Kashyyyk's Open Orbit

In the vast darkness of the bespeckled void, the two Viper series Probe Droids - that had not made planetfall - completed their mission in record time. Their programming had accounted for any interruption, should the worst occur, however as nothing halted their slow but steady progress throughout the system at large, things had been moving ahead of the predetermined schedule. When their onboard databanks had been filled with the relevant information, transmissions were made outside the Kashyyyk system. Attached to several nearby hyperlink communication buoys, the recently encrypted data packets were beamed through the aether and arrived at their destination moments later. When the confirmation signal had been sent back to the Droids, they deactivated their personal safety routines and cycled up the self-destruct charges within their metallic shells. Within the span of an organic heartbeat, the two Droids exploded outwards, showering the abyssal gulf with the remnants of their pitiful existence.

As if beckoned forth by the clarion calls of the probe droid’s death, several warships bearing the bladed fan crest of the Hapes Consortium dropped out of hyperspace and soared into the system proper. Their silvered hulls glittered dimly with the illumination of the sector’s sun, bathing the ablative plating in its light. It was nothing in comparison to the radiance of the Hapan Cluster, yet it was enough to accentuate the subtle and gracious curves of each vessel. Gliding through the cosmic dust and parting the small sea of debris, as if the probe droids had never existed, the staggered formation vessels stalked through the void and approached the world spinning wistfully below in a loose planar spearhead. The pride and joys of the Royal Hapan Navy had taken to the forefront of their configuration and were flanked on either side by a single winged dagger wrought into a void-capable starship. Though the elegant designs of the Battle Dragons and her Nova-Class subordinates had outclassed the remaining warships of the task force in appearance, their prowess in combat was almost a match for their betters. Four Corellian Gunships, bearing the official designation of DP20 Frigates, had come through hyperspace behind the Hapan Taskforce. However, once achieving a successful translation into realspace, the Gunships throttled their engines to full burn and broke off from the main force. With their Ion engines glowing bright, they roared towards the outer edges of the Kashyyyk System to establish an early warning blockade - should a hostile force decide to intercede with the machinations of an armed task force of vengeful women.

Whilst the DP20 Frigates had moved to take their positions, several squadrons of alert fighters were launched from the Battle Dragons and their Nova-class escorts. Nearly one hundred Miy’til Starfighters were sent into the vast bespeckled ocean, forming up squadron by squadron to pursue their various objectives. The bombers remained enthroned within the Hapan made vessels, waiting until either the invasion had begun or a hostile force had arrived to dissuade them from acting out against the planet below. Having followed in the titanic shadows of the Naval detachment, fourteen of Incom’s newly minted X-83 Twintails had broken off from the main group and soared towards the planet’s surface. While it was true there were several probe droids scouring the surface for the greatest sign of resistance to their liberation efforts, it didn’t hurt to have the best the Galaxy could offer in terms of spatial superiority fighter craft performing reconnaissance in force.

Aboard the bridge of the Hapan Battle Dragon branded with the name; Contrador, the Dark Lord stood with his gauntleted hands clasped behind the small of his back and watched as everything had proceeded according to his design. Through the looking glass of his vessels forward viewport, he had seen several squadrons of Miy’til Starfighters pour outwards from the hangar bay and spill into the obsidian skies thereafter. He felt a small measure of pride then, as they departed the safety of the warship and ventured into potentially hostile space. It was something in how they flew in tight formations, despite the complicated web of weaponry and support beams that stood in their way. Belial could even feel a smile begin to threaten the edges of his lips, however before it curled into fruition the Sith tore his gaze from the darkness of space and turned towards the command deck.

With the sounds of metal kissing the alabaster deck, the Dark Lord stalked towards the Shipmistress and her command throne thereafter. It was a peculiar sight, to see a woman enthroned so far away from the Hapes Cluster. Then again, he mused that such a sight would’ve reminded them of home, letting them believe that they took something to remind them wherever their paths had led them. He almost chuckled then, amused at the thought of how these mortals staved off the ever-encroaching clutches of despair with something so simple as a raised chair. Symbols. They were powerful in ways that many beings couldn’t understand. And while many of these markers had inspired a populace to greater deeds, others were simply monuments to one’s vanity or tools in which to intimidate and oppress an already demoralized populace. Such symbols would have to be taken into account in this invasion, and Belial knew that his Jedi compatriots would even agree. When they marched through the streets, every statue, every monument, and every temple that bore the faces of this planet’s Lords would have to be torn down and scattered to the wind. Only then could the natives of this world truly embrace their deliverance.

It was an odd mindset for a Dark Lord of the Sith, yet it seemed so fitting with the larger picture. He had infiltrated the ranks of the Hapes Consortium posing as a Jedi Refugee from a planet his father had burned in order to bring him into life. Belial had then saw fit to marry the Chume’Da, the very woman that had brought the Dark Lord into her family's fold in order to protect her when the deadly game of thrones had begun. As was custom to the women of the transitory mists, Araneya had been the one to offer such a promising alliance, and as she was about to ascend to the throne any day now, it was simply too good to refuse. Yes, it meant that he couldn’t directly rule the Cluster as the Sith that came before him tried, but as they had failed so spectacularly - plucking the strings of his puppet wife would prove to be the more tried and true method of dominance. Call him what you will, but Belial was the self-proclaimed Lord of Lies, and toying with his darling wife gave him all the mortal pleasures he desired.

“Do you miss it?” The Shipmistress asked, catching the Dark Lord off guard.

“The Cluster?” He asked, an enforced inflection coating his words so that his voice would seem far from monotone.

It was a moment before she had responded, though when she did, Belial had noted her voice had dipped into the lower ranges and was filled with a sense of longing. She missed home, he figured.

“Aye. This world lacks the vibrancy of the Mists, and just seeing this planet makes my skin crawl. I can only imagine what it would be like to be on the surface. It makes me wonder if Kashyyyk could do this to me here, upon the safety of my own bridge, what would it do to me if my boots dug into the sand?”

Belial tipped his head, dropping his gaze from the enthroned woman and casting his eyes back towards the forward viewports.

“In many ways, Kashyyyk is a Deathworld, Shipmistress. Despite its outward beauty, there a plethora of things upon its surface that would devour us both whole, without even a second thought. That isn’t even pointing out the debased acolytes of the Sith or their enthralled Wookiees that will inevitably stand in our way. So, your feelings of uneasiness stem from the thought that this may be where you meet your doom.”

The woman scoffed.

“Such bedside manners, my lord Varro. I wonder what our beloved Chume’Da sees in you.”

Though hidden behind the forged edges of his mask, Belial smiled then.

“A great many things, I am told. Sufficed to say, I’m surprised she wasn’t taken as a suckling babe to become a Jedi. A woman with foresight such as hers could easily ascend through the ranks of the Order.”

Unseen to the Dark Lord, the woman nodded in agreement.

“Thankfully our beloved Chume’da was left alone. I doubt we would be where we are now without her guidance and our Queen Mother’s wisdom.”

There was nothing more to be said, Belial had mused. if he had perpetrated this conversation for much longer, he assumed that he would have missed the majority of the invasion to talk about his wife and the position she held within the Royal Court. Not that he didn’t mind playing games with his technical subordinates, it just didn’t seem like the right place to broach such matters. Perhaps if they both survived this operation, the conversation could be renewed once more - until then however the Dark Lord desired to focus upon the task ahead.

“When do we expect the Jedi to arrive?” He asked, changing the subject.

The Shipmistress removed a datapad from the armrest of her command throne and scrolled through several pages of information. Replacing the informative trinket back from whence it came, she let out a heavy sigh in response.

“To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure. Master Rutil had neglected to inform us of when he would arrive at Kashyyyk, and from the looks of things, we’re the only vessels that have arrived here in weeks. No residual ion trails. No radiant heat signatures. Nothing to dissuade me from thinking that we got here first and have to wait until the Jedi arrive.”

Now it was Belial’s turn to scoff.

“So, now we wait.”

The Steinheart.

After arriving in the Sector a short time ago, the DP20 Frigate bearing the name of the Steinheart, had been stationed near the hyperspace translation point for Randon’s Run; the primary access point into the system that was branched off from the much larger hyperlane labeled the Perlemian Trade Route. It was here that the vessel had watched on in silence as starships of various classifications had dropped out of hyperspace and found themselves faced with the sight of a flotilla of warships gathering in the distance. Many of these void capable craft belonged to merchants, bringing foodstuffs and materials to the planet - hoping to make a living off pawning their wares. Others were passenger ships that were passing through the pitiful blockade in order to tour some of history's most pivotal battlegrounds, or were taking the detour through Kashyyyk’s orbital sphere of influence in order to take the back door into Trandoshan space. No matter their reason for coming to this world, all were welcomed. It was only when they tried to leave after they had conducted their business on the planet below, that things had started to get a little interesting.

Though they had given the vessels a cursory scan upon entering this portion of the sector, a more direct approach was taken by the Hapans as the starships attempted to flee back into hyperspace. Tractor beams had lashed several craft in place and were instantly swarmed by Miy’til starfighters to ensure their compliance. From there things had taken a more militaristic route, as each craft was boarded by a squad of the Queen Mother’s finest Royal Space Marines. They were armed and equipped with various technological marvels to assist them in their menial scanning duties. Once the starship was cleared, the females had withdrawn to the relative safety of their boarding craft and impassively detached themselves from the hull. Since a plethora of these traders had found themselves within several of the planet’s major population centres, their deeds were more than justified to ensure that none of the Sith that lorded over the natives could escape by stowing away in the shadows.

Supposedly, according the scuttlebutt around the fleet, there had been an incident where a Sith acolyte had crammed himself into one man’s cargo pod and hoped that he would be able to flee the system unscathed. Had the man not whimpered in fear as they speared into the darkness of the crate with their bayonets, he would’ve escaped without having his body filled with sizzling craters.

Unlike her sister ships, The Steinheart had yet to find a reason to board any of vessels, nor forcibly arrest their advance. Simple merchants were their staple, that was until a DeepWater - Class Light Freighter had arrived in system. Enshrouded by the baroque edges of her curved command throne, Captain Khaylia Morin leaned forwards and let her lips curl into an insidiously serpentine smile.

She decided that this was to be her first and most interesting catch of the day.

Oh, the things she could do to this vessel. No one would know, nor would anyone care. She could eradicate this insignificant little freighter, and spend the rest of her days relishing the kill; even if it would spoil her honour in the long run. Damn her reputation! She craved action! She was tempted, oh so very tempted. What was to stop her? The Fleet was achingly far away, just enough so that she could get away with scuttling the craft long before any reports had gotten back to the Rear-Admiral. It would’ve been marked up as a simple incident involving a crack in their hyperdrive casing, which had caused the vessel to break apart upon entering realspace.

She was about to issue the order to cycle power into the Gunship’s weapons, when a figure of a man draped in metal and fabric flickered to life upon the hololithic pad built into the armrest of her command throne. He stood with his arms folded behind his back, and his metallic masque had given him a menacing appearance when tipped forwards ever so slightly. She pressed her tongue to the back of her teeth to avoid letting this man see her irritation. Even though he had been named the Hand of the Ereneda for this mission, the man was simply a man, thus beneath her in every regard. The Rear-Admiral should’ve taken operational command of the task force, at least then they wouldn’t find themselves in a stagnating situation similar to the one currently afflicting the Republic.

“Captain Morin.” The seemingly lifeless face had said, “You will stay your hand, and let this vessel pass.”

“Why?” Her voice was thickened by primal aggression as she spoke. There was no doubt in her mind that he could see that she was close to snapping out of frustration.

“You are aware that I am a former Jedi, yes? I can feel the current flowing through each of the craft’s inhabitants, and one resonates in unison to the planet below. That means there is a Wookiee aboard. If I allowed you to act upon your own volition, we would be in the middle of a diplomatic nightmare.”

“No one will know” She protested through gritted teeth.

“We both know that’s a lie. Every ship that comprises our flotilla would know, and who's to say that any of the vessels we’ve permitted access to this sector aren’t ferrying reporters from the HoloNews Network? If they were and your leash was loosened enough to act, you can be sure that the Cluster and Consortium thereafter would be slapped onto the Galaxies Blacklist.”

The Captain sneered at the image as he spoke, knowing full well that he was right. She hated every agonizing moment of the conversation, silently willing it to end so that she would not endure another lecture on how to do her duty. This was her ship, and she could do whatever she wanted with it! With her only orders being to hold station and act as an early detection system, she could easily interpret such loosely strung together words to justify her misdeeds.

“Regardless, my crew and I chafe at this inaction. We volunteered for this because we were expecting a fight!”

The hololithic image flickered as the resolution attempted to remain coherent, though as it stabilized the man’s expressionless face had somehow darkened into something akin to her now faded smile.

“And a fight you shall get once the Jedi arrive. Until then I expect you will remain on station with your weapons powered down.”

“And if I keep them powered?”

A sickening tsk sound emanated from the HoloPad’s speakers.

“I will see to it that I look the other way whilst the Rear-Admiral herself kicks you out the airlock.”

Before she had a chance to snap back a seemingly petulant retort, the Hand of the Ereneda had severed the connection and terminated his projection with a subtle wave of his gauntleted hand. Her expression of rage had soured, as she defeatedly ordered her gunnery chief to ensure that all power being fed to the weapon systems was diverted into other sectors of the ship. With how she had been disrespected in combating the man chosen to lead a faction of women into battle, there was nothing in her mind that would make her believe that he would act at the slightest provocation of further disobedience.

As the power had been bled from the weapons, the DP20 frigate simply scanned the DeepWater Freighter and catalogued what contents they could find. Lifesigns, Cargo manifests attached to their transponder codes, and anything else that had been associated with the Larrikin Boomer.

Much less importantly...

The fleet of warships in the distance was as threatening as it was awe-inspiring. Momo and her increasingly agitated wookiee friend stared at them all just… floating there, only half-visible in the void of space, like some kind of phantom menace. Clearly, the flotilla was there in anticipation of some antagonistic force, making the decidedly insignificant-feeling lurmen mercenary wonder just what in the hell she’d managed to stumble into. But another, more immediate problem made itself known, then, in the form of a Corellian gunship just off her port-side bow. For no bloody reason, the damned ship announced itself by powering its weapons up--

--only to power them right back down a few moments later, choosing simply to scan the Boomer instead??

She let out the breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding, then chittered angrily as she hailed her would-be annihilator. “Oy!” she snapped through the open frequency, “This is the captain of the bloody ship you were goin’ to blow up, yeah?” Her accent became thicker as a result of her ire, as did her lack of concern over how--or even if--her message would be received, “Are ya done with your goddamned scan, then, ya dickhead? If so, rack off! Let me get on with my day!”

She fell silent and her wookiee guest wailed at her softly, his/her/it’s tone telling her to cool it.

“I’ll cool it, mate, after these arseholes are in my rear-view.” Her voice was still flat with acerbity, though much more controlled now, as she jabbed her latest round of commands into the console before her. The Boomer hummed its compliance and her ship began the process of descending towards the planet.

And so, the Jedi had come. After what had been hours of silence, their vessels trickled into the Kashyyyk System one by one. The first had been a small freighter, YZ-900 classification with a transponder code identifying it as the Saurian Deliverance. Upon its translation into realspace, the vessel had hailed the Contrador and inquired after the man in charge. Were this solely a Hapan operation, such a slight would’ve been taken into account and the man on the other end would’ve been left waiting for a response.

Though, to say that Belial was unsurprised would’ve been an understatement. It seemed these Jedi had acted without logistical support and brazenly rushed into the fold. Though such a deed would’ve been lauded in more civilized times, now it was considered nothing more than foolhardy.Had the Horned Jedi even briefed his comrades on the situation, let alone deign to mention the possible arrival of a Hapan Detachment? Pitiful. No wonder the Jedi of this Era cowered beneath the safety of their fortress-monasteries and forgone their protective oaths to the galaxy at large. They were bound to their insignificant lives by the world they had created, though, Belial did have to admit that the Sith of this generation was no better. Selfish spawns of their own desires, believing themselves to be masters of their own power - unwilling to see that they have become slaves to the darkness. The Jedi on the other hand, are limited in their actions, serving only one aspect of themselves and by extension; the force. They are bound to the dogmatic tenets of their Order, and seemingly abhor the very natures present in most sentient life. It is one thing to grasp the cyclical nature of things, but it's another thing altogether to experience it first hand - furthering the boundaries of one’s understanding. What kind of life was that? Who would willingly choose to live in ignorance, and shackle themselves to a half-hearted and ailing ideal?

Fools.

Now, in comparison to the Jedi, the Sith of this time were little better. Unbound by the oaths, and freed from the enforced ethics of those supposed White Knights, did not mean to become the Crowned and Conquering Child. Only those with small minds had followed that path in their quest for power, and yet when they labelled themselves Sith - the Dark Lord had found himself infuriated. How dare they sully a name that was never theirs to begin with?! How dare they pretend to be something that they are not!? Belial had to bite back his rising Ire as one of the Battle Dragon’s command crew had tried to garner his attention. Breathing out a sigh heavily laden with his frustrations, the Dark Lord turned towards the woman and listened to what she had to say. Rising from the terminal with the microbead drawn away from the supple flesh of her face, she ensured that the Hand of the Ereneda had received the message. In response, Belial nodded and glided towards his hololithic projection pad.

Materializing upon the small freighter’s command console in all of his towering metallic glory, the Dark Lord stared into the eyes of the being that had addressed himself as the Jedi Master Titus. He was curious how such a being could warp its tongue so that it could speak basic to easily, but the thought was easily squashed by the title that was borne before his name. No doubt he had spent many days hypnotically indoctrinating himself to speak the common tongue. As that came to the fore - Belial had found himself amused by the image inspired by the path his mind had taken.

:: Master Titus. It is a pleasure to see that you are the first representative of the Jedi to arrive. I am the Hand of the Ereneda, and acting Commander of this expeditionary fleet. You may call me Varro if you wish, of Master Varro if you desire. Even though I am no longer a Jedi, I still relish the fond memories that the honourific brings. ::

Before the Chistori had responded, the untimely entrance of the Jedi Rutil had been announced by a hearty and audible click, alongside the landslide of a voice brewing within the Zabrak’s chest. Without hesitation, after the man had finished his request for information, Belial had ordered that the two connections to be bonded as one. His voice was flat and measured as he spoke, diplomatically hiding his simmering anger and irritation behind a smooth veneer.

:: Ah, Master Iorek, how prompt of you. I was just about to inform the Jedi Titus of our situation. Two birds, One stone as they say in basic. :: Clearing his voice with an audible cough, the hololithic representation of the armoured warrior scrolled back to reveal a geographical mapping of a seemingly insignificant coastline with several key locations marked out for all to see. :: When my probe droids had rocketed into the surface and transmitted their findings, I found myself without words. The rumours of the Sith’s Temple Fortress hidden location had, at first made me believe that it was located within the Shadowlands, beneath the canopy of Wroshyr trees. As you can see on this map, their supposedly concealed base of operations was within plain sight the entire time. :: Scrawling the image forward to focus upon the aerial view of the citadel, the azure tinge created by the holographic display had been marred by an imperfect circle of purple. :: However, as my hands were tied in waiting for the Jedi to arrive, it seems the Sith had activated their bastion’s primary defensive measures. My vessel’s tech adepts have informed me that such a barrier could possibly withstand a sustained bombardment for approximately three months, leaving the armada starving for energy and the troops killing one another in frustration. Not to mention the collateral damage to the outlying villages. ::

Swiping the map away with a flick of his silvered wrist, only to have the static image replaced with a distorted and soundless loop of the last transmission received by his probe droid in the Shadowlands; Belial concluded his informal report with the last pieces of data gathered in his time spent in orbit. :: When my Probe Droids had made planetfall some time ago, one of them had encountered a curious being in the Shadowlands. He’s clearly a Sakiyan that calls himself Saris, and allegedly is in league with the resistance. I’ve already dispatched an agent to determine if these claims are valid and am waiting for her report. From there, once the last of your brethren have arrived, we will begin our portion of this operation and secure several of the key locations around the Temple Fortress and have an infiltration team disable the shield. ::

Rutil had to hold himself off from throwing out a scathing remark or rolling his eyes.  The scenario was already something of a nightmare; by everyone running off half-cocked instead of listening to him, they were now being forced to throw together something vaguely resembling a plan and hoping that the Force would see it through.  Titus hadn't waited.  Varro certainly hadn't waited.  A simultaneous arrival with a ready formation and a list of all their combined forces would have allowed them to begin their siege the instant they arrived in orbit, and possibly even let them get a few shots off at the base before the shields went up.  Had the massing fleet been anything more than a diversion for the strike teams, the Zabrak Jedi Master would have had some choice words for his saurian counterpart and his armored ally.  And now Titus wanted to make planetfall, with nothing but the word of a man whose true emotions and intent were hidden behind a strange psychic wall that Rutil was growing less and less fond of with each passing moment.

Fool.

As it stood, the best action now would be to hang back and wait.  Apparently there was a resistance on the planet.  Apparently there was a leader of said resistance.  But for all the Jedi knew, that was simply a collection of haphazard splinter cells that were being regularly quashed by the Sith forces that may well still be in full control of the planet.

None of that, however, touched upon the more pressing problem of actually dispatching the Sith fortress.  An orbital bombardment was out of the question now that the long-hidden base had been located, and even a surgical strike could have lent itself to more collateral damage than was necessary, as would a bombing run.  Rutil's mind went back to Korriban; rigged thermobaric warheads, taken from the stores of an Acclamator-class battle cruiser, had done a marvelous job of decimating the Valley of the Dark Lords and wiping away any vestige of the Sith's deeply-rooted presence there.  Kashyyyk was far more densely populated and far more flammable than Korriban was.  The idea was a sound one - internal explosion with a sufficiently high payload - but selecting the proper munitions would be tricky.  Once they had done so, however, it would be simple enough to rig them up and cart them down.  The commando teams under his leadership knew the drill.

Master Titus, Rutil said after a moment of deliberation, hold your flight pattern until we have more ships in orbit and a better idea of what's happening.  Master Varro, keep hailing your agent until she responds.  When she does, loop her into this channel.  I'll relay the information to our forces as they arrive.  And Captain Marris, the stone-faced Zabrak said to someone just out of the holoprojector's field of vision, see to it that the men are ready.  Same drill as Korriban.

*Only a few minutes behind the CR90 now led by the Zabrak, more ships bearing markings of the Felucian military arrived, a sizable portion of the fleet; but not enough to sacrifice their homeworld's own defenses. Still, the incoming fleet consisted of a pair of Scythe-class battle cruisers, a Corona-class frigate, a pair of CR25 carriers, an Aegis-class shuttle, a pair of XJ7 X-wing squadrons, and a squadron of K-wings. A fair number of ships, but Aerandir knew of the Kashyyyk Sith's reputation; even though he was aware the Hapans were supplying their aid, he had intended to bring everything he had.

Aerandir himself, however, was not on board either Scythe, or even the Corona; no, he was situated in the cockpit of the Aegis vessel, dubbed Inertia, as he fully intended to be part of the insertion crew should there be boots on the ground. Indeed, Michelle awaited him among the troops, but Aerandir was in the cockpit to listen to chatter and answer the call.

As well as hail the current fleet.* "This is Aerandir Calmcacil of the Felucia Jedi," *he spoke, after establishing communications with those present.* "Apologies if I'm asking a second time, but what's the situation?"

Belial bit his tongue as the Jedi Master Calmcacil had entered the operational theatre. Just after he thought of how pathetic it would be to repeat events of the past, he was asked once more to explain the situation. How wonderfully ironic. Clearing his thoughts with a subtle tilt of the ornate mask, the Dark Lord turned his attentions towards the newcomer, only to relay the information he said moments earlier in brief.

:: There is no need to apologize, Master Calmcacil. Having arrived in the sector hours prior, my task force has established control over the planar grid in this system. An agent of mine has established contact with, who I believe, is the leader of the local resistance element. While waiting for the Jedi and their other allies, my soldiers were preparing to make planetfall and establish a beachhead near to where the temple is located. ::

It was then that his hands had slid behind his back, and folded into one another.

:: With your arrival, I believe we are finally ready to begin. ::

Without ceremony, the shrouded Sith turned from the platform and proceed into the heart of his vessel’s command bridge - effectively terminating his connection to the communal transmission. He was starting to grow weary of this charade, and desired to walk upon the mist shrouded beaches of the planet below. Several hours cooped up within a warship without an enemy to fight was never something someone like him would ever consider comforting. It gave him a new level of appreciation to those that had etched out some meaning of contentment among the stars.

As his tread across the alabaster deck had taken him towards the raised command dais, the Lord Belial faced the Commodore with a confident expression plastered across his emotionless visage.

“You may begin the operation at your leisure. Both the Royal City and Rwookrrorro shall be our primary landing zones. Ensure that the space marines know they are to subdue the populace with stun rounds, and only fire if fired upon. I do not wish for us to be seen as the aggressors. Those damned HoloNet reporters seem to be everywhere these days.”

The Commodore, known to few as Myra Rhodes, nodded in agreement.

“Aye, like rats they scurry from story to story in order to be the first to taste the forbidden fruits of our labour. Perhaps we should openly acknowledge and invite the vermin to join us in our war-making.”

Belial chuckled softly.

“I have no doubt they’d appreciate the gesture, though with little resistance as is - I fear that the story we make would prove to be a poor addition to the HoloNet’s archives. There would be some that would ask us to jazz it up a bit with a reckless expenditure of precious ammunition, and I’d hate to have them leave with a sour taste upon their tongue. They’d spin the story to make us seem like the vile invaders, some may consider us already to be; just out of spite.”

An ivory uniform, affixed with the ranking pins of her station, had shifted slightly as a boisterous laughter resounded throughout the bridge.

“I can see it now.” Her hands glided through the air in the act of mimicking the headline spread of an issue of the HoloNet News. “The vengeful harpies of Hapes strike again.”

Another chortle emanated out from behind his metallic masque, this time coated in the harmonic tune of honest joy. A rare treat for any sentient being where Belial was involved.

“That does have a ring to it.” He coughed to not only clear his throat but retain what was left of his serious persona. “However, I’m afraid that I must part from your company for the time being. While I trust your sub-commanders to effectively carry out their tasks, we are supposedly dealing with beings cursed by the force. I don’t plan on personally delivering the bodies of these brave women back to their matriarch because of that oversight. I would rather perish in their place, despite any and all protestations the Chume’Da would have with that proclamation.”

Her smile had soured then, thinning into a thin smirk of pride. Though this man was of the opposite gender, he had great respect for the women placed under his command, and would seemingly do anything within his power to ensure that all of them returned home safely. If their culture had evolved differently, she imagined that men like him would prove to be the most dangerous of additions to the royal court. To think of the power he would hold, even if he had not been blessed with the sensitivity to manipulate the force, was terrifying to comprehend.

“It’s been a pleasure to have you aboard the Contrador, Master Varro. Once this facade of liberation is over and done with, I would like for you to return here so that we may converse on other matters.”

There was nothing left to say to her, not unless he wanted to prolong the invasion with idle banter. Thankfully, his earlier notion of claustrophobia had dissuaded him from setting foot upon that path. Departing from the command deck without the fanfare some commanders were famous for, the Dark Lord stalked through the brightly lit corridors of the Battle Dragon until he had found himself within the Hangar Bay. His mind, though previously clouded by the conflicting events of the past, was now clear and honed by purpose. He was here to ensure that the Queen Mother’s will had been enacted according to her word, but in truth he was here to exterminate the longest standing bastion of Sith known to the galaxy. What better way to begin the systematic purge of the Order, than by crushing their oldest and most infamous sect? The icing upon this proverbial cake was that the Jedi had unknowingly allied themselves with the very thing that they were honour-bound to destroy. Belial knew that there would be some among the gathered Warrior-Monks whom would doubt his ties to the light, and had everything in place to ensure that his manufactured aura was justified.

No man could ever watch the death of the world they learned to call home and walk away unchanged.

With the altered thought of his birth fresh in his mind, the Dark Lord climbed aboard the trembling Nu pattern Attack Shuttle. Within the passenger hold, he had found himself faced with nearly three squads of Royal Hapan Space marines. Each was clad in ornate alabaster duraplast warplate, that was clearly designed by women for women. It accentuated their curves and protected them in ways that ancient chain could never dream of. Their supple flesh was armoured by miniaturized scales that comprised the exterior of their accoutrements body glove, which if the rumour held any truth, matched the machine forged armour adorning their lithe frames. Though their carapace had been uniform across the breadth of the squads, minus the markings identifying the unit commanders, the arms they bore were unique to the soldier that wielded them. From the gaping maw of the attack shuttle, the Sith Lord could see various weapon classifications, ranging from the holstered sidearms lashed to their thighs; to the larger, more portable rotary blaster cannons mounted within the grasping arms of the central arming rack.

Nodding to all that were strapped in before him, Belial found himself drawn towards the cockpit; only to lash himself within one of the empty seats behind the pilot. Wordlessly, the navigator punched in her command code and cycled up the heat within the ion engines. As they had awoken from their enforced slumber, they roared in protest and simmered into a throbbing hum. The gravitic plates ignited and lifted the shuttle from the flight deck, and allowed them to soar over the heads of those that scurried below. Now free of their metallic prison, the thrusters bellowed once more - though this time - soundlessly into the abyss as the shuttle itself was catapulted towards the wistfully spinning planet below. Others, ferrying a myriad collection of equipment, had followed the path made by their Lord Hand, whilst some had diverged towards another route. Nearly a dozen had left the Contrador by the time the mission counter had passed seven minutes and were each escorted by two Miy’til Starfighters.

This was the beginning of the liberation efforts, but in comparison to the great works of Belial yet to be written - it would be nothing but a stepping stone upon the obsidian path to greatness.