Shadows of the Aether

[Lord_S_Gray]

****This Story Continues the Saga of the Aethans [Children / Orphan / Legacy / Fate / Remnant of the Aether and Schisms - The Vhal Dan Civil War and Incorporates Events from Star Wars Knights of the Old Republic II Canon Light Side ending****

Prologue — 3995 BBY

Small men with smaller minds had stymied his research and experimentation in the Republic.

Arbitrary restrictions called ‘Law’ and archaic taboos termed ‘Morality’ were the delusional self-imposed limitations of mortals who preferred to crawl in the primordial mud than stride toward the stars.

Fees, industrial espionage and intricacies of the Plutocracy were irritants that de-listed the Corporate Sector.

As for Hutt space...well...the less said about that bulbous decaying empire the better.

Soron Varas needed freedom - True freedom.

In the Deep Core he found it.

<<<<>>>>

Prologue — 503 BBY

Tiny warm fingers threaded through long loose crimson hair.

Curious and needy, a sparkling little aura peeked out from the shelter of her mothers Aetheric presence looking for protection and guidance from the Aunt that cradled her.

Milaea held the cooing swaddled bundle of her first Niece, barely a month old, and offered a cushioned comforting place in her own Aether aura for the infant's instinctual outreach to nestle, promising all that the baby girl sought from its adult guardians - safety, support, sustenance - her Niece settled contentedly.

The cumulative fatigue of decades of toil and blood became an irrelevance in the instant Milaea had beheld the first of the new generation - forgotten completely with the birth of her second niece a mere three days after the first. That second bundle of limitless potential and inquisitiveness dozed in the gently rocking arms of Aresaea.

The couple held their nieces close.  For all the joy and excitement, both knew from bitter experience the galaxy was not merciful to their kind. 

Born in the spring of prosperity after a long winter of hardship, these two glimmering beacons of hope for the Aethan People - and all the nieces, nephews that followed by the score in the handful of years after - could rely on this - there was nothing within their power their Aunt’s wouldn’t do to keep them safe.

 

<<<<>>>>

Dramatis Personae

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 1 — Awakenings - Part 1

497 BBY — Unknown Regions - Chiss Space - Third Expansionary Sphere Border Zone

White pin prick stars were misted in sickly ice yellow nebulae, comets on millennia spanning ellipses burned toxic white lines through the gas, slow but inevitable in their motion.

Faster bolts of yellow and green screamed across the backdrop slamming into shields and hyper-steels blooming into plumes of radiation heavy detritus appearing purple to the eye.

Over a hundred ships surrounded six Chiss Expansionary Defence Forces Dreadnoughts, elongated vessels in hues of grey blue, sleek curved plating concealing batteries of microwave amplification cannons, plunging toward cathedral spire and butcher hook decorated enemy.  

Chiss boasted to incredulous visitors there were hundreds of threats lurking in the Unknown Regions to make soft fat civilizations of the Republic’s blood freeze - Tof giants, Nagai raiders, the sickening Mggnal-Mggnal, Ebruchii and Vagarri piratical slave empires -  every culture in the Galactic South and East owed them a debt of gratitude for holding the darkness back.

Most dismissed it as exaggeration.  It was an understatement.

Covered in the flayed corpses of Chiss Soldiers and civilians, the warships of the Sorcerers of Rhand moved in steady formation using their incredibly vast numbers to encircle the CEDF, the Rhandites guided by their Darksight.

Long pincer winged Clawcraft tore apart the less bulky Rhandite Night-Crawlers fighters when they could get on their flanks with hell fire red MASER weapons.

Night crawlers, shaped and coloured like the decayed sharpened bones of a giants ribs used suicide runs, the Knell of Muspilli pilots drawn from all manner of species cared nothing for their lives, extolling the creed etched on the metal of their craft and flesh of their bodies -

“Existence is fleeting. Destruction is eternal.”

The largest of the three sects that formed the Sorcerers of Rhand, they Embraced the Eternal with virve.

Yellow tipped torpedoes struck flanks of Chiss Frigates, orange flares of superheated energy soaking outward, baking occupants alive, Mega-maser counter fire shredded totemic bodies and metal from the larger Taung vessels - the second of the Rhandite union the all Female, Taung Warriors of Shadow were their hardiest shock troops and tacticians.

Taryn ignored it, eyes on the prize, he sat one leg over the Hecate’s Command Thrones armrest - Chiss would consider it unprofessional, but on the Spear tipped abyssal black Malefic Class Super Destroyer he was among People who valued his unconventional piratical style.

“Keep us quiet Stalker, Megamind pick targets,” he ordered the only other occupant of the blue white spacious bridge made homely by tribal rugs and tapestries

Arryn, the former Pyke slave and technical genius Taryn nicknamed ‘Megamind’ sat with an eight limbed Control Crown on his head, linking his superhuman mind directly to the Hecate and its escorts the Aertemisaea Class Destroyers the Alixaea and Lyssia.

Two decks down in the belly of the Hecate, Stalker as Taryn called the Anzati trained assassin Evyn used one of three Aether Nexi to conceal all three ships from any form of detection, the ‘Veil of Mist’ Aether power amplified from the Blackstone spherical chamber.

The CEDF could handle the suicidal Knell, tough it out against drua-steel toothed Taung - they couldn’t deal with ‘Kanzer Exiles’ - the eponymous Sorcerers of the Rhand whose power of Darksight had allowed them to breach as far as the Third Boundary of the Chiss Expansioanry Exlcusion Zone, destroying four colonies and Two Retaliatory fleets on the way.

The Sorcerers Philosophy - The Way of the ‘Dark’ saw Destruction as the unavoidable and unchangeable fate of the universe ending in the Void.

The Void was the foundation of truth.  ‘Dark’ to them was not the Sith amalgam of selfish emotion, but the utter absence of existence that despised creation as aberration and set man against man, star against star into conflict to birth destruction and return to true Void.  

To Taryn it was all metaphysical self indulgence.  They were petulant dren-heads who wanted to smash up the place as much as they could - He could understand that well enough, in his day he hadn’t cared about anything either - wrecking ships and people was the only way to keep himself from looking to hard at the grubby little frellick he had been.

That was before old Melron had brought him home, before Lya had smashed him upside down against a tree fifty times a day for getting too hands on, before he found his place among the People.

Unconsciously he spun the necklace locket dangling on his chest that held the pictures of Lyaea and their two children, his ‘little Jump-Jets’ Lylaea and Lyndan. He fought to Protect what he and his People had built against creatures that would shred the universe molecule by molecule - frell - he might almost be here out of principle!

<They’re closing in>  Yorna spoke directly into his mind the Telepathaeon lobe of his genecrafted species allowing instantaneous understanding from the Obelisk Array as they all felt the growing pulse of the Darksight.

The Sorcerers version of what the Aethans called the Seior let them ‘realize’  futures by looking at all the possible outcomes and choosing the one that best aligned with whatever spread the most Void - the unnatural prescience had been the reason why the CEDF had fallen foul of the bastards twice.

They wouldn’t let it happen a third time.

<Confirmed nearly in range, you ready Nerf-Herder?> he called across the group mind.

<Ready,> Lydan replied, muscled arms across his chest squeezed into the metal casket of a Torpedo.

Taryn waited for the last possible moment, the barest fraction of a second before the Darksight efforts of the Sorcerers locked in a future that guaranteed them victory.

“Fire,”

Hell cascaded from the Aethan vessels, 48 crimson Megamaser turbo cannons overwhelming the Void Chariots shields by sheer enormity of energy and kinetic power hitting in the same millisecond thanks to Arryn’s precision, followed by a launch of twenty eight shikkar torpedoes, 11 containing cramped Aethans.

Decloaking they took the Chariots escort by surprise, Arryn, Jacyn and Narys manually guiding point defence turrets, Phirk projectiles cutting apart counter-missile locks, Kadyn, Kyran, Davys and Daryn led by Maeson in blade shaped Vorynx fighters to further smooth the torpedoes path.  

Facing an enemy whose Aether skills matched their own the Rhandites fared poorly in the shock - their Darksight suddenly awash with the blazing hate filled inferno of a Xenophobic Group Mind that was hell bent on sending them to the Void they worshipped.

Bounced through the countermeasures and defensive fire by the Aether the Torpedoes of ultradense blackstone native to the Aethan homeworld struck fast and deep into the Chariot, dragging vacuum behind.

Three decks in, momentum stymied by grinding damage the first pod was kicked open by a simple shepherd encased in Oblivion Mark III armour wielding a Naginata crackling with lighting.

In void capable suits, brown and glossy overlapping plates of macro-bronze festooned with feathers and skulls fetishes, Taung Banshees and Harpies rushed to intercept through the sparking wires and ruined metal - they were slammed to their faces on the broken floor by an invisible hand then stomped or decapitated with indifferent sweeps.

Lydan advanced straight into the flock of fanatics, Talon-Blades swift but ineffectual against Oblivion plate, scratches rapidly repaired by nanite tech from Vhal’Dan Cataphract designs. Lydan had only grown larger and stronger in the fifteen years since that tech was stolen from the Grey Jedi, lifting 150 kg gormin calves and wrestling 400kg vorynx daily made the Taung brittle in comparison.

It was still their ship, heavy armour Gorgon units slowed his advance, working round the torpedo damaged sections to surround him, needle darts lodged in his armour after Flux wave cannons weakened the molecular integrity.

Switching to his Hades rifle, Rune etched by his Wife adding kinetic power and preternatural accuracy, three shots in quick succession hadn’t even reached the Taungs Shimmer-shields when the wall burst open on them.

<DIE Infidel!> Maekal cried with zealous fury, his Shatter-Sword was shredding them limb from limb allowing Lydan to turn on those behind.

Never the strongest or quickest, a brutal thrashing at the hands of the Vhal’dan Kage Anson D’Aklon had inspired Maekal to train damn hard, becoming the most skillful duelist, his blade found Shatterpoints in armour and flesh cracking beings along invisible lines till he was surrounded by corpses.

With a nod Lydan joined him in the advance.

All eleven Aethans had arrived with some injuries.  The Rhandites had never faced them, their boarding countermeasures anticipated Chiss Shock Troops - the Aethans exploited the temporary ignorance to the full.

In moments Lydan and Maekal were slaughtering a group of Taung protecting a circle of Knell, the Death cultists muttering words from their Taurannik Codex trying to summon Aether Entities to aid them in battle - bargaining their own souls to the semi sentient pure Force creatures that even Dathomiri witches avoided.

Banshees screeches and Harpies' talon blades slowed them until a vicious cry out did them all - Lysan charged straight into their rear - Taryn's nickname of ‘Berserker; apt for the speed at which Lysan delved into their most primal hormonal combat state.  

The Knell chanting circle was savaged by a wild animal in technologically advanced armour, Lysans three pronged Oblivion Claws on each forearm crackled with his Wifes enchanted Fire, burning already halved beings in eldritch flame.

<Area cleared, watch out for the Knell>

<Too late> Taran replied deeper in the ship - the ‘Varagnian’, former thrall of the Witch Queen of Dathomir, now husband and protector of Aethan Matriarch Karintha swung his mighty Claymore at an amalgam of mystically bonded limbs and torsos - the physical manifestation of the Shard of a Being from Beyond the Veil, the flesh unnaturally rotting around the gash in space time.

Kisaea and Candaea were with him, their Oblivion arrows striking the phantom like creature whose form was a shifting morass of energy and flesh, it could not be killed only drained until it exhausted energy absorbed from the Knell that had plucked it unwillingly from the Beyond the Veil.

Aether energies of the enchanted arrows damaged the creature till a blow from the weary Taran finally cut its connection to the material world.

<Zone secure we need to link up, Taran has been injured>  Kisaea spoke across the species bio-telepathic link buried in their Telepathaeon Lobes as the Varangian waved it off despite bleeding profusely from wounds he couldn’t hide.

<Sector 3B> Varan, once a thrall of the Ailon Nova Guard confirmed <We’ll clear a path>  flanked by Elyn and Maryn, they used Ailon tactics of overlapping fields of disciplined fire from their Hades rifle, mingled with controlled Aether lighting blasts to methodically work through the Taung Gorgons.

<Rolling> Maryn warned hurling a Terror orb down the corridor, it detonated as seething mist visible only to their Aether-sight - metaphysical black smoke that formed into needles stabbing non-aethan minds nearby inflicting nightmare hallucinations on them, Taung, Tarro and other near human species flopped to the floor gripping their heads, clawing eyes trying to rip out phantom enemies - the Aethans mercilessly felled them with knife and fist as they passed.

In the belly of the ship the Brothers, Jarys and Valens plunged their blades to the heart of the enemy.  

First in and last out of any battle they cracked necks with thoughts and effortlessly spun beneath bolts and blades, slicing Elite Taung Medusae apart.

Ahead was the Sorcerers Coven where the Darksight was manifested.  Resistance mounted, the others arrived to flank their attack.

The wide circular corridors became charnel houses as the endless tide of Taung and Knell were joined by Kanzer exiles, the full trinity of the Rhandites a far more efficacious force enabling them to slow the Aethans dramatically.

<Go on ahead> Lydan grunted under the barrage of bolts from Gorgons while he clashed with an elite Medusae, the tall thin creature covered in nanospike and tattoo covered flayed flesh.

Moving into a full run the Brothers cut space time ahead of them with Aetheric knives, sonic displacement knocking Taung over, knives plunged into seemingly static Kanzer Exile Acolytes.

Perfectly synchronized they turned shoulders to the large intricately carved door ahead, the Three factions of the Rhandites praying to the Empty Void etched upon it.  Shatterpoint enhanced strength crashed it inward.

Two dozen emaciated sorcerer's, near naked, eyes burnt deep into sockets, hands heads rolling madly, linked to robbed acolytes by flesh tubes and arcane biomechanical devises to transmit their Darksight visions were spread across seemingly randomly arranged elevated rusting platforms in the cavernous room, cables hanging like vines from a ceiling lost to black vastness.

Around them Nag’hi - human-Nagai hybrids - naval cyborg helots - lower bodies permanently enmeshed beneath pink screen consols that dotted the edge of the cavern - translated Darksight visions into tactical instruction for the Rhandite Fleet.

The Brothers returned to ‘real’ time hurling Implosion grenades, each burst with a wide shockwave of inverted energy  -sucking in every molecule within its radius.  Metal and man were compacted into vile amalgams of compressed matter blobs, entire tiers of the Sorcerers Darksight Choirs fell, dozens helots died in an instant.

Jarys rifle and Valens arrows shredded unarmoured bodies of sorcerers, acolytes rupturing as the Aethans leapt tier to tier stomping them.

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 1 — Awakenings - Part 2

497 BBY — Unknown Regions - Chiss Space - Third Expansionary Sphere Border Zone

Taryn saw the change immediately, the prescience guided maneuvers wearing the Chiss down stopped - no new orders were coming through, Chiss repositioned to take advantage where they could.

Taung captains were no fools, quickly taking active control, but their eldritch co-ordination had been blunted.

Sublights roared as Taryn went on the prowl away from the Chiss dreadnoughts all cannons blazing, one frigate shredded by the Hecate, the Lyssia taking a corvette sized ship as they pushed straight for the largest concentration of Rhandite ships nearby, a strong defensive formation in concentric circles around a Battle-Cathedral - nearly 10 kilometer long vessel of twisted architecture seemingly plucked from its terrestrial foundations and strapped to engines.

<Give em a bad taste Ghost Girl> Taryn ordered

Yorna smiled, the nickname referencing her resurrection - technically soul transfer across time to a regrown body regrown - switching her focus in the Obelisk array from sensing the Darksight to an ovid object with rounded handles and blinking lights Coryn placed before her.

Seated in a circle at the center of Nine, 50 meter tall Blackstone Obelisks, each crackling with aether power, Yorna’s eyes closed as she drew power from aether sinks beneath, into and through the Obelisks, Coryn feeling his lovers eldritch calculations switched the timer of the Naqxium bomb - a combination of the hyper fuel Coaxium with the energy multiplying naquadah - it was 10 times more powerful than Chiss Void Silencer nuclear missiles blasting Rhandites vessels into irradiated chunks that very moment.

The forward shields took a beating, ionization reactors pushed to their limits as Taryn closed in, Nightcrawler fighters swarmed, needle darts dug into the unshielded rear hull.

Yorna flowed the concentrated energies into and around the Bomb, linking her mind with the Aethan pilots Arryn, Jacyn and Narys to pinpoint the place.  A gush of displaced air and the bomb vanished, Yorna fell back into Coryns waiting arms.

On the Battle-Cathedral at the centre of the formation, the Taung Admiral was certain she would destroy these overly confident Oblivion vessels, she had a ring of cruisers clustered tightly near her, a huge overlapping field of fire.

For a brief second every console on the bridge flickered, power indicators turned white, red, then dead. She had no time to wonder before the teleported Naqxium bomb arrived in her ship's Plutonium Generator Core, the explosion atomising her the in teal fire of a Micro-star.

Support ships caught in the wave deflagrated, tides of eroding microparticles ate the hulls of cruisers nearby as the radiation and thermal waves from the Naqxium overwhelmed their shields - Taryns smile board as his megamaser shots punctured undefended hulls, targeting bridges and shield generators . 

The linchpin Battle-Cathedral gone, the Chiss counter-offensive was merciless as the Aethans pulled back to support with telekinetically guided missiles, trasnports moving to pick up the boarding party.

In the Void Chariot Rhandite fanaticism ground against Aethan Oblivion resolve  Arrows and Hades shots crisscrossed with flux waves and needle bolts, Blackstone swords scraped against Medusae Serrators, Knell Veil rifts blasted closed with Aether Lighting.

Within the Choir more able Sorcerers rose to hurl metal and flesh as the Aethan Brothers slaughtered through the Taung Medusae and Kanzer Acolytes, individually only an irritant, sheer numbers made them a threat. 

Valens shikkar dagger wove into one Sorcerer's throat, Jarys shouldered a Medusae into a wall, needle bolts covering his back plate, he hurled his sword into three acolytes before summoning it back through another Sorcerer.

The last, most emaciated, facially deformed Sorcerer rose up, his flesh bound acolytes withering in death as they gave their life to infuse him with power.  Black holes that had once housed eyes locked on the Aethan brothers, now back to back spinning death through the ruin they had caused.

The Rhandite saw this impediment to the Way of the Dark - creatures driven by the futile primitive instinct to survive and reproduce, denying the greater truth of the Eternal Void.

Summoning power from the depths of the Dark emptiness to which all blessed destruction leads he crafted his attack in swirling mists of shadowed smoke.

Fluid and precise beneath the Lacerator Whips of the Medusae, Valens detached a Null orb from his hip for Jarys to knee up like a ball, then Valens to smash with the pommel of his swords before a Lacerator whip wrapped around his arm.

The null orb  screeched through the Sorcerer's Shadow mist, striking at mach 1 into the Sorcerer's face, his Force defences irrelevant against a Null-field projectile it exploded out the back of his head.

Jarys and Valens growled into the Medusae’s faces as they abandoned their whip locked weapons and smashed into them with fists, knee and dagger - pinned in place by the Taung women as the scattered energies of the dead Sorcerer's Shadow Mist attack struck them.

Bones cracked and broke under the Aethans strength ever renewed by fission power mitochondria -  but the flow of Aether energies constantly renewing their power faded in the instant the Shadow Mist touched them.

A Shadow fell across the Aether.

Telepathic bonds vanished, the crystal clear Group Mind now a darkened stagnant pond, Arryn’s aim failed, Lydans lightning efforts sputtered, Maesons head and fighter spun out of control, Taryn’s tactical comprehension slipped.

For a brief moment the Rhandites had the Aethans defenceless, their daggers, projectiles and powers bashing them until hyper-reflexes and honed skills returned, their super human biology masking the loss of the aether.

The Shadow did not lift.

<<<<>>>>

[Lord_S_Gray]

 

Chapter 1 — Awakenings - Part 3

497 BBY — Aethas

Bright, lush spring weather greeted their run through the well-worn pathways of Ravines End, a village of thatched roof houses on the South eastern side of the Valley, tall Obi-pine trees heaving with new growth.

Pivoting at the new cut stone bridge Lysi leapt to the side, easily crossing the 30 meter gap landing into a sprint with a giggle ahead of the sour faced Sophi who took the more conventional path over the phirk structure.

Weaving seamlessly through thicker woods Lysi felt completely at home.

Braying Goyurts watched and equine Govenison scattered as the air breezed over her face, a mirror of her mother at the same age.

Vorynx pelt over gormin leather tight on her body as the braids that kept her long deep red hair in check, on her back a small bow and quiver her father had made, strapped tight to her thighs twin short swords, all etched in runes invoking Aertemisaea’s strength, a small golden band stamped with Aethenaea’s owl around her head, a necklace with Aephrodaea, as Mother about her neck.  

A simple outfit compared to the elaborate frilled Gossypium fibre clothes Sophi wore.

Taking a ridge in three quick leaps Lysi rolled down the hill toward the rear of a farmstead, a large workshop out the back, Sophi still at the top taking a more measured approach, hoping slow and steady won the race.

Selaena smiled looking up from her sewing, the girls like their mothers were always playfully competing. Sofa and Valens daughter Sophaea - named, more than a little self indulgently, for her mother - had been born a week before Kiraea and Jarys daughter Lysaea - named for Jarys and Valens mother.

The nine year old cousins dressed like their mothers, Sophi in the more refined style of Sofa, Lysi the more practical outfits Kiraea favoured. And like them Lysi took more chances in leaping and weaving off the main road, Sophi doggedly stuck to it.    

The pair turned through the neat semi circles of long houses of Ravines End, the younger children, Selaena and Lysans adopted girls and son - the three children clones of former guardians - along with Evyn and Nyaea’s eldest son rushing after them, still too young to join.

Lysi and Sophi ruffled the younger children's hair as they passed.

The new generation was sheltered beneath the might of Mount Aelia fortress, and the watchful presence of the Valkyria -  Malefic Class super Destroyer, a black triangle just visible in the sky, supported by the four Aertemisaea Class Destroyers dotted throughout the system that comprised the small but technologically advanced Aethan Fleet.

Sophi’s face scrunched as Lysi pulled ahead on the final stretch that would take them past the caverns.  She consciously imitated her fathers expression when he needed a second wind when competing in the Spring Games.

The constant thrum of the waterfalls of Aephordaea’s Tears began to over take the padding of their feet, Sophi catching up.  

Lysi would laugh at Sophi’s outfit - just because it had some frills and lace didn’t mean it was any less comfortable, as if to prove the point Sophi pounced and ran sideways on the jagged mountain face to her left to overtake her cousin.

Lysi scowled like Kiraea when frustrated and with a gnash of her teeth sped up with a little boost from the aether.

The cousins ran neck and neck along the well worn path toward the falls, the leader shifting with every step.

They passed the geothermal pools near the Sacred Caverns, a handful of women with their youngest babies splashing about in the warm waters, the large rain smoothed boulders covered in blankets and furs that exuded calming energies of the Voursus from which they were made to settle the babes.

Heels dug into fresh laid gravel on the paths as they took a hard right by the Bloodstone monument to the Victims of the Devastation carved into a niche in the mountain, the Goddess cradling the fallen, melt water from the mountain snow poured through her eyes as endless tears, a reminder of events long before the racing girls were born that was ever present in the darker moods of their parents.

Lysi regained the lead by the Cavern of Friends, founded by Aunt Mili and Ari, where memorial busts of Noble and Worthy Outsiders were kept, the First Yhum, Keison of the Sons of Kessel, Lyr’Ca’Njo, but none larger or wreathed with more Dianthus garlands and the stubbed remains of honey scented candles than those of Omma Saani and Afi Soryu.

The last straight to Aunt Karintha’s house opened up before them, Ryza-grain crops swaying yellow and plump with grain in the wind.

Lysi’s eyes narrowed as she locked on the finish line, the gate to the outer yard, Karintha spying the pair from hundred of meters away with genehanced sight opened the gate for them with a smile on her flushed face, belly large with her fifth child.

The warmth of the aether filled Lysi’s limbs doubling her speed, the use of the deep powers as effortless and instinctual as breathing.

Sophi’s nose scrunched like her mothers as she fell behind, Lysi pridefully glancing back with a smile, Kiraea’s daughter distorting the passage of time in a small bubble around her to go even faster, a new trick she was finally getting confident with, the aether swirling tightly and thickly through her.

Sophi was no less adept at drawing on that power, eyes steely as her father she pinned a point in the middle of the gate.

Lysi was barely five steps away when a blast of displaced air slammed her in the face, Sophi appearing in a dusty mess, the aether bleeding off her as Lysi stumbled to a stop seething.

“You cheated!” she snapped

Sophi’s face and clothes were covered in dust from her messy teleportation, feet in a scooped out portion of vanished dirt she steadied herself before replying, the drain on her power far greater than she had expected from the ability she had seen her father use in training.  

She’d never tried it before now, but had utter certainty that here, on their homeworld, the Goddesses would ensure she never harmed herself experimenting with her powers, she had no reason not to try - especially to beat Lysi.

“I won, isn't that all that matters?” Sophi huffed, hurling what Lysi would always say when she cheated back at her as she brushed off her arms and top best she could.

“Hmmm is it?” Karintha laughed at the bickering pair as she headed inside to get them some food and water.

Plonking herself down on the ground Lysi pouted for a handful of seconds, till annoyance at being out tricked draining away.

Sophi strode over still unsteady, her stomachs feeling oddly bouncy unused to the sensation of teleporting, stretching out her hand to Lysi.

Their competition done, Lysi quickly took her best friend's hand, their smiles returning in a mirror of their fathers grasping arms after a hard training session.

“How’d you do it?” Lysi asked Sophi as they headed toward the house hand in hand.

As they had a hundred times before with each other or their parents Sophi ‘Thought’ the technique into the ‘shelf’ of her mind that was the Aethenaea Cortex even as Lysi’s own Cortex quickly tingled the telepathic connection neurons to establish the link that would let the knowledge flow seamlessly between their minds.
Perhaps the greatest of the long fallen Aethan Technocracies biological boons, it enabled rapid precise transfers of procedural and declarative memory.

Lysi felt the first trickle of memories that appeared as visual and tactile sensation just under her immediate senses, the aetheric information about to flow when.

Darkness

A Shadow fell across her senses dimming everything, a weight flopped on her shoulder as Sophi collapsed onto her.

“Soph!” Lysi managed to scream before the Shadow that had encompassed her friend's light subsumed her as well.

Bursting out of the door, pitcher and bowls of steaming sticky rice stew cast aside, Karintha’s arms caught the pair before they fell but had no power to break them from their somnolence.

<<<<<>>>>

Panic and distress filled the valley as the Children of the Aethas, by three’s and fours fell limp and silent.

Scores of adult fingers and eyes burst with red-shatterpoint healing energies that dimmed flat and brown as the Shadow in the Aether overtook them as well.

The primal energy they relied on more than the Heavy Element rich air, withering gamma radiation of the deep core, or the metallic salt filled waters of their home world to sustain their meta-human bodies was dimmed.
Metaphysical limbs clawed in a bleak forest seeking the burning life filled red energy that had been so conspicuous it was only now known by its absence.

Desperation forced innovation, mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles and the handful of grandparents drew on every source of energy they could, the White Current, Dathomiri Ichor, the Mist Realm, even the Pure light and Dark side itself - rivulets within the Force they usually only touched as part of research or training.

It was not enough.

48 children, the flourishing youth of the first generation after the Devastation, from the oldest Sophi at nine, to the youngest Cassaea at barely six weeks were left withering in unconsciousness.

<<<<>>>>

[Lord_S_Gray]

 

Chapter 1 — Awakenings - Part 4

3947 BBY — Rings of Kafrene

She wasn’t angry at Meetra, not at all.  

People came and went in life, that’s how it was.

Still of all the people and places Mira had known, the Ebon Hawk with Meetra Surik had been one of the best – wise cracking Atton, homely Bao Dur…Mira even missed the crotchety old woman at times.

But she had to keep moving -  Meetra had opened Mira’s eyes to a larger universe, shown her how to embrace life instead of hunting it, and given a name to the feeling she’d always had in her gut – the Force.  

It was only on Dxun in the Tomb of Freedon Nadd where she had really started to feel it, the potential within herself to be more than just a hunter of life – maybe that was why Meetra had chosen her to lead the attack while she fought on Onderon…and then on Malachor…she would’ve let Hanharr live if she could, a way to prove she was – not above her former ways but…moving on from them.

Course none of that paid the bills.

After Malachor they went their separate ways, Meetra with Caderous to look for Revan, Atton, Mical, Brianna and Bao Dur off to be ‘Jedi’, and Visas some vision quest.  The last, especially ironic, Visas was a blind as a pharbat Miraluka.

Mira didn’t know what she would do only that those things weren't for her – so here she was - hunting

She’d been the best bounty hunter on Nar Shadda, now she was the best Private investigator on the Rings of Kafrene - a vast failed mining complex that now served as a sort of way station for the lost and confused – almost too fitting she mused looking out of the apartment window on the crowded streets full of pickpockets, hagglers, hawkers and refugees who had lost family…

Family…

She had been raised on Mandalorian ships during the war, taught to fight, steal, think and hunt like a Mandolorian…culturally she supposed she was one  – that family died at Malachor V, another family with street urchins on Nar Shadda lost as her nascent abilities brought her more and better work, then finally the attention of Surik…now

Alone once more.

Shaking it off she looked back to her small desk, cluttered with her equipment and bits of flimsi detailing her next target.  Mira had never been fond of killing, feeling too much empathy for others, but was too good at hunting not to use that skill to keep herself fed.  She found a compromise.

The pict showed her ‘prey’ an elderly Twi’lek desperately missed by his two sons.

Her business was reuniting families separated by the Mandalorian and even Exar Kun wars for a small fee – nothing came for free after all – it was safer work and made use of her growing abilities.  

She had a few leads on this one, none of them especially positive – a Besalisk recognized him from a Sith labour camp that had been abandoned when Malak was slain by Revan, but noted he had died of starvation a few weeks before the slaves got out, another former slave corroborated the story more or less word for word.

She would still try the third contact, just in case.  

If she could bring just one more family some happiness she knew it would make a difference….and maybe just maybe bring her some peace of her own.

“Alright time to go hunting,” she said to herself strapping on her wrist mounted grenade launcher and clipping her sentinel yellow sabre to her side.

<<<<>>>>

Hooded beneath a thick leather robe - the first cured from the Neo-Bantha Mark II – he moved silently through the crowded streets of the Asteroid, another lost traveller to all outward appearances.

His pace was slowed slightly by his new armour – once more the first of its kind – dense and strong beyond belief – the material they now mined exceeding all expectations to the point he no longer carried a sabre, but blades made of the stuff, thin so he could lift it.

Checking the area was clear of any immediate threat he tapped out a signal on his comm in a battle cypher known only to a handful of a type of Jedi in a war forty years dead.

His two companions moved up through the crowd while he kept a focused gaze on them for any possible danger.

By instinct he reached for the comforting presence of his saber...but the Force touched only the absence of a heritage discarded and a family lost.

He bit down on the feeling, he had a new family now…a better one - a home in a Valley farm, surrounded by fields of genehanced-crops and Neo-Nerf-Bantha hybrids bred to thrive on the high gravity and radiation laced world.

His companions caught up to him in front of the apartment building that seemed to slant dangerously over a short hab block.  

The Garindan informer had best been right about this, credits didn’t matter, but time did.

Stifling a cough he knew his time was running out.  

Tightening his cloak he guided his two charges round the corner weaving them through, avoiding the gazes of the beggars beside the doorway that shuffled open with a tired drone.

His brother would not have ignored them, always caring more for the stranger by the roadside than his own kin -  he was not his brother.

“This is the place,” his voice harsh as the years he had lived as they stood in the lobby scanning the names on the intercom

He could taste her in the force…she had been here recently...his companions sensed it too and between the three of them they narrowed her echo, ascending the stairs to the fourth floor room.

A flick of his wrist brought out the shimmering white and grey slicer, as new and perfect as everything the cabal of scientists of his new home made.  A quick swipe of the aged key lock and it flashed green.

“She’s not here…we wait.”

<<<<>>>>

Her third contact’s story was the same…old twi’lek giving up the ghost a few weeks before it all fell apart…those few days too late…

She headed back glum wondering if she should do this particular job gratis and return the deposit…the smell of rich spices from one of the street vendors caught in her nose and reminded her how hungry she was.  

Hand reaching between her breasts she pulled out one of only three 10 credit chits she had left…

“No freebies…” she had to concede – closure had to be worth something anyway.

“Hey three of those!” she called to the multi armed…actually she didn’t know what species that thing was…

<Beerchoodin!> it said unintelligibly, handing her three meaty sticks dripping in a spiced red sauce as she slapped the chit on the unwashed cutting board that served as a counter.

It wasn’t bad, a little more citrus taste than she expected, but she’d eaten far far worse.  That wasn’t what caused her to slow her pace.

Someone was waiting for her…a presence…not shady like Kreia, nor dark like Hanharr, not even bright like Meetra…this was…just different…it had a strange rhythm to it, a flow that seemed at once intense and focused yet concealing a deep sadness.

She toyed with the idea of making a run for it…it wasn’t like she had much in that apartment of value…

Running wasn’t her style anymore.

<<<<>>>>

As the old door hissed open a blaster barrel peeked in

“I’ve got a thermal and a shock grenade ready to go, which is it?” she yelled knowing full well she would never use the thermal for the collateral damage - they didn’t know that.

Red hair, black leather, big attitude – just as she was described the Old Man mused.

“Talk,” he replied exuding calm in the Force
“We are here to discuss a job, didn’t want to wait on the street.”

She couldn’t blame them for that.

“You wanna talk, let’s talk.”

<<<<>>>>

Leaning back against the curtain on the wall – which of course concealed a quick get away, Mira eyed her guests.

The Miraluka seemed unexceptional, mid to late sixties.  She didn’t wear a veil across the absent eye sockets proud of her heritage and species, despite the discomfort the obvious absence caused other races.  

Mira respected that.

The young man looked…Green…right off the docks, the kind of kid that would get rolled within five minutes on Nar Shadda.  But that was only in the face, his body, and his posture indicated he knew how to handle himself.

Then there was the Old Man.  

The armour of the two men was an old style but new material – pre the wars of the Sith Triumvirate and Revan, even before the Mandalorian Crusade - Exar Kun era, an antiquated bulky feel.  

Mira could see in the Old Man's scarred worn face he had seen that war with his own cold eyes - and every war since.

“So what is this about,”

“We’ve heard you help people find lost relatives and kin, separated by the decades of war and upheaval,”  The woman explained

Mira gave a short scoff

“Yeah it’s true I’m the best tracker in the sector, that’s not me boasting its fact,”

The Miraluka nodded

“So we have heard.  As you may know after, Katarr,”

the name of the world seemed to cause the Miraluka physical pain to say out loud - having heard of what happened there from Meetra, Mira understood why.  

The entire Miraluka Colony had been host to a Jedi delegation to try and use the Force sighted species powers to look into the future - the details were scarce because no one there survived the consumption of Darth Nihilus, the Force-Eater who consumed all life across the entire world - apart from one Miralukan woman, Mira’s former companion Visas Marr.

“...Many were scattered, lost while offworld…we have a colony,” she gestured to her companions.

“Deep in the core, peaceful, safe, I want to try and find as many of the lost Miraluka of Katarr as possible…my People...and take them back with me.  You have access to networks and a level of goodwill among the refugee communities we lack.  Of course you will be compensated very well for your assistance…but I hope kindness rather than credits sways you,”

She paused breathing out a grief that still lingered in the eyeless face.

“I know many millions of others are suffering, entire species scattered, perhaps they are no less important or urgent than the Miraluka, but still I ask.”

There was no doubting the Miraluka’s sincerity, she glowed a subtle blue in the second sight Mira had learned from Visas and Meetra, the luminosity had dimmed noticeably when she spoke of Katarr - this was a woman who bore her grief on her soul.

And Stars knew, Mira could do a lot with some credits…but there was still something withheld which gave Mira pause.

“Look you sound on the level, but you need to be totally upfront with me, what else are you looking for,” Mira said firmly, arms crossed over synth leather jacket, idly flicking the toggles on her wrist mounted grenade launcher.

The Miraluka shared a ‘look’ with the Old Man who nodded.

“While we want to find any Katarr Miraluka…” she began
“I hope to find my niece… and you may be the only one who can help.  My name is Isas…Isas Marr,”

Mira straightened like she’d been hit with a stun blaster in the small of the back.

“…I have heard that my niece, Visas Marr was once a travelling companion of yours, I haven’t heard of her since Katarr was…”

The woman stopped again the thought of the atrocity the ravenous Darth Nihilus had perpetrated upon the Miraluka colony - painful to hold in her mind even for a second.

“…I’d lost all hope until I heard from another woman that she had survived and travelled with a woman, the Jedi Exile Meetra Surik, we tried to find her first but…”

Even Mira didn’t know where Surik had gone after Malachor.

Mira could feel Isas was telling the Truth, she briefly probed the Old Man, finding only an aura of doonium, and intensity about something she wasn’t skilled enough to discern -  the younger man a more earnest feel.  They were obviously Isas protection, though she felt a familial thread connecting the young man and Isas.

“I don’t know where Visas is,” Mira said honestly
“I only know where she was going after Dantooine,”

Isas leaned forward as Mira sighed

“But you’re not gonna like it...Visas mentioned she needed to go back to Katarr to ‘see’ something for herself or something like that,”

Isas head tipped toward the Old Man whose lips tightened.

“Look,” Mira finally sighed

“I’d like to help but...I have people to help, then places to go,”

She had to keep moving and it was hard enough for Mira to find where she belonged in her own head at times without getting caught up in Visas’ issues.

Isas smiled sadly

“I understand, you must be busy with so many displaced after the wars, but please, we Miraluka are so scattered now, and with what we are prepared to offer it could help you expand your ‘business’ upon your return.”

Mira pursed her lips

“And what is your ‘offer’,”

“A flat fee, 500,000 credits, 10 per cent deposit, Republic Stamped, untracked, for three month’s work, whether we find Visas, any Miraluka or not.”

The red haired huntress chewed on it for a moment.

“I’ll go as far as Katarr, see if I can get a sense of where Visas went from there, but after that I’m out,”

<<<<>>>>

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 1 — Awakenings - Part 5

3947 BBY — The Lek’un

The door hissed open to reveal nothing but the most spartan of accommodations deep in the ship almost hidden beneath the drive core, the thrum of the turbines endless.

The sole occupant cared not for such trivialities.

Its single minded, one might say obsessive, focus precluded all else.  

The creature had black eyes and a heavy brow that folded back into a single lekku thick with memories of his ancestors engraved in neural networks laid like ever building strata of sands over millenia.

There thousands of humanoid species The Old Man had never seen in person, twi’leki were a substantial minority across many worlds, but he had never seen a single lekku humanoid or even heard of such till he was drawn to this one during his search for a key Sample.

The clothing was also strange, even though only moderately priced it was immaculate in presentation, the way the creature moved in a way more suited to a royal court than the confines of a space sport, as if it had stumbled from a period- holo-drama into the real world.  

Though many said the same of the Old Man’s attire.

Armour he had trusted in since the war with Exar Kun.  

He was a different man back then.

Perhaps a better one.

“Katarr,” the Old Man said without preamble

The Lek’un gazed at him in silent stillness, then withdrawing an elaborate hand crafted Micro-burst transmitter nodded.

The Old Man withdrew.

<<<<>>>>

Abyss of Memory

With attention to detail that went well beyond what most sentients would consider pathological, Druhanne, Efendí of the Great and Noble Kinde of Q’atrox, Mare caste, inspected the latest repairs to the third inner ring of the Great Storm Hold.

His deep black eyes as exacting as any laser measure - for in the depth of his single thick Lekku streaming from the back of his head, tinted a similar pale green to his skin, was the memory of the Acacia screens carvings properly oiled glistening in the diffuse light of the sun through the steaming jungles of the equatorial Hokuriku continent.

What he saw now was far from that memory.  

Time, pollution and decay had taken their toll upon the Stormhold, the once great Kinde - and one of the few that remained - puttered along like Coal-blecher ferries between Hokuriku to Sabuku, whenever it seemed to be on the brink of capsizing another shovel of coal pushed it on just in time to reach the port.

The Carpenter looked expectantly at the Efendí, the woods used were the best that could be found.  Although the jungle was thick, overtaking many buildings with it’s creeping vines, the quality of the wood was poor, infested with the rotten gases of a brief age of Industrial expansion that had settled into the soil and left too much of once workable wood mushy and moist.  

Without a word or expression Druhanne moved on.  

Like all Lek’un the Carpenter possessed genetic memory passed from his ancestors at conception, he knew how wretched the timber and he himself were, face thin and lined with stress.

Druhanne’s feet were light and silent amidst the dull red lanterns of the smoggy dawn, all was silent as it had been for decades while the Hanshõ, their Lord and Master remained at his Meditations.

Built nearly 13000 years before by The Venerable and Honoured Jeshu mare Q’Atrox the Wise, Druhanne knew every tile, eave and crenellation of the vast Fortress Palace with such exacting precision and how it had once been that to see the state of it now was heartbreaking, emphasising his unworthiness as the 248th Efendí in an unbroken line of service his lineage had given to the Kinde Q’Atrox.

He bore the majority of his predecessors - 131 Druhannes and 117 Druhanni’s - memories of the Glory of the Q’atrox, the days of excitement as the Kinde was forged in war and revelled in Victory and wealth against the other Castes and Kindes of Anzat Prime.

The Stromhold’s second expansion after the current Hanshõ, his Lord and Master, Rannek-soma mare Q’atrox, son of Jeshu - after defeating the Cursed Senior members of the Vel - had been a time of such glory followed by three centuries of prosperity - the Hanshõ’s youthful rebelliousness giving way to wisdom and restraint as he managed from his Palace the affairs of the Evokation, the Capugio on the Echo Throne in distant Azherri a puppet of the Q’atrox…

Rannek seemed poised to lead the Anzat into a Diamond Age as Hyperspace lanes were charted and new technologies made stellar travel safer and less costly, the Kindes of Anzat Prime with their Loyal Lek’un armies ready to step onto the Galactic stage, marital prowess so long turned inward in the Seigniory Discord had sharpened and hardened the entire Evokation to a force that seemed destined to conquer and colonise a vast swathe along of the nearby trade routes.  

But then…

He shuddered as he moved through the upper galleries devoid of life and warmth. On a wall tinged with the stain of mould valiantly removed but evergrowing were square patches lighter than the rest of the wall where two portraits had once hung…

The Great Sorrow, and the Millennial Search that followed....The Anzat had followed Rannek into the Stars but not as conquerors - except to create staging posts - but in a vain quest that….

Druhanne stopped the thought, by the Voices! How had his ancestors coped in such dark times…

Duty...yes, perseverance and loyalty to Hanshõ without judgement or question, that was the path of the Lek’un, selfless service was their joy until their Completion.

Alas, Druhanne thought somberly, his own Mother, Druhanni, Efendí before him, had passed during the Hanshõ’s present Meditations, like so many these last few centuries, no Anzat could perform the Ceremony of Completion in which the Soul was removed from the body and united with the Anzat Lord to be carried to the Silent Voices on the Anzat’s own passing, binding Lek’un to Master for Eternity in joyful Service.

Gazing across the overgrown yet limp tree line Druhanne could only despair at the fallen state of the Stormhold, the Demesne, the Entire Evokation since the Great Sorrow and the Foundering burst the Anzat species across the galaxy in search of new ‘Soup’ to sample.

And to his shame, many Lek’un too had abandoned their glorious purpose of service, when their Lords left. Rather than patiently remain and attend their Kindes lands and ancestral shrines - they had left to planets unknown, some even claiming in their heretical madness that the Lek’un were enslaved on Anzat!  

Truly they were the most vile and wretched creatures.

Druhanne would serve as best he could until his dying day, he would sire a successor and teach the True Path.  

He managed the Demesne best he could, ensured the Sonae - the Lek’un army, was equipped and fed, but a Lek’un could only do so much in the name of their Lord, and less still when the entire planet was so sparsely populated outside the monstrous floating space ports.

Continuing his Cycle of Inspection - a different path every day to ensure the cleaners were not lax in their duties he kept the Rattan at his side - the brown cane prominent against his formal Blue and Black Kimono - to administer correction upon the backs of those who showed any sign of indolence, Druhanne allowed himself to partially settle into the solipsism of his genetic memories of better times - it was a soothing balm and a way to check the standards of the Stormhold were maintained to the Hanshõ’s liking by comparison.

Lifting a near thread-bare tatami mat he noted it needed replacing and found tiny rocks and a smattering of dirt beneath it.

Every servant of today's roster would ‘taste’ the Rattan cane for this!

“Efendí!” came a huffing spastic teen Lek’un, wearing only his Yukata informal wear not even tucked into his Hakama trousers, the bingata dyes stained by dust and wear
“Efendí!”

Druhanne calmly rose and folded the Tatami mat exposing the shame of the uncleanliness.

“What is the meaning of this ruckus, do you desire to taste the Rattan for a month! Uncouth creature!” Druhanne chastised raising the Rattan.

Stumbling the youth banged his head to the floor in obeisance, Druhanne feared it would cause a dent in the polished cypress boards.

“Oh Efendí, discipline me later but heed me now, The Hanshõ, He Stirs!”

<<<<>>>>

Inky black waves of dreamless sleep delved into deep blue memories, a weight that pushed the Dreams up at the fringe, peripheral lights that were soon drowned by the black again.

But the Inks pressure bubbled more up in response, a cycle ever repeating.

Now, then, past, present, his own, others, all the memories were compressed together beneath the black weight, becoming cloudy and united, like waters pressed into deep ocean trenches by the immense pressure of their own size.

Flickering lights came through the fringes, through the carefully carved screens of homoni wood, the floral patterns millimetres thick separated by waif like wood, a decades work by an artisan long forgotten, perfection had been reached, there was no more reason to pursue the art.

It triggered thickening thoughts of that time, bubbling memories at last finding purchase in light against the black of blissful empty somnolence.  A shadowed reflection of when the artisan had brought the screens before him, scents of myrrh, the touch of silken grey-white skin beneath auburn hair of two new borns, beacons that pushed the ink further and further back.

Twins were almost unheard of among Anzati, the only well known ones the creator deities Inzanagi and Inzanami, male and female, like his twins.

They were a new creation in themselves untainted by the soiled world about them, the only truly pure he had ever held, how they gazed at him then without judgement or avarice - so innocent to the crimes he had committed.

He had been…happy?...content?...yes some combination of these things then.

But no longer.  

He held to those few sweetened moments so long dissolved in the enormous vat of his own history, as long as he could keeping the endless Dread Oceans of Other memories not his own, but the screaming terrified maws of his victims at bay.

Still his own reminiscence salted then soured that such joy had been shattered.

His eyes opened fully to the sun through the lattice work, the tatami fresh as the servants went about their cleaning amidst his indifferent mediations,

How long had it been this time…one year, five…dozens?

Creaking old bones lifted him from the seated position, stirred once more to seek out that fine grained sugar that was the only taste in all the stew of his life worth holding onto.

The tendrils of the Daen Nosi intruded as they always did - perhaps it was they, the cursed chains of his existence that had dragged him from the empty cell of nepenthe…usually he would ignore them callous to the price of doing so…

yet this time there was a - change

this time the path was almost – almost – unidirectional.

Psychic weight quaking intangible plains, the emaciated Hanshõ stood.

<<<<>>>>

[TheDutchman]

Rhandites, pre-Aethan galaxy-movers, the Jedi Exile, and an Anzati Eldar...

Looks like we're finally getting some backstory on the Aethans and their origins, not to mention that it seems to involve the Jedi Exile herself.  Now a bit clearer on how the Aethans came to be: with the conflicts surrounding the Old Sith War & Exar Kun, one can see why Soron Varas would go to such lengths to ensure survival.  Of course, his fanaticism has its own consequences, especially in light of a very Gray-on-Black moral compass.  Then again, a quarter of the galactic population has been killed; Soron has some compelling reasons to feel the way that he does...

Thankfully, the post-Devastation Aethans have begun to rebound, albeit slowly and not without adversity.  Nevertheless, children are now growing and Aethas has a burgeoning community where scant decades ago it was so much wasteland.  One wonders if these children e.g. "Sophi" are the selfsame Aethans seen in "What You Leave Behind" given the long-lasting lifespans.  Then again, naming conventions being what they are, they could also be descendants with legacy names.

We also see why the Unknown Region is so dangerous.  With the expansionist views of the utterly nihilistic Rhandites, it's a good thing that the Chiss Ascendency (and Aethan allies) are their to contain them.  But even with Aethan support it's a close-run victory.  One shudders to think what will happen when the Rhandites stage a large-scale offensive.  Hopefully by that time, our Gray factions will be in better positions to do something about it.

But then we finally see one of the enigmatic Anzati Eldars.  Given the timing, one might think that he is part of (if not directly responsible for) the eponymous "Shadow" that the Aethans experience.  This may yet be something that even they cannot deal with, at least not directly, and not yet.  Worst part still: the Hansho has awakened...

Meta-note: LOVE how LSG tied in some SW:TOR story into the Legends comics as well as some truly incredible original work^^  And the pics are absolutely top-notch   
Special mention for LSG's incredible contributions for the history of the Anzati!

FANTASTIC beginning!

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 2 — Encounters - Part 1

497 BBY — Nihil Retreat

“For a cult all about how ‘Destruction is Eternal’ these yobs sure build a lot,” Taryn quipped as the Aethan trio strode through the favelas soaked in endless rain that stretched beneath the glaring monolithic tower factories and Temples to the Void.

Quickly glancing around the cramped streets, the patter of rain on sheet metal that served as rooves incessant, they realised even after an hours walk from where they landed in the over exploited muddy tailing piles they were not dirty enough, and stood too upright.

The slaves of the Sorcerers of Rhand numbered in their billions across the twelve stellar clusters known as the Nihil Retreat, which surrounded the Perann Nebula rim in the Unknown Regions at the distant edge of CEDF Long range probes. 

On this planet beset by an endless downpour of polluted rain were motley millions of abhumans with bovidae features, narrow nosed sleek subhumans and only the occasional 1.6 meter tall Tof-Human Wretch-Breeds. 

All three of the Aethan ground party stood 179 centimeters or taller, earning looks from the bleating abhumans till they hunched themselves more.

“Perhaps they take the long view,” Coryn suggested to Taryn's observation
“To maximize their destructive potential they must first create weapons of war,”

He could barely hear him over the braying abhumans and the rain. Taryn, Coryn and Evyn had been selected to head to the surface for three reasons: firstly they were experienced using ‘other’ types of the Aether as the Shadow denied them most of their regular pools, second they were the most competent in dealing with outsiders, and third…

They were the least injured after the battle six days earlier.
***
The extraction had gone poorly.  The Shadow’s effect diminished everyone's ability to draw on the aether by half in an instant. 

Relying on brute force Valens and Jarys smashed their way out of the Choir, Taran and Lydan slowly pushing to the outer hull. The Rhandites were in disarray following the death of their Darkseers and the Chiss counter attack, a third failed the test of faith running for their lives, the rest embraced the chance to sow as much destruction as possible before uniting with the Void.

Maesons wing of Vorynx fighters were scattered, two forced to eject uanble to regain control, Arryn’s shots on the Chariot meant to open up an escape for the boarding party missed badly, the vessels integrity compromised.

Yorna wasn’t recovering from the teleport exhaustion, Coryn couldn’t draw any more energy than what he had in his own body to help her. 

Suicidal runs of Nightcrawlers ruined one of the Lyssia’s engines, all forward cannons on the Alixaea were blasted by vengeful Taung vessels, the belly torn open and stores scattered into the sea of debris.

The boarders were a mess, Maekal was carrying Taran, Candaea dragging Varan, Kisaea deliberately breached the hull to allow vacuum in to give them breathing room from the Knell and Taung, Valens and Jarys staggered out of the Choir, needle darts and talon daggers in their joints, all their heads reeling, telepathic links wavering they relied on helmet to helmet text to coordinate a retreat.   

Scraping and cutting for every inch they leapt from the Rhandite Chariot far worse for wear, barely slamming into the Hecate hull Taryn had just pulled into place before a Chiss dreadnought delivered the coup’d’gras.
***
“There,” Evyn pointed out a ramp upward past two slouching Taung. 

The Assassins main focus was on keeping a diversionary aether mist about them to avoid attention - but it was damn draining with the Shadow cutting so much Aether off.

Keeping hunched they moved past rotting flyblown bodies of the abhumans left in the gaps between four or five storey favela’s, one could only imagine the smell if the rain didn’t keep every micro particle mixed in slimy patina upon the ramshackle structures. 

Section by section they worked through the damned servants of the Rhandites, avoiding the occasional street gang and even rarer Taung patrol, toward the vast lines of creatures standing in line for the ‘privilege’ of working in the monolith factories, the only source of food for the vast populace was rations, mostly paid over to local gang protection rackets, the Rhandites caring nothing for the exploitation among their helots.

Sickness was endemic from pollutants spewed from towering smoke stacks or vomited from refuse pipes straight into noxious rivers that ran between ghettos, a patch of swamp ground dividing sprawling plains of poverty from the towering buildings that turned the sky blue with chemicals that rained back down.

“Still no damn sorcerers…” Taryn huffed his lungs, closed since arriving,

“They must be in the towers…”

Relying on anaerobic cellular respiration fully, he felt tainted drawing breath to speak…yet what choice did they have.
***
“The Shadow is disrupting our Aethenaea Cortex and Telepathaeon Lobes,”  Oran said in the Hecate med-bay Taryn, Valens and Jarys watching on as Maekal grimaced from being used as the ‘test gobril’. 

“I don’t have the equipment here to investigate further and the Shadow itself makes aether shatterpoint Healing analysis difficult…” He had a kindly face marred by carbon scoring and cuts from having to eject his fighter during the battle, bouncing off a Nightcrawler and then being hit by debris till picked up.

“Perhaps a null attack, to disconnect us from the aether,” Jarys suggested
“The null orb we hurled at the Sorcerers attack reducing its impact,”

“Possible,” Valens said quietly, the Sorcerers of Rhand were renowned for their Destructive powers…but the underlying issue remained, even if that were the case why hadn’t they recovered? And why was the effect so strongly correlated with specific brain organs?

Their Aethenaea Cotrex was almost non functional, Telepathic ability drastically reduced in range, making use of Link Orbs back to Aethas impossible.

“I would caution correlation is not causation, but it's hard to ignore the timing,” Oran added looking up from his datapad once more
“We need to get back to Aethas, Xani, Mili and the other healers need to examine us…hopefully by then we will have recovered.”

Taryn and Valens shared a look, they had a meeting with the Chiss admiral in the next few minutes, they doubted a return home was possible.

They were right.

“...data recovered from the battle has located a weak point in the outer edge of the Rhandite dominion, you will infiltrate their power base and cripple as much of their military infrastructure as possible with your Naqxium bombs,” Admiral Al’Tla ordered across the holo in the Strategium minutes later, her voice indifferent and indignant as always, she had no sympathy for her non-Chiss auxiliaries.

They could show no weakness before the Chiss - ever - they could not know about this Shadow, refusing the order was out of the question.

“We will leave in three hours after repairs are completed,” Valens replied, knowing it still wouldn’t be enough.

“Two hours, I will not let this chance slip while we have the upper hand,”

Any other Outsider making such a demand of the Aethan Warchief would have their Carotid and Vertebral arteries sutured by micro-aetheric lighting - the politics of the Chiss alliance denied Valens that pleasure.

“A problem Auxiliary Commander?” Tla asked, noting Valens pause.

“No, we will be transmitting a data package to send onto Aethas with the next communications run,” Valens added.

With the Link orbs unworkable due to the Shadow they had to rely on the Chiss to contact Aethas by conventional means - trying to transmit from this far into the astro-navigational labyrinth of the Unknown Regions to the radiation and gravity storm wracked Deep core was an exercise in futility, the Chiss would take the data package to Csilla, then a CEDF courier would take it direct to the system.

It wouldn’t reach Aethas for five days at best, more likely over two weeks.

“Very well. Yssarmong Over and Out.” Tla cut off abruptly as always.

“Frell,” Taryn sighed out of view of the Admiral.
“We’ll barely be airtight by then, half the teams got something broken healing at a quarter speed, can’t use our fanciest Veil of Mist, Ghosty Girls still out of it, and our best powers are shafted.”

Valens gave looked at him half glare half curious

“Hey, I’ve gotten out of tighter scrapes before,” Taryn added almost apologetically “...but ain’t keen on knowingly going into one,”

“There isn’t another choice,” Valens said darkly
“The Chiss track all our ships, we can’t send anyone back to Aethas without them becoming suspicious, I wouldn’t if we could anyway, Oran suggested a possible risk of transmitting this ‘Shadow’ via the Aethenaea Cortex or Telepathaeon Lobe to others. 
Regardless this presents an opportunity to accumulate intelligence on these Sorcerers powers, find out how they did this to us. We place our bombs in a more conventional way without the Obelisks,”

“It’s a plan,” Taryn shrugged “Shavit filled, but a plan,”

“Glad you like it…” Valens replied with the closest thing his adamantium features came to a smile - well except when he was with his wife and children back home, the only time Taryn ever saw the Slayer of Masters laugh. 

Valens stepped round the desk to pat him on the shoulder.
“...You’ll be implementing it,”
***
The air was hot and soupy through the workhouses, they kept to the shadows, Evyn needing to rest his Aether powers for a while.

The Factory towers were tall as any Coruscant Skyscraper, crammed at every inch with workers and machinery producing slug pellets, shimmer shields, Hunter-Killer Missile warheads. 

Dead workers lay slumped in corners rotting atop oozing piles of decaying bodies, hobbling Taung - those unfit for the front lines due to disability from injury or birth - patrolling, brutalizing the workers in their frustration for true combat.

“This’ll do,” Taryn whispered to Coryn as they passed through the Labyrinth on their way up by an enormous catwalked expanse full of abhumans inserting Volkite cores into deflagration grenades.

The slightly shorter Aethan swept through to a pile of cores left rolling on the floor, it was astonishing there hadn’t been an explosion before.  Beside the pile Coryn placed the fist sized Naqxium detonator, the combination of Naquadah and Coaxium was rabidly explosive and would level this entire section, with a volkite amplifier it might bring the whole tower down.

Working their way up the conditions improved with the complexity of the manufactures.  Each level was miles wide, packed with beings moving, there was a constant river of motion of workers they could slip into at any time. 

The majority were moving ‘up’, very few down. Who would ever want to go backwards here, Taryn thought.

Scurrying half meter tall rodentia creatures serviced the workers needs with water tanks stapled on their backs, some seeming to dump refuse pans straight in before serving the tainted water to others.

“No frelling wonder they want Destruction Eternally,” was Taryn’s attempt at understanding as they placed the Detonators as close to structural supports as they could.

“Who would want to keep living like this?”

<<<<>>>>

“That one,” Taryn whispered, hunched over Coryn.

One of the first things Taryn had learned living among the Runts of the Pirate ship Kyala was how to pick a snitch, even without the aether there was a certain look they all shared, darting eyes above down cast face, often physically weaker, watching as they licked their lips looking to get a payoff for their intrigue and observance.

The weasly faced thin Nag’hi humanoid he picked out at the back of a group of robed adepts would sing for them just as much as his throat warbling did to their Dark now.

On the upper levels harsh winds of the lower atmosphere mingled with needle rain as Taung in heavy cloaks huddled under scant shelter on the catwalks between the Monolithic factories. 

Radiant warmth from the forge fires was snubbed by high altitude freeze as small groups of the Adepts walked in seemingly random patterns, hymns continuously bellowing from their throats.

Evyn was scouting round a far edge as they signalled each other with finger-cant, only their genehanced eyesight picking digits through rain.

Abducting a snitch wasn’t hard - there was abundant casual violence, they’d seen half a dozen Acolytes pushed to their deaths by others, bored Taung randomly tormenting helots - it was getting their target somewhere quiet to interrogate.

Normally they could use the Telepathaeon Lobe to rip memories straight from most any semi sentient species, but that critical ability seemed lost to the Shadow.  Instead of a waiting calm in their brains it was an uncomfortable gnawing hunger that itched at the front of their skulls.

They’d have to extract information the old fashioned way.

Waiting as the column of 13 - a sacred number, all numeric systems of the Rhandites used base 13 - proceeded along the unrailed path over the deep gorge between buildings, acrid smoke mingling with the verdant green pouring from censers the adepts carried swinging in time to their deep chant.

Padding quick and low through the rain Coryn rushed behind the Choirs march as Evyn pulled a stolen MAG pistol to fire in the opposite direction and draw the guards attention.

In a single swift sweep Coryn grabbed the ‘Snitch’ and leapt with him off the ledge following the rain down Taryn just behind shouldering three more down to give the appearance of a general brawl before a slide tackle through the confused throng, sending two more down.

Evyn flipped gracefully into a descent as Taryn rolled into his.

Toxin filled air rose up to meet them as they outpaced the blue tinged rain in free fall, twisting their super human bodies toward the vast rust pitted sides of the towers, their fingers and boot tips sparking as they gouged in to slow their descent, ultradense blackstone holding against the comparatively soft Cerama-steel.

His vestibular system sensing the elevation Taryn triggered the explosives they had hidden around the Towers. 

Teal blooms unfolded around white hot cores as the Naqxium detonated, blasting enormous chunks from the Monolithic towers, disintegrating thousands of Helots, the enormity, and obdurate age of the Factory towers kept them from buckling.

The Aethans slammed into the grimy Sludge of Ages as debris rained down.

<<<<>>>>

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 2 — Encounters - Part 2

497 BBY — Aethas

“It was built near the pole for temperature regulation….” Seventh explained as the Black diamond shape of the Karintha Class Transport cut across the glass calm white blue ice of Aethas southern pole, his overboard face beneath military cut short hair reflected off the viewscreen.

The Gene-Bank was one of several dozen Technocracy facilities the People simply hadn’t had time to explore in depth amidst more urgent rebuilding needs. 

Now though….

“...So far as we are aware the Sith never reached it, the facility itself was locked down and evacuated before the Collapse.”

The vast Verndari looked cramped in the Assault Transports cockpit doorway, even the cargo hold struggled to hold Fifth. Neither giant complained.

“Then the only concern is erosion,” Ari elucidated in the pilot's chair,her dark red hair swept back neatly, dark leather jacket contrasting soft alabaster features.

Abandoned for 700 years most of the Technocracy facilities built underground or into mountains had suffered cave ins and flooding, computer systems and data drives that used old Pre-Sith Wars tech exhibiting varying degrees of corruption.

“It looked largely intact during our survey seven years ago,” Seventh added, sensing Ari’s thoughts.

Milaea in the co-pilot's chair had been unusually quiet the whole time, emerald eyes staring somewhere beyond space and time looking for answers, creasing slightly her classically beautiful yet too-symmetrical features, the product of genetic design and selective breeding.

“Hey,” Ari touched her arm
“Something wrong?”

“Apart from the obvious,” Milaea tried to laugh despite the weight of the Shadow across their minds.

For Two. Long .Weeks.  They had sought answers while the children remained unconscious.
***
“Neuro-Anas-Dorn,” Milaea had said, eyes red from days of intense Shatterpoint and conventional investigation, the drawn despairing faces of mothers sisters and aunts around the entrance to Mount Aelia fortress looked at her with expectation but not panic.

Aethans didn’t panic in a crisis, the Technocracy designed them better than that, they became clinical, efficient, taking a scalpel to any impediment.

This was a problem that could not be sliced away.
“...neuro-relaxant that stimulates neuroplasticity of the Aethenaea Cortex to allow memories to write.  It starts producing when a telepathic signal from another Aethan indicates they are about to communicate information via the cortex.  And Children are taking in information all the time, they can’t control it like adults.  But the protein hasn’t stopped producing,”

Three days after the Shadow appeared Kassyndra and Kartintha stood beside her, Xani and Nya holding Holo-Recorders to transmit the briefing to the mothers cradling their children who were being sustained by intravenous fluids and nutrients in the looming Mount Aelia’s overcrowded medical bays.

She activated a Holo projection showing the cross section of the Aethan brain, zooming on the Aethenaea Cortex, yellow curls of Neuro-Anas-Dorn building up in the cortex until it began seeping into nearby cortices and lobes, triggering the coma.

“The Neuro-Anas-Dorn is flooding their brains, we can clear it with shatter point healing or enzymes that break it up, but it doesn’t stop the production - every time they use the Aethenaea Cortex it starts again,”

And as every Aethan knew from the constant tickle on their own Cortex, ever inquisitive children could not stop using it - it was pure instinct.

“This Shadow we’re sensing is triggering All of our cortexes to produce the relaxant, our adult brains put the cortex cells into a rest state, and that seems to be in turn what is diminishing our own connection to the Aether,”
***

Ari’s smile was forced. Her mind was understandably elsewhere, one level of thought piloting the vessel, five more desperately trying to find answers for her beloved Nieces and Nephews.

They knew the symptoms, but so far no one understood the cause of the disease.

“I’m sure we’ll find something,” Ari said hopefully, eyes fixed on the expensive white plains broken by grey rocky escarpments, gouges left by the slow slide of glaciers pushing out to the ocean.

“We have to,”

***
”Our QuadHelixNucleiAacid for the cortex is unvaried,” Xanaea explained after Mili. The youngest of the Aethans to survive the Devastation, Xani had grown into a vibrant and highly intelligent young woman with a keen knack for Aether-Gene interaction

“Somehow this shadow is activating natural functions in the cortex, all the QHNA sequences being activated have always been there so far as we can tell, but are being over activated by something and the sequences that trigger shut off of production are being dampened, Nya…”

She stepped aside for Nyaea, along with Kassyndra, Oran and Xani she was one of were the four full time healers, a role far greater in scope than any conventional doctor or gene-surgeon, the interaction between aethan QHNA and the aether was incredibly complex and fundamental to Aethan life.

“...the Shadow is also affecting the Telepathaeon Lobe, albeit not specific functionality, just the Aetheric connection that allows us to expand telepathic range over planets” as always the demure young woman took a little time to find her feet speaking to large groups.

“We’re still analysing but can’t determine which side the problems are on. Is this Shadow in the aether is causing our gene’s to express themselves erroneously? Or our genes are activating in ways that make the aether appear to be in a Shadow…Or maybe both in a feedback loop…”

It was six days since the Shadow had fallen, and it was clear the healers alone couldn’t find a solution.

“We need…we need everyone to help - testing, experimenting on using the Aether and different brain regions to try and work out which it is…”
***

The ship's repulsors melted the snow beneath exposing rock as they touched down, diminutive black and white sleek feathered Goguins nearby tilting their beaked avian heads in curiosity before shuffling to dive into small pools in the rock for fish indifferent to the Aethan visitors.

Boots crunched toward the craggy rock face ahead, Ari checking her hand drawn map.

Milaea’s wife's love of history and new discoveries had taken them on many expeditions to Technocracy ruins across the system when time allowed - Ari’s expertise in archaeology supplemented by Milaea’s ability to flow walk for extended periods bringing the past to life. 

More personally, their expeditions gave the couple ‘alone time’ they indulged to the full.

The dread urgent need of this expedition weighed upon them.

Eyes still on the map as they walked, Ari stretched out her free hand to take Milaea’s squeezing tightly to comfort each other.

All their time was dedicated to rebuilding the villages and the system defences, let alone being called up for Chiss campaigns, most Technocracy ruins had gone unexplored for simple lack of time and manpower.

“There should be an illusionary wall here…” Ari said her breath misting in the polar freeze as they reached the 40 meter tall, nearly 20 kilometer wide escarpment of almost pure phirk
“...somewhere…”   
Methodical and relentless they set to work.

***
”No Change in the condition,” Adaea said, her face forlorn as she transmitted, not via link orb, but regular hologram from Prakith on Day 12.

They had hoped perhaps the Shadow was limited in range, Adaea along with Evaea and Third had left on the Aertemisaea to see if they could find it’s ‘edge’.  Nearly burning the engines out over four days of ceaseless navigation and taking measurement they had found the Shadow was universal and constant in every sector to at least the edge of the mid-rim.

“Nothing from the observation logs,”  Taraea added on the interlink with dour resignation, having scrupulously gone through every signal the three full Obelisk Arrays they possessed had detected for the last 50 days for any sign of a change in the Aether that could explain the Shadow. A single blip or anomaly, even the most subtle gradual trend in fluctuations of different strands of the all encompassing life energy would’ve been something.

There was a resounding nothing.

“And still no contact from the others, Csilla claims they can’t reach them,” that was Lyaea, as flippant a relationship as they seemed to have it was clear she desperately missed Taryn, as they all did their husbands, bothers, father and uncles.

It was the worst possible time for such a crisis, twenty-two men and three women on campaign with the Chiss, leaving twenty women and the Six Verndari to care for 48 unconscious children and try and find what was causing that unconsciousness

They had no idea if the Shadow was affecting their family in the Unknown Regions.

“Keep looking,” Karintha said firmly, concern for her own four children mingled into the need to guide the People as a whole in this dark hour
“No stone unturned, I want everything the Technocracy knew of the QHNA and aether interactions found,”
***

Before them was a vast ancient rounded door wide enough for two speeders to enter side by side with no obvious means of activation in the otherwise sterile cavern.

Seventh had found the outer entrance, their connection to the aether dimmed, thermal and mass senses remained sharp, and though the escarpment was wide it was finite.

Brow furrowed Ari looked about the walls of the entrance cavern, cut marks seeming as fresh as they day they had been made. 

The technocracy structures were 700 years without use or maintenance, simply cutting the door open was a risky last opinion. Finally then under her feet, a glint pulled her mass sense.

Exactly one thousand tiles the size of a thumb sat jumbled beneath a dust covered glass barrier in the floor, all etched with seemingly random lines of white on the black.

“A Puzzle lock…” Ari quickly discerned brushing more of the dust and snow aside.

“One only an Aethan could solve…” Milaea realized in turn.

To any other being it would appear a crazed jumble, for an Aethan designed mind it was plain what had to be done. 

Using the Whitescar lines on the Blackstone tiles they had to levitate the entirety of the mosaic telekinetically, rearrange it to form an image of Triquetra, all four worked in sequence slowed by the Shadow on their powers.

The heavy door groaned with the inertia of centuries unmoved stalling half way, but more than enough to allow them in.

“Fifth, make sure this doesn’t close behind us,” Ari ordered the Verndari escort.

The enormous Aethan patted the door assessing its weight and strength if it should slam shut.

“As You Will it,” was his cool reply as the red haired women walked cautiously past him, Seventh following lighting his torch into the blue-black depths.

The air tasted of wet rock, tiny fragments floating past their lights as they wandered the halls and peered in the laboratories. 

The dark silence of the Gene-Bank was punctuated by stabs of despair when they found caved in sections blocked by long since stilled rubble.

“Here…” Ari called at last after an hour.  Long lines of cabinets with antiquated Archival Disk Drives stored within each shelf, the Cabinets all engraved with a numbering system.

“15.2.6…perhaps the gene generation?” Milaea wondered
“It would match the archival system in other ruins,” Ari agreed, stepping past her and winding through the ranks of frozen witnesses to a lost age.

“27.1….28.3…Pro…” she stopped at the corner where rubble covered and crushed the last three cabinets.

“Project Aethenaea…” she knelt brushing the old rock away
“Valance…Aethena…hmmm…” the third was too damaged to read, carefully plucking out a disk she inspected its archival coding, the disk itself cracked beyond recovery.

“This looks promising, I think these are old gene sequence indexes…if the samples are anywhere they would be here…”

Leaving the ‘library’ they continued on for another half hour they found the only illumination still active at the far end of the facility above an nondescript heavy iron doorway with rounded locking seals.

“Lights still on, Seventh wait here just in case and let Fifth and the others know our progress,” Milaea ordered the ever faithful Verndari

“Here goes,” Ari said, waving her hand in case the motion sensor worked, unsurprisingly it didn’t the wives each gripping one side to pull the door gently open.

Air even colder than the rest of the frigid facility blew out along with the humm of working electronics.

Their steps echoed on metallic floors as they descended further and further down, Ari checking the Chiss Handheld Omni scanner as they reached the end of a long set of stairs.

“Ten storeys under, in the heart of the glacier…radiation profile consistent with a Naquadah generator, it must be one of the most powerful the Technocracy could make,”

Milaea’s eyes narrowed at the door ahead, innocuous and utilitarian.  She couldn’t sense anything behind it, yet a dread feeling still crept up her spine, something her wife did not fail to notice.

“Something bad?” Ari had long experience of comforting Milaea after dreadful future flashes of her Seior powers.

“Something…better left undistributed…if we had the choice” Milaea noted grimly, Ari annoyed in their armour she couldn’t touch her properly to offer support.  Whilst the children's suffering was cause enough for anxiety, Ari knew Milaea having not sensed it coming despite her often traumatizing Seior powers was even more troubling.

Was this Shadow able to evade even their most powerful Seeress vision?

Milaea worried she knew the answer, that this Shadow was not something that had suddenly fallen upon them and could be seen from afar - rather it was something that had always been there, within the People and their Past, only now rising from the dark.

Pressing on, this door did open as they approached.

A wide semi circle of frost white glass greeted them above an arcing set of consoles interspersed with thick blocky machines with cradles from containers of some kind that fed via pipes somewhere behind the frosted glass.

Blue and white lights flickered as they approached, soft beams scanned over their faces.

“At Last…” A disembodied voice echoed around the chamber, static and droid like

“I feared you weeeeeeerrrrre lost,” it stammered as dust blew from the speakers unused for centuries.

In the center of the semicircle of consoles was a large rounded holo-lith station that began to glow blue in the concave center from a large light ensconced within.   

“Who are you?” Milaea asked

“I...Am Your Father”

<<<<>>>>

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 2 — Encounters - Part 3

3947 BBY — Pallas Athena

The Strider came down on the deck with a clank encircled by off white walls broken by panels and pipes.  The needle shaped vessel wasn’t the fastest, newest or best armed ship in the galaxy, but it had been affordable and got Mira where she needed to go.

Just outside the viewport the young man she had ‘met’ with Isas gave a thumbs up.

His name was Varasian, and was meant to show her around the Pallas Athena - a 400 meter droplet shaped parchment coloured science vessel into which she was now docking.

Worming through the narrow corridor to the side hatch Mira hopped out onto the Pallas meticulously clean deck, Varasian already waiting for her as the mag clamps locked her ship in place, the only other vessel in the wide bay a six seater bulky transport festooned with antennae and ponderous metal spheres - likely another scientific exploratory vessel.

“Welcome aboard the Pallas” Varasian said,  Mira had to admit he was handsome, dark brown neck length hair, short stubble and a well defined curve to his face.  But shavit he seemed green, the outdated armour sat ill upon him and he just didn’t seem the type to wield a tremor sword like the one on his hip.

“I will show you to your quarters,” he said with a deferential nod.

Wandering the neat corridors Mira found the place eerily empty, this was a ship made for at least three maybe four hundred crew. 

She only saw a handful.  Devoid of staff or equipment, she passed empty room after empty room.
“Most of the equipment,” Varasian explained,
“Was taken onto the colony, this was actually the ship that discovered our new home world, after this mission it will be retired.” he patted one of the walls with affection
“Over 40 years of service back and forth provisioning the colony with everything we need,”

“Fascinating,” Mira said disinterestedly, turning into another corridor toward the center of the ship lined with small pot plants between each of the blue lit white doors. 
At the far end was a picture of a woman with glowing golden red hair holding a book in one hand, a spear in the other and a strange bulbous eyed avian creature on her shoulder.

“Pallas Athena herself,” Varasian smiled
“A symbol of wisdom , progress and discovery - an inspiration to us,”

“Whatever you say,”
He didn’t seem to understand she had no real interest in anything but getting her job done quickly as possible.

“This is your room,” he handed her a small carefully folded piece of flimsi
“Instructions to change the door code, if you require anything there is a buzzer by the door, the kitchen is one deck up,,”

“Great, hope the food is better than the fittings,” she said curtly, his reply seeming stunted

“Isas will be down to visit you after lift off, she is not feeling herself at the moment,” he finished

“Something wrong,” Mira idly asked

“Not unusually so, my mother suffers migraines from time to time, ever since Katarr,”

“I can imagine...but wait you said mother, but you have eyes, so you’re half Miraluka?”  Mira asked interest finally piqued,

“Mostly, you see she and,”

“Varasian,” a voice like a wave cold water came down the hall, there was the Old Man in his archaic armour staring at the boy with a look that said ‘shut the frell up’.

He bowed slightly to Mira again with a deference that made her uneasy.

“Enjoy your stay Lady Mira,” he finished heading toward the Old Man.

Weird, Mira thought. But not her problem.

<<<<>>>>

The ship lifted without incident, Mira tinkering with her wrist mounted launcher most of the time till hunger finally drew her out into the crisp white corridors that echoed with the thrum of the hyperdrive and the whirr of the air filtration system.

A scent of chlorine hung over everything, all the doors had pliable rubber seals to allow for a total air lock. 

Exactly what kind of science was this ship doing she wondered.

Everything about this just seemed a little off - not in a dangerous way, but, there was a sense she got, especially from the Old Man, of a kind of transgression - he was doing something he knew was somehow ‘wrong’ but not truly evil.

She shook it off, she would be out of here with a fat purse soon enough.

As the savoury scent of food reached her nose on the stairs she felt a sense of deja-vu.

The galley, like the ship was largely empty, a handful of crew on one of the tables near the buffet behind which a bored looking chef poked at the three filled hot trays sitting defiant beside seventeen empty ones.

Mira’s eyes were drawn to one table near the dead center of the room where a solitary figure in a cream jumpsuit sat, long white hair tied into a tight bun.

“You are frelling kidding me,” Mira whispered.

At the table, Atris, Former Jedi Master and Archivist, Traitor to the Jedi at Katarr, betrayer of the Republic at Telos IV, defeated and arrested by Meetra Surik, looked up with cold blue eyes.

<<<<>>>>

3948 BBY — MAX-12 Asteroid Correctional Facility

Blue eyes stared cold beneath loose white hair unkempt from the indifference isolation engenders. She knew this was not the normal time for visitors.

Led from her tiny cell down the row of shimmering red force cages a few of the other prisoners still awake glared at her, one with a grin that showed he had only half his teeth intact blew a kiss.

She did not give him the satisfaction of looking as he began screaming vile statements of what he intended to do with her body should he ever get the chance.

The maximum security wing of the Asteroid based prison had been her home for three years since Mical, Brianna and the other ‘New Jedi’ had judged her for her actions on Telos IV and Katarr, drawing Darth Nihilus to both locations.

Those petulant upstarts had no right to judge her, no true understanding of what it was to be a Jedi, no concept of the sacrifice she had made to preserve their history and archives in the face of the chaos wrought by Revan and Malak.

She was processed through the various checkpoints, enduring with silent stoicism the invasive unnecessary searches of her person.

Finally taken to a cell not large enough to spread her arms and placed in a seat.  The door sealed behind her as a heavy one in front lowered to reveal three layers of transparisteel intersected by blue shimmering force fields.

On the other side her visitor sat, face distorted by the excessive layers between them.

“Who are you and what do you want,” she snapped, irritated at the inconvenience of the whole thing, knowing the taunts she would be subjected to from across her cell for weeks on end.

“Atris, Jedi Archivist, and traitor to the Republic,” the old man said slowly
He had a battle worn face and hard presence in the Force - this was a man forged by the fires of war and grief.  There was something familiar about him.

“I’ve come to set you free,”

“Free me? Why? Who sent you, Mical?”

He hissed a sneer
“I’m not of the these petulant new Jedi, I represent something better, something new - beyond all the delusions of orthodoxy and morality,”

With each moment she gained a better sense of him, she knew him - not personally but of him, something from long ago, Force even before the Mandalorian War What was it!

“What foolishness is this, have you dragged me out here to preach nonsense,”

He ignored the retort

“You’re a leader, an organiser, plotter and schemer, you need more than this existence, I’m offering it…giving you a chance to go somewhere you will be all but worshipped, your skills put to use, where you can restart the movement you created with those Echani girls with a new vigour and focus.”

Whoever he was, he was very well informed.  Her training of the Echani sisters to resist and counter Force users was known only to a handful of the ‘new’ Jedi and senior Republic officials. 

He was neither of those.

“You know the Jedi are dead to you, but you can make something better, more perfect”

“Your voice is familiar,” she said ignoring his prattle
“The way you sit, the way you feel...like a Jedi but murky, distorted…”

He tensed and leaned back

That was it!

“Gray...yes one of the so called Gray Jedi,”

Now his face showed signs of true anger

“I cast that title away decades before you allowed yours to be stripped through arrogance,”

Rage, good, she must be correct.

“Why would I join the likes of you?” she asked after a pause.

“Because anything is better than being imprisoned for your so called crimes, and you will not get a better offer than this,”

“What is the poison of it then? How are you able to get me free” she asked

“The group I represent still has influence among the Political class of the Republic enough to set you loose on condition you leave the Republic and never set foot in it’s systems again, my group is creating a new colony far from their laws and moralising…”

“And why me then? What can I have that you want so much,”

“Knowledge, experience, talent, and…” his voice carried an undercurrent of urgency as if his life was measured in days rather than years.

“We both know what it is to see what he held so closely destroyed and betrayed, to feel the hollowness of failure, to chafe at the limits imposed by beings of less vision...”

“I recognize you now,” she leaned forward, matching him.
“An old story - Two Gray brothers, who fought in the war against Exar Kun, one had a daughter who died, but he kept her in a cryo vat, wouldn’t let her be buried or cremated, went insane they said trying to bring her back from the dead until the other brother put a stop to it….” she had to stretch her mind back many years
“What was the name...Sandar? Zanir?….”

“Enough!” he snapped, drawing the ire of the Guards as the sound proof transparisteel shook with a tremor of the Force.

“That is...finished with, your future is what we are discussing - make your decision, rotting in prison another 50 years...or….”

<<<<>>>> 

…anything was better than prison.

“Who let you outta juvie?” Mira asked staring at the blue eyed former Jedi

“Do I know you?” Atris asked, annoyed at the interruption to her meal, she was still relishing the ship based rations which were only a grade above the prison slop.

“We got a few common friends,” Mira said
“And I find it hard to believe any of them would let you go free, I mean Mical is a bit of a pansy, but even he isn’t that generous,”

“You are one of Surik’s foundlings,” Artis realised
“Interesting,”

“Is there a problem?” Varasian seemingly out of nowhere appeared having sensed the spike of tension between the two guests.

Atris looked Mira straight in the eyes
“Is there?”

Mira raised her hands to avoid catching the issue
“Hey it’s your ship, so long as we don’t end up singing from the Sith song book, or getting tailed by a life sucking mask wearing shadow I’m good,”

Atris offered only a withering smile at the unconcealed stab.

<<<<>>>>

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 2 — Encounters - Part 4

12654 BBY — The Lek’un

He smiled at the lowly teen that peeled tubers, recalling having done the same forty years earlier.

The young lek’un offered a chaste nod of appreciation to be recognised by the Kızlar Ağası - the Chief Black Eunuch of the Q’Atrox in direct service to the Enfanta, then returned to his work.

Fallyn strode past through the rear entrance to the servants quarters, his tasks in service to the Enfanta for the day complete.

He passed through the neatly kept dormitories to the small quarters where the more senior Lek’un made their abode within the Q’Atrox Stormhold.

It had taken many decades of faithful service, and many very personal sacrifices, to attain a position in the Enfanta’s service and thereby assist his brothers in gaining positions within the Kinde.

Sliding the paper door open his room comprised only a small bench, mirror and tatami mat bed, he unclasped his robes and hung them on the back of the door.
 
Fallyn’s possessions were few, his duty robes, a small carving of himself and his brothers, and a brine filled jar in which sat the greatest sacrifice he had made for his family, for the Kinde he served.

The only full men that could enter the Enfanta’s apartments were the Hanshõ and the Sine Mardenes mare-Q'Atrox.

A bitter smile always came at the thought of that price. He had sworn with his two brothers Nectrin Gardens as they bloomed with fruits on their thirteenth name day to give their lives to serve the Kinde. Their bodies forfeit to duty, he simply had paid a part of his flesh earlier.

A soft knock on the door roused him from his thoughts. 

“Enter,” he already knew who it was.  Fallyn could never mistake the presence of his brothers.

Kullat, Fallyn, and Celeano were triplets, born in that order, they were each other's strength during the long hard years of gaining position through degrading work, emotionally and mentally bonded as one soul in three bodies.

Celeano slid the door open and shuffled in on his knees, closing it behind him.

“Ancestors bless you brother,” Fallyn said, “What brings you here from your duties?”

Celeano had always been the most skilled with his hands, quick and dexterous. 

Fallyn had first managed to gain him a place among a vassal Kinde of the Q’atrox working on Repulsor-mounts. 

From there he had worked his way through sleepless years of study and practice to becoming the pilot of Zhoa’s Gift the space faring vessel the Hanshõ Rannek-soma Mare Q’Atrox had gifted his twin children.

Unlike Fallyn, Celeano was not as adept at concealing his feelings, making him ill suited to a position too close to the Kinde.

“I dreamt of our brother last night,” Celeano said.

Kullat, the oldest and boldest of them, so far as the Kinde Q’Atrox knew, had died of consumption some five years before.

His brothers knew better, but all their conversations were kept in the cipher of traditional Lek’un spiritualist beliefs.

“He spoke to me of a place he is Traversing within the Deeper Dream…”

Fallyn raised his hand
“Do not speak more brother, such sacred things are meant only for the ears of the receiver,”

In other words Don’t tell me the location Kullat has informed you of, lest I possibly reveal it under torture in the future

“My sleep is restless brother,” Celeano replied

We need to move quickly

“I can have a tonic prepared for you by the Enfanta’s Master Alchemist upon the morrow when I see him,”

I shall press immediately with the Enfanta

“He is an honourable Lek’un, a persuasive speaker, I’m sure the Enfanata will permit the use of his skills to assist her pilot,”

The Hanshõ will not long refuse the Enfanta, such is her influence

“My thanks brother,” Cleano said with a bow, remaining on his knees the whole conversation in deference to Fallyn’s relatively exalted position in the ranks of the Lek’un.

“May you sleep well under the guidances of the ancestors and the honoured Hanshõ’s of the past till then,” Fallyn finished

<<<<>>>>

Like so many children of the Nobility, The Sínã and Sine had taken to the fashion of going on Grand Tours of the Galaxy during colder decade cycles of Anzat Prime, taking with them a throng of their friends and young vassals, often hundreds if not thousands of Lek’un on their elaborate barges, visiting innumerable worlds of the Republic in search of exotic experiences and novel Soup.

Fallyn recalled vividly the last such expedition, nearly two decades ago, before the latest outbreak of war between nearby systems.  It was just after he had entered the Enfanta’s service, his main tasks were seeing to her wardrobe and toilet.

One experience would stay with him, the Enfanta had…’procured’ a creature called a Givin - a queer lanky thing with a skeletal face, to ‘taste’. 

The creature's thick bone was however too strong for her proboscis to penetrate...Fallyn had to hold the head while Ammud drilled holes into the skull to allow ingress to feed upon.

The Enfanata had found, however, the Givin was not to her taste, vomiting and suffering a headache for days after. 

Fallyn had taken the opportunity swiftly...a small potion slipped into the previous Kızlar Ağası’s’ tea rendering him quite ill, allowing Fallyn to care for the Enfanta in those days sequestered on board Zhoa’s Gift. 

It had gained him the Enfanta’s trust and ensured his position as next in line for the position...Kullat had ensured the position became vacant a year after the return to Anzat Prime.

“Enfanta if I may…” he whispered as the Enfanta gracefully stitched careful fractal lines into the rarest of the honey-azure Bombyx silk for a new Kimono in the Sun Room, her favoured place, the hexagonal top of the South West Tower of the Great Q’Atrox Stromholds Second Wing, expanded in the years after the Hanshõ’s great Victory over the Vel two centuries before.

“Speak eunuch,” she replied not looking up, eyes more purple than red on her craft, they contrasted pleasingly with white-grey skin and aquiline features of good noble breeding, thick glossy dark hair in the torobin shimada style, wide looping wings on each side of her head, fine fabrics bridging the gap threaded with diamonds from the Gojome mines of the deep Sabakau.

“I have heard from the traders who provided the Chandrillan Rubies last month that the wars between the Gaijin systems have been in abeyance for some years now...perhaps it is time to remind the Hanshõ of your desires?”

The Enfanta was always keen to explore the Space lanes, but the Hanshõ was protective of his twin children beyond all measure, and the Wars had seen him refuse her request to travel so many times she had not bothered to ask for some years, contenting herself with Winter trips to Azherri along the Tokaido Road each year to enjoy the Winter Balls of the Mare as they exalted in their corpulence.   

“hmmmm….It is true I have not heard of any more battles...perhaps peace has returned at last…”

“If so the Hanshõ could hardly refuse such a request for another Tour, after so long in between...if I might speak so boldly,” Fallyn pressed gently as he absently plucked strands of languorous black blue hair from her favoured brush lying cast aside on the floor, then sealing it silently into the wooden box of her toiletries he carried with him at all times.

“You speak too boldly servant,”

His face drained even as he bowed his head in submission immediately, a glint of the Terror that beamed from the Hanshõ's eyes now in hers too.   

A touch of mirth tickled at her lips making her pale features all the more radiant as she giggled.

“See what other talk there is from the traders and speak to me of this again in a few days,”

With inward relief and feeling of assuredness Fallyn bowed.

<<<<>>>>

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 2 — Encounters - Part 5

Abyss of Memory

His heavy eyelids lifted like a languorous sunrise, the scent of what could only be the Efendí before him. 

There was always the Efendí…

His Meditation chamber was sealed to all but the Efendí after all. 

After each mediation there was a new Druhanne or Druhanni with a more sickly hue to their skin, he paid no attention to the differences anymore.

Octagonal with ancient banners of the Kinde Q’Atrox that had once been carried into battle before him and his father on every side, the columns of akamatsu timber hid discrete sensors that would’ve detected his awakening.

Rannek-stroma Mare-Q’Atrox, First of his Name, Clucir of Hokuriku, Defender and First Champion of the Capugio of the Anzat Evokation…and a hundred other titles of honour…and millions of denigration…took his time in coming fully to himself once more, slowly opening his dry mouth to take up the water from the ewer the Efendí had placed before him in readiness.

Sipping slowly he spoke at last, voice still gravel.

“How long Efendí,”

The Lek’Un bowed his head to the floor, the chamber still near lightless.

“65 years, 2 months and 13 days if it please Hanshõ”

65 years…had he been at…meditation so long?…he thought it only a decade at most…. 

In truth Rannek knew it was not mediation…but...hibernation.

At over 13,000 years old he was, as far as he was aware, the eldest Anzat alive. 

There may be older among the renunciates and aesthetics in the high Polar mountain monasteries, or the desert caves of the scorching arid Sabaku, but they barely merited mentioning having long since left material concerns behind.

For the last four thousand of those years he had required…extensive periods of ‘meditation’ to order his thoughts and centre his mind as the…as the…

”The Kuru…” Rannek said standing over the corpse of Isho Mare-Ry’ce, face twisted and eyes backward in the head, madness had overtaken Isho in the final days as it had all the first generation of Gaki – Ranneks inner circle of Anzat warriors who had feasted on their victims soup, Anzat and Lek’un alike…

“Burn the body,” he ordered the Comis, the head Lek’un general of Isho’s Kinde, even if vassalage was not enough to compel obedience against burial custom, the need to hide the disgrace of his master would see the Lek’un obey.

They had not known, not cared in those early days, the Taste of the soup of other Anzat was all that mattered, the richness, the depth, so much more than Lek’un…but after a few years the first side effects of what would be known as Soup Kuru appeared…

Emotional instability, memories of those they had eaten intruding on their thoughts, inability to think in linear time, moments of deep solipsism, and worst of all a frenetic mania as the death scream echoes of their victims repeated in their head driving some Anzat to try to remove the screams by various often gruesome means…

Isho had attempted to carve them out with his wakizashi….

The Kuru threatened to take him too; for some it was less than a decade before the degenerative effects became irreversible…for Rannek it had been Millenia.  Whether by luck, strength or curse he knew not…though he suspected the latter.

“What is the state of the Evokation…” he asked, voice trailing off necessitating another drink before he sniffed the broth before him, it would be weeks before he could eat solid food again.

“Hanshõ the Evokation…is in a period of…somnolence…”

“Who is Capugio…” Rannek asked, staring into the water at his reflection, the gaunt tainted nobility of his face familiar as it was repugnant to him.

“Perhaps my Hanshõ you should regain your strength be….”

The slightest twitch of Rannek’s lips in annoyance and the Lek’un began to gag on the pressure of Rannek telekinetic power.

Why had he consumed so many Anzat risking the Kuru?
At first it was the taste, the thrill of defying all laws and morals but later…

Later it had been the power. 

With each victim some of their Ki was gained allowing the nascent Anima or ‘Force’ power as off-worlders such as Jedaii called it, all Anzat possessed to strengthen.

With hundreds of victims per year - thousands in his prime - Rannek accrued enormous power.

Sensing the Efendí had realised his error, Rannek allowed him to speak.

“The Evokation has been…absent a Capugio for some years now…the Anzat on world are few and have little interest in establishing or holding any court…”

The Foundering….

Once Space travel had become safe and affordable the lower Castes had fled the planet in droves…from the incessant wars between the Kindes yes, but more to escape their despised lot and the ever present risk of being consumed by another Anzat as Animopophagy – the consumption of one own race – became more common place.

The outside galaxy offered a veritable garden of delights for a skilled Anzat whose innate hunting and telepathic abilities made them superior to most humanoid species that in turn offered novel and intricate flavours of Soup the Lek’un could not compete with even accounting for the Genetic memory – the force wielding Jehda’i  in particular….

He would watch every day from his balcony as the grandeur of the Kinde estate fell down while the population that once supported them flew up through the Silent Voices – the clouds that crossed the Anzat sky, breaking their serenity with the glow of engine and exhaust. 

He could feel the sinking certainty that he was witnessing the death of the world he knew, a world of great and noble houses he had helped destroy with his rapacious wars and vicious animopophagy….

Once more Rannek realised he was slipping…

“Something disrupts my Wa Efendí and drew me from my meditations…Has my Misíta arrived?”

Druhanne swallowed hard…65 years of sleep - had his Hanshõ forgotten completely!

Misíta was the name the Hanshõ gave to his beloved daughter, the Enfanta Sínã Faveah mare-Q'Atrox….

In the depths of his ancestors memories Druhanne saw her, radiant, and gleefully capricious playing in the gardens about the Stromhold, the Hanshõ’s countenance of vicious predation only broke when he looked upon her, then…then…

Druhanne felt tears well.

“Hanshõ…the Efanta remains….” He barely had the heart to speak it, the pain that had befallen the Kinde and sent his Hanshõ into a rage and fury that had lasted the better part of a Millenia, nearly ruined the Kinde financially and driven the Hanshõ and his retainers to every imaginable system in the Galaxy rapaciously consuming and torturing beings for information that simply did not exist.

Rannek remembered the events of…when was it now…9, 10 thousand years ago?

“…something else disrupts my Wa…” Rannek whispered, relieving the Efendí of the need to speak of the Great Sorrow.

He sniffed their air and felt the surrounds with his powers…there were the Lek’un repetitive and mechanical as any…what was the word…robot? 

Not an Anzat near except…

Slimy, disgusting, beneath him…

“Druf…”

<<<<>>>>

*See Remanant of the Aether: Rage and Shadow for Vzin Kree http://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=44181.150*

Wet rotted wooden supports flecked with traces of ancient lacquer stood weary sentinels as what was once a decorated opulent hall was turned to a hovel of scuttling impoverished lek’un who gazed at the being in the centre of the room with awe and terror.

The old mansion, one of hundreds, on the edge of Q’ohna, the capital of what was once the jewel of continent of Hokuriku, seat of the almighty Clucir Rannek-soma Mare Q’Atrox, had long been abandoned in the great migrations that saw the Anzat race flee their homeworld escaping the rigid caste system into the arms of opportunity.

One such son of Anzat lay on a gurney, attached to a dozen different antiquated IV’s and Medicae devices that beeped blue and green into the dank room languidly lighting the faces of the Lek’un gathered about.

For many it was the first time they had ever seen an Anzat, their genetic memories notwithstanding.

The Anzat had stumbled here some months ago, barely alive, hideously wounded and emaciated. 

Under Ancient Rite of Reparation  it was a Lek’un’s duty and privilege to assist any Anzat in need regardless of caste or Kinde (assuming another Anzat they served to had not ordered otherwise) - thus honouring the race that had freed their ancestors from the Rakatta and by their charmed Ceremony of Completion could elevate a Lek’un to the Silent Voices that hovered overhead in the quiet night sky to join their ancestors.

Said Anzat’s eyes began to open, a sneer already creeping across his face as the stench of decay filled his nose.

Vzin Kree had little choice in coming here.  Broken and shattered in body and mind upon Dypseth as his decades long plan to cultivate the two foundlings that called him Sensei – Evaea and Evyn – was crushed by the ferocious fists of a Beast of their unusual metahuman species.

Thrown from the Fortress Monastery to his death in the noxious gas filled ravines below, what bones the beast hadn’t broken with his fists were crunched by the impact.

But then…for reasons he could not comprehend he was…healed…given just enough to live by a woman glowing red.

It had taken him months to crawl and climb back to the fortress monastery, time and again falling down rock faces slicing his skin apart, digging a path with bloodied fingers, so starved he licked the acidic algae that grew in the deep ravine for water and energy.

He gorged on recklessly when he reached the monastery but controlled himself eventually leaving barely a year's worth of emergency rations - in the end it had to stretched Twenty six years…

Twenty.

Six.

Years.

Trapped alone in the monastery, his body never healing, bones and organs out of place - to breath was to suffer, to move agony…he hunted the gomp rats for food, and waited…and waited…and waited…for someone to finally come to the Monastery.

His stealth skills were still incomparable, even if his mind was wrought with semi-madness…and his hunger for Soup….well….

The small party of archaeologists who alighted into the ruins, in any other situation beneath his palate to even consider consuming, were the sweetest most delicious souls he had ever drunk, their flesh he ravaged with gummy, weakened teeth. 
 
Barely lucid he took the ship to the one place he knew he would be welcome, after a fashion – the only planet the Anzat were not a cause of riotous terror when seen in public….

So he found himself on Anzat prime, a place he’d forsworn centuries before, relying on the drivelling automata like Lek’un that eked out a pointless confused existence, driven by genetic memory that instilled obedience to now completely absent masters.

The mansion was one of the few still attended by the hereditary servant race in the once great city, a microcosm of the planet itself, it was a pitiable decayed caricature of its former grandeur, its owner long since dead or vanished, the servants wary but so desperate for a new master they took his stumbling self in without question.

He would remain until fully restored – the selectively bred Lek’un healers understood Anzat biology far better than any republic droid, their genetic memory of treating thousands of maladies and war injuries unmatched – then return to Azherri to find a ship off….

Barely awake, the booming opening of the halls' large once gilded, now rusted, doorways ushered in mid-morning light that seared his eyes.

Garbled yells and then the banging of heads on the grunge covered tatami preceded them.

Warriors that could only be Kinju – the Lek’un personal guard of a so called ‘noble’ based on their ornate plated armour - took position at all points of the chamber, the Lek’un of the manor bowing in obedience at their presence. 

While it had been many centuries since the Lek’un had been engaged in any real warfare, genetic memory of battles millennia ago and selective breeding to enhance those memories kept them as deadly as ever.

Kree raised himself up best he could amidst the sea of fluid lines and Bio-sustenate devices clamped to his limbs just in time to see the entrance of the first Anzat he had seen in the better part of two hundred years - so solitary was their existence now.

“Druf…” Rannek sneered, Druhanne and his Comis in tow.  It was the first time he had left the Stormhold in decades.

“How was this creature allowed to defile this Manor without your knowledge Efendí…” Rannek snapped but never took his eyes from the defiant Druf.

“Forgive me Hanshõ…There is no excuse for such failure,”

“There is not…” Rannek agreed observing the wretched state of the Manor itself, he had been here before…many millennia ago…This was the Hall of Resplendent Prosperity belonging to Kinde Mare-Ouichi, vassals of the Q’Atrox, administrators for the most part, but able ones…how far it had fallen…

And yet astonishingly the most decrepit thing in this place was not the ruined family banners or barely nourished Lek’un servants who waited for masters that would never return – but the Druf before him.

The lowest of the Anzat castes it was a stain upon him to even look upon a Druf, intolerable for such to squat within such a noble Kindes manor…no wonder Rannek’s Wa – his sense of tranquillity and peace – had been disrupted.

“Speak Druf what reason have you for this insult to the Kinde Ouichi?”

Kree blinked groggy unable to comprehend anything more than a few words of the archaic old-Anzati Rannek spoke.

“You will answer the Clucir!” A Kinju demanded smacking Kree’s head to floor with his staff.

“I don’t know what you’re saying…” he spat out with an already rotten tooth now let free.

Rannek’s face twisted in annoyance to befoul his mouth with the uncouth language of Basic that was this Druf’s seemingly only tongue. He gestured for the Efendi to repeat the question in his stead.

“Translate Efendi,”

“Speak Druf what reason have you for this insult to the Kinde Ouichi?” Druhanne repeated in stilted Basic, archaic but just comprehensible.

“Ha…” Kree simply chuckled with wistful semi-madness, far fallen from the controlled Sensei he had once been, pain throbbing along his still only tentatively set ribs with each word,
“Kindes…castes…what an anachronism you are,”

Druhanne’s eyes nearly exploded from his head to hear a Druf insult his Hanshõ so, had a Lek’un said such he would’ve had them thrown in the Pit!

Rannek brushed such aside, he had hardly cared much for the old ways himself in his youth, and he would certainly never forget his…his…fall? Damnation? Curse?  Had begun with a Druf Courtesan and his Father.

“You will respect me Druf,” Rannek stepped forward, his limbs were stiff but his Anima  strong as ever.  This he pressed outward.

It had been long known that Venerable Anzat, those who aged over 900 years or so gained a measure of power over younger Anzat, a derivative of their nascent telepathic prowess that suppressed the will of prey when hunting soup, lulling them into a stupor for the Anzat to feed. 

That had been in the days before the Animopophage…

As Anzat began to live several millennia it was found this power, the Yokusei or suppression, grew ever stronger, enabling the most ancient of Anzat to completely dominate and compel the obedience of those younger than them.

Kree felt the sick black of the Yokusei vibrate in every cell, far worse than the beating and torment over these last years was the indignity of his freedom being curtailed by the archaic Anzat before him. 

“Why are you here?” Rannek asked again, well knowing he need not ask a third time.

“To recover from my injuries…” Kree gritted out, the Yokusei compelling understanding in his very blood.
“…to hide from the…the creatures that crushed me…”

“You thought you could come into any Manor or city and be attended to?”

“Why not…everything is empty, I care nothing for the Old Ways you foolishly cling to…these dolts…” he gestured to the Lek’un
“serve us still,”

“The Daen Nosi twist across the Ocean of Dreams, you Druf amongst it…” Rannek’s gaze narrowed as he observed the lines of fate which showed, past, present and future an indecipherable and malleable path that could lead one to glory or destruction…and yet follow them all Anzat must nonetheless.

“…I will learn why,”

<<<<<>>>>

[TheDutchman]

Continuing the disparate-yet-related threads from the previous chapter: from our "current" Aethans (c. 500 BBY), to the pre-Technocracy group (including associates of the Jedi Exile), to the children of Rannek, and finally to the Hansho himself, we see the connective tissue throughout.

No surprise that, given the events that have occupied the Aethans, not to mention their own extremely limited personnel resources, those now occupying Aethas were/are unaware of the secrets hidden within their own planet.  The Devastation--true to its name--effectively erased all knowledge of the Technocracy's bastions and data centers.  That Mili and Ari have found one is both lucky and incredible; of course, just what knowledge the repository holds has yet to be seen.  One wonders if this will help to fill in the monumental gaps in the Aethans' history...or just create more questions for them.

As Mira continues her (canonical) search for the Jedi Masters, we see one of the gaps of her own story filled in: it seems that she was amongst the first to join/ally with the very much nascent proto-Technocracy.  Not only that, but we see a few other familiar faces, namely Atris the Archivist.  Just what their contributions are still remain a mystery, but given that they both fought in first the Mandalorian Wars and then the Dark War.  Perhaps their powerful connection to the Force is what the Old Man needs from them (but I suspect it's more than just that).

This time we're treated to a bit of Anzati history, the Hansho's own children.  Given the timing--before the mass exodus of Anzat Prime due to the Foundering--we see a glimpse of the might of Kinde Q'Atrox and Rannek's own daughter (and heir), Faveah and her attendants (once again, more secrets and questions).

Which brings us to Rannek.  Just what was it that awakened him?  Was it the encroachment of Vzin Kree?  Or perhaps a Disturbance in the Force/Aether?  Or just a cycle of lucidity symptomatic of the Soup Kuru?  One would assume that he is responsible for the eponymous "Shadow" felt across the galaxy, but how?

Meta-note: Awesome world-building here made even better with the inclusion of canon stories.  SO MUCH going on yet--at least for the moment--there are many more questions than answers.

Yet another shout-out to LSG for the pics: the attendant art looks fantastic (Faveah in particular...just perfect)!

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 3 — Searches - Part 1

497 BBY — Aethas

“Our Father?” Milaea replied, arms crossed in incredulity as a humanoid figure took shape before her sonic wave deflectors causing the voice to seem to emanate from the hologram rather than the ceiling cornice speakers.

“In a conceptual rather than genetic sense of course…” it replied as the image finally formed fully

He was slightly above average human height, 1.83 meters, a fatherly smile on a face just past human middle age, short hair swept back and, unusually, thin frameless glasses, an anachronism for the last two millennia on the majority of worlds at least.

“...I conceived the notion of you, by my hands and mind, forged your ancestors and laid down the path that led...after so many trials...to you my precious child.”

His arms spread widely as if to embrace her with his cold formlessness.

Ari and Milaea stepped around to either side of the projector, scoping out as best they could the unlabelled control panels behind him and trying to see behind the vast frost-covered glass wall.

Seeming to dislike the silence the hologram spoke on.

“How wonderful it is to see you at last, I feared, briefly after reactivation something had gone amiss, it seems to have been over 700 years since I was last visited, but now, in your precious visage I see my work has lived and thrived...tell me what are your names my daughters?”

“Are you an AI? A Virtual interface?” Ari asked in reply mentally shrugging to Milaea, she couldn’t discern the control panel's functions; the Hologram seemed to stand sentinel before them anyway.

“Curiosity, my dear, must always be indulged” he replied as if in response to his own query, but then explained.

“The means of extending my consciousness or at least what can survive was accomplished by a modified Jedi device known as a Holocron, appropriately expanded and tailored to remove the more...eldritch weaknesses.”

He paused in a fashion unusual for hologram but in keeping for a more faux emotion capable Holocron.

“You don’t recognise me child?”

“Should we?” Milaea kept her cards close.

“My dear, I fear what has transpired, not for my own sake but yours child, to lose one's past is a terrible thing.”

His already arrogantly dominant posture straightened further as he spoke.

“I am Soron Varas, Founder of The Aethas Colony, Creator of the Aethan Species,”

<<<>>>

497 BBY — Nihil Retreat

“The breeding pens,” Lodis said, sickly pallid hand over his face to keep out the musky stench.

Taryn was more concerned by the sounds coming out of the thick metal walled enclosure, a mix of grunting and the wet break of bones punctuated with ecstatic howls.

“The Taung males are all feral,” Lodis went on

“When they wish to procreate, the Females enter…the strongest males must physically overcome each other, then the female herself to mate with her…”

There was another screech this time of pure pain

“Once impregnated she must try to escape the pen, the other males will try and ‘remove’ their competitors seed - violently…perhaps a quarter do not escape…it ensures only the strongest lineages bear pups,”

Lodis was the rat Taryn had suspected, a Choirist of Ghul’Sho and member of the Knell of Muspilli. A thin Nag’hi by birth - the Human Nagai hybrids that made up much of the Sorcerers upper echelons, Lodis paid only lip service to his religion. Rather than ‘embracing destruction’  he had squeaked and squealed at the first sight of Evyn’s Needles after abduction.

Far behind them were the still smoking mountain like ranges of the Factory Towers, every few minutes another explosion as the rest of the Aethans set to work in the chaos, Valens and six others had moved in once the snitch was secure, sliding through the throng of rabid terrified helots to set off even more grenades - somewhere Jarys and Taran would be setting up the big boom of a Naquadah enhanced thermo-nuke in the towers underworks.

At this point it seemed the Rhandites still thought some kind of accident had occurred and the explosions were due to cascading reactions rather than sabotage.

Even so hundreds of Taung were trying to wrest control of the bovidae faced Helots who had turned wild, leaving the vast Ziggurat like edifices of the Umbra-Soroitas Barracks - the Taung Warrior sisters of Shadow - relatively unguarded.

There were far too many orbital defences to risk a bombardment, and they had nowhere near enough guns for the vast expanse of buildings, the sabotage for the Chiss had to be subtle - their investigation into the powers of the Sorcerers that likely caused the Shadow that diminished their Aether Powers even more so.

Once more Evyn took point, his poisoned shurikens and Needle pistol at the ready, Coryn held the rear, Blackstone crossbow taught and primed beneath stolen robes.

Even here there were more than enough menials carting foods, polishing weapons and seeing to the Taungs needs to hide amongst labyrinth like servants passages beneath each ziggurat, Taung runic text faded in the dim yellow light that the abhumans seemed to prefer.

As they reached the edge of the ‘Mating pits’ a huge crash in the wall beside him made Taryn nearly jump - a snarling Taung muzzle gnashed through a tiny gap in the worn steel.

“Shav, don’t even brush their teeth first,” he scrunched his nose at the rotten meat scent of the maw, his face then twisting into a grimace as the unquenchable hunger of his aether starved Telepatheon Lobe bit - it came in waves of starved need in their brains, disconnected by the Shadow to their Aethenaea Cortex the lobe seemed to send surges of demanding neural signals that received no response.

“You come here often?” he asked, biting back the itch in his skull, Lodis carefully walking forward, Taryn's knife ever a millimeter from his neck.

“The Choir walks the full length of the Domain in thirteen rounds per cycle, I see, I hear…except the Inner Kanzer Temple…” Lodis gulped
“What happens in the Temple?” Taryn pressed the cold Blackstone against the mulatto mix of abs humans skin

“The Choirs called there…embrace the Dark for the Sorcerers…they say it's even worse than to be given over to the Knell Summoners…”

The Knell summoners gave up their bodies and souls to draw out Force Entities into the physical world, their flesh tortured and twisted into incomprehensible but still living distended forms by the utterly alien Force beings. Taryn didn’t want to imagine what would make the Temple worse.

And yet that was exactly where they had to go.  Lodis had confirmed the scant intel of the Chiss, that the Kanzer Exiles were the ‘Primus inter pares’ of the Rhandites, their Darksight and Destructive powers incredibly strong.

“Is it well guarded,” Taryn asked

“Yes,” Lodis replied
“The Medusae are on constant vigil, they will strip every Choir before they enter…some they eat at the steps if they think them unworthy…”

“Party central,” Taryn, noted dryly,
“Guess you’re not keen to die for the cause?” Taryn added as he ducked in the increasingly cramped servants tunnel.

“I volunteered for the Choirs…it seemed better than the factories…we are fed, dry - mostly -…but I soon learned what was expected once my voice ‘no longer pleases the Dark’....”

“And by then you’re stuck…”

“Many throw themselves from the catwalks of the Towers, I thought of it often but never had the boldness…when you took me I felt relief for the first time in my life…”

“Get us where we need to go and I’ll cut your head off clean and quick,” Taryn promised

“Thank you, Master,”
 
Creeping through the servant choked underworks they came to the edge of the Temple district, the distant boom of explosions and creaking crash of towers following their footsteps, Taryn checking  the Quantum-Comm, a message from Taran the bomb had been placed and countdown begun, Arryn confirming the Rhandite ships on patrol were getting edgy.  

Taryn had 45 minutes.

<<<<>>>>

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 3 — Searches - Part 2

497 BBY — Aethas

“Now my children, what are your names?” the holocron image of Soron Varas, or so it claimed, asked.

<Soron Varas, find what you can,> Milaea telepathically signalled Fifth nearby, though the connection was increasingly difficult. He would transmit the instruction conventionally to the others with access to the Mount Alixaea archives.

“I’m Aresaea, this is my wife Milaea,” Ari replied

“Ah, delicious!” Varas clapped his hands together untold glee on his face

“And how does the Technocracy fare, do you hold Directorates?”

“The Technocracy…” Milaea explained cautiously
“..fell some 750 years ago, replaced by a new Aethan Society, meritocratic beneath a mutually agreed Matriarchal Head of state.”

“Ah, I suspected that might occur...not the fall of course...but a matriarchy, AEO-983 on the male olfactory system would always tend to activate AEN-1174... toward deference of the Feminine pheromones. But Dear Milaea, what caused such a collapse?”

“The Sith, they invaded Aethas, devastated the planet, it’s taken centuries to recover,”

“The Sith…” Varas sighed
“A pest always, some had vision and creativity...but so many more mere brutes, I trust you’ve extracted a heavy toll from them?”

“As heavy as we can,” Ari demurred before turning to their true purpose here.

“We came looking for information on our genetic history, the location of this facility had been lost for some time, and we didn’t have the time to explore it until now...this..”
She gestured to the vast frosted glass wall, the crackling ice behind seeming to intentionally obscure the contents.
“Is this the Aethan Genetic Archive?”

“More than that dear Aresaea, this is my Laboratory, I stood in this very place when I had hands of flesh and crafted your first ancestors, placed you on the course to the heights you have attained, then guided those that came after, truly this is the very forge of Aethan life, my Garden of Creation,”

“And you remain the only interface to the Genetic Archive?” Ari asked swiftly

“Alas now I am...as you can see the other access terminals have all degraded over the centuries…but my child you need not fear, I would never hide anything for you,”

Milaea could feel the tinge of disgust Ari felt every time Varas said ‘child’...because she felt the same. 

There was a cloying sickly tone to the Holograms voice that they both sensed had captured the living man’s tone all too accurately.

“You seemed distressed my child, what troubles you?”

<Can we trust it?> Ari asked knowing what her wifes answer would be

<Do we have a choice....I think so long as we stroke its ego it will co-operate, this technology is too old and fragile to risk trying to override or hack, Goddesses only know what safeguards a self important quim like that put in place if we try to go round it. > Milaea replied

<Agreed...we need to get Adaea and Arryn down here to see what they can manage. Still if he calls me child one more time…>

<We’ll just smile and nod my love> Milaea encouraged

“We are facing a problem,” Milaea said candidly

“The Aethenaea Cortex in our children is over producing neuro relaxants, and our Telepathaeon lobe has diminished in functionality.  We are also sensing a kind of dimming or ‘Shadow’ in the aether, but can’t wok out if it is cause or effect of the neurological problems,”

Varas nodded

“A perplexing malady indeed, the interaction of those brain structures with the Aether is among the most complex of my designs…and, I must apologise, among the most fragile with only three redundancies in place - a necessity to ensure the brain structures fit within your skull…are you aware of any evidence of this Shadow independent of the effect on your brain?”

“None, no flora or fauna seem affected -  that is why we came here, we need information on how the Aethenaea Cortex is meant to interact with the Aether so we can isolate the trigger of the affliction.” Ari replied
“If you can provide access to all records on its design and operation…” she gestured to the frosty glass behind him.
   
“Oh my dear Child I can be so much more help to you than just reaming off data!” Varas jumped in
“I possess all my expertise in genetic design and chromosomal crafting, peerless in the galaxy in my own time, tell me everything and I can save you months of tedious comparative analysis…”

<Smile and nod> Milaea reminded her wife.

“Thank you, Father, We would appreciate your help,” Ari said sweetly as possible.

Varas patronizing and victorious smile sickened them.

<<<<<>>>>>

497 BBY — Nihil Retreat

“I don’t think this will work…” Evyn whispered at a high frequency past most humanoids hearing as they stooped low at the back of the choir that walked toward the Temples vast frontal stairs, the insipid acidic rain beating down from a blue black night, lit orange from by distant burning factory towers.

Valens and Jarys teams had done some serious work, of the 40 or so skyscraper sized factory towers 21 had spot fires, three had collapsed taking another two with them, one falling on a vast section of the favela’s, and in 13 minutes the rest would have their foundations turned to glass by a Naqxium enhanced Thermo Nuclear bomb.

Evyn’s doubt came from the need to pass by the Medusae up ahead, more elite of the Umbra-Soroitas than the regular Banshee’s and Harpies, they were likely to notice that two members of the choir were not singing and much too broad beneath stolen robes.

But they didn’t need to get far…just to the altar at the top where, according to Lodis, the resident Sorcerers kept their tomes of spells in flesh bound books.

Maeson and Maekal were hovering in a Transport nearby using the explosions as cover to remain hidden, they could cut in and pick them up in just over seven minutes at full speed.

“Just Sing-along,” Taryn replied behind the Assassin trained Aethan, the former pirate's hands on his Hades pistols in the robes folds.

As they ascended the worn steps, blood trickled down channels carved along the stairway in intricate geometric patterns mixed with the acid rain in vile chemical reactions to produce an acrid smoke.  Taryn’s jaw shifted in uncertain worry hoping Coryn was moving up at the same pace.

To increase their element of surprise Coryn had ‘joined’ a group of ‘Joyful Ones’ - sick, elderly and otherwise unwanted abhumans and Nag’hi being pushed up the opposite side of the Temple pyramid to keep the blood flowing in the Sorcerer's endless rituals to the Dark.

While the Shadow in the Aether prevented any telepathic communication, the dark pall was at least stable, getting no worse, but certainly no better.

The Choir leader reached the Medusae, eight in all at the first checkpoint, their shimmer-shields active not because they expected combat, but to prevent the acid rain consuming their armour and skin after hours of exposure.

Oblivious to the fact the last three members of his choir were now dead in a gutter and replaced by two Aethans and their informant Lodis, the leader of the Ghul’Sho bowed to the Medusae who sniffed the Nag’hi then allowed them to proceed.

Taryn and Evyn kept their eyes down muttering the chant as best they could, Lodis helpfully expounding the guttural tones of the Chant louder to cover for them, the Taung’s slitted yellow eyes observing each chorister in turn, but flicking constantly to the glare of the fires burning in the towers,

Just a little more… Taryn willed as the Taung’s large nasal slits opened sniffing each in turn, the aethan hoping the stench of the fuming blood was strong enough to cover the foreign material of the Aethans armour and weapons - every aether means of concealing themselves long worn out as the Shadow and the planets own blood soaked ugly feel had long since used up their aether stamina.

The gassy yellow eyes of the Taung, pivoted and fixed on the two tall members of the Choir.

Shavit The slightest change in the Medusae’s posture, a micro expression on the hideous face, was the signal he feared.

Even with the Shadow darkening their aether powers, the demi-gods' physical reflexes were still far quicker than the Taung.

The Rhandite warriors hand moved toward their blades or raised their Needle rifles up as Taryn’s Hades pistols were already firing off their first rounds, Evyn’s rifle blasting through the Choir Master and into a Medusae ahead.

Another distant explosion behind them masked the sound of Needle Rifle fire as chaos erupted.  Concentrated radiation from Hades pistols sizzled in the acid raid leaving a strange solid of pollutant from the reaction with the energy before they struck shimmer shields with a satisfying shatter before puncturing halfway into Taung armour.

Taryn’s pistols moved quick and fired faster as he kicked down the panicking choir singers.

Coryn added to the mess among the ‘Joyful Ones’ his crossbow and short sword making quick work of the Harpies while Evyn grappled with the more heavily armed Medusae whose Barb-whips wrapped round one of his arms trying to bring him down.

Taryn ran backwards up the ziggurat to the Sacrificial altars at the top firing down.

Croyn was already inside, taking two of the priests, their hands covered in viscera from the endless offerings to the indifferent Eternal Destruction, an Oblivion bolt pierced the lone Medusae to a bloody stone pillar on which two bodies were flayed, Coryn finishing the creature with a swift cut through its neck. 

The chanting had already begun, unable to tell the priest from Cultist the Knell Summoner reached into the depths of the Dark to turn the newly dead into re-living engines of pure destruction.

The Zombie like revenants thrashed at Coryn with wild abandon at the Aethan as his companions faced a stiffer resistance on their way up.

“God-i-Locks get us outta here!” Taryn demanded over the Comm, he juggled his Pistols to grab Lodis up from where he was cowering,
“Not done with you yet,”

He pounded up the stairs to where Coryn was breaking free of the Zombie creatures, the Knell cultist crafting in the air an amalgam of blood and broken limbs to summon a Force Entity into it.  Evyn wasted no time overcharging his rifle to blast the nascent creation and then the Cultist apart.

“Under the altar!” Lodis pointed at the heavy slab of stone intricately carved to capture and trickle every last drop of blood into the lower pools, Taryn kicked it hard breaking it open revealing the Tomes and Sacred scrolls kept beneath, Coryn likewise sweeping up those on lecterns currently in use.

Evyn rummaged over the Cultists body recovering a half dozen Prayer parchments used in the Knells summoning, a few damaged by the shots that had killed the cultist.

“How long?” Taryn demanded as the distant towers began to flare even brighter with unnatural blue fires.

“Four minutes,” Maekal replied from the Transport.

A hideous piercing shriek outside of most humanoids range, but well within Aethan sounded, Taryn’s comprehension of Taung’et’Tay was rudimentary at best but it sounded something like ‘Attack,’

“Get down rat, positions we have 240 seconds till our ride gets here,” Taryn ordered shoving Lodis half into the Text Chamber under the altar with the documents they had come to claim, the Aethan Pirate praying to his Goddesses the solution, or at least the means of generating, the Shadow in the Aether was among those spells and incantations.

Helped by the fact most of the Taung were hundreds of kilometers away keeping the abhuman helots under control at the Factory towers the counter attack was two minutes in coming and small in number…

…that was still nearly twenty Harpies and half a dozen Medusae, and the Aethans no longer had the element of surprise.

Forming a back to back triangle the three Aethan men waited - they could just sense the Taung gathering, positioning, they wouldn’t come in a trickle, but a Tsunami - let them plan Taryn thought, it just ran the clock down faster for him.

Finally numbering just over 40 the attack began with 120 seconds remaining.  Gorgons fired screeching iron mortars up the ziggurat stairs, Coryn and Taryn shooting them out of the air, the Harpies winged their way up, Serrator Blades and Lascerator whips at the ready.  Evyn fired down into their heads where he could, the Medusae coming up the other sides.

The first wave hit with bloody fury, the Taung rabid and screeching, the Altar platform became a cacophony of Hades Fire, Oblivion Blade, Needle Rifle shots and Lascerator whip cracks.  They kept their back to back positing denying the Taung a chance to get them on the flank, but inevitably meaning they were quickly surrounded.

Bloody and rain mixed as Taryn’s Katana swung through limb after limb, or more frequently bounced off shimmer shields, though stronger and faster than the Taung - absent their Aether powers the risk of being ground down by sheer numbers was real.

Hateful red blasts the size of a man's chest cut through the rain from a region of air that seemed to deflect the constant acid droplets - the space warfare grade maser shots deflagrating the Taung they hit as Maekal and their pick up finally arrived.   

The Karintha Class Transport moved in closer as Taryn, Coryn and Evyn felt a second wind buoy them up, the transport spinning round to reveal the open rear ramp, Maeson standing mag locked to the end, vast Hades repeater primed.

10 shots per second burst from the cannon with Aethan god like precision shredding through the Taung and creating a straight path, Taryn dipped under a Serrator blade, Evyn sliced the Taungs arm off over his head as the former pirate grabbed Lodis who was clinging to the tomes beneath the altar for dear life.

Dragging the snitch chorister Taryn crab walked as close as he could before throwing Lodis into the ship, the Nag’hi’s weight childlike to the Aethan.  The Taung were taking cover, calling in air support - but everything was dedicated to the increasingly burning factories.

Evyn leapt in first, Coryn firing his last crossbow bolt point blank into a Medusae head as a Serrator blade sliced into his side, staggering as he leapt to the ship, Taryn deflected Needle-Thorns with his Katana as he jumped, Maeson’s covering fire slicing down two more Harpies on the body strewn altar that would ironically no doubt please the Destruction loving Sorcerers more than their usual program of sacrifices.

“Punch it!” Taryn yelled as the ramp lifted up, Evyn already shoving the half forgotten ‘Outsider’ rebreather on Lodis head so their native air didn’t poison him.

Maekal hit full acceleration, pings from the others indicating all the Aethans were retreating, a timer flicking on the main HUD just as Taryn entered sopping wet with acid rain and blood, still in his cut and blaster burnt choirist robe, it read a mere 30 seconds.

“Shav that’s cutting it close,” Taryn grunted, unhappy having to trust in Maekals piloting skills to escape the blast radius.

“Clear” Jarys Signalled
“Clear”  Valens Team added
“Close enough,” Taryn sighed looking at the predicted radius
“Clear!” he added pressing the comm.

The timer stopped at 12 seconds, the remote detonation activated early.

The Long range scanner sweep turned to a mush of static as somewhere behind them the Naquadha enhanced  Thermo Nuclear bombs detonated in the  bowels of the factory towers, water logged soils evaporating to dry dust, then molten glass in an instant, dozens of the monolithic basements cracking in the miniature star which rose fifty storeys high till the explosion dissipated and the tops of the huge towers fell to the ground.

The shockwave sent a searing thermal radiation wave outward that bounced the Transport on its ascent to the cold of space, annihilating the favela’s and the millions of abhumans within, baking the Ziggurats and Taung barracks.

The Chiss would surely have to be happy with that Taryn thought, sinking back into the co-pilots seat as the atmosphere vanished into the purple red of the Unknown Regions space view.

And hopefully between the tomes and Lodis they could finally lift the Shadow of the Aether.

<<<<>>>>