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

HSD Veiled Origins - Run-on


Shar Dakhan has been accused of committing a serious atrocity to the civilian population of Aeotheran, resulting in a massive revolt and triggering Civil War. Mysteriously armed and fueled by the feeling of betrayal, the populace of the planet has begun an all out attack on the members of Shar Dakhan as they return from War with the Collective.

In a series of timed explosions throughout the city, nearly the entirety of Shar Dakhan’s forces have been obliterated, including its entire space and ground fleet, most of its facilities and, most surprising of all, the Lion’s Tooth. Left unrecognizable after the attack, the very heart of Shar Dakhan’s operations on Aeotheran is left a symbol of the people’s hatred for their Sadowan benefactors.

Efforts to get communication to the rest of the Clan are halted by off-world communication blockade. Shar Dakhan, crippled and surprised, is left to its own devices.

This Run-On will run from January 1st to February 28th, with a fiction modification during the week of January 29th.

The objective of this Run-On from January 1st to January 29th is to write, as a House, how you will regroup at the Lion’s Tooth, in secret, and plan to fight back against the suddenly armed, furious, and numerous forces of the Aeotheran population. This will not be easy, as Shar Dakhan is hugely outnumbered and even those great in strength with the Force can be overwhelmed (e.g., Order 66). Gathering prisoners may be a possibility.


(Character Snapshot)

Pride of Dakhan
Flagship of Shar Dakhan
Approaching Aeotheran

Following injuries the captain sustained fighting the Collective, Malik Sadow has temporarily taken command of the Dakhani flagship as it makes it’s return to Aeotheran. I’ve stayed on to assist, while most of the House has gone on ahead. As we arrived, we were unable to establish contact with the surface…

  • Log of Augur Locke Sonjie, 36 ABY

“Still no signal,” an officer said.

“We should be ready for anything,” Malik answered. “Deploy all fighters. Go to red alert.”

Locke arched an eyebrow. “All fighters? No reserves?”

Malik’s tone was that of a bored parent explaining something obvious to a child. “Just in case.”

“Right,” Locke said, nodding.

One of the officer’s spoke again, voice increasing in pitch. “We’re reading power surges from near the Lion’s Tooth. Fragmented transmissions…”

“On speaker!” Malik ordered.

Static filled the bridge. “Civilians…uprising…don’t know-” the transmission ended with the sound of an explosion.

“That’s not good,” Locke said.

“Always stating the obvious,” Malik answered. “Order Flight Two of the Banthas to fly down there and see what’s happening, the rest of us, be prepared…oh.”

Locke was going to ask what, but then he felt it. The ship rocked and he found his face flung against a nearby console. Crew members sprawled across the bridge and sparks shot from the ceiling as panels caved in.

“What in the nine hells?” Locke growled.

“Explosion,” Malik said quietly.

“Umm, Sir…” the shaky voice of a junior officer said. “We seem to be missing part of the ship…”

Just as he finished, an explosion lit up space in front of the bridge, coming from the bow section. The entire thing shook again, this time throwing Locke to the deck.

“Abandon ship!” Malik ordered.

“Ya think?” Locke said, scrambling to his feet. “I’m going for my ship. I’ll pick up any survivors that I can.”

“We’ll evacuate, then figure out what happened here,” Malik said, his voice only holding a tinge of surprise.

Locke didn’t have the benefit of thousands of years of experience. Using the Force for speed, he propelled himself out of the bridge, running for the hangar, comlink in hand.

“Wrex, Wrex!”

“Is something wrong?” the droid answered in something like a dry voice.

Yes. Get the ship ready. We’re taking off!”


Jurdan’s Snapshot (https://www.darkjedibrotherhood.com/members/13944/snapshots/274/1267)

Jurdan stared at the other members of Shar Dakhan as the mini holo communicator sprung to life with the blurry form of a humanoid. It seemed to have been purposefully distorted so that no one would know the identity of the being.

“Shar Dakhan forces,” the being said with a distorted voice scrambler running through the communications protocol. “This is where it starts. We have brought down your mighty fleet. We have killed hundreds of your loyal Sadowan populace. From now on we are the rulers of this world. As long as you remain there will be bloodshed. We will not lose,” the being continued with a grim tone in his distorted voice. “Today you are hunted prey and we are the hunters. Prepare yourselves to meet the Force that you covet so dearly.”

Just like that the image faded and the familiar glow of the communicator ceased. The Dakhani Summit stood in silence for a moment. They looked at one another briefly before another explosion went off close to their position.

“Erik get everyone from the Disciples mobilized as fast as you can. I know they are tired but we need to move quickly if we are going to get ahead of this thing,” Jurdan said with obvious hatred toward whoever this being was.

“Yea Jurdan, it will be done as soon as I can,” Erik accepted his order and quickly moved off to get the troops ready.

“Jurdan, let’s get out to the streets and see what we can do to help our brothers and sisters,” Aul suggested quickly.

Jurdan and Aul ran out into the streets. Explosion after explosion rocked the buildings surrounding the starport. Jurdan watched as one civilian flipped head of heels after they were hit by a rocket blast. The man landed next to a local stand which was barely standing anymore. His body crumpled like it was a rag doll and then nothing. Jurdan could sense the life leaving people all around him through the Force. He could feel the living around him and their pain, their anger. He let it soak into him and fuel his body and prepared to launch his own personal attack against the enemy.


(Character Snapshot)

Erik Cato found a defensible spot to rest for a moment. He could hear alarms, explosions, shouts and blaster shots echoing in the distance. It felt like the whole city was trying to tear them apart building by building. He activated his wrist communicator, eyes darting around for signs of the fanatics.

“This is your battleleader speaking. Disciples assemble and prepare for-”

A chilling, sadistic laughter met his call.

The warrior recognized it as one of the hooded figures from the holo. Deactivating his wristlink immediately, Erik cursed and made his way over to Drae’lath’s position. Erik unfastened his breastplate and tossed it to the side.

“Aul and Jurdan will return shortly. Whoever these people are, they’re jamming our karking coms. No ships, no vehicles. No shelter. No backup! We need to gather the others or we’re all dead. The signal here is too weak to overcome but I think I have a plan. First we need to ditch the armor for a moment and hide the sabers from plain sight.”

“You think you have a plan?”

“Ditch the armor and hide the saber.”

Drae’lath Rahath sighed heavily.

A few minutes later, Erik was dragging what appeared to be an injured Drae’lath through a distant side street, shouting loudly to anyone who could hear him. Aul’s apprentice was limping badly and putting a great deal of his weight on Erik to stay mobile.


Two armed men with golden helmets stormed around a nearby corner, rushing to investigate the noise. By the look of their clothing they weren’t military. The citizens approached the pair with weapons drawn. Reaching a close enough range, Erik launched Drae’lath directly at one of them with a force push. Unprepared for the unorthodox attack, they reacted far too slowly. There was a tremendous thud as Aul’s apprentice found his target.

Calling upon the force, Erik sent the second combatant’s pistol flying and rushed him. He lunged low, grappling to put him off balance. With a pivot of his hips and a lift, he drove his opponent briefly upwards and then straight into the ground. After a brief struggle and a few well-placed punches, both citizens were incapacitated without firing a shot. Equipping the helmets and blasters, the Dakhani victors cautiously traversed a maze of empty, dark alleyways in the direction of their earlier ambush.

The spaceport was still busy despite the lack of air traffic. Emergency crews were responding to the fires and a group of citizens with golden helmets huddled together at the main entrance. Upon approaching the tiny mob, a pair of gruff looking guards broke free to meet with them. Erik demanded to speak to someone in charge. He could sense their paranoia and hatred immediately. Drae’lath shot him a puzzled glance. With full concentration and a subtle gesture of his cloaked hand, the battleleader initiated a mind trick.

“We’ve located members of Shar Dakhan and need to report directly to your leader. You will take us there immediately.”

The air grew thick with tension. Both Erik and Drae’lath stood grimly as the small mob looked to one another nervously. Finally the closest guard nodded and signalled to the others. They were directed inside with the two guards acting as their escort. The four walked quickly through series of hallways and up several sets of stairs until finally reaching a set of metal double doors labeled OPS ROOM.

Hiss. The doors opened with the press of a button. Five Dlarit security officials were working frantically, surrounded by stacks of electronic equipment. Their faces turned to expressions of terror and hatred as they gained recognition of their new visitors.


The Dakhani warriors took hold of their escorts and shoved them violently toward the officials. Erik drew a thermal detonator from his cloak and activated the timer. It followed the guards into the center of the room. Drae’lath put all his concentration into channeling the force. He willed the double doors closed just in time to absorb several blaster shots. Erik gestured to the doors in a twisting motion and a mechanical lock sealed the fate of its occupants. With seconds left, they bolted down the hall and dove into a neighbouring refresher just as an immense explosion shook the building. The lights began to flicker and an alarm began to sound only to cut out a few seconds later.

A wave of smoke poured in from the hallway. The sound of heavy footsteps thundered from below in the direction of the stairwell at the end of the hall. They quickly closed and locked the refresher door, concealing themselves inside. Slowly they crawled over to the far wall to catch their breath.

“Cover’s blown. We need to move fast.” Erik whispered.

“There you go thinking again.” Drae’lath responded angrily in a hushed tone.

Drawing his lightsaber, Erik Cato ignited it and plunged it into the floor to carve out a circle. It caved and they both dropped down into a small office room. The glowing blade shrunk moments after into nothingness and the weapon was concealed back within the folds of his now-smoldering cloak. The sound of banging echoed above them as their pursuers tried to force their way in. Sensing nothing but the chaos above, they sprinted across the building until they located a different stairwell. Descending quickly, the two found themselves in the main docking bay.

“Finally!” Erik exclaimed as he touched the stairwell door with his mind, calling upon the force once again to lock it behind them.

“Where in the void are you taking us now?! You blew up the communications equipment!”

“Keep running!”

Still dressed in the attire of their enemies, the two raced through the enormous bay until they located a black Ghtroc 720 freighter. Erik waved his arms uselessly as though it would come alive at his command. Nothing. Giving the hull a few kicks, the ship finally responded with a groan as one of the cargo lifts descended. They jumped up onto the descending platform and it immediately reversed itself until the ship was sealed once more.

The whining of servos sounded from a nearby corridor as their savior approached. A valet droid greeted them to the Aeotheran Damsel. Erik’s hardened features melted away to reveal a sense of pride as he lead them to the cockpit. The pale human flipped a few controls along the upper dashboard and turned to his companions.

“Can’t risk flying her out. I’m diverting as much power as I can to send a message. Holonet and broadcast I hope. The droid will activate the signal long after we leave for a few minutes only to call in the cavalry. I’m not sure how far this message will go but with the ops room destroyed there might be a chance someone’ll hear it.”

Erik Cato recorded the message in private. Instructions were to broadcast 30 minutes after they left. With their plans in motion the two prepared to descend back into the chaos.


“Hurry! Move!” Locke shouted, barreling into the hangar at high speed. Wrex already had the ramp of the Gemini Alpha lowered. “Pile in!”

The hangar was in chaos. Shuttles, dropships, and other craft launched as they could, while debris littered the floor. Somehow, the hangar was still intact, but a fire brewing at one side indicated that it had not totally been saved.

“No time for supplies,” Locke muttered.

A Warhost officer appeared from the top of the boarding ramp, one of his arms hanging limp and his hair disheveled. “There you are,” he said, leaning on one of the ramp’s hydraulic pylons as the last few beings around the ship ran up into it. “Ship’s just about full, glad you were here.”

“Me too,” Locke said, moving up into the ship. “I hate to leave anybody, but we have to go.”

He took one look at the mass of wounded and other beings in the cargo hold. The sight of them filled his heart with anger. Some unseen enemy had done this to them, had somehow gotten past their defenses and placed a bomb on their ship. He tempered his rage, suppressing it for the moment. He needed a target to unleash it on, but for the moment that target was unclear.

“Make everyone comfortable,” he yelled, climbing toward the bridge deck. “This is going to be a bumpy ride!”

When he got there, he found Wrex alone. Then he settled into the pilot’s chair. The Alpha’s bridge could hold a crew of four, but today - and as usual - it was just Locke and the droid.

“Already lifting off,” Wrex said in a monotone, for once not not cracking a joke. Locke supposed his humor subroutines knew there were moments that it shouldn’t do that.

"Good, " Locke answered, feeling the ship lift off below him. “Transferring control…”

-“to you, in 3, 2, 1.”

Locke felt the control yoke move slightly in his hands and he pushed the craft forward. Although it was a fair sized assault transport, it was still fairly maneuverable and possessed additional maneuvering thrusters to make it as agile as many starfighters. Locke just hoped that the inertial compensators would be able to handle what he was intending to put it through. The Augur enjoyed likening himself to Han Solo and the famed Millennium Falcon when he had the time to daydream.

Now was not one of those times.

As soon as he knew the ship was clear of any debris, Locke accelerated at full bore out of the hangar. Debris littered space around the ship, oxygen-fueled flames still pouring from several spots on the ship.

“I can’t believe this,” he growled. “How did this happen?”

It was no small thing to lose such a ship. It would be a big deal later. For now, he had to handle the present and determine his next step. Aul, Erik, and most of the House members were on the surface. He needed to report to his Quaestor and Team Leader, and get the wounded to safety.

He hoped Malik was safe, as well. Locke could still feel the old Neti in the Force, somewhere. It would take more than the destruction of one ship to eliminate him.

“Ok, Wrex,” Locke said, watching stars streak outside as he turned the ship and pointed it toward the green jewel of Aeotheran spread out below them. “Open a channel, fleet frequency.”

“This is Locke Sonjie,” Locke said, “to anyone who hears this, rendezvous at the Lion’s Tooth.” He assumed that would be what his leadership would want. “We don’t know what’s going on at the moment.”

He received many brief "copy"s or "affirmative"s in reply, indicating other survivors. Then he noticed his console blinking for a distress signal.

It was the voice of his Battleteam Leader. The signal was faint, almost as if being jammed.

“Under attack! Lion’s…no more. Citizens…revol-…unknown group. Gold…helm…weapons is considered a threat…reinforcements immediately!”

“That seems bad,” Wrex said.

“Really,” Locke answered. “I thought it was all roses.” The Lion’s Tooth is no more? And there’s a revolt? Not again!

“We’ve got an incoming signal,” Wrex continued. “Shall I put it through?”

“Go ahead,” Locke said, switching over to it.

“Locke,” a familiar voice said. “I’m inbound.”

“Darkblade?” Locke asked. “I didn’t even know you were on the ship…”

A new voice answered, this one human, and a little edgy. “We are on a Walker, plummeting toward the surface. The Seer says this will work.”

“Walker,” Locke muttered. “Where? Oh.”

Ahead of him, just close enough to make out shapes, was a LAAT/c carryall dropship, it’s magnetic clamps barely holding onto the bulk of an AT-AT, the unholy pairing descending toward the surface.

“Well, can you control your direction?” Locke asked.

There was a pause. Then, “yes, well enough.”

“Great,” Locke answered. “Then I’m sure the Seer knows right where to put it. I’m sure you got that message? Get as close to the site of the Lion’s Tooth as possible, I’ll follow you in.”

“I think some ships are heading towards us,” the voice said. “They don’t look friendly.”

“I’ll handle them,” Locke answered. “You just get that thing to the surface.”

He cut the channel and looked at Wrex, giving the droid a grin that showed teeth. “Give me weapons control. It’ll feel good to blast someone.”


Drae’lath Rahath’s Snapshot
( https://www.darkjedibrotherhood.com/members/15036/snapshots/607/1276 )
“Alright. Let’s hope they got the message. Let’s go.”

Foundation and citizen alike trembled and shook, with some of the former running in fear, as another series of large explosions rumbled throughout the ground. Drae’lath and Erik rushed out of the ship, only to be met by a mob of 35 around armed citizens. The mob looked upon the two, ready to kill. Drae’lath drew his blaster pistol as Erik drew his lightsaber, both warriors of Sadow ready to die fighting.

Thinking back upon his skills as an agent, Drae’lath quickly tried to distract the group.
“Hey. Look over there! It’s a flying AT-AT!” Drae’lath yelled, pointing in a random direction in the sky. Erik immediately scanned the skies to add further plausibility provide further distraction, but gave pause. A look of complete dumb-struck shock took over his face.

“Sweet karking angels, that’s a flying AT-AT!” Erik said, completely shocked by he saw. Some members of the mob gave pause and immediately turned, finding themselves equally shocked at the puzzling sight. Drae’lath appeared completely dumb-struck as to what he couldn’t believe to be in the skies above Seng Karash. A LAAT/c soared through the air with an AT-AT attached to its magnetic clamps. Much to the horror of both the mob and the two Dakhani soldiers, a burst of red bolts flashed across the skyline, racing towards Drae’lath and the others.

“Scatter!” Drae’lath yelled, as he pushed Erik off the forward ramp of the ship. Both men used the Force to aid their speed as they scrambled away from the general direction of the bolts as they impacted upon the mob of citizens. The fairly large group, lacking the Force abilities of both Drae’lath and Erik, berely made a few steps in any direction before the bolts impacted the ground. The kinetic energy from impacts caused Drae’lath and Erik to lose their balance and collapse. After recovering their senses, Drae’lath and Erik gazed upon the destructive aftermath. Out of the dozens gathered of the group only 9 had lived. The some were completely incinerated; while others horrifically maimed and injured. The side if the ship was damaged, but not destroyed. Some debris collided and dented the right side of the ship’s exterior haul plating. The right side engines fared better but still suffered light damage to its exterior.

“My ship! Blast it. Drae’lath, get up. We need to go now!.” Erik called to Hunter, extending his arm to aid Drae’lath in rising to his feet. Drae’lath accepted the reality of the situation, stood by Erik, and soon the two used the confusion to escape. They continued to run across the open ground of the space as more people began to appear. The Force abilities of Drae’lath and Erik aided them immensely as the civilians tried to gun the two down with blaster fire. The civilians tried to shoot at the two, but repeating bursts of fire from the AT-AT and Drae’lath having used his blaster pistol to return fire in order to keep their heads down.

As they run across the space docks fleeing away from the group of citizens, a small number of guards appeared from one of the main control towers. To the surprise of the two Dakhani, the guards fired upon the group, killing them to the last. They held up down a banner of the Shar Dakhan House sigil. Drae’lath rushed over to the group with Erik, against any form of better judgement, followed suit.

Drae’lath, Erik, and one the guards entered a fairly large room, while the rest of them stood outside to fight any remaining citizens. They entered to find a room filled with slightly more than a dozen humans. “You’re 03, right? The CFM told me to flag you guys down.”

“Who is the CFM and how do they know my old number?” Drae’lath asked with a looked puzzled.

“Who would be me. Chief Flight Manager, Lancha Sulaphi. How would be because I’m the former Operations Chief for Valkyrie Squadron. Once in the service the Empire. Now in the service of House Shar Dakhan.” A mysterious voice called out with a thick Imperial accent. An aged human male with light skin and balding hair come out from the back of the group, carrying a large container towards Erik and Drae’lath. “It’s been a long time since Devaron, 03.” Sulaphi said, referring to Drae’lath’s callsign during the time of the Empire.

“Drae’lath. Do you know him?” Erik asked, taking this time to catch his breath and collect his thoughts. His words fell upon deaf ears as Drae’lath simply stood in place. Standing as if he had seen a Spirit.

“I was the guy who sent 03 and his team whenever the Empire needed someone to do some dirty work. Let’s leave it at that now, son. Shall we?” Sulaphi said as he placed the container upon an assistant’s desk. “The whole planet is looking for everyone wearing your house crest, and they have your faces up on the holoscreens. What did you guys do?” He continued, as he let a heavy sigh out and walked over to the two.

“Nothing true, Chief. (We have) to get off planet fast, (but better) find the rest of our team. Care to help?” Drae’lath spoke as he peered out through the window, as to check for any civilians.

“We don’t have a tank, if that’s what you’re asking, but we do have some weapons and a riot shield if that helps.”

“I’ll take the shield and that shock collar. I promise to pay you back for it, don’t worry.” Drae’lath said as he picked up the two items.

“I’ll hold to that. If you actually manage to live long enough. They’re out for blood. So you’ll need this headset commlink. I’ll help guide you through any patrols. We have a lot of cameras here and I’ve got the security clearance to access them.” Sulaphi calmly spoke as he handed gave Drae’lath the headset.

Erik needed nothing and so he stood at the door, ready to leave. Drae’lath acquired his items and proceeded to the door. Erik nodded his to Drae’lath to signal his being ready. Drae’lath returned the gesture and both warriors soon found themselves outside, ready to brave any danger on their way back to Jurdan and Aul.


(Character Snapshot)
The Hound
Darkblade’s personal AT-AT
Approaching landing zone in Seng Karash

Darkblade smirked as he watched the crowd before him disperse. There wasn’t much left of the mob that had stood in the way of two unfamiliar faces who bore the Dakhani colors. For a moment he was worried he had misfired, until he saw the two figures rise again and run off before the LAAT/c kept its controlled fall on course towards the Lion’s Tooth.

“Why are we headed towards the Lion’s Tooth again?” Darkblade asked to no one in particular from inside the cockpit of the AT-AT, aptly named The Hound.

“Because it was a direct order from Aul. In case you have forgotten, he’s your Apprentice and more importantly the current Quaestor,” came the reply of Locke Sonjie.

Darkblade hadn’t realized he left the comms channel open and jumped at the sudden interruption to his thoughts. Quickly composing himself, he looked towards Ginla Xinsel who was flipping through the sequence of getting the AT-AT up and running. She hadn’t noticed, much to Darkblade’s relief.

“Fine.” Darkblade grumbled to himself. “Where should we touch down?” he asked.

Before Locke could answer, a loud groan could be heard from above. The ship had struggled to carry the AT-AT and it was beginning to fail. The magnetic clamps lost their power and the AT-AT began to slip. The LAAT/c began to descend, realizing it wouldn’t be able to hold the AT-AT much longer. It hovered over a large building before visible pieces of the ship began to come apart.

Ginla turned towards the Seer with a look of glee on her face, “Better strap yourself in, we might be in for a rough landing!”

Darkblade hurried into the co-pilot seat, and was barely able to strap himself in just in time before the sudden lurch and accompanying weightlessness could be felt as the AT-AT fell from the sky. As they looked out of the viewport of the AT-AT they could see the LAAT/c come apart in a smoldering explosion of fire. Metal pieces flying throughout the sky, smoke and flames accompanying the pieces as gravity did its work and pulled it down to the planet’s surface.

Locke whistled, “This is something I never thought I’d see in my life. An AT-AT plummeting from the sky with a ship exploding in all its glory just above it.”

He watched as The Hound crashed onto a building, the immense weight tearing right through the foundations and leveling the building in its descent. As it came to a rest, the AT-AT reared its head and took its first steps out of the rubble.

“We have a riot to quash,” Darkblade spoke with enthusiasm and glee in his voice, like a child having a new toy to play with.


Macron’s Snapshot

A few months back….

Nameless Planet
Edge of Unknown Regions
Far Outer Rim

The Sith sat quietly among the tumbled down granitic stones. The hoary planet lay in darkness still as it’s 72 hour long night cycle ground on. Around him whispered the ancient phantasmal dregs of old thoughts brought here and cast aside by those who had escaped the Core of the galaxy long ago. The Dark Side was strong here so far out on the rim on this old world. Adepts and sorcerers of some nameless cult had settled here millennia ago. Some tragedy wiped them out and left only the remains of their stony structures to hold the story within them.

Macron had become disgusted with the Brotherhood at large. It seemed the leaders of the various cabals always pitted their factions against each other, endlessly depleting and never uplifting their charges. Oppressing those who held less power was a common line of thought among the Sith but there were other ways. “Such is not the way,” muttered the madman as he drank in the satisfyingly dank and vaguely unsettling atmosphere of the place. “Malgus had it right. Instead of treachery he created an army of Darksiders such as the galaxy had never seen before. Instead of weakening them for his own gain he melded them together into a mighty wrecking ball that worked as a team.” He continued to meditate. “They held Coruscant, at least for some time.”

And as his mind turned within, a drifting cache of imagery crossed the madman’s fractured consciousness. A flash of golden metal tossed among shadowy faces that seemed familiar. There was an explosion that faded away. Hands clutching golden weapons, gunning down people who he should know but could not recognize in the nebulous vision. He could not make out what was happening, or what may have been happening in the future clearly. One thing was certain however. The Dark Side was drawing him away from his reverie so far out in the Black. Away… and back to the Orian System.

“Damn.” The Adept stood slowly, stretching his stiff legs. “I should have known. It is foolish to think I could escape my entanglements.” The Sith keyed his comlink. “R3, warm the engines and prepare the Panthac to debark from this dusty old pit. HK 22, check our weapons and fuel stores. It’s going to be a long trip home.”

“Home sir?” came the murderous droid’s quipped reply over the comlinks tiny speaker. “Excellent master. There are no sentients to terminate out here. I can resume terminations.”

“Probably so,” mumbled the Sith as he picked up his gear and walked towards the waiting Star Courier. “That does seem to be the pattern of my life.”

Weeks later…. Now

Old CNS Outpost
Inos Moon 42
Inos Orbit
Orian System

The Panthac had landed minutes before. Macron was donning cold weather gear over his armor. “Keep her hot. I don’t plan to be here long. Just long enough to get the things we need.”

The R3 droid bleeped in assent as HK 22 stood by the opening hatch. “Are you going to the Tombs master?” queried the eager droid. “Perhaps I can assist you with terminations.”

“Everything down there is already dead,” chuckled the Sith by way of reply. “Even so that doesn’t keep some of the less savory denizens from walking around. Heh heh. I’m not going down into the Tombs though like usual. No, you stay here 22. Help R3 scan for comm traffic in the system. It was oddly quiet on the way in. No patrol chatter, none of the usual Warhost transmissions. That’s rather bothersome. Something is very not right out there. I should be back with the fuel and supplies shortly.” The Adept stepped out into the bitter cold and began trudging towards the nearby outpost while muttering to himself. “Damn droids drive me nuts but they are certainly useful.”

The old base camp sunk into the rock here on this frozen moon had been a small listening and cold weather operations training outpost for Clan Naga Sadow years ago. It had lain abandoned for more than ten years. In that time it had been mostly buried in snow and blown debris. The Sith moved the snow blocking the entrance away with the power of the Force and some concentration. The Alchemist flipped open the keypad cover and keyed an old Dlarit Special Operations Group code in. After some seconds he was rewarded with lights and a chunking sound as the blast door hatch began to slide upwards. “Bingo. The Verpine made these to last.”

About half an hour later the Sith returned on a large hoversled piled high with supplies and crates. “What news droids?” Macron asked as he shook off the snow and hung his cloak.

“Nothing you will like master. It appears another war happened while we were away. Com traffic is at a low across the system. And more troubling still, there are no signals from Aeotheran.” HK 22 turned to the R3 droid. “He says he tapped into one of the old listening antennae that remain functional out here and picked up something from Aethoran’s orbit on a fleet frequency.”

“Play it.” The Sith listened intently.

This is Locke Sonjie,” the voice said, “to anyone who hears this, rendezvous at the Lion’s Tooth….We don’t know what’s going on at the moment.” Then another signal, faint and garbled.

“Boost the gain on that second clip and clean it up R3.” Macron held his chin as he listened quietly. “And shut up for a minute 22. Play it back."

“Under attack! Lion’s…no more. Citizens…revol-…unknown group. Gold…helm…weapons is considered a threat…reinforcements immediately!”

“I see. That’s it. That is why I was called to return. R3, fire us up in stealth mode. Plot in a course for Aeotheran, and put me in contact with Locke’s ship on a secure Sadow channel. We’re going to go and help him kill those who have done this foul deed.” The Adept clenched his fists. “Kill ALL of them. And find some answers.”


Part II Fiction Update

The objective of this Run-On from February 7th to February 28th is to write, as a House, how you will push back against the Dakhan Acolytes - General Shar Dakhan’s ancient group of followers - and get a message off-planet to Sang and Bentre to call in a new House fleet. These reinforcements will be essential to beating back the Force-adept Acolytes and returning command of Aeotheran to the forces of the House.


Drae’lath poured over the holoimage of Seng Karash. He plotted every tactic he knew, remembering both ideas from past military engagements and from books he would often read when he would have time to himself during his time as an Agent.

“We can’t go back to Darkblade’s crash site. Even if the AT-AT is still operational, the area will leave us too exposed. Although, if we fool them into thinking we’re going back to the crash site, I think we should – No. Wait.”

Much to the confusion and worried look to those around him, Drae’lath began to quickly mutter under his breath. Rapidly, Drae’lath traced an extended index finger across the map and over the area of the crash site and it’s large surrounding circular area.

"Alright. We may have an advantage if we lead them here into the opening between the site and the palace here. If a few of us can distract the group long enough for a group to take up some firing positions then … " Drae’lath took a quick pause and scanned the group. Erik Cato, Jurdan Krennel, Locke Sonjie, Morax Darkblade, and Aul Celsus stood around Drae’lath, staring back.

The experience veteran released a lowly audible grumbling of disappointment.

“We don’t have the numbers now, but maybe I know someone that can help us.”

Drae’lath pulled up his Wrist Link and contacted CFM Sulaphi.

“Overwatch Actual, this is Valkyrie 03. Come in. How copy?”

After a short pause, CFM Sulaphi responded

“I haven’t used that call-sign in a long time. I’m guessing your back. Alright then. This is Overwatch Actual, solid copy 03. Go.”

"Roger. Stand by for PoA. Rally up two firing teams.

Break. Team 1- Proceed to the governor’s palace overlooking the North of the crash site.

Break. Team 2 - Set up a firing position with overlapping field of vision to the West, with Team 1.

Break. We will be coming in from the West, possibly followed by large number of known and unknown hostiles. How copy, over?"

“Sounds good. We’ll get the men ready to leave. Don’t get killed 03. I want my money. Overwatch Actual out.” CFM Sulaphi gave a slight chuckle.

“Roger. Valkyrie 03 out.”

Drae’lath looked to the group and spoke with authority.

“Alright drop whatever you don’t need. Essentials only. We need to buy them time. Let’s move!”

As he spoke, the entire group picked up their possessions and soon all had began to move.


Darkblade grumbled to himself as he watched everyone pack their gear.

A young upstart, barely climbing the ranks, and he has the audacity to speak to us as if he owns us? The Seer conveyed his thoughts into Locke’s head easily.

Locke Sonjie cocked his head ever so slightly to the side, taking a few seconds before realizing who was communicating to him inside his head. The Augur shook his head from side to side, indicating that he couldn’t believe it either.

Morax continued watching the members in the room pack their gear, a solemn feeling spread across the room. Morale was low as the Dakhani had spent weeks underground hiding like rats in a sewer, quite literally. Small skirmishes had broken out here or there but otherwise they had been relatively safe. Aul had managed to keep them together, though it was not due to any form of leadership or inspiration shown by the young Human. The ranks of command still held, even in the sewers, though it had begun to waver and Darkblade questioned his Apprentices motives. Quaestor or not, the weakness shown by Aul and the Dakhani Summit were unacceptable to Darkblade.

Matters looked worse for the fact that the Clan Summit had been unable or uncaring to aid them, effectively leaving them stranded and waiting for Aul’s orders. This would have been fine if the Quaestor had actually commanded and led them, instead he seemed content on leaving everyone to fend for themselves. Aul had disappeared for longer periods of time on solo runs. Despite Darkblade’s distaste in the way his Apprentice handled things on a Quaestor level, the Anzat couldn’t help but feel slight worry for his young friend.

Although Aul and Darkblade had gone their separate ways months ago and lost contact during Darkblade’s absence, the Seer knew how important it was to keep Aul alive. For losing a Quaestor, no matter how much of a failure he seemed to be, would be a morale blow the House could not afford. If they got out of this Aul would have to answer to Sang and Bentre, and that was something Morax was willing to ensure would happen. Lesson’s learned the hard way was Aul’s way of learning.

Darkblade chuckled to himself as he remembered training Aul so many years ago. Deep down, the Anzat was proud of what Aul had achieved and anything coming after this would just be more lessons to continue to build upon Aul’s skills.

The room began to clear, and Darkblade made sure to step up beside Locke.

So what’s the plan? Darkblade asked as he stared ahead of him, the cold dark sewers loomed in front of them, the wind bringing down a stench that was all too familiar to the Dakhani.


Star Courier Panthac
Approaching Surface
Outside of Seng Karash

The comchatter continued to buzz across the secure channels in the Panthac’s military-grade communications hub. Macron listened quietly as the ship pitched and bucked during descent.
One voice in particular caught his attention.

“Macron, this is Locke.” The signal hummed and crackled with interference. “I’m on the surface now. Do you read?”

The madman leaned closer and keyed the transmit button. “Macron here, Sonjie. Go ahead.”

“Were you able to relay the message I sent to Sadow Command?” Several seconds passed as Macron checked the transmission records from his outgoing communications.

“Copy that. I did. Sanguinius is moving to support you folks down there. The new fleet is enroute. Do you have any information on our opponents?” Macron closed his eyes and felt within the Force for any hints to the nature of their situation. The Dark Side whispered of others who used it as well who were not of the Clan although it was a vague impression.

“Good. Yes. Although the major threat remains the angry populace, the instigators may be Force users. That would explain the lightsaber attacks at the celebration. Drae’lath is moving us out into a combat zone. We could use your help.” The signal grew more clear as Macron’s ship neared the surface.

“Excellent. I will be there shortly.” The ship jolted as it landed about a half-kilometer outside of Seng Karash. “Yes, I can feel them somewhere down there. I think I have their general location and if I create enough of a scene they will reveal themselves and draw their attention away. It should take the heat off your group somewhat.”

“You may be powerful but taking on a group of them could be more than you can handle,” Locke’s voice resonated from the comm.

“It is as you say. I might die, yes. But it would be a warrior’s death in service to my Clan against foes worthy of a Sith. And I swear by Sadow that many of them will meet their ancestors this day. It has been some time since I was able to engage in bloody slaughter. I’m looking forward to it. Macron Sadow Out.” As the com channel closed, the Adept turned to his HK droid. “22, go fire up the speeder bike and grab your heavy assault gear. We’re going hunting.”

“Yes Master. Will we be terminating multiple sentients today?” The droid almost sounded eager. As eager as a droid can sound anyhow.

“Indeed.” The Sith donned his helm, mounted the speederbike, and revved the engine. “As many as possible. Shoot to kill and make sure they are dead with a follow up shot. No quarter.”

“Oh goody, thank you master!” replied the droid as it sat behind the Sith with a Blastech E-11D blaster rifle in its hands and a DC-17M ICWS anti-armor rifle over it’s back with a belt of rifle grenades. “I’m totally chuffed!”

“Good grief,” grimaced Macron under his helm as the bike roared towards the city at maximum speed. “Remind me to get your vocal chips looked at when we get back 22.”

Industrial Warehouse
Outskirts of Seng Karash

‘Some of them are in there. I can feel them,” commented the Sith Adept as he looked at the building from a hundred meters down the street. “What do your thermal scanners indicate 22?”

“Five life forms inside master. All 5 are in the main central warehouse area. I’m picking up some electromagnetic activity, probably communications of some type although I am not equipped to intercept it.” The droid hoisted the repeater. “Are we going to terminate them?”

“Yes we are. Be prepared to jump off once we blow through the bay door,” chuckled the Adept as he grabbed a lightsaber from his belt. “Take my shield generator. It will help if they deflect blaster shots back at you. Target that door with a grenade as we close from range and then pump one of your vomit-gas grenades through after it. Then drop the anti-armor rifle and use the Blastech. My suit will protect me. We will crash through and dismount to engage them directly.” He ignited the tangerine-colored blade with an evil hiss as the bike screamed in acceleration. The Adept screamed in rage: “FOR SADOW!”


Locke shook his head and put his comlink away, muttering to himself. “He’s going to get himself killed.”

“Huh?” Morax asked.

“Aul,” Locke said. “Macron is inbound, and apparently Sang has sent a portion of our fleet to help us.”

“What has he been doing for the past month?” Aul asked incredulously.

“I don’t know,” Locke answered, “flying around? Being confused? The important part is, he’s here now, and he’s going to cause a diversion. I’m going to help him.”

Drae’lath broke in. “That’s not part of the plan…”

The Knight stopped as Locke laughed. “Might as well herd krayt dragons as get Macron to listen to you. Your plan is alright, but the House will be best served if I don’t let Macron get himself killed.” He turned to Darkblade. “I could use another blade.”

“Sure,” Morax answered. Better than being a part of this little suicide squad.

Locke cringed inwardly. “Let’s go then.” He turned toward a branching path toward the surface at a different area than the others. "You all do your thing, we’ll peel as many of them away as we can!’

“What’s the plan?” Darkblade asked, jogging beside Locke as they approached the warehouse.

The Augur had his unignited lightsaber in hand. He could sense the Force in use ahead. The dark side emanated from the warehouse in pulses. “We go in, join up with Macron, kill as many of these cultists as we can.”

The Anzati sighed. “It seems like I shouldn’t have asked.”

Locke just shrugged and moved up, slipping inside the warehouse. “Remember,” he whispered. “You distract, I disarm.”

Moving further inside, Locke heard the sound of lightsaber combat, accompanied by the occasional whine of blaster fire. The sounds rapidly grew louder, until at last Locke stepped around a large pallet of something or the other.

A grey and gold cloaked figure had his back turned to Locke, but before the Augur could act a crimson lightsaber blade erupted from his back. The figure slumped, then was thrown aside by his killer, one foot shoving the cultist off the lightsaber.

Macron raised his head, flashed a grin out of nightmare, and turned back toward the battle, expertly deflecting a second cultist’s weapon. Locke noticed the Elder’s war droid to one side, laying down suppressive fire across half the warehouse, keeping the lesser of the cultists at bay.

Then Locke saw the one approaching Macron’s back. “No,” Locke growled. He ignited his lightsaber and fired a quick blast of lightning in the cultist’s direction. The man sensed it, turned, and caught it on his hand.

Surprising, but not enough.

Morax Darkblade stepped up, pale blade ready. He deflected the man’s counter burst of electricity, then parried his follow up attack. Locke took the opportunity to circle him slightly, then seconds later landed a slicing attack across the man’s midsection.

“Not quite disarm,” Darkblade yelled wryly, barely audible over the din of combat.

“Ah well,” Locke answered, casual despite having just maimed a man. It sometimes amazed him how little battle phased him after so many years of it. Then he leaped forward, parrying a strike from another cultist before they could get to Macron, and finally raised his voice louder. “Let’s teach these cultists a lesson, eh, Alchemist?”


In some ways the last several weeks had been harder to endure than the war against the Collective. With their military assets still out of reach the group had very few options left to take. Each time they would raid a location for resources it was almost impossible to return to. They were hopelessly outnumbered and it was only a matter of time before their place of refuge was discovered or their rations ran out completely. No matter where they went their enemies would follow until there was no one left.

While a direct assault on the Government District was indeed suicidal Erik did not object to Drae’lath taking initiative. His hatred for the people of Seng Karash had grown exponentially since seeking shelter in the sewers. In many ways the wretched tunnels had reminded him of his traumatic life in captivity and despite having a strong sense of self-preservation he would rather die than live in squalor again. With only a moment’s hesitation the ragged looking battle leader gathered his weapons and followed the others.

It wasn’t long before they reached the center of the city. Scouting the tunnels had been one of their first priorities. With the help of his light amplification goggles Erik first spotted a service ladder leading to an exit hatch close to their target. Just as he reached for one of the metal rungs there was a set of loud sirens approaching their position from above. Motioning for the others to stay back several meters, he pressed himself against the nearest wall and withdrew a chromium plated enforcer pistol from its holster. He aimed the slugthrower at the exit above and listened carefully. The sirens were accompanied by a roaring vibration as several large transports passed by. As the sounds started to dwindle Erik sighed deeply began to climb. Lifting the durasteel hatch door a few inches, he peered out just in time to see the last armoured vehicle turning the corner. Imprinted on the side of it were the words ORIAN POLICE FORCE: EMERGENCY RESPONSE TEAM.

Signalling the all-clear, the pale human pushed the hatch door completely open and ascended to a brightly lit street. While the others made their way to the surface Erik opened a channel to Darkblade, Macron and Locke. The sound of blasters and lightsabers were heard over the crackle of static. In a hushed tone, Erik spoke into his wristlink.

“Looks like company is headed your way. A whole lot of OPF’s finest. Could be riot or tactical teams. Don’t stick around too long. Over and out.”

The team then sprinted westward toward the crash site with weapons drawn. Drae’lath signalled that the others were in position to provide cover. While most of the building debris from the crash had been cleared away there was still several chunks of duracrete jutting up from what used to be an administrative building. Search lights panned back and forth across a vast courtyard while armed soldiers searched the premises for signs of intruders. In the distance was a large building ten stories high where their support squads awaited the signal to open fire.

Taking careful aim, Erik unleashed his fury on the first group of hostiles he encountered. His .48 caliber enforcer shattered the peaceful silence of evening.

The battle had begun.


Unidentified YT-2000
Aeotheran Orbit

There was a creaking sound as Malik Sadow shifted from his tree form and back to his humanoid form, for some the sound might have been unnerving but Lyra Neros had been the Neti’s copilot for a handful of years by now so she was used to it.

“You’ve been recovering for over a month, maybe next time you’re on an exploding starship bridge you should worry more about saving yourself than saving others, that way you wouldn’t need this much treetment to recover, or of course you could just be getting old.”

She said as she looked up from the R3 droid she’d been performing routine maintenance on and winked at the Elder. He gave her a court nod as he stretched his limbs, normally he would comment on her poor attempt at tree related humor but at the moment he was preoccupied.

“What’s the situation in Seng Karash, Lyra?” He was already reaching out with the Force to sense what was going on down on the planet but he wanted to know if she would confirm what he was sensing.

Lyra pointed towards the other droids working the advanced communications equipment around the ship. “The droids and I have been monitoring all communications coming and going, Shar Dakhan is in hiding, hunted by the locals, seemingly being guided by a group of Force users. The Alchemist made planetfall not too long ago and we just received word that the Consul is sending forces to assist soon.”

The Neti seemed to be deep in concentration for a few seconds before straightening up. “I need you to fly me to the outskirts of the city, to the warehouse near where Macron landed. They are about to get some unwelcome company, after you drop me off I want you to take the ship back to safety in orbit.”

Malik reached out with the Force and locked in on Locke’s mind before sending him a message.

“Locke, you’re about to be joined by a large group of Force users, I’ll be there within minutes to assist.”

He walked to the ramp so he’d be ready to jump out the moment they were close enough to the ground, at the same time he unconsciously ignited his two lightsabers, the blue blades snapping into life briefly before he turned them off again.


Industrial Warehouse
Outskirts of Seng Karash

“…Don’t stick around too long, over and out.” Erik Cato’s comlink signal echoed in all three Dark Jedi’s ears as they fought against the heretics. Darkblade tied one crimson and gold-wearing cultists arms up with his saber while Locke took him off at the knees with his own weapon. As the man collapsed with a groan Darkblade grinned. “I thought you said disabled.”

“The wounds are cauterized, he will live. Macron did you catch that transmiss…” Locke looked puzzled for a second. “Just caught a thoughtwave from Malik. He’s on the way, and he says more Force users are closing on us.”

“Well, it’s good that one of us is skilled with telepathy.” Macron deftly swept an attacker’s blade away and to the side with a precise turn of his wrist. As he stepped in on an oblique angle he flicked the extend button on his blade and impaled the cultist neatly through her left eye. She hit the ground with a look of shock on the side of her face that wasn’t ruined. “Never bothered to get more than the basics myself.” The Alchemist took a deep breath and turned to the next cultist. His weapon retracted to it’s normal length as he took a guard position.

Locke’s voice remained cool “Well, we have serious problem.” Darkblade and Locke engaged a pair of lightsaber weilding cultists. The two were a cut above the rest and had some skill with their lightsabers. “We’ve got… to get… out of here.” With two opponents both of them were engaged and the tactic of divide and conquer was not working just then. Locke maneuvered his yellow weapon to parry and riposte his opponent’s red blade. “Could OPF have become corrupt and be in league with the cultists?” The Augur kept his cool and was beginning to make headway against his foe’s increasingly wild swings.

Darkblade stepped back and deflected an oncoming stroke. “That’s a disturbing thought.” His skill with Soresu enabled him to hold the attacker’s actinic blade off with his own argent weapon. However, neither was he making headway against the red and gold-clothed enemy. It was an even match, the cultist’s ferocious and aggressive attacks deflecting from Darkblade’s unbreakable defense.

HK 22 dropped his now-empty blaster rifle and tackled the cultist facing Darkblade. The droid slammed a hard, powerful metallic elbow into the enemy’s face. The cultist cut off the droid’s offending left arm reflexively with a shower of sparks. Darkblade swept the cultist’s smashed-in head off with his lightsaber as both the droid and the corpse fell.

“Damn!” yelled Macron as he caught the action out of the corner of his normal eye. “That’s going to cost me a thousand creds to repair!” The Adept growled as he turned to the other two cultists stepping towards him with raised weapons. “I’m tired of this. DIE!” A wave of telekinetic power ripped out from the Sith’s outstretched hand, tearing heavy crates and debris loose from the floor with a horrendous crash. The mass of debris crashed into the two cultists and buried them with the sound of snapping bones and thundering wreckage. Macron began to backpedal, panted and tried to catch his breath as blood began to trickle out from underneath the mess. “We’re all getting tired folks. I can’t keep this up much longer personally. Elder or no, I have limits.” As he spoke more cultists began to pour into the rear of the building. Macron was nonplussed. “Well crap.”

Just then the sound of rushing ship engines filled the air and dust blew in from the open side of the building. Malik dropped to the ground, both scarlet blades ignited. The burly Neti spoke calmly. “The cavalry’s here. Gentlemen, it’s time to clean up this mess and leave.” The irony was lost on none of them. A Jedi standing alongside Darksiders to fight a common enemy was an unusual occurrence. However all four served the same clan and called the Orian System home. They would not falter.

As the sounds of sirens reached a nearby crescendo the group of four began a fighting retreat. Their plan had worked- much of the attention had been drawn away from Drae’lath’s and Erik Cato’s groups of Dark Jedi and commandos.


The new group of cultists raised blasters toward the four Sadowans, but didn’t fire. Malik turned toward them and stepped through the middle of the group, the dual crimson lightsabers he carried hanging near the ground.

“I thought your lightsabers were blue,” Locke muttered under his breath, looking at the new cultists. Malik did not reply.

Darkblade tilted his head, looking at Macron. “Do you think you could do that Tee Kay thing again, but this time hit all those guys?”

“That kind of disply requires strength,” the Alchemist stated. “Your defenses will have to do…for now. Still, they should not be too much troubl-”

There was a sudden crash behind them, followed by the noise of pallets upon pallets of boxes crashing to the floor in a cascade. Locke and Macron turned to face it, neither flinching as the boxes spewed their contents out onto the floor: nothing but baskets, cups, and other domestic items. Behind the over-turned pallets, Locke could see the tops of SWAT vans. He felt the Force in use, then witnessed a telekinetic shove on par with Macron’s moments before, pushing the rubble away to reveal the Orian Police Force logo - along with a crowd of more cultists.

Unlike the others, these all wore lightsabers.

Locke swore under his breath. “So much for that quick escape,” he muttered.

One of the cultists stepped forward, his lightsaber’s hilt noticeably longer than the others, an emitter visible on each end. He wore a robe decked with runes enough to make any Krath blush, but instead of violet columns, his were yellow-gold.

His voice was a sneer. “This is Sadow’s legacy? Surrender, and I might let you die quickly.”

Macron’s response was an immediate laugh, something that somehow combined a snarl and chuckle together, ending in a wheeze that would have made those who didn’t know him think he was ill.

Locke gave the cultist a cool, expressionless look that said he was not impressed. He knew the cards were stacked against them. A dozen blaster-wielding opponents; maybe as many more armed with lightsabers and no doubt the Force, and no way to escape besides carving a path through them all.

When Locke spoke, his voice was like ice. “Surely we can reach some sort of agreement,” he said, lying through his teeth. “I would very much like to resolve this peacefully.”

“Are you serious?” Darkblade called from behind. He and Malik still faced their other group of adversaries, ready to counter the inevitable hail of blaster bolts. Locke was not sure they could stop all of them, but the worry trickled outside the core of his mind, barely touching his resolve.

Locke slowly lowered his lightsaber, breathing in the Force. Macron bellowed a laugh, drawing attention to himself. Locke did not think the Elder was very convincing, but he was a distraction.

It was enough for Locke. Force energy surging into his forearms, he launched lightning toward the group with one, and lobbed a grenade toward them with the other.

“Explosive!” One yelled.

Then everything happened at once. The group spread apart, leaping to avoid the careening grenade. Blaster fire sounded behind, followed closely by the sound of lightsabers flourishing. Locke’s lightning was caught by one end of the ignited double-bladed lightsaber of the cultist leader in front of them.

The other blade came down toward his face, but Locke saw a crimson blade flash between him and the cultist, deflecting the attack away. It was followed by Macron, charging toward them with a yell, second blade igniting.

Locke stepped behind the Alchemist, letting him engage the enemy leader, while he quickly swept his own lightsaber back up with the Force, blocking a strike that would have hit Malik’s back. He didn’t have much time to study his opponent, having to spin quickly to deflect another strike. He had no time to block the first and raised his free hand, summoning the Force to it. The ancient power bended to his will, forming an invisible barrier that blocked the second weapon just in time.

His spin gave Locke a moment to notice the others. Half the blaster-wielding opponents were down already; many smoking from holes no doubt caused by their own weapons. The remaining ones were fanning out, being more careful. They would not fall as quickly, but they were having a difficult time penetrating the wall created by the two Soresu users in the group.

Locke was forced to retreat, but he moved toward Macron, not wanting the Elder to be trapped alone. Still, the Sith’s duel with the cultist leader created a wide swathe around them. The cultist’s spinning staff saber used a lot of space, and Locke hoped that Macron could capitalize on that.

Fighting a purely defensive battle, Locke continued to backpedal. He let his barrier go, knowing it would be too difficult to keep up for long. Instead he replaced it with lightning, the slightest of bursts creating a distraction his enemies had to answer to. He kept his lightsaber close and defensive, narrowly parrying one strike; leaping desperately out of the way of the next. This would not work forever; and these cultists knew their weapons well enough to be deadly. Locke might be able to handle one opponent at a time, but such a group meant that it was only a matter of time until he was hit.

This is not going to be an easy fight.

As if in answer to his thoughts, dual crimson blades danced through the air among his attackers, a brief glance showing Locke that Malik was manipulating the weapons with the Force. One blocked a strike, while the other sliced through another cultist’s legs. Then Malik was forced to let the weapons drop and he quickly ignited his own weapons, the dual blue blades a stark contrast to the others in the battle.

Locke stepped up behind him, trying to look at every angle Malik couldn’t cover. The Augur faced two opponents, while thre others peeled off to face Malik. They side-stepped once, blocking view of the blaster wielding side of the cultist force beyond a wall of boxes.

“I hope they don’t mind being impaled on their own lightsabers,” Malik said, voice as if this was just another game of dejarik.

Locke chuckled, studying his opponents, who seemed to want him to make a move first. He noticed Darkblade slinking behind them, occasionally deflecting blaster bolts as they came near him. “Thanks for the help. I hope you have more tricks up your sleeve.”

“Only to show this cult the error of claiming our namesake for themselves.” Then his voice turned to business. “The blaster weilders have disappeared into the warehouse. They could pop up at any moment. Be ready, and don’t die.”

“Right,” Locke said. He faced his two opponents as they spread to either side of him. The Augur closed his eyes, detecting the cultists, waiting for them to make a move.

Bring it on.


Governor’s Palace
Government District
Seng Karash, Aeotheran

CFM Sulaphi and his men waited with a nervous anticipation for Drae’lath and his group to arrive. The two fire teams continued to remain vigilant, scanning across the opening and into the streets. Some of the fighters snapped their blasters towards the direction from which blaster bolts were heard echoing in the distance. Sulaphi raised his hand towards the Loyalists to ease their nerves. He soon picked by his commlink and contacted Drae’lath.

“Valkyrie 03. Overwatch Actual. Come in.”

Nothing but silence as the sounds of bolts continued to ring through the city. More bolts began to ring but in the direction towards the Industrial District where Darkblade and Locke and went towards to assist Macron.

“Overwatch to Valkyrie, respond.” Sulaphi’s second attempt was also met with failure. This wasn’t the first time, his attempts to message went without response. Drae’lath had earned the moniker of “Dog” during his time in the Stormtrooper Corps. His drive to accomplish the was known to drive to focus on a single objective rather than the operation as a whole. Sulaphi released it to be better to wait than to distract him.

One of the Loyalists tapped Sulaphi’s left arm to get his attention.

“Are they going to be okay, Chief?” She asked with a compassionate tone. Sulaphi decided to continue the discussion to ease the overall tension in the mound of dirt created by the crashed AT-AT that was no less than twenty feet behind them…

“Valkyrie has been through a lot, but he’ll be fine. He’s a survivor; a warrior.”

“Just how far do you two go? He should be as old as you, but he’s not.”

“Carbon freezing. It’s a trick his parents used to do when he was younger. Some things just stick I guess…”

“And the scarring? What happened to him?” The young administrator had asked with a tone more of sympathy and curiosity than compassion.

“Heh,” Sulaphi chuckled. “That man has had quite the career. Each scar has its own story, but I’ll have to shorten it. There’s one from Devaron during the Galactic Civil War, another from the Ryloth Insurgency, and some others on his body during the Onderon Insurgency. I think he may have mentioned something about the Mandalore and Mygeeto during the Clone Wars, but I’ll have to ask him.” Sulaphi smiled as he finished reminiscing about Drae’lath’s past.

Suddenly. a loud explosion had ruined the once somber moment. The intensity indicated that it was too close for their comfort.

Sulaphi’s commlink emitted a beeping tone and soon Drae’lath’s voice was heard, blaster bolts sounding in the background. “Overwatch. This is Valkyrie. We’ve encountered the enemy and are now coming to you. Get ready!”

“Roger. We’ve got a nasty surprise waiting for them.” Sulaphi shifted his body towards the City Hall. He motioned his hands in a series of patterns and hand gestures, informing the second fire team as of the impending battle. The second team leader returned a hand gesture, having answered in the affirmative to Sulaphi.

“Prepare to fire!” Sulaphi roared to his soldiers as Drae’lath and his team approached from the alleyway.

“FOR NAGA SADOW AND SHAR DAKHAN!” roared Sulaphi. In unison, the Loyalists replied with a ground shaking “VICTORY!” Soon, Drae’lath’s team charged out of the alleyway and veered to the left, being chased a hoard of angered citizens and Dakhan Acolytes.

When the hoard passed into the open area, a loud “FIRE!” had sounded, followed by a chorus of blaster bolts. This fury tore into the hoard as scores were slaughtered in a opening moments. Drae’lath, accompanied by Erik, Krennel, and Aul, sprinted towards the crashed AT-AT with furious haste. They vaulted over the mount, dodging blaster bolts as they passed under and over the Force Users.

An exhausted Drae’lath began to chuckle. “By the gods, that was close.” He soon caught his breath and soon rushed towards Sulaphi. “We sent a message. Reinforcements are on the way; we just need to hold out.”

“How long?” Sulaphi replied. “I may be old, but I am not dying here today.”

“Haha. I heard that. Let’s give them hell!”

“But you didn’t answer m – “

“Open fire!” Drae’lath began to fire his blaster pistol at the hoard, choosing to completely ignore Sulaphi’s question.

The crowd paused at the barrage, but soon started to push, get closer by every passing minute. They had soon advanced close enough to throw bottle of alcohol with lit cloth rags attached to the bottles. All but one had broke and lit up in front of them. Erik reacted by having extended his arm, catching one using the Force. He followed up by causing the bottle to slam onto the floor, causing a few rioters to drop their bottles and further instigating a now growing fire. So zealous was their hatred, screaming as they burned, some had walked towards the Loyalists before collapsing from the pain.

“Push them back!” yelled Sulaphi to his soldiers. The Loyalists responded with carefully placed blaster bolts fired into the crowd, thinning the insurgents’ numbers. Drae’lath returned a few expertly placed bolts of his own from his blaster pistol.

“Aw hell, we got enemy fighters approaching from the left. Drae’lath! Deal with them!” Sulaphi called out to Drae’lath as he continued to fire into the crowd. Drae’lath ran behind the loyalists to deal with the problem, Krennel and two Loyalists following right behind him. Drae’lath had picked up a blaster from a newly deceased loyalist. Another Loyalist operating one of the two heavy repeating blasters was shortly killed, leaving it unmanned. Krennel immediately gripped the heavy blaster and proceeded to point in the direction of the advancing group. The four of them began to fire their blasters at a charging group of 20 individuals that were then shortly killed.

Erik and Aul assisted by drawing fire away from the Loyalists. They all deflected as many of the bolts as they could, all the while having danced around the ones they couldn’t. A few canisters flew into the crowd, and soon after burst, expelling a greenish-yellow gas. The second fire team used this opportunity printed towards the crash sight. Only 3 had made it to them, despite the team having 10

Sulaphi rushed towards one of the Loyalists. “What happened?” Much to Sulaphi’s surprise, it soon dawned on him that he hadn’t noticed the lack of blaster fire from the second team.

“We were ambushed, sir. Half of the team were traitors; we’re the only ones that made it out.” He panted as Drae’lath came up to the group, having overhear the conversation. “My sympathies, but we have to battle to fight. Close ranks and shore up the left. Be ready for anything that might come from over there.” He ordered the survivors as he pointed his hand in the opposite direction. The soldier simply nodded as he caught his breath.

After a while, the numbers within the crowd dwindled and soon the rioters had dispersed. A moment of respite was very much needed for both the Force Users and the Loyalists.

One of the Loyalists looked to the skies and cried with joy.

“Look! Reinforcements!”

A fleet of Cruisers, destroyers, and frigates had jumped directly overhead of Drae’lath’s position. Out from the greyish cloud cover that haunted Seng Karash, came forth the glorious colours of burning crimson and passionate gold having appeared over the skies.

At this sight, eight LAAT/i gunships descended to their position circling around and surround Drae’lath’s party. All eight formed a half ovalular circle in front of their comrades, shielding them from the threat of rioters. The three doors from the front most gunships opened up, allowing a total of 90 Loyalist rifleman to secure the war-devastated area. Soon, two more gunships had opened and were revealed to be mostly empty, save for two individuals in one them.

“… Are you guys alright?” Bentre asked.

“We’re fine. Tired, but fine,” an exhausted Aul gave as a reply.

“Good. Now come on, let’s get everyone out of here. Hurry before more show up.” Called out Bentre, as he held out his arm to pull some of the team up into the LAAT. Sulaphi and his team managed to get into the second LAAT gunship.

Drae’lath inured that all of the survivors were accounted for. Soon after, all the pilots closed their doors and all eight ships departed from the district.

Sang activated a sequence of contingency orders. In a matter of 6 hours, thousands of Loyalist forces descended upon the city, establishing key positions in order to strategically push back the crowds, quelling the rebellion.

“Thank you for getting us out of there.” Krennel spoke.

“It’s not over. We need to regroup and regain control of the planet. We can’t lose it.” Interjected Sang.

“And here I thought we were going to get a break,” uttered Erik along with a deep sigh of frustration.

“What about Macron? Darkblade and Locke went to help him. What’s their status?” Drae’lath asked?

“Leave them be, Drae’lath. Macron is rampaging. Once he starts, it’s better not to stop him.” Bentre told the young Hunter.


Industrial Warehouse
Outskirts of Seng Karash

Malik stood for a moment just watching the three cultists in front of him as they slowly inched closer over the rubble waiting to see who would make the first move. Quite uncharacteristically of him the Elder went on the offensive making a slight hand gesture at the left most cultist who immediately braced for the expected telekinetic strike which never came at the same time he toppled sideways as the piece of concrete he’d been standing on flew sideways at the other cultists both of whom skillfully dodge it only to be met by furious blows from both of Malik’s lightsabers.

Off footed for a few seconds the cultists were however clearly well trained as they quickly regained their composure and went on the offensive, forcing the Neti to drop back to his Soresu training blocking and parrying the incoming attacks, for a while it looked like the cultists would never penetrate his defensive moves but then suddenly the Neti’s guard dropped for a second which one of his opponents swiftly took advantage of and managed to stab Malik in the abdomen.

He made his body ignore the pain as he regained his composure and immediately sent a pile of rubble flying at his opponents knocking them down, wishing to capitalize on the situation he threw his lightsabers at the nearest two, ending the life of one, the other just managing to move partly out of the way only received a glancing hit on the thigh. Malik winced slightly as his sabers returned to his hands, despite having no internal organs it was still not pleasant to get stabbed so he used the brief respite to superficially heal the wound.

“Getting old?” came the sarcastic quip from Locke who was holding his own against his two opponents with a mixture of force lightning and his high level of swordsmanship.

“I just sensed dozens of our citizens being mowed down by the people sworn to protect them, it would seem we’ve ended up doing exactly what the population accused us of in the first place.” The Jedi replied, shaking his head, as his twin blue blades once again came into life.


The left one attacked first.

Locke thrust his lightsaber in that direction, parried, opened his eyes, and spun to face the other. He deflected that one’s attack and then backed away.

“You are skilled,” he said. “But not that skilled.”

One cultist, with a scar down his face, sneered and replied, hatred filling his voice. “You are an imitation. For centuries we have waited, and now-now it is our time!”

Scarface attacked, and Locke deflected his attack. The Augur had no time to retaliate before he was forced to spin out of the way of the other cultist’s strikes. That one had her hair cut short. Her dark eyes glittered in a way that Locke imagined a predator’s might when they knew they would soon draw blood.

And he was the prey.

He would not have that. Instead of waiting for their next attacks, Locke gathered the dark side and roared, leaping between the two of them. He pounded the ground with his free hand, channeling that Force energy into it. It detonated, the shockwave throwing Scarface off his feet and causing Shorthair to lose her balance.

Capitalizing on that, Locke leaped up and turned toward Scarface. The Augur snarled in triumph as he spun his lightsaber to stab downward and plunged it through the cultist’s chest.

He immediately withdrew the weapon, spun, and countered a strike from Shorthair. She was fast, light, and maneuverable, but now it was one on one. Locke focused on basic moves: parry, counter, parry, strike again. He called on the Force, shunting that energy to his legs and arms. All the while he let the cultist slowly push him back, hoping it gave her a false sense of security.

Then Locke released that energy. He moved quickly - more quickly than any human should’ve been able to. It lasted just a second, but that was all he needed. With added strength and speed he knocked the cultists’ lightsaber to the side, then spun and criss-crossed his weapon across her torso, leaving shallow gashes that quickly cauterized.

As she collapsed, Locke flourished his lightsaber and turned toward Malik. The Elder was injured.

“Getting old?” Locke asked sarcastically.

He listened to Malik’s answer and then frowned. The Force had seemed different moments ago, but whereas Locke was deep in the dark side, he knew Malik kept true to the Jedi tenants. While it had been a boon for Locke, it would have been the opposite for Malik.

“That is…not right.” It was all Locke could say. Rage boiled within him. The citizens of this city may have been misguided into hating their Sadowan overlords, but they were still citizens of Sadow’s empire. They were still innocents; manipulated for some others’ end.

Through gritted teeth, he forced himself to speak. His voice brimmed with anger; nearly blubbling over. “How many?”

Malik shook his head again. His lightsabers ignited and he flourished one blade, directing a blaster bolt back at an opportunistic cultist. The man fell backward, landing with a distant thud. The battle was beginning to die down, though Macron still dueled. There were cultists about, and they were approaching.

One came near Locke and he unleashed his rage. With wordless fury he spun, pushing himself further than he should have. He attacked, and stabbed straight into the cultist’s abdomen.

Locke gasped, not having noticed the blade in his own gut. It felt like having molten lead poured into his stomach for a moment, then it was an aching cold. The pain evaporated as he instinctively gathered the dark side and washed his anguish away with it. That dealt with the physical pain, but there was still the mental.

“We try so hard, Malik.” He paused, turning, dropping to one knee. He would need healing. “And we kill our own. This slaughter…those were lives who are protected by our dominion.”

He knew, distantly, that most Sadowans would laugh at his compassion and call it weakness. They were Dark Jedi - Sith, even - they were gods among ants. The dark side gave them power over others, it was their birthright, but no, he would not have that. They were innocents, and they relied on Sadow for protection.

With his last ounce of strength, Locke threw his comlink on the ground and dropped his face near it, his body having fallen completely. He opened a channel to Sang, a private one that they had used when they were Consul and Proconsul. He hoped the other man still checked it.

“Sang, the city is lost…and our members make it worse.” He was not thinking clearly. “Do the right thing. Burn Seng Karash. Burn them all.” The last was a hoarse whisper. A small part of his mind spoke: would that not kill all those innocents? Nevertheless, it would prevent the deaths of so many more.

He did not hear a reply. Instead, he felt the Force - but not the dark side. Instead, gentle purity surrounded his wounds. He was dimly aware of Malik’s presence, and of telekinetically-wielded lightsabers dancing over his head as the Elder prevented another cultist from ending Locke’s life.

And that was the last of it.


Industrial Warehouse
Outskirts of Seng Karash

“Sonofa… Locke!” As Locke fell and Malik’s blades protected him, Macron continued to fight the leader on the other side of the cavernous warehouse. The red-and-gold clad enemy Dark Jedi pressed the attack with his crimson saberstaff. Flashes of light sparked from the two combatant’s weapons as they clashed. The enemy was good and his knowledge of the Niman form was thorough. Macron had him equaled with his own skill with the Duelist’s form.

Macron considered his options as he deftly defended himself with his orange and scarlet blades. The main advantage of a saberstaff was the ability to launch attacks in rapid succession. Many Dark Jedi had used them to great effect, including Darth Maul and Exar Kun. Their main disadvantage was the inability of the weapon to defend and attack from different oblique angles, unlike the pair of blades that the Adept held. Mobility of attack and defense was Macron’s asset in this fight.

There’s my plan,” thought the Alchemist to himself. “Limit his mobility and capitalize on his arrogance.” Lightning was useless against the foe as long as the enemy held his blade and would require using too much of the Elder’s dwindling reserves of power. Telekinesis took took too long to focus and also required considerable power. But there were other disciplines that were useful. His enemy knew he was tiring from the previous slaughter of his underlings. What he was likely to not know was the ability of Juggernauts to extend their stamina and harden their body with ease even in combat.

The Sith simply let himself begin to wear out. As his strokes seemed to lose their former vigor his foe’s eyes lit with the hunger for victory. The cultist came in with a vicious series of spin-and-reverse blows and a spinning kick to capitalize on his foe’s seemingly flagging energy. He was quite surprised to find his foot cracking as it hit the Adept’s body. Macron’s flesh, for an instant, had hardened like Mandalorian steel.

At the same time the Adept opened the floodgates to the Dark Side within himself. His stamina returned to some degree as he surged with rage and anger. Now it was his turn to press the attack against his limping foe. The Sith struck with attacks borne not from the corpus of Makashi, but from another discipline altogether. He sought shatterpoints within his foe’s defense and placed blows just where they were needed. Makashi to defend- and Vaapad to attack.

Around all of them loyal Sadow troopers who had debarked from landers were decimating the Orian Police Force and the locals who had rallied against the Clan. Malik and Darkblade had held the remainder of the cultists off and kept Locke from further harm. Now that they had the backup of hardened veterans they were winning the fight.

The sounds of nearby blaster fire and landing transports seemed almost distant to the madman as he hammered home his advantage. One! Two! The Sith threw strikes from off-angles. He could tell his foe was channeling energy to his foot to remain mobile but it split his focus. Both of Macron’s blades came in a rising “X” strike and his foe stopped them with one end of his saberstaff. The blades locked in a screaming symphony.

The Alchemist stomped down with his instep on his enemy’s already injured foot with every bit of power he could channel stuffed into the blow. The foot crushed underneath his foot and the madman slipped into a horse-riding stance, pressing with his shin and knee to force the cultists leg to buckle. As the enemy staggered the Alchemist thumbed the button on his other blade, shortening it. It was now free from the saber lock and the halved blade dropped down onto the cultists’ shoulder and cut cleanly down to his ribcage.

Macron let him drop as he turned to look at the room nonchalantly. The body hit the ground behind him with a thud as the Adept regarded the carnage and shut down his weapons. Most of the fighting was done in this area. Outside the sounds of blasterfire could still be heard. He could see Darkblade bent over one of the dying cultists. The man on the ground moaned. “Probably taking his soup,” shrugged the Adept. “Serves the bastard right.”

Malik stood protectively near Locke, who had regained consciousness. “I assume you are going to live by the appearance of your wound,” chuckled the madman dryly as he turned to Locke. “Or I can have a look if you want.” The Sith coughed. “I’m a bit tired though, not too sure how steady my hands will be.” He tried to conceal the tremor in his fingers as he hung his blades back on his belt.

“I’ll be… just fine, old man.” Locke and Macron had a long history and not all of it was cordial. In some strange way the two respected and valued each other’s skill and abilities though. “We took down more of them than you this time.”

“Indeed you did,” grinned the madman as he looked at Malik. “Thank you, Jedi.”

The Neti nodded impassively as their comlinks opened up with several transmissions. “This is Drae’lath. We’ve secured our area with the aid of the troopers. Jurdan is still dueling one of the… wait. Scratch one cultist. Area is secure.”

“Copy that, Drae’lath. This is Warrior Cato. Our area is secure. We’ve had some casualties, requesting medevac. Over.”

Macron keyed his com. “Well done gentlemen. Let’s…” His transmission was interrupted by a priority one signal.

“All Sadow forces, this is Consul Sanguinius. Quaestor Aul is with me. Evacuate Seng Karash immediately. I repeat, evacuate immediately. We commence orbital bombardment in twenty minutes. Seng Karash will be no more.”

The usual combat com chatter went dead silent for a few moments. Locke, Malik, Darkblade, and Macron all looked at each other in disbelief. Malik spoke first. “Looks like you will get your wish Locke.”

“There are no innocents who have raised a weapon against us,” remarked Macron as he walked over to his speeder bike and pulled the wreckage of HK 22 onto the back. “Malgus was right. Unfortunate but perhaps it will be a lesson to others.” The Adept tore off towards his ship at flank speed. LAAT ships dropped down nearby and the forces began to rapidly load up. The same scene was repeated at every landing zone within the city.

Not long thereafter burning green hell rained down from the skies and utterly obliterated the nascent “revolution”. Seng Karash was sterilized from orbit and a new day dawned for Clan Naga Sadow. The brash move would have consequences and they remained to be seen…


An hour before the destruction of Seng Karash

Jurdan felt the fierce hatred within him boiling over as he attacked enemy after enemy. He was following Drae and a few loyalist troops around the battlefield. He had chosen to clip his lightsaber and rely on his heavy blaster. He fired with aim augmented by the Force. He hit headshot after headshot. The enemy troopers went down as fast as they ran towards him. He felt the rage like it was a rancor rampaging through Coruscant. He jumped into the air and landed on the head of one of the cultist warriors. The man crumpled to the ground under Krennel’s weight and Jurdan finished him with a shot to the head. The enemy forces were fighting so furiously. It was wave after wave, he had no idea if it would ever end.
Krennel saw Drae look into the sky and suddenly it was filled with friendlies. Cruisers and airships providing air support for the stranded Shar Dakhan members. It was a welcome sight and he watched as the enemies fell left and right.

After the destruction of Seng Karash

Jurdan looked at the landscape that was one Seng Karash. He knew that this would be coming, the Force had shown him. It was inevitable. The work they had done to build up the site was all lost. It was going to take time to rebuild everything if it was going to be rebuilt. No matter what happened Shar Dakhan had survived the battle. This may not be the last time the cultist forces show up. But if they were to show up again, Shar Dakhan forces would be ready.