Ladies and gentlemen of the Ossan parliament, we live today in a galaxy divided amongst itself. Governments which spanned the galaxy lay reduced to a single world; a reborn Empire has crumbled and retreated to Coruscant. The Wrath virus has changed everything, it seems.

We now find ourselves in a world where we are given a renewed calling to be active in the war against evil. Against the Empire. Against things far, far worse than the Empire. No one can ever forget the travesty of the battle at Naboo, during the Endgame campaign. We saw firsthand what the effects of a complacent, divided body of Jedi are. We saw firsthand the devastation that the Wrath virus inflicted on an already-unstable Republic; and now, that Republic is no more.

No more will we occupy ourselves with conquest when the true evil lurks in our very midst. No more will we seek justice by the expansion of our own empire when the solution lies not in ships of ion and durasteel, but in the Force, and in our hearts.

We will not sit complacent as the menaces of our galaxy expand and become more powerful. We will seek them out, we will destroy them. This will be our mandate; this will be our cause. I have complete faith in the soldiers of this world and in the Jedi who protect it. My friends, in partnership with you, I have created from a devastated wasteland a prosperous city world, a planet united in the quest for the common good of all sentient beings.

Ladies and gentlemen, we will protect this galaxy at all costs. And we will not fail.

-Gash Jiren, in an address to the Ossan Parliament
Six weeks after the Battle of Bastion

Zeralin Lah, Commander in the Yuuzhan Vong legions, Lord of the Lah Domain, moved, as silent as a wraith, through the dark night that covered the small town. Dense forest surrounded him, creeping with the sounds of life; chirps, buzzes, and the rest of the myriad of fauna-generated noises forming the soundtrack of the wilderness. This was Zeralin Lah's element; this was where he thrived. The world of constant adrenaline, constant pressure; the world of combat, where the margin for error was as knife-blade thin as the edge of his amphistaff.

Just beyond the edge of the forest was the first building visible within the settlement. The town was old-fashioned; isolated, its people relying on antiquated technology and ancient construction methods. To Zeralin Lah, however, every building constructed by the infidel mongrels appeared the same; poorly constructed, ugly, and dead. That the error of their ways was not readily apparent to the infidels was a source of immense anger for the Yuuzhan Vong commander; how could any species -- any entire galaxy of species -- be so belligerantly ignorant?

He sprang from the brush just as silent, his Vonduun crab armor making no sound as it brushed the ground, as Zeralin Lah rolled and came to a crouch. In the dim light of the few street lamps, he could see a few of the infidels moving about in the dusk. The began to reach to his ear, to tap the Tizowyrm for its attention -- but thought the better of it. A small town, wooden buildings, unarmed civilians... he would savour this.

Stalking up to one of the buildings, Zeralin Lah watched as one of the infidels strolled casually in front of him. A pair, actually; a male and a female, presumably mates. As they walked in front of him, he drew forth his amphistaff, feeling it go as limp as a whip in his grasp, almost at the mere thought of it. With sudden ferocity, he whipped out the living weapon, feeling the sharp head make contact with the male's leg, both cutting it brutally and breaking bones with the force of it.

The infidel dropped to the ground, his woman screaming in fear. Zeralin Lah's amphistaff went stiff and sharp, as he grabbed the hollaring infidel whore, bringing the staff to her neck. He stared down at the male with a twisted grin of sadistic glee upon his face.

"Are you afraid?" Zeralin Lah asked him. He was conscious that the man possessed no Tizowyrm to translate the speech, and so spoke them in the infidel language of Basic -- he had only enough command of the language to speak a few, select words. These words, he'd learned for a reason.

The man stared up in horror, frightened beyond words. Zeralin Lah shrugged and drew the sharp edge of his amphistaff across the woman's neck, blood gushing from the wound. She screamed sharply, her wail quickly being drowned out by the blood. The Yuuzhan Vong commander let her fall to the ground, staring down at the man.

"Coward," He muttered, again in the infidel tongue. He grabbed the man by the front of his shirt, taking the rigid and placing the small, pointed end to the male's chest. Slowly, he thrust it inwards, as the man cried out and quickly began to bleed. Zeralin Lah removed the staff, and, with strength no infidel could muster, threw the man forward into the centre of the road. There he was left to bleed to death from his chest wound.

Now, the combat had attracted the attention of the other villagers, and shouts of alarm had been raised. With the throwing of the man, they turned to screams of panic and fear -- and suddenly, the calm, peaceful town was awash in fleeing peasants, scurrying for their lives. The Yuuzhan Vong commander rushed forward, grabbing one of them and thrusting him to the wall of one of the wooden buildings hard, then shoving one of his now-deployed battle claw his claw into the man's forehead.

He dropped the dead man, immediately turning to another fleeing, screaming civilian and whipping him in the leg with his amphistaff. He then ordered the amphistaff to become rigid, and stabbed it down into the incapacitated man -- through his chest, and into the ground below, pinning him there to die.

Zeralin Lah continued the melee, as more males of the village sprang forth from the idiotic shacks in which they lived with minor weapons. Farming impliments, mostly; pitchforks and machetes. With his battle claws alone he dispatched them, easily and quickly. As he took the pitchfork from the last of them, impaling it into its bearer's chest and hurling him, pitchfork and all, ten feet away, a laser blast shot his way. Immediately knowing its origin with his keen battle senses, Zeralin Lah ducked it, grabbing his amphistaff from its place pinned in the ground.

More shots came his way, and he deflected them easily with the rigid amphistaff. He pointed the weapon foreward, and it sprayed forth a volley of boiling green acid. It struck one of his attackers -- seemingly a member of a local police force, from his ceremonial, sickeningly unliving garb -- in the chest, causing immediate burns to the man. Zeralin Lah reached to the waist of his Vonduun crab armor, grabbing two thud bugs and hurling them at the other assailants. They exploded on impact, gruesomely amputating one of their heads and sending the other flying away in a shower of blood and gore.

The Tizowyrm in his ear squirmed, the voice of one of his comrades, Kilraak Sovax spilling forth from it. "Planning on letting us participate, Commander?" Came the sneering tone. Zeralin Lah disliked the younger Yuuzhan Vong; he was irreverant, independant, and had a pechant for disobeying authority. Perhaps the commander saw too much of himself in the young second he'd been assigned.

"Yes," Zeralin Lah replied, "That is what I was hoping for. You and the others may join now, however. I have seen what I need to see."

And out of the dark forest surrounding the city, came a litany of blast bugs. They impacted on the buildings around the city, exploding violently and setting them alight. Zeralin Lah looked about at the carnage surrounding him, as the inhabitants of the town continued to attempt to fight back -- futiley.

Yes, Zeralin Lah thought, this planet of Veresh would do nicely.

Kasien steepled his hands, his glare boring into Gash Jiren, who continued to stare down at the report contained on the datapad in his hands. He glanced up occasionally, not saying a word for quite some time. "How long ago was this sent?" He asked, finally.

"Five days." Kasien replied. "Evidently, our agent sent it in a hurry. It took quite some time to make it through the proper channels."

"And you've spoken with the planet's authorities?"

"As it says there, yes. They acknowledge some sort of incident occuring, but, we've essentially been told to stay out. We didn't even offer assistance, actually; they simply told us not to interfere, at our mere inquiry."

"Veresh," Gash said. "That's an indepentantly ruled world. I seem to recall their attending the last Ossan Economic Conference. They remained highly reserved, only signing the most basic, low-level reciprocity treaty. I'd assumed they were isolationist, but if this is true -- I didn't think they were this isolationist."

"Not very far relative north of here, either." Kasien nodded. "You'd think they would at least allow us to assist for our own benefit."

"This..." Gash shook his head. "Do you read into this what I do?"

"Well, our man on the ground saw a lot of violence in the blink of an eye. And from those trade figures, two other villages simply dropped off the map altogether. That would, logically make three villages."

"I mean, what happened to them."

"Slaughter."

"Genocide."

"Yes," Kasien said. "That's what it amounts to. Someone is killing Vereshians off. Three villages, around four thousand people apiece, and we've got ourselves a full-on massacre."

"There must be an explanation, though." Gash said. "Some sort communications blackout. Maybe some isolated incidents of rioting. At the worst, some kind of tribal warfare. Local conflict. For three villages to just drop off the map, and get absolutely no recognition from local media or the government... no press releases, nothing..."

"I know what you mean."

"So, then."

"Yeah." Kasien said. "The dilemma."

"We can't force our investigative help on these people. Whether they know what's going on or not, we can just start landing troops on sketchy evidence, heresay and vague intelligence reports."

"So?"

Gash sat quietly for a moment. "Alright. Stow a Penetrator Fighter aboard some sort of trade vessel. One of the ones we've confiscated in the past few days, so they recognize the transponder signal as an active trader. Stock it with something local and valuable, enough that if they find the ship, the cargo is valuable enough to warrant it. Have the ship launch, cloaked, in the upper atmosphere. I want intelligence holos of the entire area."

"Yes, sir."



Six hours later, Gash and Kasien stood in the Foreign Security Office situation room. The FSO building was an unmarked structure in the endless city of Ossus, rarely taken notice of by the busy world. The FSO had been created quietly with a broad, nonspecific task, billed as a minor government-sponsored organization. Essentially, this allowed the group to operate as an intellgence group without direct ties to either the government or the military; it had free reign.

From the holopanel in front of them sprang a three-dimensional image of what appeared to be nothing but blue. "Where the hell is the camera facing? Tell the pilot to point it at the ground."

"Yes, sir." Acknowledged one of the communications officers. The darkened room made it hard to see the faces of any of the FSO agents; this was probably intentional.

Gradually, the camera turned towards the ground to reveal a complex, bustling cityscape. The Penetrator fighter, light-years away on Veresh, continued its flight, and the cityscape became lush forest. For what seemed like an eternity it crept on, a feeling of forebodence looming in the pit of Gash's stomach.

Slowly the craft flew... slowly the craft flew... one foot in front of the other...

And suddenly, Kasien recoiled in horror. There was an audible gasp throughout the room. Gash simply stared darkly at the holoprojection. "Oh, god," He said.

"Who would do this?" Kasien asked, shaking his head. "The Empire?"

Gash shook his head. "Not the Empire. Not the Sith, not Thrawn. This is... too brutal. This is too horrible."

"Who?"

"I don't know. But we're going to stop them. Call together the other Rogues. Have them congregate in the temple."

There, in the hologram, was a town utterly reduced to cinders, its structures broken and torn. The small lake it bordered upon ran a sickly crimson red with blood, and the ground echoed its macabre shade. For six square kilometers, the entire village was the same; the ground covered in blood, littered in gore. There were humans trust upon spikes towering above the ground, corpses splayed to forever echo the torturous last moments of their lives. And all around it, were piles and piles of broken, mutilated bodies.

Thousands of them.

<span style="color:teal;">Ade-Ay was in his room sleeping, flat with his back upon the bed. He dreamt of a world with a lush green forest. His view traveled further within and past the village to a small town. Inside the town it was like a holovid being speed up. A Yuuzhan Vong man speed through the city causing terror and death. The town had thousands of torn and cut bodies. Blood spread across the once beautiful grass and dirt of the old-fashioned town. It was horrific.

Ade suddenly awoke, sitting up. He had only seen the beginning of what terror would flow throughout that world. Though unknown to what the name of the world was, he had to notify the others. Ade was pissed, he couldn't let this go on.

That's when Ade-Ay received a message via comm-link. He was to congregate with the others. He knew someone else had to have foreseen this too. He strode to the core of the Rogue Jedi Temple.
</span>

The villip choir ahead of him sang him the kind of tune he enjoyed for once, a tune he had so sorely missed. For so long he had been forced to sit in the shadows and watch longingly as the conflicts of the galaxy went about. He had to witness the battles and carnage, the tribal and primitive infidels tearing at one another's throats for some kind of supremecy while the Yuuzhan Vong had to sit back, and wait.

What a wonderful feeling it was to be allowed to finally return, and to strike hard and painfully at the infidels, to clear them of their wretchid abominations.

He, Warmaster Zhin Dwamor, would be the Hands of Yun-Yuuzhan and Yun-Yammka, he would let their justice, their holiness flow through him as he exacted their rage upon this galaxy, finishing what Tsavong Lah and Shimmra could not.

He could feel the gods' divine justice flowing through his every muscle and tendon - natural and not. And the sight of the carnage bestowed by this choir amplified these feelings. He felt as though the gods themselves were smiling down upon him.

Blood ran freely through the ground, men hung on their own blasphemous and primitive tools, torsos detached from limbs and innards now as commonly seen as outards.

Grotesquley marvelous.

And the Yammosk seemed equally pleased, its bulbuous form jerking and writhing in a form of sadistic glee. It was like a child being told he could go to his favorite playground, though with a sick macabre twist. Warmaster Zhin smirked in the best smirk the lipless creature could pull off, his tatoos and scars that mutilated his face accentuating the horror of his expression.

"So, he has proven himself," he commented to no one in particular, though the Yammosk seemed to think that he was referring to it. "And to think he had fallen from my favor after failing to retake Ithor...well, I suppose he has proven that that ineptness can be overlooked."

The Yammosk gave out a guttural gurgle that could be interpreted as a laugh. Another smirk adorned Zhin's features.

The other Yuuzhan Vong about the room stared at the warmaster, some overjoyed by his sudden burst of delight, others glowering at him dubiously, some out of envy.

But all shared similar feelings: It was good to be in it again, they would soon be filling all the galaxy with the crimson rivers of the infidels.

With his clawed, tiger-like replacement hand, Zhin stroked the villip at his side, tenderly as though it were a lover's caress. The thing came to life then, in the shape of Zeralin Lah.

"A report please, Zeralin Domain Lah," he said with a sadistic grin.

The villip's head inclined slightly in respect for the Warmaster. "All goes as we had arranged, Warmaster." Zeralin Lah allowed time for Zhin Dwamor to nod his head in assent of understanding, before he continued speaking.

"The world of Veresh has been sufficiently tested to warrant the continuance of our plan. Our assault and slaughter of the infidel village of 'Si'hinara' confirmed to us that the people of this world are sufficiently strong and resiliant -- insofar as the weak, asinine infidels can be -- enough to be useful as slaves. Following this, Executor Toval Anor released the modified strain of Nom Domain Anor's Coomb virus to the infidel governor of this world, and it has spread to his officials as we had planned. They are now under our influence, without knowing it." Zeralin Lah smiled grimly, darkly. "My men and I slaughtered two further villages, with little or no resistence. The infidel government has hushed up the indcidents and turned down the assistance of the Jeedai."

The Yuuzhan Vong nodded again. "The Coomb virus will ensure that no Jeedai interference occurs. The leaders of this world will keep the assaults which have occured thus far quiet out of shame, until it is far too late. They will not brook the assistance of the infernal, abominous, infidel Jeedai, under any condition."

Zeralin Lah's face, upon the villip, turned darker for a moment. His hairless brow furrowed as he stared at Zhin Dwamor. "I assure you, Warmaster, my failure at Ithor was the fault of the shaper whore, Niat Shai, not my own. It will not be repeated. It will not happen again."

It seemed that worrying about being caught following Kamon to Ossus proved useless. The speech I had heard from Gash was one that frightened me, deep in my emotions. The Sith were powerful, amazingly so, but, then again, so were the Rogue Jedi. I locked my jaw together, and walked down one of the many long hallways in the Ossan Temple.

I felt some presence that I had felt before, and I felt many others that were unknown to me. All were equally powerful, and all very disciplined. I ground my teeth together, and ran my hand through my hair nervously.

Well, maybe Kamon was right about me not coming to Ossus. He must have though I was not ready to fight a war of this magnitude. Maybe he was right; maybe he was wrong. I don't know, all I know is that I am going to fight my hardest. the Sith need to be stopped.

My shoes clicked on the hard floor, sending echos dowwn the empty hallway. I was somewhat surprised that the hallways were empty, but then again, maybe I shouldn't have been. All the others seemed to be meditating, or going about business that was needed elsewhere.

Another lesson you need to learn, Jace. Prepare while you have the time to.

I shook the sound of my voice out of my head, and ground my teeth together, and continued to walk down the abandoned halls.

Kamon had been summoned to Ossus a long time before the two padawans. In fact, he had been there for some time. Mainly, he spent his time meditating. But, that thought kept nagging at his mind.

He still hadn't figured out what it was. He might not even want to know. It might be bad. His intention had been to come to Ossus in preration of a strike on the chiss. But, that just wasn't happening.

He left his quarters and began to walk through the halls. He wasn't really searching for anyone, but he did run into someone. Someone he hadn't expected to see.

"Jacen, what are you doing here?"

The words - more over, the sound of the voice of the perosn who spoke them - caused me to stop in my tracks, and my blood to run cold. it was a meeting that I knew would happen, but that didn't mean I was happy about the fact that it did. I turned to face Kam.

"Hello, Kamon."

It was an unbelievably weak openning, but I couldn't think of anything else to say.

"I know that you are probably mad about my being here, but I needed to. I was asleep, and I saw a vision...well two. In the first, it was of myself here, and there was peace and joy, but the second was of this place, and the halls where empty and there was sorrow, so I thought it meant for me to come here, and I guess from what I hear, it is good that I have come."

It had been some time since Brava had set foot into the temple, either duty called her elsewhere or she'd simply gone into hiding, content with being alone to contemplate her own studies.

Yet, however unwilling she was to socialize or converse with her fellow Rogues, Brava always came when Master Jiren requested it; today was no exception.

Keeping her gaze parted from her other comrades; Brava found herself a solitary place to sit as she waited for the meeting to start.