The Seige of Uparii

The small band of space-farers searched the floating debris, their lights probing for any signs of life among the twisted metal and shards of bodies. Breached escape pods and limp snub-fighters littered the sector of space known only as the edge of existence. In the distance, a menacing molten planet blocked out some of the far distant stars. The crew of the small recovery vessel sat motionless, in awe of the terrible destruction.

The path to that destruction started nearly eight thousand light years from where it ended, in a mighty empire formed out of the ashes of the Spirian Civil War. The Civil War began when the mighty general Spiralus had conquered the outlying planets of the Desertæ solar system and declared himself the governor of the outer-rim territories. The Sparatan senate, which was the established government at the time, though it was corrupt and no longer served the populace they swore to represent, could not stand to have their ultimate power contested, and a mighty civil war ensued. The large forty-three planet system was torn apart. Allegiances flew from one side to the other, each planet declaring to be it’s own marshal ruler, each senator claiming to control it, and the Spirian Rebellion attempting to usurp both. The Republic faltered and within twelve years decayed into a hodge-podge assortment of various senators and planets claiming independence from the rest of the system. This fractured system of governance was a way of life for nearly fifty years. The bigger planet-states gained power over the smaller ones, especially those in close proximity, until a Feudal system began to emerge – a glimmer of order in an otherwise chaotic universe.

Out of the dust and carbon soot, a faction began to emerge. A young, charismatic leader rose from among the wreckage of tyrants and failed grasps for power. His name was Vesirius. He was from the Tiran moon Rhömir and with just a handful of well trained pilots and the ancient battle cruiser Saevii, began to conquer and rally a considerable number of planets. Instead of abusing this power, however, he made a senate of the mightiest warriors from each planet. These representatives swore allegiance to the Republic of Old and thus a sort of order was formed. These elite warriors became known as the Knights Sparatæ, or Knights of the Old Republic, after the once great democracy their forefathers had served. This congress of knights held themselves to an unusual code of conduct for fear of repeating the horrible mistakes that doomed their grandfathers’ mighty republic to the groveling assortment of planet-states they now saw.

The ever growing assembly of knights faced many challenges, quarrels, and adventures.

One day, however, a faint radio transmission was received from Uparia, a planet outside of the order’s reign, which was being besieged by another of the great factions which had arisen - an evil faction whose sole purpose was to consume life to feed its power. Vesirius, who was now far too old to take on the journey himself, turned to his trusted order of knights, “To whom can I impart the honor of protecting the noble Uparians in their dire time of need?” Only apathetic silence answered. “Am I to understand,” the leader paused and looked at his assembly of senators in a glaringly astonished face, “that none would stand to further the cause of freedom and justice against the Xarii?” One knight stood in answer, “Commandant, The Uparians refused to join our Republic – why should we die for their ignorance?” Another broke in “And besides, the Xarii are ten times more powerful than we are. It is useless to stand against their might.” The commander replied coolly and in a grim tone, “Then you have forfeited our Republic, and everything it stood for, to the very mire we wrought it from.”

As Vesirius turned to leave the great hall of the Knights Sparatæ, the youngest warrior, who was from the capital of the Old Republic, Sparata, stood up, “Sir. Do not lose hope. I shall lead the assault on the Xarii siege.” The Imerii stopped in his tracks, while the young man continued, “I will sacrifice my freedom and my life that others may have liberty and vitality: happiness and life. I know that Uparia has the only jump-gate path into the Republic, and I would die to protect those outside our domain, if it meant the survival of our ideals. For what is a light if you smother it in darkness? What is freedom if you let tyranny go unchecked? Do you, senators, not understand? I will stand; even if I stand alone, against these intolerable acts against our kin of mind!” The assembly, though slightly invigorated by the young man’s bold speech, still sat in complacency at the Uparian request for aid. “Though… I do not wish to die in vain. My men are well trained and loyal, but we do not have the might to break the lines of the Xarii on our own.”

The commander of the senate turned and said wryly, “I can help you there, young one. Your sacrifice and the sacrifice of Sparata will not be in vain. Go, take your three hundred into the hallowed halls of the Sciparii – may it be the bulwark of freedom and liberty in these dark times.” The young man stood at attention, saluted his commander, and ran out of the chamber to collect his men. The elder then said to the remaining senators, “Your apathy will not go unrewarded. You shall reap the fruit of your labors; pray the young one does not fail, or his doom will be the doom of you all.”

The Sciparii set forth with three hundred noble Sparatans, each armed to the teeth with blaster rifles, armor, starfighters, and ion cannons. The procession of the noble ships Sparatæ, as it glided out of the Tiran system, was looked upon with solemn eyes by the people of the Republic. They knew that the mighty flagship and its convoy were not to return to free space. Sadness filled their hearts as the realized they price of liberty. The envoy of democracy made its way to the jump-gate which allowed for inter-planetary travel, and accelerated exponentially toward its goal.

The young knight who dared to brave these perils was Sci. As the Sciparii and its escorts jumped out of lightspeed, the true immensity of the Xarii fleet was made known. Sci stared out at the Xarii ships, which were so numerous they blocked nearly half of the planet. Sci was a graduate of one of the Republic’s most distinguished military academies, and had a knack for strategy. “Captain Tiro,” he said, pushing the button on the side of his helmet to transmit orders between vessels, “This jump-gate is our main priority now. Create a circular perimeter with your frigates. Captain Ræ, take a scout with you and make sure our flank is secure.” Sci let his arm fall back down to his side, but not for long. He faced the glass panel that served as a holo-map and planned out the impending conflict. He said to his advisor over his shoulder, “Our ships are stronger, that is for certain. If we hold our discipline and use our Sparatan maneuvers, our lines should last a long time.”

The battle began the next day. The endless waves of Xarii light fighters beat down upon the seemingly impervious Sparatan lines which absorbed everything with stoic dedication. Sci watched from the Sciparii’s command deck, directing the battle, playing every stutter of the Xarii line to his advantage. “All too easy!” cried one of the ship’s many bridge gunners. “Perhaps” said Sci with a pondering tone as he marched down to the hangar.

But this was not so, for behind the endless barrage of snub-fighters loomed a more ominous foe – twelve mighty flagships of the Xarian Empire. Cirii, Sci’s advisor, gasped, “Their heavy cannons could destroy a shielded city, much less our frigates, sir!” “Hold the line!” Sci warned as he climbed into his fighter’s cockpit. “There’s too many of them!” Suddenly the Saevii shook violently – the first of the flagship’s volleys had hit the bridge. “Cirii? Cirii!” Sci tried in vain to reestablish communications with his friend. Sci’s face emboldened. As the canopy of his tiny fighter shut, he burst out of the hangar just as another heavy round impacted on the Sciparii. “This is our last stand, men! We can’t afford to let them through! Red group, grey group, follow me!” Several wings of fighters joined Sci in a wedge formation. “Watch the flak!” The little band of ships weaved in between the giant lasers of the Xarii flagships. “Grey group, split up – hit the bridges with your missiles!” Sci’s dwindling group darted into the giant munitions reservoir of the largest of the Xarian flagships, “Red group, we’re going into the heart of the storm! For the Republic!” As the battle cry rang out, the Saevii’s hull was breached, the giant vessel bled air into the vacuum of space, bringing crew and munitions with it. The loss of the Sciparii disheartened the battle-brave Sparatans, as their casualties grew. Sci dodged the flak with ruthless efficiency as he led the final charge into the ammunition depot of the Xarii fleet. As the Saevii began to implode from its lack of hull integrity, and the final hope of the Sparatans faded into darkness of space, a giant flash encapsulated the battle. The mightiest of the Xarian warships vaporized and with the shock wave it released radiated into all the other battleships, cruisers, and frigates, tossing them about like light from a pulsar. The jump-gate was shattered, and both fleets fell silent.

The dark void of space consumed the heroes of that battle, but the message of their sacrifice could not be silenced. In the days that followed, the rest of Vesirius’s Knights rallied. The Xarian Empire was destroyed and Uparia flourished under the new found freedom that was bought with the sacrificial blood of the noble Sparatans.

Thunder. The roar of the heavens enveloped Sci as he trudged through the sludge of the battlefield. His cloaked troops followed their general, who was just knighted not three weeks earlier. This was his first test; a baptism of fire... and water. The war had split the Republic into shattered shards - the Mandalorians had a vast stronghold in the outer-rim, and had all but surrounded the Republic. The Jedi Council, wise as they were, had urged patience as the tumult unfolded to find the route behind the aggressive motions of the Mando'ade. One Knight, however, could not stand idly by and watch the Republic die. This Knight was Revan. Along with his charismatic comrade, Malak, Revan rallied a large number of Jedi Knights to go with him to the outer-rim in the hopes of destroying the threat. One the many hundreds that answered Revan was Sci, a young Jedi Knight who was himself thinking of rebelling from the Council's will. This battle was the first step of Revan's cunning plan, though the price would be immeasurable. The heavy rain made the Jedi General's armor speak in soft pattering. The hum of his lightsaber made the men feel more secure. The small collection of soldiers was making its way up a muddy slope, in hopes of flanking the enemy on the rainy, mud-ridden planet of Dxun. The dropship which put them there had already suffered immense damage - the hull was ridden with carbon scoring from the ion cannons. It had careened down in the muck, smashing into a mandalorian outpost. An intense battle ensued between the Mandalorians of the camp and the hodge-podge of Republic survivors. The Jedi General had gotten himself separated from the troops. Sliding around the wet, muddy grass, dodging Mandalorian fire and vibroblades the General made quick work of the younger Mandalorians. He also managed to slay half a dozen of their strongest warriors before what was left of his crew managed to break the enemy lines. The costs were already staggering. Nearly one hundred died of the vessel during the descent, a dozen more in the crash, and nearly fifty in the fight to secure the crash-site. Sci's silver lightsaber twirled and then disengaged. "Captain, how many men did we lose?" he asked. There was no response. "Captain?" "He's dead, sir." broke in a bloodied sergeant, who rose slowly from the fallen corpse of his commander. The Sergeant had a deep gash in his left side, and his uniform was soiled with mud, grass, and battle-gore. The General sighed painfully, "Then we press on. Take some of the rifles from their armory, get some blaster bolts - we're going to need them." The mauled sergeant rthen asked, "Sir... we... what of the dead?" After a moment of deliberation, Sci said ponderously, "Every second we spend with our dead kills the Republic: kills us - we must hack through the jungle and get to the top of ridge. Then we can establish comms with command and see where we may best serve." "As... as you command, General." The band commenced hacking through the lush, green jungle, toward the razor sharp mountains in front of them. The rain abated for a while, but the dark, ominous clouds remained ever vigilant. The thick foliage came with an assortment of wild creatures, many as hostile and exotic as the environment which spawned them. The occasional Boma beast rampaged through the jungle path the men were following, making the path extremely difficult to pursue. More often Cannocks harrassed the party. It seemed there was some sort of malevolent beast every fourty meters. As Darkness began to fall, the cold, wet men huddled together and set up camp nearly three-fourths the way up the path. They had no idea what awaited them in the darkness, nor how many would long sustain the wounds they had already suffered...

The stars stared as blankly back at Sci as he stared at them. The quiet had lulled him into kind of sleepless hypnosis, drawing him deeper into the black depths. Sci blinked and exhaled softly, as if time stood eerily still as he absorbed the dark beauty of the scene. The desaturated, luminous bodies hovered, immobile, impersonal. With this Sci broke from his conscious slumber. All the sounds and chaos from the capital ship returned in a crushing flood. Sci looked up through his helm at the infinite sea of lights in the long hangar. The large dropships and gunships whirred in preparation for the mission ahead. Everything was alive for the moment, if not for any other point in time. Every sound was intricately amplified, optimized, and romanticized. Every thought precise and clear. The light, desaturated blue hum of the hangar bay shield door pulsed through the hangar. The searing heat of the snub-fighters' engines gave an ambient warmth to the cool metal of the battleship. The sound of troops' footsteps clattered through the halls. The smell of burning fuel and excited ions filled the air of the hangar. Sci walked cooly into the lead dropship and secured himself. "This is going to get rough," he said under his helm. And then the ship vibrated and lifted off the hangar deck, pushing forward with it's ion-hybrid engines into the dark void of space...