Steeped in history, stained with blood. The trees of Endor reached towards the sky as mighty fingers that were firmly rooted in life-nurturing soil. Soil that felt good on the bottom of the young Wookiee Jedi’s feet. His name was Worbiiuk, shortened to Worbie by the humans he was forced to deal with on a daily basis. Durasteel and the confining hulls of Starcraft had become his prison. For the sake of sanity and to remain tapped into his primal instinct, he would frequently travel to arboreal worlds. To recalibrate and to center himself. A trip to Endor was perfect for such an endeavor as he had business in the Bakura Trace, a Hyperlane that led to Endor’s Gate.

His feet crunched in the foliage and he walked with his eyes closed, absorbing the presence of the Force and basking in the abundance of life. Bustling cities paled in comparison to the natural simplicity and beauty of the circle. He missed it. Each step brought him closer to enlightenment but further from civilization as he not only meditated on his surroundings but waited. The three training remotes he had released earlier were programmed to track him down and were relentless predators. His master, Bem Enon, a human survivor often used these protocols to train his Padawans. It kept them sharp.

The Wookiee’s eyelids snapped open and Worbie quickly turned his head to the right as he heard the familiar hiss of a remote’s thrusters. He drew his lightsaber and in a flash, a green blade snapped to attention. A resplendent emerald that reminded him of the leaves of the Worshyr.

Three red beams lanced out from thick cover and with a simple sweep of his blade he deflected two and as he dug into the solid stance of Shi-Cho, the third was seemingly absorbed. His eyes scanned his surroundings and as two more shots triggered his senses, he dipped his blade over his shoulder to block a shot to his back, and stepped forward to allow the second shot to connect with the tree in front of him. As he rounded the tree, his eyes locked onto the remote and as it tried to draw a bead on him, he snapped the fingers of his left hand and a spark flashed directly in front of the droid causing its sensors to bug out momentarily. As the glitch in the system hindered the targeting computer, with that same left hand, Worbie gripped it with the Force and slung it into a large outcropping of rock.

Worbie snorted as it burst into a heap of smoking metal and his head immediately snapped to the left as the other two remotes zipped past him. He grunted as they both fired a volley that seemingly melted against an invisible barrier shielding him. His knees bent and with a burst of strength, the Force propelled him forward. As he flew through the air, he whipped his blade down, striking one of the remotes with his blade and upon landing, deflected two more shots from the remaining threat.

Rather than destroy the droid quickly, he looked to the sky just as his Convor companion swooped down, striking the remote in silence. The remote tumbled in the air as the bird redirected and rocketed straight up. In that moment, in unison with the airstrike, Worbie slid forward and caught the remote with his bare hand and squeezed, crushing it with his mighty grip. He snorted a Wookiee laugh and revealed his teeth in a smile as he tossed it to the ground and watched as a Flock of birds erupted into a black cloud above him. A cloud with one mind as it molded and transformed into various forms as it broke out of a clearing in the canopy, their uniform flight a truly spectacular thing to behold.

**It's amazing what can be accomplished with one mind in accord.**

Feat: Constant Vigilance

The streets of Zsoldos were often a dangerous place to walk at night. If it wasn't the local gang known as the Gutter-Boyz, stirring up trouble, it was often some other degenerate trying to make ends meet.

Juda?

He literally didn't care. He walked among the riff-raff as a King. His own gang, Slaret Orat, or in the basic tongue Bloodhorn, were never very far. Still, he enjoyed the solitude of walking the streets alone. It gave him time to think. As he pondered life and the ever nagging anxiety that stemmed from parenthood and running the Underworld of the Mandalorian planet which he would eventually control in full. The Proconsul strode, his powerful gait slow and deliberate as he pulled a cigar from his suit pocket and bit down on it.

Sparks became flame as he thumbed his lighter and puffed an ember into existence. He took the moment to pause, not because he desired the aroma of the Iridonian tobacco between his lips. He paused to allow the being that had been following him time to catch up.

His datapad chimed in his pocket, but would go ignored as nothing was going to ruin his stroll through the yard. A term he used to refer to the local center of commerce and trade hub of the city he governed.

With his sense dialed into his surroundings, he hears the clatter of something down an adjacent alley. It was the rattle of inexperience. He had his suspicions on who it was but would curb any finger pointing and wait until the tail revealed themselves. It was only a matter of time, besides, he hated being wrong. Continuing his walk, he took turns that lead to winding alleys and corridors lined with spice addicts looking for a handout, droids carrying out their programming, and any other patron of the night life.

Subtle shifts of footwork sliding against the grated walkways triggered Juda's exceptional hearing as he took in a deep draw. The cherry at the end of his lips painted his ghoulish visage in an eerie light and his eyes flicked to his right. The sensation of spiders crawling up his spine was a feeling he only ever got when someone was creeping up from behind.

"Ya know, you have the subtlety of a rampaging Wampa." He spoke, seemingly to himself before a figure rounded the corner. "I thought I taught you better than that, Lugar." His frightening face cracked a smirk.

"How'd you know it was me, Dad?"

"I've listened to your footsteps since you learned to walk. I can recognize them anywhere."

"Are you gonna tell mom?"

Juda laughed and tussle his son's blue mowhawk. "Of course."

Lugar sneered. "Admit it, I almost had you."

"You didn't. Not by a long shot, kiddo. Now come on, let's get back. Your Mother is far more terrifying than your old man."

Juda flicked his cigar, sending it tumbling in a cascade of sparks and wrapped his arm around his son's shoulders.

"Ya know, someday you'll be running this outfit."

The two continued their talk as they strode down the street until their words faded from earshot. It had been a long day.

Tucked inside the Anvil was a chamber utilized by one of Clan Vizsla's chief advisors and head of the Zsoldos Intelligence Division.

From the banners of Mandalorian origin, technocratic symbolism had been woven into the tapestries that hung on either side of a seat lined with glowing buttons and view screens. Yet, it wasn't out of mockery that these banners were created, quite the contrary. It was a collective, a cohesion that operated for the betterment of the Clan. Even though Zor Gron walked outside the lines of Mandalorian culture even while immersed in it, he remained loyal to the cause and secretly used these warriors for self-advancement. Conspiring for power beyond what could be comprehended by those incapable of tapping into the mysterious Force.

However, this same chamber served a sinister dual purpose.

"Sir, we need those shipments!" A diplomat from King's Dawn slammed a fist into the palm of his hand in a vain attempt to show dominance and authority.

The wrinkled flesh of the Skakoan appeared to glow beneath the lighting of his seat and his pressurized suit groaned and hissed as it pumped vital nutrients and gas into his body. A translator flashed as a string of unintelligible words were translated into what could best be described as a robotic tone.

"Your assertiveness is born out of dependency, Senator," Zor showed no emotion as he addressed those in attendance. "I encourage you to rethink your position and urge you to consider changing your tone when speaking to me. Your shipment will arrive on time."

"Th-thank you, sir."

Remaining motionless, even after the trembling bow from the diplomat, the Skakoan's mind was alive with thought as he soaked in the fear emanating from those slithering through the doorway. The need to partake in an addiction turned obsession overwhelmed him so much that his analytical droid, a JN-66 picked up on it.

"Master, if you need to step away, I can handle matters here."

Gron stood to his feet and lurched forward without skipping a beat as the flickering red light in his cranial cybernetic sped up, anticipating the satisfaction that stemmed from dabbling in his dark secret. Few knew that he was in fact a practitioner of the Sith arts, a powerful Force User that desired power through mechanized dominion, possessing creations infused with Darkside energies. Stepping behind his throne of privilege, the cybernetic arm attached to his armor craned over his right shoulder and the claw clamped onto a series of holes in the wall and twisted open a lock that released a seal in what was seemingly a wall panel.

As the door slid open, a cold and noxious air oozed out of a dimly lit corridor. The room beyond was filled with methane. Not only was it comfortable for him and allowed him to walk freely without his pressurized suit. But had the room ever been infiltrated, to breathe in the toxins would mean death to most species. Lining the walls were an assortment of tubes and dim red lights that reflected off of the eerie fog that swirled throughout the chamber as he walked by. The contents of a variety of beakers, vials, and test tubes rippled as lines fed unknown fluids into them. Computer terminals cut through the dense darkness and as the corridor opened up into a larger room, four bacta tanks contained abnormal creatures at various stages of growth and maturity.

Overhead, seemingly endless chatter echoed through his domicile. Communication feeds from those who constantly fed intelligence updates. To the ordinary being, this chaos would be maddening and stressful. To Zor Gron it was merely fuel for his inner furnace. A furnace that burned hotter than his dark forge lined with ancient alchemical runes.

He sunk into a black chair, worn from use, and glanced at the far wall which was decorated with the lightsabers of fallen Jedi, trophies he had plucked from their lifeless bodies. While he had a basic understanding of how to wield them. Taking time to hone his skills with such an archaic weapon was considered a waste of time when compared to the unfathomable power one could attain from fully immersing oneself in the Darkside.

Whirring around, his cybernetic armor attachment clamped down on his mask and with a hiss, the pressure of his suit was released and his mask was pulled free. A toothless maw opened wide as he took a deep breath and his eyelids slid open to reveal burning golden eyes. It was time to get to work.

A panic-stricken woman, child in tow, rounded a smoldering building. Her hair was dark and tears welled up just beneath her magnificently blue irises. Her child cried and held onto her head with one hand as the ruby red fingertips showed through the constriction of her mother's embrace.

She exuded a sigh of relief as familiarity amidst calamity blanketed her. A man ran up to her as he climbed over the remnants of a casino wall littering the street. Before he could utter a word she hugged him and firmly pressed her lips to his.

"Daddy!" The little girl exclaimed through sobs as she hugged him tight.

"Wh-where were you, how did you get awa-?"

She led him into the quietest alley she could find and the group sank to one knee.

"I-it was incredible. I had no idea what was happening. Sadie and I were walking down the street and all of a sudden-"

=======

It was an ordinary night. Stirring of high-ranking members of a mysterious organization meeting in Canto Bight had been the talk of the town. Sadie was hungry and it was late so cooking was out of the question. Her favorite Mantell Mix stand was still open. You know Herun stays open all hours, that Ithorian never closes shop. So I took Sadie to get a snack.

Then it began to rain neon beams that obliterated or set fire to whatever they touched. It was a bombardment that nobody saw coming. The visitors brought death and destruction with them. It was chaos. Borl didn't make it, his family was trapped inside the wreckage of the Seaworth Apartment Complex. It's completely destroyed. The whole east street strip was laid to waste. As if that wasn't bad enough, dropships came. They carried troopers spouting some strange message. If you didn't agree or showed any sign of resistance there was no hearing, they just gunned you down. Three of them approached Sadie and I when we were heading back home. They cut us off and tried to separate us.

=======

"Yeah, then what?" The man eagerly questioned his wife.

"Did you do what they said?"

"I didn't have a chance to utter a single word."

The man twisted his head and raised a brow.

"One of them reached out to grab me but he froze in place and dropped to his knees right in front of me. When he fell to his stomach he had something sticking out of his back. It looked like an ornate skeleton in a seductive pose."

"What??"

"I-it was a handle, a dagger maybe. I don't know, it happened so fast. The other two fired their rifles into the night, all I could see were glowing purple eyes, piercing the black. He was like a phantom."

"A phantom?"

"Th-they kept firing, I saw this as a chance to get away but one of the men grabbed me and planted the barrel of a pistol against my temple. They demanded that the man in the dark show himself.. they were going t-"

She began to cry.

"He didn't let them. He stepped out of the shadow. His armor was as black as the darkness he used as cover and the purple lights brightly twinkled from pauldrons that looked like the heads of dogs."

"What did he do?"

"He walked up to them with his hands out as if he was going to surrender. Then I heard… I'll never forget the sound. It was the croak of a bird, like a caw. Like a streaking entity a bird swooped down causing the man holding me to momentarily lower his weapon. As he did, the phantom drew a pistol from beneath his long black cape and before I knew what was happening, purple beams streaked past my face and I no longer felt the man gripping me but I heard him fall. Frightened, the other invader began to run but the phantom threw something. A rope maybe?"

"A rope?"

"Yes, a rope. It wrapped around the soldier's ankle as he tried to get away but he couldn't, he just fell. Then this mysterious stranger began dragging him closer and closer as the trooper clawed at the ground. Then…"

"Then what?" her husband was entranced.

"The phantom ended him with one swift stroke. I remember seeing blood dripping from the blackened blade of some kind of curved sword. He then turned to me and with the deepest voice I think I ever heard, almost robotic in tone, he told me I was safe and to go home. My Savior, a man in black, I wanted to thank him. I never even saw his face. As quickly as he showed up, he vanished."

"Like a ghost?"

"You could say that, yeah, a ghost."

"Come on, we need to get to the shuttles, they're evacuating as we speak."

The thrill of war fades
A breeze washes over me
Peace is what remains