Chapter 9

The massive storm beast charged again, the dark furred Wookiee let out an infuriated howl and readied to counterattack. His Ryyk blades had already seen much blood today, slaying dozens of creatures upon the dead surface of Malachor V. The green hide of the storm beast was barely visible as Hanharr executed a front-flip that contradicted his size, and he landed stiffly behind it, thrusting both of his weapons into the animal's neck. It made several gurgled noises, before it spasms ensured its death. The corpse collapsed with Hanharr still gripping his tools still embedded within its scaly hide, and as he withdrew them with ease, he studied the blades covered in the green ooze of the beast. He relished battle like this; it was his nature and his current assignment of guarding the blind seer had only infuriated him more.

He had finally killed the red-maned huntress, the one they had called Mira, and he had strived for this all of his years. He had been shamed by her deep in the tunnels underneath the surface of the steel planet, but he refused to show weakness, least of all to her. He hadn't told any of this to his Master, or to the old witch. But yet she had always known, she had always known who he was, who he had killed, and what befall him. He had never understood what the Force was, but he knew she had had a powerful affinity for it. However, his Master had killed her on this dead world only a few short weeks ago. He had wanted to witness that battle, to understand what had happened as it would had to have been an incredible display of power. He journeyed back to the monastery in swiftness, despite that he had hadn't eaten in several days. He often disappeared on hunting trips and would be gone several weeks. Neither the horned man nor blind seer presumed to command him, and never questioned his absence. They knew he wouldn't perish to the petty prey on this world.

This academy of what his Master called the Sith now lay empty, when it had flourished with students only a few short weeks ago. He journeyed through to the Archives, where the Seer was. As he entered the room, he noticed the blind woman was faced towards a substantially large holocron, a device of the Force, and it had just finished closing.

"Welcome back, beast." She said, without turning.

Hanharr growled menacingly. He hated to be called that, even though deep inside his hollow heart he knew it to be true. He said nothing in return, and started across the room toward his chambers.

"Prepare to leave," she called again. "We must journey to the world of Dantooine."

Hanharr stopped. He turned and growled why.

"He has called an audience."

Hanharr shifted with anticipation. It was starting.


Azkul had heard nothing back from Vaklu since their 'unofficial' meeting a few days ago. Nothing much had happened. He hadn't heard anything of the Exile's movements, or any Republic grievances. Telos had had martial law declared upon them, and Carnos, formerly known as Valos Norelco, had blockaded the system and the citizens of Citadel Station barely got enough to eat. But Azkul didn't care much about that last part; he only cared about what the Exile was up to. Since then Azkul had realized that Vaklu wouldn't take action first. So he had decided to take matters into his own hands; he had assembled a response team for when any opportunity arose to hinder Carnos' moves, but he never thought this team would actually see any action. Made up of former Mandalorians, Force-users, and farmers, these were the best fighters and intellectual scum he had come across; in all about a dozen.

He had hoped that soon his opportunity would arise. Each passing day the Exile grew stronger. The former Jedi was preparing for something, galactic domination, maybe. But yet only he, Azkul, could stop it.

He was in a city in the clouds, far removed from the war raging in the east. This was Taloraan, far removed from the bright center of the galaxy, but not outside of the Republic. He made his way through dark corridors, illuminated but what he knew not, through empty and yet mechanized halls. This was a facility of some kind, whether of corporate or commercial he did not know, and yet surprisingly he knew where to go. He was so close to his goal, so close to the thing that would free Telos for good. And only he knew where it was. He was so close…

Carth woke with a start. He was in one of his safe houses on Citadel Station, but this life on the run wouldn't last much longer; he had been arranging for transport down to the Restoration Zones to take up residence with the Ithorians on Telos' surface. He stood and walked into the refresher, trying to make sense of the dream as he splashed some cool water onto his face and smiled to himself. He reminded himself of Revan, trying to discern one of his many visions while they had traveled together aboard the Ebon Hawk those many years ago. Carth puzzled over what his subconscious was trying to tell him, or whatever it was. Perhaps it was caused by stress, or out of fear and desperation. Or was this the Force? He scoffed at the idea, but didn't discredit it. Even Revan was once a soldier, struggling with visions he didn't really understand. They had been memories, but as for this place, this place on Taloraan…it didn't add up.

He walked over to his makeshift night stand (a cargo cylinder placed right by his cot) and grabbed his datapad. He inscribed a memo of the dream and all detail he remembered and set it back atop the plastic container.

He breathed a sigh of relief; the Proud Storm had made it safely out of the system. And for this Carth was eternally grateful to Jolee for. The repercussions of the Exile discovering Bastila were, well, overwhelming. The Admiral preferred not to think about it. He found himself often thinking about the Republic, and of the condition of the Senate. Chancellor Tol Cressa could not regain control of the broken systems, and the trade routes had all but failed. Now that Telos had been lost, the Republic had lost one of its only trading planets in the Outer Rim, and with the loss of Dantooine and Onderon, other main economic contributors, Carth feared it would collapse within two months.

He hoped he was wrong.