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TRF PRESENTS

[font=Book Antiqua]STAR WARS: LEGACIES[/font]

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The galaxy was at relative peace. It was a time of beginnings and a time of endings as new perceptions, new traditions and new goals replaced the old. It was a time of budding ideals, a renewing of purpose and of plans within plans.


And against this backdrop, the present events would unfold...


The Black Dragon Empire had retreated from it's expansionist policies and had closed it's borders. The intimate goings on within the Imperium were kept even from those on the outer provinces from the Tion Cluster and it's populace held their collective breaths at the direction the will of the Taj would turn too next. Like a snake drawing in on itself and recoiling, the galaxy wondered where their bite would strike next.


The Galactic Coalition had reorganized and under the leadership of Prime Minister Regrad, the government was poised for a decade of renewed vigor. With economic life slowly returning and a stronger relationship within the coalition of worlds, hope and potential seemed to be ever expanding and ever ready to stand in the way of despair.


Within the Cree Ar Dominion, the arrival of more Bringers of Fire and War are tipping the balance of power toward pious action rather than simply pious intent. A Crusade was coming on the wings of war. But a coldly planned an meticulously maintained Crusade.


It was a return to the Golden Age for the Galactic Empire. Many within the undisputed and dominant power of the galaxy felt that the time for it to be the only power in the galaxy was fast approaching. The leader of the Imperial Armed Forces, Simon Kaine, however, did not believe this was so. Having directed negotiations at the end of the last war with the Galactic Coalition, he had seen to it that much of the faction's industrial and war-making capabilities had been stripped. It was his belief that the Coalition would shatter at the economic blow allowing for the Empire to take it piece by piece at it's leisure. Not only had the Coalition not fallen but had begun to rebuild it's infrastructure at a rate that was alarming. Even the blow he had struck against the terrorist organization Galactic Liberation Front fell short of destroying the group altogether.

The resurgance of a strong Coalition, the consolidation of the Imperium's strength, the continuing vigilance against terrorist and the rise in Sith numbers within the New Order all gave Kaine an uneasy feeling regarding the future.

It was an uneasy feeling that would only grow worse for the one power that he felt could undo everything he had planned and plotted for years to accomplish. It was a power that he had made his priority to break. In the beginning he had sowed the seeds of doubt as this power was driven from planet to planet. In the beginning he had authorized its outright attack if only to distract it and prove its ineffectiveness. And with each victory, this power was alienated further and further from the galaxy at large.


And now, at the end, all this effort was threatened.


For the Jedi Master Gash Jiren had died.


Respected, feared, hated or loved. A great warrior was gone and as his enemies reveled in the fact, historians of later generations could not help but mark this as the time when everything changed.


For it was his funeral that brought the Jedi near and far, from all over the galaxy, to Ossus. Perhaps the result was not planned, and certainly the events of the decade that would follow were the farthest thing from the minds of many. But at the end, one could not help but wonder if the spirits of the honorable dead were looking over things after all....from their resting place within the living Force.


As with anything left for posterity, for good or for evil, every story...every Legacy has a beginning.




This is that beginning.



The Beginning of the End...

Before the Fall of Gash Jiren





ACROSS - the bridging space between galaxies...



In essence, the Cree Ar are the embodiment of the molded weapon. A weapon used by the gods for the glory of their purpose, in whatever manner they deem fit to enlighten us with. In the old tongue, walking back to the times of Harvest, when we cultivated the ground, before the Forge of the Gods purged us of impurities as one might a blade of holy intent, Cree Ar literally meant "Of the Clay".

For we are the builders of worlds.

We are the foundation on which Borleas builds his Kingdom within these temporal realms.

It is to his glory that I observe his instruments, ensure that they are put to pious use and are clean of any impurities.


Entaro Cree. A phrase with many meanings. Comprised of words that are becoming slowly extinct as new understandings eminate from the Sanctum. A clearer way of addressing situations. A more true way.


It is with most humble supplication that I act as this material channel to you, the Most Holy of the Sanctum and Revered of the Word of Borleas. It was but yesteryear that this glorious mission to care for these hidden servants of god was blessed as Holy. The Bringers of Fire and War, in their reverent service to Entrokar, in Borleas' name, assigned a just and appropriate amount of their most Holy of warriors to cleanse, purify and sanctify this system as a mere stepping stone for greater purpose.

But I must report that there are impurities in His instruments. Impurities as such that now threaten to unravel the most diehard of faiths.

My fellow servants, this cannot be allowed to....



The blue haze appeared overhead and Lohr of the Sanctum halted his thoughts, removing the recording device connection from his garment collar, his eyes focussing on an opening orifice into his sanctuary ignoring the retreating technology.

"Entaro, Kai." Lohr moved over to greet the person who's presence the doors had detected.

"Entaro, Lohr." answered the low voice of the Military Leader of the Cree Ar Forces on the Steps.

The Cree Ar, in expanding their horizons beyond the celestial energy and gravitational walls that bind their galaxy together had stumbled (though the Sanctum would say that they were lead to find..) upon a group of rogue stars existing within the blackness of an otherwise starless void.

The intellectuals, on a personal level, postulated that the area had been a galaxy-in-the-making in an area without sufficient matter to generate enough of a pull to attract other spacial bodies together.

And so the area became it's own system.

The Sanctum had declared the area "The Steps" and preached that upon the 'salvation' of the inhabitants within, the Cree Ar would be shown the Path to (further) Enlightenment.

And, in a way, it did. For their stay allowed their people to not only identifiy but reach out to a new galaxy that was all but obscured to their long range technologies by the Steps.

And onward the Cree Ar lept but not without leaving Varro Kai with the task of 'saving' the inhabitants of the out of the way system. Inhabitants that did not wish to be visited by the Cree Ar brand of 'salvation'.

That this war had taken longer than expected was not a testament to the lack of power within the Cree Ar. No, such a situation was a testament to what the Sanctum really had their gaze set upon, namely, a new galaxy of infinite potential and not the out of the way system of the Steps.

Still, Sanctum Purpose and their god's reputation were hanging in the balance of Varra Kai's successes or lack thereof. It was an almost intolerable situation that had to be resolved quickly for if even a detachment of Cree Ar was recalled to the Steps, sacrifices would be required.

And Varro Kai felt his living sacrifice in the service of the gods was of much more importance (to the gods as well as himself) than a dead one.

And so he acted.

But it was an action that had brought on the fury of their resident Priest and he knew his life was in the balance.


"I have come to beg your presence upon the Throne of Judgement." Varro said grimly taking care not to clench teeth. He was certain that his terminology would get the Priest's attention. He was not disappointed.

"Throne of Judgement?" Lohr asked suspiciously. He was old enough not to fear letting others know what he thought. Or maybe he was just insane enough no longer to care. Or maybe he had such friends in the higher stations that made such considerations mundane.

"The primitives," a term applied to most non-Cree Ar, "understand the true nature of the Arbiter.." Varro had begun when the Priest lashed out.

"AN INSIGHT YOU ALLOWED THEM TO HAVE!" The tone was accusatory and showed no mercy.

"They now move to strike. This is the final play of my purpose, Priest. If the Arbiter is destroyed, we are stranded and you will be sitting upon the Throne of Judgement to cast me down and carry out the god's will as you perceive."

"As we all perceive, Kai." the Priest corrected.

"As you say," Varro agreed which caught the Priest off guard. For they had argued long and hard over this issue. Now the Task Master Varro had crossed the Stream of Decision and his head would answer for the results.

"Lead on, Task Master." the Priest said haughtily and followed Varro to the bridge.



*


The first thing the Priest noted was how small the Cree Ar fleet was numbered when compared to the nearly limitless numbers of their enemy. His lack of knowledge with the temporal disturbed him for he could almost have sworn on his great god's name that Varro had more than this.

Surely?

Had the Task Master flittered his Holy Army away on the task of proving his plans correct to the Priest?

It showed a very clear lack of divine support for did god not always bestow upon his children true wisdom?

"This fight is lost!" he gasped out as the enemy craft had charged weaving in and out of their rather largly spaced formation. Evidently the Task Master had no more ships and though the spacing of his vessels was as efficient as possible, it was clearly not enough to prevent the enemy from breaking through and moving beyond to the Arbiter that was positioned some ways behind Varro's formation. It was reported that during an earlier action the Arbiter had been damaged.

The enemy knew this as well to the damnation of Varro Kai.

While the primitive's warships were very inferior, it did not take a genius to realize that even a thousand primates with clubs would eventually take down the most sophisticated soldier.

"Entaro, Lohr." Varro replied his attention split between various detection stations. "The enemy is only taking token shots at the fleet and we destroy many of their ships."

The calm manner of the Cree Ar infuriated Lohr, "YOU FOOL! THEY ARE THRU! THE ARBITER!" Lohr nearly shouted. "SAVE THE--"


And the Arbiter exploded as the enemy had quickly, unhindered, swallowed it with their weapons fire.


But it was not an ordinary explosion.


The Arbiter had generated such an explosion that the shockwaves sent in all directions enveloped much of the enemy fleet that had broken through Varro's thin line.


And the enemy ships suddenly were adrift without power.


Lohr was speechless. "A.. A miracle by the great god Borleas!" he whispered in shock. He had never seen a miracle. His mind was racing. With the Arbiter destroyed, Varro was as good as dead but the fleet remained and the enemy was helpless. If they could wipe out the rest of it...


If.


"Not god." Varro replied dryly but before the Priest could retort, he added, "But the instruments of god!"

He shouted, a predatorial look lighting his gaze. "Signal!"


A wormhole formed and the true Arbiter exited holding it's unnatural anomoly open as the rest of Varro's (presumed lost) fleet exited intent on the ships that survived the blast wave.

"Have the Second Wing show no partial judgement." Varro replied curtly and ordered his own fleet to turn and destroy the powerless enemy before them.


"The Arbiter..?" Lohr had started, uncertain.

"..was a fake. It was bait to lure the enemy and, with each battle, more ships were syphoned off to make it appear as if our forces were dwindling." Varro answered with the tone of vindication.

"And now?" Lohr's voice was quivering with just a hint of question.

Varro Kai's reply restored the Priest's faith in god's instruments on the Steps. "Now, we allow the Parrow Lin to be the messengers of our divine support to the enemy homeworlds, now rendered defenseless in their defiance of Borleas."

"Entaro, Kai!" Lohr said with a great surge of satisfaction, forgetting that he had only moments before contemplated removing the Cree Ar from power and from life.

"Entaro Cree, Lohr." Varro replied turning his attention back to the temporal matters of the fleet, as was his duty as Task Master. As much as Lohr's task was spiritual.



*


Year 43 I.E. (Imperial Era)


Varro Kai reveled in the sight of stars once more. Having discharged his duty upon the Steps, he was finally granted entrance in what was to be their new paradise. Complete with new purpose.

"Entaro, Kai." came a voice behind interupting his thoughts and he turned to a familier Skey'g'aar. The old tongue was becoming unfamiliar as new phrases were in use here. Varro would have to get used to it eventually though there was some comfort in the traditions of old.

"Shrey," he answered without the customary Cree Ar greeting that bestowed honor upon the individual given. The racial superiority was as inbred as breath and Varro was not about to stop something that was so readily evident. He never considered the thought that the Skey'g'aar might not give him the greeting of honor for all Cree Ar were deserving of it.

"We arrive, Kai, and there is talk that his Most Holy Lohr would have words."

Varro merely dipped his head in acknowledgment wondering, not for the first time, if the Skey'g'aar before him served as the eyes and ears of Lohr within the fleet.

But it was a question that could wait.

Being granted entry into paradise was his all consuming goal and if to achieve that he needed yet another audience with the Sanctimonious Sanctum Priest, then so be it.

"Form vanguard, Shrey." he ordered and the Skey'g'aar led the way.


From Paradise Lost to Paradise Restored..

Regrad leant back heavily into what was once a chair of some magnificance. Around his table, the faces of those he had called to council seemed to be looking to him for some sign or response, but none was fast coming. Instead, Regrad just leant back, and continued to watch the holo-display on the table, as the news-anchor continued to drone about the historical highlights of the dead Gash Jiren's life. Already, it seems, he was history.

He had never known the Jedi Master, but neither had he faced him in battle and for that Regrad was thankful. Like most of the galaxy, Jiren's tale of mixed redemption, rebellion, defiance, and war was something Regrad wanted to hear but could only find snippets, parts, and all with heavy bias - no matter what Viryn Quell said, and indeed he sat at the very table, waiting for Regrad to speak.

It had always been at the back of his mind, the thought that the Jedi were more then a failed order of protectors or some religious faction of soldiers, and perhaps meeting this great man and learning of him - of how he fought and resisted, of how he turned from darkness, and faced down the very same power he had left. They were qualities that often made Regrad think that if the stories told of him were true, then perhaps it is Gash who should be sitting in this chair now. It was too late, though, to ever recieve the answer to that question. As the news said, he was history, and they would never meet.

The oppressive silence that seemed to drown those assembled was at last broken by Ferguson Mumphs, the chief of the CIB. "It all checks out, sir. He really is dead. I've got enough confirmations from my sources to say that for sure. The funeral is on Ossus, if you're interested..."

Regrad slowly shook his head. Silence once more descended on the room, as they watched the scroll of news.

"...Fuck it." said Viryn, quite suddenly "So he's dead. I know he fought a lot of battles and was some big Jedi, but that doesn't affect us, does it? We never needed the Jedi before and we won't need them later, so it doesn't matter if he's dead. So let's all stop being so fucking down and get some work done."

To this, Regrad actually cracked a faint smile, and said "You, telling us to get to work? This funeral has clearly changed the galaxy more then we thought." Still, Regrad roused himself somewhat, and turned to look at the various Ministers, Generals, Admirals, Knights, Governors, and more who were gathered around the large table before him - they numbered so numerous that it was difficult to see just who was across from him. The table itself rested in the lowest level of the Coalition Command Tower on Azguard itself, and as the highest leaders of the New Coalition sat waiting for him to finally speak, Regrad decided it was probably time that he did.

"Well, first thing's first. Fraktusk, you're a Jedi, so you are of course free to attend the funeral. Don't worry about things here, we'll just take the time out of your vacation days. In the mean-time, we should get up an official press-release, show that we know he's dead and extend our sympathies to the Jedi community - yes, I think sympathies and community are good words for this. It'll leave people wondering wether we mean the Jedi Corp or the Jedi Order, or both. Plus, sympathies can mean anything. We're not pinned down to any one position that way."

"Democracy at work, then." said Quell grimly. "I suppose you're right, anyways. Better not to piss anyone off unless some big, bad Sith Lord thinks that now that Gash is dead he's free to go raping up the countryside."

"Perhaps we should attend the funeral?" said Ruuvan "At least, perhaps, we should send a delegation?"

"No." said Regrad "That's a little too clear message of friendship with the Jedi, I don't want people to think we've got an alliance going or something. At least, not if we don't have one going." He blinked, and then quite suddenly felt bitter to find himself speaking those words. "How I yearn for a time when we can just speak plainly what we mean and what we think, without having to fear someone will react badly to it."

He looked around once more at his council, and then said "There is little to discuss, I now see that. I apologize for calling you all here so early in the day, we should conduct business as usual for now and just make the arrangements for the press-release."

Everyone got up, somewhat reluctantly, to go. Regrad walked calmly but firmly and was soon back to his room further up the tower. Seated in his chair there, he looked out at the city of Az and tried not to think about lost opportunities.

Finally, a knock came at his door.

"Enter"

Yolem, his loyal second-in-command, stepped in and bowed. Regrad gestured for him to rise, and he did, taking a seat across from him. "It appears everyone is quite optimistic, despite the Jedi's death, sir."

Regrad nodded, but said nothing. Yolem tried to understand what was causing his superior such discomfort, but he was only a soldier and could not figure it out. He tried being more direct "Many at the meeting today... they do not understand just why you feel so down, sir. The economy is stronger, the infrastructure of our nation is more complete, we have learned and grown and become whole once more as a nation. Gash Jiren was but one man, surely we can survive his death."

There was a small smile once again upon Regrad's face as he turned to look directly at Yolem "You are right, my friend. We can. Forgive me, I did not mean to make you all feel I was lost in mourning. It is just... I doubt his death will be so simple. With the Force, it never is. The echoes of this day might reach far, and no matter how strong the Coalition is, there are some things - some echoes - that cannot simply be fended off." he paused, and said "But I am being cryptic again, and that is what I apologized for. If any ask, tell them I am simply a tad brooding this morning and the news just threw me off balance. Better to look suprised then depressed. Perhaps I shall read our esteemed Minister for Ethics latest report, those tend to brighten my day and keep me busy."

Yolem seemed pleased, and bowed once more as he departed. Regrad turned to the stack of reports he had to handle this day, noting how the pile had grown considerably during his term of office, and put out of his mind all thoughts of Jedi and the mysteries of the Force - until finally, remembering there was one, perhaps, he could send to represent them at this last remembrance to the fallen hero.

The Jedi Council chamber was completely empty, as it had been for some time. The chairs in which the old Jedi Masters had deliberated and counseled also sat, lonely and empty. The room was dusty, old-smelling and had not been maintained. Vodo had issued a decree some time earlier that not a single person was allowed into the room - not even the cleaning droids. It was to remain completely sealed.

Vodo Baas stood silently, leaning on his traditional walking stick as he felt the emptiness of this room in the Force weigh down upon him. Years had passed since it was last used, and Vodo could no longer feel the lingering presence of the Masters who had once used it.


Leia Organa, Cole Donovin, Kahn... Vodo sadly recounted their names to himself as he looked around, feeling nothing.


Gash Jiren.


His sources within the Coalition had confirmed what Tobal Hadul had said when he had come to Naboo, seeking refuge after fighting along side Jiren, and nearly dying alongside the legendary Jedi Master.


The Great Jedi Gash Jiren was dead.


And Vodo Baas, Jedi Master, suddenly felt very much alone.

Alone in this empty, forgotten room, in the sadly vanishing Jedi Order, in the whole Galaxy itself. He felt as if the walls of evil and terror were closing in., And there was no relief from it.

Distantly, Vodo could feel the uncertainness and fear coming from a few of the more gifted Jedi Knights currently in the Temple, and he brought his emotions in check. It wouldn't do to have anyone asking questions such as why a Jedi Master was in such dispair.


"Do not dispair, apprentice... for that leads to the Dark Side...." His former Master, Kahn's words came to him now as he stood alone and empty in the old Council chambers. These days, he did feel the Dark Side's touch more often, as if it were closer, drawing in breath. He felt like it was coiling, like a snake, to strike at the heart of the Light.

And Just what is the 'Heart of the Light'?, Vodo asked himself.

He could no longer see any brightness in the future. All he saw was an approaching darkness, and nothing standing in the way.

Whenever Vodo reached into the Force, seeking comfort, he would feel a distant darkness, drawing ever closer with each passing day. It was like a heavy weight on the Force.

Now that the news of Jiren’s death was confirmed, there was truly nothing standing against the approaching storm.


He sighed deeply and turned toward the door.


”Remember, apprentice… the future is always in motion.”, Kahn’s voice rose out of Vodo’s past.


“I wish it wasn't” Vodo said aloud to the empty room as he walked out of the empty council room and toward the turbolift.


He had a funeral to go to.

A brilliant swirl erupted across the night sky, flashing momentarily everything in range with an effervescent blue glow. The glow faded and so did the mist that had erupted in space, and all that remained were tiny swirls of purple and blue plasmodium across the eye of the astronomical storm.

Emerging from the eye came the head of a vessel. Even only from the front end if was obvious the vessel was of grand design. Built hard and rigid with rough squared edges everywhere, the vessel continued to emerge past massive, spinning spheres menacing in their design, past sharp, deadly wings closed on target fore, and past massive barrels that propelled the craft from the hole behind, until finally, it was clear…

The Artanis. 60 kilometers of metal and plastics formed into the most powerful weapon the Cree’Ar could conceive.

All who saw it involuntarily bowed their head. Such was the respect it commanded.

The Artanis was, however, not alone. And once it had exited the wormhole a steady stream of warships began, a stream that would not end for several hours…

***



“Prince Artanis, we are honored by your presence.”

Artanis waved it away. Kal Shora stood, and in an unexpected move, Artanis took a turn to bow.

“High Judicator Kal Shora, it is I who is honored to stand in your presence.”

Kal Shora wasn’t sure what to do. He offered his hand, and Artanis accepted, allowing the Judicator to lift him to his feet.

“I am not entirely sure why that would be so, My Prince.”

“Things have changed since you last set foot in the Borhandle,” Artanis told him. “Your position among Cree’Ar legends has been further cemented.”

Kal Shora was not sure how that could be so, and fortunately, he was not required to ask.

“Your actions in the Coruscan galaxy have reached home. Your conquest over the terrorists of Geonosis and Kiyar have further substantiated earlier reports of your tactical aptitude in your conquering of the yat'a'leg'a'lora.”

“None of those conquests have been accurately reported no doubt.”

“Nevertheless…”

“The yat'a'leg'a'lora have not yet been conquered. Our war within their territory continued to the day I left…”

“…and I. Irrelevant. One man can only do so much, and you have shouldered a more sizable portion then most woul…”

“There were no terrorists on Kiyar.”

Artanis stopped walking. He turned to Kal Shora and closed the gap between them.

“Are you sure?” Artanis inquired, almost at a wisper.

Kal Shora nodded and answered in kind. “I was led to believe they were a terrorist world by their neighbor, the Seresians. They wanted us to eliminate them and then claim the world as their own.”

“Did you dole out appropriate penace?”

“I did.”

Artanis raised back to his full height, once again looking up at Kal Shora.

“Then why are we having this conversation?”

“It is not right!”

“You doubt your holy quest?”

“In the course of this quest I have now subjugated an innocent species under our will and eliminated a species that had for all intents and purposes served us no wrong.”

“But they were evil! Willing to use you for genocidal purposes!”

“But we were the we…”

“ENOUGH!”

Artanis’ voice carried across the long chamber. All the organic life ceased their function momentarily, allowing the awkward silence to be offset only to the tune of the Dominion’s cybernetic slave network continuing in their duty. Artanis took a look around, eyes flashing at those who had stopped to eavesdrop, and the ship resumed it’s bustle, muted slightly in hopes of catching more information from the Dominion’s crowned prince.

But Artanis was more measured when at last he spoke. “Kal Shora, we have all had to do… questionable things. Our pursuit of security and a homeland upon which we can raise our families can be our one and only concern. Concerns for the safety of others must be considered secondary, if that, to our own holy mission.”

“Do not their rights…”

“Answer me three questions. Do you believe in our divine protector, Borleas Quayver, and his vision of a homeland secured for us against the ‘lora?”

“Yes.”

“Do you believe in the pursuit of his vision we must do things that are difficult, and perhaps even morally wrong, out of a dire necessity to avoid a catastrophic fate?”

“Yes.”

“Then do you believe that your mission in the Coruscan galaxy is indeed acting towards his vision?”

For a moment, Kal Shora hesitated. “Yes.”

Artanis sighed. “You are lying. But that is to be expected. You have been indoctrinated to lie to your superiors when it comes to questions of your personal beliefs against the greater will. I will not hold it against you.”

“May I speak honestly?”

“Of course. I value honesty in all my officers.”

Kal Shora’s eyes flashed with indignation. “Unless the situation at home has changed, I am not one of your officers.”

Artanis offered an apologetic gesture. “There is much to discuss of home but of course, you are right, you are not one of my officers. I offer an apology.”

“One is not necessary. May I offer my assessment?”

“You may.”

“This galaxy is backwards, both technologically and fundamentally. Their infrastructure is rudimentary and is resisted even still. There is no guiding force; there is instead a stagnant new order content to control through conservative enforcement of mediocrity rather then a progressive movement toward societal advance. Their concepts of ownership and economy are restrictive towards growth as a galactic civilization. Their differences in philosophy, while minor, more often then not lead to conflict on an exorbitant scale. It is, frankly, impossible for me to comprehend how these people could ever pose a significant threat to our position, or how the resources in this galaxy, which have been strip mined and wasted in inefficient usage, ineffective recycling, and improper storage and handling, are enough to warrant armed conflict with a people so disorganized, confused, and in almost every facet of life, retarded.”

“So in all of the varied lifeforms in this galaxy you have come in contact with, you do not consider any a threat?”

“No.”

”Unequivocally?”

“Yes.”

”None of them threaten us militaristically?”

“No.”

”Technologically?”

“No.”

“Ideologically?”

“No.”

“And in manner?”

Kal Shora stopped. Artanis stepped ahead, and then coolly spun around, reading the High Judicator’s silence as if it were scripture.

“Kal Shora, surely one of your advanced age would now that a society’s manner is what makes it dangerous…”

“I am 770 years old.”

“As I am well aware. In time, technology will advance. Military will swell… ideology will be rewritten to push forward towards war. But a societies’ manner will be constant. It can change, but generally fluctuates by degrees barring a complete and total overhaul of the ruling power. A societies’… a galaxies’ manner is the most telling sign of whether they will pose a threat, not only now, but forever throughout history. Even if they lack the power now, if the intent is there, they will come.”

Kal Shora nodded slowly. It was a fact of which he was aware. “I do not see any government within this galaxy ever having the manner or the ability to present to us a significant threat.”

Artanis allowed a small flicker of curiosity to blink across his eyes. “An interesting wording, High Judicator.”

“In what fashion do you consider it, Prince?”

“That you would choose to say no government exists with the means and manner. That implies to me there exists a group with one… perhaps… more then one group…”

Kal Shora considered over a short silence how much he hated the Cree’Ar Dominion. “You must be tired, from your long trip.”

“You must be frustrated by our conversation to ask such a thing.”

Kal Shora stopped again. “I am not used to being interrogated.”

“If my tone is undiplomatic, I apologize. In truth, the trip was indeed quite long, and a difficult transition as well. I would, with your permission; I would like to take some time to retire and reflect on the situation at hand.”

”Of course. There is no pressing need for us to converse. I will be available at your convenience.”

Artanis nodded. He took Kal Shora into his arms… no easy feat, given the difference in their size… and drew him down to him. Kal Shora laid his hands on the others shoulders, touching down his head in respect. The two looked at each other, a mutual admiration and camaraderie evident in their eyes, and then Artanis began to slowly walk away.

Kal Shora stood in silent contemplation for several moments, but it was ultimately wasted time. He must begin preparations for the day ahead.

He had a funeral to arrange.

The Imperial class Star Destroyer Noventa dropped out of hyperspace on the edge of the system belonging to the last holdout cells of resistance in the Elrood Sector. Scanners immediatly began sweeping the system, looking for any signs of movement. Not too suprisingly, there was a horde of it. There were a few large capital-class ships in the system, as well as tens of hundreds of smaller ships, many belonging to smugglers contract by the few remaining Elrood officials to bring in weapons and supplies for the dwindling resistance. Today's lesson would teach these smuggler's that it is not in their best interest to oppose the Empire, even if the credit rewards in the end are a hefty haul. A hypercomm transmission was beamed back to the main fleet, where Commodore Huey awaited for news from the Noventa. By this time the enemy had noticed the presence of the star destroyer, and a sizeable strike fleet was assembling for battle.

Precisley five minutes later, four Imperial Line Squadrons emerged from hyperspace, each taskforce consisting of one Dominator star destroyer, two frigates, and four gunships. Immediatly the Dominator class destroyers activated their gravity well projectors, preventing all traffic from leaving the system. Five minutes after that, the remainder of the Imperial fleet reverted from hyperspace, consisting of eight Imperial Mark V star destroyers, and fifty Adz class patrol destroyers. Fighter and bomber squadrons immediatly deployed as the fleet moved in for the kill. The battle, or rather as it would later be termed, the bloodbath of Berea, was startingly one sided, the Imperials losing scarecly one hundred fifty fighters and bombers, and five hundred killed, the resistance loosing three hundred ships and one hundred thousand men killed, another three hundred thousand taken prisoner. With the planet conquerored, the Elrood Sector was now firmly in the grasp of the Empire.



When Governer Park Kraken recieved the news of the conquest of the planet, he was very much pleased. This last conquest secured the MRP's hold on the Mid-Rim and Expansion Region. He already knew what the result of the battle would be, but was suprised at the apparently light Imperial casualties. Now he had two good reasons to celebrate, for he had just heard over the holo-news that a hated and feared enemy Jedi, named Gash Jiren, had passed away recently. On the day of his funeral then, a celebration ball was planned on Grand Isle. The extra ships stationed in the ES would return to Vladet in a victory parade, before the ships themselves would attend to the repair and mantinence docks in orbit of the planet as needed. Park thumbed on his desk comm. His personal aide recieved.

"Oman, cancel any further appointments for the day, and have my hover-limo prepared. I am taking off early today to visit with my family." said Park.

"Yes sir, your limo will be on standby in a few minutes." replied the aide before signing off.

Park stood up from his desk, and brushed down his olive green uniform as he did so, straightening up his rank bars and awards and medals. Earlier today he had entertained some guests from the Borderland Protectorate to discuss the soldier program he had inacted earlier in the month. The first batch of five hundred thousand general infantry would be leaving fresh from Rachuk within a week, and five hundred thousand infantry that had been stationed in the Boderland would come back to the training facility to keep in shape and re-hone their abilities and reflexes. Shutting down his datacomputer, he rounded his desk and reached the door. Turning off the lights, he closed the door and locked it. Moments later he was in his limo and heading to his family estate.

[font=Times New Roman]Ossus was about the safest place that he could thing of to hide amongst people like himself. The only thing that really kept him from blending in was the fact that he was so malnourished and weak that at times it would seem as if he was going to fall over and pass out. More than once he had been asked by his fellow Rogue's if he was alright. Every time he assured them that he was indeed fine and that he would be alright by himself. Of course everytime he told them that then they would move on to express their sorriness for the loss of his Master. It wasn't the first time Kamon had lost a Master and it probably wouldn't be the last.

He still remembered that day years ago when his Master of the time, Xylon Hexyra, had been killed in a naval battle. Kamon and Corran had been heading off to Hapes as part of a mission from the Order. It had only been moments after his Master's death before Kamon felt it. A tear trickled down his cheek as he replayed this memory in his mind. Hexyra had been the closest thing Kamon had had to a father since his own parents were killed. His Master had truly cared about him and had loved to teach. Hexyra had been Kamon's idol and ever since his death Kamon had never been the same.

Now Kamon's last Master and teacher was dead. His feelings of pain and loss were the same as when he lost Master Hexyra, but the pain in the Force was less evident to him. Having been locked up on the planet Kessel for quite some time had made things difficult for him. It was taking a long time for him to regain the strength in the Force that he had had before. A long time, indeed. Those that had returned, his ability to bend peoples will, had come back more focused and stronger. Kessel had hardened him like nothing before; it had forced the childish, foolishness out of him. He was not the same person that he had once been.

No, things were definately different for Kamon and he wasn't sure that that was a bad thing. Of course he had lost his home, his people, and now two of his former Master's. His wife was gone, his son was gone, his daughter was off somewhere, and he was essentially alone. He still remembered that day that he had found his adopted sister dead on a pirate home base planet. He remembered going outside and destroying all of the opposing forces in his rage. He remembered everything.

The problem wasn't that he didn't remember, it was that he remembered. Most of the things, his sister for instance, he wanted to forget. They brought so much pain along with them that Kamon didn't want them anymore. He knew he could find a way to hide them, but then they could someday be used against him and he didn't want that either. There were things he needed to remember, though. He remembered everything that had happened on Kessel. He defied the scum Black Dragons that ruled the planet and they never got more than a few words out of him. Their punishments had made him stronger.

Kamon sat on his balcony which overhung the street below. So many people were on Ossus that it was hard to recognize people. The handful he had seen that he knew had been quickly pulled away by the crowd before he could get ahold of them. They were all here for the same reason, though. They all wanted to be at the funeral for Master Jiren. He had been their mentor as well. It was a shame that he was gone with such trying times just around the corner if they hadn't already begun. It was a blow that my cripple the Rogue's and wouldn't help the others.

"A shame, isn't it?"

Kamon looked up to see Victoria Alwayn walking across his room towards him. He had known she was here, but he didn't expect her to come to his room.

"Hello, Victoria."

"I could feel you when I was down there," she said as he pointed towards the street. "You've changed, Kamon. Has it really been that long since you and I were students here?"

"It seems like it, doesn't it? Truthfully it has only been a handful of years since I was here. I'm sure you heard what has happened to me since."

"Of course. You took over on Tholatin and forged a military force out of it. You never seemed to be very successful though," Kamon just nodded. "Your wife divorced you after bearing you twin children. Realizing you couldn't put your children in danger, you dropped all fleeting and renounced naval combat. The Black Dragon Empire," Kamon winced," blockaded you and took over. Your daughter managed to escape but you were captured and imprisoned on Kessel."

"I didn't mean tell me everything again."

"Oh... sorry. You seem so different though. What did they do to you on Kessel?"

"Unspeakable things, Victoria. One thing they did, however, was the worst for me. They cut off my force attributes by using force binders and ysalamiri. For the years that I was there I was unable to access that which I had grown accustomed to. It was like they stole a part of me and threw it away, Victoria."

"Wow.. I'm sorry, Kamon."

She moved over and sat down next to him where she could see everything that was going on below. Kamon, when he had been an apprentice here on Ossus, had once been attracted to this woman. There had been no one he could compare her too. Now they were just really good friends that had corresponded with each other before he was on Kessel, but hadn't seen each other in years.

"When did you find out?" she asked him.

"A few days after I got off of Kessel. It was hard to miss even for someone who was hiding."

"You didn't feel it?"

"No."

She blinked a few times at his response before she let her head lay on his shoulders.

"I remember those times you and I would sneak off and go walking. Master Hexyra always knew that we had gone despite how hard we tried to keep him from knowing. He never seemed to care. We'd go sit and watch the sunset and I'd lay my head on your shoulder like this and you'd put your arm around me and we'd enjoy the simpleness of life."[/font]

[font=Times New Roman]This brought a smile to Kamon's face. Indeed he did remember all the times they would do this despite the fact that their master knew it was going on. Kamon had been young and in love and hadn't seen anything really wrong with it. The Rogue Jedi Order did not forbid it's pupils to love like the Jedi Order did.[/font]

[font=Times New Roman]"I remember, too." He snuck his arm around her despite the fact that he did not really want to. Every time he got involved with someone something bad happened. He did not want to get involved with Victoria, at least not now. "I'm not that Kamon, Victoria," he whispered in her ear. "If I told you everything about me you would not want to be here right now."[/font]

[font=Times New Roman]"If you told me everything there is to know about you I wouldn't care. I still love you, Kamon. Nothing will ever change that."[/font]

[font=Times New Roman]A tear ran down his face as he realized that he would probably break her heart soon. He hadn't realized that she still loved him. If he had, he would have never let her know that he was back on Ossus. There was no possible way for her to be with him. Not when he was on the run from the Black Dragon Empire all the time. It was too great a risk to take. Too big a chance that they would kill her. It was a big risk. Kamon brushed the tear away with his free hand and decided that it would be best for her not to know. As they sat and watched the sunset, Kamon wondered if she would ever forgive him.[/font]

In the all consuming darkness a cloaked figure made its way down the stone staircase that encompassed the front entrance of the Sith Temple. Smaller than most who were ordinarily seen on the premises, this figure was that of a trim lithe female. The hood of the heavy mantle engulfed her exotic facial features, shrouding her face in darkness. To her side her faithful pet, a vornskr to which she owed her life to twice over, stood.

Gaarak’s trademark howling-hiss broke through the silence that swept the evening’s grace. A slight smile broke the icy glare on the woman’s hooded visage. As the black cloth that encased her broke open. A slim hand protruded; two fingers outstretched pointing to the forest opening in the front of the Temple. Gaarak looked to his master for the telltale sign that he was free to commence the hunt. To the beast seconds felt like hours and suddenly movement. The trained creature howled before bolting off to find its prey.

Now she was alone. Now she thought.

Her life had changed dramatically, so profusely, she strained, at times, to remember her past…to the times before she was brought here. Yes, brought. Her actions, at the time it seemed, were not her own. The overwhelming urge to leave the smuggler’s planet came to her in a dream….





….Dehoir tossed, wracking and contorting her body in unusual positions, in her bed; her body drenched in sweat, her breathing hard and labored. The ruckus aroused Gaarak from his station. Placing his head upon Dehoir’s hand, Gaarak whined then licked to get her attention.

Gasping for an easy breath the young woman sat bolt straight in her bed, the sheets wrapped tightly around her naked body, her hair a disheveled mess. Dehoir closed her emerald eyes drawing her knees to her chest. This was the twelfth straight night she had this dream…although this was not the only one, it was certainly the strangest.

“I can’t take much more of this, Gaarak. I haven’t had a decent nights sleep in twelve days.”

Pulling the sheet off of the bed as she got up, Dehoir moved around Gaarak to her bathroom. The place she inhabited was supposed to be abandoned, off limits to outsiders, but Dehoir made the apartment her own. The water remained on, as did the electricity. No one ever came to the location; there were no ‘peace keeping figures’ that roamed the streets…there was no use for them on a planet without a proper law system. The two room bungalow was acquired quite easily; it was, after all, in move in condition, and that’s just what Dehoir had done.

The red-head splashed cold water on her face. Perched above the sink was a looking glass; Dehoir took a long hard stare into it at her features. She noticed that the nights of restless sleep hadn’t robbed her of her beauty, at least not yet. Yawning, Dehoir covered her mouth and made her way back to bed.

Gaarak made his way to her side and laid his head upon her lap. Her thoughts grew distant as she stroked the large beast’s head. The dreams…or were they nightmares...haunted her nights, and now for the past week, they began haunting her days.

“A voice, Gaarak. I keep hearing this voice, and I don’t know who it is, or what it wants... what it needs.” Her voice grew distant before she chuckled slightly as she looked to her pet. His head cocked to one side, it almost felt as if he knew what she was talking about. “I know I keep talking to you about this….I’ve been doing it for twelve nights now...but I need to know who he is.” Her eyes lit up when she had heard herself.

“Him! It’s a man’s voice!” She sighed in half relief and in half defeat.

The voice was that of a man, but what was it he wanted? What did he need? Was it her? No.

Shaking her head, Dehoir laid back down. She would ponder it more in the morning. For now, sleep beckoned.

Night was upon Xa Fel, the systems gas giant having passed beyond the horizon, the landscape dark and the skies above even more so. The forests that grew, each with beasts and creatures from any child's nightmare, were forbidding and unnerving; very few dared venture beyond the safety of the tree line during the day, let alone during the night when all manner of being were on the prowl, stalking, like a hundred different predators having finally been released from the cage created by the light of day. Yet at this moment, very few predators could compare to the man sitting within the center of the northern-most forest of the ancient Sith Temple.

Seated, legs crossed beneath him, Vance Jas listened to the universe around him. Through the Force, the Sith Master listened to the murmuring of the galaxy, the subtle whisper of its touch. Beyond the perception of his own mentality, beyond that of his very being, the Force led the man on a path; it told him, spoke with him, answered to him, it led and understood his desire to grasp for a moment in time, a very precious minute moment where what was wanted could be had...

...and that time was now.

A premonition, a vision that told of the future, of what could be. One possible fracture line to follow, another already broken off in another direction, one ahead joining that original line, it was all a matter of continuous direction and movement. Manipulating the very essence of the mysterious power that heeded his will, the Sith Master brought the galaxy to a stop; within the Force, within its touch and whispers, Vance could see the future, he could grasp the moment before him. He saw what was to happen, what could happen, he saw the results of such events, witnessed the direction the galaxy would take, the largest fracture line of all that would be followed.

In this moment of pure clarity, Vance knew it was time. Time for action, time to merge his chosen line with that of the larger direction of the galaxy; he would not change the galaxy to his will, an action such as that would be beyond him. No, he would simply merge his path with that of the galaxies, he would follow it, and when the moment was right he would grasp that larger fracture line of destiny and would reap what the galaxy offered. Times changed, the universe continued moving. But for one small moment, the Sith Master would have a hand, a subtle manipulation, in such a change...

Opening his eyes, Vance took a deep inhale, a lungful of fresh air that allowed him to center himself once more. Falling into the Force, allowing it to lead him such as it were, took a considerable amount of effort; by placing oneself into a state of near hibernation, the energy that bound all living things together could become a guide to something beyond something as insignificant as a single being, beyond even a galaxy full of beings. And during that expansive travel, Vance had witnessed one fracture lines direction that was most interesting...

The Jedi Gash Jiren's line had ended.

His fracture had burnt out, as everything that was him bled back into the galaxy, leaving in its place another fracture line that crossed out to touch another million like it around. Such a death would create quite the ripple in the galaxy, some would be concerned, others would be joyous, some would simply think of his passing as just another step in life. But Vance understood just how important such an event was: For with that one moment, the galaxy had changed direction...

...and the Sith Master knew exactly where it was headed.

Standing, Vance ran his gloved hand through his sweat-drenched hair, smoothing the long length out to hang back behind his ears. Raising his hood over his head, the Sith Master began walking back along the path toward the Sith Temple; he had long used the clearing in the center of the forest for his meditations, preferring to escape the Sith Apprentices and various other influences that would interfere with his quiet moments.

Moving silently through the thick foliage, Vance knew he had to speak with his fellow Sith Masters, the Triumvirate. His information would be limited, for they did not need to know every detail; all that needed was for the Council, and the Sith Order, to be prepared. Times were changing, and if they wished to survive, then they would need to be ready...

Frakutsk sat, examining very boring and routine paperwork about Imperial planets of some sort for the Coalition, when suddenly he was suprised. His first reaction was to read the sentance that he had just finished over again.

The population of 950 million is roughly 95% enslaved, with 60% of slaves being forced to work under artificial stimulants to keep them living in conditions that would otherwise kill them.

Nope, nothing suprising there. Frakutsk looked away from his work, still, for some inexplicable reason, shocked. He thought he felt something, but then it hit him.

A crushing, depressing feeling. As if the last light in existance had been snuffed out, and everything else was now just a matter of time.

Someone had died. Someone important. Someone who had become deeply wound into many aspects of the force. Gash Jiren.

Later, Ossus

Being on Ossus was like standing in mist. The atmosphere was so thick that one could see nothing, yet felt everything.

Ossus had always been a chapter in a history lesson. The Great Jedi Temple, Exar Kun, something about a tree. Frakutsk would never have thought that it could be a place of such mystery.

The force seeped from plot to plot, from thought to thought, from mind to mind. But the more Force seeped, the more it seemed to become tainted by the darkside that it slithered through.

Overall, it didn't make Frakutsk happy.

It did help to remember that the Coalition was doing well, but even that thought was blackened by the memory of the depressed look on Prime Minister Regrad's face as he called a meeting early in the morning to discuss the death of Gash Jiren.

Frakutsk never had known the man, but he knew what he represented. The fallibility of the dark side, the beam of light that can defeat a seemingly overpowering darkness.

But what did his death mean? What is a body? The great Jiren would live on in the force, would he not? Could not every Jedi standing on this infused soil still sense a presence? But a presence of what, of Gash Jiren? He had died... he was not present.

Frakutsk felt the tides of great change beginning to rise. Frakutsk felt many things.

Finnally summoning the courage to return to the real world from his world of thought, Frakutsk looked up from the floor. The room he was in was totally featureless, and it was to be his lodging for the next few days.

Frakutsk took a deep breath and tried to blot out the depressing aura around him. To some extent, it worked. Perhaps there was hope after all.