Year: 0BBY

Planet: Iridonia, Orbit

Location: Brig of the Incorruptible, 10 minutes prior to ship's destruction

Subject: Marcos Rey

Flame.

Chains.

Whips.

A man...a monster...a god? It was adorned in black armor, looking over the galaxy as it burned.

An eye of flame.

The faces of his squad, now dead and decaying. Screaming for help.

Marcos woke up in the familiar cold sweat. The cold stiff surface of his cell floor reminded him where he was. The dark walls. The dim lighting shining through the bars that made up the ceiling. Detention block. Two days without water or food. He was surprised he had anything left to sweat out of his body.

The knife wound in his back was patched up just enough to make sure he could make it to the execution. How considerate of them.

"Ah, good. You're awake." Came a voice over the intercom.

"Lieutenant Cul...you here for the party?" Marcos asked, his dehydrated vocal cords barely letting the words escape his throat.

"Of course I'm here. I wouldn't miss your execution for the world."

"Well, you are a man of your word, at least. How many troopers did your sorry ass leave to die at the hands of that cult to come watch?"

The door to the cell slid open with a whoosh. Lieutenant Cul stormed into the cell, brandishing a pistol. His face was red with rage, his nostrils flaring. He held the pistol right to Marcos' head. Marcos felt the cold metal against his temple. Through the darkness, Marcos could see the black eye on the officer's face where he punched him.

"I would love nothing more than to see you die, right here. I gave you more chances than you deserved to get on my good side, but you insisted on defying imperial doctrine at every turn! For every time you talked back to me. Every time you questioned my orders..."

Marcos looked down the barrel of that pistol. Lieutenant Cul's teeth formed into a sadistic smirk.

"But where's the fun in that?" He asked, lowering the pistol. "Tomorrow, you will fry until your vocal cords are too broken for you to scream any longer. Then, your charred body will be shot into the void. You will be the last trooper who defies my command, mark my words."

"Give me a break, sir," Marcos sneered. "Officers like you are a dime a dozen. Born into a position of power because your dad sucked off the admiralty. I bet you're too squeamish to even watch me beg for death. You may as well do it yourself if you're such a great Lieutenant. Go on. Have you ever even fired that thing? Do your job as an Imperial officer and shoot me! Right here. Right now."

Cul smirked and swung his fist into Marcos' side. The knife wound opened back up, and Marcos' crumpled to the floor. The damp warmth of the blood once again poured out from the freshly opened wound.

"I will see you tomorrow." Cul stated, backing out of the cell and shutting the door. "I'd take a look at that cut. It looks deep."

Marcos groaned and sat up, clutching his side. There went his last hope of getting a quick death out of this.

As he sat there, letting the sweat from his nightmares slowly dry off of his skin, letting the blood soak into his black undersuit. He thought back to his conscription. The bastard who dragged him from his home on Spira. How his innocence of the galaxy was torn from him, little by little, with every battle he was forced to partake in. The taming of Kashyyyk, the Battle of Allst Prime, the countless slaughter he engaged in. All of it, he simply shrugged away in the hope of one day getting back to his home. How many horrible things he did to survive his service, just to waste it by punching the one officer in the face that he should never have punched.

For a moment, Marcos let out a chuckle over the absurdity of it all, but the chuckle slowly devolved into silence. He thought about the squad he left to die, his wasted life, the atrocities he witnessed and said nothing. He sat there for some time.

"ALL HANDS, BRACE FOR IMPACT!"

Marcos was jerked out of his grief at the sound of the alarms blaring through the hallways. He stood up, grimacing at the pain in his side, and held his ear to the door.

"ALL TROOPER SQUADS, BEAT TO QUARTERS! SCRAMBLE ALL FIGHTERS!"

The ship rocked as incoming fire racked the shields. Marcos felt the weakness in his body give way to adrenaline as the recoil of the exchange of fire vibrated through the hull.

"BOARDERS IN THE HANGAR BAY! PREPARE TO DEFEND!"

Another volley of fire hit the hull. The lights flickered as Marcos was flung into the wall across the room. A wave of crippling pain shot across his whole body as his open wound slammed into the hard metal.

The power suddenly died completely. The lights all at once died, and the artificial gravity released its pull on Marcos' body. The adrenaline continued to pump into his system, temporarily alleviating the pain in his side. It was pitch black inside the cell, and Marcos was disoriented, dehydrated and floating in zero gravity in a pool of his own blood. He tried to paddle his way to the wall. He recoiled when his hand slammed into something hard.

"Where's the fucking door…" He mumbled to himself.

With any luck, the power outage shut down the mag lock doors in the detention bay. With more luck, he has enough strength left to even open it.

He pulled his way around the walls, feeling for evidence of which way was up or down. He had two days to memorize the cell, and of course he wasted the time pitying himself. The sound of another volley hitting the ship. The way the ship shook with the impact, it didn't feel like shields were up anymore. That was a direct hit on the hull. He had to get out and get to the hangar bay before the ship ripped apart.

A corner. It felt like the bed', which was nothing more than a metal slab raised three feet off the floor. That meant the door was across the room from him. He pushed away and felt the wall. The corners of the doorframe.

"Yes." He croaked, with as much enthusiasm as his weakened body could muster.

Now to open the door. He felt for anywhere to curve his fingers around. The door was extremely minimalist in design. He tried to get his fingernails into the cracks of the door, but the seal was too tight. He grunted and cursed the door out of frustration.

Another volley hit the ship. Suddenly, Marcos' eyes were blinded by a flash that he assumed was the ship finally succumbing to the barrage of incoming fire. When the light overtook him, he expected to die, or burn, or anything, but instead, he felt nothing. No pain, no death. At least, he didn't think so. As the light surrounded him, his body finally surrendered to the blood loss and dehydration, and his vision fell away to blackness.

/

Marcos woke up in a bed, more comfortable than any bed he had ever laid in. Sure beat the hell out of Imperial barrack bunks.

He wiped the sleep from his eyes and took in the room's design. The light was warm like a summer sun on Naboo. The bedframe was handcrafted out of wood. Someone put a lot of effort into its construction. Inside the circular pattern of interweaving wooden knots was a wooden statue of a female with her arms open, as if she was watching over him. The room was just as elaborately designed. Layers of interweaving vines covered the walls and archways, which opened up to reveal a great forest in the distance.

A long-haired figure entered the room so quietly and gracefully, that Marcos was completely unaware of the alien's presence.

"Where the fuck am I? And who the fuck are you?" Marcos demanded.

"I see you are regaining your strength, human, if you are capable of such... colorful language." The female figure replied calmly.

"You didn't answer my question, knife ears."

Marcos tried to get out of the bed, but the elf moved her hand over Marcos's torso. Marcos suddenly felt his guard drop. He felt at ease even. He didn't like it.

"You are on Rivendell, Sergeant Rey." The elf explained. "We saved you from your Star Destroyer before it was destroyed by the forces of Mordor."

"I was a prisoner." Marcos grunted. "Why save me?"

"A prisoner aboard an Imperial ship is no doubt a prisoner for doing something good." The elf explained.

Marcos chuckled and rubbed his knuckles. "It felt good, anyway…"

"Hmm." The elf said, the corner of her mouth forming the smallest hint of amusement.

"I was in a cell and the ship was blowing up. You would've had to board the Incorruptible, fight to the detention block, open the cell door, drag my ass back-"

"There are other methods. Methods the Empire would do well not to know of. I will explain no more."

The elf lowered her arm and turned to leave.

"You are mending, food will be brought to you shortly." The elf stated.

"Wait." Marcos called. "Who are you? What's a Mordor? What did you just do to me with your hand? "

The elf smiled.

"Rest now, eat and I will answer every question you have. There is a war coming, and you must be ready to fight it."

The elf bowed her head and left the room. Marcos lay in the bed and felt for the knife wound. Nothing. Barely a scar where the knife entered. Who were these people? Who attacked them? Mordor? Why did he feel so calm in this place? What could so easily take down an Imperial Star Destroyer? What the hell is a Rivendell?

/

Year: 0BBY

Planet: Yavin IV

Location: Great Temple

Subject: Mala Pong

The whole base was celebrating. Everywhere mala looked, pilots were drinking, couples were kissing, and officers were taking a well-deserved rest.

The Death Star was destroyed, along with the dictator Grand Moff Tarkin and two million bucketheads. It was a good day.

Shorkazza gave her a concerned grunt.

"No no, I'm having a great time! We just kicked the Empire's ass! It's just…"

Shorkazza grunted a reply.

"Well, next fight, maybe they will actually need something sabotaged. Hopefully they can use us."

Shorkazza gave a sympathetic moan and placed his massive Wookiee arm over her shoulder. Mala let out a light chuckle.

"It's a bet. You know I'm a much better shot, Kazz."

Shorkazza's head whipped towards Mala and let out a skeptical grunt.

"Prove it." Mala replied lightheartedly.

As the two wandered through the halls, passing by the hundreds of celebrating rebels who cheered, splashed drinks at each other and danced. Through the crowds of victorious Alliance fighters, Mala saw a stern-looking officer approach her.

"Mala Pong. Shorkazza. Follow me." He ordered.

Mala and Kazz gave each other a shrug and obeyed, following the officer into the Briefing Room. Inside was a gathering of the Alliance top brass, Senator Mothma and an elderly man dressed in a grey robe. His beard almost reached the floor as it hung from his chin, and in his hand was a wooden staff, about as tall as the man was.

"Mala, please enter." Mothma called out to the Twi'lek awkwardly standing in the doorway.

Mala walked in, once again under the eyes of several high-ranking people. Something about being watched makes someone suddenly forget their normal motor functions. Walking normally, remembering how to talk, all these things seem to disappear from memory once important people are staring at you. Mala tried to pretend not to be nervous, approached an empty seat and sat down.

"Everyone I asked for is present?" Mothma asked the officer.

"Yes, Senator." The officer nodded.

"Good. Then we may begin." Mothma exclaimed. "Generals, distinguished officers, this is Gandalf. It's through him we have learned of an imminent and glaring threat to the galaxy. This information is of an extremely sensitive nature, so nothing I tell you will leave this room."

The old man Mothma named Gandalf scanned the room and its occupants. His eyes fell on Mala's, and the two exchanged eye contact for some time. His eyes were ancient beyond comprehension, full of the experience of a thousand lifetimes. Mala saw sadness, wisdom and hope in those eyes like she had never seen in anyone else before.

"I must congratulate you all for your recent victory," Gandalf announced, "And I must apologize for taking you all away from your celebrations, but these are urgent matters."

Gandalf looked to the screen on the wall, then, after a time of fumbling with the buttons on the panel, harshly mumbled something about technology, then looked to Mothma. Mothma nodded to the officer to her right, who proceeded to turn on the screen. The screen on the wall flicked on, displaying the profile of an Imperial that Mala didn't recognize.

"This is the Thirteenth Sister." Mothma explained. "She is a Miraluka, thirty-four years old, and an Imperial Inquisitor. Her last-known whereabouts was the planet Florrum. Her mission there was top-secret, but we have managed to gather enough intel to determine that what she was searching for was an artifact. A dangerous artifact of extremely powerful dark force energy."

"Dark force? You mean the Sith?" One of the older officers asked.

"No." Gandalf interjected. "Not the Sith. Something far older and far more insidious."

Mothma nodded to the officer, and the screen flicked again to show schematics of a ring. It was gold, engraved with writings that glowed around its band.

"This is the artifact the Thirteenth Sister was after." Mothma explained.

"A ring?" One officer asked, confused.

"Not just a ring. An extremely dangerous and ancient one." Mothma replied, "The Sister appears to have found the Ring, and our spies have confirmed that her ship was en route to Coruscant. We assume the Emperor himself tasked her to find this artifact."

The screen flicked again, revealing the galactic map. The path of the Inquisitor's route, depicted by a thin line that cut across the map, suddenly bent away from Coruscant and moved away from the galactic center.

"However, as of yesterday, her course was rerouted to Nur in the Mustafar System, the Location of an old Inquisitorial fortress. Our assumption is that she has fallen under the influence of the Ring's addictive properties. This gives us a unique opportunity to acquire this artifact and remove it from Imperial hands."

"This all seems very sudden for something so important, Senator." One General stated. "If this artifact exists, why should we be worried about it? We are fighting a war, not treasure-hunting!"

Gandalf sighed and sat down in a nearby chair, removing his strange pointy hat and placing it on the table.

"Our master saboteur, Mala Pong, has already informed us of the encounter on Yaga Minor, General." Mothma argued. "We know there is a new faction at play, and it is capable of destroying Imperial ships with unusual ease. This artifact, as I'm told by Gandalf, is what they're after. We find it, and ensure they don't retrieve it."

"We know next to nothing about this new faction." The General complained, letting out a weak cough. "We don't know their capabilities, their numbers, we don't even know if they're a threat! The Empire is a threat! We know this! I am hesitant to devote resources for chasing jewelry while the Empire is at our doorstep!"

"If this new faction is so powerful," Another officer added, "Then why don't we give them what they want? If this ring is all they want, then we find it, hand it over, and in theory, they return to whatever part of the unknown regions they skulked from."

"No!" Gandalf exclaimed. "We cannot allow Sauron to retrieve his ring!"

"Sauron?" The General asked. "What do you know that you're not telling us, old man?"

Gandalf sighed. "Perhaps it is best I show you. There is so much to explain, and little time. Do not fear what I show you now, merely try to understand the gravity of it."

Gandalf waved his hand, and Mala exclaimed a curse in Twi'lek as her vision was washed over with darkness. She desperately swiveled her head around her surroundings, but nothing but black met her eyes.

After a short time waiting in the black, the darkness surrounding Mala receded to reveal visions of war, of creatures she recognized from Yaga Minor, of humanoids in black cloaks washing over entire worlds with waves of overwhelming numbers. Large monsters and small monsters, what Mala could only describe as the undead wading through piles of dead, and it wasn't only these gruesome monsters following behind these cloaked figures. Zabraks, Klatooinians, Devaronians, Neimoidians, Rodians, Humans of various cultures and hundreds of other species Mala couldn't name off-hand followed as well.

Mala watched as Imperial forces fought alongside Alliance rebels, all in vain against the tides of evil. More visions followed of hospitals treating millions of soldiers and civilians alike, sick with an illness that had no cure. Madness of sleepless nights and famine washed over the galaxy. Nightmares keeping people awake for entire weeks at a time. Brother turning against brother in their madness. Mass suicides just to end the suffering.

The sounds of war and death slowly faded away, followed by the quiet of a dark room. Mala looked around, at the dark walls, the cast iron torches lining the walls, the jagged design of the doorways and ceiling. Soldiers adorned in elaborate armors, brandishing an arsenal of weaponry, lined the walls of the room. Unsure if these dark warriors could see her, Mala stayed deathly still, but slowly realized they didn't perceive her presence in the room.

A creature, what looked like the Miraluka Inquisitor from the briefing, entered the room through the archway on the far end. She watched on as the Miraluka strode, almost unconsciously, across the floor. Her expression was blank and empty, as if she was no longer in control of her own movements. The Inquisitor stopped walking as she reached the opposite end of the room, which was too shrouded in darkness for Mala to fully make out what sat there, but something did indeed sit there. Something big. Maybe a throne?

The warriors all kept their eyes on the inquisitor as the inquisitor bowed before the large silhouette. Mala approached the dark side of the room to see if she could make out what the inquisitor was bowing before.

As she approached, a booming, inhuman voice shook the room in a language Mala couldn't understand, but recognized the smooth evil of it from her encounter on Yaga Minor. The voice spoke from the darkness, filling the room with its malevolence. When it had finished, the inquisitor pulled a small ring from her neck, and reached out her hand towards the dark figure. A massive, black-armored hand reached out from the black and took the ring from her hand.

Suddenly, the room was filled with a sense of despair more intense than Mala had never felt before. She felt as though her entire body had lost its ability to be happy. She watched as the dark silhouette rose and moved out of the darkness. Mala's eyes widened as the massive silhouette came into full view before her.

It was at least twelve feet tall, and dressed in layers of black plate armor. It's helmet was designed like a crown, but no benevolent king would wear such a grotesque thing on their brow. With every step the massive armored creature took, the ground shook. Its laugh seemed not to come from its mouth, but from its mind, burning into Mala's head as it approached the Inquisitor that still bowed before it. The creature stood over the inquisitor, then, much like how any humanoid would brush an insect from its shoulder, the armored figure flicked its hand through the air, and the inquisitor's form evaporated with a scream and a gust of wind.

Suddenly, the creature's attention shot towards Mala. Mala was given no time to ask whether the creature saw her, as the armored monster quickly approached her, it's black hand outstretched, the ring glowing on its finger. A scream of rage rang in her mind as the creature charged her.

I SEE YOU

Mala screamed and backed away. As she backed from the creature, her senses returned to the quiet calm of the Temple's briefing room. Her back hit the wall, and her eyes readjusted to the brightness of the rebel base.

"What the hell was that?!" One of the attending officers blurted.

Mala scanned the room. It seemed as though everyone in the room had witnessed what she had. Shorkazza was roaring and darting his eyes around the room. Mothma was out of breath, but seemed to recover quickly. Gandalf sighed and lowered his head, as if exhausted from what he had just shown us.

"Mothma, who the hell is this guy?!" The officer insisted. "And what did he do to us?!"

"It is a vision of things to come, General." Gandalf explained. "This foe, Sauron the Deceiver, is coming, and if we do not find this ring before he does, then we are lost. Already he searches for it, and he is ahead of us."

"Gandalf has shown me worse things to come. Things I would spare you the sight of." Mothma added. "Which is why this mission is of utmost importance."

The General, once skeptical of the situation, adjusted the collar on his uniform and wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Well," He started, clearing his throat and letting out another cough. "That was Sauron? The big one?"

Gandalf nodded. "An ancient enemy of this galaxy. For millennia, he has planned his return, and now, he is moving to reclaim his dominion over us all. The One Ring is a part of him. If he finds his ring, he will be whole again, and his influence will dominate every world. You have all already felt him. The nightmares you have all been experiencing? The eye of flame you have all seen in your heads at night?"

The room erupted with confused head nods, confirming the old man's words. Mala had one such nightmare a week ago, and Gandalf's knowledge of this made her squirm in her chair.

"His ring wants him to find it." Gandalf continued. "He hears it always. His servants hear it...always. We must act now."

The General sat back in his chair. "How do you suggest we retrieve this artifact?"

"We send in a stealth team, infiltrate the fortress on Nur, find the Thirteenth Sister, retrieve the Ring." Mothma explained. "Like I said, the Ring has an addictive property, which gives us reason to assume she will be in possession of it. We will need a master in infiltration to lead the team."

Mothma turned her eyes towards Mala, whose eyes widened.

"You want me to lead a team into the Inquisitorial Fortress, one of the evilest places in the galaxy?" Mala inquired, perplexed by the task. "In the Mustafar system, which so happens to also be the home of Vader's fortress? Senator, I know I'm massively outranked here, but-"

"You are outranked." Mothma sternly interrupted. "With the Jedi all but gone, the Inquisitorial budget has been cut substantially. The fortress will be minimally manned. Pick out your team. Be back in this room in sixteen hours. That should give your people enough time to sober up. Dismissed."

Mala sat there as the scrape of chairs against floor filled the room. The officers filed out with discussions of the celebrations, of the Death Star, of whatever high-ranking officers discuss. Shorkazza moved to sit next to Mala, and gave her a concerned grunt.

"Hey, we said we wanted to help with the next mission." Mala replied, now regretting her own words from earlier. "We get in, somehow kill an Inquisitor, take a ring and leave all without encountering a single Purge Trooper, who will most likely instantly kill us, if not torture us for the rest of our lives, if we're caught. Piece of cake…"

"You will not be alone." The voice of Gandalf came from the corner of the room. "I will join you."

"You?" Mala asked, turning her head towards the old man. "No offence, but I don't want you tripping over your beard while we're sneaking through the damn lion's den."

Gandalf gave a look of amusement. "You don't live to grow a beard this long by being a fool, young Twi'lek. Trust me when I say I've never tripped over it."

Mala sighed. Something about this old man seemed to encourage her to lend her his trust.

"Fine, but if you fall behind in that place, I'm not coming back for you." Mala said, standing up from her chair. "I won't be captured. Not in that place."

"I would not risk anyone going there unless there was no other choice." Gandalf professed. "My dear Twi'lek, I'm not joining you to fulfill some desire for adventure. I'm joining to protect you."

"Protect us?" Mala scoffed. "So you can make people hallucinate with your hand. That's impressive, but fighting Inquisitors is another thing altogether. What could you possibly do to protect us? Hit them really hard with your stick?"

Gandalf laughed out loud, then hit the butt of his staff into the floor. All of a sudden, Mala was frozen in place, unable to move. Her eyes could still see, but she was unable to move them in any direction. She watched on as Gandalf stood up from his chair, placed his hat on his head and walked up to her.

"This old man has a few tricks up his sleeve, Mala Pong." He said calmly.

Shorkazza roared and pulled a bowcaster from his back, aiming it at the wizard. Gandalf's eyes shot towards Shorkazza, who immediately dropped the bowcaster. Out of the corner of her eye, all she could make out was the red glow of a melting piece of metal on the floor. Mala tried to move but simply was unable to do so, no matter how she tried to push against her own body.

"You leave the Inquisitor to me. I'll leave the infiltration to you." Gandalf said, looking into her frozen eyes. Gandalf poked his staff into her chest, and she fell to the floor, gasping as her diaphragm was finally able to pull fresh air into her lungs.

"What...are you?" Mala gasped.

"I will never get used to how quickly the galaxy forgot about us." Gandalf sighed. "I am more ancient than your species evolved legs. I am Istari, defenders of reality against the darkest of evils. Looks can be deceiving, Mala. Trust that I will not let you die in that place."

Gandalf left the room, leaving Mala laying on the ground. Shorkazza knelt down and weakly grunted at her, resting her head in his arm.

"I'm fine, I'm just out of breath." Mala replied. "How's your hand, buddy?"

Shorkazza shrugged and groaned.

"That's good. Been a weird month, huh?"

Shorkazza gave an affirmative bark.

"Let's get our team together, while they're still sober enough to listen. Hopefully, this Gandalf guy is a man of his word."

Shorkazza grunted with a hint of skepticism.

"Hey, he took you out pretty good." Mala mentioned, pointing at the melting hunk of metal on the floor that used to be a bowcaster.

Shorkazza mumbled angrily.

"Well, maybe you shouldn't get so attached to your weapons, bud."

/

Year: 0BBY

Planet: N/A

Location: Rivendell, Flagship of the Noldor Nomadic Fleet

Subject: Vanick Tarwin

Vanick looked over the balcony of his room, into the forest and waterfalls below. Birds were singing as they flew through the artificial skyline. The sunlight shining down from the ceiling high above his head was warm and golden, hardly distinguishable from the light of a real star. It seemed to stretch forever in every direction. Beautifully intricate bridges stretched across the cliff sides all across the width of the valley. He could see several figures walking smoothly across the bridges, stopping to smell flowers and to exchange words.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Came a voice from behind.

Vanick removed his hands from the railing and turned around. It was Elrond, one of the elves that first greeted him, and an apparent leader of these aliens. He seemed trusting, as he never came with guards or weapons.

"It's beyond belief." Vanick replied, turning back towards the forest. "To maintain such a massive ecosystem, complete with wildlife, a powerful light source, and even a water cycle, the technical requirements must be...astronomical. How big is this ship?"

"One could compare it to a small moon." Elrond replied. "There are a few dozen such ships across the galaxy, moving from place to place."

"Nomads?"

"It became necessary after the Rakata obliterated our homes," Elrond grumbled. "But that was so long ago, we never settled down again, finding it safer to keep moving. We have grown accustomed to a nomadic life. Each ship is named after a city we left behind, and each ship was built to resemble the environment of the planet the Rakata destroyed."

"I'm sorry." Vanick said quietly.

"Don't be," Elrond replied. "It's not our destiny to live like this forever, and there are more pressing matters."

"I agree. I have questions."

"Ask them."

"You knew when and where we were attacked. You know exactly where to find us. Why save us at all? Why didn't you fight with us?"

Elrond sighed. "There are some among our species with the gift of foresight. I looked into our future and saw you, leading the galaxy to victory."

Vanick blinked once or twice.

"What?"

"I do not know exactly how or why, but it appears your future holds the galaxy in the balance."

Vanick scoffed

"I'm just a ship Commander, Elrond. Find yourself a Grand Moff, or maybe the Emperor himself, 'cause I'm not nearly important enough to be the person you're looking for."

"I'm rarely mistaken. Rarely…"

"So you admit that sometimes you are."

"I have been wrong...once…about one person, a friend of mine..." Elrond mumbled. "But that was nine-thousand years ago."

Vanick bent over and placed his head in his hands.

"I'm going to need a rundown of what exactly is going on here, because every question I ask only seems to bring up three more."

Elrond sighed and sat down. "You may want to eat first. This will take a while."

"Eat first? How much do you have to explain?"

"About fifty-two thousand years worth. Perhaps we should start with Melkor..."

/

"This is madness." Vanick said finally, his head still resting in his hands. "I don't know if I believe it. Surely, if this Sauron guy exists, we would have documentation, or myths, or anything!"

"Given enough time, everything turns to dust...even the most important of history," Elrond stated. "But now you understand what we face."

"I have to warn the Admiralty. They have no idea what's really coming for us." Vanick urged, placing his officer's cap on his head and zipping up his tunic.

"You think telling the Admiralty will help?" Elrond asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No idea," Vanick replied. "But I can't sit by while some evil demon wizard monster comes to kill us all!"

"Commander."

Vanick paused from his frantic dressing and looked at the elf.

"You're Not the only one we saved. It would be best to take them with you."

"What? Who else did you save?"

"I didn't take the time to learn each name, but they are well taken care of."

"Show them to me."

/

Year: 0BBY

Planet: Dathomir

Location: Dathomir Imperial Prison

Subject: The Mouth of Sauron

"KILL ME! PLEASE!"

"JUST RUN!"

"WHAT IS HE?!"

The Mouth of Sauron strode through the grey halls of the prison, his blade slicing with ease through the poorly-armed prison guards that foolishly stood in his way. His smile stretched across what little face could be seen under his helmet, revealing his rotting, blackened teeth underneath. In and out of the squads of troopers, his black energy blade danced and sliced, hacking away legs and arms as if there was no armor at all. What troopers his blade didn't kill, the sorcery he wove into his weapon caused crippling agony to anyone unfortunate enough to come into contact with its black blade.

The Mouth paused and looked around him. To watch the frothing survivors begging for death, the spasming husks of what once were living sentient beings, with hopes and passions, now quivering mindlessly beneath his iron boots, gave him such infinite glee.

"It will be a shame when my master is done with this galaxy," He spoke over the screams. "There will be no more of these Imperials to educate. What a blessing that there are many more galaxies to enjoy."

His heavy armor crushed bone and tendon as he walked over his victims. He walked slowly, enjoying every ounce of discomfort he could derive from these sad creatures.

"Barely human…" He spoke to himself. "You age so quickly, and die so easily. What forces caused thee to devolve so? What curse fell upon thee when you left Numenor? Such weakness, such fragility…"

The Numenorian left his victims to their slow deaths and continued towards the cells.

"The Empire has kept you hidden for so long…" The Numenorian spoke to himself as he wandered through the dark hallways. "But your isolation has come to its end."

He moved past the normal standard Imperial cell blocks, past the creatures that were kept there, past the pleas for release, for freedom. He moved deeper into the depths of the prison, slaying every trooper who dared aim his rifle in his direction. Many floors down into the catacombs of the complex, he finally found what he came for. He grinned wildly as he opened the door to reveal a massive chamber, filled with row upon row of cryo hibernation capsules.

"What a waste of your talents." The Mouth lamented.

He removed his gauntlet from his hand and brushed his grey, scarred fingers against the transparent casing of the capsules before moving toward the control panel in the middle of the room.

"Get back!" A single desperate voice rang out from behind the console.

The Mouth recoiled as a blaster bolt slammed into his armor, pushing him back a step. He blessed his master for giving him exactly what he needed. The Mouth held out his arm. The officer screamed with terror as his body was lifted off the ground, then pulled across the room, straight into the Mouth's waiting grasp.

"How do I release them?" The Mouth asked. "These prisoners? You know the controls to these machines."

"Fuck you…" The petrified officer gasped as the Numenorian's hand wrapped around his neck.

"If you do not give me this knowledge, then I will pluck it from your mind."

The Mouth placed his free hand on the officer's forehead. After a few seconds of wailing, the officer was dead, nothing more than a dehydrated mummy, drained of its memories, its talents, of all that made it alive. The Mouth threw the corpse to the ground, which stiffly hit the floor, a permanent scream resting on its mummified mouth.

"My master thanks thee." The Numenorian hissed.

The dark Lieutenant slid to the control panel. He looked through the stolen memories of the officer he drained and grinned as he found what he was looking for. He touched his fingers against the buttons on the panel, and with a loud hiss, the hibernation capsules began to thaw out their cargo.

The capsules opened, and out fell a pale Dathomirian, coughing and shivering.

"The hibernation sickness will wane with time." The Mouth stated as the capsules opened.

Each capsule released a single woman, all with uniquely-designed tattoos covering their faces. Some threw up as the hibernation sickness took hold of their shivering bodies.

"My master wishes to welcome thee back to the galaxy. You have been gone far too long." The Mouth stated.

"Who are you?" The nearest Dathomirian asked weakly as she wobbled on her unused legs.

"Merely an envoy for one who would grant thee the gift of revenge." The Mouth replied, giving her a wild smile.

"Revenge?" The Dathomirian croaked.

The Mouth smile dilated even further across his scarred face.

"Once, Dathomir was a lush, beautiful world." The Black Numenorian announced to his Dathomirian audience. "Dathomirians were free, free to explore the limits of their magicks. The galaxy came and killed. They butchered and exterminated you and your people. Now, the Empire seeks to freeze you away. They would see you erased from history. They would see your culture destroyed! My master, the Necromancer of Dol Guldur, the one true ruler of all things, the Great Eye, the seer of all, wishes nothing more than to see you freed. Join him, and together, we will reap vengeance on this galaxy for what they have done to you! You will have power as you have never felt before! We will show you the true limits of your magicks..."

The Mouth moved his gaze across the ranks of Dathomirian witches before him.

"What say you?" He asked, his wild grin still stretched across his dry skin.

The eldest Dathomirian looked back to her people, then back to the strange masked creature before her. She gave a grin and a nod.

The Mouth let out a slow, deep chuckle.

"Good."

/

Year: 0BBY

Planet: Mygeeto

Location: Imperial Staging Area 243

Subject: Anakin Skywalker

"Shit, are those 501st insignias?"

"Vader's Fist. You know what that means."

"It means keep your head down and keep your mouth shut."

"Shh, there he is…"

"Oh gods…"

Vader's augmented helmet sensors picked up every word, every whispered conversation around him as he and his legion entered the camp. There was a time he would have killed one for speaking ill about him behind his back, just to let them know he was always listening, but so many years had hardened him to the whispers and the fear. Now, he took pride in his ability to immediately enforce discipline wherever he went.

But something he did hear, past all the whispers and discussions, was coughing. An unusual amount of it. It seemed as though half of the men he passed were ill with something. Faces were pale, and men were slow. Why did so many troopers look so ill? Had command not taken steps towards the maintenance of hygiene here? He would have much to discuss with them.

Vader moved his way past the lines of AT-AT's, past the rows of armor, artillery and tents, past the thousands of troopers and operators that scurried to and fro, carrying tools and weapons this way and that, ignoring the stares. Ignoring the whispers. Hearing more coughing. More pale faces. Upon reaching the HQ, he strode in, straight into the conference room, where the command group was already in mid-discussion. A middle-aged man with combed-back hair was first to speak to the Sith Lord as he entered.

"Ah, Vader. We just received word from the High Command you were en route."

"Clearly, our communications have slowed in recent weeks. That message was sent three days ago." Vader replied coldly.

"Clearly. I am Grand Moff Ardus Kaine, this is General-."

"I know who you are, Kaine. What progress has been made with the preparations?"

The Grand Moff seemed unaccustomed to interruption, but hid his offense well.

"The Albarrio Sector Army is fully in place for a full assault of Yaga Minor. The 34th Reconnaissance fleet is currently observing everything coming and going from the Yaga system. The combined fleets of the Outer Rim are in Mygeeto orbit, currently loading our forces as we speak. The sector's inhabitants have been conscripted to the factories for production of new equipment, which began three days ago."

"Very good, Kaine. This enemy has taken us by surprise one too many times. Now, it is our turn. There will be nothing to prevent our victory this time. The Emperor wants the Yaga system retaken by the end of Ascension week." Vader stated, pointing a gloved finger at the Moff. "Do not fail me."

"Failure..." Kaine scoffed. "This foreign invader will feel the true wrath of Imperial might. Nothing can stand against a Sector Army and the entire Outer Rim fleet. Failure is not an option."

It was then that Vader noticed a general to his right cough.

"Grand Moff." Vader started. "It would appear that many in this staging area have developed some illness. I would recommend you enforce Imperial hygiene standards in this camp, or I will be forced to do it myself. I don't want to lose half of our force because of your lack of competence in these matters."

"We are aware of the illness and are working on determining the cause." Kaine replied impatiently.

"Good. As for command, the Emperor has placed me in command of this assault." Vader continued. "Any failure to complete what I ask of you, I will not forgive."

"Vader, a word alone." Kaine requested suddenly.

Vader paused, but eventually did wave his hand at the other officers in the room. The officers all stood up and awkwardly left the room, being sure not to do anything that would offend the Sith's sensibilities. The door shut, leaving the two alone.

"This was to be my operation, Vader." Kaine noted calmly. "It was to be my victory. You can't walk in here and take over my plan. I will not allow it"

"If you are worried about losing the prestige of victory, then you may have it." Vader replied. "Glory means little to me, but I will assume command."

"Glory? You think my concerns are of glory? You think you can come in here and pretend like the Death Star never happened?" Ardus argued. "I will not let my plans fall to you because you feel the need to redeem yourself for your own colossal failures."

"Do not test me, Kaine." Vader threatened, quickly placing himself within inches of the Grand Moff's face.

"No, Vader. Do not test me." Ardus replied fearlessly. "Tarkin was too lenient with your loose cannon attitude, but I will not be. You may be Palpatine's pet, but I have the loyalty of the forces outside these walls. This is my operation. Discipline and intimidate the men all you like, kill some if you must, but their ultimate authority falls with me."

"The Emperor will hear of your insubordination," Vader stated through clenched teeth. "You are not defying my orders, you are defying his."

"I think he will understand that I didn't hand over command of the Empire's largest operation ever planned to a mad dog who couldn't defeat a few dozen rebels."

"I could kill you where you stand." Vader said slowly.

"Yes, kill me! Kill everyone! Kill every General that sneezes wrong at you! You think you can afford to lose me? I can tell you, the next Grand Moff you replace me with will be scared of you, he will follow your every order, but he won't come close to the strategist I am. So good ahead, risk it all, and good luck to you when you return to the Emperor as a failure once again."

The two stared each other down for some time. Vader thought long and hard about how easy it would be. Take out his lightsaber and slice this cocky upstart apart piece by piece as he held him against the ceiling. But there would be time for that later, after the war is won. A strategist of Kaine's caliber was invaluable. For now.

Vader huffed and left the room, violently ripping the door open with a flick of his hand. Ardus held back his smile of absolute glee. He had tamed the Emperor's right hand. At least...for now. He knew once this war was done, that would change. He would be ready.