Regent Zell fumed as Captain Fiyar Dlar bowed before him.
"Regent, I come with news of success!" the Captain proudly exclaimed and the old man frowned.
"How do you figure that?" he retorted and the Captain paused, as the reality of the Regent's mood sunk in. Of course, the Regent had cause to be in a sour mood as the Empire had completely pulled out of the space of the newly reformed Chiss Ascendancy.
The success of Emperor Chaddwick Fearsons in the Jutraalian Rebellion coupled with the growing animosity with the League of Nations added to the problems created by the disappearance of Emperor Hyfe and the mauling the Imperial Fleet had taken recently helped stiffen the spine of the old Chiss families who organized beyond the Empire's farthest borders to stage a return to their rightful home. The Imperial garrison and fleet stationed on Csilla fought bravely but with the wavering of the Mid Rim Protectorate, the destruction rained down on Yaga Minor by an unknown alien race and the fall of the Borderland to the Reavers made supporting the defense of Csilla problematic in the sense that defending the far-flung world was a pipe dream.
But the Regent Zell still rallied with the thought that if the Empire could expand by taking more planets in that general area, they could keep some sort of infrastructure in place to be used later as a staging area when the Empire returned. The most logical step to carry out that thought would be the seizing of the Cren Alliance.
But the inept Captain Dlar had seen to it that the idea died an early death and so Regent Zell, after much ranting, decided to cut his losses by recalling the Imperial assets and ordering the destruction of the environmental mirror units and satellite placed in orbit by the New Republic (Fire, Ice and Shadows). Nearly a decade of temperate climate enjoyed by the inhabitants of the world was brutally interrupted as the controlling units exploded causing a severe drop in temperature almost instantly. The near flash-freezing killed millions of plant and animal life rendering almost all technology (unprepared for the sudden change) nothing more than inert metal.
"I have concluded a trade agreement with the Cren that will..." the Captain, oblivious to Zell's thoughts, replied with some pride.
"Do nothing for us since our presence in Csilla is now non-existent!" interrupted the Regent.
"But.. but.. you ordered.." the Captain started, unwisely trying to throw the blame on the Regent instead of humbly groveling at Zell's feet, kissing repeatedly his boots.
"I asked for the Cren Alliance," snapped the Regent, "and I got a fucking alliance with the fucking Cren! I wanted those five limbed bastards working on our assembly lines, you fucking moron!"
"Well, if you want to take the Cren Alliance, we can still.." the Captain began and Zell motioned to Aeacus and the Royal Guard swiftly lit his lightsaber cutting the Captain's head off.
Zell gave a satisfied nod. "Thank you for cauterizing the fool's wound. That's all I need is for Hyfe to come back from wherever the fuck he is and find some idiot's blood all over his fucking carpet."
The star collapsed drawing closer the mechanism that would capture the inevitable release of power once a certain threshold was crossed. The gravity pull was enough to force the units to interlock, the power ignited with the resulting maglock was enough to power several small governments within the galaxy if harnessed.
The problem was that the power generated by the mechanism itself was finite and needed the 'kick-start' of a supernova to begin it's self sustaining energy pattern to maintain the interlock.
Without the interlock, there would be no shield. Without the interlock, there would be no ability to project a system-wide mass shadow. Without the interlock, there would be no trans-galactic wormhole.
The position of the mechanism was permanent.
Dameo
Heir Raktus was the many. Heir Raktus was the one.
He had many faces, many minds, many thoughts...
One purpose.
There was always the One Purpose.
From his vantage point on the capital world of what was once known as the Black Dragon Empire, the birthplace of the Daemun, the home of the Taj, Dameo, he was witness to perhaps not the climax but a climax within the One Purpose.
A bright light suddenly appeared. A supernova.
At the precise time, at the precise location.... carrying forth the predicted outcome to a most precise degree.
For such was the mind of Heir Raktus.
For such was the ability of the Daemun.
The galaxy's walls were coming down and before him the secrets of the universe would be his.
In a distant future from now, in a far away place, a similar god's will would be imposed upon a city that stood as an obstacle to His Purpose.
The Dragon worlds were eerily devoid of any sounds. No manufactured sounds, no natural sounds....
Even the wind seemed sterile as it moved about the empty worlds..
The Farfalen were released to chart their own course as the Daemun turned to other priorities. Without the strong arm of a unified purpose, the Farfalen government dissolved into a series of regional conflicts vying for position with none ending up the clear victor.
But Vejuun thought not about the Taj's leftovers, P’az’a’ra’gan (Cree'Ar general word for planet, used in a derogatory fashion) but about the Nexus machines being set up for his newest creations.
When the final component was in place, the system was activated and the Cor'ai'var (Force Energy amplified and seized from those Jedi Corps members) was poured into the inert ground while the Cree'Ar scientist waited with anxious anticipation.
The power crackled and sparked from their harness into the ground and it seemed that the ground simply absorbed it.
Was there something fundimentally different about the Dragon worlds than the earth he had used in his lab?
After a few minutes, Vejuun had begun rechecking his figures when the ground began to vibrate. A leg broke from the dirt and then another, raising a creature familiar to the Cree'Ar Dominion, the Tek’a’tara.
The Tek'a'tara were the cybernetic servants of the Nexus. The Cree’Ar economy consists of cyborgs mining minerals and cyborgs making ships, and then cyborgs making more cyborgs to replace those that break. Within Cree'Ar society, they are called The Unholy: A caste of conquered warriors that now serve the Cree'Ar Dominion eternally cast as cybernetic servants for whatever purposes the Cree'Ar see fit.
And with these tek'a'tara, they saw fit to arm them and send them against the enemies of the Dominion.
One was raised... then another.... and then another..
These were not your typical cybernetic starship builders. No, rather than the central part of the tek'a'tara being the organic remains of a conquered person or persons, these tek'a'taras had no organic component.
However, the imprint of the Jedi Corpsman whose force energy was tortured out of them remained. The imprint implanted itself within what would be the central focal point of the creature and out of this inert material formed an image. A representation of the person whose energy had given life to the creature.
The Elder Monoceros walked stiffly through the empty storage facility, the tapping of his cane drowned out by the steps of his entourage.
"I do not see how this is possible, Elder! The product was inventoried two days ago and there has been no raid on our facilities, no significant movement even in our space to account for the disappearance of so much.."
The Elder waved the Master Clerk to silence.
"The why's and how are no longer important. It has happened and we need to inform the Confederation."
It is not just this storage location, Elder!" the clerk's voice started to rise and the Elder put his hand on the sweating clerk.
"I know you are not at fault.." he stated but the Master Clerk shook his head.
"That's not why I am having a heart attack, Elder. It's that we no longer have anything to fill orders with. We, a major breadbasket for the Confederation, have nothing!"
"We will have to start an early harvest. It will wreck next season's crop but we have no other choice. To do nothing is to invite starvation..."
"If the Confederation can provide us emergency credits.."
"Money is not going to feed the populace."
"But being able to purchase food will.."
"Purchasing finished goods does not solve the long term problem of next season."
"Thank the auditors the Confederation has a surplus."
"We always prepare for the rainy day... or a possible Vong invasion." the old man was cheerful but inside, a growing dread was forming.
Beff Pike was ushered into the Imperial Palace and Regent Zell stood up from the throne glad to have some excuse to exercise his backside.
"You hear what the fucker Fearsons did?" Zell asked without preamble.
Beff, used to the abrasive nature of some of his customers, merely nodded. "It seems he is trying to make use of old connections to regain lost glory."
"It seems he has a fucking death wish," Zell clarified.
The leader of the Guild shrugged, "You should have shot him when ..."
"DON'T I FUCKING KNOW IT!" shouted the Regent. "Then I wouldn't have to pay assholes like you to do it!"
Beff's eyebrow rose at that. "You want to hire the guild to take down Chaddwick Fearsons?"
"Oh, I want more than that!" snapped the current leader of the Empire. "I want you to fucking reduce his supporters to ashes!"
"I am not sure I follow.."
"I want your people crawling all over Sluis Van and Chandrila and any group leader or pro Fearson's sentimentalist, I want a blaster shot through the head! I want you to burn his fucking botanical gardens on Jutraal.. I want his fucking monuments on Despayre to be broken into small pieces of stone! I want his top military leaders dead! I want anyone who even thinks of tying Chadwick Fucking Fearsons' shoelaces to meet the business end of a pistol!"
"We are bounty hunters, not mercenaries..." Beff temporized. "We cannot fight a war for you.."
"I thought you represented fucking Mandalorians?" the Regent snapped back and Pike bristled at the comment.
"Fine, consider me putting a bounty on all Fearsons supporters! If you can take out Fearsons, do it! Just fucking do it!"
"The price will be pretty high for such an operation.." the Guild Leader pointed out and Zell nodded.
"I figured."
"So, we can.."
"How would you like to have Concord Dawn back?" the Regent suddenly interrupted and Beff had to blink several times to make sure he had heard correctly.
"Take out Fearsons and you will find me very generous..." Zell said with a feral smile.
Chaddwick Fearsons laughed with glee. He had succeeded in surprising the Empire by taking Sluis Van and Chandrila.
Never mind that the Empire was hard at work handling several problems...no, perhaps the galaxy had been starving for his genius.
Perhaps the reason why the Jedi were so scattered and the Temple on Naboo forgotten was the fact...
..the fact that they had no Shadow Jedi Master to lead them!
They did not have him!
Admiral Blackblade walked into his palace sporting the new Jutraalian Naval Uniform that Emperor Fearsons commissioned upon retaking his throne from the Imperial doppelganger.
"We need to think about shoring up the defense of Sluis Van immediately. The Empire will not simply sit idly by while we dig in..."
Fearsons smiled at his beloved Admiral. "The Empire will not attack us."
"They won't?" Blackblade was at a loss. "Why not?"
The Emperor smiled briefly and then ordered, "Admiral, I want you to contact Presidium Pernize of Anaxes and pass on our petition to join the League of Nations.."
Blackblade's mouth opened in surprise.
Fearsons stood. "We are just too weak to take on the Empire single handedly like the old days. We need time to consolidate and we need numbers.."
"The Empire is going to pitch a fit. Regent Zell is going to shit star destroyers. No! I take that back, he's going to shit super star destroyers."
Perhaps the largest marking of the Cataclysm was the surfacing of the Reavers. These were once daemun and as such, loyal and staunch members of Dragon Imperium Society and the culmination of Forced Evolution. After the biological entities comprising the Dragon Empire were accepted into the grace of the Taj, they stepped through mysteri and were instantly transported from one area to another but this technology was not simple matter to energy transmission but a transmutation from the biological to the technological. Daemun bodies were mere husks created by assemblers, the building block of all Dragon technology, society and religion.
However, being converted into artificial intelligences, patterned after software and having a body that could be easily replaced, while superior at first glance in the practical sense, could not be accepted by some minds of the converted.
Was their daemun form representative of the true climax of their evolution or were there more steps to be taken?
And so a cult within the Imperium formed where daemun husks became merged with biocells using a fusion of Phage and BioLogic mutated viral constructs.
But the more their biological mutations changed, the more individualized in deed and thought the members of this cult became. So much so that they even subscribed to a new designation termed: Dracconis.
In the end, Heir Raktus abandoned these abominations of the biological and technological in favor of the pure daemun form. Without the guidance of his overmind and the Drago-network, the mechanical/logical reasoning of the Dracconis gave way to their growing biological needs. One such need was basic and primal and it was experienced by every Dracconis left behind.
Hunger.
Reaver Space is an area of space where the conventional, aging warships of the old Dragon Navy roam. One these great vessels of war, no great military mind commands. They simply swarm giving themselves over to the compulsion to either feed or spread. The mutated biocells spreads quickly upon contact (author's note: think 28 Days Later)... but rather than simply infect as many as quickly as possible, Reaver actions were, if not controlled, directed by their mechanical logic and cold artificial reasoning.
The Reavers do not touch down on the habitable worlds found in their space except to cull for feeding or to infect othes to increase or replenish their numbers.
With the absence of the Dragon network, Reaver assembler logic patterned a second network after an artificial program styling itself "Skynet". It is unknown if this Skynet is one artificial program or many in its traveling through the galactic Holonet System but whatever part found itself within the holonet signals running throughout former Dragon Space were assimilated and patterned, destroying it totally.
The Reavers now cast an unseen 'net' throughout their space, their awareness traveling in much the same way as Skynet which meant that any ship in their space sending or receiving holonet signals stuck out like a flare in a dark room.....inviting the attack of any Reaver in the area as white cells attack an invading virus within a biological body.
The Reaver would be a blight upon the galaxy that would last until...
*
It is hard to find a comparable set of circumstances so intermixed with such a difference of characters and events that converged to bring about a destabilizing of the known galaxy within such a short period of time...
While the racism and fanaticism of the Cree'Ar Dominion may have been the proverbial shot fired across the galactic arc, it also was merely the first domino in a long line to be pushed over forcing one event to affect another and so on down the line until the entire galaxy was either aflame or on the brink.
Events quickly cascaded...
Lupercus Darksword seizes Dreena, Kavan, Lorell, Shedu Maad and Thrakia
Galactic Coalition returns to all of it's Eastern worlds but two (which the Reavers have claimed)
Kamino clones given full citizen rights within Coalition (famous Regrad Emancipation Speech takes place)..
Palestar Crusade makes gains in the Imperial Occupation Zone
Nyx soldier gains renown in ferriting out Nyxian traitors
Inquisitor del Forza leaves for Xa Fel to take measure of Sith conqueror
Jensaarai Gen 3 and Gen 4 completed before project is retired
Jensaarai History and Philosophy project started by Jensaarai Jax
Red vessels of Inferno Fleet fired upon by independent worlds
Jutraalian Empire joins the League of Nations
Empire and League on brink of war
Grand Admiral-Moff-Baron Desaria gains notable victory over Crusaders in the defense of Onyx
Reaver Space designated on maps. Initial space-faring guides written by survivors..
Kal Shora returns to Cree'Ar galaxy to become Leader of the Elder Clan and of the Cree'Ar people through the Transgalactic Gate...
...downward towards the inevitable...
Confederation
Kashan Defence Academy, Kashan
“…It is my pleasure to present the twenty-fourth class of the Kashan Defence Academy.”
Shouts and applause swept through the onlookers as the now former cadets threw up their black caps en masse. In one of the amphitheater’s upper galleys, Corise looked down on the mass of men and women clapped with their parents, siblings, other kin, and friends. The Kashan Colonial Band burst into life, suffusing the Battle Hymn of the Confederation throughout the massive building. After heavy introduction by the martial snare drums, booming tympanis, and gallant trumpets, the music slowed down and softened as the ranks of newly graduated cadets and spectators joined in voice with the paced, comradic lyrics of the song. He ventured a glance down to see the entire ensemble swaying en masse, smiled, and continued to sing. Some things never change, nor should they ever. He slightly shook his head at the thought, catching the Pro-consul’s gaze who also raised an eyebrow.
“…Unity and Justice and Freedom For the Confederation; For these we strive, for these we fight; With Wisdom, Valour, and Loyalty. Brotherly with heart and hand. Unity and justice and freedom Are the pledge of peace. Prosper in this fortune's blessing, Prosper, oh Confederation…”
The Cadets abruptly stopped swaying and raised a fist: “For the Confederation!”
Most of the crowd with continued the official lyrics …
“oh, u-rah-rah so shall we sing, of the Confederation.”
Song ended and more applause ensued. Corise swept his eyes across amphitheater. Everyone seemed caught up in the moment; parents and friends cheering and shouting praise; cadets clasping hands and in some cases, embracing. The ceremony ended with the graduates breaking ranks to happily storm the spectator stands. Many of the spectators rushed forward to meet the cadets. They were all caught up in the fervor of the moment.
Christina leaned over to whisper in his ear as she was wont when his attention was diverted elsewhere when he noticed the space behind the Confederation flag waver.
His eyes narrowed wondering if it was simply a trick of his imagination or simply wind causing his eye to tear up when he saw it again. If not for the flag, he might have missed it altogether so wrapped up..
His thoughts came to a crashing halt when, seemingly out of thin air, a spider-like creature appeared ...
Most of the cadets and spectators joined in celebration did not notice and those that did notice the creatures were hesitant perhaps telling themselves it was all part of the show..
But the confetti and streamers thrown into the air suddenly allowed Corise to see multiple shimmering points above..... on the ground... all around..
"What is.." Christina started, following the other's gaze when the creatures went from being mere entertainment props to harsh reality sending massive plasma shots into the crowd of cadets, their families and onlookers.
"Sir!" Corise's aide penetrated the Pro-Consul's guards as well as his own to deliver the message, "Command has issued a planet-wide alert! These creatures are appearing everywhere!"
The military man needed no further prompting as he began to mimic everyone else in fleeing the area.
Pressure put on multiple points to prevent cohesion and consolidation. Keep us on the run and keep us apart and they will pick us apart..
"Address the planet, Chris.." he ordered through shouting throngs, "Find cover and hold!"
"They'll be killed out right.." the Pro-Consul began but Corise, a veteran of war, continued, "Many will... but many more will die if they run and are cut down from behind."
"We are running.." the Pro-Consul stammered, shock taking over and up ahead the guards had stopped to provide cover.
"We are not running away from something.." he said steadily. Bending down his hand grasped a handle as another guard entered the security code. With a grunt of effort, he pulled up and open a door revealing steps descending into darkness, "We are running towards something."
"My Lord, we are ready.." Moff Jaeder said and Regent Zell stood up. The line against the encroaching Reaver Space had held though the Borderland Protectorate was history.
With that threat staved off, it was time to turn the Empire's attention to the return and liberation of Yaga Minor. It seemed everywhere people were seeing aliens in dark corners and Imperial Center was no exception as reports flooded certain districts of strange creatures roaming bedrock level.
But there were always strange creatures both dangerous and native to the sublevels of Coruscant, some never having seen the sun in ten thousand years.
The holographic projection of the built up 5th Fleet and 10th Fleet sent a stir of pride up Zell's spine.
"Execute.." the Regent ordered, prepared the pay the butcher's bill to find out what happened to those at Yaga Minor.
"Reversion in... 10....9....8...."
"Gravitic disturbance forming!" and the holographic projection shifted as new blips began to fill the screen in front of the 5th and 10th Fleets.
"What the fuck?" Zell whispered as an alien armada was shown on the projection exiting their wormholes into Coruscant space.
"Defend... Defend... All ships open fire!" Moff Jaeder was already ordering when another person came into the Throne Room, "Sire! Alien forces are coming up from the sublevels!"
"Well, shoot the motherfuckers!" Zell shouted and grimly looked about at the determined men and women standing around him.
This enemy had just made the bloodiest mistake they could have made and Zell was prepared to bleed the enemy dry. He just hoped he wouldn't bleed himself dry in the process.
The Cree'Ar had arrived at Coruscant..
Gestalt Colonies
"Ladies and Gentlemen, Gentlebeings, I present to you the Battlestar Gestaltica!" Lance Shipwright said with obvious pride.
Viren Quell wrinkled his nose in derision at the stupid name for a warship but Admiral Wilkar of the Commonwealth had his eyes widened as if a naked woman had presented herself to him while he admired her sturdy construction.
He had resigned as the Coalition's Minister of Ethics but he was a man who finished what he started so he was still stuck here in these godforsaken Colonies wondering what the heck he was still doing there.
The assignment was simple enough: Diplomatically try to keep the Colonies in the Coalition. It was not bad for a last assignment for a guy always wants their last assignment to be a simple 'walk in the park' collecting maximum pay for little work. But the Colonies might as well have had a Contegorian's eye for details and nitpicking as Gestalt hesitated, renegotiated and spent meeting after meeting trying to make up their fracking minds wasting an entire year... (Space Between) An entire fucking year!
This week, what were the Colonies going to do?
Would they join the Commonwealth?
Would they join the Confederation?
Would they remain in the Coalition?
"Stay tuned next week when Gestalt comes up with some new reason not to make up their fucking minds!" he whispered to himself. He chewed on the pain pills Miette had put in his suit.
"Is this the fucking reason why you are dragging your feet?" Quell asked not caring anymore how he sounded.
Mr. Shipwright gave the man a polite inquisitive glance and the hopefully soon-to-be-out-of-a-job-Quell explained, "We were all here eight months ago for the same ceremony. Except your ...battlestar.." Quell did not know whether to laugh or curse the name, "blows out a power motivator that I guess has now been fixed. But, if you simply strung us along for this fucking meeting..." Quell let his voice drop off.
"What?" Shipwright asked quietly. "Are you saying the Coalition does not want us to remain in their fold?"
Quell turned to Mr. Rubino, the Commonwealth Ambassador, who was also bored. Scipio Arien had been the first Ambassador coming with Lt. D'foose or whatever the fuck her name was, but after a month of pissing in the wind, the woman was reassigned somewhere else and Rubino sent in her place. The Commonwealth Admiral Wilkar had been here about five different times and it seemed he got along well with the Colonies but even he had to be crawling up the wall with a people who needed a conference to figure out if they had to go to the bathroom or not. The Contegorian Ambassador had also changed, Corise Lucerne having returned to the Confederation to take care of other duties.
"I am saying, Lance, that the Coalition will abide with whatever decision you make. But, fuck man! Make a damned decision already! You've already been a defacto independent power this entire year already so if this is working for you, great! If you want to be a part of a bigger organization, then choose! But quite honestly, I don't give a fuck anymore."
Another Colonial stepped up, Quell had forgotten the man's name, and said hotly, "You are just mad that you cannot dictate to us terms.."
Viren gestured widely, "No, asshole, I am not. Go join someone else then!" he waved the Colonial off.
"Look," Shipwright interjected, "We are all tired. Why don't we go to the Conference Room and sit down..." Quell rolled his eyes, "..and talk and see.."
The Colonial leader's voice trailed off as a flash drew his attention. An explosion started with the back of the battlestar warship sending a series of secondary explosions up the along the superstructure..
"Sir!" a Colonial entered with a grim look on his face, "We are under attack by unknown alien warships!"
Lance Shipwright watched in horror as the skeleton crew of the Gestaltica could do nothing to stem the cascading of shipwide failures and had opted to abandon the ship. Escape pods were jettisoned from the craft as it broke apart.
"We..." he stammered, "That... We poured our resources into... into.."
Viren's eyes narrowed, "Looks like you need an ally," he observed and Shipwright turned a sharp eye to the man.
"Perhaps if your governments were to send us reinforcements, it might go along way too.."
"No." Quell stated flatly and Shipwright's eyebrow rose.
"If these other guys want to send you a fleet.." which (truth be told) had all left after the respective governments realized negotiating with the Colonies would take longer than they had first thought, "..to fight these attackers then they are welcome too but I will not authorize it without a decision from you!"
"I beg your pardon?" Lance Shipwright's voice went brittle.
"It's time to make a decision, Lance!" Quell's voice went equally cold.
Mark Rubino shrugged when the Colonial looked at him. "I think what my colleague is saying is that it's time to either shit or get off the pot."
Quell grinned as a squadron of Colonial fighters zoomed by their window intent on protecting the escape pods from the doomed warship and defend themselves against whoever had attacked them.
*
The events of Cataclysm...
Note: The thread is now open... A new planet list will be posted this week.
Lord Silk, self proclaimed Dark Lord of the Sith, stalked the halls of the rebuilt temple.
The sound of driving rain and blowing wind preceeded him its source evident as he passed a crew of masons working on a section of the temple still exposed to the harsh elements. In the past year much had changed.
As he passed the workers paused in their work. Bowing, they averted their eyes.
Rounding a winding stair well, narrow and perilously steep, the new master of Xa Fel descended in to the dimly lit darkness.
"Sire."
A voice, jagged like the ice cliffs of Hoth, sounded from above. Moments later the sound of rapid footfalls joined. Coming quickly down the stairs behind Silk appeared a swiftly moving figure. Vaguely humanoid, commonly described as 'near human' by the galactic community, it was male, about five and a half feet tall and his face a road map of sores, scabs and scars. Deep purple robes swirled behind him threatening at every step to send him tumbling down the treacherous stone stairs.
"My lord," greeted the figure hastily. "They have arrived."
Only a year ago Xa Fel was a very different planet...
Once home to the powerful Sith Order the arrival and subsequent invasion by the Palestar Crusade had set in motion a series of events which would see the stewardship of Xa Fel change hands. History would tell its own story, would explain the motivations of the initial attack through terms of logistics, power and assets. Incorrectly documented few, save those students and masters of the Force directly involved, would properly understand the reason for the blitzkrieg attack. Truthfully it had been conceived by the master of that crusade, Dacian Palestar, as the first in a series of lightning attacks spread across the galaxy not, as some assumed, to usurp the throne of Sith power nor to unseat the Sith hierarchy but simply to throw in to chaos all the preconceived notions that Palestar operated according to any traditional paradigm. They came, they attacked brutally and they withdrew.
The result of that attack was devastating and saw the destruction of the Sith temple. Many members of the Sith Order perished - notably Darth Necros and Darth Vicirus among a swath of students, acolytes and menials. It unleashed powers not seen in millenia and introduced a medieval form of warfare long forgotten. During that clash two force-wielding titans met in battle; Dioan Silk and Lupercus Darksword. Though the details of that conflict would remain mysterious, eluding notation due to the isolated nature of their confrontation, it was then that Silk was wounded... almost mortally so. And though Silk would survive his injuries he would come away from it a changed man.
Soon after the withdrawal of the crusader forces the Sith Order began to crumble. Its key members, those left alive, abandoning the planet and ruined temple leaving only a skeleton number of loyalists behind and it would be to this nearly deserted place that Silk returned some time later.
In his travels, en route to Xa Fel, Silk endured a number of experiences which continued to shift his understanding of the force, of his purpose and of life in general. He would also discover and recruit in to his fold new powers in the form of materiel, bodies and knowledge. (Crimson Tides: I Am Become)
With his newfound assets and strengths Xa Fel could not hope to resist his return. His motivation, similarly thorough, for returning to Xa Fel instilled in him an unwavering desire to complete what the crusade had started - to capture and possess the once homestead of the Sith Order.
There had been resistance but not on any level comparable to that met by the crusaders during their first attack. In fact the largest resistance force was not mounted by the Sith, nor by the Empire but by the local population. Outnumbered and out-gunned the native Xa Fel had mounted a counter strike against Silks forces and in one of lifes ironic twists it was not out of any misplaced faith in the vanquished Sith but in the hope of reclaiming the planet for themselves as independence had eluded them since Kuat Drive Yards took possession of the planet under the Old Republic and established it as a manufacturing centre for their starship production facilities. They were a downtrodden people. Through decades of environmental genocide at the hands of KDY their planet, once a lush bloom of life, was turned to an irradiated, toxic wasteland and the people suffered.
With the Sith gone, or near to it, the people of Xa Fel seized the opportunity and they would not be easily swayed.
At first content to let Silk establish a beachhead at the crumbling temple, they watched from the shadows as his forces set out to secure the Sith holdings in a series of bloody but brief battles. They knew their chances of opposing the splinter crusaders were slim at best and instead turned their hopes and prayers towards the dream that Silk would be content with raiding the ruins of the temple, perhaps establish a small garrison, and move on. Within the first months, Silk continuing to land more and more of his forces and expand his territory outward from the temple accordingly, they saw the hopeless dawn looming ahead.
To fight such overwhelmingly superior forces the leaders of the Xa Fel opposition knew that they could not face Silks forces in open combat and would in fact have to avoid such an eventuality at any cost. The only option open to them was terrorism, to become radical fighters and establish cells of warriors disguised as civilians.
Here Silk was given to credit the Xa Fel saying, "These scabbed and puss ridden creatures, they are a bigger more sore thorn in my side then even the remaining Sith have been."
They were known to strap explosives to their chests and throw themselves at the invaders, to blow themselves to pieces in the hope of taking with them as many hapless crusaders as the opportunity presented. They employed sabotage and conducted rebellious riots. Captured goods, guns and more, were turned against the crusaders. The people spat at patrols when they passed, small children throwing rocks.
It would have worked too, had Silk not been the amoral monster that he was. Exasperated with their resilience Silk passed down an order of genocide - he would wipe the planet clean of their continued nuisance. However, before the order could be put in to action a trio of surviving Sith acolytes, long thought destroyed, emerged from hiding not to attack the crusader forces but seeking parley with their leader, Lord Silk.
These young men, nearly starved and suffering various ailments as a result of their forced exile, pleaded with Silk for their lives. The disinterested Silk would have none of it, protesting that they had nothing to bargain with and giving them the death sentence instead. Hasty in his wrath Silk almost missed his chance to quell the uprising and further supplement his forces.
The reason for his distraction was one of micro management. Since returning to Xa Fel he had become distanced from his meditations and as such his clarity of vision faltered, the force - having become his guiding light - failed him. In his dealings with the terrorist Xa Fel, in his struggles to excavate the ruins of the temple and organise his forces on the planet, not to mention petitions from elements of the Crusade proper that he should return to home space and again add his strength to theirs, Silk had become consumed with the duties of establishing rule on the planet. The dark side had guided him to Xa Fel, it had provided him a host of new facets, and in his gluttony he had turned his back on its guiding hand.
Due to be put to death with the sun rise, before the Sith captives were taken from their cells, news of galactic war came across the holo-net. Across the sectors in various territories war had broken out and it was not the mundane, cold war boarder conflicts that had prevailed for decades. Though details were sketchy at best it was enough to give Silk pause. Ordering a stay of execution and a hold on his genocidal command, Silk returned to his ship (which had been orbiting the planet since his return) the Sith Lord went in to seclusion in his focusing chamber. For two standard days he remained in isolation emerging with a sense of direction once more.
Summoning the captured acolytes to the Crimson Emperor Silk allowed the men to make their offer.
"Your arrival is not coincidental," Silk had spoken. From upon a platform raised on one of the many flight decks, his captives kneeling before him, he looked upon their beaten yet resolute faces. "Had you come forward a day earlier you three would be dead men now."
"Xa Fel is mine," he proclaimed. "I claim it as my own and will do with it as I please. For some time now I have thought my dominance a certainty. The meager opposition I have encountered here has been nothing but an annoyance and in dealing with such miniscule concerns I allowed my sight to become limited."
"The force has corrected that vision. Beyond this star system events are being put in to motion that will forever alter the face of the galaxy. My eyes must always look beyond the simplicity of planetary dominance, of quelling rebellion and countering the likes of yourselves. Count your blessings, you three, as I have decided to allow you a chance, albeit a small one, to save your own lives."
"You came to me of your own free will, which is brave but foolish. You plead for your lives which is cowardly but wise. I offer you this chance; make some use of yourselves to me and I shall let you live... for now."
At that the three had shared glances between themselves, nodding at length to the eldest among them. It was he who then spoke, "Lord Silk, spare us and we will end the rebellious ways of the natives."
Silk had shrugged, not impressed. "What use is that to me? I could just as easily see them obliterated."
"Yes," the eldest had agreed. "You could do that, or you could allow us the chance to... redeem them. You have many soldiers, many ships, many demands upon you. Would it not be easier if the people of Xa Fel were willing subjects? Under your rule they could be put to great use."
Silk smiled, it was neither a warm nor welcoming smile but it spread his lips none the less. "Yes. Fine then, I will allow you this chance. But know this - betray me, try to elude my forces, and I will take it as a personal affront. I will find you myself and you three will share a fate far worse then death."
"As you command, Lord Silk. As a further demonstration of our loyalty I offer you this bit of news. Upon your arrival on Xa Fel we and others like us, now dead or... we were to send word to the last leader of the Order. Whether or not that alert was sent, we do not know but..."
"But," Silk interrupted. "You know who has taken up the reigns of power. Tell me."
"She is called Darth Skygge and there is more."
He gestured, "Go on."
"We heard rumours that Lord Jas, Darth Vicirus had returned and taken with him..."
"Enough," Silk cut in. "I will hear the rest of your story, in private."
Not long after that fateful meeting Silk had dispatched the trio along with a contingent of Crow spies to deal with the Xa Fel. The brotherhood of the crimson cloth, knowing Silk as no other, knew that the outcome would be assured. They had felt him drawing on their strength during those days of secluded meditation and had felt the shift in his resolve. It seemed a foregone conclusion that the force had given him visions of the future, or of a future - one of his manifestation. They saw it in his actions as well, the way he had handled the captives with such assurance and in the amount of freedom he had allowed them to carry out their sworn duty.
The Xa Fel changed noticeably over the following weeks. Small groups of the aliens came and went from the crusader camp, meetings between Silk and their leadership took place in secrecy. The content of those meetings remained a secret shared between only the upper ecshlons of both hierarchal structures. Within approximately a months time subsequent the attacks had stopped completely. Soon Silk was providing the Xa Fel aid, medical supplies and food being shipped from his holdings and in exchange they began working for him. And the first project he commissioned was the rebuilding of the Sith temple which he renamed in honour of the faith - Temple of the Unspoken.
Slowly he began to delineate responsibility, allowing his trusted minions, servants and brothers to take on burdens of their own and in this way unburden himself. His trusted brother, known only as Nocturne, took command of the Crimson Emperor and with it the security of the space around the planet and with the military responsibilities shared General Nocturne began instituting changes which would further optimise Silks forces in to something resembling a standing army and space-navy. Xoverus too would become one of his trusted governors and by ruling the faith it became his task to spread the religion to the people of Xa Fel which, alongside much needed medicines, they took with great fervour and as their sores slowly diminished their faith grew exponentially. The Crone too would take on chores of her own further alleviating Silks need to control everything himself.
As the Temple of the Unspoken grew up from the rubble of the Sith temple so too did a make-shift city of sorts. Workers, Xa Fel natives, were called from far and wide to the construction effort. Conditions were poor at best, the workers practically slaves (though increasingly willing in the endeavour as their faith grew ever stronger) and perished in great number but for all their losses the temple, with the assistance of modern technology and force-trained overseers (members of his crew being reassigned to oversee the labourers) the effort moved along swimmingly.
Time wore on, the rest of the year passing without significant event, while the Crusade continued its push in to the Onyxian Sector. Requests for assistance were ignored, pleas for help dismissed and only the command of Dacian Palestar was significant enough to draw Silks attention. Considerable in substance, Palestars words were enough to convince Silk to leave the planet for a time and meet with the young conqueror in person.
They discussed much and with Silks leaving the forces of the crusade proper did not again attempt to contact him. It seemed obvious to Silks people that some sort of an accord or deal had been hatched though the substance of it was never revealed. Only a piece of their conversation was overheard by one of the crimson brotherhood upon being allowed entrance to their private discussions only moments previous to Silks departure.
"You will need food, supplies, forces," Dacian was saying flatly.
"We have enough to last until they come for us, and they will." Silk was rising from his chair as he spoke, sharing a last moment with Palestar - one that smacked of the old student/teacher dynamic (though which was which remained debatable).
"That is it then." Dacian Palestar looked as though he wanted it to be a question but his tone left no doubt; it was a statement and a final one at that.
"It is. May the force be with you, Dacian," Silk spoke as he left.
"And with you," replied Palestar. "And with you."
And so, over the year that elapsed between Silks possession of Xa Fel and the day, in the stairwell, that one of his subjects caught up with him short of breath, much had indeed changed. And as they had changed, they continued to change. Silks forces did not fly the flag of the Crusade any longer nor did they fly any flag.
"They have arrived," Silk echoed the words of the purple robed Xa Fel. They continued down the stairs, Silk commanding, "Order my orbital forces to stand ready but not to engage them until I have made contact."
His curiosity got the best of him, the Xa Fel speaking out of turn. "My Lord, you said they would come and they have but..."
Silk paused sharing a vague look of displeasure over his shoulder, "But?"
"Who are they, sire? Are they the Sith, returned to fight? The Crusade?" His fear was palatable. The Xa Fel did not fancy the idea of another change of power, they had come to cling to the faith which bound them to Silk. "Who are they?"
Laughing softly, Silk turned a corner towards the old library (which had been recovered with some texts at great expense of man and material) saying, "They are the Empire and they want to know if we are their enemies, or their friends."
Wilkar tore his eyes away from the burning hulk of the Battlestar Gestaltica as his liaison to Commonwealth Intelligence tapped him on the shoulder and began to whisper in his ear.
“Sir… We’ve lost contact with our man on Lorell,” he said reluctantly.
The admiral’s wrinkled face remained solemn, the default setting of late, as he heard the news.
“The Executive Council never should have sent me out here lieutenant,” he grumbled shaking his head. “What a waste of time… These Colonials are never going to make a decision.”
Wilkar felt a strong hand grasp his arm just above the elbow. It was Tarn.
“We should leave sir,” said the bodyguard nudging with his head towards the battle unfolding just outside the window.
The three quietly slipped out of the reception and made their way down the hall. They reached an intersection with another corridor, and Wilkar cut into a refresher room as his Syn-band started beeping. Tarn followed him inside, locking the door behind them. The room was a tidy symmetrical affair much like the rest of the Colonies. Two stalls, two sinks, one portrait of Lance Shipwright hard at work, one portrait of him at play.
Wilkar keyed the band and a hardlight projection of Captain Riz aboard the Rapier which was in orbit of Gesalt.
“Sir! We are under attack by an unknown amount of… of… alien warships! The Fast Chance was destroyed before it could even get its shields up! They’re all dead sir!” yelled Riz unable to keep the panic from his voice.
“Goddamnit son! You’ve got to calm down. Move the Rapier and the Battle Dog into a defensive pattern with the rest of the Colonial fleet. If it looks like they’ve got their shit together, follow their lead,” ordered the admiral attempting to calm his subordinate down.
“Get that intel lieutenant in here now!” he barked at Tarn. The lieutenant was waiting patiently outside the locked door.
Wilkar shook his head again. He was directing a war from the inside of a refresher.
“What’s the status of our fleet moving towards Hapan space?” asked the admiral.
“They’re all in place sir. Well… almost…” he admitted.
“What the fuck do you mean almost lieutenant?” growled Wilkar as he leaned against the sink arms folded.
“Sir it’s the Dahlonega. The council is holding her back. I’m not exactly sure—“
“Do me a favor and shut the fuck up for a second lieutenant,” interrupted the admiral.
He keyed his Syn-band, and a hardlight keypad appeared above it. A few seconds later a hardlight projection of Representative Rance Michels filled space between the sink and the refresher.
“Admiral Wilkar, this is unexpected,” he greeted.
“Does the Council want Lupercus to rip my balls off and shove them down my throat?” The Admiral was livid. “Is this all some kind of grand executive council conspiracy to get rid of me once and for all? I’ve got nothing without the goddamn Dahlonega! Do realize the magnitude of fucking-our-shit-up that Sith son of a bitch could put on us?” he demanded.
The hardlight projection simply shook his head. The representative from Bonadan was used to these kinds of rants from the old warhorses. “The Dahlonega is without a captain, Wilkar. What good is a ship without a commander,” he said simply, in a way only a slick politician could manage.
“Well then give the fucking galley chief a brevet captaincy and get that super star destroyer to the rendezvous point yesterday! Darksword emptied out the entire Corellian Diktat to pick a fight with us, and we don’t have the time for this Intersystem Congress bullshit!”
Blood had not pumped this hot through the admiral’s veins since the war.
“The Dahlonega is yours Admiral. Don’t disappoint us.”
Then everything was clear to the admiral. He nodded and the hardlight projection disappeared. Shortly he was aboard the Battle Dog, the fastest ship in the entire Commonwealth Fleet, slipping through the fury of unknown alien invaders.
Looking from the rear view port of the ship he saw the familiar dagger shape of the Rapier, all turbolaser batteries and ion cannons firing well past max safe speed, among the the Colonial fleet. The crew was fighting for their lives. It didn’t seem right leaving his old flagship and Mr. Rubino to cast their lots with the Colonials, but it was necessary.
The center had to hold, or there would be no Commonwealth.
