INTRODUCTION

HIGH ABOVE THE SURFACE OF MILOS...IN A VILARDEEN COMMAND SHIP...

The hum of the ship's power conduits hummed with a droning monotony. Targen Netto ran a hand across his dry mouth. His eyes flicked right then left, and his breathing was deeper and faster than normal...he was afraid. The ship's lift was slowing. He was almost at his destination...the Command Deck.

Targen feared the worst. He had never met face-to-face with his Master before. He had sensed his presence in the room before, heard the grating sound of his deep voice...the felt the cold touch of his spirit. But to be called before him like this...in person...clearly the Master was not pleased with him.

Targen shook his head. Vette had been turned, damnit! All the planning, the manipulations, the scheming had worked out. Vette had turned on his friends...struck down a surrendering woman from behind with his light saber...embraced his blood-right and become a dark shadow of his former self. But somehow, he had been reclaimed...at least partially reclaimed. Once again, Vette teetered on the edge, dangerously close to joining the Darkside. But, Targen had failed. He had promised to deliver the lad personally to the Dark Lord, and still Vette and his comrads resisted.

The lift's doors slid open, and a bitter cold cut through Targen. The air in the command chamber was well below freezing. A seemingly bottomless pit fell away from the metal walkways. At the center of the large room hung the destination of these walkways...a fair sized platform from which one could watch the charred surface of Milos slowly turning below. At then center of the platform was a large shiny black pod. Huge energy fields held back the limitless vacuum of space, providing an unobstructed view of all that went on beyond the bulkheads of the Vilardeen Command Ship. Every surface of the room was crusted with a thick layer of frost.

Targen stepped from the lift onto the mesh floor of the walkway. What could his Master possible gain from a face-to-face meeting? Did he have some critical secret to pass on...one that he could not trust to a messenger? Did he wish to give Targen some final bit of advice before his destined confrontation with Quinn Roldoon and his inexhaustable companions? What could he possibly want?

Targen attemped to keep his composure as he walked forward toward the command platform. He kept his face set in a hard look, and made long confident strides. A fierce shiver cut through him and he flinched. It was then that he saw the two figures outlined on the platform by the inky black of space. One figure was clearly a feminine one...dressed in a red colored leather, her long red hair cascading down her back. The other figure was six and a half feet tall, dressed in long flowing black robes, with a bright silver crown floating above his head. Targen faltered and came to a stop on the walkway ten feet short of the platform.

"You have displeased me my son." The bitter voice made Targen flinch again, as the cold cut through him like an icy knife. "You were to bring Vette into the fold...but twice you have failed me." The female said nothing. Targen was amazed at how much like Mara Jade the female looked. Was it Mara?

"Dark Lord...I...I had him! He had turned, and he will still be turned...for good this time. I promise...."

"SILENCE! I did not give you leave to speak to me!" Targen fell to his knees on the frosty walkway, the Dark Lord's words causing him to shiver violently. "In truth, it matters not if Vette comes to us. He has been something of a hobby for me...but of no great consequence. Do none of my children understand my plans...comprehend my goals?" The Dark Lord turned away from Targen, and seemed to be looking deep into the darkness of space.

"My...My Lord...." Targen wanted to understand, and hoped his Master would explain it to him.

"SILENCE!" The Dark Lord's command echoed in the frozen chamber, and was repeated again and again from the depths of the seemingly bottomless pit below him. Targen fell forward onto his hands...a gout of blood falling from his mouth, nose, and ears...turning the white frost of the walkway red. "Here is a final lesson, my student. I truly lost the Shadow War. My people practically destroyed, my body ravaged and severely damaged, my political power crushed...I truly lost. This time I can't lose...I planned the war...staged it, if you will. I live...I win. I die...I win."

The Dark Lord clenched his black-gloved fist and made a twisting motion. Targen's neck and head twisted too far, with a loud snap. Wet gurgling sounds issued from Targen's red speckled blue lips.

"I win."

DETAILS ON DARTH VILE

• Black robes, silver body armor, silver circlet or crown floating above his head...two red orbs flash where his eyes should be...no face, only the slightest shadow.
• The air is bitter cold within 40 feet of him...breath fogs, liquids freeze, glass frosts, as does metal.
• No weapon may harm him except a lightsaber made and wielded by a Jedi pure of heart...even then, degrade damage type by one (Alternity rule), and he has unlimited stun points (also Alternity).
• Cut the Seer's face (both eyes) in a final lightsaber duel in bygone days...the Seer realized a whole new world of "sight" had opened to him...as Darth Vile taunted him, the Seer struck him down dead.
• From the black land of Vilardeen...planet of shades...Knights of Shade...the Vilars. The Midnight Star...black cooling, simmering, crust, huge solar flares rip through its surface.
• The Shadow War was 500 years ago.

THE ADVENTURE

More details pending....