Fallen Empires -- An Old Republic Era adventure (Star Wars)

Skylah

You wake up, and immediately wish you'd just stayed asleep — being awake hurts. A generalised, full-body ache starts as a pounding in your head, and proceeds to radiate down your spine, into your limbs, as far as the tip of every finger. Your vision is spinning, sound barely makes sense. You let out a disgusted, miserable groan. Without conscious thought, you squeeze your eyes shut, and try to enter some approximation of a healing trance, for the pain if nothing else. It's hard to concentrate, but you find the Force like fumbling for a friend's hand in the dark.

The pain recedes slowly. After long seconds, you cautiously open your eyes. Thankfully, the lighting you find yourself in is quite dim, the primary source of illumination are the glowing, transparent 'walls' surrounding the spot you're curled up on the hard floor. You're in a rayshield prison cell, you realise, heart sinking. You look around, head clear enough to perceive something beyond the strange, crimson filter the walls render the chamber through. The first thing your eyes focus on is someone else, looking back at you from the cell next to your own.

"Your approach is unorthodox, but you execute the technique more effectively than Avress has so far managed," Jorden says. He gives you a small smile, from where he's kneeling in the scant space afforded to him. "I am pleased that you seem well." He means it, you feel, and that's a little touching under the circumstances.

You recall the way Jorden surrendered immediately after Jyte threatened you, disarming himself to keep you safe. "I'm sorry," you say, looking down at the floor. At the same time, you try to use your hands to push yourself up to a sitting position, but realise they're shackled behind your back. Annoying.

"To offer mercy is commendable," Jorden says, tone gentle. "In time, you will grow more adept at recognising the intentions of your foes."

"I'm usually good at it!" you insist. "Just... it's hard, with other Force users."

Jorden nods. "Deception is intrinsic to the Sith." That sounds enough like I told you so to be irritating, despite your resolve to be properly grateful to him.

"Well! I was--" you stop, noticing for the first time that the two of you have an audience: Half a dozen Partisan troopers, scuffed blaster rifles in hand.

Seeing your wide-eyed stare turning her way, one of them gives you a hard look. Your overriding impression is of a face made for friendlier expressions if left to natural inclination. That's something to latch onto, when you're otherwise a little overwhelmed by all this. "Uh... hi? I'm Skylah." You try a smile. You don't know what else you're supposed to do, in this strange position.

The woman is taken aback. "That's... I'm Corporal De--" she stops herself, feeling the eyes of her fellow troopers on her, looking a little stricken. "I won't be fooled into giving information to you, Jedi!"

"I'm not a Jedi," you say, still looking up at her from the floor of your cell.

She opens her mouth, seemingly a little lost for a moment, before coming back around to: "I won't be tricked into giving information to... whoever you are!"

"Okay, okay! I can take a hint." Well, sometimes you can. Usually! You curl your legs up beneath you, pushing yourself up into a kneeling position, careful not to let yourself fall into the rayshield walls to all four sides — Another shock is the last thing you need. It's extremely claustrophobic, and the only solace you can take is that this is clearly a temporary holding cell, rather than something anyone would reasonably put you in long term. Or, you hope.

It's long minutes before anything further happens, in which you shift uncomfortably from side to side, and Jorden closes his eyes in soothing meditation. His eyes open an instant before a set of doors at the far end of the room open, admitting a familiar figure: The tall, broad-shouldered frame of the Sith Apprentice who Jorden fought against. He stands there, expression blank, the blindfold over where a human's eyes would be making it disconcertingly hard to tell where he's looking.

"Dee," the Sith says.

"Milord?" The trooper you'd tried to talk to earlier snaps to attention, pointedly not looking at you as the question she'd refused is answered anyway.

"Lord Myre requires the Knight." Dee opens her mouth, but the Sith heads off the question before she can form it: "The older one, Dee."

"Ah, right. We'll take care of that, Milord. Interrogation room?" To her very mild credit, Dee doesn't seem like she relishes this duty, her emotions closing bleakly around her.

"Mm," the Sith agrees, nodding shallowly.

"What about Sky-- the girl?" Dee asks, gesturing at you.

"Her, I have need of," he replies. "Leave us." Well, that's not ominous at all.

"Yes, Milord," Dee agrees. She gestures at the other troopers. "You heard him, the alien's got a date with the Sith Lord." She pauses, looking at the near-human Sith as if he might be offended by the word 'alien'. "No disrespect meant, Milord!" The Sith sighs, but doesn't speak.

You watch as the troopers, under Dee's supervision, surround Jorden's cell, weapons drawn and pointed at him, before anyone even thinks of lowering the ray shields. Shackles or not, unarmed or not, they're clearly taking no chances with a captive Jedi Knight. One of the troopers, blaster rifle still aimed at Jorden's head, darts in once the red walls have melted completely into the ground, gripping Jorden by the elbow and hauling him one-handed to his feet. Jorden doesn't struggle, calm gaze locked on the young Sith, holding it for a long moment even as his escort begins taking him toward a different door from the one the Sith just used. Finally, his eyes snap back to you. "Don't concern yourself with me, Skylah," he says. "I do not fear death. It's my Padawan's safety I save my concern for."

Your eyes widen. Despite what he may think, you do know the sort of treatment he's likely to get from most Sith Lords conducting an 'interrogation'. Death is quite possibly the least of his immediate worries. "Are you sure?" you ask, unable to think of anything you might do for him, but feeling that you should still do something.

Jorden doesn't answer. He's already said his piece, and is trusting you to understand and follow his wishes. Which is all very academic anyway, with you stuck in this cell.

The door closes behind Dee and the last of the troopers, and suddenly you're alone with a strange Sith. Silent, you just regard him at first, waiting for him to speak. When he doesn't, the tension starts to get to you, and you blurt out: "This is pretty awkward, huh?"

He falters. "... Awkward?"

"Well! You know! I'm shackled, and on the floor, and you're there like... standing over me, and, uh... and, you're pretty tall! People must tell you that! Not that there's anything wrong with tall? Tall can be nice, in a boy. Man. Not usually if I'm wearing manacles, though." You pause. "Well, unless—" That's too strange a tangent even for your nervous babbling to carry you down, and you furiously backpedal. "Anyway! Awkward!"

He seems a little stunned for a moment. Just staring — and all at once, you can tell he is staring. You feel his attention focused on you through his Force Sight, like a thousand invisible eyes, all peering at you, into you from a different angle. You've never met a Miraluka in person before, but you've heard enough to recognise that's what he is. And, for that matter, to have heard something of what falling to the Dark Side does to a member of a species who relies on their connection to the Force to even perceive the world around them.

"That's, uh, that's real creepy, just standing there like that!" you say, reflexively filling the silence again. "Has anyone ever told you that it's rude to stare?"

He takes a step forward, truly looming over you. "Do you ever stop talking?"

"Well, yeah, I do, but... it's a nervous habit! Just say something, okay? Instead of standing there trying to be all scary and stoic."

He processes this, then lets out a loud sigh. "Listen very carefully: Darth Shaed has personally called for you to be interrogated by my master. If your master" — he means Jorden, you assume — "proves too resistant to his methods, Lord Myre will very likely use you to wring the information out of him. Do you understand what that means?"

You do, sort of. You've never seen anyone tortured, certainly never been taught about how to go about it, but the concept makes sense with various stories you've heard growing up. The part that grabs your attention, though, is a name that also jogs your memory in that same, unpleasant way. "Darth Shaed?"

The set of his mouth is surprised, but oddly pleased. As if the alarm in your voice is the reaction he wanted to elicit all along. "You've heard of her."

"Yeah, and nothing good." Or, not many good things. At the end of the day, of all the Sith Lords you could fall into the clutches of, she's the dangerous lunatic who cut off your pa'ma's arm and scarred your mother with lightning. Back in those faroff days when they'd all been young, when there had still been a Sith Empire crushing countless lives even in its death throes. Maybe Shaed would be friendly?

Best not to count on it.

"You understand, then, some of what awaits you," the Miraluka says.

You glance at the door Jorden was taken through. "Jorden..."

"... Was brave. Understood that I'm offering you a chance, somehow." The set of the Sith's mouth tells you that it bothers him, that Jorden was able to get such a quick read on his intentions, whatever they are.

"A chance?" you ask, wary.

He hits a switch, and the rayshield falls around you, abruptly casting the room into full colour. His short hair is very blonde, which you'd somehow forgotten. "To live. To escape. We're leaving. Get up."

"But, Jedi Knight Venn—"

"He told you not to concern yourself with him!" the Sith snaps. "Get up!"

You glare, climbing to your feet only because you were going to do that anyway, drawing yourself up to your full height. Which, unfortunately, still only leaves the crown of your head below his jawline. You try to ignore how much craning your neck is doing at the moment. "Why would you even want to help me? I don't even know your name!"

"My name is Brenby. I need you. That's all. Do you want to leave or not? We have little time."

"I'm Skylah." Because you have to, since he gave his, finally. "Where are you taking me?"

"Back to the temple. We don't have all the time in the galaxy for you to squander with pointless questions!" Brenby's annoyance hits you almost like a physical force... but you don't sense falsehood from him. As far as you can tell, he's being honest, at least so far as he's said. Of course, you hadn't felt any falsehood from Jyte either, up until she'd electrocuted you into unconsciousness.

How do you handle this?

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[ ] Shut up and go with him

Whatever his game is, it can't reasonably be worse than staying here. You need to get out so you can help Keel and Avress — that's what Jorden wanted you to do. Wants you to do.

[ ] Demand an explanation and to be re-armed before you go anywhere

Even if he's right and you don't have much time, this is important. Trust goes both ways, and if he expects you to trust him that far, he's going to need to return the favour.

[ ] Refuse

Forget what Jorden said — you're not leaving a friend, or anyone to be tortured and killed while you escape, no matter how stupid and heroic they're trying to be.