How did it come to this? We never, well I never, in my wildest dreams thought my life would hinge on the capricious nature of one man. How did I let this happen?

When I came to the academy as a young kid, I knew nothing of family or even dealing with others that were like me. Well, since the kids in the orphanage weren't Force users, of course they weren't like me. I avoided them like the plague even though they continually sought me out, did as I did. I never asked for their friendship or companionship. I wanted to be left alone, just like my parents left me alone. Relationships meant commitment and commitment meant a big deep pit that dragged you down and ate you alive.

So again, I can only wonder how I let myself get into this mess.

When Master Kavar brought me to the Jedi academy on Dantooine, I thought maybe things would be different. I could co-exist with the other students and still have my own space. It lasted for a while and then Revan and his pack of hanger-on's lured me in. Well, maybe lured is a harsh term. I had realized I needed to interact more with my fellow Padawans. After all, the same thing that happened at the orphanage was happening at the academy. It wasn't as if I was rich or had cookies with me all the time or anything I ever did, but people seemed drawn to me and at times it drove me nuts. One reason for these journals; I can piss and moan in private while putting on a compassionate and kind face for the galaxy.

Revan was all right, good looking in a rough and scruffy sort of way but he had a way of looking at you with those light gray eyes of his that could make you squirm. Or, as one memorable month comes to mind, make you want, desire, and then crave more. I don't think he appreciated me laughing at him when he broke things off, but come on; did he really think my life was going to vastly improve to perfection just because we bounced on a bunk a few times? Get real. Relationships mean commitment and commitment is that big deep pit that drags you down and eats you alive.

At least the Jedi code and I can agree on that.

Rissa Rohm, Jedi Knight, and Republic General set down the data pad she used to record her thoughts at the melodic beeping of the door. "Come."

"General. We're approaching the rendezvous point and are just out of scanner range of Malachor V. Some of the Republic fleet have already arrived and are awaiting orders."

"Tell them to sit tight until we get there." She watched as the smartly dressed lieutenant nodded his acceptance of the orders and turned to leave. "Any sign of Revan and the rest of the fleet?"

"No, ma'am."

When the door shut at his back, Rissa picked up the data pad.

And there won't be because the bastard is setting us up, I can feel it in my bones. Ah, Revan, when did you fall? At what point, since we started this unholy crusade against the Mandalorians, did you decide that the taste of power was more to your liking than helping the innocent lives they had slaughtered?

At what point did I decide to turn a blind eye? Is it because I'm tired of seeing the dead that haunt my dreams, their blood mingling with those that tried to stop them, the lifeless yet pleading eyes of those that fall, slide sickly, from the end of my saber. I stepped over their mangled bodies and went on to the next because I believed in what we were doing. Wiping out a scourge that threatened to enslave the Republic and destroy entire worlds all in the name of honor and glory.

What honor and glory is there in what you are doing? What grand scheme are you even now cooking up? I hope it's worth it. I hope you can live with the destruction you will have wrought if you don't show up to help end this debacle you convinced us to start. Maybe the Council was right, maybe patience was the way to go, but again, the dreams that haunt me tell me otherwise.

Rissa paused to pour more Corellian ale in the glass at her elbow. Taking a long drink, she sat back, closed her eyes, and opened herself to the Force.

They're here, waiting, watching, wondering when the Republic will make their foolish stand against them. It is their sacred world after all. An ancient Sith world, off limits but sacred nonetheless. I wonder if anyone has ever bothered to ask them why. I wonder if they ever bothered to ask why Revan chose this spot for a final conflict. Surely, the Mandalorians are not that stupid to think this is just another skirmish. They have to know that Revan let it leak that he would be coming here. Hell a three year old could figure that out. Now, there they sit waiting, thinking they are lying in wait to ambush – what some have said – is the greatest strategist the Republic has even seen; The Revanchist. Fools, every last one of them and here I am on my way to lead the pack. To slaughter them all.

She tossed aside the data pad, finished the warming ale in one swallow, and left the meager office of the command ship.

*************************

Massacre was to tame a word for what was going on outside the bridge window. Not only had the Republic suffered massive losses, but then so had the Mandalorians. It was a no win situation and there had been little word from Revan since he had battled and killed Mandalore the Ultimate himself. His silence now was telling to her. He had made his choice and was condemned them all to their deaths with his turn to the dark side.

Rissa could smell the fear of the men around her as they fought valiantly against the Mandalorians and their punishing attacks with their laser cannons, suicide runs with their Basilisk war droids at the Republic vessels that seemed to wink out of life at a steady pace.

Fear was something she had shoved aside at an early age. It was when she woke up in a hospital room, a young girl, the bandages only making her seem smaller and more insignificant, as if they could hide the battered child inside. She couldn't have been more than five or six, but she knew she didn't want to be afraid, didn't want that feeling of helplessness that - in tandem - fear and terror always brought.

The doctors and droids poked, prodded, bandaged, re-bandaged, and told her, her parents had left her for dead. Don't be afraid, they said in calm and condescending tones, everything will be fine, you'll see. And for Rissa there hadn't been a choice, so to feel it from the soldiers around her was a curious sensation. One she didn't welcome.

It crawled along her skin, sharp sticks of pain, needling her nerves. Feeling scraped raw she rolled her shoulders and turned as the Zabrak, Bao Dur stepped beside her. His manner was always a quiet one, but under that serene calm, she knew the heart of a warrior was close to the surface.

They had served together since the Mandalorians had decimated his homeworld and she had found comfort in his quiet and steady support. Now, in the hour when she needed guidance the most, she wouldn't ask him for it, would turn from the support and comfort he would surely offer. The decision was hers and hers alone. He had only provided the means to the end.

"Do it," she whispered.

It started as a low hum to accompany the prickling nerves and fear that was now screaming through her. One by one, her extremities seemed to catch fire and crescendo along with the pounding in her head.

She pressed the fingers of one hand to her temple in a vain attempt to keep her brains from spilling from her ears.

Each of her senses seemed to spike into overload before dying like a slow acting poison that numbed her nerve endings. She didn't feel Bao Dur's grip on her arm. The smell and taste of panic, fear and sweaty terror nearly choked her as the sight of hundred of ships being crushed in the gravity pull of Malachor V burned itself into her brain. Finally, the screams of the dying reached such a cacophony that even with her hands over her ears she couldn't hear her own cries of denial, her pleading for it to stop before all went dark and silent.