Major Jon Silvon, Envoy

Equite 2, Clan Odan-Urr, Loyalist, Imperial
139
Total Fiction Activities
37
Regular Fiction
35478 words in 25 activities
Run-Ons
5884 words in 11 posts and 5 activities
Roleplaying
2631 words in 7 activities
Displaying fiction activity reports 31 - 37 of 37 in total
Competition
Write your speech
Textual submission

Cruel Nayaman
The enemy to our Clan
Fell to our forces

Competition
Hobby time!
Textual submission

Thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk

Thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk

“See the real trick is never to lose focus!”

Thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk

“Which means I really shouldn’t be talking while doing this!”

Thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk

Silvon’s knife dived between every one of his fingers in order, and when it went through he’d flip his hand over and repeat the process, constantly maintaining a dizzying speed. This, he did to the awestruck looks of an entire tavern full of onlookers, all of them in varying states of inebriation.

He’d heard one or two whispering this man simply must have the Force, as no ordinary man could possibly do this without losing a finger or three. Which was completely false of course, as Silvon had seen men without the Force perform this game far faster than he would ever be able too, but he’d let the backwater hicks have their fun. The odds of any of these people on this little Outer Rim mining colony would ever see a Jedi or a Sith were about as high as his chances of becoming the next Grandmaster of the Brotherhood.

Hmmmmm… Mav does get an awesome ship, but all the paperwork, the endless meetings, the assassination attempts? But the ship…

In any event, his lack of Force ability was half the reason Silvon did stuff like this to begin with. Sure, anyone with mystically enhanced reaction times could’ve done what he was doing, but it required real skill and patience to do it without some kind of pseudo magical crutch.

Jon had spent years perfecting this little crowd pleaser, practicing in his off hours on whatever pirate or smuggling vessels had been willing to hire him that particular month. Always with a plasteel blade of course. The pirate captain who taught him about this used to mock him for that, saying that it was braver to perform with a real blade, but Silvon appreciated having all his appendages attached. Prosthetics were expensive after all,unlike toy knives, and back then he really couldn’t afford to waste even one credit.

Finally stopping, Silvon took a moment to twirl the knife in his fingers as an added bit of flare for his appreciative audience.

“Yeah, so the guy who taught me that called it “Five Finger Fillet” but apparently that’s considered racist by species with a different number of appendages,” Silvon said casually. He took a moment to appreciate the looks on his audience members faces as they apparently tried to determine if he was serious about that or not. That’s what made Silvon love being out in the backwaters of the galaxy. The people out here would believe anything.

“Now,” Silvon said loudly, over the clamor of his adoring audience (which proved unnecessary, as people immediately hushed to hear what ridiculpus but just barely plausible thing he would say next) “who wants to show me the way to your dart boards, so I can show you lot some really impressive blade work, hm?”

Competition
Caperion Legends: Nighttime in Nardash
Textual submission

No question Nardash is a big city. Some people might even call it huge. Those people had never been to Coruscant, or even Nar Shadaa. Those were huge cities. As it stood, Nardash was just big. Twenty million residents, a few hundred square miles of concrete and steel, and the heart of the Meraxis Empire, naturally they would have a massive and strict police force to maintain absolute order.

And without a doubt, the Nardash Police Department (on paper a civilian organization, in practice a subdivision of the Military) was the picture of discipline, ever ready to crack down on the first sign of a crime, felony, or minor misdemeanor (really, they were all pretty much the same under Meraxian law).

Disciplined, dedicated, unwavering. So, naturally, they were a major hotbed of corruption. That’s where the Wayward Officer Correction Tribunal, WOCT, (Watchers, as their nickname goes) sprung up a few decades back.

The whole group was founded just two years after the coup that put the previous emperor in power, and only lasted for about two more years after that. In the decade since, they’ve become a kind of a ghost story among the populace, mostly cause of the weird rumors surrounding them, and the increasingly more weird rumors that have been popping up since.

Officially, the Watchers were an internal affairs division. The MP’s kept the populace in line, the Watchers kept the MP’s in line. The weird stuff was in how. See, the Watchers, they didn’t have the authority to make arrests, or even to open investigations. If an officer was accused of breaking the rules they were supposed to keep, the Watchers would simply “ask” them to come in for an “interview”.

See, that was another weird thing, nobody knew where the Watcher operated out of. They had no official base of operations, at least not one that was listed on paper. They’d just show up, at your precinct if you were lucky, if you weren’t they’d be at your house. And you didn’t have the option to refuse either. No word on where those souls went, but when they came back…

Take this one guy I heard a story about, Jaxos Reed...or was it Reen? Sheen? No no, it was definitley Jason Reed. Yes I’m sure, stop interupting!

So, Jack, he’s you’re standard slimeball, right? Taking bribes, dealing spice on the side, than using that money to set his wife and kids up in the nicest penthouse he could afford. One day he comes home to find a Watcher in that penthouse, sitting at the table with his wife and kids.

Jaxos didn’t show up to work the next day. His kids didn’t show up to school. Not for a week. Then two. Then four.

When they showed up again, they were the picture of Meraxian propaganda, “Hail the Emperor” and all that stuff. Reed punched the next guy that tried to bribe, the spice dealing stopped cold, and a lot of his regulars weren’t heard from again. I even heard a rumor that one of his kids nearly killed a classmate who said some unkind things about the regime.
What happened to the Watchers? Got shut down. Official story was “budget cuts”. Course you still always got the rumors. That they went underground to do their work more “efficiently”, that bad seeds still disappear and come back changed, that they’re the ones really running the Empire, that they’re a Sith sect or a bunch of disguised Rakatans or some nonsense…

Me? Well I take the Empire at it’s word. Course they’re gone. Take my advice, you tell people the same if it comes up. Just, trust me on this one?

Competition
Meditation
Textual submission

Arron stalked silently through the trees and grass, carefully so not to spook the woodland creature before him. This new planet had an abundance of fresh and unfamiliar wildlife; a perfect hunting ground. Seraph was an unfamiliar planet to the Dark Jedi, but it was where Scholae Palatinae had chosen to make their new home. He needed to get acquainted.

He burst from the coverings, his claws flashing out, one set bone, one set metal. Green eyes flashed sulfurous yellow.

And the forest life would need to get acquainted to him.

Cathar was a wild planet, and its people were hunters of that wilderness. Hunting was in Arron’s blood, in his soul. And through his soul, he connected with The Dark Side.

It had been a hard lesson, long in learning, and cruel in living. It wasn’t until he had come to Antei, and learned of the Dark Side, that the scattered pieces fell into place. The universe was wild, and all in it, were the predator, or the prey.

The animal bleated and screamed, thrashed about, but Arron was relentless. He had let go of thought, let go of reason, and embraced the Hunt. He was predator, it was prey; this was the way of things, the Dark Side itself was proof of this.

The creature, a thing with black fur and five twisting horns, finally fell silent, and the woods fell quiet once more. It didn’t last long; a howl broke the night, and Arron could sense them coming in the Force.

A group of three broke into the clearing where Arron stood over his prey, large and bear-like, with vaguely humanoid forelimbs. The lead one, bigger than the others, and with a nasty scar across its face, stepped forward. The Alpha. And Arron was in its territory. That could not go unpunished.

The creature charged, bellowing in rage. Arron didn’t bother returning the gesture. He crouched low, waiting for just the right-NOW!

Arron leapt into the air, the Force granting him altitude no mundane body could reach, and landed on the monster’s back. Before it could react, Arron sent a stream of lightning into it’s body, and listened as the creature shrieked-

“Arron!”

Arron blinked his eyes open to see his Battle Team leader Callindra waving her hand in front of his face.

“C’mon, eyes open Arron, we’re landing in ten.”
“Right,” Arron said, the memory of the hunt a week prior receding in his mind. “I’ll be ready.”

That seemed to satisfy the Sith Lady, and she went to check with the other members of the Battle Team.

Arron stood to stretch, and caught his reflection in to metal of the ship. The bright yellow of his eyes was slowly fading back into its natural green, but flecks of yellow seemed to linger. That had been happening more and more lately, he knew.

As the ship landed, and the Team gathered to disembark for their mission, Arron allowed his thoughts to return to that hunt once more. It had been good, but the memory had begun to grow a bit...stale. He’d need to hunt again soon, after this mission preferably, to make fresh memories to meditate on. Perhaps see some of the other wildlife of Seraph…

The way of the Dark Side was the way of passion, and while many Sith and Dark Jedi chose to meditate on their rage, their hate, or even their lusts, he communed with the Dark Side through the thrill of hunting. Cathar were hunters, and in this way, he knew he’d surpassed the most legendary of his ancestor’s numbers.

The bay doors opened, and a humid wave of air, accompanied by the sounds of strange birds and beast heralded the sight of a lush jungle. Arron smirked. Or perhaps he’d get to hunt again sooner than he thought.

Competition
Legacy: "This Wisdom I Leave With You..."
Textual submission

Is - is this thing on? It's working? Alright...Never recorded one of these things myself before...so uh...Shadow says I'm supposed to be "Recording my wisdom for future generations", whatever that means. At first I wasn't going to but....I thought of something you need to hear, whoever you are.
My nickname here is "The Hunter" because that's what I'm the best at doing. Other assassins have a simple job, kill the target without anyone seeing you, or leaving any evidence, which is simple...when they don't know you're coming.
Other times however, they expect you, and they try to hide, try to run. A hunter's job, in that case, is to find the target. In an whole galaxy, there's a lot of places to hide. The trick to it though, isn't knowing where to look, it's thinking like you're prey.
People think I'm a good hunter because I'm Cathar, we're natural hunters, and that's true, but it's not what makes me the best hunter, and it's not even because I have the Force. It's because I've...ah blast it, Shadow said the other's won't see this thing anyway...
It's because I've been hunted myself, and I'm not the only one in the Brotherhood either. A lot of us came hear to hide, to run, maybe you did too. Use that. Learn from it. It means you know how the Prey thinks, how the Prey will react, where it will run, when it will fight.
Now if you haven't, good for you. Now put this thing down, because you will never be a Hunter. Take the soft jobs, where you kill some fancy senator or mob boss in his pent house, or a thief in a cell.
Alright, I've said my part. Arron Saylos, signing out.

Competition
Run-On
Textual submission

Manually added

URL
https://discourse.darkjedibrotherhood.com/c/run-ons/gjw-xi-run-ons