Hurom

*A sharp, cold wind shrieked through the city of Hurom. Like daggers, it pierced the flesh of any who mustered enough courage to step for outside - to challenge its wrathful torment. This was the city where Vandook had been born fifty-four years in the past and it was the place he was returning to today. Things were different in today's time, however, from what they had been when he had left. Born of blood. The darkness that closed in. The emotional scarring. That was all of this planet that he truly remembered and it had been what had shaped him.

Vandook Lithage had been taken from his parents at the age of just three, with barely an understanding of what his name even was. It was something that he knew his parents called him, but nothing more. However, his time living in a home and with the care and protection of his parents would be cut short as three violent figures would enter his home, strike down the mother and the father in cold blood and then leave the child sitting there in the pool of blood that was left behind.

The incident was not carefully thought out and many traces of who the attackers were, were left behind, leading the authorities after the men. It would be far too late once the details were were sorted out. The men would soon disappear and never be heard of again.

*With heart full of rage and hatred because the men had gotten away without anything more than a scratch, the young child took into his pain. Memories only added to it and even though he was very young, he knew very well what pain was. What anger was. Aggression. Hatred. He harnessed them all and it would shape him for the years to come.

With the death of Vandook's parents and his emotional scarring, he would be forever different, set apart from others. It would continue well into his adolescence and would never leave him. It would be proven that his case could not be helped when he would turn to killing the couple that had become his foster parents before fleeing from the home, eventually stowing away on an outbound cargo ship.

Vandook had no concept as of where the ship was headed, only that it was leaving the planet. It actually wouldn't matter as to the ship's trajectory as with the young man's enduring passion for blood would lead him into a blood raged state. Upon impulse, Vandook felt he needed to satisfy his passion for death and blood by killing and the unknowing crew of just four proved to be victims added to his tally. Using whatever object he could find that would force blunt trauma into whoever it would make contact with, Vandook would brutally maim the four civilian cargo transporters that the crew was comprised of, leaving splatters of blood across the walls, ceiling and floor of the ship and the bodies to lie limp on the floor.

That was what continued to haunt Vandook when he was younger. What haunted him as he grew. What he now embraced as himself. It was him. The hearts that beat in his chest cavity were black. Dark. Evil. Consumed by darkness. But the darkness did not control him. He did not concede into his emotions, but instead, he used them. He used them like was described of a Sith. Nevertheless, his past was his past. It had shaped, molded and formed whom he had become.

The Scimitar continued to close in on Hurom and Grant continued to pick at and nag Ruuslaan. Massacre sat motionless in the pilot's seat and continually observed the Scimitar's sensors and systems, guiding the craft to the city with piloting expertise.*

Grant Maelstrom
*He jeered at Ruuslaan's right now, the turbulence of being within the planet's ozone subsided.* "Yo, Buttercup," *Grant said to Ruuslaan as he unfastened his harness now that the turbulent stretch had passed. He then rose to his feet and then walked to a position in front of the Firrerreon and placed his hands gently on both of the man's shoulders.* "What's the matter? The misses not givin' ya' what ya' want?"

Ruuslaan Staos
*He was growing annoyed and impatient with Grant and his childish antics that seem to be never ending. In fact he was to the point now that he was just fed up with him.* "As I said before, mother kriffer. Hands off and shut up." *His impatience in the matter was beginning to take on an unsettling feel with heavy inclination of the angst buried deeply in the way he was now speaking. It baffled him as to how ignorant, stubborn and just plain stubborn people were in this day and age and just why this immature little man came to be in such high a position. He and the youngster, Grant. were near polar opposites and far as mind set and personality, yet they held nearly the same prestige.* "Riddle me this, Grant. How is it you have survived for your twenty something odd standard years and haven't had your head ripped off yet?"

Grant Maelstrom
Letting out a little laugh, Grant raised his head toward the heavens then looked Ruuslaan eye-to-eye, bringing his right hand up to Ruuslaan's left cheek, while his left remained on his shoulder. "Well, Tooty Fruity. When I find that answer, you'll be the first to know. Okay?" *He patted Ruuslaan's left cheek twice the turned away from him, and headed straight across the chamber they were in and to the lift to make his way down to the lower deck.* "Now if you don't mind, Lemon Drop, I'm got some relieving of myself to do." *With that, he entered the lift and the door hissed as it closed behind him and he was gone.*

Ruuslaan Staos
*Ruuslaan only shook his head out of amusement to the last comment thrown at him, getting up as Grant entered the lift.*"Whatever floats your boat." *Ruuslaan shook his head again, only this time out of embarrassment with what he said. "Whatever floats your boat? Really? I'm stupid. Just plain stupid. Make stupid comments and I probably sound stupid making them. At least when that ignorant and cocky fraker says stupid things, they are actually fitting to him. But you're not that ignorant and dumb, Ruuslaan. Or are you? You sure as hell just made yourself look that way. No. Your not stupid. You can't tell yourself that, Ruuslaan. You're not stupid. Oh force, just shut up. You're bickering with yourself again, Ruuslaan." Now, a second wave of embarrassment set in. Not only had he said something that he believed to be absolutely dumb, he had now begun to argue with himself. Out loud. Maybe if it had all been in his head, it wouldn't have been so embarrassing, but it wasn't. Every word of it had been verbally articulated and not exactly in the softest voice.

Out of his embarrassment and disgust over what he had just done, he walked over to the lift and pressed the button there next to the entrance to call for it from the lower deck. Within a matter of a few seconds, it was up to the upper deck, the door hissing as it slid open. Stepping into it and giving it the directions to head down to the lower deck, the door hissed close and the lift proceeded to travel downward to the desired floor leaving Vandook by himself on the upper deck.

This is the way Vandook would rather of had anyway. The incessant bickering, though muffled to a point that it didn't nag him, was constant, like humming bird just outside a window. You could hear the unending vibrations cast out as sound waves by the blur that were the flapping wings, but it lacked the volume to nag at or annoy anyone. Nevertheless, he continued to guide the ship towards its destination, a landing pad in the southeastern part of the city.

Finally the distance had been broke in and Vandook eased back on the throttle a bit, slowing the ship down significantly. Reaching to the comm center in the overhead display, Vandook forwarded the docking codes to the personnel that managed the landing pad.*

Code:
\\Scimitar Stealth Ship - NEFARIOUS
\\Docking Codes and Commands: COMPILING

\\One moment please . . . . .

Status: 33%

\\Please continue to wait . . . . .

Status: 69%

\\Please continue to wait . . . . .

Status: 100%
\\Function: Transferring

\\One moment please . . . . .

Status: 25%

\\Please continue to wait . . . . .

Status: 54%

\\Please continue to wait . . . . .

Status: 88%

\\Please continue to wait . . . . .

Status: 100%
Process Complete



*With the codes and commands both sent and received, Massacre steered the twenty-six and a half meter craft to the open landing pad. There, he hovered over it for a bit before turning the craft 164 degrees to the right before setting the ship down gently in the center of the landing pad. The pad number was 3A three craft occupied the other three pads that were there for visiting purposes. On pad 1A, sat a YT-1300 Freighter, 2A hosted a Marketta-class shuttle, and 4A, an HWK-290. Three fine craft that seemed to have definitely been taken care of.

Landing pad personnel flourished around the site and looked to be maintaining good order, keeping the pads swept and litter picked up. It was rather impressive to see just how well kept the place was.

Upon landing, Vandook cut the power to all the ship's computer systems minus that of the Life Support. Life support was vital at all times; that was a given. He walked to and approached the lift that both, Ruuslaan and Grant had taken down to the lower level and entered it, himself, and descended to the lower deck. There, he turned to the aft airlock and entered in a code on the control panel to the right side. With the completion of the code, the airlock unlatched and open. The pistons that worked the ramp hissed as it descended to the hardened ground of the platform. Vandook strode out onto the ramp and walked, his footsteps, a hushed "clap" of the metallic ramp, then a casual "thud" and the platform's hardened surface. Ruuslaan and Grant, both, rushed out as they heard the intense hissing of the ramp's descent to the surface of the platform, and would fall in at the Sith Lord's flanks, Grant to Massacre's right and Ruuslaan to his left.

The City was steadfast. Strong and proud, or so it seemed. This, being Darth Massacre's first visit to the planet of Dubrillion since he had left it and wound up on Korriban forty or so odd years earlier. He expected a lot to have happened since then, but to the naked eye, not much had. The city seemed cleaned, but that was just about it. Population had grown, but that was inevitable; it happened on all planets. Dubrillion was nothing special in that right.

People were everywhere, here. Human. Irridonian. Chazrach. There were a great many here. A wide diversity. They ranged in age from small school children to old geezers who looked to be too feeble to even walk. The ranged from absolutely beautiful to hideous and disfigured. All that could be said was there was a diversity.*

*Stepping out into the streets, Massacre motioned for Grant and Ruuslaan to go about themselves. To gather food and necessities bring back to the ship while he was to go to the local cantina to possibly get himself up to date here, but he would not give out his name. Even though he was a powerful Sith, he didn't need an entire city hunting him down which is exactly what they would do if they got word that it was him. He was a dead man here. He had murdered an entire family here, then proceeded to board and outbound ship and slaughter it's crew. He would be surprised if he didn't come across a posted bounty for his head. Then again, if he did come across one, the image displayed on it would not likely be up to date. He was just an adolescent in that day and age. Now he appeared as a middle-aged man, at fifty odd years of age.

His two lightsabers were tucked into his belt and covered by a large coat that he wore on the day. His Sith sword had been left on the ship. His did not wear a shirt on this day and the jacket that he wore was not fastened in any manner, revealing his chest and abdominal regions, while still veiling the presence of the two lightsaber hilts, one by each hip. His pants were black and so were his shoes. Every bit of his clothing draped him in black and to the date it was the only color he wore.

Finally, Vandook came across the first Cantina he had seen since proceeding northward on a small street to the east of the rather large platform. The sign simply read "Superlaser City Cantina." It must have been the first cantina to establish itself here if it went as far as to take on the city's name, or maybe it was the only cantina in the city, just a a franchise with many individual cantinas under the same name. Who knew at this point. Darth Massacre sure didn't.

As he entered the place, it reeked of a foul odor, and was highly congested. What the city seemed on the outside, this cantina seemed to seek to disprove. There were beings passed out at the bar and on the floor, obviously wasted after a long night's visit to the place and those who were still conscious were hammered and continuing to take shot after shot after shot. Making his way to the bar area, Massacre pushed a man out of the way causing him to fall to the ground in an unconscious heap. Then, tapped his finger on the bar while he proceeded to sit where the man he had shoved off had been.

The bartender didn't move, flipping in and out of a state of sleeping. He was a rather scruffy and grizzled looking man, with a shaggy greying beard. His face was dirty and it was easy to identify him as an Arhan with his thin and frail build and his elongated facial features. He looked to be in his late fifties or even sixties. Needless to say, time had not been nice to him him.

Vandook, pounded the heel of his hand on the bar now to attempt to get the Arhan's attentions, but still nothing. He didn't budge; his eyes stayed close.

Next, Vandook spoke up in a manner of clearing his throat to attempt to gain the man's attention. Again, nothing. What was with this bartender and his lousy service? Di he need a cleaned blow to his jaw to bring him back or something?

Massacre rose to his feet now a leaned over the counter. Grabbing the Arhan with both hands on the collar of his shirt, Massacre pulled the man over the counter a bit, but harshly. His temper was beginning to flare, but he was keeping it under control. He hated lousy service. It was mid afternoon and he was receiving service like it was four in the a.m. It needed to fix itself, and it needed to do so now or he would resort to what he knew better than anything.

Still, nothing as Massacre had pulled the Arhan man up and over the bar. he let go of his collar and let the body fall limp and weak to the ground on the other side of the bar. Just before he did so, though, his crewman, Grant, waltzed into the cantina, obviously looking for Vandook. He high stepped over many of the unconscious figures in the cantina and had a dazed look on his face. Confused and suspicious.*

Grant Maelstrom
"Didn't take you long to get back to fightin', did it, my lord," *Grant said the the dark lord as he watched the frail Arhan man falling weakly behind the bar. An uncanny looked crossed face as he knelt down next to one of the unconscious men fumbling around the pants to see if there were any credits he might be able to snag, still looking up at Massacre.* "Now let's see what these barf bags have on em', eh? Might be able to round up quite a few credits don't ya' think?" As Grant went to the next unconscious individual and began patting him down for credits, he went on to speak to the body, turning his gaze away from Massacre.* "Don't flatter yourself here, ya' twat. I'm not trying to feel ya' up. Just snaggin' those credits ya' no longer have reason to keep." *The man then proceeded to regain consciousness and as he did so, Grant took notice.* "Sorry about this, twat, but . . . " *Grant drove his right fist into the left said of the man's jaw, a place often referred to in a manner of speaking as "the button" in the sense that "he hit him right on the button."*

Darth Massacre
*He didn't acknowledge Grant when he first entered the cantina, even with his intricate movements to avoid kicking and harassing those who were unconscious on the ground. He took notice of Grant, but never acknowledge him until he started talking to the unconscious figure on the ground.* "Didn't I give you orders already, Grant?" *He raised an eyebrow toward Grant, knowing exactly the fact that he did.*

Grant Maelstrom
*Grant proceeded to knock yet another barely conscious figure out as Massacre's word's came across as he too was still speaking to the barely conscious figures on the ground incoherently now as he continued to strip them of their funds and credits.* "Yeah, and I did them. Well, for the most part anyway, my lord." *Then Grant proceed to mumble something under his breath, not intending for Massacre to actually understand what he was saying.* "Always such a busy body. Never lettin' go and havin' a ball. Sheesh."

Darth Massacre
Indeed, Massacre did catch the last bit that Grant had mumbled under his breath and before Grant would even have the chance to think Massacre had him pinned against the back wall, slamming him up against with the force and gripping him in a minor choke, suspending him from the ground, Grant grasping at his throat, trying to find some way to get some air* "Your outright defiance is not amusing. You defy me me like this again or spit upon my name as you just did again and I'll cut your tongue from your mouth and paint my name in blood across your back." *Massacre released the choke from Grant's neck and he fell to his knees, gasping heavily for air.*

Grant Maelstrom
*Gasping for air, his speech was sure to be breathy, with frequent pauses.* "<gasp> Yes, <gasp><gasp> My <gasp><gasp> lord." *Being as short of breath as he was from the choke, he remained on his knees for awhile, before finally gathering the breath and the strength return to his feet. He used the wall to steady himself for awhile, until he regain his stamina, them walked out of the cantina, still with shortness in his breath.*

*Massacre turned and observed the scene once more. At this point, he really desired something to drink, and it needed to be something heavy. However, the bartender wasn't conscious, nor was anyone else in the Cantina. But finally someone, someone who was actually conscious gathered themselves enough to speak. It was a woman and she had been tucked away, hidden, in the back corner. She was human by the look of things, but quite tall.

Massacre walked in her direction, hoping to get some answers as to what happened here and why he couldn't order his kriffing drink. From the distance before she had looked human, just very tall, but when he closed in on where she was seated, he could distinguish that she wasn't. She was only near-human as she was an Epicanthix, a being very similar to a baseline human distinguished by the fact that they were tall, dark haired, and muscular. He'd never met an independent female Epicanthix before, but he had met many males and knew their prowess for being great warriors.*

Epicanthix Woman
*She sat there, in the back corner, hands folded and legs crossed. She wore a black dress, cut off at mid thigh and appeared to any normal man as very seductive. However, Massacre was just any normal man, He was a chaotic Sith who stood against forming such intimacy with anyone. It would cause attachment which would lead to lousy and poorly conducted behaviors. That just simply wasn't his style.* "It was foolish for you to come back here, Vandook," *the woman said as he came close to where she was seated. She knew his name and he could not recall having ever said it since arriving here.*

Darth Massacre
"How do you know that name? And why did you just call me that? The only thing I know of a 'Vandook' is one that disappeared from this place when he was, but just a child," *Massacre said as he responded to the woman. It was startling to find out that she knew his name, but then again, could there not be other people in the galaxy who were named "Vandook?"

Epicanthix Woman
"I'm sorry. I just thought you were that child which went missing years ago. He was a terrific student before he disappeared. Maybe a little trouble, but a terrific student. Oh, I'm sorry a man of the force such as yourself most certainly wouldn't be interested in his tale. I'm sorry to have bothered you with it." *Her words were pleasant, but it was evident she was reinforcing the fact that she strongly believe him to be "Vandook," which he was.*

Darth Massacre
"Please. Go on with your tale. I have the time." *It wasn't that Massacre was truly enticed by it, but he was curious as to what became of his story here, not to mention that she had claimed him to be a "terrific student."*

Epicanthix Woman
*She cleared her throat before she open her mouth again to begin the tale.* "As you have said, Vandook did indeed disappear from his home here in Hurom on Thule quite some time ago. forty years ago on the day, to be precise. However that comes later in the tale. Now to begin.

There was this pair in the beginning. A Kiffar father and a Chev mother that conceived and had a set of twins. Two precious little boys. They were just the most adorable little things and the parenting styles were just astonishing. The three years that they raised little ole Vandook and his precious brother, Alec, were three years of the best parenting that the two had ever had. In fact, citizens from all over HUrom idolized the two for their fantastic parenting abilities and often stopped by and visited for tips as to what they could do to be better and for the first three years of the brothers' lives, they were loved and nurtured likes no other.

However, it seemed that evil always had its way of ending the good in life. It was quite a shame that such distress was soon to come. It was late in the night on a Thursday and three fugitives escaped from the local prison system and fled deep into the city, finally ending up at the front steps of the house where this lovely family lived. They broke in on that night and, even though it is said that they parents fought valiantly to protect their children and their home, they were cut down by the three men and Alec was kidnapped while Vandook was left in a pool of the blood of his parents.

Why they kidnapped poor little Alec, I will never know. Poor boy, I still wonder what ever became of him.

But anyways, when the authorities finally showed up at the home that had just undergone the horrific event due to a concerned neighbor's call because of some shrieks and yells that could be heard, Vandook was found there. His tear glands had run dry, yet he still managed to cry. One of his neighbors took him in after the incident, but things, for Vandook, would never return to the way they were. He had been scarred emotionally and psychologically to the point of no return. Nevertheless, the foster parents would do their best to give him a loving environment to grow in, but he always had this darkness about him, like the person that was Vandook had died and was replaced by demons of some type or another.

His parents, well foster parents, were concerned about his well being and kind of forced him into counseling, but even that didn't work. If anything, it made things worse as within a month of meeting the counselors, he ended up disappearing from the place. His foster parents were found dead, ruthlessly slaughtered the next morning and a week later, a cargo ship that had been sent outbound toward the core of the galaxy was reported missing and having never arrived. It is thought that the boy known as Vandook had stowed away on the craft and taken it over and sent it elsewhere.

It's a shame that such tragedies happen to such great people, but that is the tale of Vandook. I do pray routinely for his well being." *As she finished, tears began to flood from her eyes as it was evident that this woman had once and still cared deeply for this individual she had told the tale of and it was his tale.*

Darth Massacre
*Massacre had sat patiently through her telling of his childhood, but found it hard to hold back when she spoke flirtatiously of the children. He hated all that lovey-dovey crap, but he managed to keep composed through it all and not mouth anything in the middle of it. Then came the tears. Those force forsaken tears. Was this a sign that he 'should' kill her? She was a threat to him now as she had blatantly applied his true name to him.

He couldn't risk bringing the whole city down on him though. He had to get moving and get away from this woman before he ended up killing her and bringing the entire city down on top of him.* "Well, I'm not that ballistic baby you seem to spread your petty feelings outward toward. You have proven to be a waste of some valuable time." *Massacre turned away from the woman and began walking toward the exit, but would be stopped as he felt some force attempting to enter his mind. Blocking it out he cracked neck and pivoted on his right foot and full 180 degrees to come face to face with the once yet again, only this time she was standing and had the hilt of a lightsaber in hand. Her head was lowered and her shoulders lurched forward. Anger was evident in her face.*

Epicanthix Woman
"I'll kill that demon inside of you and bring you back, Vandook." *With that being said she let out a harsh cry and lunged forward, igniting the yellow blade of her lightsaber as she did so.*

The Fight to Ensue
*As the woman came barreling toward him, he barely had the time to snap and single lightsaber to his right hand and ignite the crimson red blade. When he did so, he brought it straight across from the low left to the high right, sweeping her vertical, chop-like strike. Her momentum would carry her on and out the door giving Massacre enough time to snap the second lightsaber to his left hand and ignite its crimson red blade. With two blades now in hand, Massacre was ready for anything she would throw at him. As she began to charge at him once more, Massacre drew the force within him and began to call upon his anger to strengthen his upcoming attack. When she finally made it to just outside five meters of her lightsaber's effective striking distance, Massacre sent his palms forward in the form of a push, sending the woman flying backwards and out into the street where Massacre began to tread to. Walking forward, both blades now held down to his side, head lowered and anger and hatred flowing through him, he stood just outside the exit and entrance to the cantina which reeked of vile odors. The woman was bringing herself to her feet once again when he made it there and just stood, a sinister and piercing glare befalling the woman who attack him. His shoulders rose and fell as his breathing became deeper and heavier with his growing anger.

Finally she regained enough of herself to throw her efforts at him once again. She charged. the "thud" of her feet was a clamor in the air as her stride became faster and faster. When she broke to withing striking distance, she took both hands on the the hilt of her lightsaber and brought them over her right shoulder and stepped in towards him to strengthen her blow as she brought the lightsaber down at him only to have it stopped by the crossing blades of Massacre as he brought them upward in a defensive position then front kicked using his right leg to her lower chest cavity, pushing her backwards and bringing her ever closer to and edge of a cliff with nothing but sharp, jagged rocks at the base.

She stuttered backwards and caught her balance once again just within a few feet of the edge. Massacre kept a steady slow pacing step as he continued his advance toward her position and then she threw herself at him again. This time though, she would call on the force to power her in a force jump/leap to fly over Massacre's head and end up on the other side over, somersaulting with a corkscrew as she did so. She would land about ten feet or so behind him, dropping down to a very low stance on one knee with her lightsaber slung way out to her right. Massacre had by this time pivoted around a full 180 degrees again and began his stalk towards her again. As she brought her lightsaber above her head as with the form of Shien or Djem So, Massacre swung both of his lightsabers toward it to counteract it. Once they hit, though Epicanthix are known for their strength, Massacre was able to over power her in the strength addendum and also to switch to a reverse grip on the hilt in his right hand. Now as he out-muscled her, he force her lightsaber into a dangerous position behind her back with the blade pointing straight downward. At this position and with her lack of true training, Massacre held most all the cards in his favor.

Still holding her in that position, Massacre brought his right knee up in a fashion to knee her in the gut and did so, causing her to heave forward. Then he quickly spun in place, switching back to a forward grip on the hilt in his right hand in the process and brought both blades upward at he head and neck and decapitated her where she stood, heaved over. The now lifeless body fell to it's knees then finally to the ground, the headed sitting upright next to it.

The fight was over now and that was the end of it.

1641 hrs, F.O. Standard time

Taera glided through the hustle to find the Grand Moff standing in the middle of all the chaos like the eye of a hurricane. She cast an appraising gaze over the soldiers, the techs, the equipment. She had seen the defenses outside. An impressive display of force, to be sure, but displays did not concern her.

"Subtle," she said drily. "Thule invited us here. And you march in with all our military might on parade. Quite the diplomatic entrance."

While Vorik and Izmar had been packing up the parachutes, Drez tried to contact other Alliance forces on the planet. "To all Alliance forces, can anyone read me?" He was met with static. "To any Alliance forces on Thule, this is Drez. Can anyone hear me?" He was met with even more static.

"Have you tried contacting Jacky?" Izmar asked.

"She's too far away from the surface for our comms." Drez replied as he activated a distress beacon given to him by Alliance soldiers. It was meant to be used in times of emergency, which now technically was. They were a few miles away from the City Center but were well aware that they were treading deep in enemy territory. They needed to send a message to the Alliance troops to coordinate the attack, if they were to attack from behind.

At that moment, an enemy tank emerged from around the corner of the ruin of a building. Wasting no time, the soldiers fled immediately, jumping into an old trench. The trench was extremely wet and full of mud puddles and it was littered with debris. The trio waited as the rumbling tank advanced past them. Loud as it was, it faded out any sound they made.