It's been five years since the downfall of the Sith Triumvirate. The Republic, still wounded from the events of the Jedi Civil war ten years previous, is on the brink of collapse.
The Jedi Order, itself on the brink of extinction, has called an emergency conclave to discuss the future of the Order, as well as what shall be done with Kira Starr, the Jedi Exile - whether she will be permitted to return to the Order, or face the fate that the Final Council had decided upon before the intervention of Darth Traya.
At the utmost edge of the galaxy, unseen by the Jedi, an evil presence has faded into existence. As the Jedi Exile is reunited with old friends, the Force itself sinks into the depths of darkness, in search of something beyond anything the Galaxy has ever seen before...
The darkness was utter and complete. In the depths of the inky blackness, a man lay on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.
"Master... Please, I-"
The rest of his words were drowned in the scream of agony that erupted from his lips, as a pair of unseen hands clenched at his insides. He gasped for air through his blood caked lungs, and coughed up a mixed lump of blood and bile.
A dark, cold rasping sound pierced the darkness in response to his pleas.
"The Fallen Sith, Master... he returns from his-"
He screamed again, and the veins in his skull threatened to burst through his scalp as his body was again crushed by an invisible force. The rasping continued, and the man forced a nod, instantly lifting the pain from his body.
"Revan... lives, Master..." he panted, spitting more blood onto the black floor.
The dark rasps sounded again, accompanied by a swift chill that pierced to the bone.
"Of course, Master... he... moves towards the system called Y'Toub. To the Smuggler's Moon. She
is there as well."
He listened to the sounds once again, and stared up into the shadows that cloaked his master along with the room.
"Yes, Mi'Lord," he said, and he was smiling now. "We have learned the location of the Second. Traya had moved it from the heart of the Academy."
The sounds spoke once more, and the man nodded. "It shall be brought to you immediately, Mi'Lord. The Rogue Jedi shall both be destroyed."
He pulled himself to his feet with difficulty, hiding his pain from the Dark Lord - pain was weakness, and weakness was not tolerated. He bowed low, almost collapsing to the floor again, before turning and limping from the room.
The dull, slimy street of Nar Shaddaa reeked of drug, drink, and sweat. The night was still young, and the streets were deserted, last call not for another three hours. The quiet lay thick on the ears, interrupted only by the sounds of drinking and gambling emitting from the surrounding taverns.
The peace was torn by an odd hissing sound, accompanied by descending shots, which gave way to a deep screeching. A small light faded into life about eight feet from the ground, growing steadily brighter. Beneath it, a blue box began to fade into form, taking a solid shape. The screeching came to an abrupt end, as did the flashing light. The box stood there for a moment, as if it had been there for centuries.
A door on one side flew inwards, and a man stumbled out, collapsing on the ground in front of the box. He wore an odd black suit, with white, soot stained frills, and a tear along the left arm, which was soaked with blood - though the man's arm was not damaged. A small gold pocket watch fell from his pocket, the crystal shattered, the arms swinging freely. The man's shoes were a faded black, in desperate need of polishing. The suit itself also appeared several inches too short in the arms as well as the legs, and revealed about an inch of his midriff above the waist.
He pushed himself up again, running his hand through his receding hair. He pulled his hand away suddenly, as if shocked at what he felt atop his head. He stared at his hand, an awestruck look on his face. He prodded his slightly large nose, then rubbed his eyes before turning around to face the box. It had a large black scorch mark on one side, and the light at the top was cracked. A pillar of pale smoke was issuing from the door he had fallen from, and sparks flashed from somewhere inside.
He groaned, massaging his temples - then moved his hands away suddenly, as if shocked.
"New one's always a bit odd to start..." he said, speaking with an odd accent. He clasped his hand over his mouth, as if his voice too startled him. He looked around, taking in his surroundings. He made towards one of the taverns, closing the door of his box as he went.
He made it a few feet before his head exploded with white hot pain, and his midriff ached on both sides. One hand clenched his head, and the other clenched his left heart, which he decided hurt more. He collapsed to the ground, unable to steady himself. He distantly acknowledged a presence nearby, shouting at him, but he couldn't respond. He fell forwards, and the last thing he saw was a burst of white stars as his head hit the concrete, and he blacked out.