The man on the bed was ill. It was evident to all who looked upon him. Dazdamar Inabore was dying. His alien skin, normally a pale shade of green now exhibited no pigmentation at all and was a dull, dying gray. The only flash of color was the glimpse of glowing orange one received between blinks of his eyes, when he drew in long haggard breaths, and exhaled tired sighs.

Inabore was dying. He knew it, and everyone in the room believed he would die within the day. Everyone but one.

Leaning against the hospital’s stone wall was Inabore’s only living son, Artanis Dazdamar. He held a datapad in his hands and looked over it intently, reading it but not truly understanding it. He was not a scientist, not a geneticist, he had no way to know that the datapad confirmed what he had already been told and rejected; that his father was dying.

Across the room, the man on the bed coughed, before rising slightly. “Artanis… son… come here…” he asked, each word causing him to suffer greatly, each word a battle to get out.

Artanis turned, marching to his father’s side. “I am here, father. What do you need?”

“I need…” he started, before he was seized by a fit of coughs, causing several assembled onlookers to rush to his side, or to machines monitoring his condition. He brushed those who came to him away, making a motion with his hand to his son, asking his to lean in closer.

“I need you to… be by my side… to hold my hand when I die.”

Artanis fiercely shook his head. “No, father. Yu are not going to die… I can…”

“PEND!” Inabore screamed, draining him greatly. His attendants wisely scrambled from the room, leaving Inabore with his children.

“Father, you can’t die. Medicine…”

“Has failed, my son.”

”…then technology! Live on in the nexus!”

”That is no way to live, my son. No; no more solutions. There is only one solution, and that is to accept the wish of Borleas Quayver.”

Artanis shook his head. “The gods do not wish you to die!”

Inabore laughed. “So, you speak for the gods, then?” Artanis didn’t reply. “Of course not. None of us do, because we can’t. The gods speak for themselves, but not with words; no, they speak with actions. And I knew that when I collapsed that day the gods were telling me that my life spent in service to them was drawing to an end.”

“Then why,” he asked, “why have they let you live on so long in agony? Is this punishment?”

“In a fashion, yes. You see, this is the god’s price… because I had to ask them a dying wish.”

Artanis looked surprised. “What is so important that you would endure so much suffering? What is worth this price?”

Inabore sighed. “You.”

He sat up, difficult for a man so close to death, and opened his eyes again. “Had I died that day, I would never have seen you as an adult. We were always both so busy… and now, we have had this time, as difficult as it has been, to know that there is some of me in you, and a lot of you, in me.”

Artanis nodded. “You have handed me stubbornness, father.”

“YOU!” he exclaimed with a snorting laugh. “Wait until you meet your brother! He is as foolishly steadfast as his old man… he makes it work for him, though. He is wise, wiser than I ever was.”

Artanis nodded. He had heard only good things of Tassadar Dazdamar, his elder by nearly 500 years.

“As well,” he admitted with a sigh, “I required time to tend to my keep.”

Artanis understood what he was referring to. “The fate of the Dominion.”

“The fate of the Dominion,” the elder being echoed, looking at Artanis with pride. He was smart, like his brother… and like his father. “I have made the conclusion that the only man fit to lead our Dominion is one from which I exiled.”

“Father!” Artanis scolded him. “The Yat'a'leg'a'lora are the most dangerous of those who would dare to live in defiance of the gods! You were correct in sending Tassadar to hunt them as you did.”

“You may think so, but it was the hardest thing I ever did. Asking my son to leave his home, and never return. It may have been easier to just kill him.”

“You foolish old man!” Artanis said, furious now. “Tassadar went of his own accord. He was born on Ador; do you remember this? Se'T'ap'a'r'odar, he used to say! He would have given his life to serve the Dominion… he would have given his life to serve you.”

“Tassadar despised me. I asked him to leave his home, his family…”

“Tassadar was asked to follow the path that Borleas Quayer ordained for him. He was challenged to defend his people from the threat of annihilation, and he did so! Even now, he fights the Yuuzhan Vong, and although he thinks of his family every day, he knows that if he did not fight them that he would have no family. That the Yat'a'leg'a'lora would have overrun Arigaun and killed all of our families! He knows that it is his duty as a son of Borleas Quayver, and as a son of you, to fight, to protect those who cannot from an enemy who knows nothing else.”

After a long time, Inabore finally nodded. “You must bring Tassadar back. He must lead the Dominion after I am gone! Borleas Quayver would accept none other!”

Artanis nodded. “Who will continue the campaign in the Corusca galaxy?”

“Kal Shora is a wise commander, wiser than Tassadar when it comes to commanding his warfleets. No, Kal Shora will do fine as our High Judicator for the foreseeable future. But on Dominion soil we need more than a wise commander, we need a leader without fear and one driven by honor. I know only one person who can handle the reigns of our Dominion… other than myself.”

Artanis nodded. “And while I am gone? Who shall safeguard our space then?”

Inabore could barely manage it, but he chuckled. “Razjah shall be a temporary leader.” Artanis felt dry when he heard that. “I know, I know. You and your sister have never seen eye to eye. She is a revolutionary, and she is a M'a'rara'b'a, but she will be accepted as our leader because she is my daughter, and because as much strength as I lose each day… I still have respect.”

Artanis turned to Razjah, who was looking at the two with a disdain. But he knew that behind it was sorrow. Razjah had known Inabore all her life, but had never bonded with him the way Artanis did now, or Tassadar did before. She was a M'a'rara'b'a, and because of that, she couldn’t. And she never would.

He felt sorry for her, and at the same time, he envied her. Because although she never got to know him, she always around her father, something Artanis wished he could have been. He turned back to Inabore, to see that his eyes were closed and he was not breathing.

“Father? Are you still here?”

His brow fluttered. Artanis felt Razjah slide in beside him as Inabore opened his mouth and drew in another breath. “I am here. But… it’s getting harder… to talk. To breath…”

Artanis nodded, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I am going to go now. I will bring Tassador home. He will lead our people, hopefully as well as you have.”

Inabore’s eyes opened as he looked at him. “Better,” he said, before he had a small fit of coughs. “Tell him… that I’m sorry…”

Artanis nodded. He turned to leave, but a hand fell on his shoulder. It was Razjah. He turned to look at her, and she cocked her head towards their father. Artanis looked upon him and stepped forward.

“Son, do not mourn my passing, for I have lived 1893 long, glorious years in service to Borleas Quayver. And I have no regrets.” He coughed, and took a few deep breaths before he continued. “There will come a day when you, too, must look upon your son as the life drains from your body. He will know then, as you know now, that it is the end of legacy.”

Artanis nodded. He felt his eyes growing tired as emotion overcame him, and he turned away from the sight that caused him so much pain. He found it more painful, however, to walk away, knowing that he would never see his father again.

Hours later, Inabore Dazdamar died of Rem’p’ara, peacefully and in his sleep. With that, the Cree’Ar Dominion was left with a temporary leader until Artanis would return with Tassadar, to lead in a more permanent fixture.

And so he set out, not knowing that by the time he arrived, Tassadar would be dead and the first battle would already have begun…

***

He turned, and as he did, the amphistaff tore free a section of his green skin. He howled in pain, before he turned and brought his Qelmar down across the Vong’s shoulder, inflicting a similar wound in a similar place. Both swung their weapons again, and both weapons collided. Both pushed against the other and their weapons grated against each other, locked in a struggle to the death.

Tassadar Dazdamar looked upon the Yuuzhan Vong warrior with confidence in his glowing red eyes. He feared not death, and knew that when he did die, Borleas would take his spirit to the Red Sun as he did all his honored servants.

The Vong did not fear death either. He looked upon Dazdamar with hatred and gritted his teeth at him. It was however fortunate that he did not fear death and enjoyed pain, because he surely would have felt great pain as the Brinlaw pierced his ribcage from behind, and he met with death as the last of his spirit drained into the small puddle of blood, which sat now under his lifeless body, felled to the ground after a hard shove by the Cree’Ar behind him.

“I do tire of all this fighting, Tassadar.”

Tassadar nodded, making a hand gesture to indicate his amusement. Kal Shora swiveled his torso upon his pelvis and retrieved the blade, putting it back in its place amongst his robes.

“As do I, my old friend. But the fighting will never end until the Yat'a'leg'a'lora are all dead. They represent the greatest threat to our peoples yet. Se'T'ap'a'r'odar!”

“Se'T'ap'a'r'odar,” Kal Shora echoed with slightly less enthusiasm. “You have been recalled to the homeworld?”

Tassadar nodded. “Indeed. At the summation of this engagement, I must return to Ariguan for a new assignment.”

“Congratulations.” Tassadar shot him a questioning look. “I am assuming that old Inabore is going to make you our new leader.”

Tassadar scoffed. “Ha! More likely he would wish me his assistant. No… I believe that spot is being saved for you Kal.”

“Don’t tease an old man!” he said, gently shoving Tassadar forward. “The job is clearly yours for the taking…”

“You’re old?” Tassadar cut in. “Need I remind you I am 128 years your senior? If you are old, what does that make me?”

“Decrepid?” Kal Shora answered jokingly, and it was Tassadar’s turn to shove the other Cree’Ar.

Around them, the battle waged onward. The Yuuzhan Vong, with no leader as Kal Shora had slain him, continued their futile defense of the planet. A huge Parrow Lin warrior was being attacked by two Yuuzhan Vong, each swnging an amphistaff into one of his massive arms… he wrenched them both in one motion, slamming each into the other and as they met, one skull failed and began to ooze it’s contents onto the ashen soil as the Parrow Lin lifted a boot, and with great malice and intensity, drove it down upon the other warriors head, crushing it beneath his weight. Around them, countless of tek’a’tara were slain, but for everyone that fell, three took up his place. Eventually, numbers overrode superior skill as the cybernetic warriors pushed into the heart of the Yuuzhan Vong ranks, until finally they collapsed. Behind, an armored Parrow Lin walked slowly, burning the bodies of the fallen warriors on both sides, as this ground was unclean and would need to be purified in such a fashion. Kal Shora nodded silently.

Yuuzhan Vitar, like most Yuuzhan Vong worlds, was now theirs.

***

“With this, we will begin to assemble our armies.”

Kal Shora nodded silently. He remembered the last time he had been in combat… melee combat, of course. He was a tactician by design, but earlier in his years at the age of 246, he had begun his campaign as a Lesser Templar, serving Borleas Quayver in the destruction of the Red Sun’s greatest enemy. When he began to show command abilities, he was asked to consider a position in the Bringers of Fire… which is where he served now, High Judicator of the entire Cree’Ar Dominion. Sometimes, however, if only for a moment… he wished he was younger again.

“I will go and ba…”

“No,” Kal Shora cut him off. “No, Zeratul, I will go. I have a more important task for you…”

***

Rel'a'ralik'a'aar was visually very unappealing. No one would ever live on this world again, but it was there, a cornerstone of the Coruscan Cree’Ar campaign all the same. Kal Shora appreciated the world because, like many in this galaxy, it was an example of his people’s superiority.

This location was ideal for this mission, however, because of the position of Rel'a'ralik'a'aar in relation to it’s target.

Xa Fel.

And as the Arbiter opened up it’s conduit, and the Assault Ship faded from sight before entering the wormhole, Kal Shora knew that the two inside would perform admirably.

Clank, clank. Clank, clank. Clank, clank.

The steady crescendo of Cree'Ar footsteps steadily built up as Varex Tarien approached the ready room. The excitement and adrenaline was something he had not felt in a long time. Most of the missions the Priest Lord had been on were not worthy of mentioning. Negotiations, errand-running, it was a poor use of such a faithful servant of Borleas Queyver, or at least in Varex's opinion.

But now was his chance to prove his worthiness in the eyes of the Gods. Apparently High Judicator Kal Shora had been impressed with his work as an emissary to the Daemun people, because he had recently been recruited for a top-secret mission. Infiltration and espionage, Varex's favorite.

Even more importantly were the people he would be infiltrating. The Sith. Although they were infidels, Varex could not deny his fascination with the mystical power that they called the 'Force'. It was most likely some type of long-forgotten Cree'Ar sorcery that the infidels had stumbled upon (after all, what else could it be?), but Tarien was still interested in it all the same.

The door to the ready room slid open as he neared, and the Cree'Ar stepped right through. Zeratul, a Skey'g'Aar who had gotten on the good side of the High Judicator, waited for him inside. Varex pretended not to notice him, and slid his Vy'reia'la Sword carefully from its sheath. The ritual of cleaning soon followed, a practice so familiar with Varex by now that he didn't even have to think about it.

Eventually Zeratul cleared his throat, trying to draw Varex's attention. The Priest Lord looked up a half a minute later as he slid his sword back into its sheath.

"You know that you should not be using that, if all goes well, correct?" Zeratul finally spoke up in exasperation.

"Eptar'a'kar'a, Zeratul," Varex replied, "It is the will of the Gods that no Sith blood be spilt this night."

"The High Judicator would be very...displeased if the Sith were to learn of our interest before we want them to," Zeratul pressed.

"It is the will of the Gods that no Sith blood be spilt this night!" Varex repeated more loudly this time, "Mind your tongue, Skey'g'Aar."

Zeratul began to reply, but it was cut short as the tell-tale rumble of the ship leaving the wormhole came. It was time for Varex to leave.

"Now, tell me again," Varex said, "If the Sith are able to sense my presence, how am I to avoid detection?"

"The Sith could easily detect you if they were concentrating," Zeratul replied, "They won't be expecting such a daring infiltration, so they're senses will be dulled. Make sure you stay out of sight, and you should be okay."

"Daring infiltration?" Varex repeated to himself, "That sounds reasuring. And if I am detected? How will I be able to escape?"

"That is where this comes in," Zeratul beamed, holding up a black cloak, "Shadowcaste armor. All you need to do is repeat a certain phrase, and you will be instantly transported back to the ship. As long as we're nearby. If any Imperial forces force us away, you're on your own."

"Excellent," Varex made the Cree'Ar equivilant of a grin, "And what is that phrase?"

"Mer’a’brak tab."

His sword was held in his sheath upon his belt, his new Shadowcaste armor was donned, his prayers to Borleas Queyver were complete. Varex was ready to decend down onto Xa Fel's surface. And, according to the Skey'g'Aar Zeratul, those on Xa Fel were not ready for his arrival. Varex didn't trust Zeratul any more than he distrusted the Gods.

According to the Dominion's brief dossier on the Jedi and Sith, they were telekenetic cults of great power. According to the Vong in their first invasion, they were 'supposedly supercreatures'. It was a good thing Varex trusted Zeratul more than the Vong.

Varex wasn't very concerned with the scenery as he descended down onto the planet by way of shuttle. A cloaked shuttle, of course, in order to get past Xa Fel's radars. But the shuttle could not go too far without being spotted visually by those who were on the planet.

It was declared off limits by the Empire and they had only picked up minimal life signs down below, but they didn't want to risk a shuttle landing. Varex would have to jump out as they broke the atmosphere and fire his flight pack when he was closer to the ground to avoid being spotted.

And the time had come for just that. Varex approached the shuttle doors, and when the pilot gave the thumbs up he slid the door open and was sucked out into the sky before he had a chance to jump. There were a few minutes of freefall before he would be able to safely activate his flight pack and avoid detection, but those few minutes felt like an eternity.

Well, there's no going back now, he found himself thinking, and then wondered why. Of course there was no going back now. There was no going back when Kal Shora had approached him with the task. For the glory of the Dominion!

Somehow, that phrase rang hollow in his mind when he realized that he was no more than a mere spy. There was no glory. No honor in this. And all at once he realized that it was not the will of the Gods that no blood be spilt this night, but the will of Kal Shora. He was just a puppet! He shouldn't be here.

When he fired his flight back, he realized that none of that was true. He realized that for the first time in all his existance he was actually scared. For a moment, he scolded himself vigorously for even thinking such treasonous thoughts. But then he asked why, and then he knew the answer. It was the Sith affecting his mind. They must know he was here!

He hit the ground and deactivated his flight pack.

But maybe they didn't, Varex reasoned. Maybe it was some sort of automatic defense the Sith had set up against such intruders. He remembered Zeratul telling him that the Sith mind tricks only worked on the weak of will. That made sense. In that one moment of helpless freefall his will had weakened enough for the constant Sith mind tricks to invade him.

In any case, he couldn't simply abort a mission such as this just because he had a bad feeling. He had no choice but to press on. But to press on in what direction? Looking around, he saw no landmarks, no obvious signs he could identify on a map. He was already lost, and his mission had just begun.

"Enter," Varex called, not even bothering to look up.

The Tek'a'tara shuffled into the room, and simply stood there. He would have to stay put until the Priest Lord acknowledged his presence, even if the Cree'Ar decided to continue on with his work for hours. To do otherwise meant certain death. Luckily for the Tek'a'tara, Varex looked up after only five minutes of awkward silence.

"Yes?"

"Most Holy Envoy of Borleas Queyver," the Tek'a'tara began, using Varex's official title, "the High Judicator Kal Shora requests your presence on the bridge."

Varex mumbled to himself, too softly for the Nexus servant to hear. He looked back down at what he had been doing before, thought for a little while, and then finally looked back up at the Tek'a'tara.

"Tell the High Judicator I will be there shortly," Varex replied, "Go."

The Nexus servant shuffled back out of the room, the door sliding shut behind him. Varex went back to his work, hoping to get a little more done before his newly scheduled appointment with Kal Shora. He quickly found that he could not concentrate, however, and, with a sigh, left his quarters.

It was a short trip to bridge, and when the Priest Lord got there he found the High Judicator perched upon his command chair, looking regal as he always did. Varex approached the command chair.

"Eptar'a'kar'a, High Judicator Kal Shora," Varex greeted, "You wished to speak with me?"

"Indeed I did, Priest Lord Varex Tarien," Kal Shora replied, giving the Cree'Ar equivilant of a grin, "You are required for a mission. A most important mission."

"I am fully at your command, High Judicator," Varex said.

"You will infiltrate the planet of Xa Fel," the High Judicator continued, "There, you will gather information upon the...Sith. There will be no direct contact with the Sith nor the Empire that also occupies the planet, violent or otherwise. The Skey'g'Aar Zeratul will accompany you to the planet. He will stay in orbit, while you will proceed to the planet itself."

"With respect, High Judicator," Varex began, "I believe I would work better with Reavus Corsius. We have worked together before, and-"

"Pend," Kal Shora interrupted, "Zeratul will accompany you to the planet, because he was once a member of the Sith Order there. Reavus Corsius knows nothing of the Sith, while Zeratul is the most knowledgeable member of the Dominion when it comes to this...cult."

"Yes, High Judicator."


Looking back on it, Varex couldn't help but regret his decision to go on this mission. But then common sense returned to him and he realized it hadn't really been a request, but the High Judicator had really ordered him to do this. He really didn't have a choice in the matter.

Despite the sense that Kal Shora had made, Varex also couldn't help but wish Reavus was here. The Shadowcaste Warrior and the Priest Lord had created a...bond of sorts. Kind of like a friendship with each other. Zeratul was more knowledgeable of the Sith, but Reavus was more knowledgeable of Varex.

If Kal Shora had wanted Zeratul to come so badly why didn't he send the Skey'g'Aar down onto the planet, and not Varex. The Priest Lord shook his head and realized that he had once again been affected by the constant mind powers of the Sith. For what seemed like the thousandth time he cursed the planet.

And then inspiration struck. Right now, Varex was lost and alone on a desolate planet. It could take him months, maybe even a year, to find the Sith planet. And by then they would surely notice Zeratul in orbit over the planet. But if he used the mind powers of the Sith as a guideline, then he could make a straight path for the Temple.

He turned in one direction, and opened his mind up slightly to the Sith's mind powers. Nothing. He turned to the left. Nothing. Again to the left, and he felt it. The emanations trying to fill the Priest Lord with hopelessness and fear. Just to make sure, he turned to the last direction. Nothing. Varex trudged off in the direction of the mindwaves.