Tan-grey fingers glided over an array of digital button, entering various codes and commands into the control panel. Dark amber eyes darted up to focus on a small group of three moving silently within one of the top most floors of Level Delta, Phantom Complex. Zujenia watched as Edraven signaled to the pale figure of Bol’era and the hulking red Kaleesh a few meters ahead of the Umbaran.

A chime forewarned the Half-Ryn of the incoming holo-call before the blue light filled the room. The face was easily recognizable, the newly elected Voice and former Gate Keeper, Marick Arconae.

“ *Zujenia, how goes the training?* “

“The team will be prepared for any evacuation missions if needed. With Galeres’ aid in the battlefield--”

“ *Zujenia, I was talking about yours. Are you prepared?* “

The Gate Warden bit the inside of her cheek, her mind escaping her. She couldn't ignore the tightening sensation in her gut. Was she good enough to lead the battle team successfully against the forces of the Grand Master? Port Ol’val is one thing, Pravus is another. Who’s fate is she signing off on? A taste of copper drew her back to the Holo-Hapan, a faint downturn of the corner of his mouth was the only sign of his concern.

“I will do all that is in my power to not only succeed, but to ensure each member returns home safely.” Zujenia replied, amber eyes burning with determination

“Nice shot...if you want the target to die right away.” said Samael, staring at the target that Ranarr had masterfully riddled with shots.
“Generally a soldier does not play with his enemy. He kills, or is killed.” said Ranarr, checking his weapons and placing them down in front of him.
“That’s all well and good, but there’s just one thing I gotta know…” said the Umbaran, “Can you always shoot that good? Even when under pressure?”
“Of course.” he said proudly.
“Really?” said Samael, a grin kissing his face as he focused on the Cathar.
“Wh-what are you doing Samael?” asked Ranarr, but it was too late.
The Cathar looked at the Umbaran, seeing on his features a swarm of insects and vermin. They snaked from his nose to his mouth, his tongue infested with thousands upon thousands of maggots. Ranarr shook his head and tried to focus, the Dark Jedi filling his head with insidious laughter as he watched.
“Shoot the targets, or they’ll shoot you.” he said.
As soon as the words hit Ranarr’s ears, the targets seemed to come to life as they pried themselves off of their bases and began to approach the Cathar.
“Sometimes, I hate you.” said Ranarr, his hands trembling as he began to fire.
“Me too, sometimes.” said Samael as he laughed at the hilarity of the Cathar missing his shots. He only stopped when the Cathar placed the gun to his head, promptly causing the illusion and terror to end.

"You'll have to do better than that if you expect to defeat a Grand Master! Again!" The sound of Havok's hands snapping together caused the weary Equites to get up off the ground. They groaned in agony, nursing bruises from practice sabers and settled into their default positions.

The scenery around them stank of the ocean. The hangar of Castle Tarentum was not a pleasant place to be, and even less so when under the personal tutelage of a reclusive Grand Master.

The practice sabers rose into the air as Havoc readied himself, and then attacked without warning. Whirling blades of simulated death struck, forcing Tra'an Reith to block and dodge, even as Timeros Caesus Entar Arconae sought to avoid them.

None of it worked. Again and again, the telekinetic mastery of the fabled third Grand Master would find the flaws in their chosen forms. It seemed inevitable that they would lose, yet, Tra'an Reith snarled and a focused burst of telekinetic energy smashed a lightsaber, reducing the number coming at him by one. And yet they were *learning*.

Timeros vaulted through the air, landing on his feet as he rushed Havok, engendering a smile from the old man. Right as Timeros thought that he would have, and brought his blade sweeping in to strike, a hammer blow in his knees sent him sliding into the point of one of the training sabers.

"Better, but not good enough. Again!" and with the clap of his Hands, they reset.

Countless members of the three Clans - Arcona, Plagueis and Tarentum - trained together, Force Users and their Mundane counterparts alike, preparing themselves for the inevitable assault on Darth Pravus. In one area, separate from the rest, Elders of the three Clans coached others on honing their Force Powers and improving skills with lightsaber combat. In a range on the far side, both Force Users and Mundanes worked to increase their precision with ranged weaponry of all types - blasters, slugthrowers, pistols, carbines, rifles - a few even held bows, both the primitive and energy variants.

By far, however, the largest of the groups were those sparring with bladed weapons, bare hands and feet. Close-Quarters Combat was an essential skill to fall back on when the range your enemies were within touching distance. All manner of Hand-To-Hand Combat were practiced throughout this group, detailing the most effective means of disarming, adapting to the particular situation and overcoming obstacles, as well as methods of silently eliminating the opposition.

The three Consuls watched proudly as their subjects threw everything they had into preparing for the rising storm, occasionally lending a hand where necessary.

Every single one of them would need everything at their disposal to survive what was to come.

Oh hey this guy is killing everyone
Should we do something about this
Eh why bother he's not after us eh
Let it go he'll get bored eventually

Oh crap did he just come after us
Great now we're all gonna fricken die
Hey look he's after those guys too
Guess we better team up to survive

Darkness and Death they pair,
like a cigar and fine wine.

From the shadows they both do come,
to take life and leave nothing.

In Darkness we found our ally 
In absence we see we're not alone 
For they are here with us 
Feel joint hate burning your soul 

We despise them more than you could know 
And their rage ignites us from within
But there's no escaping our bitter destiny
Bound in abhorrence, them and us