Pain is an efficient motivator for one sluggish in rousing from sleep. Or when they've been knocked aside the head.

Stifling a groan (not that he could have with whatever this fabric was in his mouth), Kul blinked his eyes to clear his vision. The room remained black.

*Am I dead? Someone is going to have a really bad day if I am.*

His senses had somewhat fully returned by this time, and the coarse scratching of fabric against his face gave him some comfort. Further testing revealed his arms were also hampered, stun cuffs clasped upon them. He focused his attention upon the Force, directing its energy into the waiting cells of his arms and wrists. Sufficiently suffused, he pulled his hands in opposite directions and strained against the metal clasps with bulging muscles. Unable to withstand the natural power of the Force, the metal easily snapped.

Kul efficiently disposed of the other hindrances, finally clearing his view of his enclosed quarters. A bare room, the air was stale and thick. There was a familiarity to it, though. Like he had been here at one point. Before he could think more on that, his instinct kicked in and he felt the presence of a being behind him. He spun on his toes and adopted a defensive K’thri stance. Though it felt familiar, the place held a sense of doom about it. The face of his watcher was familiar, too. Blank eyes stared at him through the mask of an Inquisitor. Their voice rattled through a modulator the society sometimes utilized for discretion purposes.

“About time you woke up. And I must say I was unimpressed by your little trick just then,” the Inquisitor taunted, while waving a small device in their hand, “Would have been difficult had I not turned off the Force dampener.”

Kul leered at his likely captor. At a quick check, he seemed to have come to no harm during his unconsciousness, and his gear was set aside in a box beside the Inquisitor. The situation still remained furtive in his eyes, regardless of him seeming unscathed.

“Why am I here?”

The Inquisitor tapped a thin finger against their cheek.

“Now why might you be, indeed? It couldn’t possibly have anything to do with Plaguies’ show of defiance against our Grandmaster, surely?”

Kul growled, remaining in stance for the time being.

“Defiance? The Grandmaster struck first, and would have again had Plagueis not shown him it was futile to try and force us down.”

The Inquisitor slammed a fist upon the only piece of furniture in the room, a small durasteel table guarded by a quaint durasteel chair. The Inquisitorius always did have a flair for Feng Shui.

“A foolish gesture! The clans should remember their place in this Brotherhood. The Grandmaster claims the throne, not the Consuls. As an Inquisitor, you should have supported the assault in some way, even if from the shadows. Especially from the shadows.”

Kul wasn’t one to plead, but he did want the agent to understand, if only for the chance it might help him get out of this alive.

“Surely the Grandmaster knows if he rules through fear, it will cause a backlash at some point? Has he learned nothing from the predecessors of the galaxy? The name of Palpatine comes to mind. Strength can be respected as well as feared, and respect lasts longer and doesn’t hide in secret waiting to strike back.”

The Inquisitor stood, and a portion of the wall slid aside to reveal a floating droid covered in the tools of a torturer.

*Ah. There’s that familiar sensation.*

Kul could see no emotion in the Inquisitor’s stance, merely an acceptance of their position and duty. Even their synthesized voice (much like the modulator he had used at times) possessed a complete lack of empathy.

“I will choose to ignore those blasphemous words, Inquisitor, as I can only assume that Plagueis has brainwashed you for such defiance against your masters. But don’t worry...I’m here with a cure.”

The Inquisitor approached, the droid on his heels.

*No. I will not allow such a thing again.*

Roaring his defiance, Kul launched himself at the Inquisitor, who dropped into a Core stance of their own. But unlike Kul, the Inquisitor had cut themself off from companionship and connections of loyalty and affection, and this gave them a lack of willpower that Kul often utilized. His eyes blazed red with fury as he rained blows upon the Inquisitor. The droid lasted only the time it took to rear back and swing.

The Inquisitorius still speaks of the day when a rogue agent turned into the embodiment of a Krayt Draigon, tearing its way out of captivity and into the sunlight.

Walk ‘neath the halls of darkness, where allies
Cavort to bring down a tyrant leader.
Together they hope to find, the answer,
Before chaos once again destroys them:
One who remembers the old emperor,
Who, hid from sight, brought Jedi to heel;
A second, masters over life and death,
Will follow their king to oblivion.
The tertiary clan, per Kessel rules.
The shadows breathe, steps forth those who serve dark,
Another sworn oath turned aside to aid.

Strategy is their only solace here,
Against a monster, a beast in armor.
Strike when the shadows fall, extinguish light,
That the tyrant exudes in his own mind.
Hold fast as legions in iron approach,
The slaughter of all who resist their call.
A lure tossed into the sea of stars,
A tempting treat to one so arrogant.
The trap is placed, the wire strung, patience,
And the stroke of victory is complete.
*Sic simper tyrannis*, his slaves arise.

The smell of copper burned within Kul’s nostrils. Its pungent stench stung all the more as he realized what the source was. It hadn't taken long, the splattered walls and still bodies were testimony enough. His eyes blazed with fury as the rest of him fought to understand that his whole world had just ended. No amount of training or illusions of peace could prepare him for the emotions that boiled within.

His family lay before him, their bodies lacerated by the humming blade in the Jedi’s hands. Kul remembered having seen the man talking with his father. An attempt to recruit him to what was left of their order. Of course his father had refused, explaining that his place was with his family, and his ability to wield his power (the “Force” the Jedi had called it) was merely an extra tool with which to provide for them. Had the Jedi not liked that answer? From what Kul had heard in stories, the Jedi were supposed to be protectors of the peace, not murderers.

Kul then noticed that the Jedi was wounded as well. As the man turned with his left hand holding his side, Kul saw the look in his eyes. It was a look he had seen many a time in the eyes of his prey while hunting: the look of defeat. Knowing one’s time was up. The Jedi quickly changed expressions, a crazed glint in his eyes as they stared past the young Zabrak.

“I will not allow the Sith to take him! With my death, I ensure your defeat!”

Kul had no idea what the man was talking about, but he knew what his feelings told him. *Vengeance.*

Having returned just recently from his *Selenoren,* Kul still had his trusted *zhaboka* in hand, blade freshly washed and sharpened after his battle royale with the other clan’s sons. The ones who had been foolish enough to keep challenging him, in any case. The trap had come as a surprise, another attempt by the Drols’ enemies to put them down. Instead, more than a few clans would be in mourning. All thanks to the training Kul’s father had provided him. The image of his father’s face grinning with pride brought him back to the present. His vision narrowed and everything became tinted in red as if a veil had been pulled over him.

The Zabrak gripped the polearm deftly, and roared. His body moved of its own accord, and he suddenly felt lighter and stronger than before. His legs propelled him forward and his arms thrust the weapon stiffly ahead. The Jedi had no fight left, and was sent smashing into the wall when the blade struck home. The force of the blow left the long handle of the weapon impaled into the wall, the Jedi hanging lifeless.

Kul stepped back as the rush of power began to overflow his emotions. His senses were alert and prickling. They warned him of another presence to his rear. He turned sharply on his heels and saw that he was not alone. A man, his face and body augmented with technology, stood in the corner, draped from head to toe in black armor with a cloak dusting the dirt floor. Two humanoid eyes took in the carnage appreciatively as his metallic jaw clicked to one side. Kul realized it was his form of a grin. As the being spoke his original voice was masked by a synthesizer and seemed to echo throughout the building.

“Defeat? You failed to calculate one detail, Jedi. The Force can be found in others, but a master lies dead. Your order grows smaller, while mine grows.”

The eyes locked onto Kul and their pupils seemed to swivel and shrink like the scope on a rifle. The Zabrak, still under the influence of his rage, yanked his *zhaboka* from the wall and spun it with blade pointed at the android. He completely ignored the Jedi’s corpse as it fell with a thud and sneered. He knew he should be terrified, yet his lust for blood had risen exponentially within the last few moments. His only thought was the desire to see these invaders pay for his family’s murder.

The android saw the look of hunger in the Zabrak’s eyes and his remaining cheek muscles tensed as his mechanoid body tried to laugh. The being swept aside his cloak with one arm, revealing a metal cylinder at his side. Delicately coaxing it into his hand, he spun it once for show before it burst into light. A long beam of crimson faced Kul’s blade of weak durasteel.

“I sense your anger, boy. Perhaps we can make something of you in your father’s place.”

*We?* Kul frowned and could not resist the curiosity that statement brought. He fought the urge to pounce.

“Who is that? More Jedi? I will kill you all!”

The Zabrak’s threat was not lost on the android, but at the same time not considered a potential possibility. The young warrior’s ignorance of outside matters amused him greatly.

“Jedi? No. I am Sith, a group who recognizes the Dark Side of the Force as our guide. It’s power releases us from the shackles of the weak and makes us free. As you can now feel. That strength flowing through you know is you innate power coming forth. The Dark Side calls to you. My clan can help you grow and achieve great things, boy. Now. Come with me.”

Something in the back of Kul’s mind struggled, like water attempting to burst from a dam. It wanted out and he felt the power he had noticed before. It felt...good. His eyes gazed over the Sith’s body. But at what cost? The android smelled of corruption worse than when his father’s crops had soured two harvests ago. His peripheral reminded him of the bodies around him, and made him wonder just where he’d go if he stayed. He was reminded of his father’s words, spoken in a time when there was nothing but the world available to Kul as he approached his *Selenoren.*

*’Power is a nice thing to have, but it doesn’t bring you peace. Remember that, little Kul.’*

His decision made, the Zabrak grasped his polearm tightly and began to circle his opponent. The Sith stared calmly, well aware of his advantage in pure strength. As Kul’tak found his opening he dived towards the Sith, driving the polearm towards where he thought the android’s heart might be. The Sith merely stepped to one side and flicked his saber upward. As Kul’s momentum drove him forward, he tried to stop and turn using a defensive technique of K’thri, but was caught as he watched the front half of his *zhaboka* fly the opposite direction. His weapon had been severed cleanly, and with no resistance.

The last image of his home was of the Sith driving a fist down upon him.

A haze remained as Kul came into a weak state of consciousness. Everything was dark and foggy, but he felt the presence of multiple people around him. One stepped forward and sudden pain lit up his insides. A strange voice screamed at him, but it was partly muffled by what he could only guess were drugs in his system.

*I’m going to die,* he lamented. The pain began to wake his body to his surroundings, and he could make out the voice now.

“You serve Karness Muur now! Your life belongs to Plagueis! Say it! Whom do you serve!?”

His body was racked as another wave of pain passed through him. He saw a flash of bluish light and it reminded him of the stormy nights he’d spent in the woods with his father and younger brother foraging for supplies.

He heard screaming as the next wave hit. *Is...is that...me? I...make it stop.*

“Whom do you serve, slave!?” The voice was just background noise now as Kul’s view began to clear slightly. The pain was driving his hearts to work twice as hard, speeding his adrenal process and cleansing his blood of toxins. They could not stop the tendrils of energy that coursed through him, however. But this meant nothing as his eyes fell upon the android, a shadow in the corner with a metallic smirk. An image flashed through Kul’s mind as the lightning began to take its toll on him. Bodies lying in a bloody heap, and an emotion triggered at the sight. A flash of green and a word: *Jedi.* All Jedi must pay.

*Whom do I serve? This Plagueis? Fine. If they let me serve my vengeance, I’ll bend a knee.*

The android turned and left the room, speaking to a red-haired girl who stood waiting by the door. At his remark she gave the Zabrak an appraising glance, but only nodded in response.

*I’ll kill him, too. Wipe that smirk away. But to do that, I need to live. That power I felt...it must be the answer. I will have more.*

Another stream flowed through him and sparked across the table he was strapped to. The jagged tattooes across his body bulged as his body convulsed anew.

“Whom...do...you serve!?”

Kul managed to move his lips, causing the torturer to lean forward, their face shrouded in cloth. Kul felt the muscles in his body twist and flush with renewed strength as he drew from the power he’d sensed lingering in the back of his mind. It responded as his anger took hold, passing through his being and satiating his need for quick energy. His voice leaked out as a weak whisper.

“Pla...gueis.”

The torturer’s eyes squinted, a smile on their hidden lips. They turned to report their success in reforming the newest slave, but it was at that moment Kul struck. His empowered arms tore the straps from the table, and slammed together. The torturer’s neck snapped cleanly, and Kul ripped his feet free. The red-haired woman merely took this all in, accepting Kul’s freedom with a nod towards the floor. Unsure of these Sith’s traditions, but aware of their clan status, he hazarded a guess and knelt groggily on the floor. The woman strode forward, smaller than himself, yet possessing a presence his instincts immediately became wary of. She allowed a slight smile to cross her face as she laid a small hand on his horned head. His breaths were long and gasping, but he knew that his time was not ending. It was just beginning.

“Rise, my apprentice.”

Kul’tak shifted nervously in the shuttle’s rigid seat, the training saber at his side a new weight to get used to. Having passed the trials that would begin his foray into the ranks of Clan Plagueis, the young Zabrak was eager to prove himself in the upcoming tests. Of course, his time on Iridonia had not allowed him much in the way of a technical education--he found it difficult to perform quick mathematics and critical thinking--and so he hoped to perhaps improve those deficiencies in the Shadow Academy. But where to start? From he’d been told, all were allowed to take what classes they wanted at whatever time it pleased them. In that case, it might be beneficial to begin at a point he could build off of. A combat related degree, perhaps? His budding strength in martial arms may prove useful in a learning facility after all.

The Zabrak realized the older man across from him was staring. His blue eyes marked the Zabrak’s acolyte robe and he nodded pointedly.

“You’re from Plagueis? We’ve been getting a few new journeymen lately from what I hear. I take it you’re beginning your time aboard the *Paladin*?”

Kul nodded. Ever since his “indoctrination” into the dark clan, where he’d been broken down, it was hard for him to carry a decent conversation. He’d lost a part of himself then, but couldn’t remember what exactly.

“Excellent! Always a pleasure to see a new mind wanting to learn a thing or two. Have you decided what you’d like to pursue first? Most new journeymen like to get into the histories a bit, to learn about where our systems and beliefs originated.”

The Acolyte stared out of the small porthole to his left, the hulking VSDII and headquarters for the Academy coming into view.

“I’m not sure, to be honest,” Kul finally replied. “I considered looking into the history of the Sith, but feel my strengths lie with my combat ability.”

The man’s eyebrow rose, slightly stretching the scar running down his left cheek. He scratched at his stubbled chin.

“Hmm. A fighter, eh? Then you may find the introductory notes on the Antei Combat Center to be of interest. Once you’ve completed the qualification exam, you could challenge opponents from your own clan or from the other ones to duels to prove yourself in the eyes of the Brotherhood. A nasty business, in my opinion, but to each their own.”

The Zabrak’s hood nearly slipped off as he jerked his attention to the man across from him. His curiosity was written under the intense gaze of his orange eyes.

“You mean There's a place I can fight freely like that?”

The man chuckled at the youngling’s eagerness for violence.

“You certainly chose the right clan, then.”

He paused as the Zabrak’s face darkened.

“Ah. You were with the group of slaves that came in this past month, I take it? Apologies, but you'll need more than a desire to kill to survive in Plagueis, boy.”

His gaze lighted upon the large destroyer as it dwarfed their smaller transport. The other passengers began to prepare their personal items for departure. The man brushed off his cloak, which Kul noted was highly professional appearing. Expensive cloth with chain adorning the chest and collar.

The vessels locked together with a loud hiss and Kul’s excitement continued to rise with the noise as passengers began to hustle their way to the exit ramp. He could actually study the martial arts at his will! It made sense, Iridonia had similar facilities for those who did extremely well during their *Selenoren.* Alas, Kul had been denied that opportunity due to being brought to the Brotherhood.

The Zabrak nearly leapt off the transport as he tried to find a marker that could direct him to the Novice Halls. As his head swiveled, he caught sight of the man again standing beside him. He offered a hand to the Zabrak, who shook it once firmly.

“I look forward to seeing your knowledge grow, Acolyte. By the way, I never got your name?”

“Oh, sorry. Kul. I'm Kul’tak Drol.”

“A pleasure, Drol. My name is Dacien Victae. But you can just call me Headmaster.”

As the realization hit the Zabrak his eyes widened, causing the man to laugh as he marched away. He threw up a hand in farewell and disappeared behind a blastdoor marked “To the Headmaster’s Office.”

As Kul continued on his own way, amused and annoyed at the same time (*How did I not realize?*), another thought crossed his mind.

*How did he know I was from Plagueis?*

The Zabrak sighed and realized he had much more to learn than he had originally thought.

Deep, swirling orange. The gaze one saw when their time was at an end. Briefly, at the moment when the light was snuffed the orange became perforated with spots of red. The man who was a remnant of old Imperialistic ideals stared helplessly into the crimson abyss that was Kul’tak’s gaze. The soldier fell slowly as his legs lost their support, his lifeless body sporting a seared hole through his center. The Zabrak’s hand clenched in annoyance.

*This is mere slaughter work. Where's the challenge in that? This will make my team’s skill remain stagnant.*

The enemy’s frontline of defense included a fortified trench line that prevented a direct approach through the Capis jungle. Kul would have to lead his Battleteam and punch through to open the way for a full breach. As with the current skirmish, the Disciples had been testing along the line to find a weak spot. Scouts and riflemen squads patrolled the loose jungle before the defensive chain of trenches beyond. It was only a matter of time. There could only be so many solid chains before the stress caused a crack.

The Overseer was heading the assault, bearing his new di Plagia title. Before the initial push he had pulled the Quaestors and the team leaders aside to give them their orders. He had taken to his new connection with the clan very well, his presence and bearing reflecting the determination to prove he was worthy of the title.

He had remained calm, a mask to cover the anger residing within. It was understandable; all of Plagueis should be feeling the same way.

“The battleteams shall breach the trench line in two locations to maximize our approach vectors. Drol. Taasii. Your mission is critical. We can not waste time diverting around, so we must go through. But being forced into a stalemate will allow our enemy time to further solidify their defenses, something that cannot happen. Breach the line, by whatever means you deem fit. The Dread Lord wants these imperials to rue their decision to make Plagueis an enemy.”

Both team leaders, the Zabrak and Togruta, nodded their heads in affirmation. Dracaryis turned his attention to the Aediles.

“Malice, your master has requested your presence with her. I will provide support here in your stead while you attend her. As for you, Laren, I have a special task more suited to your talents. Walk with me.”

Kul had been curious, but he had turned dutifully and led his team to its position.

Now, with bodies piling up and no breach yet, he was getting anxious. He'd have to get a little creative to speed things up. As he passed by his battleteam, he flicked a clawed hand at one of the younger journeymen.

“Ral, you're with me. We're going to open a path for the rest. I hope you've been training with your cloak.”

The Aleena looked puzzled at first (Kul couldn't be absolutely sure due to the beak) but fell into loping steps beside the Zabrak. His beak clicked together in earnest.

The rest of the team gave sidelong glances and a questioning silence reminded Kul that he wasn't finished yet. He turned sharply and alighted his orange eyes upon his unspoken second, Vanessa Rhode.

“When the time comes, move in.”

She threw a salute, arm to chest.

“Yes, Commander. Will there be a sign?”

Kul gave her a crooked grin and waved a hand as he marched on.

“You'll know.”

A few minutes later, Kul and Oric found themselves watching the imperials patrolling a bare patch of the defensive line. A few laser batteries sat on vigil, their turrets swiveling at a slow, constant pace. Kul nudged the Aleena, knowing his sharper eyes would better suited.

“Can you see a way in?”

The avian beak clacked together with each syllable.

“The turrets are in the way, but if we can time our approach just right we can slip in while out of their noticing.”

Kul nodded his head.

“Good. You're learning. Now when is the right time?”

The pupils in the Aleena’s eyes dilated and contracted as he probed the trench. His gaze snapped from soldiers to turrets, to a crosswalk used by the soldiers to get from one side to the other. After a moment of this, he made a clicking noise, which Kul had come to discover was a way his race declared success.

“When the guard heading this way makes his turn to head back the turrets do the same from the opposite side. They meet in the middle and continue. So there's a brief moment when they have blind spots at their peripheral.”

Oric glanced at his leader to confirm his assumption. The Zabrak remained stone-faced. He was focusing on the turrets and imperial, as well. Oric realized he already known and couldn't help but feel patronized. He was about to say something when Kul spoke first.

“When I say go, cloak and head for that spot. We’ll meet up on the other side of that rise,” he ordered indicating his target with an extended finger.

They waited then. As the guard approached his turn, both Shadows felt their adrenaline begin to surge as the anticipation got to them. For Kul, a small bit of trepidation was also present.

They bunched, muscles coiled for their burst into action, as the guard approached the center of his march. When the moment finally arrived, the Shadows exploded into a sprint while shrouding their bodies in cloaks powered through the Force. The only sign of their presence was the wind they cut and the leaves disturbed by the crashes of their feet.

Due to Kul’s experience and physical advantage, he made it across first. He leapt gracefully, utilizing his powerful legs, and placed a hand on the westernmost turret before continuing on. A minuscule beeping could be heard by Oric as he followed behind.

Further in the jungle, Oric breached the rise and sniffed the air. Detecting Kul’s scent, he dropped his cloak. Soon after a hard substance smacked across the back of his head. He recoiled, spinning with saber in hand. The Zabrak declined before him, a fist raised.

“Rule number 26 of being an efficient Shadow, Ral. When cloaked and in the presence of others, be sure they're an ally. You'd have been dead had I been the enemy just then. We move on though.”

Kul's gaze shifted and Oric realized they had come upon a building, a large durasteel complex. A possible HQ? The Zabrak’s hand fell to his Plagueis crest he wore on his armor and began to trace it slowly, but unconsciously. Ral pushed the sight aside mentally as a sign of anxiety of the coming fight. But he heard Kul whisper with his strong Aleenian ears and couldn't help but wonder.

“I hadn't realized it was this close…”

The Zabrak turned to his avian counterpart.

“This is where we part ways, Ral.” Seeing Oric’s confused expression, he raised a gauntlet.

“I needed you to come so someone could lead the rest of the team back here. I know you can sneak back since we made it this far. Rendezvous with Rhode and lead them here.”

He tossed a small black box to the Aleenian. Looking closely, Ral realized it was a detonator.

“I left a surprise on the turret you'll run into first when you get back. Use that and it won't be a problem anymore. Curtesy of Acquisitions. I'm counting on the team, Ral. Break through. For Plagueis.”

With a salute Kul cloaked again, heading in the direction of the small complex. Oric tossed the detonator once. He turned to go, his mind was full of questions. He shook them off to concentrate and cloaked himself before heading back.

Inside the complex, Kul removed his durasteel claws from the throat of the first security guard barring his way. The second watched in horror as his companion was gored by a suddenly appearing beast. It's orange eyes thirsted with an incredible bloodlust, and they were focused on him now. He tried to scream for help but as he did he saw his vocal chords splattered on the wall beside him. Kul walked through the door slinging blood from his gauntlet.

Inside officers and troopers armed themselves, but halted when the man in the center raised his hand.

“Is your lust sated, Drol?”

The Zabrak shrugged his shoulders.

“Keeping up appearances.”

*Forgive me, Master. What I do, I do for Plagueis*

“Deep, swirling orange. The gaze one saw when their time was at an end. Briefly, at the moment when the light was snuffed the orange became perforated with spots of red. The man who was a remnant of old Imperialistic ideals stared helplessly into the crimson abyss that was Kul’tak’s gaze. The soldier fell slowly as his legs lost their support, his lifeless body sporting a seared hole through his center. The Zabrak’s hand clenched in annoyance.

*This is mere slaughter work. Where's the challenge in that? This will make my team’s skill remain stagnant.*

The enemy’s frontline of defense included a fortified trench line that prevented a direct approach through the Capis jungle. Kul would have to lead his Battleteam and punch through to open the way for a full breach. As with the current skirmish, the Disciples had been testing along the line to find a weak spot. Scouts and riflemen squads patrolled the loose jungle before the defensive chain of trenches beyond. It was only a matter of time. There could only be so many solid chains before the stress caused a crack.

The Overseer was heading the assault, bearing his new di Plagia title. Before the initial push he had pulled the Quaestors and the team leaders aside to give them their orders. He had taken to his new connection with the clan very well, his presence and bearing reflecting the determination to prove he was worthy of the title.

He had remained calm, a mask to cover the anger residing within. It was understandable; all of Plagueis should be feeling the same way.

“The battleteams shall breach the trench line in two locations to maximize our approach vectors. Drol. Taasii. Your mission is critical. We can not waste time diverting around, so we must go through. But being forced into a stalemate will allow our enemy time to further solidify their defenses, something that cannot happen. Breach the line, by whatever means you deem fit. The Dread Lord wants these imperials to rue their decision to make Plagueis an enemy.”

Both team leaders, the Zabrak and Togruta, nodded their heads in affirmation. Dracaryis turned his attention to the Aediles.

“Malice, your master has requested your presence with her. I will provide support here in your stead while you attend her. As for you, Laren, I have a special task more suited to your talents. Walk with me.”

Kul had been curious, but he had turned dutifully and led his team to its position.

Now, with bodies piling up and no breach yet, he was getting anxious. He'd have to get a little creative to speed things up. As he passed by his battleteam, he flicked a clawed hand at one of the younger journeymen.

“Ral, you're with me. We're going to open a path for the rest. I hope you've been training with your cloak.”

The Aleena looked puzzled at first (Kul couldn't be absolutely sure due to the beak) but fell into loping steps beside the Zabrak. His beak clicked together in earnest.

The rest of the team gave sidelong glances and a questioning silence reminded Kul that he wasn't finished yet. He turned sharply and alighted his orange eyes upon his unspoken second, Vanessa Rhode.

“When the time comes, move in.”

She threw a salute, arm to chest.

“Yes, Commander. Will there be a sign?”

Kul gave her a crooked grin and waved a hand as he marched on.

“You'll know.”

A few minutes later, Kul and Oric found themselves watching the imperials patrolling a bare patch of the defensive line. A few laser batteries sat on vigil, their turrets swiveling at a slow, constant pace. Kul nudged the Aleena, knowing his sharper eyes would better suited.

“Can you see a way in?”

The avian beak clacked together with each syllable.

“The turrets are in the way, but if we can time our approach just right we can slip in while out of their noticing.”

Kul nodded his head.

“Good. You're learning. Now when is the right time?”

The pupils in the Aleena’s eyes dilated and contracted as he probed the trench. His gaze snapped from soldiers to turrets, to a crosswalk used by the soldiers to get from one side to the other. After a moment of this, he made a clicking noise, which Kul had come to discover was a way his race declared success.

“When the guard heading this way makes his turn to head back the turrets do the same from the opposite side. They meet in the middle and continue. So there's a brief moment when they have blind spots at their peripheral.”

Oric glanced at his leader to confirm his assumption. The Zabrak remained stone-faced. He was focusing on the turrets and imperial, as well. Oric realized he already known and couldn't help but feel patronized. He was about to say something when Kul spoke first.

“When I say go, cloak and head for that spot. We’ll meet up on the other side of that rise,” he ordered indicating his target with an extended finger.

They waited then. As the guard approached his turn, both Shadows felt their adrenaline begin to surge as the anticipation got to them. For Kul, a small bit of trepidation was also present.

They bunched, muscles coiled for their burst into action, as the guard approached the center of his march. When the moment finally arrived, the Shadows exploded into a sprint while shrouding their bodies in cloaks powered through the Force. The only sign of their presence was the wind they cut and the leaves disturbed by the crashes of their feet.

Due to Kul’s experience and physical advantage, he made it across first. He leapt gracefully, utilizing his powerful legs, and placed a hand on the westernmost turret before continuing on. A minuscule beeping could be heard by Oric as he followed behind.

Further in the jungle, Oric breached the rise and sniffed the air. Detecting Kul’s scent, he dropped his cloak. Soon after a hard substance smacked across the back of his head. He recoiled, spinning with saber in hand. The Zabrak declined before him, a fist raised.

“Rule number 26 of being an efficient Shadow, Ral. When cloaked and in the presence of others, be sure they're an ally. You'd have been dead had I been the enemy just then. We move on though.”

Kul's gaze shifted and Oric realized they had come upon a building, a large durasteel complex. A possible HQ? The Zabrak’s hand fell to his Plagueis crest he wore on his armor and began to trace it slowly, but unconsciously. Ral pushed the sight aside mentally as a sign of anxiety of the coming fight. But he heard Kul whisper with his strong Aleenian ears and couldn't help but wonder.

“I hadn't realized it was this close…”

The Zabrak turned to his avian counterpart.

“This is where we part ways, Ral.” Seeing Oric’s confused expression, he raised a gauntlet.

“I needed you to come so someone could lead the rest of the team back here. I know you can sneak back since we made it this far. Rendezvous with Rhode and lead them here.”

He tossed a small black box to the Aleenian. Looking closely, Ral realized it was a detonator.

“I left a surprise on the turret you'll run into first when you get back. Use that and it won't be a problem anymore. Curtesy of Acquisitions. I'm counting on the team, Ral. Break through. For Plagueis.”

With a salute Kul cloaked again, heading in the direction of the small complex. Oric tossed the detonator once. He turned to go, his mind was full of questions. He shook them off to concentrate and cloaked himself before heading back.

Inside the complex, Kul removed his durasteel claws from the throat of the first security guard barring his way. The second watched in horror as his companion was gored by a suddenly appearing beast. It's orange eyes thirsted with an incredible bloodlust, and they were focused on him now. He tried to scream for help but as he did he saw his vocal chords splattered on the wall beside him. Kul walked through the door slinging blood from his gauntlet.

Inside officers and troopers armed themselves, but halted when the man in the center raised his hand.

The Zabrak shrugged his shoulders.

“Keeping up appearances.”

*Forgive me, Master. What I do, I do for Plaguies.*

“Are you ready, Inquisitor? Know that you cannot go back now.”

“I am prepared for what I must do. Lorne.”

***34 ABY, Grasslands of Aliso, South Side of the Pirate Stronghold***

Concussive blasts and shards of rock pelted the advancing Plagueis forces as they attempted to penetrate the first layer of defense. The bulk of the infantry had managed to take minimal cover amongst the side of the cliffs, trying to hide from the defenders sending deadly bolts of plasma their way. The main force pressed the defenders hard, concentrating their pressure heavily against the forward defenses, which followed a curving path up the plateau and lead to the main compound. Heavily fortified, the approach would cost many lives. But Plagueis had plenty of slaves.

“Use what cover you can find! Someone hit that turret battery! Squad two, focus suppressive fire for the troops coming in behind!”

The Zabrak barked what orders he could in the small window between blasts. His battleteam had been given orders to secure the western flank of the rise, allowing the AT-TE’s to progress further in. Unfortunately, they had been pinned with the rest of the first wave on the left flank. Getting to his objective was going to be tricky. His blood churned as his temper began to foster. He flicked a glance over the troops assembled for him--from the heavy shock troopers to the almost mewling acolytes hoping to earn their stripes--and swore he would not fail in his first major assignment as a team leader. His sergeant, a rough and rigid man from Corellia, slid into a spot beside Kul’tak. His maneuver nearly sent him crashing into the jagged wall of rock, but he saved himself in time and threw a hasty salute.

“My lord, orders are flowing in from the Wrath. She is asking we take the hill.”

The Knight scoffed. Selika Roh does not ask. Nor shall I refuse her. He nodded his understanding.

“Prepare the men, Sergeant. We move to engage. We will take that flank.”

The man rolled, and pushed himself up before running down the line repeating the command. He hadn't noted on the fact that the charge would bring them within direct fire of the large turbolaser batteries stationed at the peak of the cliff. Never questioning orders. He was a good sergeant.

Kul scanned the horizon of the grassland. The Alisoan breeze gave the fields the appearance of an ocean, the ripples flowing out and away from the cliff and its imposing overwatch. All along the sea of green, the smooth waves were being interrupted by the march of infantry and heavy tanks. If he squinted, he could make out the vanguard as they pushed the lines forward. Selika was certainly in a hurry. Not that Kul minded, he loved a good fight.

The Zabrak's sergeant once again dive-bombed into cover, rattling off the condition of the battleteam. A few casualties amongst the troopers and one over-eager disciple who had chosen the wrong moment to peek over his chosen rock. Good riddance, Plaguies did not suffer fools.

“...accounted for and ready for the command, my lord!” Sergeant Guilherd looked expectantly to his superior.

Kul grinned eagerly, licking his mental lips in anticipation of real battle.

“Do you desire glory, Sergeant?” The man gave a whooping shout of agreement. “Good. Today you shall have it. Give the order. The Wrath wants her rock. Ah, here comes Shar'kala, perfect timing.”

The two watched as their wary eyes peeked over their cover at the creature pelting down the winding path. Her fur a midnight-hued blur with a streak of silver down her back, the Vornskr raced towards the attacker’s position. A few of the pirates took shots at her, but her speed was hard to lead for a hit. She made it safe and sound, nearly bowling over her master in her excited state. Kul reached down and scratched her ears.

“So you found it then? Well done, Shar’kala.”

The sergeant gave him a curious look. “My lord? Is there new intel I should be aware of? What did the beast find?”

“Let's survive the immediate danger first, sergeant, then I'll let you in on a little secret.” The laughter hiding in the crevices of his brow disappeared into his cold look of determination. “Give the order.”

With hand raised high, the sergeant tightened his fist. He brought it slashing down so that his fingers extended as if a vibrosword aimed for the compound’s very heart. With a ferocious growl, Kul leapt clear over the cover he'd taken and belted for the first target his eyes laid upon. He sprinted, not even bothering to draw his saber in his rush. The pirate gunner that was guarding the immediate corner they had to pass suddenly found himself being pulled from his spot. His vision filled with that of a Zabrak in an armored cloak, its orange eyes glaring and full of anger. It was the last thing he saw.

Kul dropped the pirate in a loose heap of appendages. He flicked an arm to fling the offensive blood of the outlaw from his claw gauntlet. A quick slice was usually effective enough to do the job. Trooper armor did not cover the entire neck, after all.

The loud whirring of gears warned of an impending assault as the turbo laser farther up the rise sought to break the advance. Kul felt the initial rise of something in his breast. Fear? He shoved it down deep and glared at the imposing machine. He just needed time.

The gunner scanned his targeting system. The being caught in its reticule was just standing there. *The fool. Thinks he can play games, does he?* He pulled the charging lever, giving the weapon a bit more juice. As soon as it was at the desired percentage...he fired. The cloaked figure disappeared in the resulting explosion. Then reappeared meters to his right. *The hell?*

The gunner rechecked his figures, sure he had made the correct adjustments. The Sith should be dead. Why was he standing alive, grinning like a fool? He saw the sudden glow of a missile trail moments too late. Its concussive blast shorted out his system for a brief span of moments, but it was enough to get his attention. Full of revenge, he re-targeted the turbolaser to face the main force, subsequently forcing another lull in the advance.

Kul bounded over to his battleteam on the right flank, where they were panting from the sprint. It appeared everyone had made it except for a couple of troopers, but they mostly all looked the same in their armor anyway. Kul’s Vornskr wagged her way over to him and preceded to use his legs for weaving practice. He attempted to ignore her as his sergeant came forward.

“My lord. I don't think I recall the part of the plan where you recklessly charge a friggin’ turbolaser. Pardon my Corellian, sir.”

“No need, Sergeant. I had a feeling you wouldn't approve so I did it without asking your opinion. I am in charge, after all.” He followed the statement with a grin. Almost the instant his cheek touched his lips, the smile disappeared and he gazed solemnly at the rise. Now that they had a strong position to advance with, they could press the attack and hopefully breach the compound. The Wrath had stressed her intentions to get there before the Dread Lord.

“Now we just need to spearhead the way to the compound,” Kul mused aloud. Guilherd removed his helmet and wiped a gloved hand across his brow, a bothered look on his face.

“Is it completely necessary for us to charge headlong into the barrels of the batteries, my lord? Could we not--”

Kul noticed the sergeant whip his head back, and even amongst the cacophony of the ongoing battle he picked out the sharp crack that followed. Realizing the situation, his eyes grew wide and he caught Guilherd as he fell. Warm blood flowed from the hole in his head, his foggy eyes staring blankly into the Zabrak's face.

At first, Kul couldn’t process it completely. His sergeant lay dead before him, but he held the corpse as the fluids spread over his armor and dripped onto the lush grass and stone. His head lay hanging, his inner thoughts swirled within. The battleteam watched, awaiting orders or even just a glimpse of assurance. They knew their leader and sergeant had become something of friends in their time serving together. The Zabrak’s cold and aggressive style managing to soften for brief moments when paired with the rugged, yet sarcastic Corellian. They might have been only able to imagine the anger that Guilherd’s death would cause, but Kul became that anger incarnate.

The battleteam took a collective step back when the Zabrak raised his head. His eyes had taken a red tinge that made his eyes appear like flames ravaging behind to glass windows. Settling Guilherd’s body onto the grass, he rose and faced the direction the sniper’s shot had originated from. The area around them felt suddenly a bit more stifling, but the humidity on Aliso was low today. A couple of the acolytes gave each other inquisitive glances, unsure of what the plan was. Just as one volunteered to step forward and ask, Kul roared. Not a roar of challenge, but a roar designed to warn the recipient that death was coming for them and it would not rest until it had found them. As his voice began to settle, he burst into a sprint. His saber appeared and it extended forth as a piece of himself, an extension of his desire to kill. His loyal Vornskr kept pace beside him, her own kill instinct being pressured into play from the Zabrak’s influence over her.

The rest of his battleteam watched in shock for a moment as their leader rushed recklessly into the front line of the enemy’s defenses, paying little heed to his own safety. Fortunately for him, his natural speed let him reach the lines before one of the turbolasers could pinpoint him. They once again looked around the group before shrugging and followed after. Pirate after pirate fell beneath Kul’s blade, his left hand reaping lives with every slash he made. The lines behind began to notice a lull in the defenses originally tight-gripped blockade. Sensing an opportunity they moved forward, allowing the heavy tanks to finally join the fray, as well. The turbolasers did not hold for long after that.

***34 ABY Aliso, Inside the Pirate Stronghold***

The southern commander’s radio exploded in a torrent of reports suddenly. Everything became a muddled mess of organization as he tried to make sense of what was going on. Some were saying it was one being who had triggered the advance, but other reports claimed the secondary Plagueian force had managed to breach the laser defenses and were advancing on the second line. Should Plagueis breach that as well, they would be within the compound. The Togrutan spared a glance at the Jedi he’d been tasked with protecting, the “Undesirables” that the Brotherhood’s Grandmaster wanted dead at all costs. He was beginning to think he and his men would be among that list very soon.

We took the hill that day, Warrior Selika Roh di Plagia Wrath of the Dreadlord Proconsul of Plagueis at the lead,
cleansing the world of Jedi, we wished were dead,
"Wipe them out, all of them," she spake,
Burn them all like a hated Jar-Jar at the stake,
The view a few steps behind her was good enough for me.