Yeah, I know. This post is extremely long. But it’s awesome! 
Plus, I had to do lots of research for this one. I actually had to go through twenty pages of this RPG (which includes the old jacked up pages where ‘ turned into crap like ') to find out what happened to all my Kovasn on Malachor V. Had to known whether they escaped or how they died. It was a whole process. Lol But worth it. Enjoy. 
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Xvan growls faintly as the Jedi known as Atris resumes her seat. It was a step in the right direction as far as he was concerned; a step back into her place. He glances at Akson who shakes his head with concern. The Jedi Masters were as stubborn as they’d always been portrayed. Surprising and yet expected.
Akson had to persuade the Jedi Masters to investigate the Triumvirate. It was nothing to be taken lightly. “Jedi Masters,” Akson begins to try again, “I realize the Council’s concern with Revan... especially since she was once one of your own. I also understand that during wartime to have the Council chasing after what some would believe nothing but pirate’s whispers and ghosts would lead to problems.”
“However, it is apparent you do not fully understand the gravity of this situation. A girl and her ‘rag-tag rabble’,” his eyes cut coldly to Atris as he quotes her, his gaze quickly returning to the other members, “are no match for three Dark Lords and the army they have more than likely acquired.”
He pauses, letting the logic sink in before he continues once more. “We have also discovered...” he glances back at Xvan, wondering what all he should reveal and whether the Jedi would believe him, “that there is now another amidst these Sith. Whether he claims allegiance to the first three still remains unclear but he is by far more powerful than the three combined. We are aware you have already suffered the handiwork of his Second yes?”
Xvan steps forward now, peeling his helmet away. Silvery blue hair and deep blue eyes give the Mandalorian an Echani-like appearance which had caused many of his Mandalorian comrades to question his origins. His voice, void of any amplifications his helmet bestowed is deep and smooth, the charming voice of a killer.
“It is not that these Dark Lords lack power... and the fact that they are far away is irrelevant. They simply do not wish to be found. Think about it, di’kute. This... Mortis one... his assassin managed to kill four of your Masters before this Jedi here,” his left hand motions towards Kavar, “became aware and was able to track him down.”
“And even then he managed to kill two more Masters before he fled, barely injured. It would be very unwise to underestimate the being which taught such a... capable underling.”
Akson nods, agreeing. "We understand that you cannot send the entire Council chasing after these Sith. And we do not expect such. However, at least have those Council members already in the field look into it. Surely no harm could come from that."
...Outside the Council Chambers...
The Sergeant paces impatiently. The Council was in a very important meeting he’d been told. What could be more important than a psychopath Sith on the loose in Corsucant’s streets was beyond him. Yet... there had been rumors. The Republic fleet had not been heard of for quite some time.
Perhaps it was because they were fighting in such deep space... or perhaps the Mandalorians had finally crushed them. He shakes his head. No. The Republic had that Jedi. Revan wasn’t it? Yes, her. He’d heard talk about her. A great military strategist who would lead the Republic to victory.
So if it wasn’t defeat the Republic fleet had met in the depths of space... what had happened that the Council was holding an emergency meeting?
...Merchant Square, Coruscant...
The hysterical laugh. It was the last thing all his victims heard. His nails quickly extend into sharp, blade-like claws, effortlessly slicing into tender flesh. He rips and tears until he finds it. He grins, his tongue running over his sharp, jagged fangs. Salvia drips from his hungry mouth, sizzling as it lands on his victim’s heart.
His Master had never allowed him this, to kill and feed for the mere pleasure of it. He growls and bends, his blood stained fangs sinking deep into the heart. His body shudders and he moans. Such life. Such... power! And in an instant... it is gone. He groans, pushing the body –now nothing but a shell –away.
He was... unsatisfied. The hunger... it was... unbearable! His hands clench into fists, his nails biting into his own flesh. How many had he fed upon? Ten? Maybe more? He’d lost count. But still the gaping hole. The craving. Was he not doing it right? He’d watched his Master feed time and time again, his victim’s bodies turning to ash as he drank the very life from them.
He opens his fists, starring down at his hands. He still couldn’t shapeshift. When his Master drank straight from the heart he could steal the forms of his victims, using them to lure more unsuspecting prey. But try as he might he couldn’t. He needed more power. Yes, that was it. More power! He floats to his feet with a Force push and runs down the alley, onto his next victim.
...Destiny’s Pawn, lower decks...
Malak leans against the wall, clutching his arm. He stares at the empty escape pod slot. He grits his teeth, his face hardening, the muscles tensing. He turns and begins to make his way towards the nearest elevator without a word. The Jedi escaped... and with the girl... that damned girl.
Perhaps it was for the best. The Jedi was taking her away; taking her back to the Council. She wouldn’t be near Revan... and if the Council had anything to say about it, she wouldn’t be a threat to Revan anymore either. She was a half-breed now. Half a Sith and half a Jedi, despite her desperate attempts to cling solely to one. The Council would break her.
And then... she would be neither...
...Destiny’s Pawn, bridge...
Revan’s fleet lingers near Foerost, just far enough away where they could not be detected. They would strike quickly and take the ship yards where the large majority of the Republic’s remanding fleet lay unsuspecting. It was a sure victory... and by then her new armada would be ready. She grins. A fresh, battle-hardened armada in the blink of an eye, ready to crush the Republic.
...Escape Pod...
Lori takes the canteen and begins to drink its contents, tilting her head to the side so Yi’shar can examine –by far –her most troubling wounds. While Mortis had attempted to heal the pinprick holes he’d left in Lori’s neck it is obvious healing is not the dark creature’s greatest power. Either that... or he did not wish to heal her completely.
Mortis had closed off the wounds so she wouldn’t bleed out. It was a start. However, the holes had scarred over in an ugly fashion and the area remained inflamed. No doubt it is at least mildly painful but Lori appears oblivious. Yi’shar reaches out, his hand hovering inches above Lori’s neck as he begins to try and finish what Mortis had left undone.
Immediately, Yi’shar feels a dark force push back against him. The Jedi Master has to step back to keep his balance. Shivers travel the length of Yi’shar’s spine as an all-too-familiar voice whispers in Yi’shar’s thoughts, “Mine...”
Suddenly the scars on Lori’s neck sink into her skin, replaced by a faint, barely visible burn mark which resembles a dying rose. Yi’shar feels cold; feels hands wrapping around his neck although he knows no one is really there. They tighten their grip... and tighten...
“I’m coming for you... Jedi...”
And then... it is gone.
...Unidentified Stealth Craft...
The hold of the stealth craft is surprising large. Looking at the ship from the outside, one would not expect its hold to be large enough to house the four Mandalorian Kovasn and their guest with plenty of room to spare. Kilax remains close to their new addition, his hand inconspicuously resting on the handle of his saber blade.
Despite his skill and hardened attitude Kilax stands as the youngest of the Kovasn, perhaps not even past his mid-twenties. Dull black hair and numerous tattoos –including a very prominent ‘666’ on the upper left cheek of his face –however, favor his killing skill more than his age. Rotel remains the silent guardian as always, leaning back against the wall of the hold.
Kilax was the intial strike if this intruder decided he wanted to do more than talk with them. Rotel was merely waiting in case the boy missed. Rotel dons the darkest skin of the Kovasns, his dark brown hair doing much to compliment the tone. His face remains unscathed although he bears a large diagonal scar down his upper body. It would have been a killing blow... had the Witch not saved him.
Daar stands somewhat behind their guest and off to the side, waiting for a wrong move. He was in the perfect position to strike should things go south; the enemy’s back was to him. Much like Kilax, Daar appears younger, perhaps only in his late twenties or early thirties. His long, jet black hair is partially pinned up in the back, his bangs hanging down over his face to somewhat cover the large burn scar he'd received from a weapon's malfunction when he was younger.
While Daar had easily forgiven Rotel for killing him –seeing as they were both not themselves and under the influence of that dark Witch –the scar around his throat still burned despite the Witch’s magic which had brought him back to life. Zorvon had done his best to dull the pain but much like his own scar... it would never completely heal. The pain would last forever.
Zorvon faces the new arrival, his piercing green eyes locked on this... Mortis character. The darkness seeping from the man is overwhelming. Zorvon had almost fallen to his knees when he first walked into the room. The other Kovasn were showing no signs of having a hard time coping now but Zorvon could still sense their uneasiness. No doubt this being could as well.
Zorvon would have to be extremely careful. This man was powerful and this was a delicate situation. It could quickly and easily spiral out of control. Zorvon clears his throat, pushing a strand of his greyed hair away from his face. His voice is gruff and hard, with an air of complete authority; that of a leader, of one used to shouting orders and having others follow.
“I hardly see how we can help anyone like you...” he pauses, wondering if he should use the name the man had called himself or something else. He quickly decides to call the being by what he is; what the Mandalorians would call... his kind. “Shade...” he growls.
Mortis chuckles, the sound sending Zorvon on edge. His voice is rich and smooth, the rasp and edge long gone and nothing left but pure charm. Not at all the voice of the monster it had once been. Something was off. He... was off.
“Considering the situation," Mortis begins, "it is not I who need the help Mandalorian. You wish to aid this Republic, yes? Fight against your... Sith oppressors? Yet you have no efficient means to do so.”
Kilax scoffs, removing his saber blade partially from its sheath. “Not so. We have our blades.”
Mortis’s empty, white eyes cut smoothly to the side, to look at Kilax. “Very true. It is no secret you Mandalorians are exceptionally skilled,” he looks back at Zorvon, “and that... is why I am here.”
Zorvon crosses his arm over his chest and nods. A sign to continue. Mortis does so. “A Jedi Master has... obtained something of mine. He cannot fathom its power and it will bring about his destruction as well as that of many others. Perhaps even the Republic. I do not care for such petty foundations of men. All I want... is it.”
“You see... in helping me you also promote your own cause. I pay you for retrieving my... treasure and you prevent the fall of yet more Jedi in this war. Maybe even save the Republic. If you end up killing the Jedi Master which stole from me... well, I may have information for you.”
Rotel kicks off the wall, standing erect. “Information?” he wonders.
Mortis smiles, glancing in Rotel’s direction. “Yes. Information I know you want.”
Zorvon huffs, drawing attention back to him. “How do you know what we want? You think we want to help the Republic? We’re Mandalorians after all.”
Another chuckle from Mortis which sends shivers down Zorvon’s spine. It quickly fades into a growl, however. “You think me so weak? To have outlived the others of my kind, killed as I have, and not know what some pesky Mandalorians want?" he emphasises the word with distain. "I have not the patience for this. I am offering you your chance. Take it... or I shall find others to do my bidding.”
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di’kute: stupid individuals (lit); in this instance "fools"
Well... now we know what all the Kovasn look like. Tada! ^_^ Here are some pics to help better visualize them:
Daar
Kilax
Rotel
Xvan
Zorvon
Anyway, I fixed it, just wanted to let you know. I'll try to post something tomorrow. 
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