<!--EZCODE BOLD START--> Kamon thought for a second.<!--EZCODE BOLD END-->

"Truth be told, I don't think we can stop it. But I think we may able to either forestall it, or decrease the amount of destruction. I'm not even sure what exactly is going to happen. I chose you because you have great potential and I want to polish you up so you can become a Knight. The best way to do that is take you on a mission. So, will you come?"

<!--EZCODE BOLD START--> He poured himself a drink of whiskey that he had just received from Esau's Ridge. He took a sip, and listened to Corran's response.<!--EZCODE BOLD END-->

ooc:WHISKEY! and you didn't offer me any. jeez what poor manners. And from a prince to. i thought you were supposed to be good on manners

ic:Corran sat there thoughtfully. Considering all his options. On one hand he could stay with Gash and help him fight. And on the other hand he could come with Kamon. Staying with Gash would probably be a bit boring and going with Kamon was more likely to be interesting. He nodded.

"Ok on 2 conditions. I drive and I get the whiskey." said Corran

<font color=gray>The Katana Dreadnaught, Somwhere on the Rogue Jedi - Imperial Borders

Arrix Stryker sat in the cramped living quarters onboard the Katana Dreadnaught that he had claimed for himself. After the battle between the Ossans and the Imperials where Gash had temporarily rejoined the Dark Side, Arrix had stayed farther away from his master. He wasn't mad at Gash, he knew that the Blade of Klain had caused Gash to turn, but he just had a feeling that he shouldn't be near Gash at this time.

Arrix took another puff from his cigar. It was a nasty little habit that he had started just after the hellatious events that took place on Ossus. He found that it sometimes made him forget the emotional scars he had gained on that planet. It wasn't like him, but Arrix wasn't sure he even was himself anymore.

He heard a knock on the door to his quarters. He slowly turned towards the door.</font>

"Enter."

<font color=gray>An Ossan soldier entered the cramped room and snapped to attention in front of Arrix.</font>

"You don't have to do that, I'm not an officer."

<font color=gray>Another habit he had gained after his time spent on Ossus was the same stubborness about rank as Gash.</font>

"Yes, sir-"

"Don't call me that."

"Yes, si-I mean Mr. Stryker. Admiral Jiren is back from his journeys."

"Alright."

<font color=gray>The soldier still stood there, as if he was waiting for something. Arrix sighed.</font>

"Dismissed."

"Oh come on!" Daren yelled, slamming his fist roughly into the audio receiver as it burst into static. He, like most others from the Rogue Jedi Order, had been forced to flee Ossus what seemed like decades ago in an attempt to "preserve forces for a later fight". Unfortunately this new president seemed more interested in bending over and taking it from this new admiral than actually "fightnig back".

Hell Rogue Squadron hadn't even seen a patrol since that fateful battle and it was itching at the major's nerves. As the commander of Rogue Squadron he wanted to get out and do something, not stand around and wait to hear of another pounding loss.

With the close of the battle he had sent Raven away...far away, off with that Shadow Jedi group or whatnot so that she wouldn't get caught in the mop up. She would be better off with friends anyway, the man's apartment was trashed and did not even have a proper roof!

He already had nine pots and pans lined around to catch the constant drips from the ceiling's awful leak. What's worse he did not even have access to the HoloNet, of course he'd been warned to keep it off because of the ability to track him through it.

Sheesh the galaxy had become advanced these days. The technology was getting so good even he, a young twenty five year old man was becoming surprised by it.

"xxxxndicatexxxmerousxxxxipsxxxinbxxx," the audio receiver staticed out and he slapped it hard again.

"Oh come on can't you just tell me something? I'm not in my X-Wing I can't filter this crap out!" he yelled again before finally shutting it off. "Ah hell with it, what more do I need to know? We're getting our asses kicked."

He leaned back in his not-so-cozy chair, feeling a spring pry into his back as he did so, all the while his eyes washed over the room quickly to gain a quick bearing of the mess.

"Yup," he said as he reached down for a drink, "sure am glad Raven ain't here."

He began sipping down his drink when his eye caught something in the door...a piece of flimsiplast it looked like. Shrugging he stood up from the wicked chair and kicked asside some of the trash.

This was not his normal home, actually far from it. The apartment was a place he often stayed when he wanted to be out, alone, on Ando. It was actually convenient for him.

He grabbed the flimsiplast from the door and pulled it open, reading the following:



So there it was, an official order to report to Kashyyk, it was about damn time. He went over a few routines to make sure the certification code was correct before showering, grabbing his uniform and speeding out the door.

The Bridge of the Chimaera II, Mon Calamari System

Thrawn sat, fingers steepled, and watched the first of the Clawcraft leap away. The first squadron; the Achrions. Yes, Thrawn had been right to enlist the help of Gash Jiren's son; even as Thrawn watched those Force-enhanced soldiers shoot away with such unanimous precision, he knew they would fight magnificently.

The Achrion Project had largely been Xireon's idea. Inspired, the young Sith said, by some ancient Sith Prophet by the name of Xal Kra, who had predicted the young man's rise to power. Whether or not Thrawn believed him was irrelevant; the idea was genius, a brilliant combination of both new experimentations and old, of various technologies. The soldiers were not merely clones -- though, many were -- but clones infused with the power of the Force. The soldiers became attuned to one another in the Force, forming some kind of cognative web of minds, one which allowed them to fight as one being -- yet retaining the improvisational abilities of singular beings. Those who were clones, were attuned to others from the second of "birth" in a cloning chamber. Those who were not, experienced a "rebirth" into the Force, one which entered them into the Battle Web and swept away disloyalty.

All in all, sheer brilliance.

Achrions could, in theory, bring a world to it's knees, and then enter the inhabitants into the Battle Web and sweep away their free will. They would be used to create facilities, which would in turn create more clones. The Achrions were... a virus.

Once a world was infested, it would become a gestation sac for more soldiers.

Thrawn grimaced slightly. Regardless of the brilliance of the plan, Thrawn found such meddling with the processes of life distasteful. Clones were one thing, and his had always been free-willed and unmanipulated copies. These were... different. They seemed somehow wrong.

Thrawn smiled, shook his head, and reminded himself of the end to this mean was. And who he was. Given his exile from his homeworld -- a homeworld now aligned with the bastard Republic -- he was not one to speak of right and wrong.

Soontir Fel strode into the bridge, then, nodding to the Admiral and following his gaze out the viewport. 'I watched them in training exercises yesterday. I am loathe to say so, sir, but... they are magnificent pilots. Each one, alone, is only a great pilot, capable of taking down, perhaps, seven or eight enemy fighters alone. Together, with that hive-mind gimmick... they are very impressive.'

Thrawn nodded. "They are, yes. I trust Brel has reported in?"

'Yes, sir. The evidence has been laid, and, by all evidence, successfully relayed.' Fel responded, his eyes never leaving the twisting squadron of Clawcraft below the Chimaera II.

"Excellent."

'Might I ask why, sir, use of this Brel character is necessary?' Fel said, glancing at Thrawn. 'With the Achrions and your command, we can easily defeat Hexyra. And I don't understand what good having Hexyra worried benefits us.'

"Because, General," Thrawn replied cooly, not missing a beat, as if it was all obvious, "It is another factor affecting our enemy. One which we control, and know about. Thus, he is more predictable. I have aligned my forces in such a way as to prepare for a cautious approach, which we know Xylon will use -- otherwise, we wouldn't have known, and would have been less prepared."

Fel, bewildered again at his commander's brilliance, only nodded.

Today would be a great victory, indeed.

'Sir?' Spoke up an officer. 'Enemy forces have entered the system.' The man paused a moment, as if unsure, before continuing. 'Precisely where you predicted.'

Mon Calamari System

Xex Tirion felt an odd camradery with Xylon Hexyra, at that moment. One would almost call it compassion, but the Achrion refuted that starkly; he was an Achrionic Soldier, the first of his kind, and the most powerful. One of those retaining his free will in it's entirety, so as to lead the armies into battle. Yet, strapped into his Clawcraft, a powerful Chiss starfighter, he almost sighed. This commander, this Hexyra, was a wise warrior, one who had fought hard all his life.

Xex felt almost guilty. He had absolutely no idea what he was up against.

To end so brilliant a life with a weapon against which Hexyra had no defense assaulted Tirion's sense of honor. What a strange thought -- honor. Had it not been he who had corrupted Chief Officer Drayil with underhanded intimidation tactics? Who had used Drayil as a tool to imprison a great deal of the Rogue Jedi Order's army?

Ah. But that, that had been exploiting of a weakness Jiren should have known about. It was his fault, his system's fault, for recruiting such weak-willed fools. He should have known death would come from one of them sooner of later; Xex had merely speedened up the process.

But this.

There was no honor in this.

Captain Tirion's hand reached up to rub the deep, horrific scar across his cheek. Jiren's lightsaber throw had imploded a bridge upon him and his squad, ravaging his Darktrooper suit and nearly killing him. He was lucky to have escaped with his life, from that battle. Yet, there would be no injury in this battle. No pain. Few losses on the side of the Chiss Imperium.

The Achrions had been perfected.

Xireon Jiren's perfect tool had been completed.

But as his Clawcraft shot towards Mon Calamari, the First Lord of the 1st Legion could not truthfully say he was happy about it.

Katana Dreadnaught, Somewhere Along the Rogue Jedi-Imperial Border

Xeneth Tellien entered the darkened room on board the Dreadnaught slowly, unsure. He'd heard the rumors of his mentor's horrific slaughter of Imperial forces on Ossus, of the electricity crackling around him as he'd used an archaic weapon to kill hundreds of enemy soldiers. Such tales were spoken with either admiration, or fear, or both, but Xeneth knew the truth of it; Jiren had fallen to the Dark Side. He knew Gash well enough to know that it would take something terrible to shake Gash from the lightside.

Thrawn was worse than terrible.

The room was dark enough that very little of Jiren was visible, save, of course, for the red irises which characterized the Jedi Master. He seemed to be staring pensively out at the stars. Those haunting eyes flickered towards Tellien for a moment, before returning to the viewport. When he'd landed, they'd told Tellien not to meet Gash today, that he'd only seemed distant and angry since the day had begun. He'd ignored the warnings. "General Tellien," Gash said, by way of greeting.

'Admiral Jiren.' Tellien replied, keeping the mood somber. Jiren gestured toward one of the chairs in front of his desk, and he sat, saying nothing.

"You no longer need to refer to me with rank. I am not..." Gash paused. "I am no longer part of the Republic." Gash finish, not looking away from the viewport. Xeneth knew what he was going to say, before he had changed his mind.

Tellien took a deep breath. 'You knew, didn't you?'

Gash knew very well what Tellien referred to, but replied, "Knew what?"

'That the Thrawn would turn against the Imperials. You knew. And you killed them anyway.' Tellien clarified, his tone steady, unshaking. He couldn't understand why he was saying this; yet, he knew he had to know. He had to confront his mentor about his failing.

Gash didn't reply for a minute. "Why are you here, Xeneth?" He asked, speaking his first name for one of the first times Tellien had ever heard.

'I resigned my commission.'

Gash snorted. "I know that."

'Then?'

"Then why did you do it? Why follow me?" Gash asked severely.

Tellien paused. 'Because you're all that's left. Of the Republic, I mean. Musaile has taken over --'

Gash nodded knowingly, stopping any further response from Tellien. He simply stared out the viewport, saying nothing. "Xylon..." Gash said, muttering the word as if underwater. "He... he is going to die, today."

'What!?'

"A death as powerful as Xylon's sends a ripple through the Force, one which transgresses the fourth dimension. That is why I did not come to meet you. That is why they told you not to see me." Gash said, somberly. A crystasteel bottle of Whyren's Reserve glinted in the darkness. Before Tellien could comment on it, Gash used the Force to supress it's effects, no longer seeking a release. "The worst part is, I don't know why. Or how."

Silence. But only for a moment. 'You can't save them like this.'

"Who?"

'The galaxy. Your people.'

Gash smirked slightly, a wry smile which faded as he realized how correct Tellien's appraisal of his mindset was. He really did blame himself for the tragedy; he carried the blood of the galaxy on his hands. "If I am all that is left of the Republic, the galaxy is in a sad state, indeed. Musaile cares only for himself."

'I know.'

At that moment, Arrix Stryker entered the room, flanked by the Yevethan commander, and the man who'd been appointed as the leader of the civilians on board the Dreadnaught. Zartel Vex, was his name. All seemed as unsure as Xeneth had been, entering Gash's office. "Welcome, gentlemen. Have a seat."

<font color=808080>The bridge of the Carrion was a dark place. It had always been dark, as both a haven and a tribute to it’s master. The conditions were suited to him, and not to others. Although the crew had come to adapt, via necessity, it was still an unnerving experience for any visitors who happened to walk in the Dark Lord’s lair. After several mishaps, years ago, he had been forced to install a series of dim running lights on the floor.

Talus was a heartless bastard, but the Carrion would be of no use to him if bridge workers kept falling down the crew pit. It was amusing at first, but after a time the supply of replacements started to wear thin, equally paralleling his patience.

The Sith sat in the centre of his dark kingdom now, overlooking the bridge and the endless star lines of hyperspace beyond from his throne.

A throne. Another addition the Imperial engineers probably hadn’t anticipated being placed on one of their ships. Unless of course that fool Palpatine had wished to visit. Then they’d have been grovelling at his feet attending his every whim. The fools. Talus chuckled, out of practise not drawing attention from his underlings. His long reptilian tail swished back and forth behind him, gently touching on Uraak’s leg as it brushed by. The man moved to accommodate his Master.

A rustling in the dark, which disturbed the silence for a moment, and then it resumed.

Seconds later, Uraak was at Talus’ side.

[[Milord, ten minutes to reversion.]] Uraak’s thought broke the bubble of silence Talus had contained himself in, and now he opened up, fully recognising the bridge around him. The Sith’s head was suddenly full of colours and noise, the thoughts of many surrounding him. The eagerness at the prospect of battle, the enthusiasm, the light-hearted power coming from some.

He hated it.

Rising from the black throne, Talus strode forward toward the main viewport of the ImpStar Deuce, casually pushing a tech into the crew pit on the way. Feelings from the room instantly ceased their cavorting and turned sullen with withdrawal when the man’s scream was heard.

Better.

He stopped walking, and folded his clawed hands across his chest. In one of them, he fingered a black knife, the one he always carried. He’d had it for years, and it was as sacred to him as the Carrion. For it was his and no body else’s. It belonged to him.

Still playing the blade from hand to hand, Talus summoned Nec to his side. The captain of the Carrion, and one of Talus’ most trusted servants, this man was one of the first the Sith had enlisted to his cause.

“Time to reversion, Nec?” Talus hissed incomprehensibly. The metal translator affixed to his neck worked quickly, and translated into Basic what was being said.

“Seven minutes, Lord,” he replied automatically.

“Good...” Talus hissed quietly, the metallic voice conveying no emotion whatsoever. But he was still eager, like his foolish crew had the nerve to be. “Ready all weapons and fighters... but inform them to stay calm! We will not be involving ourselves in this,” and if it would have been possible, a hint of regret could be found in his voice. Talus would dearly have enjoyed fighting this battle, here, even though his sense of self-preservation would not stand idly by throughout it.

But no, this one was for the Achrions. This would be the first time Talus had witnessed them first hand in a large scale combat situation, and he wanted the opportunity to study how well they reacted to the situations faced with. To see how they felt, and to watch them through the Force, from his dark throne.

To see what they saw, to feel what they felt. To live their life, and despair at their death.

Oh, he wouldn’t be up there fighting on the front lines, but by no means would he miss the experience.</font>

<!--EZCODE ITALIC START--> The melodic sound of 5 men walking in academy perfect order was a strange sound in a ship so disorganised. This was the Dreadnought that had escaped Thrawn. To the survivors of Ossus, it was a symbol. But to the men of the Hapan Military...

...It was junk.

Colonel Brinsk and Commodore Darknel strode purposefully through the craft, seeking anyone that could tell them something, ANYTHING, that would be of any use. They were unused to being inactive so long.<!--EZCODE ITALIC END-->

"You think we could be of any use here Sterik?"

<!--EZCODE ITALIC START--> The Intelligence Commodore nodded grimly. The 3 other men with them, the commanders of the surviving Hapan Detachments, looked at their CO aghast. Never had such a well trained unit been even thought useless, let alone actually useless.<!--EZCODE ITALIC END-->

"Jack, relax! Your men are the best trained in the Entire Cluster, up there with other special forces in the Galaxy too. You fought at Ukio, Danoz, Rodia and Democles, all victoriously without loss. So i don't know....

...You might be."

<!--EZCODE ITALIC START--> The small group finally found the bridge, its crewmen looking about in pain, knowing but not knowing the fates of their families and loved ones. After finally finding someone who knew what was happening, the band moved off to find the one man with the guidance to help them...

Gash Jiren<!--EZCODE ITALIC END-->

OOC: I would offer you some, but I don't have any Correlian.

<!--EZCODE BOLD START--> Kamon smiled. It was all coming together.<!--EZCODE BOLD END-->

"Good, Corran. You can get the whiskey, and you can fly the YT-1300 we will be taking over to Hapes. I need some time alone. So, meet me at Esau's Ridge in 2 hours. I trust you have everything you need."

<!--EZCODE BOLD START--> As Corran left the room, Kamon sat back in his chair. He was tired, but still had work to do. He skimmed through the reports his secretary had given him, then went to his room. He gathered his belongings and headed for Esau's Ridge. He hopped a shuttle from the base, and soon arrived at the Ridge.<!--EZCODE BOLD END-->

<!--EZCODE BOLD START--> Corran was already there waiting for him. Kamon tossed his stuff onto the ship then walked over to Corran.<!--EZCODE BOLD END-->

"Well. Are you ready?"