Smoke rises from the Emperor’s Throne. The hour grows late, and Arthur Prowse brings us our salvation.

The Rakata has regain much of its former strength, He cannot yet take physical form, but his spirit has lost none of its potency. Concealed within his prison, the Rakata controls all. His thoughts pierces the minds of many, metal and flesh. But he can only be released from one place, you know of what I speak, Prowse. A great fortress, devouring all in flame.

I applaud you Prowse, your resources are numerous, but they have been utterly spent. Of course it was all for nothing. I have told you once before this is not a battle, not a war we can win.