The Rebel Faction

The repulsive progression of war throughout the galaxy as of late , irradiated the deepest recesses of space. Be it with the latest in a long list of transgressions between the Jutraalian and Demosthesian empires, or that of the Yuuzhan Vong and the Rogue Jedi, war and its effects lay strewn across the canvas of the universe with a bitter after taste of ill feeling and discontent. The wrath virus, most of all had wrought rampant attrocities to many. In particular, the Hapan consortium had been dealt a devestating blow to its infrastructure. In no time at all, the once glorius entity of wealth and extravagance had been torn down to an expanse of distrust and infighting.

Never was there more a ripe time to capitalize on the unhealthy state of an injured and ill-prepared enemy. Hapes was a virtual goldmine of oppurtunities.

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In his hand, K'taruuk gripped a solid ball of platinum. He played with it, twirling it around in his palms, caressing his leathery talons around the firm but roughly textured sphere of metal, as he stared on in concentration toward the main viewport.

The viewport garnered his concentration for a very good reason, for beyond the thick layer of reinforced transparisteel lay the planet Vergil, his first conquest untainted by the banner of the Demosthesians. This latest offensive would prove to be the crowning glory, not only to prove that he was solely responsible for much of the demosthesian progress in the war, but to prove to himself that he was worthy. Worthy of being a commander and worthy of leading his people. If he could not take Vergil, his life was worthless.

So, as the bell called for a call to battle stations, the Disruptors opened fire, reigning hellfire upon his future.

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Ancestral Carrier- Nequatath
120 Retak Fighters

Ancestral Carrier- Jeltekian
120 Retak Fighters

Ancestral Carrier-Lemeknar
120 Retak Fighters

8 Terakesh Gunships


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The pretence and pomp that usually surrounded the aftermath of such a ceremony hung in the air with a dank putrid stench. He grew weary of the prefabricated facades of these Admirals and commanders who hid behind thier medals and uniforms, preaching to high heavens of thier list of killings and thier exaggerated victories. This of course only served to make them look that little bit more foolish.

As Jerix mingled through the crowd, he fidgeted with his locks of blonde hair which hung down in a traditional ponytailed-braid of his homeworld and sauntered into the throng of militaria. Most faces among the rabble were blank, displeased and uncertain. Being of military origins they thrived on the conflicts, but with this peace treaty thier careers seemed a little more obsolete. Nevertheless, thier duty to the Queen and the kingdom came first, as it was her bidding that peace be brought down to the cluster once more. In all fairness there were a few faces of a more genuine persuasion. Those who, other than he, had given thier very souls to ensure this even went ahead, so future generations of Hapans wouldn't be consumed in the filthy downward spiral of civil war.

As he gazed forward, not looking at anything in particular, something, or rather, someone caught his attention. It was Kashlinkov, his arch-nemesis of sorts, a man akin to his himself even if his allegiances lay on the other side of the fence.

Jerix tipped his orange-tinted glasses toward the end of his nose and prepared to move in for the kill and confront the Commadore when a firm grip tugged on his bicep, turning his attention in the other direction.

As he came around 180 degrees, he was greeted by the pig-esque countenance of his second, Dae Kildare. The man's retractedly flat nose stuck out at him, thier eyes locking in a questioning fashion.

"What is it?" He questioned, evidently agitated at the harsh and untimely interruption by his number two.

"I'm sorry to bother you sir, but there's someone I would like you to meet."

With his firm grip intact, Kildare led his commander away from the inevitable and back toward the Naval bores.

Coming to an abrubt stop outside a small circle of seemingly rich and well decorated officers, Kildare let out a small gentlemenly cough in order to gain the attention of a Commander who's back was turned to the diminuitive man.
The turning man's expression was equally as clueless as Jerix' until his eyes caught sight of him.

"Ahh, you must be Macor!. How thoroughly invigorating it is to meet you." Said the Commander with an almost siesmic grip on Jerix' hand.

"I've heard much about you my old boy! I must congratulate you on your victory at Maires a few months ago,"

Jerix nodded as the man continued to babble, and became seemingly mesmorized with his cigar that was dangling dangerously close to the Commander's wirey white beard. In the back of his mind, Jerix was willing the cigar to fall and set his beard alight, anything to bring an ounce of excitement to the dreary day's events.

Noticing the embaressingly bored look on Jerix' face, Kildare interjected with a timely comment about the actual proceedings at hand.

"So, Commander Zenk, where do you stand on this peace treaty?"

"The treaty?" Said the Commander, momentarily puzzled. "Oh yes the treaty. Well initally I was against the entire fiasco. Nothing but trouble I thought. I must say I have warmed to it over time."

Kildare let out a mischevously defiant cackle. "This peace wont last and you know it Commander, this is merely a ceasefire until someone cracks again, and we'll be back where we were in the first place, plugging blaster bolts up each other's asses."


An uneasy pause dropped upon the trio like a tonne weight, that continued to pile on the pressure with each passing second, until Jerix, who had been silent thus far, released a sentance.


"HA! You're such a joker Kildare. HA!." He chuckled nervously, attempting to ease the Commander who would have, if he hadnt intervened when he did, killed Kildare where he stood.

Gripping Dae on the arm, much like he had done ealier, he led his opinionated officer away, while shooting a fake smile back toward the disgruntled Commander Zenk as a clear sigh washed across Jerix' face.

Like ticks on the skin of a hound, they had embedded thier hinds deep into the thick crust of Vergil. Safe and secure, the Swarm oversaw thier latest conquest, a world which would now become thier foremost point of attack, a place where they would spread like wildfire across hapan space, destroying and raping the land as they went.

As the fat orange sun sank slowly into the blood-red sky, the stars above peaked through the crimson curtain that was turning a sickly purple. The dying sun spewed it's last breath of light onto the clouds as it descened, cutting thier bellies and wiping their whispy pink contents across the sky's canvas. All was illuminated by the heat of the cities below as they burned strongly on into the night.

K'taruuk sneered gleefully, his evil contentment seeping through his often calm disguise.The common everyday chatter of the city had been drowned out by the terror-filled shriek's of a swiftly dying people. A symphony of destruction layed upon a polyphonic soundtrack of laser blasts and explosions soothed his ears like a rare piece of music. With every passing note and scream, the Composer watched on, anxiously awaiting his masterpiece's epic climax.

And there it was, like a blade piercing the chest of his foe, the Ancestral Battlecruiser, Nequatath cleaved through the organic night's sky above. The clouds parted as the dagger of the vessel ripped and teared at the flesh of clouds , causing a rippling surge of darkened red and purple flashing across the sky. Green bolts of purging energy flew from the vessel's innards, pummeling into the brittle surface, knocking out what little resistance there was with a decisive and swift blow.

Afterwards, the air stank with the stench of vapourised flesh and tissue and the soundtrack of terror had been replaced by the familiar sound of howling. After a hard fought battle, the drones had earned thier just deserts. They were now, quite literally, eating the opposition for dinner.

K'taruuk, in too much of a speculative mood to consider eating, let his eye's drift to the rear of the ledge he was standing on. Atop a massive tower, once a top government building on Vergil, K'taruuk glance shifted from the destruction ahead to the construction happening behind. Already, not even minutes from thier triumph had they begun setting up planetary defenses.

Lasers, Turbolasers, and guns of every kind were being set up along with innumerable shield generators to cover them. No doubt a drop in communications would trigger a response of some kind from the Cluster's authorities. If they came, he would be prepared for them, this tick was dug in deep.

Kashlinkov nodded, not mentioning the fact that he knew Macor wasn't Hapan trained. At least not officially. Macor was right about one thing. Hapes had been paying attention to him. As such he should have known that the records of all graduates in his age bracket had been examined, and they had come up blank. Still, the open semi-snub was received by Arkady with a sort of self interest.

It indicated a laid back man, calm in control of a situation.

"I have to offer my sincerest apologies Commander, but I will have to cut this short. Duty calls.

I do hope we can rekindle this converstation another time?"

The Commodore merely nodded.

"Of course, until then Commander Macor."

He stuck out his hand, seizing Jerixs in a vice link handshake. Macor returned one of almost equal force, thereby passing Kashlinkovs first test. Allowing him to leave to return to duty, the human smiled thinly as he summoned his aide.

"Something is wrong. His reaction suggests a threat to his holdings, and his handshake, while strong, suggested to me a slight sense of uncertainty."

Arkady mused on this momentarily.

"I think he may be overextended on a gambit, perhaps it backfired. Order Avenger C&C craft to begin sweeps of all Out Rim Cluster planets. Something must be wrong."

The stars sparkled like glitter reflecting off the ships which were resting in the docking bay after a hard weeks work.The charcoal marks on the ships looked like stains that couldn't be removed, it showed the tough times the ships had to go through to stay alive.

The station was lit up like a just decorated christmas tree standing out from everything else,like and olympic gold medalist standing on a podium.The mechanics were hard at work getting the ships in excellent condition, the station was hard at work getting prepared for anything that confronts them.

Inside the station continuous calls were coming in reporting on how well there mission is going. Paper work was being handed out, weapon training and command training were being taken place to get the recruits doing the real thing. The mission breifing room was as quiet as space itself with not a single sound or movement in it. Still the hologram was on from the last mission brief, continuous repeats of the pattern plan to engage the enemy and defend at the same time were being showed and explained at the same time.The Hapes battlestation was as quiet as a baby sleeping.