Manually added by Seer Locke Sonjie

Dentavii Prime,
Orian System,
39 ABY

Stalking the darkness of the cold space, Lexiconus Aurelius monitored the spinning fragments of rock and ice while on sentry for the Oracle’s Apprentice. His mint eyes fixed on the horizon in dedication, as he knew that the threat of the enemy coming was a reality to face. From the visuals of his binoculars, Lexic noticed a slither of sapphire light which streaked across the nearby sky and dropped down towards the surface of Dentavii prime. The screeching from the object felt chilling down his spine, as it pierced his ears like a sniper shot. Instigated by the orders given to him from the Stone Dragon, Lexiconus was forced to climb down off his boulder perch and investigate the crash site. The Zelosian couldn’t help but wonder what caused the object to fall from the sky, whether by a silent shooting or power faults. He descended from the sandy rock face and landed softly onto the ground, securing the breathing apparatus onto his face and jogged briskly towards the landing site and towards his goal of the crashed object. With his lightsaber in hand, he often didn’t rely on this machination of ancient religions, but it did the job of murder and terror. Lexiconus crossed the barren and silent field of cold stone, sandy dunes and ice, and came across a small and flat landing area.

Once he approached the area, the Zelosian’s visor scanned around and he saw the grey metallic hull of a shuttle cooling, with wisps of steam rolling from the rear end and wings. Lexic descended into the flat landing area and kept his lightsaber tightly in grip, he did not trust the prospect of civilians trapped in this war zone, nor the idea of convicts let loose who might be Force-Sensitive. With careful footsteps, the Sith finally reached the landing platform and peered around at the shuttle front window. There didn’t seem to be much activity coming from the shuttle’s hull apart from the steam and several red lights, but Lexic felt something was amiss from the activity inside. The Zelosian found the ramp to be ajar slightly, with a showering of amber sparks coming from inside out, this didn’t bode well and he ignited his emerald blade quickly. Peeking inside, Lexic saw that the hydraulic arm was broken and didn’t extend as much as it needed, so he carefully reached inside with his lightsaber and sliced the metal clean. The heated fluids of the arm sprayed across his arm and burnt his olive skin harshly, as the Zelosian let out a roar as he dropped his lightsaber and tumbled back before the ramp crushed him. He placed his palm on the first degree burns and tried his best to heal the scarred tissue, but then the occupants of the vessel began to slowly show themselves. Their golden eyes shined from the shadows as they hissed menacingly at Lexiconus, their orange jumpsuits slowly coming into the light as they stepped down.

With no real effort from himself, the Sith’s arm was healed and he stood from the grainy sands of the asteroid, glaring at the group who he now knew were Trandoshans.

“Let us go and we will pay you handsomely once we have found our people.” A quite large Trandoshan hissed from his sewer green lips, his forked green flickering at the end. Lexiconus reached out for his lightsaber from the ramp and quickly snatched it in the air, igniting the emerald blade as quick as he could. This wasn’t the weapon he would rely on, but it’ll do to cut flesh. Almost on instinct, the large reptilian launched himself at the Sith with his claws bared, but underestimated the training of Lexic’s blade as the Zelosian aggressively lopped the Trandoshan’s head clean off. In his fuelled anger, Lexic reached out once more and lifted two of the convicts into the air, restricting their necks with great pressure. Chords began to flick and snap as his grip tightened with the Force aiding his raw emotion.

“You have nothing I want! You will die!” Lexic grinned as he spoke to them, a smaller Trandoshan behind the two flying convicts cowered and began to make a run for an exit. The Zelosian predicted this would occur and he quickly dropped the brown Trandoshan, then twisted his wrist and snapped the neck of the remaining convict in his grip. The Sith carefully retracted his arm back and flung the corpse at the running convict, he was caught by the sheer weight and trapped on the ground, his leg twisted the wrong way underneath his ally’s body. Panting and wheezing for breath, the remaining Trandoshan slowly looked up into the eyes of the Sith and snarled in disgust. All Lexic did was smile and lunged his emerald blade into the cranium of the convict. The Zelosian yanked his lightsaber from the brain matter and marched towards the final prisoner who despite the broken limb, continued to stand and limp his way from the menacing torture of the Sith. Lexiconus pulled his arm back and concentrated on the range of his target, who he calculated to slam a fist into his kidney, then launched his arm. The Force carried out his task and delivered an aggressive cross punch to the side of the convict, who whimpered and collapsed in pain. Lexic quickly caught up to the orange prisoner and chuckled as he deactivated his lightsaber and slid it back into his waistcloth.

“You should be afraid of me, as I represent the power of the Dark Side, and you are only a pawn to play. Now it is time to suffer.” The Sith gave the Trandoshan a cold smirk as he slowly aimed his hands at him and delivered strong pulses of shocking energy directly to his face and chest. Lexiconus blasted out laughter as he angrily snarled and directed the Dark Side energy of cerulean arcs into the cooking skin of the convict. The victim of the lightning torture jolted and screamed out in agony, clawing at the rocks which caused his fingers to bleed. Then the Trandoshan’s back arched up as his facial expressions tensed violently, and he ceased to be under the electric manifestations. The Sith ceased his lightning attack and looked at his charred fingers in disbelief, he didn’t realise the power of the Dark Side can be so direct on others until now.

“I will develop this power for the joy of myself, and then this war will be in the Apprentice’s favour. I swear on this day, the Clan leaders will learn through discipline to fear me!” Lexic chuckled to himself, and returned to the shuttle. He felt this experience brought his closer to the Dark Side, but took a toll on his strength as he felt his body become weak again. Lexic held his hands to his chest as he tried to breath properly and limped to the shuttle. Inside, he took a moment to sit at the rear bench and relax for a second, the shuttle and scenario here can be reported later. He needed to rest, and to revise what had happened here, Lexic slowly closed his eyes and fell into a slumber.

I truly want to help- sort of.... :)

Please find attached my entry for the competition, thank you.

Ruined Temple,
Dentavii Prime,
Orian System,
39 ABY

A soft humming filled the air and gracefully whispered into the ears of Vexatus’ followers while they worked away heavily on the ruins of the ancient temple. The legendary Darth Vexatus who had his slender green hands run over the fine intrications of the walls, while Xia Long the resident Matriarch of the Long Family sat and meditated next to him. She communicated with the dead that once resided here, their memories, their actions and reactions, all recorded within these walls. Jeric Cyrin was nowhere to be seen, but that was the place he truly belonged. Always on the edges of your sight, vastly out of range yet constantly monitoring you like a predatory cat, this was Jeric’s place in the company of Vexatus. Both Maelous and Jen were almost a single entity, analysing and observing various pieces of stone that Vexatus ordered them to process and place appropriately. The two worked seamlessly together, as the Force bonded them in more than just emotions. Then there was Lexiconus who sat at the folded out desk in a tent at the rear, his body always in the light of this desk. He was quite useless without something as simple as a torch, but the Zelosian worked his best on the console in order to analyse the new information. He wasn’t just a medical man, and this wasn’t some ordinary rebellion. His eyes were diverted to a small box that kept flashing before him, as if to warn him it was there to read. Lexiconus expanded the box and found something that destroyed his peace; an escape plan.

Shuttle is ready for take-off. Supplies are packed. Co-ordinates are locked in. Join us at the Turmoil promptly. Bring Jade with you.

It must be Maelous, Lexic couldn’t think of anyone else who would value Jade just as much as the Sith Aedile. He frowned and growled at the terminal in detest, the strength of this team was about to be destroyed by two foolish cowards. His eyes slowly rolled over to view the pair outside of the lit tent, where he glared coldly at their backs. Lexiconus wasn’t going to let the integrity of this team falter, and he certainly wasn’t going to let anyone leave with vital supplies and sensitive information of the team. The Zelosian shot from the chair and slipped his night-vision goggles on, then stormed out of the tent and towards the bonded duo. With a venom on his expression, Lexic shoved against the Aedile which forced him into the table slightly. Maelous quickly turned and growled with fury as he gripped the Zelosian’s weak arm, then took him to one side.

“You’re planning to leave with all of our stuff!? All of the stock we need to keep this place running and you’re serious about this!?” Lexic whispered to the Sith, who instantly knew what this was about and dragged the Zelosian further out of the temple and towards the designated shuttle. From there, he shoved Lexic onto the ramp and he collapsed harshly onto the metal, grunting in pain.

“Yes, we’re leaving because this group are not going to survive the onslaught that is the Clan’s Warhost! It’s completely stupid to stay and fight this out, we’ll surely die by either Cethgus’ hand or Muz’s!” Maelous looked at Jade who knew exactly what was going on and rushed back to the table in order to continue Vexatus’ orders. Like nothing happened.

Maelous slowly turned back to Lexiconus who was trying to heal the bruising on his arm and leg, feeling instantly better as he stood to face Maelous. Lexic shook his head and sighed, he knew the plan was solid but this broke the philosophy that this team stood for. The freedom to study the unknown, the wide and unexplained studies this star of Ombus gave to the Clan. The wealth of knowledge from these abandoned temples were invaluable to the entire Clan and the future generations, which was exactly why Lexiconus needed to get them to Locke. Like a light turned on in Lexic’s mind, he quickly rushed back to the tent. Inside, he grabbed his own personal items, along with the notes from the ritual that Vexatus wrote himself and started sending all the information from the console onto an open datapad. With any luck, Locke would see reason to keep this ritual details and the scholars would study them. Lexiconus slowly turned back to exit the tent and saw something that could only be described as betrayal; the shuttle of Maelous and Jade took off into the skies whilst Shi Long and Vexatus used their abilities to halt the shuttle. The Zelosian thought himself being labelled as the scapegoat, but needed something to back himself up. He placed his stuff back where they belong, with Vexatus’ notes and only took the datapad to his leaders. With any luck they’ll believe him more than Maelous. Lexiconus rushed out and ran at Shi Long, who eagerly awaited his new study with a saddened expression. The Krath Adherent handed the datapad to Shi who studied it over and nodded in disgust.

“They were stealing from our notes I see, they were always traitors to the cause. Something that is unacceptable when our mission is resolved. Good job, Warrior.” The Dragon patted Lexic’s shoulder as he slowly turned back around and walked into the temple.

Disaster slightly averted, Lexic. At least for you.

Darkblade growled as he read the message. Internal fighting. Vexatus and Marcus traitors. Any who oppose Locke are to be brought to justice. So it had come down to this. After a relative time of peace the Dark Jedi once again squabbled with each other over power. Sighing, he stood up from his desk at the Shadow Academy and grabbed his robes to head out towards the shuttle he had for personal use. He already knew who he was going to apprehend first. As he boarded his shuttle, the Anzat felt a surge of excitement come across him. His first real battle would test his skills and limits he had worked so hard to hone these last 16 months. Smiling to himself he relished in the idea of testing against his one true rival.
The Anzat stepped off the transport, and watched it fly off again to its next destination, bringing the troops to the front. Darkblade would have liked to join them, but his mission took him elsewhere. Stalking through the streets of Nar Shadaa the Seeker easily found his target. Leaving an easy to find trail the Anzat was able to find Bentre with ease to a local bar. As he stepped inside, the people crowd inside turned to a hush as they watched the Knight approach the Human at the bar. Darkblade grabbed Bentre by the neck and pulled him up. A stream of vomit erupted from the Devil’s Shroud BTL, soaking the Anzat’s robes. Disappointed at the current state of his opponent the Anzat thought quickly to minimize attention to himself.
Sighing, Darkblade pulled the drunken Human down from his stool and drug him back across the streets to the transport drop spot. As he signaled the transport to pick him up and return him to CNS territory, he couldn’t help but feel pity for the poor soul laying on the ground. He would wake up the next morning with a massive hangover, not realizing where he was and would probably be asking for more beer. Chuckling slightly, Darkblade sank to his knees and grabbed Bentre’s head. “This is for your own good.” He said as he head-butted the Human repeatedly. A pool of blood forming beneath his body, nose broken and teeth smashed to pieces.
The transport landed, with the pilots giving a weird look as Darkblade entered the ramp dragging the limp body of the Human behind him. “He put up a fight, can’t blame him for being hunted down and told he was on the wrong side, right?” As the transport made its way back to Naga Sadow territory he knew Bentre would never remember this. Although he probably saved his life, and if the Consul ever found out he had lied to him, things would turn out to be a lot worse than they were now. Patting Bentre on the shoulder, he couldn’t help but feel slightly relieved he didn’t have to fight his friend in a real battle. Whatever the outcome would have been, it wouldn’t have been something Darkblade would have been proud of. Having a friend in the Brotherhood was rare enough as it is, having to fight him would be a betrayal of their friendship. Everyone makes mistakes, let’s forget this one together. Darkblade pulled out a bottle of alcohol, downed it in one go and stood up.
Walking towards the pilot and its crew, he quickly made short work of the two of them as he snapped their necks. Setting the course on autopilot, he disposed of the crew. Giggling slightly as the alcohol reached his brains, he could only imagine Locke’s face as the shuttle crashed into the Temple of Blood. Writing a quick note, he scribbled Tough fight with traitors, stole transport, Bentre and me were caught offguard. Slipping into thepilot seat, no idea what he was doing or how to pilot the blasted thing, Darkblade tried his best to steer it towards the Temple of Blood and before long he slipped into the coma of sweet dreams and alcohol induced fevers.

Two Night Raptors, how had he not seen this coming. Both Darth Vexatus and Tasha’Vel, one had stated spewing doomsday prophecy about a ritual that needs to be completed to save the Clan, the later joining the upstart Rollmaster after he started having visions about a possible threat to the Clan. Plus learning that his own Master had sided with the Rollmaster almost had him questioning his choice of which side he should have been on. No, his was the correct choice, the only choice to be made. But having someone this close to him side with someone else had caused him to doubt himself as a leader and had him questioning the different philosophies of each group. This caused him to seek out the Consul and voiced his concern about his Battleteam members choices. In the end, Locke had told him to continue proving his loyalty, and help retrieve the shards for him. But he needed answers, one he knew he would never get them from, but Tasha should be able to give him the answers that he sought.

After the Conclave, where everyone had made their choices, he had looked for his Battleteam Sergeant, but was unable to before she left with the rest of Marcus’ group. He knew Vexatus would eventually make an appearance, but since he had had very little dealings with him since his assignment to the Night Raptors he knew little of what he was thinking. But he knew Tasha and he knew her past, and knew that in-fighting within the Clan was something that would trouble her deeply. Loyalty runs deep in her mind, and while he knew that she would do most anything to protect the Clan, her loyalty to her Master ran deeper.

He had hoped that he would have been afforded the chance to talk with her before they met on the battle field. A vain hope as when he was finally able to catch up with her, she had been knocked unconscious after she had had a violent Force encounter with a shard-wielding Bentre. He didn’t know what had happened leading up to that point, but he had felt the effects of that Force push. After he had picked himself up off the ground, he had told his commando team to secure the other figure while he attended to Tasha. She was right there, and he had so many questions he wanted to ask her, but he knew that he would not have time to as he sensed someone drawing near. A Jedi presence, that had to be Sang.

He was still thinking about all this when his wrist controller started chirping at him. Why would there be something wrong with the retrieval sphere? It was at that same moment that his Master came leaping over the boulder, where he had placed the shard holding sphere, and incapacitated his Shadow Commandos. Well, now this is different, Armad had thought as he watched his Master not kill any of them. Damn his Master for being able to get near him without him knowing, a curse of being around his Master so much during his training.

So many questions he needed answered, but it seemed that Macron did not want to talk, as he was barreling toward Armad with the intent of challenging his Apprentice once again in combat. As his Master was bearing down on him, he sensed that the shard was secured in a container on Macron’s belt. Gah, why did his Master always have to make things difficult for him. Pulling heavily on the Force, Armad conjured the image of his Master’s sister, Anaxela, and had her appear to stand in my place. Able to barely dodge the enraged attack, Armad was able to slice open the container, retrieve it with the sphere and send it back towards the waiting shuttle. As Armad saw a whitish puff emanating from his Master's armor, the only think he could think of was “You bastard!” And as he fell into unconsciousness, he was deeply angered that his questions wouldn't get answered and that he'd have to wait to ask them.

As the heat fell from his skin, he turned. The work was done for a moment, Malik's surrender not unexpected. The man always was a bit of a martyr, and stepping between the Keibatsu and their prey was never advisable, even for an elder. He always did move with a clear purpose.

Muz stopped for a second, letting his mind catch up to things, reaching out with his senses, with his heart. He could feel them, feel Sildrin's resonance on the tapestry, on the universe where they were. The threads tied her to two distinct places, a weavery constructed with deft mind and great skill. He smiled. He knew she would be trying her hardest, but to what end, he only had half an idea. There was too much bad history behind her blind eyes.

Shikyo nodded at his transceiver, then deftly stowed it in the same motion. "We're en route."

Muz looked up at him for a moment, his youngest brother, his apprentice, his Herald. There was never any real contention between them. Sometimes the others, with their challenges, their grasping to step out from the shadow that he never cared to cast. He understood them, that need. It never bothered Shikyo. He learned many lessons in practicality from the mercenaries, from his years on the Dark Council. It wasn't like Manji, who's dogged persistence in backing the Heir of the Sadow name almost cracked the bloodline in two. He stared back at him, one eye shielded under the Kyataran handguard tied about his head. They hadn't sat and talked for some time. It seemed too obvious, some things, that they never needed said. And yet, still it itched at his psyche.

He let the words go out to him.

Are we all that's left?

Manji shifted his weight, his head moving slightly in affirmation. Muz made no reaction, counting down the names in his head. Shin'Ichi had left the 'Spear after the War, retreating on a long overdue holiday to the core. He never checked in at the Gilmarin Condos, so he must have had somewhere else in mind. He hadn't responded to any communiques, either. While that normally would have bothered him, it was rather his modus operandi as of late, growing more and more distant. Sanjuro had gone to ground at Kuroshin, rarely leaving their compound there, exhausted from the constant infighting that the Brotherhood seemed to espouse more and more. Shimura was long gone, stopped responding to them more than a decade ago, and they could not tell if he still even drew breath.

Macron gave up his affiliation years ago, almost in defiance to the Family when Ashia was Consul. Manji probably still hadn't forgiven him for that, as he was the one who adopted him. Macron's bitterness and impulsive behavior led him to many a drastic act, which explained why he was backing the usurper knight. He could feel the madman, not far from the area that Locke was designating. He was enjoying the battle too much, reveling in destruction and the fear he sowed in the younger ranks. It was too much, the posturing. Fear only made so good of a motivator, and after that immediate threat has passed, they find ways to come at you sideways. He saw it all too many times. Could Macron learn that lesson? It was a question that would have to be answered soon.

Which left Tsainetomo. Muz felt him out there, a brilliant point of light on the dull rock, unable or maybe even unwilling to conceal himself. Muz cracked his neck, considering options. He had thrown down the name of the blood some time ago, threw in his lot with the Long. Was it a desire for power? Vexatus - No, Xanos - He hadn't earned that title. Xanos offered much, but it was, as it always ever was, illusion, built to pretend at primacy, to honor his mad master. What Xanos had to offer was only ever lies, and Sai had to know that, somewhere deep in his heart. The ritual he sought, the shards he was trying to accumulate, the power he was trying to wrest from the long dead; they were not what Vexatus believed. The Falleen thought he was researching Vitiate, by way of Tiamat, but instead found a broken version of Ergast's work. Sai had to know.

If so, then why would he bother throwing his lot in with them. There was pride there, certainly. Love of combat, and the seeking to challenge. Steel sharpens steel, the saying went, and perhaps the half-Korun felt that his steel would be tested more harshly than if at his side. But no, that didn't make much sense either. It was too much ego, too much narcissism to think he was the cause for that. He shunted it aside in his thoughts, knowing the price of ego as a Dark Lord.

Malaise? Could boredom and a lack of self preservation drive him to this? Muz stared at nothing at yet everything, watching the world move by millimeters as his brain dissected the situation, trying to unravel the puzzle that his cousin had become. There was more to this than anything he could see from here, and it curled his lip.

Shikyo looked up at him, at Ashia and Manji. "Ready, then?"

Muz twisted his arm, the display sliding open, bathing his eyes in the luminosity of the datapad built into the prosthetic. The holocomm projector lit up under his unseen hand, and he looked up at his Herald, nodding once.

Go ahead. I'm right behind you.

He let the connection reach out to the old frequencies, encrypted in ways that Sildrin had tested against her own skills when she was his Seneschal. He let the connection begin, feeling the power trace itself up into the network, then vanish out of his visualisation. He stood there, eyes closed as he felt along the edges of this shattered world, letting his senses touch everything he could. Past the journeymen, past the scared soldiers, past the fear of what was coming, or the lust of what might happen. And found him.

He felt his heart twist as he found the communicator.

Soon, there would be an understanding.

*Things are becoming far too heated for my liking.* Bentre glared down at the dossiers and intelligence reports that had been delivered to him. Most had been delivered via datapads. He had dissected their contents, and had scribbled hundreds of notes upon flimsiplast sheets. Those sheets littered his desk, only adding to the chaos boiling within him.

The news of Vexatus’s *prophecy* and Marcus’s *vision* was all too well known and discussed amongst the Clan. Members of Naga Sadow were choosing who to hedge their bets with. Even in his own Battleteam a few members had declared their support strongly for Locke. *They were quite vocal in their opinions. I am sure they felt quite* brave *as they stood beside the Consul.*

The Assassin knew that duty would call him to side with Locke as well. He just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Vexatus had appeared suddenly, and while he was not sure that Locke’s denouncement was incorrect, he had a very sour feeling in his gut there was more below the surface of events.

There was a disturbance in the Force. It had conjured visions similar to those he had faced in the sunken temple. It had conjured images of the Twi’lek girl- which were painful enough on their own- and the visage of his brother. *Gods help me,* the words fell silently from his lips as tears trickled down his face. He couldn’t stand to face that again.

He wiped a stray tear from his cheek, and picked up the latest intelligence report. *I have to keep my mind busy. Eventually I will have to announce my support for Kiriyu. For now I need to know where my people stand. His eyes scanned the screen with an apathetic disinterest. Despite the gravity of the situation, his mind was many systems away on Corellia. If he ever came upon some free time, he would have to return home to visit his parents. He had been away from home for far too long. Once the Clan was settled again he would make that trip.

*So, Jades had chosen to support the Consul. That is to be expected. And Lexiconus is-* His eyes widened as he reread the notes on the Zelosian Techweaver. *That can’t be right.* With a grunt, Bentre flung the datapad across the office, throwing himself from his chair without pausing to watch it hit.

“**Lexiconus Aurelius!**” his voice bellowed out as he bounded down the hallway. The Corellian could feel the blood pounding in his head as he made his way toward the Warrior’s room. Rosie came around a corner, oblivious to the Knight’s intentions. Just before he bowled her over, however, she managed to duck through a door into a side room with a surprised yelp.

He should have cared, but somehow he didn’t in the heat of the moment. Angry steps brought the Human to a closed doorway. Clenching a fist he began to beat on it savagely. After a few moment the door was flung open with an unceremonious crash. The Assassin had managed to knock something over inside the room in his haste. He glared from the door but his comrade was no where in sight.

“Bentre,” the meek voice of Rosie came from behind him. His face twisted into a visage akin to an angry wolf Stahoes turned to regard her. She did not shirk away though. “Lex left this morning.”

“He-” the Obelisk shook his head. *There is no time to deal with this right now.* Reaching inside his robes, he pulled out his battered commlink. His voice hoarse from yelling, he coughed before he spoke into the device. “Daedric, I want you to meet me in my office in five minutes. We have an unfortunate circumstance to deal with.”