Khomm's Terrain

General Alec Torkon tours the halls of one of over three dozen cloning facilities on the planet dedicated entirely to the cloning of military personnel for the Imperial Remnant. Originally planned to be built as add-ons to the Khommites own facilities, plans changed when the normally docile and neutral population held protests about having non-Khommite cloning facilities in their cities. The protests were extremely tame, but were effective nonetheless. So here General Torkon was, walking through one of many facilities located on the outskirts of a city. Militarily speaking, it was stupid placement. It would force any defender to spread his forces thin in order to protect each facility. And of course, at the moment, that defender was him. He sighs, once he had commanded armies for the 4th Galactic Empire, now he was overseeing military production. One day...he would be back to doing what he was meant to do.

"Am I boring you, General?"

"No, no. I just have alot on my plate," he lies "please continue."

Rhan-222, head of the facility, proceeds with his monotone explanation.

"As I was saying, each of the thirty six facilities produces a different strain of clone. Each strain is very similar, almost identical; caucasian, five feet and eleven inches tall, brown hair. But their are some small differences: facial features and structure vary slightly and eye color can be between brown or green depending of the strain. But those are the only real differences."

Torkon thinks for a second"So each strain will look more like brothers rather than identical twins."

"Yes, very similar in appearance, but still not identical. But in terms of performance they are all exactly the same. We will implant each clone with the flash memories based on where they will be needed within the imperial military complex; engineering, combat, piloting, navigation. You provide the memories from the very best and we implant them."

Torkon nods in approval. "Good, very good."

The tour continues for another hour.

The towering door, acid etched by erosion and flaked with oxidized rust, was the most beautiful thing Tharkad had seen so far in his relatively short life. This immense monument to the past may have looked horrid upon the outside, but the Messiah had learned a long time ago to never judge a book by its long forgotten cover. Instead, the titan measured its beauty by what was contained within, and though its true contents were shrouded by mystery and legend, those misguided facts alone were what made this vault beautiful. Signalling his minions to begin the command protocols in which would unlock this ancient cache, Tharkad wore a devilish grin upon his lips. In moments, he and his lackeys would become the most powerfully armed group of rebels within the sector – the Imperials wouldn’t know what to expect when their ancient enemies marched from their desolate tombs to do battle once again in the name of separation. The mere thought of such untold destruction brought about by his actions, sent an excited thrill through the length of his spine. Elated by the thought of becoming a master over thousands upon thousands of battle droids, Tharkad stepped from the encircling embrace of his entourage with his arms raised towards the centre of the slowly receding door. He could not wait any longer for such untold treasures, and thus with his rising haste fueling his telekine powers – the Messiah tore open the massive gateway. The ancient duratseel buckled under their oppressors’ mental discipline, folding in upon itself whilst being forced back into their dust riddled housing. It was an impressive sight to behold, watching a man with mastery over the force set himself to the task at hand, however such impressive displays of power didn’t come without a cost. Sweat beaded upon his brow, and small trails of blood poured from his nostrils, as the mental exhaustion began to take its toll upon the man’s body. Clearly he wasn’t cut out for such displays of mental acuity; however the pain he had endured was worth every agonizing moment. The time it would have taken for the vault to open upon its own accord, would have been likened to the pain Tharkad now experienced, so the trade-off had been worth the time he saved.

With the doors parted and his entrance into the underground facility no longer impeded by such pitiful obstacles, Tharkad and his posse entered the Separatist vault. Venerable systems began to power up, slowly shaking off the disuse they had endured throughout the various eras of time. Lights sunken into the floor and drilled into the ceiling began flickering back to life, as the bioluminescent gel within the tubes began to ignite with long forgotten life. The interior corridor leading into the depths of the facility proper had been plagued by abandonment, as nature herself sought to reclaim what was once hers by force. Several of the bulkheads adorning the walls had caved in due to the overwhelming pressure applied to exterior foundations of the hallway they all now walked through. While it was a shame that this facility did not endure the coming end of the Clone Wars wholly intact, Tharkad had hoped that its remaining contents would not end up like the vault they were housed within. More lights and doors had regained their fully operational function, now that the awakening command protocols had been previously entered into the terminal just outside of the entrance, leaving much of the facility within either in fully working order or steadily rousing itself from the lengthy hibernation. When they had finally come to a door marked in an interesting dialect of Galactic Basic, Tharkad let out a bout of laughter that had been bubbling to the surface ever since he had walked in the door. It lasted for some time, until the messiah had keyed the door’s activation stud. As his flesh had impacted the hard metallic surface, nothing happened. A fresh wave of anger surged through his system, and the messiah sought to enforce his rigid sense of control over the errant emotion. However, because of his earlier elation, his emotions began to run rampant, thus leading the titan to punch the control panel with all his might.

Sparks flew, when the fist of Tharkad had broken through the metallic skin placed above the precious forest of wired cables, yet nothing had happened. Knowing that one of the many cables woven beneath the surface of the panel would be the one he sought, the Messiah’s hand deftly wove through the tightly knotted pack of cables as he let the force guide his actions in the hopes it would lead him to the one that controlled the locking mechanism for the blast doors. With the vision firmly set at the forefront of his mind, the Titanic figure ripped the striped beryl cable from its housing – causing the system to overload and short circuit thereafter. The heavy durasteel doors slammed back into their housing, shaking the entirety of the lengthy corridor with the force of such an impact. Tossing the cable to the ground with a cocky grin splayed across his face, Tharkad was the first of his entourage to enter the main storage compartment of this expansive vault. As his foot had passed through the threshold, the lights overhanging the shrouded field of darkness; flickered live to reveal what the shadows had claimed for their own. Row upon row of second generation B-1 Battle Droids stood as silent guardians within the first of the various and un-collapsed chambers. This would be but the first of the many items he would use to fight the coming battle against the forces of the Empire, and like he had mentioned before – they would never expect to see such antiquated forces take to the field of battle in such numbers. Admiring his find, the messiah began prowling along the catwalk he now stood upon, seeking out the command and control centre so that he would upload a new set of command criteria for these mindless automatons to enact when the time had come for them to march once more. Finding the terminal as the last of the lights had flickered live, the Son of Blake tasked one of his best slicers from his entourage to set about reprogramming this assorted collection of Battle droids. Once that task had been completed, Tharkad turned about once again to marvel at his newest acquisition.

“Marvelous. Simply marvelous,” His tone was reverent, as if he were speaking in some hallowed hall enslaved to the religious dogma of an ancient church. “Have my newest soldiers brought up to speed with their new markings and designations. They’re part of the Word of Blake now; it’s high time they looked the part.”