The Rebel Faction

The realization came with the armor. It came with the voice and the other glaive... this fight was one he could not win.

Here was an opponent that had trained in the same schools as Silk, learned the same styles and techniques but, was aided by age, expieraince and sheer skill. If this had been the Squall, Silk would stand no chance.

As it was, he stood very little chance now.

In true fashion to the name he had earned so long ago, Silk did not bother with mincing words or stirring emotions, he was the 'Silent Brother' among the Royal Guard.

As he battled the son of his Master, Silk slowly lost his resolve.

This man was a traitor to his Master, Lord Maim. He was a traitor to the ways of the Imperial Royal Guard and he was a traitor to the Dark Side. In all ways he personified that which Silk opposed, he would defeat Silk.

Slowly, his parries slowed and his defenses sagged.

Silk was fighting for all he was worth, with every thing he could imagine and he could not win a foot.

In a mere instant, Silk lost the incentive.

Two fast blows battered the Glaive away from Silks hands, sending it tumbling away into the grass. Before he could recover from the first, another set of blows caught him again and, only by sheer will was he able to call up the Darkforce enough to defend himself. Still, he lost his feet and stumbled back.

In desperation Silk brought his Sith Lanvorok to bear on the closing enemie and released a spray of tiny, razor edged disks at the foe... Only then did his hovering Rodian blade re-enter the fray, having been previously knock aside.

Behind the titanic tussle bellowed a familiar voice to both Natheniel and Silk. "Somir!! You're fight is over!"


The scarred soil of Vjun crunched under the newly christened soles of Darth Xion's boot as he entered into the sphere of force energy surrounding the battling gladiators.

Xion reached around his back to his slung belt, pulling from it a rather pointy lightsaber. He stood back slightly, while simultaneously ingiting the blade and assuming a position of martial arts, a hyrbid of Sith and Rogue styles.

He let his presence run free throughout the force . . .maybe even Somir would recognise his spirit enough to through him off.


Remember me Nathaniel?, he grinned with morbid glee.

The Jedi Master stood ready to face down both his enemies. He was more than capable of defeating the Sovereign Protector, that much was clear to them both at this point. However, this new arrival brought with it the face and power of his fallen uncle, a touch only his father could have brought to him.

The Master Jedi readied himself for mortal combat. It was likely that some, if not all, of the combatants would die here today. He waited, as he would not attack first, to see what his enemies this day had in store.