[IC] Star Wars - Jedi Exile - Knights of the Last Republic

[Sep]

“For over a thousand generations, the Jedi Knights were the guardians of peace and justice in the Old Republic. Before the dark times... before the Empire.”

[Sep]

The wind had changed. It was simulated of course, the contemplation gardens were weathered against the elements. Not to mention roofed to prevent anyone from outside finding their way into the Jedi Temple. He sat here among the plants, taking a deep breath before opening his eyes. The light had changed since he had started his meditation, while it had been around mid-day when he entered the Garden now it was late noon. It would be dark soon, another day gone and the war between the Confederacy of Independent Systems and Galactic Republic still raged on. He couldn't sense it here on Coruscant thankfully but there was death and pain out there in the Galaxy. As two armies destroyed worlds in the name of those who previously tried to protect them. He shook his head as he stood up. It would do no good to spend all of his time here in gardens, soon he would require sustenance and Seris apparently had some form of planetary sample she wanted him to review.

Walking the halls he nodded at several Jedi as he passed them, there was a peace here in the temple. He truly did not know how he felt about that, the Jedi leading a war that was destroying worlds despite their best effort to save them and yet here at home there was complete and utter peace. Business as usual. He stopped to look at an LAAT landing on one of the nearby platforms, Jedi nodding at the clones before boarding. Then again, the Temple was not the same as it had always been. It was now a part of the war. The communications tower had become a target for several Separatist plots over the years for the Jedi commanded vast fleets and armies from there. Planning planetary sieges and occupations. However all that was coming to an end, things were already beginning to wind down. Though what would happen to the Clone Army when the Army was no longer required? Would the Jedi have to fight the Republic to ensure the Freedom that this war was about? Freedom that had been as much a casualty in this war as all those that had died.

He sighed, a strange sound for anyone nearby thanks to his four throats. He pushed such thoughts out of his mind, the war would end. The Chancellor would be voted out of office and likely the Clones would become citizens of the Republic, with some of them being kept on as a small peacekeeping force. Hopefully then, the temple would return to what it once was. A home of tranquility and peace, a place of growth and learning. A beacon to the entire galaxy as a sign that someone cared, there was hope. Rather than it being a sign of Republic power and a place to be feared by those within the Confederacy of Independent systems.

Yet, there was a strange feeling in the Force. It clung to him like an Ant-Fly. A storm was on the horizon, and everything was about to change. He would have to trust in the Force. It would show him the way, it always did. Looking down on one of the landing pads he watched as several members of the Jedi Council boarded a LAAT, Anakin Skywalker the so called Chosen One was there. He shook his head as he headed back inside headed for the Archives. The Council was likely heading after another suspected incident about the whereabouts off Darth Sidious. Nothing to be concerned about. He started to hum an old Ithorian melody, quite content.

No matter what happened, the Jedi would weather the storm and help bring peace to the galaxy.

[Hexaflexagon]

“Concentrate on only your breathing. In and out. Envision yourself at the base of a great tree stretching out into infinity, the roots are connected to every living creature each breath sending vibrations and movement through the branches. Let yourself be present in one unifying moment with the galaxy....” Master Feemor continued to speak in a winding baritone as he and his padawan sat in the center of the Sparring Arena. It had become a customary tradition between the two for the longest time, they would go into a small meditative state before beginning their sparring with one another. The intent was to calm the body and the mind before going into battle, to prevent the temptations of falling to the call and temptation of anger against your foes.

“Yes Master...” Feemor’s padawan sat across from him in the large bowl-shaped chamber lying near the heart of the temple complex. Her name was Charuri Rol and in a strange way she had missed this. For what seemed to have been a life time the pair have been traveling across the galaxy resolving problems as they arose in the name of the Republic; it was never a dull job and between assassins and political intrigue trying to keep the peace was about as easy as finding a credit chip in a pile of bantha poodoo. But now since they were put on leave to cash in on a well deserved rest, their schedules had freed up considerably. It was nice to know that at least for a little while nobody was going to try and kill you, and that they could just do “normal” things for once like practicing their lightsaber forms and searching for long forgotten texts in the archives, all the while making the archivists want to rip the hair out of their heads.

“Good, I believe now would be as good of a time as any to get started don’t you think Charuri?” The padawan couldn't help but grin as she opened her eyes and slowly rose from her seated position. Feemor stood across from her with a face of tranquility but with eyes that seemed to be laughing. He was an older man for a human at least, past the close side of fifty. Wrinkles accented his face where he smiled and hair having been receding from his head which was once blonde had turned gray framed by a beard of the same color that hung across his face. The pair give one another respectful bows as they reached for their lightsabers, the cool metal against Charuri’s hands give her a small comfort as she pulled it from her waist. Moments later the characteristic snaphiss was heard as the pair ignited their weapons. Feemor’s a brilliant yellow and Charuri’s a calm green, the blade power had been sent to low it would still hurt to get hit by them but they would do no lasting damage. No need to play with danger when you were training of course.

“Let’s go with the classics shall we? First person to make contact wins.” Thus they began to circle one another slowly at first in a counterclockwise motion tracing the circumference the barren floor of the drum-like sparring area, watching and waiting for any movements. Charuri tried her best to try and remain calm but her own mind was battling against her. Almost a constant replay was going through her head of the last five times the two had sparred and of each time when Feemor had easily won despite his advanced age. What was she suppose to suspect though? Feemor was a master at changing between lightsaber styles in battle, mid swing if needed, something his old master had drilled into him after learning it from the late Darth Tyranus before his fall to the darkside. But she tried not to let the past affect her that much, Feemor had always said we must learn from the past but not dwell within it or become slaves of our failures. Yeah well that was easy for him to say of course.

Feemor moved first his feet changing direction on a dime as he moved forward easily almost like he was dancing; Form II Makashi. Charuri dropped into the Soresu opening stance, leading leg positioned backwards as the anchor and the nondominant ready to spring, off hand reaching out in challenge. Her eyes watched taking in movement as Feemor came in. He flicked out with his right hand and the saber came down high aiming towards the head. Charuri having been drilled time after time again moved without hesitation, her entire body pivoted agile and flowing like the mynock as her hand came up with a horizontal guard placed high. Blades met and the sound of plasma on plasma vibrated through the air. Feemor pulled back only to repeat the attack again and again aiming for different zones as he pecked at her defense. He was toying with her.

Then it all changed. She noticed the movement in the foot first, his foot turned and leg braced. Form IV: Ataru, she barely had time to react when he spring. His body was propelled through the air with a graceful flip and a blur of yellow him came crashing down from above like an avalanche. The first time she had been subjected to the move, the sheer force of it had thrown her to the ground but she knew better now and instead of bracing her feet launched herself upward smashing her guard into his blow dissipating the blows energy as the two met. Feemor did not pull back this time though and moved almost instantly into his next attack, the characteristic wide sweeps of Ataru. He fought with a great strength behind each blow and determination but never anger he seemed almost completely at peace with himself each blow flowing the ever changing current of the force. The relentless assault began to push Charuri back towards the wall of the chamber, sweat beginning to form and her arms yelling out against the weight being thrown against them.

Her own time came for a counter attack came as the two clashed sabers again, in this clash Charuri managed to be the victor pushing his blade to the side and opening him for her own push. She switched from the careful and moderated movements of Soresu into the more raw and simplistic swings of Shii-Cho. She focused not on the blades, but on the little details her breathing, and her heartbeat to keep herself centered, for these sparring matches were not just to keep their skills up but a way to teach her to keep tabs on the notorious Cathar temper, for a person that can keep their emotions in check in the heat of battle can keep them in check anywhere. Feemor was flowing through each block but even so he himself was being pushed back by Charuri advance. Even though his face did not display it stuck in a visage of concentration as sweat dripped down it he was impressed with his young padawan. She had grown much in the years they had spent together and come into her own in many ways even a year ago he couldn't imagine the idea of him giving ground to her but here they were.

This tug of war continued for several minutes, each launching larges bouts of tranquil fury and the other receiving it in tandem holding off. This constant drill swings then heavy blocking tore through the body as each and every muscle needed to work together to weld the unruly blade with even a little shed of efficiency Yet they fought on in an oddly peaceful like trance, bodies moving with the force the lightsaber becoming true extensions of one’s self. And yet it all came to a sudden end rather quickly. They both saw openings after the two had just back off of yet another great clash and they moved with the force of a crashing wave to exploit them. Charuri reached out swinging at her master’s side and Feemor swung high and a second later they both stopped. Green hovering near the human’s side, and yellow hanging near the Cathar’s head..... A draw.

They both pulled back in silence disengage their lightsabers and looking at one another both panting as they felt their heartbeats slowly progress back to a normal rate. Feemor was the first to crack as he slowly began to chuckle, a deep sound that seemed to fill the entire room. Charuri found herself laughing as well until they were both just consumed with the laughter shaking their heads.

“Hey, I almost won that time!” She called out towards Feemor was a cocky grin on her face, all in good jest.

“Almost, but it would seem this old man still has some tricks up his sleeve and besides I wasn't even trying........”

---

It is the 981^st year since the Ruusan Reformation, and all seems well. But the force is moving and changing like a storm, and darkness hangs on the horizon.

[Fat Boy Kyle]

In the lower floors of the Jedi Council Spires there sat various small rooms that were nestled away from the main corridors. These rooms were used for private meetings between members of the High Council and were often swept to ensure that anything said within them stayed within them. These rooms were not the most comfortable rooms in the Temple; no, they were small and dark with only the bare-minimum of furniture. Most did not have windows, and those that did had them blacked out to the point that they were practically defunct. Many were not even used and seemed to be lined with thin layers of dust that gave the rooms an odd dry smell. It was in one of these rooms that Agen Kolar, the Zebrak member of the High Jedi Council stood waiting for a Jedi Investigator to arrive. With his calloused hands he brushed back his long dark matted hair as he paced the room, knowing that he himself needed to get a move on.

A short distance away another Jedi, a human named Rylos, was eagerly making his way towards the meeting. Rylos found himself jogging along the magnificent halls that adorned the Temple, his broad footsteps echoing off of the tall decorated walls and ceilings. His dark brown robes fluttered behind him as he pushed forwards. Many that he passed shot him curious looks, making him feel slightly embarrassed. He needed to rush though, for he did not want to anger a member of the High Council. He did not know what the meeting was about, but it was clear that it was of great importance. As he broke off down one of the quieter halls and got closer to his objective, he began to pick up on Agen’s presence. He could feel the master’s sense of urgency and his patience thinning.

“Hello Master Agen. Sorry for the delay.” Rylos began as he entered the small room, shutting the door behind him. Beads of sweat had formed on the edge of Rylos’s brown hair and were slowly trickling down his smooth olive skin. Agen was visibly surprised when the apprentice appeared without his master, but before he could enquire into the reason Rylos began to explain. “I’m afraid Leneer was following up a lead and is still travelling back. She’s asked to attend via holo-call.” without saying another word Rylos pulled out a small projector from his pocket and placed it on the ground. The small device hummed for a moment before releasing a large flickering blue light. It took a moment for the image of Leneer to load, but when it did it was incredibly clear. The female Togruta stood with her hands behind her back with her chest slightly puffed out, a stance intended to show her discipline rather than her cleavage.

“Hello Bastilla, are you alone? This conversation needs to be confidential.” inquired Agen as he gave the hologram of his comrade a stiff nod.

“Yes Master Agen. With what urgent matter do you approach me and my padawan?” replied Leneer, uncharacteristically frank. She knew that Agen wasn’t one for small talk, and matters of this importance required clarity and focus.

“A lot has happened in the last few hours and I haven’t got time to explain everything. Right now myself and other members of the Council are preparing to arrest Supreme Chancellor Palpatine.”

Agen Kolar was about to continue when Rylos interrupted, surprised by the news. “You’re going to arrest Palpatine? Under what charges?”

Although it wasn’t visible, Rylos picked up on Agen’s feelings of annoyance at the interruption. Strangely he also picked up on hints of fear and anger. “We were preparing to confront him when we learned some distressing news. Anakin Skywalker claims that Palpatine is the Sith Lord that we’ve chasing: Darth Sidious. If this is true then our worst fears have indeed been realised.”

“Do you require our assistance?” asked Leneer, who appeared visibly unphased.

“No, myself, Master Windu, Master Tinn and Master Fisto will be performing the arrest. The four of us should be more than a match for any Sith.” boasted Agen. Rylos couldn’t help but frown as he felt feelings pride swell in the older Jedi, “We want you and your apprentice to detain Armand Isard. Even ignoring the case you’ve been building against him, any close ally of the Sith Lord poses a threat.”

“Agreed. If the Director of SBI is knowingly aiding the Sith then he poses a great danger to the Republic. He needs to be removed immediately.” Leneer raised her hand to her chin, rubbing it in thought.

“Then get it done.” ordered the Master as he moved over to the door. Agen’s hand reached for the handle but stopped midway, a fresh thought interrupting the action. He turned back to the two investigators with a concerned look. “We don’t know how far their influence may have spread. Until the situation is resolved, keep these revelations to yourselves. Besides, we still don’t know whether Anakin’s claims are true.” He didn’t wait for the two to respond before departing, rushing to re-join the other masters. With Agen gone, the two investigators stood for a minute in shocked silence and deep thought.

“Rylos, speak to our contacts in SBI and Republic Intelligence. Try to get Isard’s location and any other useful information. I’ll head straight back to the Temple now.” Leneer retained her state of calm and focus when she instructed her apprentice. Rylos on the other hand struggled to achieve the same feat, his mind becoming a miasma of dark thoughts and scenarios. The possible implementations filled him with so much concern and it almost seemed wrong to try and push such fear aside. Although he didn’t say it out loud, he wished that Leneer was close enough for him to share in her tranquility.

“Understood Master. I’ll make sure we’ve got eyes on him by the time you arrive.” Rylos replied, putting on a mask of calmness. He would not disappoint Leneer by showing his lack of control over his emotions; especially when he had come so far over the recent years.

[TheMadAsshatter]

Somewhere in the temple, a barely visible figure skulked about a dark room. He was completely alone, save for the droid that occupied the same room, though where it was exactly, the Padawan was still trying to extrapolate. The simulation that was programmed for this exercise was meant for more advanced trainees; one in which the training droid actively suppressed it's emissions in order to make it harder to detect by even a Jedi. The objective was simple; to find the droid before it found you. Simple a task as it was, it was reserved for more experienced Padawans due to both the nature of the exercise, and the actual difficulty involved in making one's presence harder to detect.

The droid passed between a pair of pillars in the middle of the room, patrolling the confines of the chamber slowly and diligently. Jenner made a leap between two support beams near the ceiling. He had been pursuing the droid on and off, being able to detect it's presence for only a moment before it faded again. After several minutes of trial and error, Jenner finally managed to find it without releasing his concentration on his force cloak, weak as it was. He looked down and spotted the droid; a small orb with several slots and pits about it's surface where sensors and training blasters were fitted. The droid still hadn't spotted him, however, giving Jenner a perfect opportunity to strike. Jenner leapt down onto the droid, holding his cloak until the last second before activating his vibrant green lightsaber and bringing the blade within an inch of the droid. "I win," he said, satisfied with his performance.

The lights came back up and the droid returned to it's starting position in the middle of the room, just as Jenner deactivated his weapon. He released a sigh and realized that he had quite exhausted his strength while trying to hold the cloak as long as he had. Still, he considered this a success, being the first time he had managed to maintain the technique long enough to complete the exercise. That's not to say he hadn't done it before, but those were times in which he didn't rely on his force cloak at all, and was able to focus purely on physical stealth. He figured it was best to work on each approach individually to the point of near perfection and combine them later.

Still, Jenner had tired himself concentrating as hard as he had on maintaining the force cloak, and now he felt the need for some peace. He brushed a lock of his longish brown hair away from his eyes and headed out of the training room, entering one of the Jedi Temple's many hallways. He walked down the cavernous hall in silence, making his way towards his room. As tempting as it felt to meditate in the contemplation gardens, there was something innately comforting about being in one's room, and he found that the tranquility he experienced there was equal to, if not greater than what he felt while visiting the gardens.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jenner wondered where his de-facto Master had gotten to. Being a Knight as opposed to a Master, Rayne was given several duties that went beyond what a Padawan could reasonably handle. He was currently on another such assignment, and left Jenner to continue to master his control of the force, as well as to meditate and take some rest. It had been some time in the last several months since he had a break, and given how close he was to attaining Knighthood, Rayne felt that Jenner deserved a rest. Jenner was thankful for that, to say the least.

As he walked past one of the other training rooms, he heard the sounds of a duel, most likely between another Padawan and their Master. He felt a familiar feeling coming from the room, and as the sounds of lightsabers cutting the air and clashing against one another reached a sudden stop, there was a pause, followed by laughter. He recognized one of the voices as the Cathar he had seen a few times before, Charuri. He cracked a small smile and continued down the hall.

---

Jenner felt the force around him. He felt it as he guided it to gently levitate himself above the floor. He felt it's presence swirling about him in various ways. He felt it pervade his being and everything around him. It affected himself and everything around him as he and his surroundings did in turn. He found it calming to immerse himself in it's flow, and to occasionally try to reach out and see what it would tell him. He tried to do so this time... but he found it difficult to follow through. He wanted to, but something was stopping him from doing it. Nothing that directly affected his ability to do so, but something nonetheless.

Jenner decided to open his eyes and lower his feet to the ground, standing himself up as he released his immediate influence on the force. There was something that had started bothering him not long ago, but he couldn't quite tell what. There was an uncertainty that hung in the air, and whether it had to do with what would soon be his graduation to Knighthood or something else entirely that he could not hope to foresee, was a mystery to him. He decided that letting such feelings fester was a bad idea, and sought out guidance from one of the Masters.

[Jb]

The cool feel of smooth metal beneath his touch gave way to the rougher, more regularly spaced out, grip of the lightsaber hilt, as he moved his three-fingered appendage to rest comfortably on the instrument of his devotion once more; sitting his backside once more on to his heels - rocking into the position with constantly practiced ease - the Kel Dor Jedi, stripped down to the waist inside the confines of his personal chambers, yet his crimson skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat, focused again on the varying pops and gaseous hisses of the audio recording that was playing over and over again. To any outsider it would seem to be just that, random noises of the most queer type, but to T'ish it was what his people considered to be a relaxing form of music. Indeed, anyone familiar with the naming conventions of Kel Dor would realise that even his own name, T'ish Keth, was no more than a sound caused by the atmospheric phenomena of his hazily remembered home world. Why should their music be much different?

For several hours now he had been there, surrounded on all sides by the walls of his chamber and enveloped in complete darkness, the semi-soft surface of a floor mattress placed beneath his knees allowing some of the strain from such a position to be mildly alleviated. Not only had he blotted all light from his room, a chamber no wider than four men abreast, no longer than two on one another's shoulders, but he had also removed his protective goggles from his black eyes and effectively blinded himself for the duration of his training. Such exercises as he now practiced, alone and with only the Force for company, were commonly done using blindfolds, but when one could make oneself temporarily blind, then what need was there for superfluous and rudimentary aids.

Another deep breath rumbled within him, filtering in through his breather mask and winding its way down into his naval area, swirling there like some moving ball of energy waiting to be released, in his minds eye a visual representation of this feeling helping to further the experience. Focus such as this was key, the Force being all around, yet so rarely harnessed by others for anything other than what T'ish considered to be acrobatic tricks and frivolous wastes of movement, energy and concentration. He had come to such conclusions during his study of Form Four, his least favoured of the saber forms by far, and rarely incorporated the sweeping and leaping movements and manoeuvres of Ataru into his training sessions.

As he let the breath back out he was already in motion, muscles within his legs coiling and then unwinding like a spring, the lightsaber hilt almost leaping into his hand and igniting into the concentrated beam of blue energy as he performed a flawless horizontal slash - designed to strike directly across the abdomen or torso of the opponent in one fluid slash - shifting the weapon into an overhead grip and bringing it down vertically. During this latter movement he took to one knee, imagining the lightsaber cutting from head to groin, stopping the humming blade a mere inch from the floor of the chamber and feeling the last vapours of the channelled energy leaving his half-tensed body; by the time he even thought of this, his saber was already deactivated and returned to his side, such was the way of the drawing cut.

Something was wrong though, something, for his last blow had been a fraction off to the left of where he knew his foe would be...he was never a fraction off, to the left or to the right. Something inside now concerned the Kel Dor, his shoulders rising and falling to the rhythm of his breathing, his concentration now momentarily lost, but the reason as to exactly why he felt uneasy alluding him.

He had to find Jasma, the precise reason why being unknown even to him, but all he knew was that he must find his Padawan and he must remain with her.

Darkness, all was darkness.

[Cyrania]

Within the Jedi Archives, a young human male, tip-toeing along, crept up behind a Twi'lek reading something on her datapad, most likely accessed using the library's interface.. He was about to tap her shoulder when she turned around, full smile, and batted his hand back with her own. "Did you really think you could sneak up on me like that, Xai?" The Twi'lek asked. "I can feel you from a mile away."

Xai'qui then went full grin, "Did you think I would stop trying, Jas? Especially when you're reading about,"the lad checked what page was open. "Thought so, reading about that Barsen'thor again. The Hero of Tython is still the better hero, stopping the planet-busters, taking on the Emperor himself. Come on, how can you prefer the diplomat who never had a harder challenge than merely some minor Sith lords?"

Jasma sighed,sometimes wondering why she bothered, "The Third Barsen'thor cured Jedi Masters from Dark Side possession, freed an entire planet from invasion almost single-handedly, faced a few Darths herself, even confronted a First Son of the Emperor and actually rid the galaxy of its threat instead of having the Emperor survive somehow. Does your master just give you time to debate with me or are you shirking your duties again?"

The black-haired lad made his best offended look," Me? Shirk my duties for the Jedi order? How could you accuse me of such a crime?" Then his face relaxed, "Shirking from meditation and dish-washing do not count. And the only reason I have time right now is because me and Sir Driscoli were given R&R time before our next assignment. Of course, he's knocking on the sky right now, trying to peer into the future. So I figured if you were around, you might be here, reading about ancient Jedi arts or your table-sitting friend."

"Oh Xai," Jasma then made an exaggerated sigh and the two started chuckling together, like in their initiate days. "Well, I guess you can say that me and Sir T'ish are also R&R-ing before our next assignment," said the Twi'lek as she started calming down. "T'ish is up in his room, doing his lightsaber meditations to the sounds of rain and bubbles. There was nothing going on in the healing room, so I thought I'd read for a bit. I wasn't sure if you would be here."

"It has been a while hasn't it Jas?" Xai said thinking back to their last time together.

"A very long while Xai," replied Jas, thinking of that same time. "Though hopefully the war should end soon and then travels won't be required that often. Then we can meet up on a regular basis and..." She stopped and felt around, an unease fell over her, a sense of dread... and fear.

"Jas, anything wrong Jas?" The human said, trying to break through whatever had come over her. Then he felt it too, faintly but vividly.

The Twi'lek then started fiddling with her datapad, "Xai, help me back up the archives. This won't be able to hold all of them. Just help me find some, any digital storage units."

"Right," Xai replied. Then the two scrambled about, searching for what to backup the database onto.

[Naril]

A pair of figures moved in velvet darkness, perfect quiet broken only the sounds of breath, the placement of feet, the slap of skin on cloth. Both moved with liquid, flawless grace, every motion balanced precisely where and how they wanted. The taller figure, lean and long-limbed, snaked an arm through the dark, her long, strong fingers closing into a grip on the smaller figure's shoulder. She shifted her feet, a brace against the ground solid as rock-old trees, felt the muscles in her legs and stomach flex to drive her partner off-balance and to the mat-covered floor. As she did, she felt her partner move, an almost-boneless twist, their entire body snapping away like a minnow between grasping fingers. Suddenly her hands were holding nothing but air, her balance gone, her other arm flying to the side to steady herself but too late, too late. Small, strong hands wrapped around her wrist, her shoulder, bent her forward, drove her to take a step that caught on something unyielding and immovable and then her entire body lifted free of the ground for a terrible, breathless second.

When she landed, Seris made an explosive sound as the air drove out of her in a sudden, painful rush, her head ringing as her skull cracked against the thin mat. She lost track of her surroundings for a moment while she pulled in a coughing, gasping breath, one arm raised toward where she thought her partner was, her hand in a gesture of submission. Slowly, the world returned to her, flows of energy and will marking rooms, doors, walls, carved signs and painted directions. Seris pulled in another breath, less shaky now but not completely without pain and turned her head, her attention falling on the architect of her most recent misfortune. The girl, no more than fifteen, blazed in the Force, her presence filling the space near her with coruscating fire. Seris saw her smile, small flares of emotion flickering around and within her, satisfaction but still tinged with worry. The girl took a step forward, offered a hand. Seris groaned, closed her eyes for a moment, then swallowed down her pride and slapped her own hand into the girl's strong grip, pulled herself to her feet.

"You're getting better," came another voice from the far end of the room, "Both of you."

Seris made a noise somewhere between a grunt of pain and a murmur of acknowledgement, one hand brushing the front of her shirt, the other pressed against the small of her back.

"I think that will do for now," the voice said, "Bring the lights up, please."

Seris felt the room's lamps come on, a gentle change in the ambient flow of energy around her - though nothing that altered the sharpness of her perceptions. When pressed, she had once described the sensation of light and dark like the feeling of walking from a cool room into a warm one, though, of course, not precisely. She turned to watch the girl as she reached up, pulled away her blindfold, large eyes blinking in the sudden brightness. Behind her, with a presence comforting and reassuring as a sun-warmed boulder in a favourite stream, an older Zabrak man stood, gently pleased.

"Are you all right?" The girl said, turning to look at Seris, still massaging her lower back.

"I will be," Seris said, "My pride, on the other hand, has seen better days."

"You went best-of-three with our little Tarin here," the Zabrak man said, walking forward to clap the girl on her shoulders, "I'd say you should be quite pleased with yourself. Your form was nearly perfect, you just made an error of timing and judgement. Besides, she'll be wearing that bruise you gave her for a week, if I'm not mistaken."

The girl, Tarin, rubbed her jaw with a thumb and winced, "I keep forgetting how fast you are. People outside the Order almost never move so quickly."

Seris grinned, "Well, that's something at least," she said, and let her hands fall to her side with a groan, "Day after tomorrow, the same time?"

Tarin nodded and bent in a small bow, her robes rustling while she made her way out of the small sparring chamber. Her Master, still smiling, made a slightly deeper bow and followed, his own steps making small creaking sounds on the mat. Seris turned to watch them go, saw the way they left wakes and eddies in the Force that took quite some time to completely disappear. Alone now, she let out another gusty sigh, stretched her arms over her head, winced again at a lance of discomfort through her back, and made her own way back out into the Temple proper.

As she walked, she relaxed the way she always did, the Temple's energies, students, masters, philosophers and thinkers lending serenity and harmony to the Force all about her. Her arms swung easily at her side, and she returned the nods and greetings of people she passed - almost all either Jedi or those training to become Knights of the Republic. Everywhere she looked, Seris saw brilliance and strength, fierceness and nobility. Even after a decade of working and, occasionally, living in the Temple, Seris had yet to get used to the feeling, and she felt glad of that. The Jedi Temple on Coruscant was, she felt, something that should be humbling and awesome, something that should give visitors pause. Not out of malice or menace, but out of simple recognition of the thousand generations of the Jedi Order, and their service to the Republic.

But as Seris made her way to the Archives, something else touched the world, like a symphony with one instrument out of tune. A sensation that made her twitch and grated on her awareness, something she couldn't ignore. She quickened her pace, breaking into at first a jog, then a full run, her long legs eating up distance with surprising speed, every stride taking her closer and closer to the Archives. All the while, that sensation built in her mind, resolving from formless dread to needle-hot, inescapable worry.

Her boots skidded around the corner as she pounded into the Archives, racing between Knights and Archivists, making her way back to the office she'd borrowed. Her maps were there, the control keys to her ship, everything important and portable, neatly packed into a leather bag that she suddenly was certain she would need. As she ran, cool Archives air flowing over her face, Seris heard a pair familiar voices, each murmuring in the kind of alarmed intensity she felt pounding through her own heart.

Seris stopped, using a tall shelf to arrest her forward motion and peered in at a familiar pair - a blue-skinned Twi'lek girl and her dark-haired companion. She listened for a moment, her skin glistening with sweat, her breath coming in long, even pulls.

"You two, you can't back up the Archives - there's too much here," she said, then shook her head, clearing thoughts away, "Besides, the Vaults are as secure as anywhere on this planet. You two need to let the Archivists worry about what's going on in here and go find your Masters - something bad is coming, or...or might already be here. You can't afford to waste time like this, now go!" Seris flung one arm to the side, pointing at the Archives entrances. All around, other voices murmured, a ripple of foreboding flickering through the air.

Seris pulled herself around, pushed off with one leg, resumed her run toward her office, her boots thumping against ancient stone and plasteel. She felt the concern in the air now, passing from person to person like lightning following a path to earth. An eternity later, she came around another corner, bouncing hard off the wall, and spun into her office, the door barely sliding open fast enough to let her through. Seris moved quickly, not quite panicked, gathering papers, a datapad, a pen, other odds and ends, sliding each into her bag, thick leather making soft sounds in the Archive's quiet. After several long moments, Seris tossed her jacket on, then pulled the bag over her head, cinching the strap tight across her body.

For the first time in her life, she wished she had a weapon.

She looked around the small room for a moment, thoughts chasing one another through her head - there would be other initiates and learners in the Archives, sent here by Masters who needed a moment of peace, or who thought the study would do their charges good. Still, they couldnt' be oblivious to the miasma creeping through the Temple, the foreboding touching almost every mind. Seris stood for a moment, briefly unsure - what if she were having some kind of nervous breakdown? Still...better safe than sorry. She leaned over the desk, tapped the comm console on, entered a holonet address.

"Keran?" Seris said into the screen, her voice shaky, "Keran, it's me. I don't know when you're going to get this, but something's happening on Coruscant. I don't know what, but I'm at the Temple and...something feels wrong, like something terrible is coming. I...I hope you're not on your way here, but if you are, stop somewhere. Don't come here. I know this sounds really vague but I don't know what else to say and...I think something's going to go wrong. We can't both be here if that happens. Please. I'll let you know if I find anything more out, or...well. I love you, Keran. I hope I'll see you soon."

She slapped the communicator panel off, snugged her bag tighter against her body, and took a deep, slow breath, tried to let calm fill her mind. If something was coming, being alone would be dangerous. She turned, and broke into a run, heading toward another of the Archives' exits, this one closer to the Council Chambers.

[Sep]

Worror - Jedi Temple, Coruscant

Worror looked at a passing initiates, being ushered by a teacher. One of the initiates cried out "Master! Somethings coming." He watched as the female Twi'lek turned around with a re-assuring smile upon her face. "Rest easy younglings. The ripples you feel are no more than an aftershock of the battle here." She nodded at Worror as he passed. "All will be as it once was soon, the war is almost over and our lives can return to normal." He could feel the initiates uncontrolled surge of happiness in the Force. It infected him and made him too smile, or at least tilt his head in his species equivalent of a smile. Yes, all would soon be as it once was. The Jedi would return to traveling the galaxy helping people, not fighting a war. They would travel from world to world meeting the many species of he galaxy and make a difference where it mattered, not just where it was strategically important. The sense of optimism pushed away the cloud that had been following him for the whole day.

Dooku was dead, and he heard that Grevious had been killed earlier that day. It would not be long until balance was restored and Darth Sidious was found and brought to justice for the crime of dividing the galaxy and getting thousands of beings killed. While he regretted that Darth Sidious would likely be killed in the fight between him (or her) and the Jedi Order he felt that for once the killing could be justified. Dooku had been twisted and lied to against the Republic, Grevious had been a being turned part droid and then against the Jedi Order. Every death byt he hands of the two Separatist leaders and everyone else who had died in the bloody war originated from Darth Sidious the mastermind behind it all. He shuddered too think of what such a being would look like.

Though as he came across another group of students heading back to their dormitories after a long day of study he let these thoughts go, and pushed them aside. Returning to his calm and peaceful demeanor. Some of them were still on edge, the Battle of Coruscant had been a shock to them all. Obviously secret the secret of the Nexus Route had somehow leaked (or been stolen) by the Separatists who felt they could turn the war around by attacking Coruscant itself. If not for the heroic Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker that day may have been lost and the past couple of weeks would have been entirely different.

Though they had stood tall, a testament to what it was to be Jedi. He had met them several times, Kenobi and Skywalker. He had always seen him as two sides of the same Credit chit. Kenobi was the wisdom and the experience and Skywalker was the power. If they had been the same being that would have been an amazing Jedi indeed. He only hoped that Kenobi could impart some of his wisdom onto young Skywalker so that such power would not go to waste once this war was finally over. He entered the archives with the same level of calm that he always felt within the archives. Several of the bigger institutes within the galaxy liked to boast that they had the largest collection of history in the galaxy.

They were mistaken. The Jedi Order was thousands of years old, exploring systems some people had only dreamed off and all this information was kept here. On millions of databanks, with just as many terminals and as far as he heard even some old books somewhere within the archives. Likely kept safe by Madame Jocasta. She was very protective of the archive after all. He saw Seris moving quite swiftly through the archives, likely she was feeling the same tremor everyone else was feeling in the Force. He grew concerned at that, especially after he heard her shout at two padawans to find their masters.

He sometimes wished that the age rules on the order were not so set in stone, he felt she would have been an ample candidate what with her skill and mindset. Though right now her lack of training was likely getting to her. Plotting her next move, if she was indeed predicting something bad was coming, he made his way to the exit with the shortest distance between Seris' office and the council chambers. He again smiled, this time the gesture was useless of course Seris didn't see the world in the same way as most beings. Perhaps that was one of the reasons she had such an interesting outlook? Not a Jedi but connected to the Force in the same way a Jedi was?

He spoke, the translator sitting atop his neck echoing his voice (Slightly louder than his real voice) in Galactic Basic. "Seris, my friend. I thought you had something new for me to see." He tilted his head to the left in a questioning gesture. Again useless, but habit. "Unless this is another Joke to get me away from the gardens. I did promise you despite the time I spend there I am not becoming a tree."

Captain Traest Kre'la - Edep Ruk, Gowri Orbit

He was bearing his teeth. He didn't even realize he was doing until until the channel from the surface opened and the face of the Quarren commander obviously recoiled, he tried to turn it into a smile as best he could. Though technically he should be professional in the face of a commanding officer at all times. Despite his commanding officer being a joke. Though he wasn't much better, oh he had experience. He had training however he should never have been the one commanding the defense of such an important world. Were they loosing the war so badly that they required a mere captain to defend a major shipbuilding world?

"How does it look up there Captain?" He wasn't a speciest, far from it. Though he had to admit, without a single thread of a doubt he hated the sound of a Quarren speaking. Though perhaps it was merely this Quarren? He ceased his smile as he replied to her. "We have two Venators and support ships bearing down on us. A surprisingly small fleet for a world as important as this. I predict they are merely probing our defenses for a larger scale assault or trying to goad is into an ambush. I would recommend at this time that any ships capable of combat be prepared but not launched." He knew for a fact at least three of the Munificent frigates parked on the planet were ready for combat, having checked the records himself. The general merely nodded, she was greener than he was. He didn't know how she had gained this command... though he didn't want to put too much faith in her should this turn into a ground and space skirmish.

"Captain." The metallic voice came from behind him. Roger. He nodded again at the general, casting his eyes at the readouts from the sensors. Something had to be happening otherwise Roger would never have bothered him. "I am afraid General the enemy are launching strike craft. I will call you if there are any developments." Without so much as a word he signaled to a droid who cut the line as he turned to face his T-Series tactical droid. They hadn't even graced him with a Super-Tactical. "Time to get to work Roger, prepare all fighters. When they break away from their command ships send in squadrons from three ships and keep our own in reserve."

All he got from that was. "Once again a name is an ineffective form of identification." He just sighed and lowered his head in resignation. This war had went on for far too long, he missed being close to real flesh and blood people.

[TheMadAsshatter]

As Jenner made his way back through the vast temple, he began to notice that what had started as a small discrepancy in what was an otherwise normal-feeling day was quickly becoming undeniably tumultuous. He subconsciously picked up his pace from a calm saunter to a deliberate stride as the feeling grew progressively worse and more worrisome. There was no doubt that many of the other Jedi must have picked up on it by now. Something big was going to happen soon.

Even though he could feel it's weight on his belt, Jenner brought a hand to his lightsaber to ensure he still had it. Though he hadn't participated in it, the battle of Coruscant was still fresh in his mind. The fact that such a large battle had happened in orbit around what was essentially the capital of the Republic was nothing if not unnerving. He wondered if a second such event was about to take place, or already was. He wondered if it perhaps had something to do with the mission to capture Darth Sidious. From what he knew, the Council had that matter well in hand, but he couldn't help but worry about it. Come to think of it, he couldn't help but be worried in general.

He slowed down at some juncture in the temple, realizing he had lost track of where he was. He paused and looked around, realizing he was near the archives. This much thinking about the worst couldn't be healthy, and was probably only helping to circulate the wave of uncertainty that was permeating the temple. He sauntered over to a wall and leaned against it, taking a few deep breaths. There is no emotion, there is peace. Although it was one of the ideals that Jenner found problematic about the Jedi, he was beginning to understand why it existed. He decided that it may be best to stop and try to clear his mind.

He began to head back towards his room, but as he passed the training rooms he felt inexplicably drawn towards one of them. The one he had been in just a couple of hours before. Moreover, it was the one he had almost always used, though now that he thought about it, he did not know why. Regardless, he decided to enter it. He wasn't sure what he would find, if anything, but he knew it was the place he wanted to be for the time being. The door opened, revealing the plain unassuming room, despite the many modular panels in the floor and walls that could be extended or retracted to simulate several different environments or scenarios. He gazed around the room briefly, trying to tell if anything was amiss. The room was very rectangular, with the exception of several support pillars running up the lengths of the walls with struts spanning between them near the ceiling. Nothing seemed wrong.

Satisfied that the room wasn't booby-trapped, Jenner walked towards the center of the room. "Dim the lights," he said, prompting the room to automatically bring the lights to a very dim setting. He stopped at the center of the room, setting his lightsaber on the floor just in front of him and sitting himself down. He crossed his legs and cupped his palms over his knees before closing his eyes. He began to clear his mind of any obtrusive thoughts, instead choosing to focus on other things.

His thoughts drifted to his early life, when he still lived on Manaan. He didn't recall much, nor did he know much at the time, aside from the endless ocean all around the one solitary settlement on the surface. As he would later come to learn, Ahto City was nearly completely destroyed by Sith bombardments that occurred over a thousand years ago. The Selkath never fully recovered from the attack, since kolto was more or less pushed into obsolescence by bacta. Most of the Selkath had left Ahto City by that point. The few that stayed were mainly those who wanted to try to keep their weakened government running, and keep Ahto City opened as a trading post. Still, it had practically faded to the point of obscurity long before Jenner was ever born, and few people really came to Manaan after the end of the Old Republic era.

Jenner idly wondered how different things would have been had he lived when Manaan was a fairly major export hub. He had seen images of what Ahto City used to be like. A massive platform on the surface of an otherwise endless ocean; so large it was visible from orbit. It was no less large nowadays, though it was in far worse condition, and only a few of what used to be over a hundred ports were serviceable, let alone in use. The Selkath were never able to do anything more than maintain the intact portions of the city and cordon off the rest, what with kolto being as unprofitable as it was. They barely had enough revenue to even do that. Still, Ahto City kept running, if barely.

The brief history lesson had helped to distract Jenner, and now he decided to simply try to picture the ocean. Of all the things he had seen, he still thought the ocean planet was the prettiest. Possibly it was a bit of homesickness on his part, even though he had barely lived there for long after his very first memories. He hardly even remembered his parents, and he never took it upon himself to see about making a brief trip back. Maybe he would have to change that.

After some time and a few more idle thoughts, Jenner brought himself back to reality. Though he had only been within the room for a few minutes, he felt that the time he had spent helped calm him down some, if nothing else. The sense of foreboding still hung around him somewhat, but at least he had brought himself back to his senses. Now he decided to go back to his room and try to finally get some rest, though if he happened to pass one of the Jedi Masters, he would be sure to bring up the disturbance.

[Naril]

The Archives had not been designed for running. Tables, chairs, staff, visitors, and cases of priceless artifacts stood irregularly across acres of ancient stone and metal floor, with few long, straight pathways. Seris’ steps thumped, slid and clicked as she darted past a group of Knights, pirouetted to avoid hitting an ancient display of religious totems, ducked under the outstretched arms of an Archivist pointing further into the huge building. The movements and purpose cleared her mind, let her focus more on the now rather than her sense of ever-growing dread. She vaulted over a long, narrow table without her feet touching the data pads still scattered on top, landed again, and as her feet hit the ground she felt her own thoughts start to slide more smoothly.

Ahead and behind, the Archives blazed with the bright fires of Jedi, each person pulling the Force into whirling, candescent patterns around themselves. Serenity, power, and righteousness radiated from them like heat from a thousand fires, lending the very air a sense of comfort, warmth, safety. Still, Seris could not deny the rising dread she felt in her heart, that she felt creeping over every part of the Archives like a layer of clinging fog. She saw how members of the Order reacted, felt the way their minds sharpened, their wills readied, power kept coiled inside them. She hadn’t been going mad, then. Still, her feelings were…formless, frustrating and vague, without direction. A foreboding, but nothing more concrete. She had heard stories of Jedi who could see into the future and pluck images from an endlessly churning chaos, but if those stories were true, Seris certainly didn’t know the trick.

She left one large study-room and turned down a corridor, her strides evening out, lengthening with a comparative lack of obstacles. She raced past a surprised Archivist, but elicited much less of a reaction from a Knight further down, her hand already on her weapon. Seris brushed past, turned another corner, and brought herself to a stop. She turned to her left, a familiar presence pulling the Force around themselves nearby, the feeling like old, strong trees. She would have smiled to herself, perhaps she should have - but something inside her couldn’t quite make her. Few Masters at the Temple seems to know what to make of Seris, and this one seemed to be no exception - but the Ithorian’s clear head and good nature certainly would hurt nothing, given the tension rippling through the Temple. Seris pushed off the wall, turned down another set of corridors, her pace slowing from a run to a job, finally to a walk.

“Master Worror,” Seris said in reply to his greeting, a little winded from her run, “I’m glad to see you.” She swallowed, her blind gaze apparently off to one side, her expression concerned, “The samples I wanted to show you are on my ship but…I think there’s something more important right now. I feel…I feel like there’s something coming. Something…creeping, sickly, coming up all around, like…like fog from cold ground. I don’t know what to make of it.” Seris shook her head.

“I think there are others feeling the same thing,” Seris continued, her voice steady but concerned, “I…I feel the…dread, I suppose, sinking into them. I certainly feel it happening to me.” She swallowed again, cleared her throat, “I’m…sure you’ve felt what I’m talking about, this…tension. Can you tell me what this is? What’s going on?”

[The Survivor]

Wynn awoke with a start. He felt uneasy. He looked around the dark room warily. He felt the ship rumble around and sensed all the souls on board. He shook his head turned on the lights to his room. He got up from his cot and went into the bathroom, turning the faucet. He cupped his hands and splashed the water onto his face, blinking momentarily. A seasoned face looked back at Wynn, some would say too seasoned for a young Catuman, but his kin would say he was a perfectly healthy Catuman man. Many Catuman have had as many or even more trials of battle and hardship as he had. Some didn't live this long. Like his father, for example. He was told his father was 25 years old when the pirates that sold his tribe into slavery killed him. Such is the life of the average Catuman, he supposed. He picked up the traditional Catuman warrior ear ring from the bathroom counter top. It was a gift from his tribe, so he would never forget his heritage. Wynn clasped it through the hole in his right ear. He dressed in his Jedi Robes and picked up his lightsaber. He inspected it for a second before activating it and watching the blue energy rod extend from the hilt. He had taken many lives with this weapon, perhaps too many. They were the lives of slavers, pirates, and scumbags, but lives nonetheless. He activated the lightsaber once more and watched it retreat from sight. He clipped the weapon onto his belt. The young Catuman glanced at the clock, and realized it was still a few hours before sunlight on Coruscant and indeed on the Beauty many of the crew were still fast asleep. Wynn sat himself down in the middle of the room, dimmed the lights, and closed his eyes. He searched the force for the source of his uneasiness, but whenever he got close to what could be the source it was blocked by what felt like clouds. He attempted to reach out to his environment only to be met with cold and emptiness. Ships could not be a conduit of the force.

Frustrated, Wynn rose to his feet and looked at the clock. He had been sitting there for an hour and half, meditating. He exited his room and was greeted by a large window with an astonishing view of Coruscant.



Wynn stood there taking in it's majesty, billions of people lived there and he could feel them all, and he didn't even have to concentrate. He must have stood there for quite sometime because a young officer of the republic informed him that his shuttle was ready. He nodded silently and followed the lad to the shuttle. The shuttle was somewhat tight, with two planetary defense force troopers on either corner of the shuttle. Wynn lowered his head as he entered and he sat himself down, nodding solemnly to the troopers. Shortly thereafter, the shuttle was on it's way to the Jedi Temple. The ride was several hours and fairly dull. Wynn closed his eyes and reached out with the force, exploring whatever it had to offer, but his meditation was soon interrupted by the hushed whispers of the troopers, who seemed to be a little green. He opened his eyes and glanced in their direction, which shut them up immediately. The shuttle touched down with a jerk and Wynn rose to his feet, nodding once more to the troopers as he exited the shuttle. He stepped outside and inhaled deeply, allowing a smile to grace his lips. He was home, the only ever true home he had ever known. But as he made his way towards the temple, he still couldn't shake this uneasy feeling. The other Jedi here had to have felt it as well. Things were not as they seemed, and this frustrated Wynn, who was notoriously against tactics such as deception and espionage. He reached the entrance to the temple without incident and made his way in.

[Cyrania]

"Ugh, Seris is right," Jasma said, putting down the datapad. "Unless one of us was a technopathic like Skywalker or something like, we could never get into the system."

"What should we do then, Jas?" Xai'qui asked, chucking aside his own datapad. "No one else seems to be doing anything. And Seris seems like the only one that's concerned."

The Twi'lek then looked around for herself. Indeed, everyone else was acting like it was a normal, peaceful day at the Temple. The blue girl considered the options a bit before deciding, "We may as well follow Seris's advice. You go to your master, maybe he'll have a clearer idea of what's going to happen from his meditation. I'll first talk to one of the Archivists and see if they're backing up the files at all or would like assistance, then go find T'ish."

"But, Jas," the human started.

"I'll be alright, Xai," Jasma replied. "If the trouble were more immediate than it would be overpowering. Besides, I'm not helpless. There's plenty to telekinesis with and I can use a lightsaber."

Xai grinned at the last part, "Then how come I win every duel?" Then he became serious again,"Just, be careful, alright?"

"Alright. You too, please." Jasma replied. Then with a grin, the boy rushed out for his master and the girl sighed. "You better be careful."
Then Jasma set out, looking for an Archivist and wondering why everyone was so unperturbed by the force's disturbance.

Her answer would come when the Archivist she found said, "No, your assistance is not needed, thank you. And there are no backups in progress. You shouldn't get so overexcited. This disturbance is merely the aftershock from the battle here, you should prepare for when the joyous news of the war's end arrives, not fretting over a mere shadow, padawan."

"This is no mere shadow,"came the Twi'lek's sharp reply. "I know what a battle's aftereffects feel like. This is not at all the same. The Force is warning of something in the near future. This Archive contains about all of the universe's knowledge, including what's not anywhere else. If this something happens and we're not ready, all of it..."

"Nothing's going to happen, padawan." The Archivist sharply stated, spating at the padawan for emphasis. "You ought to listen to your betters, those who have more experience in the force then you have. Now if you will excuse me, "she said while getting up. "I must not waste anymore time talking with pretentious upstarts." Then the Archivist left to help one of the knights find a holocron or something.

"Pretentious upstart," Jasma thought. "I try to help save the archives, knowing I would be no good in the frontlines of whatever this happening is. And she calls me pretentious? Calm down Jasma. There is no emotion, there is peace." Then she took some deep breathes in and out, feeling herself relaxing and relieving the annoyance. Afterwards, the Twi'lek set out to find her master, knowing he at least wouldn't snub her off without cause.

[Sep]

Wipe them out, all of them.

---

Worror

"This war young one, is what you feel." He put his hand on her shoulder. "Though soon it will be at it's end and once more the Jedi will be peace keepers of the Galaxy and not generals fighting a war." He turned to walk them away, when he felt it. Like a Force was a great web and several strands had been cut, shaking the entire web. He halted for a second, he wasn't the only one who faltered. Several others did as well. No Force user in the temple would be able to dispute what had just happened, some of the most powerful Masters in the Jedi Order had died. On Coruscant

On Coruscant. He eyed Seris, then turned her around back to the archives. He had something he needed to check. "Perhaps we should listen to those who are younger more often." It was all the consolation he could muster right now. What was going on. The temple was on lockdown, a sense of dread was in the air and now... He didn't doubt the feelings the Padawans and younglings had voiced earlier. Something was coming, and it wasn't going to be good. As they were making their way to the archives, which wasn't a long distance anyway, he stood beside a window. Looking out of it he could see movement, LAATs swarmed the temple and a dark presence far stronger than that of Count Dooku was approaching the temple. Though it wasn't entirely unfamiliar, though it was twisted. Torn, angry, pained and confused. Whoever that person had been, he wasn't that person anymore.

He felt it again, this time his mind alert and hardened against it the pain of someone being lost. The Gatekeeper. He looked at Seris, she was no Jedi. Should not be here, but was in as much danger as the rest of them. He resolved himself that if anyone should survive whatever this was, it should be her. Though the Clones in the LAATs would soon land, helping the Jedi against this threat as they had all over the galaxy. Likely the Separatists had just used debris from th eships lost in the space battle overhead to deposit droids onto Coruscant. It was a tactic that had been done before however was rare enough that they would likely be able to do it again without anyone recognising the tactic. Yes, that made sense. How else could a Sith, enemy to the Jedi and the Republic manage to get an army on the surface of Coruscant? Such a task would be all but impossible. Hence why it took so long for the Forces to march on the temple, they had to gather first without drawing detection.

We took Grevious, so they are trying to remove as many Jedi from the war as possible. He hated that it made some tactical sense, that part of him despite being a diplomat understood the reasoning behind the attack. There should never be reason for killing, he himself knew how it tore at the soul and it would be a burden he would always carry. Something he could not forgive and surely not forget. He knew of some worlds where they had rituals where the sibling of someone who had died would let the victim live through their eyes, and he only hoped that one day through the Force he could revisit the individual who he killed and somehow make it up too him.

In his reverie though, an explosion hit the temple and he could already hear the sound of blasters. Removing his lightsaber from his belt he didn't ignite it yet, Knights were moving their charges away from the outer edges of the temple and deeper as the lights flickered. Dust on top of shelves was knocked loose as another explosion rocked the temple, small pieces of rubble falling down from the ancient architecture. He used the Force to pull a training saber off an initiate as they ran past following the Knight responsible for their group handing it to Seris. "Just incase, I know you have little training. Though let us have hope you will not need to use it." He stood his ground as the blaster fire got closer and closer, and strangely probing with the Force he could find little other than the Clones and the Jedi. While Droids weren't in the Force the same way a living being was they were still there. Though his ability to sense was not as strong as some others.

That's when a Jedi youngling ran through the door lightsaber in hand. "It's the clones-!" She was cut off as a blue blaster bolt hit her in the centre of her chest and she fell down onto the ground. Worror shook his head in horror. A youngling, gunned down in the temple. Such a thing... it was beyond words. What happened next shook him too his very core. It was unbelivable, yet he should have expected it. The entire war, finally made sence. The convienance, the constant backward and forth.

He finally understood.

---

We have been betrayed.

---

Jedi Initiate - Roland Quee

He couldn't believe it! He was going to get to go out into the city of Coruscant. Well, the whole planet was a massive city but he hadn't had time to explore it yet. He still missed Mamma but he knew that she was proud of him, she had said so herself! She had cried and when he asked her why she said they were happy tears. For her big boy was going to become a Jedi Knight. One day he would become a full Jedi and have a lightsaber and he would be able to go to lots of places across the galaxy and see everything.

He was going to be the strongest Jedi ever. Though Cass liked to tease him and said she would be stronger. He knew better. He already knew the code and could last against a training remote for a full five minutes before it stung him. Cass boasted that she could lift the training ball almost all the way onto a table. Though he made sure to remind her that you couldn't stop a pirate or any other kind of bad guy by lifting a ball. Thats when the temple shook, some of the others in the class had looked worried before now. Though he didn't know why, he couldn't feel anything. Trak joked that that was proof he was going to end up in the agri-corps.

Roland would have shouted at him if the teacher didn't come back, he was not going to end up in the agricorps. He was going to be a Jedi Knight! He watched as two guards came walking towards the group. They were telling the great big Houk teacher, Grok, that the temple was on lockdown. The initiates would have to go back to their rooms. He sighed and looked at Cass. "Did you miss dish duty again? Is that why they won't let us go?" Cass just shot him a look. "I did not. Maybe they learnt that you cheated at levitation!" Then the massive doors croaked open.

He felt, cold. Someone was there with clones. The Intiates all looked on in awe. The clone army! They fought with the Jedi against the bad guys. Maybe they heard that the class had to stay in, so were here to show off. Though then a blue light eminated from a hilt in the hand of the robed figure leading them, someone who for some reason he could not look at. It cut into the body of one of the guards and th erest of the class screamed as they began to try and get away.

"Kill the traitors, none leave alive." He recognised the voice, he was a Jedi! He turned to run, as a bolt struck a leg and he fell over crying in pain. He managed to watch as Grok fell to the ground and he screamed his voice hoarse. He turned to see the hooded Jedi approach, this was a mistake. A test, a trick? It couldn't be real. The Jedi temple couldn't be under attack.

It was the safest place in the galaxy. Then he saw the eyes beneath the hood.

The angry, unforgiving, pained eyes.

It was the last thing Roland Quee, Jedi Intitiate from Coronet City, Corellia. Ever saw.

[The Survivor]

Wynn was talking to a protocol droid in the main hall when he felt it. A sudden wave of anger, confusion, and pain. Then danger. He was already reaching for his lightsaber when he saw them, storming in, already firing.

Clones.

A flurry of emotions overtook him, but one thought rang in his mind. Punishment. He activated his lightsaber, a blue blade of justice emerging. He joined the other Jedi in the defense of the hall. Blaster beams raced toward him, he deflected them with ease, feeling the air around him and charging it with power. He felt everyone in the hall, the intensity of the battle, the lives he was about to take with his blade. He was one with the force. Then he sprang forward at sonic speed, slicing through several of the white troopers before his feet even touched the ground again. He was a flurry of movement, blaster beams flying to and fro from him, clones being cut down with ease and some even scrambling to get away from him. He pushed his feelings of betrayal, regret, and guilt aside. He was a weapon and it was his duty to protect this temple and his brethren. But more and more and more Jedi fell around him. There were so many of them, he was fighting them best as he could but they kept pushing him back. Some of the Jedi were retreating and he couldn't blame them, for every clone he killed, another replaced him. Then something happened that he hadn't thought of. A youngling, barely 10 years old, charged fearless with a lightsaber. But despite his zeal, he wasn't skilled enough to take on the mass of troopers. His small form was ripped apart by blaster fire. Wynn couldn't believe it. They aren't just trying to take the temple. They're trying to wipe us out.

He pushed against the blaster fire, a new flame inside of him. He started going through troopers by the dozens, but they wouldn't let up. It became clear to him that he had to retreat or he would die like his brethren. The young Catuman dove behind a pillar and concentrated. This was his only chance at survival. He closed his eyes and felt the world around him. Every pebble, every Jedi, every trooper. He felt the power of the force spiraling around him, bending to his will. He stepped out from behind the pillar, almost in a trance and pirouetted. The wall of clones flew back, a wave of force coming down upon them. Wynn stumbled over the body of a fallen Jedi as he tried to recover himself. Clones were still flooding in and the only way clear was the Archives. Not thinking about strategy at this moment in time, he sprinted towards the archives, as other Jedi followed him, while others went in different directions.

He sensed a familiar force up ahead, peaceful, wise, and alert. The Catuman sliced through the squad of troopers that blocked his path only to find another dead youngling. "Damn it, all!" he cried, sending a fire team of clones back with a wave of his hand. "Worror!? You in here!?" he yelled, decapitating a surviving clone as he made his way backwards. He motioned for a few Jedi to follow him deeper in the archives, only to knocked back into a data wall by a sonic grenade. His vision was blurred, but he could clearly see an injured Jedi being executed by a clone. Wynn leaped at the clone, slicing him diagonally in half. Worror's presence was getting stronger and closer as he stumbled his way through the archives. He held his side as he did so, wincing occasionally. Apparently he was grazed by a blaster shot. He rounded the corner and saw Worror, standing his ground with a young girl. "Worror!" he yelled stumbling towards him. His vision momentarily blurred. Maybe it was more than just a graze wound. He looked down and found his palm coated in scarlet blood. He growled and pressed on towards Worror, the sounds of blasters getting ever louder behind him.

[Jb]

The Kel Dor Jedi had been marvelling at the spectacle of the Jedi Temple as he moved, now fully clothed and focused intently on locating his Padawan, his black eyes - obscured as they were by his goggles, rendering him no longer blind - sweeping over millennia old architecture and the lifeforms contained within it with a sense of righteous pride and belonging swelling in his chest; for thousands of years the Jedi had protected and enforced the law of the Republic and the Senate, surely such a thing could not be taken away easily?

Yet...

He was not certain, and from what he could sense from those around him, others were as one with his feelings toward something unknown, something sweeping in from a horizon too far off for any Jedi to see. It was a niggling, an itch in the back of his skull even, an unexpected sense of something to come that inwardly infuriated the usually stoic Knight.

Long strides carried him onward through the temple, curt nods given to those he knew in passing, a wave of the hand - a human gesture he had picked up from his years on Coruscant - from his three-fingered hand to those he knew in a more intimate fashion, his mind racing as he tried to focus on where his Twi'lek companion might be at this time of the day; for a moment he stood still within the halls, tapping a finger against the hilt at his belt and taking deep breaths through the mask concealing his almost beak-like mouth. It occurred to him that she could be in the training chamber, as he had been trying to hone her skills, but it was far more likely that she would be meeting with her friend...what was his name again?

Xai'qui.

Where did she usually meet with him?

The Archives!

Even before the thought had reached his own mind he was moving, his Force-enchanced synapses moving his body with a purpose, but then all the order, all the justice, everything he had ever known since leaving his homeworld all those decades ago, was shattered in an explosion that lifted him from his feet and threw his form back against the wall of the corridor - had it not been for the assistance provided by that 'supernatural' sense of all Jedi, he knew for certain that he would have been dead.

In a flick of his wrist he felt the cool metal of his saber hilt once more in his hand, the hem and sleeves of his coarse brown robes slightly scorched, but no life-threatening damage done to himself, slight pressure seeing the hissing beam of pure energy ignite before his eyes. With only this motion he felt better, safer and more secure, as if just wielding the lightsaber in his hand would make him unstoppable. Clearly, he was not foolish enough to believe such nonsense, even if it did come from himself.

Jasma...

An amplified grunt left his lips as he raised himself from the cold floor, flecks of masonry falling from his broad shoulders, larger chunks scattered all about, and at least two of his fellow Jedi laying dead - one not even whole, a sight that never failed to sicken even a hardened warrior.

When the first figure emerged from the smoke, followed quickly by another, he did not bother to ask who they were or why they were here, he simply did. In a flurry of movement, stark white armour illuminated in the smog of brick-dust by the blue glow of his saber, he cut down the pair of Clone Troopers - the markings of the veteran 501st legion on their cooling and now limbless corpses - his thoughts not even registering that he had just struck down two of the former allies of he and his ilk.

Odd as it might seem, he did not feel anything for them, whispering only a short blessing for his own dead comrades, moving off without another word through the gloom - both psychical and metaphorical - that had now descended upon the temple.

Keeping his senses open, and his saber ready, he moved as silently as he could toward a tunnel he knew to be located somewhere close by. There were warrens of them running through and beneath the Jedi Temple, shown to him due to his office as a Peacekeeper, one that he now slid into - making sure the entrance sealed shut behind him - before making his way at a sprint toward the Archives; the Clones, now his enemies, came for a purpose, and he would see it fail...whatever it was.

Minutes that seemed as eons passed, each footfall like a heartbeat, before he eventually found the concealed entrance to the Archives and, Force willing, his Padawan within them!

Stepping cautiously into the interior of the Archives, an area that so far seemed to be undisturbed by the conflict raging in the more outward sections of the temple, he lifted a hand and sought out Jasma through the strands of the Force.

Many others he found before eventually reaching her, his mind seeing their own fear and panic, a great effort put into locating her and her alone. She was indeed within the Archives still, heading toward an exit, but was she close enough to hear him?

"Jasma...Jasma can you hear me?" He shouted, his amplified voice echoing so that those close enough would hear, "I am in the Archives, where are you?! Follow my voice and you will find me. Everyone is in danger, we must all get out, now. By our wits we may still survive this."

[Cyrania]

The Twi'lek padawan was halted in place as she felt the Jedi Council Members' deaths. It was just too shocking, too terrible. But her feelings of dread didn't end there. It intensified, like an ambush that was about to happen. Her ears barely registered the snap-hiss of her lightsaber and her muscles the adoption of the Form III start stance as she felt around, trying to figure out what the attack was coming from and by who. Obi-wan had taken care of General Grievous, he would have been a match for the best Jedi masters. But there was no sense of droids coming, yet her instincts had placed her into the style best suited to deflect multiple blaster bolts. Then the second wave hit the girl, the temple itself was being invaded, but by what?

All she felt were clones, with the usual, unquestioning dedication to duty and following orders, following a Jedi... She felt his soul; full of anger, betrayal, confusion, and understood the dying Jedi. She just didn't quite realize the true reason only clone blasters were being heard, thinking at first that they were helping take down the dark one before an initiate came in crying out, "It's the clones," before succumbing to a blast of a blue laser bolt. Then the Force led her through motions of Soresu as the bolts tumbled into the Archives as her mind reeled with the revelation, "A Fallen Jedi's gotten hold of the clones."

"Come on Jasma, no time for freezing up," the twi'lek thought as her combat mood kicked on, fighting against the shock of having to fight former well trusted allies. "You know you can't hold out long doing just pure lightsaber combat, you're just not that good, and T'ish is not here to draw the majority of the fire. If you hold them back for a bit, the initiates might have a better chance to escape and the archivists might be able to get at least some of the data collection out safely. After that, you can try to make your way out and hope that T'ish, Xai'qui, and his master all survived. What's usable around here?" Her mind then rested on the nearby busts of the Twenty. And if the door could be closed again. "Forgive me, masters," the padawan sent to the Force as she sideways Force jumped out of the direct blaster fire. Then she telekinesised the two closest and threw them one after another at the approaching clones before slamming the door. But the clones were too numerous, some had already come through and the rest quickly blasted away the ancient door. Jasma had been forced back into her defensive Soresu, trying anything throwable as the form allowed. Trying to fight against the inevitable overwhelming.

It was then that she heard her master's call, "Jasma...Jasma can you hear me?" He shouted, his amplified voice echoing so that those close enough would hear, "I am in the Archives, where are you?! Follow my voice and you will find me. Everyone is in danger, we must all get out, now. By our wits we may still survive this."

"Coming master," the twi'lek shouted back. Then she Force Jumped out of their range once more before breaking out into a full Force Run to reach her master quickly, dodging bolts and obstacles and regretting not having learned Force Shield yet. Finally, she found him, his Kel Dorian figure a welcome sight. T'ish's padawan finished the final distance between the two and said, "I'm here now, T'ish. What's the plan?"

[Jb]

"I'm here now, T'ish. What's the plan?"

A hiss escaped from the mask of the Jedi Knight, sound that was most likely a sigh of relief, but sounded more like a hiss of annoyance. He was glad to see that his Padawan still drew breath, even now sending tendrils of thought out into the Force, seeking that which could not be seen - if the clones had made it into the temple, by whatever means, then he had no doubt that some of them may already be within the Archives; if the sound of blaster fire, and the fact that Jasma had her saber activated, were anything to go by then they already were and time was not on their side.

"What is happening in the Archives, Jasma," he pressed, "make it brief and make it quick. Behind me are tunnels we could use to manoeuver around the temple, but they will not hide us indefinitely."

His own saber burst into life in his hand, ready to defend them both if needs be, and to strike down any that may come for them; there was, however, something much deeper and much darker than mere clones here...he could feel it. Something, no, more like someone, leading them in their efforts to cleanse the ever peaceful order from their home.

"Did you see any others? Seris, perhaps? We cannot simply leave them."

Inside himself he knew that going on a possibly reckless 'rescue mission' could well lead to both their deaths, but what was he if not a peacekeeper? If not a protector of others? His sense of right and wrong was innate, from his birth he had known which was which, and this was all wrong. He could not, would not, slip away into the shadows so simply if others could be bought with them.

[Hexaflexagon]

Imagine if you will a great cord stretching across the galaxy from one expansive spiral arm to the other thousands of lightyears away. Now imagine if that cord snaps under extreme pressure, the shock wave being sent out throughout the void rumbling past all that stood in its wake. The climatic events that would make up the first few hours of Order 66 were just such a rope proving how fragile it all could very well be. Using one command, Palpatine would singlehandedly change the face of the galaxy for years to come. Even those remotely attuned to the Force would feel its effects as it's entirety seemed to tremble and shake, those more attuned feeling almost as if their heads had been dunked into molten carbonite.

Feemor had of course felt it, the change in the air and the sudden shiver running down his spine. It was an odd sensation one that he could only place one other time in his life and that was when his old master had died on Naboo all those years ago. Ever so suddenly he did not feel like a Master of the Jedi Order, a General of the Grand Army of the Republic or a Negotiator of immense skill. He felt very little and very cold in a vastly immeasurable galaxy. The very fragile structure that they had so fiercely been trying to preserve over the course of this turbulent war had finally given way. He turned to his padawan Charuri who was looking back at him with an uncertainty in her eyes hand reflexively reaching towards her lightsaber. She must have felt it as well, how could she have not felt such a thing? She was patiently waiting for a response from her Master, looking upon the almost alien visage of shock open his face. But a moment passed and his soon recollected itself as he quickly found his own center once more.

“Let’s move Charuri and quickly.” His voice had none of the humor or calmness that his padawan had been accustomed to. It felt like he was far on the horizon with a great storm separating the pair. Had she suspected at least some words of comfort? Maybe that it was some fluke, that whatever had just happened wasn't as bad as it seemed, that everything was going to be okay. But of course the Force did not have flukes, such a wound could only mean the worst had come and with it a terrible darkness. So she followed her Master matching his footfalls in the sparsely occupied halls of the temple, echoes bouncing of high and lonely walls almost sullenly. They passed a few other pairs of Jedi all moving in the same direction as them all seemingly stirred by what they had all sensed. The members of the Temple Security Force which had been patrolling in higher numbers after the attack on Coruscant, if not sensing the effects on the Force they at least had seen the urgency in their Jedi allies.

The outer walls shook as what felt like several starships all at once buzzed dangerous close to the temple walls and around towards the front entrance. Following this was a great overwhelm presence of the Dark Side something that clung to Feemor’s heart as it was slowly approaching the temple threatening to consume it. It made sense, most of the experienced members of the order were spread out across the galaxy, those that remained at the temple were mostly the young and the old with a few veterans of the war intermixed between them. To attack them now would not just cripple the Republic but the lifeline of the entire Jedi Order, thousands of years of learning, knowledge, and tradition eradicated within hours. Chauri looked at her master as they progressed now going from a determined walk to a slow jog as she spoke. “Master.... where are we going?”

“Towards the High Council Tower. As of recently Master Shaak Ti had been put in charge of the defense of the Temple due to recent concerns. It would be the most ideal place to form a temporary command post as needed.” Feemor explained calmly, the fear having been washed away through mental fortitude and replaced with a statue like form of determination.

“A command post? You don’t think that the Separatists would attack us here would they?” And if almost on cue another cord was cut as the Gatekeeper fell outside. Following almost moments later by a large explosion that rumbled through the temple. The pair stopped for a moment and listened as blaster fire began echoing through the halls towards the entrance of the temple. The pair looked at each other and without needed works broke into full sprints added by the force to cover more distance at a much more rapid pace.

By the time they reached the entrance to the High Council Tower the surrounding area was already filled with activity as the sounds of battle raged far ahead of them still at the entrance. The Security Forces were already in full motion and groups of knights, padawans and masters alike were rushing forward towards the sounds of battle while others were setting up defensive positions to hold the line where they were. It was surprising to see how quickly they had all responded to the crisis but they were still so few and judging from the sounds the force attacking was much, much bigger. They were most likely heading to reinforce vital locations up ahead such as the archives to protect the knowledge stored within. As Feemor made a move towards the entrance of the Tower itself where beyond the threshold she could see important looking people all talking and preparing, he made a motion for Charuri to stay.

Charuri looked about and noticed a group of younglings sitting against a wall a look of confusion up their faces. They couldn't of been more than five or six years old at the best. She noticed one of them a small Barabel boy looking up in fear with tears coming down his small reptilian face. Charuri not content to just sit around approached him and went on one knee so she could face him more directly with a smile on her face she asked him trying to mask her own uncertainty. “Hey what's the matter kid?”

The little reptilian looked at her and with a quivering voice spoke. “Well we were sleeping and then the guards came in and got us all out of our bunks really quick and stuff. They didn't act normal either they wouldn't smile or anything. And Master Rashi she wasn't the same either..... she didn't smile or tell us any jokes or anything. Then there was this big explosion and we were told to wait here and Master Rashi said she would be right back.... but she’s not.”

“Oh don’t worry kid. I’m sure Master Rashi is just fine, she’s a Jedi like me and maybe like you some day that means she is really strong and is going to protect you right? So come on you gotta be confident for her and for the rest of your friends!” Charuri spoke as calmly and warmly as possible as she wiped a tear off of the child’s face. The Barabel child nodded slowly and a sense of determination spread across his face.

“Thanks Lady.... My name is Serdn by the way.”

“And mine is Charuri Rol and I’m going to be the awesome Padawan that make sures none of the bad guys get you.” And at the time the sound of footsteps made Charuri turn around as she saw Feemor approaching her. His face was grave looking almost as if he had seen a ghost as he approached. As she did she stood up and left the younglings and approached her master who ushered her towards the hallway that lead to the sounds of fighting. Charuri was the first to speak up. “And so what are our orders master?”

Feemor looked at his padawan so confident and reassured even with the looming darkness getting closer and almost smiled envying her ability. He let out a small sigh as he spoke to her quietly. “Currently there are two present objectives, One group is to head towards the archives and reinforce them to launch a counteroffensive. The other group is to assure the successful evacuation of all younglings, nonessential personnel and noncombatants out of the temple.”

“Do you know who is attacking us Master?” Charuri asked wondering how the Separatists had snuck a droid army in under their noses. Feemor looked into the distance before he spoke and when he did it was not an answer but another question.

“Charuri do you know of a way out of the temple that would not draw much attention?” Charuri nodded in response. Back in her younger years she had been assigned work with one of the requisition officers working within the Temple, because of that she knew of the intricate system of supply tunnels meant to ferry cargo beneath the bowels of the temple, they had many access ports which if knowing the correct controls and path could lead a person straight out into the undercity. “Good, then envision that path in your head and if it comes to it when I say run you follow it to the very best of your abilities not stopping for anything. Please do this for me my padawan.”

“Of course Master, but you didn't answer my question who is attacking us?” Charuri explained looking up at Feemor concerned. He never just called her padawan unless things were very grave and very important. He hated the formal naming conventions, he felt it separated the members of the order too much and put too many unnecessary boundaries.

“We managed.... to get some footage from Security before the connection was cut off.. It’s the clones Charuri being lead by one wielding a lightsaber. The clones are attacking the temple.” Charuri was expecting this to be some sort of joke, it didn't make sense. They had fought with the clones against the republic, they shouldn't be attacking each other. It had to be a mistake, the cameras must have glitched out or something but sadly it was not the case.

“So what do we do now?” Though in her heart Charuri already knew the answer that was coming.

“What else? We hold the line.”

[Fat Boy Kyle]

Within his small, barely decorated and dimly lit room, Rylos sat perplexed upon a cold hard stone bench. He was hunched forward, his elbows resting on his knees whilst his hands supported his head. He, like many others in the Temple, had felt the sudden shift in the force as the Jedi masters fell. If anything Rylos felt it more, as he picked up on the reactions of those around him; what he couldn’t feel himself, he could feel through them. Now however he seemed to be more focussed on the anxiety and fear that surrounded the temple and which seemed to seep into the hearts of even the most seasoned Jedi. It was worrying that so many Jedi were allowing such dark emotions to fester, and for Rylos that was a far greater threat than whatever was approaching.

“Rylos? Are you there?” a hazy and whispering voice suddenly interjected the bleak silence, and Rylos looked up to see a familiar face suddenly on the wall-mounted communication pad. The face belonged to Drelos Fry, a young human male that worked for the Senate Bureau of Intelligence. He was a friend and Rylos believed he could trust him – no – Rylos knew he could trust him. The young Jedi double checked the door was locked before walking over the pad to find out what his comrade had learned.

“Agent Fry” he greeted with a small nod, “What news do you have? Have you located Isard?”

Agent Fry looked away nervously for a moment, clearly trying to find the right words to say. “I’m afraid I’ve not been able to locate Isard; in fact I’ve not been able to so much as contact my friends in higher places. We received word of some sort of attack at the Republic Executive Building a little while ago and since then it’s like everything’s gone dark… that was until we were given new orders.” Fry’s eyes once again drifted away from the screen and he seemed to grow even more anxious.

“What orders?” Rylos asked, his voice firm. Whatever was happening within SBI, it probably wasn’t good and he knew it must have had something to do with the arrest of Palpatine.

“We’ve been ordered to begin compiling dossiers on every Jedi and to begin tracking them. Rylos, something bad is happening and you need to get yourself to safety!” Fry’s voice became more raised than he intended, and he looked around cautiously for any prying ears.

Rylos on the other hand stood eerily still, completely stunned by the revelation. His agape mouth quickly dried up and he had to clear it before speaking, “Thank you for all of your assistance Agent Fry. You’ve been a good friend. This may be the last time we talk for a while. Keep safe and don’t do anything to get yourself in trouble. Goodbye.” his voice was flat and robotic, and as his message came to an end he ended the communication, cutting of Fry before he could respond in kind. Right now Rylos needed to consult with Leneer; she was wiser and could make more sense of everything that was going on. He headed out of his room and began quick-marching towards the nearest landing pad, the same pad which his master always used out of convenience. If she hadn’t arrived by now she soon would.

A bitter chill awaited Rylos as he exited the Temple walls and strolled onto the small landing pad, forcing him to wrap his robes tighter. The weather was not the only surprise however, for occupying the entire pad was a republic Low Altitude Assault Transport/infantry (or LAAT/I for short). Rylos stopped about half way between the door back into the Temple and the squad of clones, trying to assess why they were there.

“Who’s in charge here?” Rylos shouted over wind, prompting a couple of the clones to stroll over. Rylos could sense something off about the squad; they weren’t fearful (they never seemed to show fear), but they all seemed to be filled with a sense of anticipation. Like they knew more about what was coming than the Jedi inside did.

“Hello Sir, I’m Sergeant Gratton. Please go back inside, the Temple is now on lockdown.” said the squads leader as he and another approached the Jedi. The two clones had a sense of determination about them and, although very subtle, both of them had their hands placed near their weapons. “We’re here to protect you.” claimed the Sergeant when the Jedi didn’t follow the order.

Rylos tilted his head slightly, his face a mixture of confusion and concern “…You’re lying?”

That was it, the façade was over, the curtain lifted. The two clones quickly reached for their weapons, wishing to quickly and quietly silence the troublesome Jedi. They were not fast enough though, for the Empath sensed their moves before they even made them. He sensed their sudden sense of fear, their peak in awareness and their focus; a combination he had long-ago learned to associate with a sudden attack. Rylos swung his lightsaber up in a quick arc, activating it half-way through the swing, the yellow beam cutting through the clone’s blasters like butter. It was the perfect example of sun djem. Without giving the clones a chance to react, Rylos then sent the two of them flying back with a force push.

“Stop him!” roared one of the other clones that had been watching the conversation closely. Within seconds the six or seven other clones began firing at Rylos as he quickly back-stepped towards the temple. The Jedi swung his lightsaber around frantically, utilising Form III to deflect the blaster shots. There was too much fire for him to try redirect the blasts back at his opponents and too much for him to keep up his defence for any period of time. Rylos almost fully exerted himself as he managed to retreat back into the safety of the Temple, using the force to break a security panel and causing the door to enter lock-down mode. It would not hold them for long, but it give him time to move, time to warn the others… or at least it would were it not already too late. Already he could hear fire from other parts of the temple and in rapid succession he began to feel connections in the force become severed.