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

[Soulfire] Ghosts of the Legion


Soulfire Captain’s Office
Arcona Citadel
Estle City, Selen

With the various changes of command caused by Marick’s retirement made, Andrelious felt he was able to relax a little. He had been shocked to find out that the new Shadow Lord was Atyiru, and also by the unexpected defection of Cethgus to Naga Sadow. He and his daughter Saskia, who also acted as his second-in-command, were going through some transfer papers.

“Hmm. A Clawdite. Says he’s had training in explosives. We need a demolitions expert,” Andrelious stated.

“That fills out most of our roles, dad. There’s a few support roles, and sniper, left to fill, but I’ve seen that tall friend of yours – he’ll do as our sniper,” the Epis answered. She was referring to Swil Phift Erinos, one of her father’s two Fades and an expert with his Tenloss Disruptor Rifle.

A knock at the door almost made the pair jump. Andrelious walked briskly over to the door, opening it.

“What?” he growled at the uniformed man who awaited him.

“Sir. Priority message from the Consul,” the solider replied, handing the Warlord a datapad. He quickly saluted Andrelious, before scurrying away.

“What did that idiot mundane want?” Saskia questioned.

“Apparently, Atty has sent us an urgent message. Probably wants us all to have a group hug. Again.”

Andrel, dear! I hope you and the family are well!

I’m sending this directly to you as I know that you and your team are exactly what we need on this mission. I’ve been told that the old Sukhur’s Legion base, whatever that is, has shown signs of activity again. This bothers me because it’s apparently been a long time since anyone’s been anywhere near Sukhur. Well, other than that technician who upset you. Anyway – could you please take your boys and girls over there and check it out? I’ll look after the twins for you. And I won’t lose them this time, I promise!

Take care, and don’t wrap up too much! Sukhur’s pretty hot!

All the best,

Saskia turned up her nose as she read the message. “Sukhur? Isn’t that just a big ball of glass? I thought Arcona steered well clear.”

“That’s true, now, but there is indeed a base there. I served in that Legion for a while when I first came to Arcona. It’ll be rather…interesting to see the old place again,” the ex-Imperial answered.

“So, time for another mission?” the Cirran asked, seemingly unfazed by the idea.

Nodding, Andrelious pushed a button on his desk. A small monitor told him he was speaking to the rest of his team.

“Soulfire. Meet me at Giletta Spaceport in an hour’s time. Bring your equipment. We’re going after a ghost.”

This is a casual run-on for members of the Soulfire Strike Team. If you’re not in Soulfire, please ask Andrelious before writing a post.

As this run-on is casual, I’ll be posting along with the rest of you, occasionally updating the plot a little. Feel free to try some more unusual stuff, but still try and stick to the Character Sheet of your own and any other character that you choose to write about. It’s probably best if you get the character’s owner to check their dialogue before posting, too.

Other than that, go nuts! This is for fun!


Newly back in Soulfire, under her spouse and step-daughter, Kooki was blending in with new and old members as if she’d never left.

The Priestess was relaxing at home, enjoying a few moments peace and quiet. The twins, who were currently asleep, had been spending the morning trying to roll over on their playmats. Having two meant buying two of everything and certainly kept their mother busy, especially as their father had been at Soulfire headquarters that morning.

Kooki shuddered. She felt she was going to be having to pack some luggage soon. And Poppy and Etty would soon be awake. However, when a message came through a few decibels louder than anticipated, the baby girls were soon startled awake. They soon were at ease when scooped into the arms of their doting mother who began changing them in turn. The daughter who was put down a few inches from her sister didn’t seem to mind unusually, but both tilted their heads towards the sound of the sudden announcement. The familiar voice of their father seemed to be both recognisable and comforting despite his absence.

Kooki soon began packing, admittedly quite excited about the latest mission. However, she was quite unsettled at the fact the chosen destination was a hot one. The climate on the recent trip to Korriban had been unbearable. Considering this annoyance factor, the Krath scrunched her long, floaty hair into a messy high bun, wrapped the girls in black and purple slings front and back. She had swapped her usual attire for thin black leggings and a strapped purple vest to keep herself cool. A thin, yet long black cardigan would suffice keeping her adequately warm until departure from Selen. Kooki grabbed the fully packed, wheeled, monogrammed suitcases for herself and her family and dragged them along the ground, two in each hand.

Upon arrival of Andrelious’ office, the girls were already sound asleep. Full tummies of breastmilk after the feed before the trio had left the Mimosa-Inahj homestead. The gentleness of their mother’s walking had soothed them. Kooki entered without knocking.

Andrelious and Saskia looked up, almost in unison at her arrival. Looking round at a quick glance, Kooki chorused happily.

“Ooh! I’m first! Do I get a reward for that?”


The Arconan firing range inside the great hall was mostly empty at this time, with only a token sergeant or marksman practicing his craft, and Mordamen was eager to begin his morning training regimen. Inside the range was mounted some sort of cannon that was being fired by an armored soldier and tow other humanoids watched the powerful weapon with interest. The powerfully built looking Clawdite was dressed in his customary AV-1s Scout power armor, his helmet held underneath one arm nonchalantly and his reptilian face eliciting some stares and whispers as the new member of Soulfire entered the firing range.

He walked over to the quartermaster and signed out a A280 Blaster rifle and a couple of power packs, hefted the rifle and tested its balance as well as looking it over visually for any defects he could find in its outer casings before nodding his thanks to the quartermaster and then walking over to one of the benches on the far right that was filled with tools and cleaning apparatuses and promptly set to stripping the weapon.

He flicked the locking pin out of its casing, and made sure to place it in a magnetic seal on the specially prepared workbench - after all, he didn’t want to lose the tiny little piece - and then grabbed the gun in both hands and split it open, he smiled to himself at the smoothness of the operation and his respect for the armory staff grew by a small notch once he saw the well oiled pieces move without a sound. Humming silently to himself he set about sliding out the rifles internal systems and then checked out the heter valve, the XCiter and the actuating blaster module for any defects to the rifle.

Satisfied that all was well, he then placed them back in the barrel casing and flicked out the tibanna gas container and checked it out for any signs of cracks or leaks, as well as making sure the power pack was fully charged and operational. Finally satisfied that his weapon was fully operational and ready for firing he then detached the two pieces and powering up the rifle he performed a manual test firing to make sure all the pieces were locked into place. Popping the power pack and gas canister into place he then picked up his helmet and slid it over his head, locking it into pace and making sure that the magnetic seals were online and airtight.

While his suit prepared its systems check he walked over to the firing line and typed into the terminal at his side his request for the firing solution. He selected a static target at 25 meters just to test himself out and get into the groove of things, and then waited while the computer brought the target to the appropriate lane. Deciding to forgo the helmet linkup and just use the scope directly Mordamen brought the barrel up and pointing at the target and then with a smooth motion brought the stock to rest in the crook of his chest and right shoulder effectively locking the weapon in place and bracing the rifle as much as he could hope to against the recoil.

Breathing in slowly he sighted down the lane and squinted into the scope, bringing the cross-hairs into the center of the target - he knew not to attempt headshots, those were for fools and kids who watched too much Holovids - and blew out gently, holding his breath and squeezing the trigger. He was pleased to see that the blaster bolt flew true and hit the target slightly below the chest area, and refocusing himself he repeated the process four more times. Calling the target back to him, he checked out the spread of his shots and was pleased that they were spaced close enough to warrant him competent enough and able to move on to the next stage in his practice.

Half an hour of different firing runs and three power packs later, Mordamen paused to check his total accuracy rating and was a little chagrined to find that he was currently rated at 83%. Although he wasn’t a sharpshooter by any definition and his primary occupation was demolitions he still prided himself in being a good shot and he resolved to step up his practice. As he was cleaning his rifle from the recent firing his commlink beeped and a his commanders voice came over the audio speakers in his helmet.

“Soulfire. Meet me at Giletta Spaceport in an hour’s time. Bring your equipment. We’re going after a ghost.”

Mordamen activated the voice protocol and with a curt “Roger that” he finished up as quick as he could before heading back to his room for a quick shower and then a fast jaunt to the armory for his usual loadout. Jogging slightly in order to arrive in time, and surreptitiously activated the suits repulsers for an extra burst of speed. Arriving exactly on the minute he shrugged his heavy backpack off and then promptly sat down with his back propped on the bag and his elbows on his knees, awaiting the arrival of his new teammates.


Nadrin looked back at the corpse which he shared the cramped interrogation room with and shook his head ruefully, a damp cloth in one hand as he tried to remove blood from his favourite knife.

“You really didn’t know anything after all, but I had to be sure didn’t I? I might have let you live with most of your parts intact, but then you spat at me. That…that was a mistake.”

While the Warlord knew that people were watching him to talk to a dead body, he was relying on the fact that they would see the behaviour and spread word of it amongst the men. He had been working to garner a reputation of sadistic fury, that of a man who teetered on the knife-edge between genius and monster.

The news that I talk to my victims probably swings it back towards the monster side of things, but then again the fear that it will instil will be just as useful as any information that poor di’kut might have been able to give me.

The Arconae scrubbed away at the knife, cleaning bodily fluids from the blade as he idly hummed to himself, only to be interrupted by a trilling sound from his belt as his commlink buzzed. Idly flicking the activation switch using the Force, Nadrin stopped making noise as he listened to the message; an order from Soulfire’s leader to meet at the spaceport for a mission. Cleaning the last stubborn vestiges of crimson from his knife, Nadrin grunted in satisfaction at the now-clean weapon and slid it into a sheath at the top of his right boot and dropped the cleaning rag on the table with the rest of his tools. Turning around, he walked towards the one-way glass behind which he knew a pair of DIA agents were waiting and knocked on it, motioning towards the tools he had left as he did so.

“Boys, I need to go and gather my equipment for a mission. See if you can’t get that stuff cleaned up and delivered to my rooms. Thanks.”

They would do it for him. People normally did what he asked, especially those who had seen him conduct what he called ‘questioning with extreme prejudice’. The Arconae title didn’t hurt either.


Nadrin strode into the spaceport with a purposeful gait, ignoring the various security checkpoints as if they didn’t exist as he made his way towards the bay where Soulfire normally met. He had made a point not to openly wear any of his weapons, apart from the lightsaber which hung lazily from his waist, with a relatively inconspicuous black hold-all slung casually over his shoulder within which his various tools were stored. He had been happy that he had been able to find a slugthrower sniper rifle which broke down into parts for easier transport; a useful tool for the première ranged combatant in Arcona’s Shadicar group.

I wonder where we’re going this time? I doubt Andrelious would have bothered the entire squad if it wasn’t something at least vaguely interesting.

Nadrin and his squad leader had a mutual respect which stemmed a way back, and he was happy to work for the man for the simple fact that the other Sith had earned the right as far as the Erinos was concerned. He was slightly surprised not to find Andrelious at the meeting spot when he arrived however, only seeing the newest member of the squad sat waiting for more people to turn up.

Might as well play nice.

Extending a hand to the Clawdite, Nadrin dropped his bag on the ground and nodded minutely at the other humanoid.

“You must be the new guy, I’m Nadrin Erinos Arconae. Just call me Nadrin though, it’s mostly just the non-Force users who use the ‘Arconae’ bit.”


The alarm went off, stirring Griever from his sleep. He silenced it with a wave of his hand, telekinetically hitting the controls, then rolled over onto his back, sighing. A wave of unease washed over and enveloped him, leaving him feeling like he wanted nothing more than a good brood, however, he simply didn’t have time. Dying had given his second mortality a sense of urgency he’d lacked before the battle of New Tython. There was a lot he needed to do in this lifetime.

He stifled a yawn and got out of the small camp bed, stretching. His lodgings were temporary, and left a lot to be desired. Teroch had found and destroyed no less than 3 of his safe houses, including his primary one in the few years Sashar had been gone, and the Elder had no others in Estle city. So, he’d taken lodgings with the Summit Guard and shared his quarters with no less than eight other clones, each bearing a striking resemblance to his brother, Kieran. The barracks were, however, empty. Besh Company must’ve been on-duty at the time. Sashar quickly pulled on some underwear and padded to the ‘fresher, where he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and sighed. The face looking back wasn’t his; it was the face of a man ten years his junior - a child barely out of adolescence. True, it was his younger self, but the body he occupied hadn’t been trained practically from birth for war. His musculature was gone, the various scratches and tattoos he’d accumulated over the years glaringly absent; his eyes were naturally brown; not the Ayumarka eyes Juda had made from him, when the Yuuzhan Vong had torn them out during the war. It would take years and years of intensive training to regain the psychique he was most used to. Granted, it was better than being dead; a lot better, but taking over a clone body that had been vat grown in just under eight weeks left little time for muscle growth. He was still getting used to his new limitations, and it was frustrating, to say the least.

He threw on some of the clothes the clone commandos had lent him for their off-duty hours, clothes that would blend in on a thousand worlds (but still dwarfed Sashar), and made for the exit; he had trade.


Sashar sat down opposite another ghost, another remnant that was too stubborn to die. The young man rarely let others see his face, but it was hauntingly similar to his brother’s.


“Don’t call me that. You look younger than me. It sounds ridiculous.”

Sashar grinned at Nadrin Erinos’ interruption. “Fair enough. You have a lot of sway in Soulfire Strike Team. I’ll be frank. You need me.”

Nadrin leaned back, letting a hand run along the fake bantha leather banquette. “No pleasantries? No catching up about the family? Your aliit? Hell, no questions about Teroch?”

Sashar’s grin grew wider. “That’s a trap designed to provoke. If I’d asked about any of that, you’d have criticized my sentimentality. If I got straight to business, you call me cold. You’re not doing it out of spite, so I can only assume that this is a test.”

Nadrin said nothing. He took a long drink from the glass in front of him, not blinking.

Sashar stared right back.

“You’ve got his stubborn temperament-”

“Before we go any further, uncle, let’s get one thing clear. Zandro was osik. He created me as a lab rat, and when he was stupid enough to get himself killed, he tried to take over my body. You look identical to Teroch. How do I not know you’ve done the same thing to his body?”

Sashar sighed and leant back in his chair, then lifted the hem of his shirt, showing a completely blemish free stomach. He let the shirt drop back down and leant forward, grabbing his own drink. “No mark of the di Tenebrous. You know how to remove Sith tattoos?”

“You can’t.” Nadrin responded slowly.

“Top marks. This body was cloned from my original DNA. Teroch…helped gathering my consciousness. He’s decided that life in the military isn’t for him, and has departed for parts unknown. Now, back to the issue at hand. Soulfire. I want in. You need me in it. Soulfire used to be the elite of Arcona. I’ve had a look at its current roster. They’re lacking.”

Nadrin’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Don’t count them out just yet. They’re a solid bunch. They just need a new structure, which is in the works.”

“Call it what you want. I’m the strongest member you’ll get-”

“No, you’re not. I’m familiar with the whole cloning process, Sash. Your body… Yeah, it’s you, but it’s you when you were 18. That’s over half a lifetime ago. You won’t be used to your body. Plus, your Force presence has changed. It’s different, somehow. Like looking at you via a reflection in a pond. Distorted. Right now, I could probably take you.”

Sashar nodded, not even trying to deny what Nadrin had said. “Probably, yeah. But my memories. My mind. It’s all me. I have a wealth of experience. Let me help you.”

“…Fine. But I’m in charge. I won’t take orders from you, and don’t talk about my father. He’s dead and burned. Leave him that way.”

Sashar nodded and finished his drink. “I’ll meet you back at Giletta tomorrow.”

“Welcome home, Sashar.”


“So are you in?”

Sashar nodded and flopped down on the sofa, throwing his jacket over the back of a chair. They were in a small but comfortable apartment in the upper city, tastefully decorated in muted hues of purple and burgundy.

“We’ll that’s something. How was he?”

Sashar accepted the glass of merenzane gold from the red-skinned being who sat down in an arm chair next to the sofa. “About what I expected. He harbors a deep-seated hatred for Zandro. It was hard not to punch him in the neck. But I can work with him. He’s family.”

“Does he know that you were aware of him being commissioned as a test-bed for Teroch?”

Sashar grimaced. “Unknown. Anyway, enough about that. How was your morning?”

Dash shrugged easily, his visible skin rippling as an accompaniment to the gesture. “Productive. I made contact with someone who can get you the kouhoun. They’re being delivered in a week or so. I’ve also got hold a uniform and some forged papers.”

Sashar nodded appreciatively. “Thank you. When are you going to get started?”

“This evening. Anything in particular you want me to look out for?”

“The usual. Get dirt on the big names, find out who is rocking the boat, who’s calling the shots. I want a lay of the land in the military so I know which way to push.”

Dash nodded, as if expecting it. “And the summit?”

Sashar’s expression darkened. “I already know the answer to that. The Entars hold sway. I just need to know how invested their inner council are. If it’s not too heavily, then I can influence the Consul as and when needed.”

“What about Marick?”

“He’ll do what he thinks is best. Unfortunately, that doesn’t always mean what’s best for the Clan, as he’s got this whole Darker Than Thou thing going now-”

“You mean like you did when you were Consul?” Dash interrupted, smirking.

“Exactly like that. He tried to shoulder too much. Can’t fault his ambition, just his ego that needs a slap. Right. I’m going to make some more house calls. Good luck.”

Dash smiled and ruffled Sashar’s hair as he got up. “Like I need luck. It’ll be a week or so until I’m back in contact.”

“That’s fine. Be safe.”

Dash laughed openly. “I never am.”


Glimmick music blared through the doors and Sashar winced in anticipation. This particular brother of his warranted quarters fitting a former Consul, however his neighbours would hate having to endure that day after day. He hit the bell, and the occupant either didn’t hear it or didn’t care. Sighing, Sashar tapped an override into the controls, only to still have his request rebuffed. Clearly, there’d been some modifications made.

Verd’ika! Open the shab’la door!” Sashar shouted, pounding it with his hand.

The music stopped, and anticipation built up inside the clone. Those had not been the first words he wanted to speak since his demise to Celahir Erinos.

The slicer opened the door, offered a small, wry smile, then jerked his head back towards the interior. “Oh hi, come in.”

Chuckling ruefully, Sashar followed Celahir into what could only be described as organised chaos. Half-dissembled tech and computers littered every flat surface, and holo-displays and flat screens covered every vertical one. Cigarette smoke hung in the air, and even the panoramic windows lining one wall had sheets of flimsi taped to them, or were covered in an untidy handwriting replicating lines of half-completed code.

“How’ve you been?” Sashar asked, looking for a place to sit. Celahir slumped back down behind a desk into a chair buried in dirty clothes, took a sip of something that smelled way too sugary to be healthy, and went back to tapping away at a console. Worryingly, it looked like he was mid-way through hacking into the DIA’s archives.

“Dealing with your son. Nice of you to finally come see me.”

“Was he that bad? I’ve heard some stories, but didn’t realise he’d be quite that…incendiary.”

Celahir shrugged and lit a cigarette, then turned and offered one to Sashar, who accepted.

“Fine. I’m sorry I didn’t come see you earlier. I had a lot of catching up to do to make sure some Entar di’kut didn’t off me before I became a threat. And honestly…I was nervous. Didn’t know how you’d react to me coming back from the dead.”

“Stop being such a girl.” Celahir smirked at the computer screen.

Sashar rolled his eyes, then knocked a stack of flimsis and datacards off a sofa. Celahir didn’t seem to care. Sitting, Sashar took another drag of the cigarette, and looked around, trying to sail through the awkward silence. It was clear that the slicer was shaken up and trying to hack through a mental quagmire of conflicting emotions, but he wasn’t going to let on. The Adept wasn’t going to push him, either. It was a lot to take in, after all.

“I am glad you’re back, though.” Celahir said eventually, making every effort to act casual.

“Me too. So, you busy these days?”

Celahir snorted and turned around to face Sashar, taking him in. “Do I look busy? I’m bored to haran and spend my days taunting the DIA slicers when I get past their firewalls. The Nighthawk-”

“The what?”

“It’s a frigate Teroch had commissioned. It’s pretty beasty, to be honest, but the summit cut the budget to it half-way through the project, so it’s hardly got any of its potential filled. The Nighthawk got boring after Teroch was fired from Captain, so me and Maaks just came back here and have been doing… not much of anything since.”

Sashar nodded, glad to hear that Maaks was still around. “I could use you. I’m going back to Soulfire. I’m thinking of getting the old crew back together. You want in?”

Celahir shrugged and stubbed out his cigarette, then took another long swig from the can of energy drink next to him. “Sure. It’s been a while since I was in combat, though. I might be a little rusty.”

Sashar grinned and stood up, crossed over to his brother, and pulled him up into a bear hug. “Well, you can tell me who all these new faces are, and I’ll crack their skulls in if they give us trouble.”

“Deal. Now get off me, you skinny little di’kut.”


‘Griever’ and Celahir walked side-by-side into the Hangar bay - Soulfire’s designated meeting spot - and sighted a pair of individuals already there. One was familiar to Sashar; his nephew Nadrin, now with his mask back in place. The other, however, was new to him.

Both Celahir and Sashar had dressed to kill. The former wore a dark grey jumpsuit festooned with pockets (almost all of them bulging) and a black flack jacket, again covered in small compartments. Around his waist was a tool-belt, and his lightsaber jostled up against hydrospanners and other acoutrements, simply another tool to the Kiffar. It was the closest Celahir got to combat-ready, these days. Sashar, however, had donned his ‘Griever’ attire: A dark brown and grey form-fitting combat suit that looked more organic than anything else, and a robe with the hood up covered it. Around his belt, a lightsaber was evident, and a disassembled Bowcaster was slung over one shoulder. There was almost certainly a small arsenal of knives and other blades hidden about his person; but he wasn’t in the habit of advertising.

It wouldn’t take long for the others to assemble.


Nadrin had been exchanging smalltalk with Mordaman as he waited for the rest of the squad to assemble, and at the arrival of his uncle he had to suppress a grin, even if it was unnecessary to hide it given the mask he wore. He turned around and grasped the other man in a quick hug, before doing the same with the Kiffar who had accompanied ‘Griever’.

“Nice of you gentlemen to join us, hopefully we’ll…sorry, gotta take this.”

The chirping of his commlink interrupted his greeting and the undersized Arconae took a few steps away from the group, pulled the device out and activated it.

“Nadrin here, what is it? What? Alright, we’ve got it.”

Closing the channel, Nadrin quickly typed in another frequency and made a call.

“Nikola, are you busy? Good, get yourself over to the Valour’s Fall, I’m going to need you for a mission.”

Closing this channel and placing the commlink back onto his belt, the Warlord turned back to the assembled Dark Jedi and took a deep breath before speaking.

“Right, the situation has changed but the mission itself hasn’t. Andrelious and Saskia have been given their own mission and as it stands, I am now your new leader. Griever, Celahir, consider yourself brought back to full active duty with the squad. I’ll give you a more detailed briefing when we get to the Fall but for now, let’s get on that shuttle and get airborne.”

The assembled men and women, to their credit, didn’t question him and began to file into the nearest shuttle. As Nadrin walked over to grab his carry-all, he found Sashar next to him, a feeling of vague disapproval emanating through the Force from the man.

“What the frak is going on?”

“Long story short, Andrelious and Saskia have had to pull themselves away to deal with some family emergency, leaving me as the senior member of the squad.”

“Senior member? Last I checked Nad’ika, that was me.”

Nadrin grinned beneath his mask, walking towards the shuttle with Sashar in tow.

“Actually, that’s where you’re wrong. Until I took command and brought you back into the squad just now, you were technically not a member of the squad, thus I was still senior. Ain’t semantics grand?”

Ignoring the chuntering that emanated from Sashar’s hooded face, Nadrin jogged up the ramp of the shuttle and settled himself in for the short journey up to Soulfire’s ship.

This would be fun.



Valtiere turned back to Idwal Erinos, a simulation frozen in place above a holo table, a snapshot of carnage between capital ships. Until now, they had been running countless simulations, over and over again. Valtiere had done this all in near silence, face impassive.

With trepidation, Idwal realised that stony countenance had cracked, the impression of a smile flickering across his pale face. Such an expression was rarely a good thing, a feral expression, lacking warmth.

“Pack it up, Idwal. We have a new diversion, it seems.” He finally said, beginning to move from the room.

“But Sir, the simulation?” Idwal asked, indicating the scene upon the table.

“It was a failure from the beginning. I’m going ahead, make sure to bring everything else with you.” He shot back, striding from the room.

“Where to, Sir?” He called out, pulling his red jacket back on.

“The Valour’s fall, Idwal.” He yelled back, already heading for the hangar.

“Captain Yamato!” One of the Lieutenants cried from the sensor console, breaking the Officer from his current task.

He stalked over to the Console, leaning over the junior officer, addressing him quietly.
“Lieutenant, we are on a military vessel, not in a bazaar. We do not shout out. We have a semblance of decorum. Remember that.” He stated quietly, calmly. He then read the data.

“It seems we are being targeted, Lieutenant.” He said, straightening.

“But there are no sensor readings on the attacker, sir.” The Officer replied, suitably cowed.

“So I can see. Well then. Shields up! Weapons charged!” Yamato responded striding back to the command area. He could see all the information the small picket ship was bringing in, making quick assessments brought in after years of serving aboard the ships that plied the void. He turned from the sensors, looking out the viewport at the stars beyond. As he did so, something flashed past, the only sign the blinking out of a few stars.

A diminutive figure, a waif of a thing, strode onto the bridge, face obscured by a now familiar mask. “Captain. We seem to have an issue?” Nadrin Erinos Arconae stood beside the Captain, regarding the same space.

“Wait. I sense something… A presence I haven’t felt since…” Nadrin walked off, sentence trailing away. He stopped, turning suddenly.

“Oh! Open the hangar. Sorry, Instinct.” Nadrin turned back to the turbolift, heading for the hangar.

A Stealth-X was lowering itself to the decking as Nadrin entered the bustling hangar. He planted his feet, hands on hips, eyeing up the fighter so similar to his own. The same dark, star-flecked hull, the same darkened engines, the same tinted canopy. Only a few members of Arcona flew the StealthX. It was obvious who was opening the cockpit, even with his helmet on.

“Valtiere,” Nadrin called out over the engines, greeting his former student.

The Rollmaster pulled his helmet off, fixing his eyes, one green, one glowing blue, on the masked figure. He nodded, lowering himself to the deck, not waiting for the ladder to clamber down, like an animal.

“Nadrin. A shuttle is bringing my particulars. What did you need me for, then?” His eyebrow arched slightly, looking down at the smaller Arconae.


Mimosa-Inahj Homestead
Mountains of Selen

“But, sweetheart, Atty told you to take it easy! Just because you’re up and moving doesn’t mean you can fight again!” Kooki shouted.

“I promised Nadrin that I’d answer the call if and when I was needed. Now, are you coming, or not?” Andrelious questioned sternly. Though the Warlord had originally assigned the mission to Sukhur, he had since retired from Soulfire Captain on the medical advice of Atyiru, who had been treating him for the wounds received during the fighting on Korriban. Whilst the Miraluka had discharged him from the medical centre, she had demanded that he continue to take it easy until it was clear that he was fully fit again.

The Alderaanian sighed. Though her husband often listened to her requests, there was no talking to him when he got the thirst for action. Aside from a few spars with Kooki, Andrelious hadn’t seen action for over a month. He hadn’t even flown his ship, other than to assist Saskia with her family issue and subsequent defection to Scholae Palatinae. Instead, he had busied himself around the house, looking after the twins whenever Kooki had a mission of her own.

“Atty promised she’d take care of the twins for us when she originally gave me this mission. She’ll be here soon, along with that Zygerrian. I just hope he’ll watch his mouth this time,” the ex-Imperial said, checking on the twins – they were currently asleep.

1 hour later

After Atyiru and Jax had arrived, Andrelious and Kookimarissia were in a speeder heading to meet with the rest of the Soulfire Strike Team. Nadrin had been placed in command of the team after the Consul had invalided Andrelious off duty. The Miraluka’s arrival had resulted in a brief exchange of words between herself and the now former Soulfire Captain, but Andrelious had been as insistent with her as he had been with his spouse: he was going.

Kooki watched with concern as the still hurting Andrelious piloted their speeder with much greater difficulty than usual. He even avoided the more tricky mountain trail that he usually favoured for quicker access to Estle City, instead choosing the safer but far slower route.

“Are you sure you’re ok? You’re flying like my grandmother used to.” Kooki stated. She too had had a few words with her Master, having remembered what had happened to the twins the last time that the Miraluka had looked after them.

“I’d better hope you didn’t bring any silicartha, then.” Andrelious quipped, immediately regretting it when his wife glared at him.

“I don’t need it. You’ve not beaten me in a spar for weeks!” the Priestess replied smugly.

Eventually the couple reached Giletta Spaceport. An enquiry to a nearby official revealed that the team were already massing on the Valour’s Fall. Without wasting another moment, Andrelious reached for his comlink.

“Nadrin, this is Andrelious. Kooki and I will be with you shortly. Don’t you have any fun without us.”


“Your particulars? You’re here to work Nikola, not go on some pleasure cruise. Come on, the squad is meeting us in the briefing room.”

Nadrin made his way out of the hangar, his former apprentice on his heels, a quiet presence that bled malevolence through the Force. However, the Warlord reckoned that he could sense a small thrill of excitement from Valtiere, most likely from the fact he was once more back on a ship, where he belonged. As the pair made their way through Soulfire’s ship, Nadrin’s commlink trilled at his waist and he plucked the device and listened to the message from Andrelious. Sending a double click to confirm receipt of the transmission, Nadrin put the commlink back on his belt and carried on through the doors and into the briefing room that was filled with the other members of his squad.

Here we go.

“Right, we’re going to be on our way to Sukhur when the final two members join us, but I didn’t want to wait for them to give you all an understanding of what we’ll be doing. An Arconan base on Sukhur which was previously abandoned has apparently shown signs of being inhabited, and we’ve been sent out to see what’s happening. This isn’t necessarily a normal operation for us, but seeing as the Consul didn’t know what we might have to deal with, she wanted to make sure that whoever went would be prepared for the worst and that, of course, means Soulfire gets the job. Once we actually head off, it shouldn’t take us too long to get to our destination, so in the meantime I want you all to go over information about the region, check your equipment and generally get yourselves prepared for whatever it is we might face. Oh, the man behind me may be known to some of you, but for those who do not know this is Nikola Valtiere. He is one of the Clan’s foremost tacticians, and it is for that reason that he will be joining us as tactical support. He’ll be stationed on the Fall while we operate, providing support and intel as required. Make him welcome, and let’s get ready for whatever comes next.”

Nadrin didn’t have his father’s flair for the dramatic, but he felt as though his little speech was briefing enough, given the information he possessed. Nodding to the assembled men and women, the Sith turned around and left the room, making his way to the bridge to wait for their final members to arrive.

[OOC – Sorry for the short (and delayed) post, but this should be enough to bump us onto the next stage of the RO.]