to claim this next prize, we must desire victory more than everyone else. Engagements between equals are won by those who thirst for victory most. Win the engagements, win the skirmish. Win the skirmishes, win the battle. Win the battles, win the war. I ask again, do you think we’re ready?”

“If it’s desire that you want to see, you will have more than your fill. We have five new Dark Jedi Knights since Rhelg with another three working on their trials. All desire to prove themselves worthy of their sabers. We have newly-appointed Sergeants and Second-In-Commands in Galeres. All desire to lead their troops to glory in combat. We have many new arrivals from the Shadow Academy. All desire to continue their journey on the Dark Side path. We have Equites and Elders who showed unexpected passion and energy in the recent wargames. All desire to cry Arcona Invicta over their foes’ dying bodies.”

Marick paused, letting the words sink in before continuing.

“So, Lord Consul, I ask you: Do you think we’re ready?”

The half smile from thin blue lips was all Marick saw before the golden visor sealed the Dragon of Selen into his helmet.

“Ensign,” Marick smiled as Wuntila stepped past him. “inform all ships in the fleet to prepare for departure. Arcona is about to deliver another planet to the Dark Brotherhood…”


The Enemy

A lone figure stood silhouetted against the back drop of Korriban’s night sky. The burning wreckage of battle bathed the warrior’s adaptive armor in oranges and reds. The figure’s eyes observed the carnage of warfare with practiced disinterest. Women, men, and machinery lay twisted and destroyed in fields of debris. The faces of the fallen were stretched, bloated, and an obscene reminder of how the final throws of death can strip anyone of their dignity.

The sounds of the few survivors on the battlefield filtered through the solitary figure’s audio receptors. The mortally wounded recited prayers, whispered the names of their family, or wept quietly as the realization of their death descended upon them. The warrior listened to one combatant after another as they fought to hold on to a few more moments of life, but the finality of oblivion claimed them in turn. Their deaths sounded like betrayal.

Retracting the armor’s faceplate, the warrior’s eyes closed as the smells of the battlefield threatened to overwhelm its senses. Acrid smoke from burning metal and exploding fuel wafted through sky. Their taint burning the interior of the warrior’s nose and causing its tear ducts to produce liquid. But it was the smell of the dead that crossed the boundary of smell and entered the realm of taste. The sweet, sticky, smell of loosened bowels and decay permeated every inch of the night.

The lone figure spit on the ground and reflected its senses. The sights, smells, and tastes of the battlefield had a common thread. Betrayal. The Sith Lord Esoteric, head of One Sith Intelligence, was an expert on betrayal. Betrayal was the one constant within the Dark Side of the Force and her practitioners would use it as long as they coveted one another’s power. Betrayal was what brought a Dark Brotherhood reconnaissance operation to Korriban, betrayal was what positioned them within an ambush, and betrayal was what led to their deaths.

The Dark Brotherhood had walked through the Sith Worlds in dominating fashion. Planet after planet feel to their overwhelming forces, but greed and betrayal forced the Brotherhood to overreach. False information had been planted by the Brotherhood’s own members and a mission was undertaken to confirm the limited resources of the One Sith on Korriban. It was slaughter.

The deaths of the small reconnaissance force and the destruction of their equipment would do little in terms of crippling the Dark Brotherhood war machine, but the insidious nature of betrayal would pay much greater dividends. The Brotherhood would know they were betrayed, but not by who. Was it the Star Chamber leading the Brethren to their deaths in a quest for greater power? Was it the Grand Master throwing their lives away in pursuit of his former master? Was it merely the inept military leadership of the Master at Arms? Was it the Clans turning against the Iron throne and allying with the One Sith?

The One Sith Spymaster’s thoughts returned to the battlefield as the sounds of struggle filtered through his helmet. A crashed speeder bike pinned a Dark Jedi of the Iron throne beneath its weight. The Dark Jedi’s crippled body fought against the weight, but his stomach lay exposed and his presence in the force was rapidly diminishing. A lightsaber remained weakly clutched in the Soldier’s hand, a symbol of continued resistance.

Esoteric’s foot unceremoniously kicked the lightsaber away as the One Sith knelt beside the Dark Jedi. The retractable face shield remained lifted, the One Sith locking eyes with the Dark Jedi.

“Why would you do this to us,” the Dark Jedi croaked through blood soaked lips.

“Why not,” came Esoteric’s monotone reply.

“The Force take you and your kind,” the Dark Jedi spat.

“The Force is a lie,” Esoteric coolly replied as his blaster discharged into the Dark Jedi’s face.

Standing, the Spymaster re-engaged his face shield and activated his communications array.

“Summon my shuttle and notify our mercenaries. We are needed on Athiss.”

The Master

Jac Cotelin sat within the silent meditation chamber. His head bowed, his eyes were closed, and his age-worn hands folded neatly in his lap. The Grand Master controlled his breath in the same manner he had been taught many years earlier by his mentor, Yoni.

The Force flooded Cotelin’s mind with a cacophony of images and sounds and he discarded many of them as quickly as they arrived. Cotelin’s subtle mastery of the Force allowed him to filter the wheat from the chaff and discern the truth from within many truths.

Jac Cotelin was tired and weary. Taldryan had been unseated as the most powerful Clan within the Dark brotherhood, had been reduced to a house, and had recently lost members to the internecine politics of the Brotherhood. And yet his beloved Taldryan had more challenges on the horizon.

The Grand Master, Muz Ashen, had declared war on the One Sith. Dark Brotherhood forces were spilling into the Sith Worlds region of space. The Clans and Houses were driven blindly to war through the promises of glory and power. The Taldrya had scoffed at the war and deemed it a repeat of the past, but Cotelin sensed something more sinister at play. The One Sith had infiltrated the Brotherhood too easily and their initial attacks were too convenient. Why would Krayt’s undermanned forces draw the Brotherhood into conflict without being prepared for a response?

Cotelin’s mind pulled at the strings of the Force, drawing in the visions he wanted to pursue. The events of the Dark Crusade flashed; planets fell, resources were captured, and the pieces moved into their places. The Houses and Clans were assigned separate missions, no one organization seeing every planet, seeing every objective, or uncovering every mystery.

Cotelin’s will refined his search and his visions focused. It was not the Houses and Clans, it was not the conquest of the planets, but a constant thread remained. It was the Iron Throne. Raken and his Shadowhand operators had been on the Suffering, formerly the Avenger II; the Iron Throne had sent operatives to Loka Dan’s forge, to find sacred stones on Krayiss II, and to every planet that had fallen.

The visions came faster with the keys to the Iron Throne’s plans and then, they were abruptly gone. Cotelin’s folded hands broke their meditative pose and rubbed the stubble across his face. Someone had blocked his inquiry and only a handful of people in the galaxy could disrupt his meditations.

The Prophet

The crumpled pages of antiquated scrolls littered the chamber of Darth Vexatus. Each page held the neat script of the Sith Lord and the messy scrawl of another. Blood spatters adorned the margins and served as the source of the writing on the pages. Vexatus was unsure why he had taken to writing with his own blood, but then again, he was unsure who else had written in his journals.

Prophecy and madness had come hand-in-hand over the past decade. Vexatus foresaw events before they transpired and interpreted them with uncanny accuracy. But the visions came with side effects and his mental health continued to decline. He thought often of Faethor, Trevarus, and Paladin and how they nurtured his abilities. They did so for their own benefit, but they had cursed him. The visions came with meditation, but now they often came on their own and without warning.

One such vision had ended moments prior. The implications of the Dark Crusade and the Dark Brotherhood’s plight spilled out of the Force and into his mind. It was clear to him that ruin lay ahead for many. He could warn the Dark Brotherhood, he could warn Naga Sadow, but he had learned his lesson prior to the Eighth Great Jedi War. He saw the coming of the Yuuzhan Vong and rushed to the Star Chamber to announce his visions. They mocked him, branded him a fool in league with Trevarus, and banished him from their graces. He cursed their arrogance, but years later he would finally read the visions of the Yuuzhan Vong war correctly. It was not that the Star Chamber had read the Force incorrectly; it was they that ushered invasion. In one fell swoop the Star Chamber weakened the Clans, consolidated the fleets, and stripped the Consuls of their Dark Council positions.

This Vision was worse.

Vexatus laughed wildly. Or was it the others laughing inside of him? Or at him?

The Jedi

The Secret Order of Odan-Urr had successfully harried the Dark Jedi Brotherhood since their inception years earlier. Adopting the tactics of asymmetrical warfare: sabotage, hit and run, destroying soft targets; the lightsiders had stolen the Rebel Alliance’s playbook and enhanced it with Jedi Strike teams. House Revan had done much the same before them. But combat was not their only means of waging war.

The Dark Brotherhood was a profane and disgusting organization that used up its members. Often, those in the darkest places would seek the light and many had. Sith, Krath, and Obelisk warriors renounced their lives of hatred and adopted Odan-Urr’s teachings. With their ranks swelled, the Jedi soon found that they were capable of striking faster and with greater frequency against the Brotherhood.

The Brotherhood is wrong.

Moretheri Mithfaron, Aedile of Odan-Urr, looked at the words of his journal and exhaled. Operations were going well, but his forces could not match the Brotherhood head-on. For months an unknown source had provided Odan-Urr with the Dark Brotherhood’s plans and objectives. Despite this advantage, Odan-Urr could not keep up. Not only were they outgunned, but they were also outclassed. Taldryan alone possessed multiple Imperial trained flag officers and the Brotherhood remained fleet-centric at heart. Odan-Urr was a collection of spacers, reformed Dark Jedi, and the occasional mercenary.

He would have to step up operations on the planets utilizing guerrilla tactics if they were to slow down the Iron Throne. Target their supply chains, hit their fuel depots, and potentially even infiltrate the Brotherhoodâ??s ranks and destroy it from within. He had their next targets, the desolate rocks of Athiss, Ashas Ree, and Svolten.

Morotheri leaned away from his desk and reflected on the irony of his position. Attacking from the Shadows, deception, and stealth. He was about to out-Sith the Sith.

The Drunk

The amber color of an unknown bourbon clung to the bottom of an intricately designed bottle. A single glass rested on its side, the contents spilled across the surface of an expensive creel wood desk. A lone occupant sat at the table, her head down and resting on the curve of her arm.

It was not the picture of the whimsical rogue that the world envisioned. There was no twinkle of an eye, no flask, and no arrogance to be had in the room. There was only a self-loathing that came with disgust.

The alcohol was having its intended effects. Psychological walls dropped and the inner-voice of her mind began the all-too-familiar chatter.

You are a failure.
You are a fraud.
You are your worst enemy.

The alcohol was the key to the words. The words were the key to unlocking the spark. The spark sat at her center and the words fanned it into a fire until the self-loathing burned away with pure hatred.

Hatred for the Dark Council and hatred for the Grand Master. She had not failed them, they had betrayed her. When she needed their support to build greatness they condemned her to failure. Where she sought revolutionary ideas they sought comfort in their traditions.

But she would have her day. The fools handed her Plagueis and she would use it to destroy all of them. Built on the betrayal of Satal Keto and Exar Kun, Plagueis had never found a way to excel, but that had all changed in the Dark Crusade. Plagueis was on the verge of domination and she would use their momentum to strike the Grand Master and his allies when he least expected it.

Ronovi Tavisaen stood a blazing beacon of hatred within the Force. The alcohol within her system burning away with the cleansing fires of the Dark Side. She could see the images of the future, could feel the fires of the Dark Brotherhood fleet burning in the skies above Korriban. Her self-assuredness and confidence returned with a pure sense of purpose. She saw her destiny and knew how to obtain it.

Ashen would die.

The Mountain

Enduring, steadfast, and strong; the Mountain of Arcona stood in the form a 26 year-old Miraluka female. Her lightsaber weaved the intricate defensive patterns of Soresu as her combatant assaulted her with wave after wave of attacks.

A sorrowful killer, Atyiru Araave, stubbornly refused to take advantage of her opponent’s missteps. Instead she let go of her conscious and dropped into the natural rhythm of combat. Her reflexive defensive sequences came without effort and her mind wandered, detached from her physical form to explore the Force. Her ability to engage these Force combat meditations had enhanced greatly during the Dark Crusade and excelled her performance significantly. She had been honored with a double battlefield promotion for events she could hardly even recall. She was merely an instrument of the Force.

And then the Force spoke to her.

“Kill him. Kill him now. Ascend to your rightful place.”

The Command was from within the Force and Atyiru’s body followed her mind, her defensive posture uncontrollably switched to offensive. Her feints became strikes and her lips mouthed the word die over and over again.


Possessing an extreme internal locus of control, Atyiru regained her composure and fought the base suggestions of murder screaming in her mind. With a flick of a finger her lightsaber disengaged, her pale skin colored copper red, and her breath came in labored exhaustion.

“What in the hell is wrong with you,” her combatant and Proconsul asked, his lightsaber still ignited.

The Krath Knight looked back at Marick, confusion and fear in her eyes.

“Arcona is in danger and so are you.”

The Soldier

The hulking form of Brent “Archangel” Ligur Victae picked up his pace. The main hangar deck of the NSD Exidium II served as a make shift track and the Soldier ran without the aid of the force. Clothed in in shorts three sizes to small, running shoes, and ear buds, the massive Soldier was a striking presence to the support personnel working on the deck.

Archangel could care less about them. They were pieces of garbage (P.O.G.s); cooks, supply techs, and naval personnel who had never tasted the fear of battle. What did they know? They would all return to their homes one day and receive the welcome of heroes, but they were frauds. Archangel knew it and he could tell they knew it when he looked in their eyes. Heroes.

They would shuttle him and his men to Ashas Ree in a few days and then they would go back to their games of Sabacc and grab ass. The Dark Jedi and the fancy armored marines would do their job and the Navy would soak up the glory if there were any to be had. The last capital ship engagement had happened months ago against Zoraan and it didn’t look like any more were on the horizon.

The Sith Battlemaster could feel the anger rising in his massive Shaevalian chest. He checked his chrono and snorted in disgust as his pace dropped off his customary time. Footfall after footfall reverberated on the deck of the Exidium and Archangel’s mind fluttered from topic to topic. Disgust at the P.O.G.s, his extreme emotional relationship to his wife, and the ferocity he would unleash on the One Sith.

And then it hit him. The megadiverse landscapes of Ashas Ree, the garish Temple of the Sith Lord Garu, and a splinter of Freedon Nadd’s spirit flashed through his mind’s eye. Ashas Ree was different from the dead planets Scholae had assaulted previously. It was alive and it possessed the answer to many questions. Archangel could sense his purpose on the planet and knew the information that he must uncover.

The Battlemaster stopped in midstride, his baritone voice booming at the support staff nearby.

“Prepare my shuttle and armor.”

Archangel checked his chrono one last time. He would need to run more.

The Firebird

Scion Altera sighed as he read the latest intelligence reports. The Marshall of Tarentum’s armies, Maxamillian von Oberst, had deployed months ago and remained within Sith space conducting operations and clearing flash points designated by the Fist. Oberst’s efforts were extremely successful, but his victories were not Tarentum’s victories. He was operating independently or with elite raiding teams.

Oberst’s absence was troublesome.

Scion was a military minded man and had been raised like many of his contemporaries within the Emperor’s Hammer. Elevated to the rank of Colonel, he held the prestigious position of Wing Commander and successfully rebuilt a neglected organization.

Now, all these years later, Scion had been called to rebuild another organization. He had served in as the leader of House Kaerner, but now the entire of Tarentum’s woes rested on his shoulders. His calm and calculating demeanor had paid initial dividends, but Tarentum’s struggles had continued through the Dark Crusade.

Scion needed commanders to lead his troops. He needed Apollo, Bloodfyre, Anshar, Kane Vader, and the combined powers of Tarentum’s old guard. If they could not be stirred, he would need the breed of Aventine and Intoxication to reach within and operate above their station.

Scion sighed again. He would need his House’s help in the months to come or the Iron Throne would pass judgment upon them that could very well see the end of Tarentum.

The Grand Master

Purple and red lightsabers ignited as Muz Ashen’s head tilted backwards and his voice bellowed a challenge to anyone and everyone. A bodiless Mandalorian helmet lay at his feet and a severed arm rested nearby. The visage of Muz Ashen was a horrific sight to behold.

The memories of New Tython remained fresh within the Grand Master’s mind. It cemented his legacy and solidified his rule over the Dark Brotherhood. Challengers would rise and fall, but Muz Ashen had outlasted them all. His reign had just entered his seventh year and new challengers questioned the wisdom of the Dark Brotherhoodâ??s latest campaign. Ashen took little notice in their thoughts and discarded them as easily as he replaced Dark Councilors. They were shortsighted fools who squabbled over petty issues. The Dark Brotherhood would always hold those who thought they knew better, who thought they could rule better, and who thought they could excel beyond the sitting Grand Master.

But the Lion of Tarthos still had claws.

Ashen’s eyes turned to the command viewport of the Suffering and watched the holographic displays of his fleet’s deployment. Naga Sadow and Plagueis would engage Athiss; Taldryan, Scholae, and Tarentum would siege Ashas Ree; Arcona and the Jedi of Odan Urr would descend upon Svolten. The forces of the Iron Throne, led by the 75th would support each plant and in some cases take the lead. Sith Worlds were falling one after another and Muz Ashen was one step closer to his ultimate goal.

The Suffering’s command net opened with effortless usage of the Force. The leaders of the six Dark Brotherhood units responded in order of their prestige and waited silently for their orders. The Grand Master’s voice betrayed little of his mood.

“Proceed to follow on objectives. The spoils of glory to those who succeed.”

Ashen’s hands folded behind his back as the units of the Dark Brotherhood executed his will and vanished into hyperspace.