Star Wars Star Wars: After the Awakening

Duke Praxon
Aboard the Naritus, Yavin Orbit

A shadow fell upon the cockpit canopy as the Resistance cruiser – an older model Mon Calamari MC90, Praxon could tell by its distinct nebulous form – swallowed the smaller yacht and permitted them clearance to land within one of its many hangar bays. By this point, Wyn had returned from her self-imposed exile in her bunk to rejoin him in the cockpit. Her eyes were rimmed with red, a sure sign that she had been crying, and she looked tired, but even then, Praxon had rescinded the controls over to her to take them in on their final approach. It was a gesture of trust and understanding – an extending of the olive branch – but unfortunately, it did not have the desired effect. Despite his best efforts, she continued to give him the silent treatment.

The hangar was rushing up on them now, vast and cavernous…and most notably empty. Praxon furrowed his brow at the realization and leaned forward to get a closer look. Aside from the usual equipment strewn about haphazardly, the only things worth noting included a battered YT-1300 freighter nestled to one corner and the lone figure approaching them at a steady gait.

The freighter, Praxon realized with some astonishment, matched the same schematics as the infamous Millennium Falcon. She certainly did not look all that impressive, especially for a freighter that had such a rich history and had even been escalated to legendary status in some circles. He had expected more based on the stories, but in this case, appearances could be deceiving. Through his own research out of necessity for certain film roles and his own mild curiosity, Praxon had learned that she had a lot to offer. Many of her surprises came from within and were well hidden behind her rough exterior. As an avid collector of classic starships himself, he imagined it would be quite the experience to be able to discover her many secrets.

But as it was, he was getting ahead of himself and mentally toned it back a bit to focus on the figure, who was now waiting for them nearby. Her face was stern and she appeared more aloof than he remembered from the various holonet reports over the years, but even behind that visage, it was hard not to recognize General Leia Organa. With a forceful sigh, Praxon settled back down in his seat, now feeling the full weight of the situation for the first time. The General’s presence held an astute air of authority and radiated with that ‘larger than life’ feel, which ultimately knocked all doubt from his mind. It was ironic, considering his own celebrity status, but he knew there was no backing down from her now…

And he was certain Wyn had already considered this.

“I see you’re still not talking to me,” he surmised with an even tone, almost sarcastically, as the yacht shuddered slightly with its landing. “Which is fine, but at least hear me out. I’ve been doing some thinking and I’m sure you’ll be happy to hear that I’ve decided not to drop you off and run.” He turned to look at her, hoping to pick up on some kind of sign that she was coming around. Fat chance in that…after all these years, it still frustrated him that she was so difficult to read.

“Look, Wyn, this is different than what I’m used to. I have my doubts about this scheme of theirs and pulling it off to the level that they’re probably expecting, especially in these circumstances, but I’m at least willing to hear them out. I mean, that’s General Organa standing out there…I can’t just blow her off and ignore her, right?” He stifled a smile at the thought and began to rise. “We’ve come too far for that. What happens beyond that, well…we’ll have to wait and see.”

Turning to exit up the access tunnel, he reached into his breast pocket and produced a pair of shades, a habit he had procured after years of dealing with the public. It was almost automatic now whenever he stepped off the relative safety of his ship, regardless as to whether they were actually needed or not. Another quirk that Wyn used to find stimulating and often joked about.

“Oh, and if I did happen to dump you and leave, I don’t think I could live with the possibility of not seeing you again.” He shrugged. “So, there’s that.”

TAG: Sinrebirth, Ktala, NickLitYouAFlame, galactic-vagabond422

 

OOC: Mini tag, don't be jealous of vagabond!

IC: Lysa Dunter
Aboard the Naritus, hangar, shower

Lysa listened to Rhoen and his soul pouring from his sides; he was broken, and broken hard. A twitch of her lip when Rhoen mentioned General Antilles, but she ended up nearly reaching for his hands when they half lifted, but she knew she had to stay back, to let him finish, to let him birth this monster inside of him - his fear, his sadness, his dread, his horror - and then the break showed on his face, all the way, and the tears flowed and Lysa crossed the threshold between them, the space that they had cast to protect themselves from a war they did not ask for, swept aside by two as inexperienced as them at warfare.

Her hand brushed his face, her arm guiding him to the floor, pulling him close, her cheeks wet with her own outpouring, needing to hold him, touch him, to pull him close.

'Don't worry, don't worry, Rhoen,' and Lysa knew what she needed to say. 'It's alright, it's alright, you can be like this, it's okay, don't fight it, you need to let this out.' She kissed him, wanting to wrap herself around him, a slight thought caught her, knew her father was going to kill her...

She pulled back. 'I am sorry, so so sorry. I didn't mean to do that, I can't do this to you, right now, I'm being so selfish, I'm sorry, sorry.' Lysa felt like she had let him down, done it entirely wrong.

TAG: @galactic_vagabond


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Chapter Eight

The battle modulated across the Generis system, but the arrival of Poe Dameron and what was left of the squadrons that struck at Starkiller base caused an evolution of movement. As the Strike cruisers and Interdictors slew around to confront the external threat that had blown its way through the outer ring of fighters, the commander of the beleaguered New Republic battle group shifted his ships to an overlapping field of fire hit a Destroyer, and the combined firepower of four MC90 cruisers was nothing to dismiss, even cruisers as thoroughly mauled as they were. The Resurgent-class cracked, and the task force pushed through the gap, as the two other Destroyers sought to close it with a flurry of movement from Lancer-class frigates and more Strike cruisers. However, those forces had also been splitting to head to the Interdictor, and so the four MC90s could engage many elements individually, with no envelope fully formed.

The two Destroyers suddenly found they were in pursuit of the New Republic, and the Interdictor found itself with much bigger threats to concern itself with as its Strike cruiser guards were lanced with heavy fire. Lancer frigates had nothing to add against MC90s, but the starfighter squadrons were shredded on the flyby. Strike cruisers could only hold ships thrice the size for so long, and the New Republic shouldered the damage - though in a flash, the rearmost MC90 vanished into a storm of debris as the Destroyers found the range, and a moment after that the new rearmost cruiser fell under a savage barrage. Poe and his half squad did not tarry however, collecting stray fighters as they fought their way through the battle, nibbling at the rear of cruisers and frigates who had marshalled their defences forward, rather than aft, pulling apart TIE flights with massed fire and picking their way to the rear of the battle, threading the debris of the lost cruiser - losing nearly half as many comrades as they had gained along the way in the last surge through enemy fire - and then Poe's half squad plied the two Destroyers with every torpedo they had left.

Both Destroyers were forced to withdraw behind their defences but the damage was done; no Imperial squadron could maintain a screen in a battle which had evolved so swiftly, and before shields could be redirected both capital ships were peppered with craters which burned into the darkness of space, and what had appeared to be a simple random barrage was revealed to have been targeted by precision by Poe, who had lent his targeting data to the New Republic squadrons who were largely unfamiliar with the latest iteration of Star Destroyer design.

In a moment the fire of the New Republic cruisers cut deeply into the Interdictor, which had been desperately completing its orientation out system to commit to a jump; it exploded as the massed turbolaser fire poured into its engine housing and touched upon the reactor of the cruiser. Poe and his squadrons were in full retreat, scattering in a dozen directions and jumping into hyperspace at random. Some received the orders of where to jump, others didn't, and still more received the coordinates and ignored them, expecting the First Order to follow, or that the New Republic had really fallen and there was nothing else to do but flee.

The three Mon Calamari cruisers briefly arrived a few light years from Generis and gathered fighters, surveyed damage, and counted the lesser ships that had made it - a pair of frigates and a trio of Corellian gunships - tarrying for no more than an hour, and collecting up what they had left and frantically making repairs on what they could.

Then they jumped out, conscious that many more fighter craft would make it to the rendezvous and find nothing.

But they had no choice.

--
IC: Corran Horn
Eshan, in orbit

As Callista's fist burst free of her opponent, so too did the fight between Vincent, Corran and their two Knights evolve. The first opponent whom had been hurled by Vincent stood, but only for long enough to collapse, clearly having broken more than a few things within him, and suffering from internal bleeding. Pain rolled off of him, and then unconsciousness.

Corran pulled a face, part his continued annoyance at himself, part smirk, and he punctuated Vincent's line. 'It's not looking too good for you.' With the sudden surge of pain and the winking out of the other Knights life at Callista's hand - and a large spike in revulsion and nausea from Treen - Corran's smirk became a smile, and then solemn. 'Surrender, you can't win.'

The Knight before them, briefing heavily, seemed to consider. 'I was never here to win, it would appear.' The voice was male, transposed through a filter. 'My Lord must be displeased with me to require me to die.'

'So be it.'

There was a shift in perception across the battlefield, and Corran could feel a lightening of the mood of the populace, a surge of relief; the battle must have been done, Corran recognised the sensation from a dozen victories during the Yuuzhan Vong War, the ragged comedown from the adrenaline on a planetary scale, the apprehension as to the aftermath. 'There is no need, it is truly over.'

'There is all the need!'

The Knight of Ren launched forward, pike coming low to up, intending to catch Vincent's blade below and, with his hand flung forward, the body of his comrade scooped up with the Force and hurled forward at Vincent, either distraction to draw Vincent's blade out of line or to see him bowled over by the armoured body.

---

Eshan, Northern Provence, City of Valiance

It would have been an over exaggeration to say that Eshan was on fire, it however would have been a lie to say that parts of it were not. While most of the First Order assault group had not managed to penetrate the SHIELD, some had succeeded in bypassing it using the blind jump, and much of it had actually managed to not slam bow first into the planet doing so.

From there the Stormtroopers amassed across the continent, and as one might have expected, met stiff resistance. The people of Eshan had been on edge, and even though every Echani of age was a warrior, they were not expecting a planetary invasion, the Stormtroopers had taken that to their advantage. They pressed through the outer residential areas of the City of Valiance, the second largest city of the province.

The advance stalled once local law enforcement arrived, resulting in several Stormtroopers squads doubling back, searching through homes looking for hostages, an age old tactic. And an unfortunate choice.

--- ---

The Troopers burst through the door of the fourth home on the street, their F-11s up and lights scanning as they move through the house. They cleared room after room till they finally came upon a large chamber at the back of the house, various weapons and trophies sat along the walls and dozens of small mats littered the floor. If anyone of the troopers had been knowledgeable in Echani traditions, they’d have recognized it as a training hall. As it was however, the troopers were more fixated on the man sitting in a large chair at the far end atop a raised dais.

“Hands in the air, surrender and you will not be harmed.” The voice was, not the muffled one of a trooper, but an Imperial officer who ventured in after his squad. “Resist and you will be executed under the authority of Supreme Commander Snoke!”

“Supreme Commander Snoke…” The voice replied was unmistakably Imperial, a slight native inflection was there, but it was unmistakable. “A sham of a man, holding on to a vestige of power of someone far superior to him.” The figure rose up to his full height, hand upon what appeared to be a walking stick. “Palpatine, as the only true Supreme Commander, Officer.” The man lifted a hand, and the Trooper’s blasters flew out of their hands, across the hall and clattering down around the man’s feet. “And You, just like he, will fail.”

Taking a step down from the dais the stick spun in his hand, and expanded, a crimson blade springing out from the end. “Three decades ago, I served the Emperor. His death, was the death of the Empire. You, are but a shadow, a lie, a sham.” The officer drew his sidearm, and started to bring it up, but was frozen mid motion. “Ah… that was an error.”

Reaching out with his hand the Officer’s arm snapped back, dislocating with a sickening pop the blaster now aimed at a trooper. The blaster fired, and in turn the remaining troopers went to draw their sidearms, only to point at each other, decry traitor, and fire.

As his troopers fell around him the Officer, fighting back tears of pain maintained a defiant face. “You are brave… I will give you that. Officers under my command would have been broken long before this, but, they also would have had Shadow Guard with them to deal with the likes of me.” The red blade plunged into the Officer’s stomach and out through his back, causing him to slump forward. “And rightfully, you should have had a Knight of Ren.”

Pushing the officer to the side he strode over to the Trooper who seemed to have the most secondary equipment. Holding out a hand a commlink dislodged itself from the man’s utility belt and floated up into his grasp. “Thirty years, and technology barely changes…”

Holding the device in hand he made some adjustments, he figured, Imperials being Imperials, that older codes would be at the least recognized, if not immediately understood. And one from the Old Empire’s Intelligence Division would likely garner attention. “To whomever it is leading this sad excuse of an assault, I have no doubt you recognize the authorization code I have transmitted. So I do in turn ask you name yourself.”

Admiral Dorja was busy fighting his ship, but the message received on an old Imperial code, albeit a high ranked one, and an insulting one at that, required Dorja to take the line, angrily, putting up a privacy screen around his captains chair.

'This is Admiral Dorja of the First Order, formerly of the Imperial Remnant and Galactic Empire. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking to.' His voice was polite but sarcastic at the edges of it. 'I anticipate I may need to terminate the message at some point due to the on-going battle you seem to have intervened in.'

'Dorja..." The man repeated the name a few times before letting out an ah sound. "Captain Dorja. Or at least that was what you were when last I heard of you. Mm and indeed when we last met, though it was brief. A intelligence conference after Yavin. All those failings, and what we might do to better unite Imperial and Naval intelligence to work more cohesively so that the loss of DS-1 was not repeated." He paused for a moment, briefly caught in some nostalgia. "Well, Admiral. Should you recall me, which with time and tide I would hold no ill will to you should you not, it would be as Victus, High Inquisitor of the Inquisitorius, and Imperial Intelligence. And I interfere, because your men saw fit to invade my home... they didn't even knock, it was quite rude honestly." A brief pause, "Anyway, I had hoped that it was one of the Old Guard commanding above, means my message will be much more easily received, I hope."

Admiral Dorja pursed his lips - Another Force user, after so many years without many of them. 'I recall the meeting, though just about. I have had a lot of intervening events to remember.' The Admiral's words took on a bitter note. 'Carrying on the fight after the Battle of Jakku, spearheading Operation Shadow Hand and fighting for survival of the very Empire against the Yuuzhan Vong.'

'So why I would take on the message of a member of the Old Guard who considers that I need to receive said message in all likelihood while standing over the corpses of my men.'

'Because your men didn't have to die Admiral. And more will, unnecessarily." He took note of the bitter tone but it did not phase him. "I served the Empire for years Dorja, longer than you. I was raised since birth to be a Shadow Guard, then an Inquisitor, the Empire was my everything. But it didn't fall at Jakku. It didn't fall at Endor. It fell when it began treating its most valuable resources as expendable." There was a pause, and the sound of walking. "People, were the Empire's greatest resource Admiral. Not just it's soldiers and officers, its civilians. Merchants, workers, traders, teachers. All valuable commodities. The Empire died when they became expendable, when a planets destruction was not a tragedy, but a message."

"The Echani have a saying Admiral. 'Destroying an Empire to win a war is no victory. And ending a battle to save an Empire is no defeat.' Ask yourself this. How many men have you lost? How many more will you lose? Should you get reinforcements how many will you lose taking out the Echani fleet? How many more taking out the orbital defenses? The planetary shield? How many more will fall once the planetary based batteries can fire on you? And then the ground war? How many lives, is the resurrection of the Empire worth to you? I say this to you as a man who loved the Empire more than life itself, a man who was bred to serve it. Surrender. Save your men, save yourself. Work with us, not against us. The Vong taught us, that a divided Galaxy was a weak one... you will not bring unity by destroying planets, and subjugating people Dorja. All you will do, is repeat the same mistakes of the past. The Declaration of a New Order promised Ten Thousand years of peace, help make that a reality. Stand down."

Admiral Dorja's expression became neutral, and schooled. He was losing, and if the reports on the ground were anything, he would continue to lose a lot. The siege of the planetary weapons was going poorly, the defence grid was making short work of the sole Destroyer in orbit, and he was bleeding resources with no real foothold. The Bounty was crippled, and he had gone past the time that the reinforcements would have arrived - quitting the field now would do no damage to his honour, but there was still, after all these casualties, only a fifty-fifty chance he could succeed and clearly Eshan was not the world to make a grand gesture and declare the Empire anew. Whether spending all these years in Pellaeon's shadow had influenced him, or the fact that Dorja did have children now, and he would not have wanted them lost on a battle which was unnecessary from a tactical or indeed strategic point of view.

Dorja, with a moment to dwell on that fact, knew that he was perpetuating the bad of the old Empire, the Empire that the Advisors and politicians and damned Force users within it had caused to spiral out of control and for them to be eventually, inexorably, be painted as the bad guys of the narrative.

After nearly twenty years of being at peace, and even then being on the 'good guy' side, against the Yuuzhan Vong, he didn't feel the need to be the villain once again... Serving a Force user. Dorja knew he had to retreat.

But then, the Yuuzhan Vong War had not stopped the Galactic Concordance being imposed once again, as a legally binding treaty and though the Remnant had stronger trade links with the new galactic order, it had still bit, and that was how the Remnant had fallen under sway of the First Order in the first place.

Dorja was not just the 'bad guy' in this piece. His children had suffered because of the Galactic Concordance, and he had fought on after it had been imposed because it was unfair and unjust and more.

So Admiral Dorja was not going to take this lying down.

'I doubt you have any authority to offer a ceasefire, because that is literally all I will accept. Anything less and I will continue this battle until Eshan is dust.'

"There will be no ceasefire Dorja. The Echani will fight you, when they run out of ships they will use guns, when they run out of guns they will use swords, and knives, and sticks. They will fight you to the last warrior, and they are all warriors, but it will never come to that." The sounds on the other end were now muted short of the voice, unnatural, mechanical, distant. "There was one Dreadnought in orbit today for the ceremonies Dorja... There are four others in sector. How long do you think it will take, before the all clear signal isn't received, and they come running?" There was the sound of something, like an explosion, but it was unclear. "In all its history Dorja, Eshan has never fallen to an invasion force. Zeltrons throw parties with their invaders, the Echani massacre them. Make your choice, before its too late, and the Echani make it for you."

Dorja spoke as soon as he had finished. 'I do not wish a ceasefire and a surrender you dolt. I suggest a ceasefire and my withdrawal. I am not interested in this little planet. My pride has been piqued, after so long under the shadow of defeat, but you reminded me of my true purpose here. I will give you that, but if you state the obvious again to me, I will pull back from my ground assault if only to glass the world from orbit.'

'So can you assist in what I require or not?'

'Dolt?" He mused the words for a moment, "Do remember Dorja, the likes of me have long been able to choke the life out of the likes of you from across systems. But yes, I can." He went silent, for a moment, and now the clear sound of typing could be heard. "Issue forth a broadcast, open channels, decree that you wish to invoke the Rite of Thyrsus' Folly, the dignified defeat. You will be ordered to stand down your weapons, and you will be constantly under target lock, but they will allow you to retreat, and allow your men to return from the surface. I have met the General in charge, she will adhere to the traditions of her people."

There was another pause, "Now... one other thing. I did not lie when I said the Empire was more precious to me than life. It pained me, harshly, to see it fall so far from grace as it did. I have long left Dorja, and have no desire to return to power. But you, Pellaeon, and the likes of you, you still have enough life, enough experience, and I hope enough wisdom to make the Promise of the Declaration of a New Order come true. The real promise. The promise of peace, and unity, and prosperity. You owe nothing to me Admiral. But for your men, for our lost Empire. For all that we lost, and all that we could have been, consider the actions of the First Order carefully. I tell you this, as a Force User, as one of the Inquisitorious, do not let those like us hold power for long, it will always bring ruin."

'Those like you,' said Dorja, aloud. In a way, this man was trying to tell him that Snoke would have his way and use them up, and discard them. In a way, he already had, sucking dry the generation who fled into the Unknown Regions, taking their children, warping them into featureless soldiers and officers who spoke of nothing but the First Order. In a way, the First Order had been imposed on the Empire, on the Remnant. And Dorja recognised in him a frustration with that, with the Force using quango that even Pellaeon had dispensed with, had taken back control of his Empire.

'I shall bear what you have said in mind, Inquisitor. Let us we meet again under different circumstances.' With that, he ended the channel with a nod to his comms officer. And not a moment too soon, as the two Vindicators, though bruised and their shields on the verge of collapse, their fighters spent and their weapons silent to keep their shields alive, were about to break through the last line of the flotilla with their mass - skimming a Lancer and brushing past it - and through those gaps the Echani were flooding through, a hundred broken ships in their wake.

Dorja spoke swiftly across the open channel. 'I invoke the Rite of Thyrsus' Folly. I repeat, I, Admiral Dorja of the First Order Navy, invoke the Rite of Thyrsus' Folly. All Imperial forces, cease fire, immediately.'

The states of Imperial officers marred the Admiral. Those from the First Order had an expression he could consider murderous, but the Remnant men and women seemed unsurprised, some even relieved. He spoke again. 'We have came to this system to do what we wanted. It is time to withdraw now it is assured.'

With a knowing eye he glanced to the readouts on the Bounty, it's engines having given out, it's hull aflame, struggling to arrest its forward motion. 'Please acknowledge my request, Echani forces.'

The response was not immediate, as no doubt Dorja would know, having once had to issue a cease fire, ages ago. But within moments of his decree, the Echani weapons fire began to drop off, until it ceased all together. Floating before the First Order formation, the ships that had made up the Spear maneuver came to a slow and steady halt. And as the Inquisitor had promised, their weapons remained locked.

“This is General Valsanis, of the Echani First Defense Fleet, and the New Republic 6th Fleet.” The female voice filtered over the open channel. It spoke with the sort of smooth, unemotional tone noted of Echani women in official correspondences. “We recognize, if somewhat astonishingly, your invocation of the rite. State your intentions and requests for retreat.”

Dorja almost pulled a face to his crew. But serving under Daala was enough to put anyone off female commanders for a lifetime. 'Thank you, General. I propose a full withdrawal, and to leave behind medical frigates and other unarmed assets to recover soldiers and pilots that cannot be immediately recovered and removed, subject to whatever armed guard you consider reasonable but trusting that you will afford us an honourable retreat. Any and all personal we have captured or held hostage will be immediately released.'

There was a pause, “These are reasonable terms. Please have your main force retreat one quarter AU back from your current position and power down your weapon systems. Your forces will be permitted to pass under guard… please designate a single medical craft for the collection of lost souls. We shall do the same.”

The two Vindicators, who had previously harassed Dorja’s rear now passed quietly overhead, moving towards the planet. One AU out another pocket dreadnought decanted from hyperspace, though it began approaching the Imperials for a moment an open signal was detected, ordering it to stand down.

On the other side of the planet, the planetary defenses, having long stopped firing on the Resurgence, had now linked together a tractor beam net, pushing the now listing ship into a safe orbit. “You may begin recalling your forces immediately.”

Dorja nodded, issuing the order and requesting another officer coordinate the efforts of the Haven, a medical frigate which had been hanging at the edge of the system and having wounded shuffled towards it during the battle, it would be jumped in and the effort managed. Loss reports came in, and still no reinforcements. Dorja was beginning to wonder if he had been hung out to dry by Snoke. With the lack of resources to proceed with an orderly retreat, he had little choice but to abandon one of the all but intact Resurgent-class vessels - save for the engines having blown out and the prow looking fairly nibbled. With less than half of his original force to hand, it had not gone tremendously well, and Eshan still burned in places.

Dorja became increasingly annoyed at having been strung out, and reopened the comlink to his errant Inquisitor. 'I appear to owe you my thanks - my reinforcements never arrived. Is there a message you want me to give to Supreme Leader Snoke on your behalf?'

'While I have many things I would have him know, none would end with you living should you pass them on. Indeed it should be best if he does not know a High Inquisitor still remains." A long pause, broken by a faint sigh. "That said I have a message for you. A time will come, when this will rise to a boil, when you see it coming, you now have the means to contact me. I might have long retired, but one more good fight, for the Empire, Our true Empire. I think I could manage that. Till that day comes, fight well."

Admiral Dorja nodded. With how matters were boiling right now, he half expected that time would come sooner than he wanted. 'Until then, High Inquisitor.'

And it was done. The Imperial Fleet began to jump into hyperspace, leaving the only other foreign forces in-system as the thoroughly crippled Bounty, the Errant Venture and the Wild Karrde. With Jysella, Mirax and Corran Horn all in-system beside the Sixth Fleet, this was rapidly becoming the one point where, for now, the New Republic lived and breathed.

It wouldn't be long before the Echani discovered the technology aboard the First Order Star Destroyers and half of Snoke's plans were unravelled. Between this and the chip in Treens possession, the Battle of Eshan was poised to be the biggest turning point in the war thus far...

... If it could be weaved into a true strategic victory. Even now, First Order assets were being deployed along the hyperlanes leading to the sector, much as they had isolated the Hapan Consortium, not directly confronting the Echani but simply taking steps to ensure that nothing less than a large and noticeable deployment could leave the sector. Part of Forward Command's operation involved identifying threats to the overall campaign and isolating them, insofar as much as the Dac Sector had similarly been isolated for the presence of the Fifth Fleet by a naval deployment to Pakuuni and a base on Makem Te. The Third and Fifth Fleets were traditionally deployed to the Outer Rim, while the First and Fourth held in the Core and Colonies respectively. The Sixth held at Echani as a midpoint between the two arenas, just as much as the Second roved up and down the Yuuzhan Vong invasion corridor cleaning up remnants of their passing - and having historically kept tabs on the borders of the First Order.

But this was all what was.

All anyone could say with any certainty at Eshan, the de facto capital of the New Republic - if you could consider the handful of New Republic Senators, business men and members of the Defence Force that - was that the First Fleet, the Viscount, the Guardian and Harbinger were gone, and the writhing corpse of the political and military body of the New Republic was easy prey for the First Order...

---
Moldy Crow

A freighter and three different X-wing variants (if a Headhunter could be called an X-wing variant) would have ordinarily caused a certain degree of commotion on arrival in the Eshan system, but not an incredible one. Perhaps a corvette and fighter escort, with a larger vessel positioned to support it. However, arriving at the tail end of ragged battle was another thing. One of the half a dozen Imperial II-class Star Destroyers - a quarter of its bridge tower missing, was on patrol duty and it swiftly positioned itself between the four ships and the planet.

Kyle had just returned to the bridge of the Moldy Crow, having not expected to have a need to rush. Jan twitched, a natural response to having spent two decades avoiding Imperial Star Destroyers, even if the war with the old Empire had ended nearly two decades ago itself, but managed to calm herself. 'This is Captain Jan Ors of the Moldy Crow, carrying Jedi Master Kyle Katarn and Padawan Kodo Prine, and currently escorted by Jedi Knights Rosh Penin, Jaden Korr and Valin Horn. We come with peaceful intent, looking for survivors of the Senate disaster.'

Kyle scanned the arena. An Imperial medical frigate was holding at a respectful distance from a scattered debris field, hundreds of vessels, large and small, lost in an engagement which had clearly been raging for a certain amount of time. A wave of pain and anger was mingling throughout the solar system, in the survivors, in the wounded, and more besides, and the Holocron within Kodo's pocket crowed. I have touched this system, with my magnanimous hand.

The hatred flowing through the system seemed to sustain the voice, and Kodo would feel the shadow upon his soul deepen. A memory flittered past of a second person on Dagobah - what species was that? And it was fleeting, and gone. Tsk tsk, let's not let that memory get through. You need to be good if you want to learn what happened to her.

A female voice came through, terse but authoritative. 'This is General Valsanis of the New Republic Sixth Fleet. I know the names of all but one of you by reputation. I would speak to Kodo Prine to ascertain his nature for myself. Jedi are not beyond subterfuge to achieve a greater goal - especially if they are unsure of their host - and being as we now have several Jedi in-system in and around a major Imperial attack we are on the verge of being suspicious.'

'One moment.' Kyle pulled a face, as he didn't especially want Kodo dealing with something sensitive when he was under the influence of a Sith Holocron. He opened the private line to Kodo. 'I did warn you things would move fast... I assume you heard that? Find out what other Jedi are here - they may have had the same idea as ourselves.'

Kyle couldn't ask if Kodo was up to this. They were on the knife edge here, and he couldn't afford to let the Holocron, or Kodo, realise he was onto them. All he could do was manage the damage.

TAG: Kahn Iceay, dARTh Wanderguard
---
IC: Wyn
The hangar of the Naritus, Yavin orbit

When Praxon pulled on the shades Wyn knew that she wasn't going to be able to stay mad at him for much longer. That and he had apologised, and he appeared to be staying, for now, and, well, she deceived him. Wyn smiled, readily, freely, and felt her soul lighten. 'You best get in-character, Duke. She's expecting Han Solo, after all.'

Wyn produced a small mirror, as every woman seemed capable of doing swiftly, and lightly touched up her eyes. Wyn was not a woman who believed in applying make-up, unless it was for a role. Personally, she simply did that little bit to make her look presentable, nothing at all ostentatious, purely makeup that matched her skin colour, to accentuate rather than bedazzle. She was not what one would consider a traditional beauty, but she was charming, and her smile could light up a small arena, when it touched her eyes.

Their Rodian friend appeared that he wasn't going to come to anytime soon; in-fact Wyn half thought he was sleeping it off, somehow, and she sheepishly knew that Praxon was going to regret having done that to a fellow living being at some point. At least the Rodian had avoided their bust up. With a mirthless smile, she wondered if the Rodian was faking sleep to avoid the awkwardness, or to ensure that he could deliver Praxon.

With her arm ready to hook into his, she stood by the ramp. 'Come on then, Mr Solo. Your wife awaits.'

--
Strang helped Major Ematt up, who smiled at Fred and Bre. 'Yes, my friends, it is BB-8 and Leia. They will be very happy to meet you both - especially you, little droid. Since Chewbacca and Artoo left with Rey, and Threepio was sent to Omas and Antilles, BB-8 has been a little lonely.'

'Sir, we're not authorised to tell them about that,' cautioned Strang.

'Nonsense,' replied Ematt as they made it to the ramp. 'We can trust these people, I can tell.'

'Yes sir,' Strang said, neutrally.

'We aren't going to win this war by being just soldiers. We need to be more than that, to weave back together the common connection between people, and rekindle the Republic. The aftermath of the victory is more important than the victory itself.' Ematt lifted his chin towards the ramp controls, vaguely directing Bre or Elias to help. 'I just hope the General has remembered that.'

--
Hangar changing room

Lysa settled down with Rhoen for a bit longer, his head in the nook of her shoulder as she lightly stroked his face as rational thought came back to her. They hadn't interacted all that much, and here she was consoling him. Rhoen was a breathtakingly good pilot, and that didn't always translate into command skill. But he was a brevet Captain and if he had any sense he would ask to step down at some point, unless she did it for him. The situation made no sense, but Lysa couldn't comprehend losing a parent in a tragedy which had consumed millions. The horror of it was absorbed by the survivors by osmosis, and Rhoen might have become unhinged.

Or, he may have simply been hit with a lot of issues one after the other. She couldn't believe that Rhoen had released his anguish in front of General Antilles - thinking of the man as his title helped - and so Rhoen had to with someone, at some point. And the sooner, the better.

All of a sudden the door to one of the showers opened, a semi-naked woman appearing, her headphones in her ears, towel wrapped around her upper chest and midriff. Middle-aged if not a bit more, the years had not worn her like Leia but she was in-fact the same age. Lysa sprang up, standing in front of Rhoen. The woman didn't immediately notice them, but her blond hair was clearly apparent; Lysa didn't know her.

It was a few moments when the woman realised that there were others here. 'Oh, sorry, I didn't know anyone else was here.'

'I'm Captain Marek.' She began to dress, turning her back to them as she did so, talking in her no nonsense fashion. 'You do realise that this is the woman's changing room. If you're having a spat, let's not do it here. For one, General Organa is about to host a big meeting in the hangar bay and I for one wouldn't want to interfere with that.' As she drew on her jumpsuit, Marek looked over her shoulder. 'Unless you're with the reinforcements Chief of State Omas was due to send.'

'And so Corona Lead and his XO will need to be at the meeting anyway.'

TAG: @galactic-vagabond22, HanSolo29, Ktala, NickLitYouAFlame
---
IC: Boba Fett
Yaga Minor

The Destroyers closed down their weaponry, and they on their way past them. The occupants of both ships would feel the eyes of several hundred thousand people upon them, and then the Captain chimed in. 'Sir, I do not think that you are going to catch them in time. Do you -'

A digitised voice cut across the channel. 'Of course you aren't going to, Captain.' A choking sound came across the line, and the voice seemed to step closer, as if he had been riled from his chamber and just arrived. 'Fett is aboard the second ship with another bounty hunter, and the Firespray is being flew by other hunters. All are complicit in the death of Grand Moff Flennic and untold damage to the shipyards of Yaga Minor.'

'Lord Ren, I,' a gasp, 'I was merely -'

'Yes, I know. Following orders. Pathetic.' There was a thud, in all likelihood, Fett judged, the captains body dropping to the ground. 'Open fire on them, maximum firepower. Now.'

But it was too late. They were beyond the cordon, and free of the gravity well. As Fett fed the two ships coordinates, he watched as Atropos and Susular jumped. But only for a handful of minutes, as they were jarred from hyperspace; three Star Destroyers were present, all Imperial-class, and no Interdictors were present but they had nonetheless been pulled from hyperspace. Fett opened the line, again unilaterally in spite of it being Atropos' ship. 'Rendezvous with the lead ship, the older one. That is our ride.'

'I'll meet you in the hangar bay.' He paused, and spoke once more. 'Don't crash Slave I.' Fett looked at Atropos as he unbuckled. 'Your next patron is here, and I expect he had the answer to who hired you with what I have already sent him.' Again, without permission, as he closed the line. Fett, also knowing Atropos, spoke to Atropos one last time. 'Don't shoot him when you see him. He's on your side.'

Fett paid Atropos little heed as he padded out of the room, conscious that he had the slightest limp. Redoubling his efforts to conceal it, he collected what gear he had put down, and waited.

In the hangar, the abandoned hangar save for one man, old, but not to the point of senility, was Grand Admiral Gilad Pellaeon.

TAG: @Mitth-Fisto, Tim Battershell
---
IC: Ulic Qel-Droma
En route to Yavin

The Holocron of Ulic Qel-Droma felt the tantalising idea of being restored to a body for a moment. With it, his goals could truly be achieved. He couldn't keep his pleasure from his face. 'I would most certainly like that, I must say.'

The image shrugged. 'But for what en? You are older than I, yes I have been an apprentice to a Sith Lord before, and you are the founder of the Sith Order - a forgotten founder at that.' The Holocron smiled. 'I know your stories, know that you and other Sith have tried rituals invoking whole planets before - and I went to Ambria, and saw it go wrong there too. Do we have an objective?'

'Do you need me to call you master?'

A careful smile, again. 'I am a rebellious student, after all. I did invade Coruscant without permission!'

TAG: Darth Dreadwar
---
IC: Kanan
Lothal

Dismissed, but not gone, Kanan returned to the forefront to speak to K'Kruhk. 'It's time to go. If a Dark Jedi accesses the Temple, it will resist. I have seen it before... Before Malachor.'

Malachor was not a word one wanted to hear in common conversation. One of the original Sith homeworlds, it ranked with Moraband, Ziost and Dromund Kaas as the source of innumerable threats and disasters. In some ways more than the others, as the system had multiple inhabitable planets within it, and Malachor III had unleashed a plague upon the Old Republic centuries after Malachor V was destroyed, let alone before Kana visited the system and twilight fell upon the apprentice.

Kanan winced at the memories, in spite of what had followed. 'There is a way deeper into the Temple and through the tunnels. The Empire shouldn't know about them.'

The Holocron seemed to resist the idea. 'I don't know what to make of it, either. It shouldn't be, but it is. I have never heard of a Darth Librium.'

'I have,' came a voice. The voice of Luke Skywalker, who was all of a sudden standing beside them, not luminous like Kanan, but there, a vision, surely, but beside K'Kruhk, his bearded visage appearing weary and wary of the dark Galaxy. 'It was my Sith name; what I considered taking while in the thrall of the clone Emperor.'

Luke mused. 'But the Holocron predates it, I can feel that.' The older man looked to the Whiphid. 'Through the Temples I can speak to you; you know this. Your friend Tholme has happened upon the tomb of a Sith known as Ku'ar Danar. It is one of the more dangerous tombs on Yavin - one which I tamed, but I did not feel the need to head into. It is imperative that you follow him...'

'... And take that Holocron to Leia, who will be at Yavin and desperately need your help very, very soon.'

Luke lidded his eyes, as if in a trance. 'You and your Hidden Jedi Order. Now is the time. Juno is on the move, I can tell. You must be, too.'

The Grandmaster of the New Jedi Order - not yet crowned that, but known by all as the Jedi who had made everything possible, regarded K'Kruhk with eyes far older than even the face within it showed. 'I have faith in you, Master. I have made you tarry, to listen to me, and I apologise for that intervention, and for the time it has cost you...'

'The enemy is here.'

Sure enough, the sound of Stormtroopers filled the cavern. And a burning lightsaber.

TAG: BobaMatt


Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

 

Duke Praxon
Hangar of the Naritus, Yavin Orbit

His gimmick had worked. Praxon knew as soon as he had produced the shades from his pocket, Wyn wouldn’t be able to resist such an easy target. He smiled knowingly as her cold exterior melted away before his eyes and she slipped back into her old self, complete with sarcastic remarks and light jabs.

“I’d like to think that even Han Solo could appreciate true style,” he observed dryly in response to her suggestion to get ‘in-character.’ This prompted him to pause and model the shades in a rather oafish manner. When his act had failed to garner the attention he was seeking, he finally relented to her wishes by removing the shades and tucking them away.

By this time, Wyn had joined him at the ramp, where Praxon noted she paused to regard the fallen Rodian he had taken out earlier. Despite their lightheartedness, the unconscious man was still a solemn reminder of what was at stake here. As he followed her gaze to stare down at the the man, he swallowed, feeling that rise of uncertainty beginning to build back up in his chest.

“Come on then, Mr. Solo,” Wyn called playfully after a moment, jolting him from his thoughts. “Your wife awaits.”

“My wife…” he mused with a scoff, his face downturning into a frown. “I totally forgot about that part.”

It was a shame, too. The way Wyn was standing there with that alluring smile and her arm proffered to accept his own was certainly tempting. But what kind of message would that send? It was almost too easy. Besides, if he was truly honest with himself, he almost preferred it better when it was more of a game.

Narrowing his eyes allusively, he approached her at a slow gait, acting as if he was going to take her arm, but at the last second, he pulled away and simply walked past. “Sorry, Madam,” he drawled suggestively, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “If we’re going to play the part, we’re going to do it right. We don’t want the General getting jealous, do we?”

His hand brushed past her hip as he continued down the ramp to meet the General.

TAG: Sinrebirth, galactic-vagabond422, Ktala, NickLitYouAFlame

 

Chapter Nine

Now, again

The defeated task force from the Battle of Eshan limped back to First Order space, but not before Admiral Dorja was required to address Supreme Leader Snoke. Beside him was Kylo Ren, putting to sleep rumours that he had perished during the destruction of the Starkiller base.

Sweat mottled Dorja's brow, but he drew himself up and went down on one knee as the images solidified, knowing he would feel the motion when he stood but also aware that deference was the call of the day. 'Supreme Leader, allow me -'

His throat was suddenly constricted, and Dorja reached for his throat with one hand, a second stabilising himself in his vulnerable pose.

Ren's electronically touched voice broke the choking. 'The Supreme Leader will speak, you will listen.'

Leaning back in his throne, Snoke intoned. 'The entire strategy that I have spent years fine tuning required our forces to steer clear of large scale engagements in-case one of our Destroyers was successfully crippled or captured, so as to conceal the receivers located within the ships hull, co-opting the HoloNet through themselves and making that our own.'

A pause, as Dorja gulped down air, but it was only for long enough for him to partially recover and seen maintained the pressure. Snoke continued, unperturbed, regaling the contours of his scheme to someone who clearly was going to die as soon as he had greater understanding. 'With unerring calculation our forces have been dedicated to battles that they will most certainly win, tempering the current generation of inexperienced First Order officers and crewers beside war veterans from the former Remnant. Without fail our ambushes of Republic task forces have been modulated with that in mind, giving our Navy and Army opportunity to test themselves against a galaxy which has experienced galactic war relatively recently.'

Snoke finally leaned forward in his throne, towering over Dorja, who was released for this moment. 'So why would you opt to engage in a battle you could not guarantee victory?'

'Supreme Leader, if I could -'

'You may not!' Snoke himself gestured, and Dorja clasped both hands to his throat as he levitated off the deck. 'You may not say anything, because you have jeopardised my entire stratagem!'

Dorja was being choked, but seemed to gain enough purchase to squeeze words through his larynx. 'But, but, I only continued the engagement... On your...' A gasp, another contortion of his face, eyes bulging, but Dorja forced the words through. 'Own orders!'

Snoke opened his hand, depositing Dorja to the floor, and for a long moment he hacked and wheezed to himself.

Ren went to move, pointing an accusing finger, before seemingly realising he could not cut down Dorja from inside the Unknown Regions. 'Do you suggest that the Supreme Leader invited you to ruin our entire strategy!'

Dorja pushed himself off the floor, standing shakily. 'I was assured more reinforcements were en route! That I need only hold the Echani firm and more ships would arrive! Only one did, and only from Operation Forefront! I learned that the other Destroyers in the area had received orders direct from you to stay on their assigned positions!' Dorja marshalled his pride. 'I could only assume you had some plan in mind to gather our foes in one place?'

Snoke stared at Dorja, panting slightly, his hands massaging his throat. 'Did the orders come through with my authorisation code?'

'Yes, Supreme Leader. I double checked it myself before I opened the link!' Dorja trembled slightly. 'All that was different was that you had... You had your cowl up!'

'An affectation of the late Emperor, in his guise as Darth Sidious,' said Snoke, almost thoughtfully. Suddenly his face became a grave one. 'Excellent, Admiral Dorja, you have proven to me that you are capable of following my orders when they do not prove logical to a mortal man. That foresight is what I require to push my strategies beyond the envelope, to befuddle even my greatest opponents, especially the accursed Luke Skywalker.'

Snoke paused. 'You will be able to backtrack where my communication originated from.'

'Yes, sir, but ordinarily you forbid that.'

'In this instance I do not. Patch up your hulls and withdraw your ships to my location.'

'The Yavin system, sir? I understood that system was not covered by Forward Command as it was unlikely that the Resistance would take up location over a historic base with a connection to Skywalker.'

Snoke's face did something, and Dorja seemed to acknowledge the weakness of this medium of enlarged communication; it showed every wobble of your expression. 'It was chosen on the basis of that. I am the Supreme Leader; occasionally I require separation from both the Resistance and First Order to adequately process my plans.'

'I understand, Supreme Leader.'

'Do not fail me again, Admiral.'

Kylo Ren looked up to Snoke's larger form, and for a brief moment Dorja had the distinct impression that the man was almost cringing, but Dorja had no idea what for. He had passed the test, the greater plan would now emerge.

But Dorja felt it too, an icy dollop of fear.

What was going on in the galaxy? How could military strategy be discarded so contemptuously by these madmen? What failure, when he had just been praised by the Supreme Leader for following orders?

---
Some number of years before Azgath N'Dul spilled the blood of faux kin on the decks of the Bellicose, the young noble, of some minor significance in hierarchical stature by virtue of equally significant blood, stood proud and tall aboard the bridge of a similar vessel, raking the void between the stars with proud eyes as he surveyed the scene beyond the viewport.

Mobus.

Merely the name, rippling across his thoughts, brought a thrill, web-like veins secreting adrenaline as his heart quickened. So he was here. He was finally here.

The bustle of the crew around him meant little; it could scarcely be heard over the pounding in Azgath's ears, as he considered the ramifications of his discovery. Shadowy leaders in the military junta that was taking shape as the First Order had dispatched many to chase tales of forgotten power, seeking advantage in the war that would surely come, and Azgath himself had brought his wits, sharpened and honed at the Shey Tapani University on Procopia, to researching one such tale among many. It had been something he had become familiar with in youth, through his father's obsession with Arkania and the relics left by some foul distortion of Jedi - Seth, or some such - thousands of years in the past. Some memories had bubbled to the surface, evidently, in the course of his research, as he recalled a whispered legend, born of some writing in an extinct language found in a weathered book on Vjun in the ruins of Bast Castle, of a hyperdrive that had lent mobility to an entire planet. A living planet.

The obvious conclusion was that this text spoke of Zonama Sekot, that any who had lived through the Yuuzhan Vong War with an eye for detail and intelligence would be familiar with, yet N'Dul could hardly see how a millennia-old book could speak of an organic planet that had not yet arrived in the galaxy. Nor did the text seem to hint at a literally living planet, but rather... something else. Something that had the power to destroy worlds, something that, if the text was to be believed, had laid waste to the entire system of Nilrebmah in the ancient course of a by-gone era.

An unwitting technological predecessor to Starkiller Base, perhaps? What else could a mobile planet, home to something that could cleanse worlds of life, entail? Suffice it to say, that whatever it was, the fledgling First Order could use it, and now, after months of tireless combing through scattered reports and ancient fragments, Azgath, noble, archaeologist and officer, had found what he was looking for. All of the glory would be his, and even Hux's eye might be gained, if what lay here remotely resembled the picture he had constructed in his mind.

Mobus.

There it hung, suspended in the abeyance of the void, a grey and desolate thing scarred with deep rifts, promising fortune, prestige and a promotion, no doubt.

It grew larger, ever larger in the viewport as the Star Destroyer Dread Warrior - a trite name, N'Dul would agree with you - cut through space like a spear, encroaching upon the exponentially stronger gravitational pull of the world. He had no ears for the commands of the Captain, as the Dread Warrior slowed in its approach. If only Sallacine was here, to witness the moment we would remember as our rise, Azgath thought. But no, the dear Ensign had fallen ill, and so had been reassigned at the last moment. At last, Captain Norax's terse voice broke his reverie, as he reported the Dread Warrior had entered geosynchronous orbit above what scans had indicated was the only settlement on Mobus, and that N'Dul's shuttle was ready to disembark.

N'Dul began to turn to face the Captain behind him, his mouth opening to speak... And then with a rapidity that brooked no room for reaction, something - nay, someone - was upon him.

---
Azgath N'Dul existed. There was more of him, on the bridge, and here. So much of his being was held back from him, excluded into another place, somewhere, elusive, even as the entirety of his mind was laid out before him and subject to the careful touch of his enemy. For there was little doubt that the presence that pressed upon him was an enemy, oh no, no doubt about that.

Azgath watched, and felt nothing but idle curiosity.

He sawhis mind laid out in front of him. It shifted from shape to shape in the way of something in a dream, somehow without ever changing while at the same time being in constant flux. He could see hormonal drives, deep impulses, passing memories, flighty sensations, and everything else that made up his cognition, but that knowledge was far from him. Azgath was a speck, a fragment, a mote of consciousness.

The presence was there. His enemy. Azgath knew that, somewhere and somehow, far, far away. But it didn’t matter. With the flicker of self left to him, Azgath observed.

"Greetings, child," the presence spoke to him. The presence, that had been without form, and void, had coalesced into the mockery of a man, a shadowy figure with faint tattoos stretching around a rictus maw and eyes as black and as inexorable as a singularity, shedding light and darkness in even currents in the stark coldness of the void. "I am Ku'ar Danar."

Azgath absorbed this information, and felt it pass through his consciousness, out into the larger part of his mind, where it met with a shiver of fear. The thrill of recognition, at some impossibility, thrown into stark contrast by the snippets of fanciful history regarding Nilrebmah he had consumed, and the introduction just posed before him. Only a sliver of Azgath was aware, though, and it had no room for such complexities as reaction or speech.

The being stepped out through Azgath’s mind, shifting gently to shoulder his way past rippling curtains of curds that reeked of whiteness. "Fear not, young noble. Harm shall not befall thee. Only... change."

The shadow slid his fingers into a white ripple, and parted it. He looked curiously at the parting. He smiled. "Kylo... Interesting." Ku'ar plucked at a grey burr, and lifted it up for inspection. It drew a tangle of its fellows along, like a springy mat of thorns. The entity examined the section of burrs. His face changed from curiosity to surprise, as though he’d understood something. "Ah, so that is who he is?" A pause, as he plucked at nearby bristles and burrs, contemplatively. "Much here, that one so minor as thou should scarcely know."

Ku'ar dropped the vinegar-smelling lights in his hands, allowing them to settle back into a glowing three-dimensional web that rippled with pulses of energy. There had been no transition from fibrous thorn-tangle to web of lights, and somehow both were still true. Ku'ar traced a handful of the web’s strands, an acid tang accompanying every pulse of light under his careful fingers, until he reached a bright node. "The Order thou servest, plucked from the legacy of one of my brethren?" Ku'ar queried, mildly, snatching at a bony protuberance, pulling at it until it stretched like yellowed taffy. It distended from the great knobby mass of bone, and it seemed to impart meaning to the shadowed man as he worked it with his fingers.

Azgath watched from some other place, both here and there. His world was constrained to the moment, as though he were a brute animal. It was shallow and wonderful.

"Yes, a realm felled by the nexus of prophecy, all surely referring to one child become Lord among Sith." The dark one shook his head, chuckling. He walked to a new place along the outside of the bony mass, and touched a polished knob that stuck out prominently. "And did his Lord survive? Let us see."

He pushed the knob aside and scooped his hand into the surface of the bone, distending it as he forced his fingers deeper inside. He drew out a thick handful of whiteish bone, sculpted out in a column by his careful but insistent hand. "Rebirth?" He examined the thoughts. "Some mawkish combination of old arcana and new science? And... felled by... ah... the Son of the Suns," another chuckle. "No greater tale than the tale of reality, where I awaken to find countless prophecies fulfilled in surely fated simultaneity."

Azgath, a mote of pleasant consciousness, observed these strange words with distant interest. He could see changes in the whispering rattle of long serrated teeth moving in the jaw that now represented his mind; Ku'ar held one long incisor, but others were moving in a swirl up and down, revealing in some unimaginable fashion that a part of Azgath was upset at this utmost and insistent violation. The mote that was Azgath saw himself struggling mightily, and finding no purchase.

Ku'ar swept his hand forward, releasing the enormous tooth in his hand, letting it slide from his grip and settle back into its rattling place. He sighed. "How much I have missed, in my long sleep! No matter. I am here, now... I am here, fear not, and shall be here with you, forever."

The fraction of Azgath that was awake, the mild observer, saw motion within itself. That distant mind swelled in shudders, setting the constellation of grease into a rhythm. It pulsed and built to a crescendo, striving mightily to take possession of itself. A powerful tremble ran through the noble's entire mind, as smoky strands of stony darkness began to crawl like spiders, dance dance dance, across the periphery of his being.

Azgath and Ku'ar observed, one in mounting horror, the other in calmness that was rapidly becoming dark glee. Their conclusion was the same: resistance was futile. There was no denying the ruinous power that had seized him, caressed him, even now sunk its claws into the depths of his soul, twisting and subduing.

Azgath's mind subsided. It became quiet. It conceded.

"Now," Ku'ar said, reaching out to guide two droplets of fat into each other, his smile stretching to a pernicious grin, "you must become mine."

Azgath N'Dul observed his master, and felt nothing but idle curiosity... to the end.

--

On the bridge of the Dread Warrior, the young noble's turn completed itself. The words he had been about to utter strangled in his throat, for mirthless laughter to issue forth in their place. Darth Dreadwar stared out through the new slit-windows of his vessel of flesh, and laughed and laughed and laughed.


In this Pawn, I am reborn.

--
Now, 34 ABY

Ulic Qel-Droma mused. In life, he had been the eternal apprentice, and so he knew that it would not especially impede him. A body? That was the aim.

As to the rest... 'We are due to arrive soon, but I must caution you; the Jedi is beyond your current Pawn, unless you have another trick up your sleeve, so we must tread carefully. I shall guide you, as much as possible.'

The Holocron paused. 'And as to your tomb. It answers how I knew that you had not been active for seven millennia; you do not remember madness you had four millennia ago, and so I knew that if you had been active for all of those four millennia you would have disintegrated by now.'

'Surely you have wondered why you have taken so very long to recover, why you cannot make an avatar as potent as your actual strength?' Ulic's tone became gentle. 'It is because you are not Ku'ar Danar. You are but a slither of him, the piece that was torn free in the ritual disaster. You were no fool, to confine yourself to the monolith, that was an unhappy accident. You would have been more potent, smarter. Your mistake in the ritual put back your own designs three millennia, and interfered with the Hundred Years Darkness that was supposed to have ended the Jedi.'

A pause. 'The rest of you is concealed with your heart. You may have allowed Dathka Garush to create a Heart, and to fill it with the souls of all of those he killed, but you, you took the idea and poured all life on Nilrebmah into that Heart, a perfected amulet, not one you invented, no, because you never let someone else do the hard work for you - a heart you modified, amplified, so that with sufficient power it would not just simply sustain you after death, no, it would empower you. I spoke to Ku'ar Danar, the true and full Dark Lord of the Sith, and he agreed to teach me all he knew.'

'And I agreed to help him overthrow Exar Kun and use the Temple of Sacrifice to resurrect you once and for all.'

Ulic Qel-Droma let that knowledge hang in the air. 'And that is what I directed my Massassi to build a Temple to, for my guilt to undo me.' A sneer. 'I have heard how an unknown spirit, more powerful than the shades of Sadow, Hord, Kun or Ragnos, all of whom gathered on the fourth moon of Yavin when the Order of Revan sought to use the Temple of Sacrifice to resurrect Darth Vitiate, who troubled the Jedi and Sith that assembled to stop him.

'The Unknown Spirit, they called him, but he simply defended his tomb, knowing that now was not the time to act, in the middle of the Great Galactic War, knowing that Exar Kun had already acted before he in corrupting the Jedi Temple, knowing that the Jedi had already mastered how to annihilate a Sith spirit and he needed to wait until they were chased from the world to make himself active again; and that it was only a matter of time before he found someone to connect the dots.'

'And he did, when Durron returned to Yavin and looked for understanding from the Sith Temples there, from the crucible from which he had emerged a Jedi Master, and with absolute subtlety, nudged Durron to follow from his training with the Sith Master, to the Sith apprentice.'

'And I know this because the true Ku'ar Danar attached a slither of his shade to Durron, an echo, as if a message in seed partners, for me, an echo which faded from Durron, for impossible it is to make an anchor of an unwilling host, let alone a Jedi, without crushing his light, and there was too large a risk that Durron would recognise the threat and undo him there and then.'

'For he has foreseen that his remnant, a piece of him, was on the move; in fact it was your arrival in this timezone which awoke him, within his Heart. He is ready for you, Ku'ar Danar. He is ready to be whole, and to remake your body anew, with your Heart, and your soul, unified.'

TAG: Darth Dreadwar
---
Brandl
Lothal Jedi Temple

Inquisitor Brandl had not expected the Jedi to speak up against him. Stormtroopers turned their heads to the source of the noise, their HUD telling Brandl what the acoustics of the Temple had prevented the human ear from ascertaining.

He gestured his troopers to hold; he had no interest in seeing his men killed unnecessarily. 'History reflects where we come from, Jedi. It reflects the tragedy visited upon the Empire by the Galactic Concordance. The narrative that painted every commoner, every soldier, every member of the Empire as a villain, perpetuating a myth that we were all evil, which is patently untrue.'

Brandl followed the craggy path with his troopers behind him. The way was so narrow that they would have limited usefulness anyway. 'The Empire was the scapegoat for what happened, which was as much the failure of the rebellion to effect change without resulting in terrorism. Escalation is the only answer to the face of a guerrilla faction which does not defend the civilians who dedicate themselves to open rebellion, against the misguided notion that the Empire was evil simply because the Jedi decided it was so and launched a coup against Palpatine; just because. The man was fine for thirteen years and all of sudden they try to take him down? Because he refused to accept their assurances that the Clone Wars were over?'

Brandl was building momentum with his oratory skills, his troopers nodding to themselves, their history lessons reinforcing what he had said. When Brandl had the whole picture, the picture his father had hidden from him, it was very hard not to see reality for what it was, especially when the Empire would have squashed flat the Yuuzhan Vong and saved trillions.

'What say you, Jedi? Do you know the stories of your Order? I am sure Skywalker tells a different story. Of course not - missing for years, abandoning his Order, and you.' Brandl had no idea who he was dealing with, and would naturally assume he had a New Jedi to hand, not an Old.

Could an Old Jedi answer him any differently?

TAG: BobaMatt
---
IC: Strang
Hangar, Naritus, fourth moon orbit

Elias still hadn't left the central area, probably wrestling with some internal crisis of heart, something Jedi that had caused them to abandon the galaxy for the last several years. Strang shrugged, and palmed the ramp open, leaning over Bre to do so.

--
Inside the ship

And so, Elias sat within the ship, and the Galaxy wondered where he would stand. If he would stand at all.

---
With Praxon

Wyn pulled a face at the Duke, amused but playing the offended party. She was less than a flinch away from pulling her arm away and reminding Praxon that he was supposed to be in character and Han Solo would never have addressed his wife with a woman on his arm, and he did it before her! A grin on her face, she simply followed a half step behind him.

Leia's attention was about to turn to Rhoen and Lysa as they exited the woman's changing room and Lysa introduced herself, a quirk to her face as she was poised to make an amused comment about appropriateness, but then she saw Han - or Praxon. She froze, half her face turned towards the pair, half facing the ramp, and then BB-8 broke the tableau by beeping a hello at Fred, who began excitedly chatting back.

Leia swallowed her surprise. 'Major Ematt, have Strang take you to a medcenter and I will direct medics to help with the rest of team.' Ematt went to speak, but Leia flashed him a smile. 'Debrief me later.'

'Rhoen, Lysa, Duke Praxon, Wyn,' she paused, as Fred and BB-8 filled the rest of the story, 'and Bre, come with me.' She turned, walking to the YT-1300 transport to the rear of the hangar, flanked by three starfighters; an X-wing, an A-wing and a TIE variant which actually preceded the designs known as the Eta-5 starfighter, or, a Jedi Interceptor. 'Let me introduce you to the Millennium Falcon.'

'And to the mission that I will need all of your help resolving.'

A grimness to her voice settled in. 'The mission which will end this war hear and now. Familiarise yourself,' said Leia, 'Lysa, Rhoen, choose yourself a fighter each if you would, and get to know the others,but I shall meet you in the galley.'

'Han and I need to catch up.'

She offered the crook of her arm to him. 'If you walk a lady.'

All the while this happened, she didn't appear to notice the blond woman leave the woman's changing room and sneak off deeper into the ship, though Leia would have recognised her as a friend, if she did.

TAG: @Galactic_vagabond422, HanSolo29, NickLitYouAFlame, Ktala OOC: Let off some steam and interact, though Leia and Han will be replying soon enough.
---
IC: Kyle Katarn
Drifting towards Eshan[/b]

When Kodo uncertainly responded that he was of the Jedi Order, Kyle sent a burst of pride through the meld. With demons abounding, for the young man to say that aloud was very promising.

'There is no Jedi Order,' said the Echani officer back. 'It died, after the Yuuzhan Vong War. But here we have two or even three Jedi Masters in our system, an Admiral, a Senator, a host of Knights, smugglers and children of the Jedi... And you.'

'And all it has brought to us is a battle that we did not ask for, but we have fought out of deference for our treaties with the New Republic, a New Republic which may or may not even exist, with the capital destroyed, the Senate vanquished, and the High Command and entire First Fleet radioactive ash.'

'So tell me, Kodo Prine, why should I accept a Master, three more Knights and you here, why should I not advise the leaders of Eshan and the Sisters that we shouldn't seal our borders and secure the bruised and bloodied Sixth Fleet for ourselves?'

Kyle Katarn hadn't expected the General to strike so harshly. It only now, belatedly, came to mind that he hadn't told Kodo what had happened two weeks ago.

The Holocron crowed. Oh how you have been, shall we say, betrayed, little Kodo. They picked you up because they needed you now. But before? They didn't need a murderer. How long until they have used you up, I wonder?

--
In orbit

Corran rushed to his feet to check on the thrown man, as clearly the other was not going to be of any use after Vincent was finished with him. The man had several internal injuries, and Corran could feel he was fading, very, very fast. The Jedi Master felt a pang of inadequacy when he thought that Clighal could have done something with what little spark was left in their assailant. In a moment or so, he was gone. Corran pursed his lips, and removed his mask.

He had expected to see one of the seven Force users, Ben Solo among them, who had formed the Knights of Ren. Instead he saw an unfamiliar face and pursed his lips. His investigative eye, however, noticed that much of the skin had been recently run over, as if tattooed and it had been removed. No, wait, there was a patch of red, black tattoo behind an eye which had been missed. All that Corran could immediately recall was the art style of Darth Maul, himself feeling the influence of the Sith presence on Dathomir and Iridonia, the Brotherhood of Darkness having transplanted Zabrak to Dathomir insofar as much as they had with Chiss to Thule, and other examples.

A Sith, or a Nightbrother? Save for an unsubstantiated about Lumiya during the Yuuzhan Vong War; a rumour Kyle had followed up into the Cloak of the Sith, ending the threat, there hasn't been a full Sith influence since the Disciples of Ragnos, nearly two and a half decades ago. So a Nightbrother, hired by someone? Corran mused.

This deduction took all of a moment, and he realised that meant these 'Knights' were a ploy and there was only one word on in the direction that the third Knight had fled of note that Corran was aware of. 'Senator Treen.'

With a beat of the Force, he took off in that direction...

... And found a corpse and a wrecked room. Treen looked a sickly shade of green, and almost immediately on the arrival of Corran, and, presumably, Vincent, held out the data chip. Her voice was hesitant. 'My aide palmed this to me... They said they were after this.'

'There was a-another one, in a robe... '

The Senator swallowed, trying to regain herself. 'But he fled from, um, Lady Callista.' Belatedly, now the battle was over and such things could be picked up. A full security team arrive, armed to the teeth.

The lead guard saluted Vincent. 'Sir, the battle is over...' He eyed Corran. 'And we have the Errant Venture asking to speak to you or Master Horn, a Mon Calamari Senator looking, again, for an audience with you both when she is discharged from the medcenter, and five other Jedi in-system under the command of a Master Katarn have arrived at the edge of the debris field...'

He dropped his voice.

'And I understand that the General wants to speak to you and Callista, and then you and all of the Jedi you have brought to the system. She's not very happy, and...'

His voice dropped even lower, as the officer scratched his head.

'Well, the chain of command is a little split as Admiral Niathal has already asked to speak to whomever in the Echani government sponsored the mercy mission to Hosnian.'

Treen spoke into the whispering. 'Can someone please take this datachip from me?'

TAG: dARTh wanderguard, Kahn_Iceay
---
IC: Gilad Pellaeon
The Right to Rule, reorienting to jump

Grand Admiral Pellaeon adopted a stoic expression as the four bounty hunters, three Mandalorian, one Atropos, walked down their respective ramps. While admittedly it was rather presumptuous to assume he would be safe in their presence, Pellaeon also recognised that in all likelihood he wouldn't've been able to stop them from killing him if they put their collective minds to it.

The ageing Admiral acknowledged his ship jumping into hyperspace but didn't let it show, as he lifted a hand to Fett. 'Well?'

Producing a datapad, Fett started to talk. 'Triangulating on the three sets of data for the Getelles hit gives us the Yavin system as the source of the transmission, but I expect the target is on the move.'

'Normally, yes,' Pellaeon said neutrally. 'However a recently intercepted communication from Snoke tells us he's still on the edge of the Yavin system. Unfortunately I haven't been able to track down Leia to tell her as much.'

'Wanting a few Jedi on the job?' Beviin said, nastily. 'We charge extra for working with them.'

'I am sure,' said Pellaeon, casting a gaze over the others. 'However, I am struggling to see the worth in hiring hunters who believe in collateral damage.' Before any of them, and especially Susular, spoke, his expression hardened. 'Most of them may have been First Order personnel since Flennic all but handed over the shipyards to Snoke, and I won't miss Flennic, but I expect you to minimise the loss of civilian life in the future.'

'Assuming they take the job.'

Pellaeon's expression softened again. 'Of course.' He moved his arms from behind his back, pointing a datapad and transmitting data to their systems and HUDs as applicable. 'The job is to kill Snoke, in short. I have assembled all the data you need for the job. I am happy to offer the Right of Rule and her crew as a distraction, but ideally not at the unnecessary cost of their lives - but Snoke has to go down.'

He turned his datapad upwards, and the holoproj birthed a sphere shaped construct in blue light, but surrounded by what appeared to be a rocky exterior. 'Snoke's personal vessel is built on the principals of a spherical ship, but embedded within an asteroid hull to provide a cover, stealing from Yuuzhan Vong design. There is access to exterior via one point, but we can only ascertain that the design was worked on from the Yevethan thrustship, which suggests a connection we have not had opportunity to investigate beyond sending a probe droid to check for any ship build up over N'Zoth, which has yet to report in.'

'If you take it, you can name your payment. I have access to the banking of the First Order. I have a stormtrooper team trained to assist but will defer to your expertise.'

Fett looked to the others, and Beviin padded over to him. 'Down to you two, lads.' The latter looked to Pellaeon. 'There was supposed to be one more who got the job to whack Getelles. Where is he?'

'I don't know,' said Pellaeon. 'All I have is reports of Phennir taking a squadron to investigate my further communication with him; I can only assume we are slightly compromised and move quickly.'

'With your friends?'

'The Mon Mothma and Elegos A'Kla?' Pellaeon shook his head. 'They are en route to the Core to track down Omas from data I have them. And before you ask, I know Snoke is there because he gave orders to Dorja to hold the line at Eshan, which has, by all accounts, successfully fended off the First Order.'

'But...' Pellaeon said. 'If you take this job, or not, you must stay off the HoloNet. It has been compromised by Snoke - with no government, he has taken control of communications instead. Otherwise you are welcome to have that information for free.'

Pellaeon turned to them all, gauging faces, where apparent. 'The Empire needs this mission to save it from the First Order, and the Galaxy from it also. If I cannot speak to your pocket, perhaps I can your sense of honour.'

TAG: Tim Battershell, @Mitth-Fisto


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