Fiction Gallery

Quo woke feeling very strange. Not only did he feel like he was about five years younger than he had when he had lain down to rest, but there was a weird feeling about the place. Raising from his litter he showered and dressed, not able to shake this feeling of foreboding that was filling every part of his being.

Crossing the courtyard in front of his quarters it niggled at his awareness again. What was that? It was a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time. Jedi! A lot of Jedi! Usually he could feel a couple of them, Sang and Malik, with all their light side goodness purveying his consciousness, but there were more than fifty of them here. His mind felt like it was covered in sickly sweetness, and it was not a feeling he liked at all. His mind was reeling with all the goodness that he was feeling.

Heading towards the training area the feeling got even more cloying than it had been in his accommodation. Entering it hit him like a wall of oddness that made him feel physically sick. The younglings inside the training quadrangle were concentrating on the drills that were being given by their instructor.

“Deflect the blows, and immobilise. We are not here to kill the enemy, remember we are guardians of justice throughout the Galaxy, we do not wantonly slay those that stand before us,” the instructor continued his mantra as the young trainees attempted to stop the bolts randomly generated by the drone from hitting their bodies, jolting them if it should do so. “We are negotiators, not executioners, we attempt to achieve a diplomatic solution to our problems, however the opponent may not, therefore we must be able to dissipate his attacks without bodily harm if at all possible”

Quo stood, bemused at the rhetoric that the instructor was spreading to his pupils. What in frell’s name was he talking about? The clan stood for domination. Domination of those that could not resist. It stood for gaining power through whichever means was the most practical. The Sons of Sadow were interrogators, torturers, inveiglers and infiltrators, they were not diplomats. Inside his head he knew what they were.........and they definitely were not this!

The instructor turned, and Quo finally got a look at the face behind the twisted monologue being delivered. Bentre? At least it looked like Bentre Stahoes, but there was a smile plastered over the Corellian’s face. What the.....? Ben was a Sith, through and through. What sort of warped power had caused this? Reaching out with his feelings Quo probed, only finding lightness and conscience inside the human.

“Sith!” Stahoes started making his way towards the Zabrak, his pace quickening with every stride. His blaster leapt from its holster into Bentre’s hand, the big paw folding around the grip precisely, muscle memory guiding his movement through years of repetitive exercise. As his arm came up in front of him he squeezed off a couple of shots, dead on target. Quo’s Lightsaber leapt from his belt a split second after Bentre’s blaster, igniting in a crimson flash as the pommel slapped into his hand. Reacting to the double blaster bolts his wrist and fingers guided the weapon in a short arc intercepting the shots, their paths deflecting away from his body. Almost immediately there were three more blasts, a single followed by a double zeroing in on his body. Rolling the first away over his shoulder Quo flipped to avoid the second volley. The gap between them had narrowed all the time as they both covered the open ground. With just a few yards left between them Bentre’s own saber replaced the blaster in his hand, the familiar ‘snap hiss’ of the blade’s inception in juxtaposition with Quo seeing the light blue blade, rather than the expected red.

The blades clattered together, the air around them smelling of ozone, each blade trying to interrupt the flow of the other. Quo had already softened the impact by letting his wrist be pushed back towards his own centre line, allowing Ben’s to slide down it slightly, the Jedi increasing his own push against the stasis. Quo snapped backwards half a step allowing Ben’s own press forwards to over extend the Jedi, the young Sith shifting his weight first to the right, pushing the azure beam of light downwards and away from his body as his blade slid in a curve over the top of it as he moved his centre of gravity to the left. Quo’s right hand whipped forwards, his wrist cocking, bringing the scarlet blade down towards the Corellian’s head. Even as the blade began it’s decent Bentre’s left hand gestured, shooting forwards in front of his body. As if struck by an invisible wrecking ball the Zabrak warrior was thrown backwards, landing on his feet mere inches from the perimeter wall.

A snarl of rage escaped Quo’s throat, guttural and animalistic. His feet gripped the floor as his muscles tensed powering him forwards with superhuman speed, Bentre only just able to adjust his position to meet the new attack. The savagery of the Zabrak’s attacks forced the Light Side Jedi back step by step, blow after blow raining down on the defence that was being offered. Quo’s own anger and confusion fuelled his grip on the Dark Side, his gold and red eyes gleaming with the intensity of the feelings surging through him. The sheer speed and fluidity of the attacks were breaking down the beleaguered fendings of the Jedi before him. Whirling like a dervish he drew out his vibro sword with his left hand as his right continued the hammering blows with his lightsaber, the doubling of the attacks wearing his opponent down even though Bentre was summoning every trick that he knew to avoid them.

A reverse strike with his vibro sword jarred the sapphire coloured blade to a standstill, preventing the parabola of it’s path. Quo’s arc continued, the red saber slicing through flesh and bone, decapitating the human warrior, the head falling to the tiled floor of the training yard, the eyes rolling into the back of their sockets. The body fell where it stood, crumpling backwards into a heap, separated from its cranium by a couple of feet.

Quo looked down at the corpse of Stahoes. Shutting down his saber, and returning his vibroblade to its scabbard, his eyes took in the sight. A single thought crossed his mind. Ben wouldn’t like to live like that, better to put him out of his misery. Turning he strode away. This was going to be a busy day.

Asajj Brave, faithful Fighting, Surrendering, Dying Slave, Padawan, Apprentice, Nightsister Leading, Damaging... Dreaming Skilled, cruel Ventress

Nightsisters Powerfull, Dark Deceive, Battle, Explore Spirits, Illusions, Shadows, Darkness Reorganise, Ally, Survive Powerfull, Dark Tarentum

The second she'd woken that morning, Malice knew something was wrong. She sat up quickly in her bed, looking immediately around her own room. Everything seemed to be as she'd left it. Aiya was still sleeping where she had been the night before, and the sleepy Nexu twitched in her sleep. Still, Malice could still feel something was different, and she was determined to find out just what it was. Making sure not to wake Aiya, she got out of bed, quickly pulling on her normal outfit and clipping her lightsaber to her side. She opened her door, peeking her head out cautiously. Everything seemed to look the same outside her hallway. A few people she didn't know walked by, but that wasn't cause for alarm, there were many people she didn't know yet.

She walked around, glancing through different windows and doorways, trying to find what in the world could be throwing her off so badly this morning. Passing one of the training rooms, she had almost completely passed it, when she realized who it was inside. Kalon Entar sat, seemingly in meditation. That was odd by itself, as he wasn't one to find any use in the practice. She entered the room carefully, still fully on guard. The Savant seemed to sense her presence immediately, and a warm smile lit his face, making Malice freeze mid-step. Kalon was smiling? Actually and genuinely smiling? He opened his eyes, getting to his feet and coming over to her.

"Kaila, it's good to see you. Have you come to meditate as well?" He asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.She pushed it off, frowning.

"I told you not to call me that." She replied, her eyes filled with suspicion and a growing paranoia. Kalon's warm face turned to one of confusion.

"What do you mean? Why would I call you by anything but your name?" he questioned. He could see there was something wrong with her today, and he was starting to grow worried. "Kaila are you feeling alright?"

"What's going on, Kalon? Something is wrong and I can feel it, and now you're not acting like yourself." Malice shot at him, her voice starting to raise. Kalon didn't answer, but slowly pulled a holocommunicator out, speaking into it.

"Can we get Master Selika to training room C-74? Her apprentice is here and she's acting...out of character."

Perfect. If anyone knew what to do, It would be Selika. Leaving Kalon behind her, Malice approached one of the training dummies, deciding to take some of her frustration and anger out on the unsuspecting target. After a few well-placed kicks, the dummy's head ripped clean off, hitting the ground with a soft thump. She glanced over, not realizing Selika had already entered the room and was sharing a few worried glances with Kalon. They both looked at her, not saying anything at first until Selika raised her hand.

"Kaila. May we speak with you?" She called. Malice flinched. Even if Kalon calling her that had simply been a slip-up, there was no way in the galaxy that Selika ever would. Selika was the one that had given her the name Malice, telling her it was her new name and her old name was dead now. She approached the two slowly, eyeing each of them with suspicion.

"Kalon tells me you're feeling strange today." Selika started, her face painted with worry. "That was quite a bit of...aggression you displayed over there. Has something happened? Would you like to talk to us about it? You know anger and hate are not the Jedi way."

"Well, of course it's not, I'm not-" Malice cut herself off quickly, realizing it would be a short conversation if she'd finished her sentence the way she almost had.

"-feeling well. I'm not feeling well. Kalon was right. I just feel sick today."

Selika and Kalon's faces both relaxed instantly, their concern seeming to dissipate now that there was a believable reason for her behavior. They were both dripping with light side energy, and while Malice was still determined to get to the bottom of it, she was slowly beginning to wonder if perhaps she was dreaming. That would certainly make sense, and the more she thought about it, the more she began to relax.

"Would you like me to escort you back to your room?" Kalon asked, his warm smile returning. Malice nodded. Perhaps if she went back to sleep, she would wake up back in her actual body.

Kalon gave a small respectful bow to Selika before heading out of the training, room leading Malice back to her own quarters. She followed him silently, still trying to formulate how she was going to get out of this dream world. Currently, going back to sleep seemed like her best shot, and she was so busy concentrating, she almost didn't realize Kalon had stopped in front of her door.

"I hope you feel better tomorrow." Kalon said, inclining his head to her.

"Thanks. I hope I-" her sentence halted and she winced, looking down at her finger. Her hand had slipped reaching for the door code, and she'd somehow managed to cut her pointer finger. A small drop of blood beaded and dripped from her hand, falling to the floor. She looked at it in horror, her breathing starting to quicken.

"Kaila? What's wrong?" Kalon didn't get an answer. She just continued to stare at her finger. It was beginning to sting as she stuck it in her mouth, cleaning the blood off of it. After a short while, she muttered one sentence under her breath.

"You can't feel pain in dreams."

See Starfighter See Starfighter Flee Pew Pew Starfighter, Pew.

On Dathomir, the Nightsister know the Dark Side Better than anyone.

Just fog and witches Tarentum seeks new knowledge All death is new life

I walked into my rooms after a very long day of studying at the Shadow Academy libraries and later being beat up by my Master at the training hall. I was sore, had a killer headache and really felt old. Maybe accepting the offer to join the Brotherhood was a mistake. Lilith was fitting right in and had already made a name for herself as an outstanding student and as a healer.

“Lil? I am home ma love. What do ye want for dinn-“ I stopped an looked around. Something felt off. I could not place it, but something… I dropped my training gear and books and unhooked my saber from my belt. Calming myself, I slowly searched our rooms looking for anything that was amiss. Nothing, they were empty. I went back and grabbed up my gear where I had dropped it and went to the kitchenette muttering to myself. It was then, while I was getting myself a drink, that I noticed the holocom light blinking. Still trying to shake off the odd feeling something was amiss, I thumbed the activation switch. I popped the cap on my cider fully expecting Lilith to be messaging me that she would be late for dinner. No surprise her Master had her slaving away at the Shadow Academy and she had not been home on time for the past 10 days.

The static of the holocom made me turn and look at the unit and stopped cold when I saw who had left me the message. That miserable Twi’lek Ch’Cadick had the gall to call me again.

“—anos, I have t—ken Lil—th with me back to D-s—un. She isn’t h–rt and I wi— send h— back when she h—heal--- ----st—r Th---lan.” The image jittered and shifted because of the distance and the scrambler on the device. “I had ho—d to avoid thi- if y-- would have he-ped me befo---. By t-e –ay, the sec-rity whe—re you are at is a joke. Ju—t lik- th--- scrambler on the holo was able t- trac—you e—ly. Nice apar--ment you have." Screaming in rage, I smashed the holocom against the wall causing it to short out in a shower of sparks. I lashed out in anger I punched the refrigerator door leaving an imprint of my fist deep in the metal. Seeing red as I looked at my broken knuckles as they bled and started swelling, I fell to my knees and wept in frustration.

Fifteen minutes later I was in the medical ward with my hand healing rapidly in a kolto tank. I had a droid bring me holocom so I could contact my Master. When he answered, he could see the medical staff behind me moving about. “Janos? Why are you contacting me from the medical facilities, I trust you weren’t injured to badly during our sparring.”

“Nae Master, I broke ma hand punching the refrigerator in ma rooms. I need your permission ta go off planet an track down a piece o stinking filth that has kidnapped Lilith.”

“Wait, you punche—who would kidnap Lilith and more to the point. HOW did someone kidnap Lilith? Are they in the Brotherhood, from another house or clan?”

I removed my now healed hand from the gel and flexed the fingers to see if they would be a problem. They were sore but would be fine in the time it took me to get to Dosuun. “A former Padawan I trained with back on Dosuun, a Twi’lek named Ch’Cadick, managed ta sneak on planet an take her from our rooms! He somehow tracked me here, slipped through the security, which he says is a joke by the way, and, and HE TOOK HER! He took her to Dosuun ta heal Jedi Master Thuallan” I started to get angry again at the situation. “So ah’ll be a need'n ta goo an faind her an get hair back from thair!” I yelled my accent coming out thicker than usual, as it often did when I had lost my cool.

My Master smiled at my anger and an evil glint appeared in his eye. “Janos you have my permission to take the first shuttle off planet and to where you need to go. I will make the arrangements and speak with Atra and Darkblade. We will monitor your journey and assist where we can. I want you to promise me something though. When you find this Twi’lek, and this Jedi, if he lives. Kill them.”

“With pleasure my Master, with pleasure.”

Within a few hours I had packed and made my way to the spaceport to catch the outbound shuttle. Settling into my seat I began to meditate, forcing my mind to revel in the death that I was going to be bringing. Within moments, I was deep in a trance.

I transferred from shuttle to ship and back again quite a few times before I made it to the wild space and the Dosuun System. I hid aboard a cargo shuttle heading down to the planet and waited in the hold, using the Force to cloak myself from everyone on the ship. When we landed I waited until the right moment and made my way off ship.

I got my bearings and realized I was about a day’s journey from where I needed to be. Looking about I spied a speeder that would do nicely for getting me to where I needed to go. Waiting until dark I made my way to it and stole it, heading into the jungle. I traveled for hours, skirting communities and the numerous First Order outposts that had sprung up in the years since I had been there. Only resting when I needed to, I made my way to the small commune hidden deep in the forests.

It was quiet, very quiet. Many of the buildings showed signs of neglect and the grounds where I spent my youth training were overgrown in some places. I let the Force guide me as I reached out and sensed where my love was. I could feel her Force in a far building along with my enemy and a very, very weak feeling. I stood up and shucked off my cloak then removed my saber from my belt.

“Ch’Cadick!” I bellowed, “It’s time for you to die along with the rest of the miserable Lightsiders here!” I strode forward out of the woods onto the grounds. “I will raise this place and bury you in an unmarked grave for what you have done!” Igniting my Lightsaber, I slowly and purposely walked forward. An adolescent rushed towards me yelling a battle cry and waiving a practice saber over his head. Without a thought I parried his wild blow and cleft his arm from his body. Screaming in agony, he rolled about until I killed him. I looked up and grinned at the horrified look on Ch’Cadick’s face. “It is your turn next my friend.” I mocked.

Ch’Cadick ignited his lightsaber and the blade was a brilliant blue. I raised my indigo purple blade in salute and charged him. The clash and arcing of the blade brought Lilith to the door. I could see she had a black eye and fat lip. she also looked very tired. My eyesight turned red at the thought of this alien laying his hands on my wife. Slashing with all my might, I forced him back towards the door. He countered and with the grace of one who has trained for years he leapt away and positioned himself for another attack. “You can’t beat me Janos.” He said. “I trained under Master Thuallan after you fled, and I learned what you never could learn. How to focus and control my anger. Now I am a Jedi Knight and you still wear the sash of a Padawan!”

“Aye lad, a Padawan ah may be but ye will never be my equal, Jedi or no.” I countered, stepping towards him again. “Ah have the love o’ a good woman, an a master that has been teaching me ta use my emotions an ma anger ta fight with.” I snarled reaching forward towards him with my left hand; I blasted a bolt of lighting at him. Caught unaware he barely blocked the bolt with his lightsaber. Drawing inward, I looked him in the eyes and sent a crushing blow of terror into him. His eyes widened as his fears took hold of him. Using the opening, I gripped my saber with both hands and I stabbed forward. The indigo blade pierced his left shoulder causing him to drop his saber. Holding the hilt of the saber against his shoulder with my left hand, the blade sizzling with his blood, I reached down to my belt and drew forth a corroded and beat up vibroknife. “Do ye recognize this lad? I killed our master with it. Right in the heart no less.”

“And that’s what you will do to me now, stab me in the heart too?” The now panicked Twi’lek asked. Fear and tears were in his eyes. For a moment, I hesitated, thinking that he no reason to die. Then I thought of Lilith and his taking her.

“Nay Jedi filth, this!” I stabbed the blade just above his groin and drew it upwards eviscerating him. I looked him in the eye as his guts and blood splashed down over my legs and boots. Then pushing the blade further in I cut out his beating heart.

Turning off my saber, I let his corpse fall among his entrails. I turned and saw my wife recoil in horror at my gore-covered appearance and the red of my normally blue-grey eyes. “Stand aside wife, Ah have me orders.” I growled and stepped towards the door.

“Janos, JANOS! Stop! He’s dying, he’ll be dead very soon.” My wife sobbed, “Please, stop! You don’t need to do this. I, I, I couldn’t save him, it’s to late.” I watched as she curled inward sobbing at her inability to save someone. I knew it was her greatest fear.

“Lass I love ye, but Master Stahoes has given me an order. Now step aside an let me finish ma work here.” I said gently pushing her aside. I entered the darkened room and went to the figure lying on the bed. The Jedi Knight lay dead; his hands limply grasping the saber I had seen so often him flourish with gusto and grace. I felt my eyes tear up and could not understand why. After everything that had happened between us, the fighting, the yelling, all of the grief he gave me trying to make me into a Jedi. I found I couldn’t hate him “Goodbye..Ma, Master.” I whispered tears streaming from my eyes. Lilith came up beside me and we watched as the body dissolved into shimmering, sparkling light.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/120DTcc3zl2ZDgaj-AMwMlXmwaidhToLSh7cs8wRTZ74/edit?usp=sharing

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1yttG6zKc_1aniF8AZEdYJ_833KOdX7XP0SxgmXHxXJE/edit?usp=sharing

The message was very clear. They had been taken. Quo read again the information. One million credits for their safe return, and no security involvement. He couldn’t just sit and wait for them to contact him. What he needed was someone who could trace this, and he knew just the person. His comm system cracked into life, a burst of static broke through the squelch as the power came on.

“Bentre Stahoes, personal,” he spoke into his computer interface, watching as the frequency scrolled to Ben’s personal channel. He waited for a reply, fingers beating a tattoo on the work surface in front of him.

“Ben here, go,” the Sith at the other end of the comm sounded narked, even angry, at being interrupted.

“Ben, I need your help, I’m sending something over,” his fingers keyed the required sequence to send the message information over to the Corellian, “find out where it was sent from, and when.”

“What’s the magic word?” Bentre chided, knowing that he would get a rise from the young Zabrak.

“Abracadabra!” Quo spat back, “Ben this is important, I need this yesterday” The sincerity in his voice, and the concern conveyed convinced Stahoes that Quo was definitely not messing about.

“Sorry,” he replied, “I’m on it. I’ll buzz you when I get something. Need anything?”

Quo was a little stunned by the genuineness betrayed in his brother Sith’s voice. “No mate, if I do I’ll shout.” With a click he terminated the conversation. He set the comms to alert his mobile unit when there was a message.

Wheeling he made his way towards his weapons locker. Taking out his lightsaber, his vibro sword, and his throwing knives he placed them into their respective positions on his belt. Reaching across he took down his cloak from the hangar and returned to the main area of his apartment. Picking up his access card from the work top he left, heading for the hangar to prep the Eenzaam, ensuring that she was ready for whatever was thrown in her direction. He checked that his weapons systems were charged along with the shields, and ensured that all the panels were secured before climbing aboard and setting all the systems to standby, no telling how much time he would have and he had to be sure that he could be airborne at a moments notice.

“Quo, come in,” Bentre’s resonant baritone come across the airwaves, “I have the info you require, sending it now”

A burst of data flooded across the pad that Quo held in his hands. Glancing through it he could see the thoroughness of Ben’s slicing, even going into the minutia that others would have missed, or not bothered to uncover. “Thanks Ben, I owe you one.” With one leap he was aboard his Tie Oppressor, setting the navicomp to Sepros, the jungle planet within the Orion System. The engine whine raised as Quo gunned the ship for maximum acceleration. With a flash and a sonic thud it was airborne in a steep climb, heading for space at maximum velocity.

--

The jungle was thick, tendrils of growth had all but covered all of the surface with shades of green, the sunlight coming down in bars through the canopy above. Quo reached out with his mind, seeking any life that was in the immediate vicinity. He moved with stealth, using the available cover. Bentre’s data had signified that the transmissions had come from this area, Quo guessed that it was a temporary unit set up just for one transmission, but the orbit of this planet meant that the last 37 hours had been in darkness, the light only finding this side within the last hour. He was hoping that whoever sent it was only just clearing up after themselves to move. Ben was the best slicer he knew, nobody could have found out where it originated any quicker.

Quo’s mind flickered, he knew they were still out there, and close. Concentrating on his connection to the living Force, strong here with the abundance of life, he pushed forward through the jungle zeroing in on his quarry. He could feel four life forms out there, and they were all congregated together, and it included the two younglings, Summer and Jo. He could see the undergrowth thinning up ahead, a small clearing opening up before him. Anyone watching would have seen him fade into the background, chameleon like, his form disappearing like a ghost.

At the edge of the clearing he crouched, his eyes roving over the small encampment. He couldn’t see the children from this vantage point. Creeping slowly and deliberately he made his way towards the centre of the camp, between the two temporary accommodation structures. As he squatted between them the first of his quarry emerged from behind the largest. “Treemo, where are you?” he whispered, his hands clasped around an ancient blaster, scuffed and marked through battle. “In here, with the brats,” came his companions reply. Now Quo had them in his sights. A throwing knife took the former in the throat, the force of it propelling him backwards in an arc past the tree line. Quo rolled forward, his invisibility dropping as he rolled through the opening of the tented building, his saber igniting. As his feet found their grip on the forest floor his right hand flung the crimson blade towards his target, taking him just above the shoulders, the blade severing his head from his body. With a gesture the blade returned to his hand, his thumb triggering the off switch, with a flourish returning it to his belt. The children were wild eyed, the fear apparent on their innocent faces. Their mouths were gagged, their limbs secured together wrist to ankle. Whoever had tied them knew what they were doing. Quo bent, undoing their bonds with one of his throwing blades. Mentally he checked them over, they both looked fine.

A ‘snap hiss’ sound behind him alerted his senses to another lightsaber being ignited behind him. Bursting forwards he scooped the children up, one in each arm, crashing through the back of the fabric dwelling. Rolling as he entered the cover of the foliage he set them down, gesturing for them to remain silent, a nod signalling their ascension. A leap took him back to the centre of the camp, his blade igniting in his right hand, his vibroblade in his left, angled down and away from his body.

His sabre blade clashed into his opponents, the crimson light doubled by another scarlet one. Looking past the fizzling contact Quo saw a female Twi’lek, but this one was red skinned with black tattoos. Another Sith. How had he not felt her? Quo attacked with a flurry of strikes, beating the Twi’lek backwards, his eyes full of fury. Twisting away she mounted an attack of her own, her blade arcing around towards his torso, both hands and shoulders driving into the swing, her feet pirouetting on the spot. Quo met her blade with his vibro sword, deflecting the strike upwards as he bent his knees, the blade skimming just above his horns. His right hand struck like a cobra, the blade biting into the Twi’lek’s left abdomen, driving upwards and across, slicing the Sith in two.

Replacing his weapons he knelt next to her, looking down into red and gold eyes, a facsimile of his own. She was lying on her right hand side. Now Quo could see why he hadn’t felt her. Attached to her back was a Ysalamiri, cocooned in a reinforced dome on her pack.

“Why did you take them? Who sent you?” Quo barked at her. Already he could see the light fading from her eyes as the shock of her injuries set in. “Oh no you frelling don’t,” reaching down for his comms ”Quo Wing-Tzun to base, medivac needed, right now!” His order was shouted down the microphone.

“Stahoes here, ETA one minute. Couldn’t have you wandering about the system on your own,” a chuckle carried over the comm.

“I need this one alive, I need her to talk I will make her talk!” The anger was apparent, and warranted no argument.

“Coming in now big man, take it easy, she’ll live, stasis chamber is prepped and ready.” The was from the thrusters was already whipping the branches with its energy.

Quo returned to the place where he left the children. “Are you both OK?” He looked concerned, but the smile from both Summer and Jo eased his mind a little. Both of them threw their arms around him, small hands gripping tight around his neck.

“We’re fine now, Uncle Quo, now you’re here,” Summer said with a lilting voice, Jo nodded, a grin from ear to ear on his little face.

“Come on, let’s get you home and checked over.” Lifting them up he carried them to Stahoes ship, following the stasis chamber up the ramp.

“Can we have schnitzels?” Jo piped up

“Sure you can kid,” Bentre smiled as the met them at the top of the ramp, “as many as you can manage buddy”

Quo nodded at the Corellian words not necessary. The ramp hissed as it closed on them. Somebody will pay for this thought Quo, as did Bentre. You never mess with a Sith, or his family.

ACC Absolution Command deck

Marcus woke up feeling groggy, as if he hadn’t had enough rest for the night. In and of itself this wasn’t surprising, his workload had been increasing. He’d been given assignments by the Headmaster, the digital pile of exams was ever-increasing, and to top it off, Cethgus had left for the Dark Council. Just when he thought his work couldn’t get much worse, they had heard from Odan-Urr. The Grandmaster, Pravus, had descended upon the planet and burnt its surface to a crisp.

When he went to bed his head swam with questions, and it was probably because of them that he had been unable to rest properly. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he swung his legs from the bed and tried to stand up, only to end up on the floor as his legs completely gave way. His mind raced, What the hell? He tried to push himself up, but found himself faced with great difficulty, he couldn’t even push his own upper body from the floor. It was as if he had completely forgotten how to use his muscles. Instinctively he reached for the Force, to lean on it as a crutch. But instead of finding the power of the omnipresent energy field, he found nothing. He could not hear its whisper, nor grasp its strands, and straining to sense it caused him a splitting headache. What had happened? Why could he no longer sense the Force? His mind racing again, and he had to focus inward to calm himself. His breathing calm, he focused solely on getting to his feet. Slowly but surely his muscles reacted as he wanted them to, even though it took him great effort. Shambling over to the chair where his clothes lay he began to get dressed. Just as he had finished, an explosion rocked the ship. Alarms started blaring, and someone in the hall was screaming.

Hurrying outside, as best as he could with wobbly knees, the Mystic was unprepared for what he saw next. Several administrative aids were held suspended against the ceiling, like pieces of paper sticking to a sheet of plastic. As he spun around, looking for the source of the telekinetic display of power, but saw no other Jedi. What he did see were several troopers kneeling on the floor, their heads between their hands, muttering to themselves.

“H-help,” one of the suspended crewmen chokes. Panicking slightly, Marcus reaches for the Force again, to help them down, but was quickly rewarded with a stabbing pain to the temples. Cursing loudly, he motions for them to stay put, ridiculous as it was. They were obviously not going anywhere.

“J-just stay put,” he calls to them. “I’ll get help.” Limping through the corridor he passes by the set of troopers, whose muttering he could now hear.

“The voices, the voices, make them stop, stop the voices,” one of them says. Marcus flops down in front of him, not having the strength in his legs to properly kneel. He takes the head of the trooper in his hands and looks him dead in the eye, intending to reassure the soldier, but was instead faced with a screaming man.

“AAAAAAH!” the trooper yells. “I see your past, I can feel your future. You are surrounded by death.” The trooper begins rambling and eventually faints. What in the blazes is going on?! Marcus thought to himself. Working himself up to his feet again, Marcus starts down the corridor again, intending to find the bridge and see if any more sense could be made of this. As he rounded a corner, instead of being faced with the access door to the bridge, he was hit squarely in the chest by something invisible. It knocked him backwards and sent him flying into the bulkhead behind him. Dazed he saw the XO of the ship, Commander Walas Sedaya, run towards him, apologizing profusely.

“Oh no, I’m sorry sir. So sorry, I-I can’t control it. I meant to wave at you, and instead you were slammed against the bulkhead. That’s twice now it happened and I just can’t expla-,” she was cut short in her ramblings by Marcus holding up his hand. His head felt like it had split open and released several rancors onto his back who were now beating it into submission.

“Ow,” he managed weakly. “Keep your hands down will you.” It was beginning to dawn on him what had happened here, and if he was right, they were in dire straights. He pushed himself to his feet for the third time that morning, and continued down the corridor, ignoring the apologizing Commander. Keying in his access code, the doors to the bridge opened, and he was met with utter chaos. Deckplates were flying around, consoles ripped from the walls, crackling electricity shot through the air, and flashes of blinding light were going off every few meters down in the pits. The upper walkways were mostly fine, and he could see the Captain standing at the end near the observatory window.

Slowly limping on, he made his way to the commanding officer standing looking out into space. But as he got closer, he could see that something was wrong. The Captain was breathing heavily, labored as if unable to catch his breath. Marcus approached further, curious to see what was happening to the woman standing there. When he got close enough, he reached out and grabbed her by the shoulder, intending to spin her around and lean on her, but when she faced him and he could see her eyes, he knew he had made a fatal mistake. Her eyes burned red in rage, the energy of the dark side clearly visible through he visage, ready to unleash the terrible power that was inherent in the Force.

Marcus merely stood there, and whispered softly. “Don’t do it. You’ll end us all.” The Captain, Madhi Jeisel, trembled in utter restraint as she choked out the two words that would seal their fates. “I-I can’t.”

With a terrible scream, her last strength slipping away over the emotional torrent that had resided in her over the years which had been born of comrades lost, caused by insane orders by mystical superiors, and the grueling rigors of war, the power of dark side came to bear. A violent storm of energy erupted from her being, shredding her body in an instant, clashed against the deckplates and tore them asunder. The plastiglass in the windows shattered and the harshness of space sucked out the atmosphere in seconds. The torrential violence of the Force-storm ripped through Marcus’ body, and he could feel himself dissolving in hatred and anger. It expanded rapidly, ripping holes in consoles, conduits and the rest of the bridge. Nothing was left whole, and eventually it reached the reactors of the massive ship. From afar, it looked like the ship was dotted with tiny pins of light, before lighting up like a match being struck.

In the end, Marcus had realized that everyone on the ship who had had no Force sensitivity had suddenly become aware of the Force and was able to wield it. It had all been outside of their control, and left powerless, Marcus had not been able to do anything to stop the destruction.

-Fin-

His blade flashing crimson against the dark of the pre-dawn Quo was a frenetic blur as he covered ground. Cresting a rise made by debris from a fallen building he was immediately targeted by the Odetta faction soldiers who had used the mound of masonry as cover from the opposition forces. Laser bolts arrowed towards the Zabrak’s position, his blade performing a cyclic tattoo against the gloom as he met each one, deflecting them away from his body, a couple rebounded towards their origin, the explosions marking their termination. Quo’s wheeling dance down the obverse side of the redoubt left soldier after soldier either dead or injured, slain by the ferocity of the Sith and his attack.

A burst of lightning erupted from his finger tips sweeping across the area behind the fortification, following the sweep of his arm. Defenders fell by the swathe with the young Zabrak’s attack, unable to believe what they were witnessing, the disbelief turning to involuntary inaction determining the fate of many an inexperienced soldier. Quo used this to his advantage, leaping into the middle of their number, slicing them down from their midst with both blade and energy bolt. To some of the survivors time seemed to slow, the Sith taking an aeon it seemed to finish off their defence, though it only took thirty seconds at the most.

The quiet after the brief battle was deafening. There were a few muted groans from the wounded, one close to where the Sith warrior stood. A flash of steel as the throwing knife flew was all it took for him to silence that particular interruption. Striding across he retrieved the blade, wiping it clean of blood and brain tissue before replacing it into its position on his belt. His target in sight Quo didn’t even break his stride as he approached the bunker entrance. The doors were open wide, Quo didn’t know why, or even care. Striding through them he was immediately descending below the surface, down towards the laboratories and testing facilities below. Making his way around to the control room he put his back to the wall, stealing a quick glance around the corner. One body lay in the middle of the floor, a blaster mark in the centre of his chest, seemingly one of the bolts that he had marked as ‘return to sender’. That explained why the blast doors hadn’t been activated. Entering the room in a crouch he was alert for anybody that was hidden from view, but finding none. The other operator must have fallen outside the bunker with the other defenders. Finding the controls for the doors he selected them to the closed position, securing them with a new pass code.

Now the post was secure he needed to get down to the lower levels. Looking around he located the lifts down to the subterranean lair below. Stepping inside he used the journey down to restore his calmness and centre himself. Inside the flames of hatred and anger were already raging, boosted by the combat above ground. The taste was delicious. Reaching upwards he crushed the lighting orb that was fixed into the roof of the elevator, cloaking the small space in pitch darkness. In the darkness the Sith smiled to himself, awaiting the opening of the steel sarcophagus on the lower levels, already balanced on the balls of his feet.

The doors slid open onto a well lit corridor. Immediately the bolts of blue white energy were snaking out of the entrance way, arcing outwards before the guards at either side had time to react, shocking their nervous systems and ending their lives before they even struck the tile flooring. From the darkness crimson glowed as his lightsaber ignited as he emerged from the lift, his cloak flowing out behind him, his gold and red eyes glaring.

Armoured droids rounded the corner at speed before halting before the Sith, weapons sprouting from their bodies, all of them targeted on Quo. In a blur he covered the ground between them in an eye’s blink, his left hand gesturing towards the droid furthest away. With a flick from his fingers the droid was suddenly airborne, servos screaming as its gyros tried to compensate for the mass of inputs the brain was receiving. Blaster bolts were pinging in all directions as it flew, tumbling, before ending its trajectory with a crunch and explosion against a bulkhead wall some thirty meters away. A flashing sweep with the saber finished off the second one, slicing through its dome cleaving it into two parts, a glowing diagonal cut marking the Sith blades progress.

Quo knew where he was going, and soon covered the labyrinth of corridors to the mission targeted unit. The briefing had said that he was to get there at all costs. The import of the objective had been drummed into him, there were millions of lives at stake, not that the Sith cared. He was doing it because his Master had told him that he must, and he still needed her to gain more power and control, therefore he would do as she asked. He knew he must get there and retrieve the information, it was of supreme importance, what the briefing had not included was an evacuation strategy, that would be up to him.

Entering the laboratory through the double air lock he took the technicians by surprise. They were too engrossed in the computer screens to notice that it was the Zabrak that had entered, not one of the usual base personnel. Too late one of them looked up and attempted to raise the alarm. A gesture from Quo crushed the white coated scientists throat, a throwing knife taking another through the temple, his body crumpling over the input pad he was seated at. Hearing the thuds as the bodies hit the hard surface the lead technician turned involuntarily to their station, his mouth forming an ‘O’ at the vision that he beheld.

Quo was there, right behind him as realisation dawned, the Zabrak grabbed him by the throat, physically lifting his feet clear of the floor. “The antidote,” Quo half whispered, venom in his tone. The technician’s right hand pointed out the cabinet, sealed within a pressurised chamber. Striding across the laboratory, still holding the technician aloft Quo opened the chamber door, a hiss escaping the mechanism, cold, white vapour spilling out a floor level.

“Which one?” he asked, his eyes pointing the direction of the query, ”and the computer files.” He added, tightening his grip, making the scientist grasp at his fingers with both hands. Releasing the grip slightly on the larynx of the tech he waited, sure that his message had hit home.

The white sleeved arm pointed to the middle shelf, towards the yellow topped cannisters that sat on the right hand side. Quo grabbed, taking three in his hand and deposition them in one of his numerous belt pouches. “The files?” He growled.

Releasing the scientist he watched him as he scurried across the room to the computer terminal, hesitating as he looked at the collapsed body of his companion. Quo grasped the collar of the dead technician, wrenching him backwards and flinging him across the room, the body bouncing against the glass of the airlock, veins of fracture spidering across its surface. Quo watched menacingly as the lone survivor sat and inputted the pass code, the screen bursting to life with information. Working though the technician selected a single file, prompting reams of data to cascade across the screen. A quick glance upwards toward the Sith told him that this was the information he sought. A twist of his neck, with a crack that reverberated through the sensors in his prosthesis ended the technician’s usefulness. Quo tapped the input device, sending the file to a predetermined data source.

Keying his communicator he knelt before it “Asset attained, my Master,” he murmured, head bowed beneath his black cowl. A large hologram illuminated the space, a blue and white rendition of his Master.

“Understood. I shall make sure that our forces have the information immediately.” The image of Tasha’Vel Versea disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Reaching out with his hand Quo changed the frequency on the comm.

“Stahoes from Wing-Tzun, fire on the position of my comm link”

“Affirmed” came the voice of Bentre. Quo was already moving, the response fading into the background as he made his way to the elevators, his movements faster than should be possible, the doors of the lift not fully opened before the Zabrak was standing inside the steel box and pressing the touch symbol for the surface. He hoped that it was fast enough to reach there before the humans ship had time to lock on and fire at its target.

The doors opened on the elevator as Quo felt the pressure of the air change as the charge fired from Bentre’s ship arrowed downwards toward the subterranean complex below his feet. Speeding his way to the blast doors he keyed his code into the locking mechanism, the doors opening with a ‘crack’ at the same moment as the bolt of energy came through the roof behind him. The concussion of the impact hit him in the back just as he was moving off in a sprint, blowing him forwards out of the complex. Hitting the top of the fallen building rubble with his right elbow, the lower half of his prosthesis ripping off with the impact, spinning him uncontrollably in his flight.

The base erupted in a ball of light, the image reaching him before the sound. He briefly saw the roof of the complex lift off its foundations, disappearing in a million small fragments, each one a projectile following its own trajectory away from the destruction.

Quo hit the ground, his left thigh breaking with the first collision, his leg flailing at an unnatural angle. Further impacts with battle debris causing more damage each time his body smashed into them. Rolling to a stop like a rag doll, his body twisted and mangled by the sheer power of the explosion, and the resulting pressure wave. Contorted he lay in the middle of the thoroughfare, twisted beyond recognition as debris from the laboratory complex rained down on his body. Blood poured from a multitude of wounds, some caused by the crashing end to his trajectory, some by the flying debris. The dust covering everything made him seem like any other mound of shapeless debris lying around the vicinity, indistinguishable from the detritus by anyone but the most keen of sight.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1UF8PmgH_qJbAIMxQ75MH_Gjbie1zMSCTw0wIm5JeSXE/edit?usp=sharing

Sleep was a good thing, something that he enjoyed greatly, but this dream was perplexing.  It was of happy times, times before he found the dark side of the Force.  Over the years, his dreams, and nightmares, had kept him from getting any rest, which had started to cause him to question the reality of things around him.  So he developed a way to shield his mind against dreaming altogether.  Why he was dreaming now was very alarming.  Panicking himself awake, Armad jumped up off his bunk and immediately tried to call upon the Force to….but it wasn’t there.  He couldn’t feel the Force at all.  

He knew that he’d spent his younger and adolescent years without using the Force, so he knew that he wouldn’t be completely helpless as some of his fellow Clan members, who’ve been using the Force from an early age.  While he gets dressed, Armad contact his Battleteam Leader to see what is going on.  Aexod informs him that he now has the ability to touch the Force, and that he’s having a difficult time controlling his new found power.  Armad suggests that he seek out his second, as if what he suspects has happened, DarkHawk will have lost his connection to the Force and together, they would be able to help each other until this situation resolves itself.  

Ending that conversation, Armad had an eerie realization drift up from memory.  His Master, Macron, had been a product of others and self Sith experimentation for his entire life, and was definitely unsure how his old Master would react to not having access to the Force.  Hurriedly getting dressed, Armad tried to get ahold Vicious, Macron’s current apprentice.  Armad found that Vicious was slightly perturbed that he couldn’t access the Force, but that he was coping the best he could and that he hadn’t heard from Macron in a few days.  Which was not unheard of, as he was prone to disappearing into his experiments for days on end.  Telling Vicious to make his way to his Master’s quarters to check to see if he was there, then head to his lab on level 13.  Grabbing his wrist controller, and tapping a few commands to send a couple of his droids to the level 13 lab, Armad headed himself towards his Master’s alchemaic lab.  

Finally arriving on level 13, very tired, Armad forgot how exhausting it was to hurriedly walk somewhere without the aid of the Force.  Thought about making a mental note to work on his physical strength and stamina, but chuckled that thought away.  Though if this wasn’t resolved fairly quickly, then he might have to revisit that line of thought.  Armad could see Vicious arriving from the other direction, when he he noticed him, Vicious smirked and shook his head in the negative, indicating that Macron hadn’t been back to his quarters in a while.  Which was fairly known, that their Master could generally be found in his lab doing some experiment of one kind or another.  As they neared the entrance to the lab itself, they started to hear loud piercing screaming coming from within.  Sharing a quick fearful concerned look between them, both rushed in to see their Master writhing on the floor, in what appeared to be severe pain, as several nearby objects had either been destroyed or crushed while flailed about in his battle armor.  It was just as he had thought, Macron’s Sith alchemy was starting to reject the implants and enhancements that he’d performed on himself over the years, and now that he could no longer use the Force to compel what he’d done to be accepted, it was literally biting him in the arse.  

Knowing that they should probably get him to the infirmary, but not seeing an easy way to do it, both of them knew that the only other option would be to just put him out of his misery. But they both knew that if they failed and he came back, which would be just like him, that he would remind them both of whom the Master was, or he would just kill them both. Either way, not something they wanted to find out. Luckily at that moment, the droids that Armad had called for had arrived. Not wanting to subject his droids to too much damage, Armad looked around for anything that would subdue the Adept for his transport to the infirmary, which would by no means be easy. Looking around for anything that might help, Armad spotted a couple of syringes laying on the workbench, and recalling from his past, that Macron had said that those were filled with a powerful sedative, but never really explained why he had them or what they were for. Typing in a couple of commands into his wrist controller, Armad’s droids came forward to pick up the writhing Adept, three to each side. As soon as each droid had gained purchase on an appendage or piece of armor, Armad stepped in and injected one of the syringes into Macron’s neck. Almost immediately the Sith Alchemist calmed down and stopped flailing about. Giving a sigh of relief, Armad instructed the droids to make their way to the infirmary, while he commed ahead to let them know what to expect.

While in a turbolift, about half way there, Macron came out of his sedation.  Coming to, he grabbed hold of the two nearest droids and crushed them in his gauntlets.  The other four couldn’t handle the weight of the armored Juggernaut, and dropped him.  Seeing the pain and anger swell in his eyes, Armad jumped back and up into the corner of the turbolift, narrowly avoiding getting swept onto his back.  Vicious was not so lucky and received an armored boot to the shin, dropping him to one knee.  The four remaining droids fared the worst of the damage, taking several kicks or arm bashes that they, either got ripped apart or damaged beyond use.  Dropping back down, Armad pulled out another of the syringes and injected it into Macron again.  “He burned through the sedation?” Vicious asked incredulously.  

“His enhanced body and poison resistances make it hard for things like that to work for very long.” Armad replied. “Looks like we’re going to have to drag him ourselves, and we’ll have to be quick about it, as I’ve only got one more syringe left.” Each grabbing a leg, they continued on towards the infirmary, but it was slow going, plus they figured out about how much time they had before their Master burned through that sedative and wanted to be ready to administer the last dose before he woke up.

Finally limping into the infirmary, both Vicious and Armad looked like they’d both been put through the wringer. Vicious was favoring his right leg and holding his right arm against his ribs, while Armad had his right arm in a sling and the left side of his face was swollen with blood trickling out his nose. When the medics got over their initial shock, they asked what had happened. Armad recanted what had happened since finding their Master in a slurred voice, as Vicious was having trouble breathing. He finished by stating that about ten minutes ago, Macron had burned through his second injection of sedative, and proceeded to kick and punch his apprentices, until Vicious was about to control his arms long enough to administer the last syringe. “You probably have about three or four minutes until he wakes up again. Don’t know how long it’ll take this time.” Armad stated as they dropped his legs in front of the gathering medics.

“Let’s get him into one of the stasis chambers before that happens!” The medic barked. He must have been on the receiving end of a Macron punishment before, or seen the results of one.

Vicious managed to hobble his way over to an empty chair and plopped down in it, wincing in pain from the jolt of the sudden stop. Armad dropped to his knees and started to fall over as he started to see blackness coming in from the edges of his vision. The last thing he remembered was hearing someone say, “oh crap” as he watched the floor greet him.