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The Fork of Doom

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(Part II of my story)

Thro'Disan woke wondering where he was and how he got here. The bodies on the floor reminded him of the attack. He rubbed his forehead and sat up against the wall. "I need to find the security tapes, I gotta know where the other Saints went." Thro stoop up and walked to the security room down the hall. Several monitors flashed red reading "Intruder Alert,Intruder Alert" He sat at a desk and turned on a screen to the hangar's security camera. He fast forwarded to where he saw a familiar face, a Nautolan named Julmay Hiddai ran in and killed several sith then rescued some troops and escaped on a ship. He caught small ammounts of their convorsations but heard Tython, the planet Thro'Disan had trained on. "So Master Hiddai is headed to Tython...I think i'll follow him. Maybe i'll catch up and he can help me sort through this mess of a day." Thro stood up and walked towards the hangar again. He searched for a ship that was still flyable, but didn't find one. He slammed his fist down on the front of a nearby speeder and got an idea. He ran out of the hangar into the open and looked around. There where several sith ships landed to the east of his position, and just his luck, they where guarded. Thro jumped onto a fence to his right and ran along it towards the sith. He jumped off and killed 2 sith with his dual lightsabers and threw them into the other two, easily finishing them off. Ignoring the pange of sadness, Thro'Disan climbed into a sith rapid-transit ship. He punched in the coordinates for Tython and zoomed off.

(Thats the end of my scattered story, hoped you liked it. Julmay I hope you arn't mad that i'm following you.)

Last edited by The Fork of Doom on Aug. 25th, 2010 6:40 pm; edited 1 time in total

John 13:8-"Peter said to him "You shall never wash my feet!"

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Jaden crouched back down behind the down starfighter; he beckoned the to him. They stumbled forward, and made their way to him. He recognized none of them. Jaden poked his head up again and looked around once more.

He could see a large group of troopers engaged with the sith. He saw the courtyard of the Saints base was covered in large craters, as fires, lightsabers, blasterbolts, and tactical lights lit the night sky. Jaden spied another spot for cover, a pile of duristeel and rubble was his next location.

He turned to his men. They all looked scared. Jaden motioned them to follow close and keep down. He stuck his gun over the starfighter's wing and fired for a moment and he ran for the pile of rubble.

A sniper's blaster bolt hit too close to Marx as he ran. A blast from a grenade blew him forward into the cover of the rubble. His men all made it. Jaden stuck his head out from cover. He could see a small group of troopers pinned down by a group of sith supported by a light tank.

Jaden turned to his men.

"You, take those two guys and flank that tank to the left," said Jaden pointing at three men. "You three are with me, Go!"

Jaden poked his head again. He shot his rifle and darted over some dead sith. As he ran from cover to cover, Jaden felt as if he was on dantooine again as a boy, bolts avoiding him, dashing from bush to bush.

Then reality again. Jaden was in position, to the right of the tank. Jaden saw a pale faced human poke his head around cover a wave at him. Jaden signaled back. Then murder in his mind, Jaden stood from behind cover and opened fire on the sith.

Assistant Ambassador of the Smuggler's Union

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Scattered: Entry 1 from Vly-Norr Takk

Vly was stationed on Belsavis when he received orders that he was being transferred to support a newly organized mission on Ord Mantel. The orders could not have come any sooner. Vly was not very fond of the icy climate on Belsavis nor the job of working in a prison and assisting with interrogations. Details of the mission were to be given upon his arrival to the system. He was given three days on Coruscant before having to leave for Ord Mantell. On the second day of his stay on Coruscant the Council received a disturbing message from the jedi Dax that he felt a disturbance of a possible attack from the Sith. Vly was instructed to leave early and investigate this possible attack.

The battle was long over by the time Vly-Nor arrived to Ord Mantell space. Vly spent a couple hours scanning for Sith activity and any war ships in space before landing. All scans came up negative for Sith activity. Even though he had the coordinates to the SOTOR facility, Vly decided it would be better to land at the nearest star port and make check out the surrounding area before investigating the site. There was plenty of intel to be gathered at the star port and some nearby cantinas. Many of the locals caught sight of the Sith ships descending for the attack and definitely heard a lot of the battle.

Vly-Nor decided he had better cut himself off from any possible incoming transmissions until he was done investigating in case some Sith had remained on the planet. The area surrounding the SOTOR supposed hidden facility held on clues of battle in the form of debris from mangled ships. Judging by the destruction of the facility and the scorch marks on the ground and roof the Sith hit the Saints with an air raid before deploying ground forces. Vly couldn't help but wonder why the Republic forces stationed on Ord Mantell were not able to respond. Probably because the Republic forces were not told of this facility. Thus why he was the one doing the investigating.

Next Vly-Nor had to investigate the facility itself. This was going to be treacherous because most of the facility was underground and a lot of it was caved in from the air attack. After a few minutes of searching and using the force Vly was able to find a crevice leading in to the facility. He was unable to obtain a schematic since it was built by this newly organized group called the Saints. About the only information the Council told Vly-Nor was that the covert group was made up of jedi, troopers, and smugglers.

After sliding down through the crevice Vly began searching for Saints, intel, and any clues that could help with his report to the Council. It appeared that anyone not killed by the air assault made it out of their quarters. However, there were some that never made it out of their beds. There was no doubt it was a surprise attack. Vly wished he was able to recover personal items for any survivors, but he did not have the ability to get everything out. Some rooms were completely caved in from the bombings. Vly took a few seconds to keep anger from welling up inside. He was concentrating hard on keeping his presence concealed though.

After a thorough search of the facility Vly was able to find very little except those who were not able to make it out alive. It seemed that some scavengers had tried to recover some valuables, but were shot before making it out. Unless the looters happened to be caught in the middle of the battle. That was worth taking note of. Vly-Nor took some time to gather all the bodies he could of fallen Saints and gave them a proper burial with fire. It was the least he could do for the fallen comrades he was never able to meet. Vly strategically placed a few mines to bring down the rest of the facility so no one else would be able to search the place for intelligence.

As Vly-Nor was making his way to exit the attacked facility he opened himself to the force and felt a presence. Someone was close. Just then Vly caught the sound of a jet pack descending through an opening in the ceiling about fifty meters away. Either Vly had become popular enough to have a bounty on his head or the Sith had contracted a bounty hunter to watch for anyone sent by the Republic. That must explain how the looters had been killed. The bounty hunter landed cautiously but arrogantly as he stood heavily armored in the middle of the quite large mess hall. Vly had spent several hours here already and the hunter might have called in that Vly was here. It was time to leave. Vly reached out with the force to a blaster across the room and drew the bounty hunters attention away from Vly by firing off a shot. The hunter responded with a volley of blaster fire from his dual wielded weapons.

With the distraction Vly-Nor was able to detonate the mines with just enough time to get out before the building collapsed. Fearing little time to spare, Vly called back to his ship and instructed his droid to pick him at the predetermined coordinates Vly set for an emergency pick up. After arriving at the coordinates Vly surveyed the destroyed facility for any sign of the bounty hunter. He was certain the hunter would not have time to get out, but it never hurts to be certain. Minutes later his ship arrived and Vly was Coruscant bound within the hour. There was much to report to the Council and Vly would be busy sifting through all intel gathered during his short stay on Ord Mantell.

"Make level paths for your feet and take only ways that are firm. Do not swerve to the right or the left; keep your foot from evil." Proverbs 4:26-27

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Naandi's Story - Part 1 of 2

A leaf quivered in the wind, suspended by its delicate branch, brilliant green and vibrant with life. But a trim of brown circled the slowly curling leaf until a glowing thread of ember-orange traced a trail of black across its veins and creases. Its slow death was one of trembling surrender, folding in on itself and spreading its blight to all beside.

Soon the smoke of the tree’s burning bark was threading through the leaves, and wavelets of heat sent a shudder through the branches. Its death was slow and reluctant, but the scene it closed its eyes upon was one of desperate conflict and the voices of dying men drowning in the dissonance of blaster fire and afterburners.

It was chaos. Why did battle always seem like chaos? Men ran through the flames of fallen ships to escape the red bolts of fighters from above, and shards of exploding crates ripped through flesh as quickly as the blades of their enemies. But in minutes it was over--too few left to kill en masse. And only the frayed edges of survivors, gathering in the dark, remained to whisper in their corners and wait for hope.

An open door of a docking garage spilled an uncomfortable light over stacked plasteel crates. Only the barrels of blaster-rifles and the occasional reflective visor of a Republic Trooper peered over the improvised defenses. Twice they had been attacked by a Sith platoon, and twice they had repelled them. But the barrier was scarred black and too often the eyes of the troopers turned to look to the floor at their fallen friends.

A circle of men lay huddled in a corner, most of them prostrate, and trying their best to remain conscious despite the pain of their wounds. What once had been a flurry of movement was now hushed and still as the injured awaited a new advancement of troops.

One could tell the veterans by the control in their voice, despite how loudly they shouted commands. And one could tell the young recruits by the emptiness of their keen eyes, as though they had left something behind. But it was the quick moving, thoughtless ones that everyone watched and no one listened to, knowing full well that they were just as dangerous as the soon arriving Sith troops.

Only one person did not look toward the broken bay door, impatient for the attack. Her thoughts focused only on the injured: kneeling beside them, passing a hand across their wounds, and meeting their eyes to remind them to live. As she stood up beside one soldier, he caught her hand, “Are you going to leave us?” he asked.

The soldier knew that so many wounded should be left behind; their position was indefensible, and everyone there knew that there was precious little time before the last transport would leave—if it had not already. But he asked anyways, and hoped, though either answer would shame him.

“No,” she only whispered. He did not see a smile on the jedi’s face, but neither did she look afraid, and he believed her. He could not see what thoughts pressed themselves upon her.

Naandi had seen too many battles during the War to not realize the attack on the base was unusual. Sith did not leave wounded and did not take prisoners. But in the course of only a half hour, already there were many wounded and abandoned.

She tried to ignore the roar of afterburners in the distance. Then the Sith knew there were Jedi here, and were crippling them with wounded Troopers to slow their escape—or prevent it altogether.

She stood up and looked at the troopers at her feet; there was little that could be done in the moments they had left. She closed her eyes and for a brief moment felt the cool wind of a garden and the smell of snowblossoms long lost within her memory.

A hand on her arm demanded her attention, and she turned her head slowly to listen to the CO. They had fought together before--during the War--and when they discovered they were serving the same cell again, they had avoided each other as much as they avoided the memory of those failed victories. But he was the first at her side when the attack began.

“We have to move these people.”

She didn’t answer him.

“We have to move.”

“Is the transport still there?”

“The scout hasn’t come back yet.”

She only listened to him with her head slightly inclined, but she had no response to give. She was not the leader he looked for.

“We have to move,” he repeated through his mask, and she stiffened her shoulders as though it might deflect the demand, but his persistence as he drew his rifle across his chest shook an answer from her. A jagged nod gave him permission to give the command, but immediately regret closed her eyes and filled her body with stillness.

Reluctance weighted the movements of the troopers as they gathered what ammo reserves were left and what injured comrades still lived. The way they would take had been laid with mines, but the trooper who laid them was dead and every dusty step was dangerous. The narrow hallway was pierced with light from the broken roofing above, and the shadows eddied across the floor when the Sith fighters passed across the sky.

The shadows ignited with a red glow as a sudden explosion behind the moving troops sent a wave of fire rolling across the roof. Red bolts of rifle fire punctured the remaining black smoke. The men who had instinctually dropped to the floor to escape the blast now struggled to their feet, dragging their weapons and wounded beside them. Two troopers turned their backs to their retreating comrades, held their ground, and offered their lives for a few more seconds of their comrade’s survival.

The retreat down the hall and toward the transport was now a desperate run, and puffs of dust where frag mines had been triggered dropped more men than the blaster fire from behind. But then the troopers spilled out into the sunlight and the open.

Naandi stopped at the open door and counted the men as they turned out of the gauntlet—more than a third now lost. When the last troopers backed out of the hall, she placed her tiny hand between them and the oncoming fire and sent a concussive burst of telekinesis, momentarily silencing the echoes of blaster fire.

The red rock of the cliffs above were now clouded with the ashen grey of battle, and great columns of black smoke, like the distant plumes of sleeping volcanoes, obscured the open tarmac. It took only seconds for Naandi to see that the transport ship was not gone. It lay in ruins upon the field, mangled and aflame.

A Sith fighter passed above the ship, leaving a horn-like eddy of smoke behind it. Two shots from its bat-like talons scattered the troopers.

More fire and more smoke and the realization that the ambush was inescapable sent the troopers into the frenzied instinct for survival. Some held to formation and died. Some sought cover and ran beyond the shouts of their commander. The veterans popped smoke grenades and trotted into the ashen clouds.


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Naandi's Story - Part 2 of 2

When the shrill roar of the fighters stilled, the troopers with Naandi halted and kneeled within the smoke. The CO checked his comlink once again while the trooper beside Naandi coughed within his helmet. The wet cough of injured lungs sent convulsions shivering through his body, but every moment weakened the tremble in his shoulders. Naandi rested her hand on the back of his neck, but no soldier dared to listen to him die. They waited to know why the sounds above had gone; they waited for the next attack.

They had no cover but the smoke. Their visibility was limited to, perhaps, four feet, and no one could say where exactly the closest building was. The trooper farthest in Naandi’s field of vision signaled something before he disappeared into the haze. And then, if it was possible, Naandi sank down closer to the ground as she heard the whirring, whistling sound of hunter-seeker mines muffled by distance and smoke.

A thin, counterilluminated disc cut through the ash above their heads and immediately the troopers’ rifles were to their shoulders and firing into the air. A tiny explosion rained embers down on the group before two more nearly invisible mines turned a tight circle and dove into the group. They collided benignly into a force barrier, but as Naandi lowered her hands, the ringing in her ears left her deaf to the world around her. The injured trooper beside her seemed to float to a stand as two comrades dragged him up, and then she heard the distant voice of the CO calling out, “…relocate. We need to relocate!”

With her hearing, the sound of the hunter-seekers returned. But as the troopers moved out, she watched the smoke behind and felt the chill before she saw the glow. Across the reflective surface of the smoke was the distinctive crimson radiance of a blade and then the black silhouette of a man beyond. Another blade blinked into life, and another, before Naandi could focus her thoughts into a force push. The concussive wave ruptured a hole into the smoke wall, revealing the small group of Sith warriors, now kneeling but undeterred. The unison riposte of two of the warriors sent Naandi flying backwards and into the smoke.

Naandi lay still for a moment where she fell. Fear gripped her, and training bade her pause until she knew her surroundings. She heard the rifle fire beyond, but the smoke and burning debris confused the sound. It was like being in a tunnel and all the chaos seemed far away. She could not see them, but she could hear them and feel them dying.

The smoke sealed Naandi’s vision, just as did the thousand dying voices that scattered images across her force-sight. She was blinded by what seemed like the building dissonance of echoes resounding against the walls of a cave: familiar voices of old battles.

“Visual contact!” she heard a voice break through the visions, only to be interrupted by the hum of a lightsaber. Further yet, other voices called out for aid and were suddenly silenced.

Naandi stood and turned once, then chose her direction and ran through the haze with her hand upon the hilt of a sheathed vibroblade. The first body she came upon was a trooper. She knew he was dead without touching him. But she kneeled beside him regardless and listened for the living. Why did the Force never teach us to hope?

Five steps more revealed a second body. “Get up, get up, get up,” she whispered as she rolled him to his knees. The man remained doubled with his shoulder in her lap, and she cradled him for a moment him like one might hold a weeping child. But she knew he was not dead for a reason.

His bones were shattered, and when he could not move, Naandi took off his helmet. His dark brown hair was sweaty and cool, and though she saw his face for the first time, he would not live long enough for her to know his name.

Only when Naandi rolled the trooper back into the dust did she look up to see the shadowed figure of the Sith warrior watching her. His predatory curiosity was patient in its attack; he’d killed enough Jedi today to sate his blood-thirst, and now his temper chose to feed off the broken emotions of the straggling victims.

Naandi stood when his blade ignited. The warrior would want her in close-quarters, and the threat in his yellowed eyes provoked her to draw near. But the gawky weapon of a padawan at her side was as cumbersome in its weight and swing as her detestation for the blade, and she would not oblige him with the drawing of her sword.

Naandi was not a duelist: she would lose this battle. And her passionless face betrayed her defeat even as she stood. The warrior faintly smiled then backwards withdrew into the wall of smoke, knowing she must follow.

There is no hope in the force
--Naandi remembered every failed duel--but to trust in its will. She took a step forward toward the haze where footprints in the sand were evidence of another failed duel. The sound of his pulsating lightsaber drew Naandi into the smoke, but then a hand grabbed her arm from behind.

She turned to the masked face of the CO, his rifle trained on the blank screen of smoke. A jerk of his head bade her withdraw, and she followed his cautious retreat until they passed two troopers, kneeling with eyes fixed in the direction of the warrior.

“There’s a shuttle,” he clicked quietly through his mask. He motioned to his men and the group moved out as quietly and quickly as possible.

Naandi looked to the CO limping beside her, still holding her arm tightly--He had come looking for her. And then she saw the beat up, ragged-looking smuggler’s shuttle, its cargo door open and bearing the nervous looking frame of a woman. Her butch-cut hair was as stiff as her nervous shoulders as she peered around the corner with her blaster clutched close to her chest. “Hurry it up, hurry it up, hurry it up,” she whispered quickly as if she had been saying that same phrase ever since the troopers left her.

Then the sound of a single bolt dropped half the troopers to their knees, just as nervous of friendly fire as they were of other threats. But Naandi heard the rifles follow suit, and turned in time to see the spiraling red of a thrown lightsaber circling its way into the group. A twist of her hand sent the blade careening into the ground. But as her eyes focused on the distance, the Sith warrior in all his unsated animosity stood threateningly poised for attack. She saw him grab at the air with clawed fingers, and it was as though she felt his fist tighten around her arm. But it was the CO, still holding tight to her, whose fractured femur and ribs now shattered at the will of the dark warrior.

A flurry of bolts flew over Naandi’s head as her brother-in-arms dragged her to the ground. In moments the hands of the other troopers were dragging her and the CO into the cargo hold even as the door rose to a close.

Naandi stood in the hold, watching the northern air field and then the Saints base disappear through the window. The skies were blacker than the coal yards beyond the igneous mountains, and she wondered if any still wandered in the smoke of those fires while she was transported safely to the nearby blockade-runner.

She turned her eyes away and looked to the faceless troopers rocking in unison to the turbulence and gunfire upon the hull. The CO’s head rocked too as he lay upon the ground in his battle-charred armor. She did not want to see his face. She did not want to ever remember his face. But she knew she would with all the faceless soldiers that had saved her life and given their own.

Last edited by Naandi on Feb. 21st, 2011 2:28 pm; edited 1 time in total


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((Aicha’s POV, Part I of II))


Suddenly, the ship listed strongly beneath Aicha’s feet. Gravity won out, and Aicha could do little but succumb to its force as she was slammed to the opposite wall of the dimming ship corridor. A split second more and the ceiling of the narrow corridor split as electrical wires came pouring out in a rain of sparks and an unnerving crackling noise. The overhead glowpanels shorted out within moments, yet that electrified darkness was quickly replaced with a wash of red light that alternated between strong and weak waves – a signal of the starship’s all-too-obvious distress.

Aicha blinked slowly as the sounds of a panicked crew and the creaking vessel faded into a dull black. Something cool and wet trickled down her brow and along the side of her nose. Dazed and shocky, she sunk to the floor and retreated into her last pressing thought; she flicked the back of her finger twice against the face of her wrist-comm. It still wasn’t working… odd.


The dim white lights reflected off Aicha Kartooche’s face as her hands worked meticulously over the dials and switches of the large holo-comm console. In the darkness of the communications room the lights traced a stark outline of the young Mirilian clothed in the simple tan colored tunic and trousers of a civilian: inconspicuous attire offset only by a traditional brown hooded robe. She always preferred private conversations when she contacted her superiors at the Academy of Jedi Archaeology. And there was no place more private or quiet than this particular communications room on one of the Saints’ foray-class blockade runner. She was fairly certain of that fact. She’d done her research.

Safely docked within the underground bays of the Saints’ secret base, the ship seemed peaceful and hushed—all the more since the pneumatic door had been conveniently sound-proofed for this very benefit of increased privacy. She let off a slow stream of breath as the transmission link clicked in and hailed her superior at the Academy.

Aicha’s alien pigmentation was ever more highlighted when a crisp green hologram suddenly materialized into view before her. She smiled in familiarity as a gran peered back at her at 65% actual size.

“Salutations, Master Eelu.”

Eelu Bep was a thin gran, often draped in heavy tunics that not only disguised his slight frame but instantly announced his thoroughly scholastic ambitions. Here was an alien of great importance, and he wasn’t the only one to think so. Still someone, *somewhere*, had thought it prudent to assign Aicha to his overseeing; a trial that both tested his mettle as a master archaeologist… and tested his patience too.

“Aicha.” His response lacked that same kind of enthused familiarity. Entirely. “I’m surprised that you’ve contacted me—again—within such a short timeframe. Have you found a new archaeological site?” His leftmost eye twitched and turned backwards as something distracted him on his own platform many star systems away.

“No. None recently.”

“Good…” muttered the gran beneath his breath, his leftmost eye righting itself back to join its brothers in an appraising glance over the young Mirialan.

“Did you say something, sir?”

He recovered quickly. “Continue your search then. Have the Saints’ archives been catalogued?”

“Slowly,” Aicha returned with a pause in her voice. “There are some particular holocrons of note, but, sir—my talents should be used elsewhere…”

“I’m still trying to explain the last incident when you decided to use your “talents”, Aicha. I’m not going to have you skipping quadrant just so you can satisfy your rimy brained wanderlust!” Eelu caught himself, settling his already simmering temper quickly even as his rightmost eye shifted off to the side awkwardly. Aicha’s gaze instinctually followed that third eye off to the unseen distance. Foiled!

Doubly frustrated within a single moment, Aicha did not calm herself nearly so quickly. “But Master! I’ve been here two years already. Send me to the Rim, at least!, where I can be of some good! Ord Mantell is destroying itself, and even if there had been any archeological sites here, they’ve long since been ravaged by this outbreak of civil war! I should not be here! The Council surely did not mean for me to be stranded on this rock- even if I’m the archeological ambassador—ambassador? Why would they need an ambassador here in any case? The Council made a mista-”

“Aicha, check yourself! You cannot fight fire with liquid tibanna!”

“… what?”

The gran sighed, “We must not incense the Sith any further. The treaty hangs by a thread. Do not forget how much a wounded pride can influence one’s actions, Aicha, especially the Sith. Your actions might seem petty to some, but could be construed as a direct violation. This treaty is our only hope. Do not threaten it.”

Aicha’s head had dropped to her chest, taking the reprimand in childlike resentment. “They’ve done worse to us,” she muttered her complaint, her voice rising in volume with each added point. “They don’t exactly deserve fair treatment. They don’t exactly stand by their word. They don’t exact-.”

“Nonetheless, it is not your place, or right, to further encourage an outbreak of total war.” That threesome of eyes leveled on her once again, his voice slowing for emphasis, “You’re not even a Jedi.”

It was enough to spur her on again. “So we wait for them to stab us in the back?! At least our hands wouldn’t be tied behind us if the treaty were annulled-”

“That’s quite enough! Aicha, follow through with your given assignment. No detours or off-planet ventures. Your position is already being reviewed by the Academy Council.” Aicha made a soft, unhappy noise, to which Eelu responded with his own difficult sigh and continued, “I assume you have seen little Sith influence on Ord Mantell?”

“The Sith presence here is… negligible... to say the least. I doubt they’ve even got their eye on this system—did you feel that?”

Aicha scratched at the back of her neck. Maturing as she was, she was still learning to listen to the Force, but right now all it felt like was the slightest tug on the small hairs at the back of her neck. It was like something strange in the distance; something that was felt before it was ever even seen. Much like a hound might feel its coat start to tingle as it rounds a corner in a dark alley. Or perhaps even like a-

“Aicha,” the gran cut off her easily distracted thoughts, repeating her name as he so often did to focus her attention. “Feel what? I’m not even in your system, how could I possibly fee-.”

The hologram flickered into jagged, broken lines and blinked off. Aicha gave a small start at the sudden link-dead, eyeing it curiously with a surprised half-cocked gape.

How… odd.

She tapped a long finger impatiently on the dimming console. “Eelu? Eelu? Do you read me?” She stared at the console, willing it to wink back with the hologram so she could finish the conversation and make her final plea. She flicked the link switch again. No response… This switch, that switch. No response…. She tapped once more. Then, with a darting glance to double-check the door, she gave the console a good jostle. No response.

What rotten luck! Frustrated, she took a couple steps back and set herself down on the chilly durasteel floor. And there she would sit, pulling her brown robe tight around her as she stared up at the console and willed it to return to the hologram of her supervisor. Minutes passed and all she could do was just… stare with her arms crossed in front of her in a frustrated and naïve pout. This was certainly not her best day ever.

But now that curious tickle was back. She twisted her head and gave a good shrug of the shoulder to rub it away. And now it was almost incessant and nowcompletely annoying. Blast!

Then, as if on cue, she felt the ship’s engines switch on and prepare for lift-off. That’s strange. They hadn’t scheduled any kind of flight she was aware of. She looked at her wrist-comm and gave it a good finger-tap. No response. The piloting crew should have announced a departure… must be those new recruits going on a joy ride. Whether that was the case or not, she obviously had not gained clearance to break atmo. Besides, she needed to know their E.T.A. back at the base AND why the blasted comm wasn’t working.

Pulling herself off the floor she tapped once more at her wristcomm. Disgruntled, she made her way to the ship’s intercomm on the wall and gave it a solid rattle for good measure before trying to hail the command deck. No such luck.

Aicha steadied herself with her hand on the bulk-head. The ship was already in lift-off and she could feel the near reckless increase in velocity. Any other day and the thought of pressing a capital ship to its maximum velocity would have brought her to laughter. But not today. Bother. No use in avoiding the inevitable; she would have to go to the bridge in person. She let the door open and shut behind her as she stepped into the hallway.


With shrieking voices and flailing arms, a dozen or so crew members ran past her in a panic down the corridor. There was surprise and… was it terror in their eyes? Aicha stiffened instantly. Something was wrong. Falling into the cue behind them, she followed them down the hallway towards the command deck.

The ship lurched suddenly and, in that rain of electric sparks and that heavy red light, Aicha felt herself slip to the ground as everything faded to a darker shade of grey.

Last edited by AltaVista on Jan. 14th, 2011 9:10 pm; edited 1 time in total

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((Aicha’s POV, Part II of II))


A few moments more and she was jostled to a hazy consciousness.

“Consul Aicha! Aicha! Get up! We’ve been attacked!” Two photoreceptors whirred and clicked furiously as they rotated to focus and refocus again on her own two eyes. If protocol droids could quiver in fear, this particular binary companion was shaking in his boots. He drew himself unnervingly close to her face as he squawked at her. “Consul! Don’t just sit there! Did you hear me?—We’re under ATTACK!”

Aicha groaned as she steadied herself on her feet once more, squeegeeing some wetness from her brow and nose with the back of her hand. “Attacked by whom?” she said groggily.

It was a redundant question, which she answered on her own quickly enough. The hull of the ship shuddered again with the impact of more enemy fire. Sith. A shiver of fury raked across her body.

“Attacked by whom? Attacked by WHO?!?” the droid clamored at a pitch level that perfectly matched that of the ringing in her ears. He continued into a tirade of frantic nonsense that Aicha felt disinclined to take note of. Suddenly other things seemed more important: for instance, surviving an enemy assault or, maybe, getting to the bridge to better orientate herself to the situation as a means of surviving an enemy assault. Good plan.

She took off at a dead run down the corridor, trailing her hand along the wall to brace herself now and then with each concussive impact of incoming fire. Small smatterings of red remained wherever her hand had pressed along the wall. An eternity passed as she raced down the corridor, the sound of the bipedal clacking of android feet following quickly after her, until she pulled herself into the turbolift. A breath before the doors closed the droid clambered in after her and the two were quickly transported up to the bridge.

The transparisteel window of the lift revealed the scene before the doors even opened: just more chaos.

Several dozen human and near-human crewmembers were hunched over consoles and sensors shouting madly. Aicha could hardly follow the barked commands within the confused uproar of counterattacks, defensive maneuvers, and status updates.

“Incoming shuttles, sir! A few of them got off the ground-” “Commander, heavy damage on levels…” “Fires in sector six! Sector ni-” “…hull fractures at-” “-ed communications. We’re still being jammed-” “Communications array failures on starbo-” “Survivors docking now at-” “Engine control claims we have no hyperdrive capability. Repeat, paralight systems down-…” “Sith starfighters appear to be returning to atmo- what ar-” “…-gine failure.” “Sir! - hull breach on level two, level fi-.” “Issue the evacuation order, now!-” “… life systems failure in the cargo h…” “-Force help us…”

Aicha stood alone just on the edge of the bridge, numbed by what seemed like a futile battle. She didn’t feel fear. No, not fear. Not yet. She had been trained enough to stave off that emotion. For the time being at least. Still something clenched its skeletal fingers around her heart. What was it? A question kept drawing itself in her mind: Was she ready? But, ready for what? Her own hands tightened into balls of paling knuckles as she slowly stepped backwards.

Her frustration instantly broke as an eerie hush fell across the bridge. The confusion had died for only a second as all eyes were drawn to a single spot. A thin, hissing sound pierced the silence and Aicha focused at the pinprick on the bridge-wide viewport that seemed to transfix every gaze. A pale white splintering etched itself across the viewport.

The turbolift doors slammed closed in front of her. “Rapid depressurization in process,” announced the protocol droid, dumbly, still pressing himself tight against the back wall of the lift as he had just moments before. “Automatic airlocks.”

Aicha blinked flatly as the realization drew upon her. Beyond the window, a small section of the transparisteel viewport was plucked out into the darkness of space. For a millisecond, as time slowed to that surreal standstill of shock, every foot was raised from the floor in dancelike weightlessness. That moment ended in an abrupt crash as the life-sustaining pressure of the starship’s bridge sought an equilibrium with the void of space.

It was with breathless speed that the bodies were hurtled out, tugged by the invisible hand of the vacuum. And just as quickly, all that had been confined on the command deck had dissipated into space.

Aicha pounded her fists on the transparent window of the turbolift. “No!” she screamed with a voice roughed by the tightening of her own throat. “No, no, no!” Her fists doubled her words in angry thrashings against the door while her eyes blurred and burned hot with a tearing anxiety. “This isn’t happening! No- this! It’s not true! That’s impossible!”((1.))

The ship trembled as an interior explosion rippled across its many decks.

“Unless you would wish to continue going on like that,” the droid whimpered in his tinny voice, “I would highly suggest you make your way to the escape pods.”

He was right, of course, but Aicha was in a rage. She slammed a fist against the operating console, intent now on making her escape one way or another. The turbolift jolted for a moment and began its descent to the lower decks. Within meters of its destination, it screeched to a halt as the repulsorlift wedged itself down into the shaft that was beginning to crease and buckle in on itself. They were trapped in just between decks.

“Heavens! Is there no end to this nightmare!” whined the droid in a squeaking panic as he, in turn, began to thrash against the wall as well as any well-mannered protocol droid might.

“Stay calm,” Aicha ordered, perhaps more to herself than to the droid, as she turned her attention to the ceiling in search of a escape hatch. Her aha! moment was quickly followed by ramming of her arm and shoulder up into the hatch door.

The droid retorted indignantly, “Easy for you to say! A second ago you were yelling, ‘no! no! no!’ and now it is my turn to panic and you tell me to be calm? Oh, no no no, Consul!” The droid return to his bashing against the wall, “someone get me out of here! Help! HELP!!”

The latch gave way above Aicha and she force jumped up and out of the quickly compressing turbolift. She knelt and offered her hand down through the small opening, beckoning the droid with a snappy gesture. “Coming?”

Deciding for the moment that it was better to be helpful than contradictory (given the circumstances), the droid offered a tidbit of advice as a means of reconciliation. “There are electrical shafts horizontal to each deck. I suppose you could climb parallel to the deck and then, perhaps, drop down to it.”

A violent shudder of the hull reminder her that they were running out of time. Aicha glanced nervously above her as the ship groaned. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

“I was not designed for horizontal climbing. Or, rather, for climbing at all! Consul Kartooche- Oh, just leave me here! Misery! To be crushed!”

She sighed and gave an unbelieving shake of the head. Protocol droids can be so dramatic.

Aicha pulled off her robe and looped the sleeves beneath the arm-joints of the droid—“Heavens!”—before tying the sleeves around her waist as she kneeled over and plunged into one of the shafts. In effect, she had made her very own droid lumbar-pack.

Elbow over elbow, she pressed her way through the wires and down through the tight shaft. Each jostle resulted in an anxious whimper from the droid, now doubly concerned since the hood of the robe had slipped and covered his face during his humiliating imitation of a piece of luggage while she dragged him along on her back. He flailed despite the tight space, “If I live through this, oh—heavens!—I shall live to regret this!”

Aicha felt the thin metal plating under her subtly give way beneath her weight. She dug her fingers along the edges of the shaft until she found the corners of a single grating, and shoved it far out in front of her to reveal the deck hallway below them. With a rush of energy she unceremoniously plunged them both headlong through the opening and deposited them both on the deck below in a pile of electrical wiring and debris.

A petite figure brushed past them, urging them to their feet and to move at a quickened pace before disappearing herself into one of the last escape pods on the deck. Aicha scrambled to her feet and took off after the figure as the ship rocked strongly to the side.

“Hurry! Get in the pod!” shouted the droid, as he followed after her, now happily righted on his own two feet and clutching the brown robe to his front. Aicha had very little reason to argue and plunged inside.

“Miss Naandi! By the stars—you’re alive!” squealed the droid as he stopped just outside the door to give perfectly timed commentary.((2.)) “I would have thought the whole world to have fallen victim, but here you are!” As the two women locked themselves into the g-couches, he placed a articulated hand upon his chest, “this truly warms my behavior core. We’re safe n—.”

The ship shuddered once more and the pod shifted on its hinge. A small fire sparked just at the doorway.

“Get in!” shouted Aicha, as she grasped at the piloting controls, furiously tapping in the basic ignition sequence.

The droid’s photoreceptors twisted as they instantly focused on the door to analyze the damage. Without a moment’s hesitation, he threw the robe inside the hatch and sealed the port latch shut. “The thrusters have taken damage. This will require manual override to detach the pod from the main-hold.”

Aicha’s voice was muffled within the pod as she voiced her protest.

“No matter, Consul Kartooche. Engaging manual detachment. Godspeed, Saints.” The droid clacked a finger to his brow and punched the manual override. The pod’s thrusters immediately ignited and hurtled the craft out into the darkness of space.

Through the tiny port window, Aicha watched as the docking platform shrunk from view and became just another small detail on the hull of the foundering starship. The structure began to collapse in on itself, liquid fires washing over the edges of the carbon-scored wounds. And then, in a blinding flash of black smoke and flame, the starship exploded.

((OOC Footnotes:))
1. Imitation (aka: plagiarism?) is the highest form of flattery. ;)
2. This part was written with the express verbal permission of Naandi, allowing me to act as temporary game-master (god-mod) and move her character off the ship and into the escape portal with Aicha.

Last edited by AltaVista on Jan. 14th, 2011 9:14 pm; edited 1 time in total

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Blast... I didn't even notice this... I guess I should chime in and tell my part in this... So, back to the beginning then with me. :P

Master Fesk, Myss' previous master, sadly was killed in action while defending the Jedi Temple on Coruscant from the invading Sith forces. Myss recovered his remains and buried him on Tython near the temple. Fesk was charged with the task of checking the base on Ord Mantell, and reporting back to the council with the status of the base. After Master Fesk's death, Myss took his position and occasionally checked on the base and reported back to the council. One trip however, would bring very sad knews back to Tython.

"Bring Myss into the chambers" The old and wise looking Council member asked.
"Yes Master, I will bring him immediately" His apprentice replied quickly.

Myss entered the bright room and gave a humble bow to the Council.

"You summoned me Masters?" Myss asked.
"We need you to get another status report from Ord Mantell" The council member replied.
"I will leave at once Masters" Myss assured.

He boarded a freighter that took him to Ord Mantell, to complete his task set forth by the Council. They landed in the main hanger, where a docking crew was waiting to refuel and make repairs to the ship. Myss walked down the ramp and onto the para-steel flooring, where he met the Hanger-Log man.

"Vacationing are we Master Jedi?" The soldier asked humorously.
"I was sent for inspection" Myss replied; disregarding the soldiers attempted enlightenment.
"Ok, ok, ummmmm.... Oh here you are. All done, have a nice stay here!" The soldier said with excitement.
"Wait, you don't happen to know a Aldonar Fesk by any chance, do you?" The soldier asked with a curious look on his face.
"He was my Master, before he died..." Myss said in reply, with a very soft, and somewhat sad expression and tone.
"Oh... I'm... Sorry, I didn't mean..." The soldier was cut off by Myss.
"Forget it... I'm busy..." Myss said rudely.

Myss began to walk off.

"I knew your Master! He saved my family on Coruscant!" The soldier shouted at Myss, trying to put a bit of "cheer" in him to somehow comfort him.

"Why do I have to be that way?" Myss thought to himself. "He was extending an opportunity for a conversation"... "He knew my Master as well..." Myss was saddened that he had blown off the young soldier like he had. "I will have to apologies to him before I leave."
He walked down the hanger and into the first corridor, up a turbo lift, and straight for the main command room. Where he meets the station captain to inform him that all is doing well and the defenses are perfectly fine, etc. etc. etc. But this time was different. Some of the soldiers seemed anxious, confused, frightened even. It was when he reached the door to the command room that the alarm went off. Foot steps and shouting could be heard throughout the whole complex. Myss quickly opened the door to the room and went in. He saw the command staff hovering over their computers. He asked the captain what is going on?

"I believe the base is being attacked, Sith scouts have been found on the outskirts of the perimeter. They could even be..."

With that, Myss looked down and sticking through that captain was the end of a vibro-sword. The blade retracted and the commander fell to reveal a Sith infiltrator behind him.

"Sith infiltrators" Myss thought to himself. "Even with their optic camouflage, how could they get through without detection from the Jedi stationed here?!"

The Sith lunged toward Myss, but fell to the floor lifeless as Myss jumped to the side and slashed his purple blade down the Sith's back.

"Hurry, get to the ships, there is no chance for the base!" Myss ordered the command room staff.

They all hurried out, and successfully got to the hanger. They jumped into various cargo, freight, and transport ships that took off and left for orbit.
Myss however thought it best to get as many out as possible. He hurried down many corridors and rooms to find himself in the main lodging halls, where Jedi and soldier alike fought Sith. He kept running to then find him staring at a Sith Inquisitor that was barking out orders. The Inquisitor looked at him with his pail and scratched face. Myss recognized his disgusting mug as that of the same Inquisitor that killed his beloved Master... Myss took a sharp left into a second hanger. There, he saw it: That young soldier he wanted to apologize to was being held in the air; impaled by a Sith vibro-blade. Myss ran at the Sith, and mercilessly cut him into several pieces. The soldier fell to the ground lifeless. Myss rapped the soldiers body with his cloak, and picked him up with the force, and carried him into a ship. The ship lifted off, with orders to head back to Tython.
Myss had the soldier buried on Tython, where he shared the story of what happened on Ord Mantell to the Council.

{Perhaps listening to fitting music would be good here? It takes a few seconds to start... Just letting you know :P}

Myss then slipped into a deep, dark and hopeless depression when looking back on what he could have done. Both for his Master and for that poor young soldier and his family. Then he thought of the hundreds of Saints that died protecting their home. He told himself of how cowardly he was leaving them to die like he had. He hurt himself, emotionally, physically, and spiritually. He believed his actions seemed like turning his back on his brothers and sisters, and the force even. This left him very disoriented, confused, and miserable. He nearly left the order, and at one point even contemplated ending it all, for his sake, but then he remembered the Sith that brought millions of others the same degree of pain they gave him. He thought more, and realized that his desire of death was perhaps the most selfish thing he could ever do to others. So he vowed that he would try and hopelessly repay the destruction of the Base and the Temple, with Sith lives. He hated them with a burning anger. This anger worried the council, so they would not allow him to teach or have an apprentice.
He vowed to never create a friendship or any sort of bond with anyone, because in his line of work, the next person he talked to could be gone the next minute. He worked in misery for the next few years, until he was sent to Nar Shaddaa. Where he met a potential cure.

Last edited by Arrowhead. on Jan. 14th, 2011 10:31 am; edited 11 times in total

Jedi Vadis
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"And then Master Thaun turns to the Sith and says, 'What do you take me for, a dewback?'" The mess hall roared with laughter. A dozen long rectangular tables in the mess hall were full of Saints feasting on the noon day meal. "Yes, he actually said that" the Jedi continued, to even more laughter. Vadis enjoyed relating stories from past battles over these mealtimes. The jedi knight felt it was important for the next generation to know and learn from the past.

"Study as much as you can, but if you can get an account from an eye witness, that is priceless." he liked to say.

"But enough for today. Need to deliver some crafted items, organize the guild vault, and then get back to my studies," the quartermaster said as he pushed back a plate that used to have Mandalorian Mac & Cheese on it. Standing up, he raised his glass and toasted "Here's to the Saints! May we be lights---." The Jedi paused abruptly. "May we be lights---" he said again, this time he dropped his glass and it shattered as it hit the floor.

"Master Jedi, what is it?" asked Bertach Dallan, the Padiwan assigned to Vadis, sitting across the table. Through a brief Force vision Vadis descried a glimpse of near future and turned around and cast his gaze to the entryway of the mess hall behind him, saying "We're all about to find out."

Ace hurried through the mess hall entrance and called for attention, "You're attention, please. This is not a drill so listen up, all! There have been signs of a possible attack on the base. It is highly recomended that you gather your things as Commander Sandwichman has ordered evacuation of this facility. Also, gather all the munitions and pilots to the hanger to prepare the ships. I will try to send a signal to Master Thaun and Avissi from my ship as soon as I am able."

Much confusion and chatter in the mess hall immediately followed Ace's message, but nobody left their seat. Vadis inturrupted with a raised voice, "You heard the order from Sandwichman, collect what you need and leave. The base is compromised. Get moving, posthaste!"

As Saints began exiting the mess hall, Vadis turned to his apprentice, "Bertach, you're with me."

"Right behind you, master." Bertach said rushing after him.

The two Jedi hurried through the doorway Ace had come through and sped down a long corridor. "Master, the hanger is in the other direction" Bertach noted.

"An astute observation, young apprentice." Vadis replied. "We're not leaving---not yet anyway. Need to collect something from the Guild Vault before we go."

"Collect what?" Bertach inquired.

"No time to explain it. In fact, time is running short. We need to hurry." Vadis said. "Try to keep up."

Vadis began to Force Speed down the hallways and down stairways of the guild base, with Bertach close behind. The path to the Vault was through the Holocron Chamber. Vadis stopped so suddenly, his apprentice nearly ran into him.

"Discraceful! Look at this!" said Vadis angrily. Nearly all of the holocrons were destroyed, their shattered pieces lay all around the chamber.

"How could this happen?" Bertach asked.

"The Sith are here, but I don't think they found what they are looking for." Vadis said.

"In that case they would head to..." Bertach's voice trailed off.

"The vault!" they both said in unison.

"We must hurry, no time to waste." Vadis said. "We must be cautious, Apprentice."

Suddenly the sound of clapping came from the room they were about to enter. Appearing in the doorway was a Sith Warrior. "Very good, Jedi." The Sith ingnited his bright orange light saber. "Now if you'll just give me what we're
looking for, I may just spare your lives---"

The snap-fizz of Bertach's light saber inturrupted the Sith Warrior.

"Fall back, Apprentice." Vadis said. "There will be no lightsaber combat in the Holocron Chamber. This place is damaged enough."

"But Master---" Bertach protested. Vadis shot him a look and Bertach complied.

Vadis continued, "Now, if our tresspassing guest would just tell us what is so important that he had to destroy thousands of years of history and knowledge."

"You know what we want, old man." said the Sith, lightsaber in hand approaching Vadis.

Bertach found it odd the Sith referred to Vadis as an old man, which seemed to irritate his Master. To Bertach's 20 year old eyes, his master appeared no older than around 35 years of age. With all the stories Vadis told of his battles
along side the Saints Council members, surely some of them were just stories. It dawned on Bertach that if they were all true accounts, Vadis would have to be at least as old as...

"The shield codes for Tython!" The Sith said, breaking Betrach's thoughts. "We know you have them here."

"Planning a little vacation to my lush forrested home planet?" Vadis asked wryly.

"Enough talk. Where are the codes!?" demanded the Sith.

Time was growing short and Vadis needed to get to the vault.

Vadis said "How about we settle this like gentleman: you leave, take your cronies with you and I'll let you keep that lightsaber."

The Jedi Master's gibes infuriated the Sith Warrior. "Have it your way, Jedi!" With two hands on his bright orange blade, the Sith rushed Vadis. The Warrior was nearly in melee range when Vadis extended his right hand and let loose a Force Push. The Sith flew back into a stone wall, dropping his lightsaber. The impact shattered part of the wall. Vadis held his hand palm out and walked toward the Sith, keeping him from falling to the ground, his back stuck on the
wall. Vadis slowly curled his extended hand into a fist and the sound of Sith armor crushing the Warrior's ribs could be heard. The Sith, about to lose conciousness, whispered with a smile, "You'll all be dead soon." Vadis released the Warrior and he slid down to the floor.

"Um...I don't remember that move in our training sessions, Master." Betram said.

"Another time, perhaps." answered Vadis.

"You were right about one thing, Master." Bertach offered up. "There was no lightsaber combat in the Holocron Chamber..."

"True enough," Vadis said, Force Pulling the Sith's lightsaber hilt to his hand and fixing it to his belt. "Come, Bertach, we need to get to the vault!"

Leaving the Holocron Chamber and the fallen Sith Warrior behind them, the duo hurried through another set of passages and approached the Guild Vault antechamber. Bertach had never been to the vault before and took in the surroundings. The gateway room to the vault was commodius, large enough for a small ship in fact, Bertach thought. The room narrowed on the far side, walls and ceiling converging, ending with a wall that was sparkled brightly. But there was no entryway were a door should be. In fact, it was a completely sealed 20 foot by 20 foot wall with no visible means of entry. Clearly, this was the door to the vault.

This sparkling wall that stood between the large room and the Vault was fashioned from multiple materials. Most notable were cortosis ore, Mandalorian iron, and Yuuzhan Vong bio-engineered armor. This combination made it effectively resistant to blaster, laser canons, and lightsabers.

Three figures were standing at the entrance to the Guild Vault as the Jedi and Apprentice approached. A Sith Inquisitor, Bounty Hunter, and an Imperial Agent. Their voices were loud enough and it was obvious they were arguing about how to get in.

"Stay behind me, Bertach." Vadis whispered. "Do not attack them."

"As you wish, Master." Bertach replied.

The Sith Inquisitor who appeared to be the leader said, "Excellent. Here comes the Quartermaster now. Perhaps he'll be able to show us the way in." he cackled.

"Have you tried knocking?" asked Vadis as he and Bertach approached the three.

The Imperial Agent shot Vadis a minatory glare and said, "You wouldn't be so flippant if you knew who you were talking to, Jedi."

"Oh?" Vadis replied. "Bertach, it seems they honor us with their presence." Bertach smiled, although he, too, wondered why his Master would be so glib in the face of danger. He considered it one of his Master's foibles.

"Let's see," Vadis continued. "We've already met 'Darth Maladroit' in the Holocron may want to get him to a bacta tank. And you three must be his lost companions! Well, we can help you, the exit is behind me if you'll just step this way..."

The Bounty Hunter charged up his flame thrower. Irritated by the Jedi's tone, not to mention the defeat of their Sith Warrior brother, he said, "Let's just fry these two and get on with blowing up this door."

The Sith Inquisitor said, "Good idea, wipe them out!"

Flames shot out instantly from the Bounty Hunter's outstretched arm. Vadis and Bertach Force Ran, dodging the assalt by zig-zagging in the antechamber. The Bounty Hunter continued flaming, attemping to follow Vadis' quick movements.

At the same time the Imperial Agent was taking aim at Betram with a powerful blast cannon, firing round after round.

Both Jedi ignited their lightsabers. Bertach deflected several blasts, sending one at the Bounty Hunter, damaging his flame thrower.

"Nice shot, Apprentice!" Vadis yelled out as he threw his light saber in an arc toward the Imperial Agent. The lightsaber sliced the blast cannon in half and returned to Vadis, completeing the arc.

"Blademaster, help us!" shouted the Imperial Agent. But The Sith Inquisitor stood there patiently. "Very odd" Vadis thought to himself. Was he staying out of the fight because of fear or because of arrogance of being a Blademaster?

Vadis decided on the latter. Regardless of the reason, it was an opportunity that Bertach noticed. The apprentice charged the non-force users and just as they were about to cut them down the Sith Inquisitor Force Pushed Bertach back about 10 yards, knocking him to the ground, head first with concussive force, nearly knocking him out.

Vadis Force Pulled the Bounty Hunter and slammed him into the other side of the room, taking him out of the fray. The Imperial Agent took aim at Vadis with a Sniper Blaster. The Jedi Master deflected the blast with his lightsaber right back to the Imperial Agent, knocking him out.

With Bertach, The Bounty Hunter, and the Imperial Agent all out of commision, Vadis and the Sith Inquisitor approached each other.

"Very good!" chortled the Sith Lord. "As fun as this is, it's time to end. Open the Vault now, Quartermaster."

"I have the key on me. Come and get it." retorted Vadis as he raised his sapphire lightsaber.

"Very well, Jedi." the Sith Inquisitor said with a sneer. He reached out with his hands and lightning eminated from his fingertips. Vadis directed all the energy into this lightsaber, which made it glow an even more intense blue.

"It seems we'll have to do this the old fashioned way." said the Sith Inquisitor with a smile.

He pulled from his robes a long hilted lightsaber with a blade emitter at each end. He held it out in front of him, igniting both ends. Each blade had a deep red color, almost blood-like.

"Are you sure you can handle that, "Blademaster"? Those things can be dangerous." Vadis said, emphasizing the Inquisitor's title mockingly.

"Your overconfidence is your weakness, Jedi." observed the Inquisitor.

"Acknowledged. But it's an even greater weakness for you, Sparky."

Vadis reached onto his belt and ingnited a second lightsaber, a dark blue, equal to the first.

"It's only fair. You can't be the only one with two blades..." Vadis said with a smirk.

"Master Vadis, don't!" croaked Bertach still immobilized on the floor. "He's too powerful. Just give him the access codes."

"Nonsense, Apprentice." Vadis said. "If he was 'that' powerful he would gotten into the vault by now."

Irritated by that comment, the Sith Inquisitor started walking towards Vadis and said, "He called you 'Master Vadis', did he not?"

"What is that to you, Sith scum?" Vadis replied.

"Vadis Pugnax Coruscatus?" inquired the Sith Inquisitor.

Vadis winced as if stabbed in the side. He hadn't heard his full name said aloud in many years. And to hear it by an Sith Lord did not ease the pain. "Could he know?" Vadis thought to himself. The Sith Inquisitor seemed to be reading Vadis' thoughts.

"No way you're him. That's impossible. Do you take me for a fool?"

"I don't think it will matter to you who I am in a few moments." Vadis said, refocusing his mind.

The Jedi Knight and Sith Inquisitor stood just paces away from each other.

"It is you!" exclaimed the Sith Inquisitor. "Our holocrons state you died in captivity. Oh what a day this is!" he continued. "Acquiring the Tython shield codes, the Fall of the Saints, and the death of you, Vadis the Revenant!"

The Sith Inquisitor began wildly attacking Vadis with his double bladed lightsaber. Parry after parry Vadis blocked the attacks. Bertach, still on the floor, craned his neck to watch the battle. It was a dazzling display of incarnadine and cerulean; borderline artful. The Sith Inquisitor was masterful in his sweeping attacks. Vadis waited patiently for his opening as they dueled all around the antechamber. Bertach fighting to stay conscious, observed the

"Your Jar'Kai style is good, but can not last against the superior Juyo form." said the Sith Inquisitor.

"Sounds like you know everything, Sith." Vadis replied. "Perhaps you'd like to see something new?"

The Jedi initiated a spinning attack and caught the Dark Lord off balance, allowing him to kick the Inquisitor in the chin and slice the double hilt in two unequal pieces. The smaller half of the red lightsaber fizzled out while the
other still functioned.

Then Vadis Force Pushed the Sith Inquisitor back several feet and threw one of his blue lightsabers at the Sith.

The Sith Inquisitor took his remaining working blade and brushed off the projectile easily.

"I hope that wasn't your big finish, Jedi" mocked the Sith Inquisitor.

"It wasn't." replied Vadis, as he attacked the Inquisitor with calculated and powerful strikes. The Jedi entered into nearly a trance state, his eyes flashing an intense blue matched only by his lightsaber. Each swing of the blade was
assisted by The Force, nearly knocking the Sith Inquisitor's blade from his grasp.

Fear crept into the Inquisitor. He studied all the lightsaber forms and had never seen anything like this.

"What kind of trickery is this? This is not a known form. There is no honor in this, Jedi!" the Sith cried out as his defenses were barely enough to withstand the onslaught.

"Oh it's a form alright. You'd recognize it if you spent more time studying holocrons than smashing them! In time, this form could be used to take down the most powerful Force users if it was perfected. But for now, it's good enough to dispatch the likes of you, Sith!" And with that the Jedi unleashed a flurry of attacks that although he had only one lightsaber, it was so fast it appeared there were several. It was too much for the Sith Inquisitor, and in a spinning move Vadis performed a double cho mai, cutting through both of the Sith Inquisitors wrists and in a follow up spin cut through the Sith just above the knees.

"Aaaaaaaaaaahhh!!!" shrieked the defeated Sith Inquisitor as he fell to the floor with a thud.

Vadis, breathing heavily as if exhausted, stared at the fallen Sith Lord. It was all he could do to not finish off the Inquisitor. The Jedi took a deep breath, collected himself, and deactivated his lightsaber. The Inquisitor
entering a state of shock from the partial loss of all four limbs stared back at Vadis. When the Jedi's lightsaber was deactivated, his eyes seemed to fade back to a pale blue.

Vadis left his opponent and raced over to his apprentice. "Bertach, are you ok? Can you walk?"

"I'm a bit woosy, but I should be ok. Have been trying to self heal since I got face-planted." Bertach said, looking toward the incapacitated Sith Inquisitor. "Is he dead?"

"No, but he's no longer a problem." Vadis said. "Let's get what we need from the vault and get out of here." Vadis assisted his apprentice to his feet.

"That was quite a show you put on there, Master. I have many questions after witnessing that. For instance, what did the Inquisitor mean when he said---"

"There's no time for this, Bertach." Vadis interrupted as he Force Pulled his other lightsaber off the floor. With his lightsabers back in his possession and safely attached to his utility belt, Vadis tapped both weapons lightly and
said to his apprentice, "Always two, there are..."

"At least tell me what lightsaber form that was." Bertach persisted. After a short pause he added, "Master, I must know."

"It's a Juyo variant I discovered in one of our holocrons. As I said, it hasn't been perfected yet. In fact," Vadis continued, "it doesn't even have a name."

"Well I'm going to call it the Vadis Arcing Action, Pivot And Dismemberment Form!" Bertach insisted.

"Ha!" Vadis laughed. "I'm sure when it's perfected, they'll come up with a much better name than that. But we've wasted enough time here; we need to get the Tython codes before more Imperials arrive."

Bertach sighed. "Yes, Master. Wait---so the codes are in the vault??"

"Of course. Where else would we keep them?" Vadis said with a smile. "Safest place on Ord Mantell."

Vadis and Bertach approached and stood before the 20' by 20' wall. "So, how does this thing open anyway? What Force Power is needed here?" Bertach asked.

"The one between your ears, Bertach." Vadis joked. "We couldn't design the door with Force Powers in mind or else only Jedi would have access."

Vadis walked up to the wall, ignited his lightsaber and touched the wall with it. Immediately the wall began to raise, revealing a room behind it.

The crippled Sith Inquisitor, viewing all of this from behind them groaned, "You've got to be kidding me! We tried that!"

"Come Bertach." said Vadis.

The Jedi entered the guild vault just as the last part of the wall disappeared into the ceiling.

"Master" Bertach said. "How did your lightsaber---"

"Let's just say it's a crafting secret." Vadis interrupted. "My lightsaber has some hard to find parts in it. And the door is calabrated to respond to them."

"Ultima-pearl?" asked Bertach. He knew that Ultima-pearls were extremely rare and difficult to acquire.

"You're on the right track." said Vadis. "Mix in a little Permafrost crystal, and you're getting close."

"How did you get access to both an Ultima-pearl and a Permafrost crystal?" Bertach asked incredulously.

"That's a discussion for another day, Bertach." said Vadis.

"You said that the bank was accessible by non-Force sensitives, but the key is your lightsaber?" Bertach continued.

"Well, anyone can wield a lightsaber." Vadis said with a smile. "Even Troopers and Smugglers. They just have to have the right kind. But enough about vault security. Let's get those codes and get out of here."

Bertach looked around the cavernous room and asked "Where is everything?" The guild vault was empty, save for a table in the corner with a datapad on it.

"Master Thaun asked me to move almost everything," Vadis answered. "He sensed a darkness was coming our way and said to move everything out to a safe location, save for the Tython codes. Get the datapad and lets go."

Bertach walked over to the table, grabbed the datapad and activated it.

"What are you doing?" asked Vadis. "I only asked you to get it. Not activate it. Give it to me, please."

"I think you've been duped, Master. The only thing on here is the recipe for Force Fudge Brownies." Bertach said. "Why would you risk our lives coming down here for a recipie?"

Vadis felt a tremmor in the force and said nothing.

"Wait a minute..." Bertach said. "...these are the Tython codes!"

Suddenly, Bertach Force Pushed Vadis into the wall, knocking the wind from The Jedi Master.

"I've waited so long for this, 'Master.'" Betach said mockingly. "For years I've played 'apprentice' to get these codes, and they are finally mine! How does it feel to know you've failed?"

"Bertach, no!" Vadis whispered, still trying to breath and recover from smashing into the wall.

"And I'll take those fancy lightsabers of yours, too, if you don't mind." Bertach said, Force Pulling them from Vadis' belt. He then affixed them to his own belt. "These will fetch a fine price. Not that I'll need the credits after I sell the Tython codes to the Empire." Bertach said, laughing.

"All this time...I trusted you," Vadis said, starting to find his lungs again.

"Hold it right there, 'Master'" Bertach said as he began to Force Choke Vadis. "I certainly can't just leave you here for you to come after me. Any last words, Jedi?"

In the face of betrayal, Vadis' anger swelled. Not only did his apprentice get the drop on him, Bertach was a Sith spy all along and he never noticed. Disloyalty is something Vadis can not accept.

"" Vadis could barely get the words out through the Force Choke.

"Make it quick." demanded Bertach.

His vision was staring to fade, Vadis managed to croak out, "Did you...see...the moons rise...this morning?"

Bertach laughed, "What kind of question is that? I'm starting to think you are an old man, and a senile one at that! But just to humor you, yes I did. Time to die, Jedi!"

With that Vadis, using telekenisis, activated his own lightsabers, still affixed to Bertach's waist, severing one leg and badly damaging the other. Bertach's Force Choke and concentration were broken as he let out a wild scream as he
fell to the ground. Once on the ground he rolled in pain, and with the lightsabers still active he rolled onto one of them, cutting deep into his right shoulder nearly severing his arm.

Vadis, recovering from the choke, deactivated his blades and Fore Pulled them to his hands. Bertach was in much pain and was about to lose conciousness.

"I'm sorry, Bertach.You brought this on yourself." Vadis said recovering his voice. "You've earned every measure of pain you're in right now." Vadis Force Pulled the datapad from the floor into his hand.

Taking a deep breath, his anger subsiding, he exited the guild vault said, "Would love to stay and chat some more, Bertach, but I've got to run, Republic to save and all. You stay here and think about what you've done. Or rather---what you've failed to do."

"Vadis!!" Bertach yelled. "Don't leave me here---you'll pay for this! I will find you!"

"Farewell, Bertach." said Vadis. As he exited the vault he ingnited his lightsaber and just as he crossed the threshold the 20' by 20' wall activated again and started to close.

Bertach yelled wildly until he was almost hoarse. "I will find you! I WILL FIND---" the sound of Bertach's voice was cut off as the wall closed and sealed back with the floor, leaving him in entombed alive in the dark and empty vault.

The entire Saints base shuttered and was about to collapse from all the shelling done by the Sith Empire. Vadis went to one of the antechamber walls and Force Pushed it until it gaveway, creating a small passage through it. He passed through the hold in the wall and entered into a secondary hanger where his Defender Starship lie in wait.

Vadis entered his ship, fired it up, and mapped a path to Tython. He piloted the ship away from the Saints base, which was near complete ruin at this point, the hangar collapsing moments after launch. The Defender drew the attention of the Imperial ships that were still shelling the base. The Jedi Starship was nearly out of the atmosphere when one of the shells meant for destroying bunkers, caught Vadis' left engine, destroying it.

"That was too close." Vadis said to himself. With the remaing engine at full power Vadis pulled away from the Imperial Fleet. Fortunately, the Empire did not give chase. The Defender's hyperdrive was ruined and losing fuel at a fast pace. The shields were down as well. "Might have been safer to stay in the guild vault!" Vadis thought as he continued his course.

About 30 mins into the flight, the ship ran out of fuel and the Defender powered down. Inertia kept it on it's path, but the ship did begin to decelerate as it was passing into the gravity of an unknown moon...

Comments welcome

Part II

Last edited by Jedi Vadis on Feb. 26th, 2011 12:30 am; edited 1 time in total

"Or those eighteen who died when the tower in Siloam fell on them—do you think they were more guilty than all the others living in Jerusalem? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish." Luke 13:4-5

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(( Decided to add my character's POV. This is my first attempt at an RP story, so bear with me here XD ))

Amelia Verandi, Jedi-in-training.

"I wonder where they they are they miss me..?" Amelia had to shake her head. Thoughts like that were dangerous. She knew she had been separated from her family for a reason. She knew such close ties to other people could be dangerous for a jedi...that it could lead to the darkside...Even so she still sometimes found herself hoping she could see them again.

Amelia found herself shaking her head again as she sat up. "sigh...I guess I should head back to the base...I've been out here too long again.."
Amelia often found herself going out into the wilderness whenever she felt like being alone. She found the fresh air and natural ambiance to be quite refreshing.

"hmm...that doesn't look good..." From where Amelia was standing she could see smoke coming from the direction of the Saint's base. Not wasting another second, Amelia hopped onto her speederbike and sped back to the base.


Amelia was struck with horror at what she saw. Both sith and jedi corpses littered the floor of the Saint's base. The place was a mess. Amelia was dumbfounded. "How could this happen?" she thought to herself.
After the initial shock wore off she began to search for survivors of the attack. She noticed some of the ships were gone, which gave her hope that others had survived. After searching for sometime she came upon her master's lifeless body. " can't be.." with tears forming in her eyes, Amelia knelt down and held her master in her arms. Barely holding herself together she said, "No..I can't wouldn't want me to'd want me to be strong." she smiled through her tears. "I'll make you proud master! just watch me, okay?"

After burying her master Amelia began to think of what her next move should be. "Hmmm...perhaps the best thing to do would be to head to Tython. For one, the Jedi Council might not know what has happened here. And two, I'm still not a full-fledged jedi so I need to be assigned a new master so I can further my training.."
And with that Amelia rode her speederbike to the nearest spaceport and went on her way to Tython.

(( I realize it could be better with more description and what not, but it's 3:30am and I'm too tired to be creative XD ))
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HELLO envy

Thought I'd give this a go envy

The battle was raging. Many sith and jedi alike were falling. Tobia had heard the alarm and run out of his dorm to see what was happening. He quickly grabbed one of the Jedi;

"What's going on?" asked Tobia

"The sith, they found us!" said the jedi in fear.
Tobia knew that there was only one thing to do to ensure that he would survive, RUN. He gathered all he could including his Kushiban companion and did just that.

"Come on Rubex, and make it quite" Tobia whispered to his kushiban trooper friend as they snuck past the battle ground trying to avoid any chaos.

"I am bein' quite" said Rubex

A sith warrior was guarding Tobia's ship.

"Great, now what" whispered Rubex

Tobia looked at the Kushiban trooper in his 'I HAVE A PLAN' look.

Rubex said "Oh no..."

Tobia took off Rubex's armor and pushed out from behind the wall.
The sith came over to the little Kushiban with a wide eyed look. The sith then started patting him. (Kushiban are known for cuteness, not even a sith can resist).
While this was happening, Tobia snuck past the sith and jumped in his ship.
Tobia gave the signal and... BAM. The Kushiban gased the sith. Then Rubex hopped in the ship and they flew off.

After Rubex had gotten back into his armor the two set off into hyperspace. But where would they go?
They decided that the best thing to do would be to go inform the jedi counsel.
But this would occur after Jao Thaun had informed the counsel as the two companions would encounter many troubles on the way.
Hope you like it envy



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The smuggler’s ship exuded the smells of Bantha dung, at least that’s what Thaspeare always imagined when he had guard duty at the Spaceport. This particular smuggling vehicle seemed immersed in high levels of animal smells. It was very disconcerting when he found out it was actually a freighter used for the transport of food for the hidden base nearby. He doubted anything could be as bad as the food he grew up with. Being a child on the very streets of this city had changed his palette to being more accepting.

Thinking about his childhood was always dangerous territory. He still missed Griffin. The kid with a million stories. Sighing, he turned his attention back to the labor droids moving the trade goods off of the freighter.

The whirring of the closest droid’s rotators suddenly turned into a loud whine, causing Thaspeare to raise an eyebrow. Then, suddenly, he realized the whine to be that of a Sith starship. Diving for cover, he soon heard the accompanying sound of explosions from mines dropped and laser fire. Looking toward the Spaceport’s entrance he saw several squads of Imperial Troopers marching through the corridor. Realizing that the path of one of the labor droids would take it within the radius of the troopers, he quickly slung his grenade bandolier over its head and took cover. Pulling his carbine slowly over his shoulder, he took careful aim. The Imperials started unleashing fire onto the smuggling vessels, and as crew started spilling out, they targeted each with deadly aim. Thaspeare was able to get a round off, hitting the grenade bandolier. The resulting explosion created the desired effect, dead troopers and confusion.

The attack on the smuggling vessels was also forcing Thaspeare to make a quick decision as rocket fire was centered on the vessel nearest him as well. Moving from one cover to the next, he was able to make it to a sewer grate. As he opened the grate, he felt a blast of fire implode in his shoulder. The excruciating pain knocked him onto his side. He grunted and breathed heavily as he lay incapacitated from the pain. He heard the footsteps of a single man emerge from behind him. The tip of a sniper rifle rested on Thaspeare’s temple. “Now, don’t make a move, hear?” The smirk in the man’s voice was what did it. Thaspeare always hated the bullies in the alleyways, and this guy took him back to his childhood. They just never realized how far Thaspeare would go. Sighing inside, Thaspeare swung himself over quickly firing rapidly twice with a blaster pistol which had been concealed when he fell. His shots landed squarely where intended, the first taking out the agent’s leg, the next hitting him through the center of his forehead. The imperial agent was not ready for the attack, but nonetheless he still had a rifle barrel to Thaspeare’s head. The intense pain of the sniper round faded to a dull throb quickly, which was a bad sign. The left side of his head had been scorched, the outer ear and inner canal disintegrating, but the blaster mark cauterizing the wound as well. As he faded into unconsciousness he heard the grate being pulled open, and his body and face dragging against the permacrete.

Thaspeare would find himself on Tython. He allowed the wounds to be healed by the Jedi, but he would allow no biotic or cybernetic replacements for his lost ear. Though this impedes him at times, his memory of that day drives him to fight the Sith wholeheartedly. He hates the Empire and its agents with the most fervency. He has also taken to notching little asterisks into his helmet for every Imperial Agent successfully hunted down and killed. He carries a repeating gatling blaster on his left side, seeing as he has no hearing on this side.
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Kytrn’s POV Part I of II

Tranquil, calm, smooth, and dimensionless, the dull surface of the pond lay as if in suspended animation. The cold, oligotrophic water allowed for no algal growths, transforming the humble pond into an impassive reflection of the world around it. Gazing into it, Kytrn Katalaya could see only the image of a gray sky, filled with impressive layers of cumulonimbus.

Suddenly, the ponderous clouds parted, unveiling the radiant sun. Within moments, the pond’s surface became almost too lustrous to behold, forcing Kytrn’s navy blue irises to contract around his pupils. The light’s sudden appearance brought back memories of Kytrn’s arrival among the Saints. Although it had been three years after the death of his Master, Jedi Jyshru Narus, a somber veil of sadness had still lingered over him. He hadn’t been sure of anything: emotion, attachment, not even the Force. The Saints, with their sense of purpose and duty, had shown him the light. So strong were their beliefs that darkness could not stand before them.

So it was with knowledge as well. If it could be retained, knowledge of the past promised to illuminate the future, preventing repetitious mistakes. Since arriving on Ord Mantell, Kytrn’s main talent of diplomacy had gone mainly unused. There exists virtually no need for negotiation when one is part of a secret underground cell. Instead, he had taken up another favorite pastime of his, the study of historical documents. The Saint’s collection of ancient holocrons and other stockpiles of history had actually proven to be quiet impressive.

Even now, resting in meditation a few kilometers from the Saint’s base, Kytrn was merely taking a break from his study of holocrons. The knowledge contained in them was fascinating; better yet it was predictable. The annals of history had proven to be far better companions to him than most living beings ever had. Reliable and nonvolatile, history never changed. It was something that could always be counted on.

But suddenly, a ripple echoed through the Force, and a chill of uneasiness settled over Kytrn’s spine. He could sense that something unpleasant was happening, but he had no idea what. Instinct, as opposed to conscious thought, guided his hand toward his comlink—static, that wasn’t promising. Swiftly, Kytrn got up from his meditative pose, spraying gravel through the air in his haste, and jumped onto his speederbike.

Traveling at a velocity he would prefer to avoid, Kytrn’s face was whipped by the fierce wind. Ignoring his discomfort, he pushed the speeder to its maximum capacity and hoped that whatever was happening could be rectified. As he sped over the terrain, his unease amplified with each passing moment. There—he could just start to make out the base in the distance—thankfully it looked as peaceful as ever.

As Kytrn neared the Saint’s base, the sound emitted by the engine on his bike suddenly altered frequency. A high-pitched whine filled his ears, drowning out all other noise. Kytrn realized that the sound wasn’t coming from his speeder, it was coming from the air—a Sith fighter! That could only mean one thing: the Saint’s base was under attack!

Kytrn’s first thought was one of terror. Sith here… in the base… we aren’t prepared for this… our defenses will be overrun. Steadying himself, Kytrn reached to the Force for support. He needed to choose a course of action, and he needed to choose it now. His own knowledge of tactics told him that the hangar bay would soon be destroyed. A surprise attack such as this relied upon swift, decisive action—making the hangar bay a priority target. If he wanted to escape with his life, he was under a time crunch.

The thought of collecting his few possessions from his quarters never even crossed Kytrn’s mind, but he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving the Saint’s archives to the Sith. Wicked and careless, they would no doubt destroy the many priceless repositories of knowledge contained in the archives. Or worse, use the information contained within them for malicious ends. There was no way Kytrn could stave off an army of Sith Troopers and Warriors; if he was going to rescue any part of the archives, he had to get there before the Sith arrived.

Looking skyward, Kytrn saw dark shapes breaking through the cloud cover and descending toward the surface—enemy drop ships—and they would be at the base in moments! Darting inside, he took off running down the corridor. Someone had already set off the alarm, as testified by the harsh warning cry permeating the base. Suddenly, a massive explosion rocked the base to its foundation. At the speed he was traveling, it was impossible to overcome the destabilization of the explosion, so he was sent careening to the ground. Slightly dazed, Kytrn’s nostrils were assaulted with the acrid stench of smoke and melting plasteel as he picked himself off the floor. There’s no way the base can withstand much more of this. Pushing his discomfort and worries to the corner of his mind, he continued his trek to the Holocron Chamber.

Just within the range of his hearing, Kytrn soon became aware of the sounds of blasterfire and lightsaber combat echoing from somewhere within the base. Blast, they’re already inside. Calling on the Force to augment his already considerable speed, he raced down the corridor. Soon, he arrived at a fork in the passage, with one path leading toward the Holocron Chamber and the other to the armory.

Suddenly, he heard sounds of combat coming from the direction of the armory. As he glanced down the corridor in question, a young Jedi fell into view, soon followed by a Sith Warrior clad in pitch-black armor. Quickly assessing the situation, Kytrn saw that the Jedi had sustained an injury to his stomach. Unable to counter the Sith’s aggressive attacks, he collapsed to the floor. As the Sith raised his crimson-red lightsaber over his head, preparing for a death blow, the young Jedi caught Kytrn’s eye. His eyes were wide and desperate, pleading for rescue. Kytrn had only a split-second to make a decision: save the holocrons or protect the Jedi.

1 Corinthians 13
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Kytrn’s POV Part II of II

It should have been no contest: saving a living, breathing person complete with hopes and dreams or some dusty old artifact, but the holocrons were irreplaceable. But people even more so. I may have been unable to save my Master, but I won’t let this Jedi die. I refuse.

Urgently, Kytrn thrust out his hand, wrenching the intruder’s saber out of his grasp even as his arm fell to deliver the final blow. Quickly recovering from his initial surprise, the Sith spun around to confront this new threat. Advancing down the corridor, Kytrn caught the Sith’s lightsaber in his left hand and ignited it, forming a complement to the lightsaber already in his right hand. Weaponless, the Sith bared his arms in preparation to use to the Force. The expression of utter hatred and rage distorting his pale face set Kytrn’s teeth on edge. He had no idea of what this now-desperate Sith was capable of. Bracing himself to repel a powerful frontal attack, Kytrn was unprepared for the small exertion of the Force manifesting itself around his ankles—sending him crashing to the floor.

With mocking laughter, the Sith recalled his instrument of destruction to his hand, throwing the corridor into a stark red contrast. Now even more worried, Kytrn jumped to his feet and assumed a ready stance. Not a moment later, the Sith leapt forward and initiated the duel. His yellow-orange lightsaber whirling hurriedly around his body, Kytrn was just able to parry his opponent’s attacks. He could soon tell that he was the weaker duelist. His Form III maneuvers might be just enough to repel the Sith’s aggressive combat, or they might not. Pivoting to the side, he narrowly managed to deflect the glowing red blade past his knee. The Sith’s attacks were simply coming too fast and furious to predict. Even immersed in the Force as he was, Kytrn was slowly falling out of rhythm. Desperate to get a moment’s respite, he called on the Force and sent a blast of energy hurtling toward the Sith. It was just enough to cause the Warrior to stumble back a few feet, giving Kytrn some breathing room.

Just as the Sith began his resume his fearsome advance, a shining silver blade arced through the air and separated his head from his shoulders. As his opponent collapsed, Kytrn saw that his savior was none other than the injured Jedi. Rushing to his side, Kytrn realized that he was severely injured and might not survive without immediate intervention. Accepting that every moment he spent was a moment lost saving the holocrons, he tapped into the Force, letting it flow through him. Placing his hand on the Jedi’s wound, he released the energy of the Force, guiding it to repair damaged organs and regenerate lost cells. His healing may not be perfect, but it would get the job done.

“Thank you,” breathed the young Jedi as his pain lessened. “The name’s Brinn. You saved my life.”

“I’m Kytrn,” Kytrn responded, nodding. “Consider us even.” Glancing up and down the corridor, he assessed the situation. “We have to get you out of here, the building could come crashing down at any moment, not to mention all the Sith running around.” Hooking his right arm under Brinn’s shoulder, Kytrn lifted him to his feet. Brinn let out a small gasp of pain, but remained standing. “Can you walk?”

“It doesn’t look like I have much choice,” Brinn replied grimly.

The pair slowly set out in the direction of the hangar bay. As they passed the corridor leading to the Holocron Chamber, Kytrn sighed as he heard the sounds of holocrons shattering. It was too late to save history, but at this moment the present took precedence. Besides, he had succeeded in saving a life, which should count for something. He could avoid adding another death to his conscience.

Long before Kytrn and Brinn arrived at the hangar bay, Kytrn could hear the sound of collapsing supports and burning rubble. With a sinking feeling in his gut, Kytrn realized that he had failed to meet his other time deadline as well—the hangar bay had already been ravaged.

“The hangar’s destroyed!” exclaimed Brinn. “Now we’re trapped. How are we going to get out alive?”

“I have a plan. We just have to find a way to Whorlport,” Kytrn explained. “Fortunately, on my last flight over Ord Mantell, my ship was damaged and I was forced to land at Whorlport. My ship should be repaired by now, just waiting at the repair dock. And to think I was upset about the damage. Now it may be the only thing that saves our lives.”

“The Force works in mysterious ways,” Brinn observed.

The pair slowly, yet covertly, made their way to the place where Kytrn had abandoned his speederbike. Just as they were about to head out the door, Kytrn held up his hand.

“Hold on, I think someone’s out there,” Kytrn whispered to his new friend. Cautiously peering outside, he caught sight of two Sith Troopers. They seemed to be guarding the entrance, waiting to see if anyone would attempt an escape. Luckily, they happened to be watching the sky at the moment—no doubt viewing some ongoing act of destruction.

“I have an idea,” announced Brinn. “Help me to the door.” He proceeded to close his eyes, his brow furrowing in concentration. Making a sweeping gesture with his hand, Brinn sent a sizable rock flying through the air and around a corner of the base. As it fell, it disturbed a few other rocks, creating a loud noise. Alert for any signs of life, the Sith Troopers perked up at the sound.

Kytrn, amazed at their luck, watched as the troopers walked around the corner to investigate the commotion. Quickly, he and Brinn scampered to the speederbike. Miraculously, it was still in pristine condition. Mounting it, Kytrn and Brinn sped away from the Saint’s base.

Unfortunately, the sound of the speeder’s engine alerted the two troopers to their flight. Rushing back into view, they let off a few rapid bursts of poorly aimed blasterfire. Soon, the bike was out of their range, but still not safe from the many Sith fighters swarming around the base like flies over an animal carcass.

Fearing that the Sith Troopers would radio for backup, Kytrn angled the speederbike toward the forest. The trees would hopefully provide enough cover to render them invisible from the air. They entered the forest, and a few moments later heard the recognizable shriek of a fighter passing overhead. Kytrn anxiously awaited the sound of blaster cannons firing, but it never came. They were safe.

Looking back over his shoulder, Kytrn saw that the Saint’s base had been utterly destroyed. Thick columns of smoke billowed from the burning rubble, darkening the sky—a suitable atmosphere for the events of the day. Even now, he could see groups of armed Sith pillaging the grounds for survivors. Kytrn prayed that many Saints had been able to make it out alive, escaping the tragic fate shared by too many of their brethren.

1 Corinthians 13
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Brato hated being stationed as guard. If there wasn't any action to be had, he considered it to be an extreme waste of his abilities. Brato was raised to be a killer. He trained under his father as a young boy in the Mandalorian fashion, until his father had turned coward and run from the family that needed him, and went on to become one of the best shots in the Republic Corps. He was meant to fire a blaster, not hold one at his side and babysit a bunch of robe wearing religious fanatics.

"They don't even pay me well enough for my skills," Brato thought.

"Another quiet day watching over the Jedi," Maegon said with a smile, looking at Brato. "Cheer up pal, you may not be shooting at anyone, but no one is shooting at you either."

Brato grunted, but made no further reply. Maegon was Brato's partner, had been for almost a year, but Brato saw a laziness in Maegon that made him angry. Maegon was all about inaction, where Brato was all about action. There couldn't be a more opposite matching.

"Maybe if you're lucky, your fight will come today, but I wouldn't count on it Brato. No one wants to mess with these guys. They're some of the best the Republic has to offer."

"If they're the best," Brato replied, "then why were we sent here to help watch over them?"

"Some rumor that the Empire is planning an attack against them. I guess these guys could be a real threat to the Sith someday."

"A group called, what was it? Saints or something ridiculous like that?" Brato asked with a scoff. "They sound more like a bunch of monks than Jedi warriors. We should be somewhere, doing something productive."

A beeping began on an instrument on Brato's wrist. Three beeps, then four. The signal.

"Something productive? Like what?" asked Maegon.

"Something like this," said Brato, as he pointed his blaster at Maegon, and pulled the trigger. He did the same to the two troopers next to him, and finally trained his sights on his commander.

"Sir," Brato said, "consider this my resignation from the Republic Crops."

A squeeze, a flash, and the commander lay dead at Brato's feet. Clicking a button on the bracer, he moved it to his mouth.

"It's done Griegan, send them in.

"Good," came the reply. "We've been paid, the credits came in a few minutes ago. Get to your shuttle and meet me at the hideout. Welcome to the life of a mercenary Brato."

"Will do," said Brato, as he watched the skies, filling with Sith ships. His job was done, as done as Brato was with the Corps. Brato was free.
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