It is 3425 BBY in the Old Republic Era, 18 years following the complete collapse of the Resurgent Sith Empire.
A young Force adept with an uncertain background (that's you!) finds herself stranded on a former Imperial world still recovering from the power vacuum left behind. She becomes embroiled in a small part of a conflict far older than she is.
Your name is Skylah Lavaeolus. You're 20 years old, by the Tetan calendar — 19, by Imperial.
You are also currently plummeting to your death.
All around you, the tiny cockpit is chaos. Red lights flash, alarms blare in your ears. By the smell of it, something somewhere might be a little bit on fire. Your plucky little ship — her name is Roeza — was doing fine throughout the last system, and in the hyperspace jump. Well, everything was working. Or, at least, nothing was on fire. Once you entered the atmosphere of Tyrost, though... re-entry is always tricky. Who can say what went wrong!
The planet of Tyrost spreads out beneath you, a world of lush forests, teeming oceans, and a deep enough connection to the Force that you could feel it from orbit. It was also the site of some internal turmoil following the collapse of the Sith Empire almost two decades prior — You're sure it will be fine by now, though, assuming you don't hit the ground hard enough to leave a flaming crater.
Your hands fly over Roeza's controls, trying your best to slow yourself down — not even to prevent the inevitable crash. Some things must be accepted, but you can still prepare for them. From behind you comes a chiding string of binary.
"Oh, like you knew this was going to happen when you said that!" you shoot back.
More whirrs, a whistle.
"That's completely unrelated! Just fix the Sithspawned engine, Ex-two!"
You get a sarcastic beep in reply. Always with the last word.
This isn't working! As brilliant a pilot as you... would like to be, you're going to need some help to get you and one ungrateful droid out of this mess. You have the training for it: what do you reach out with?
==========
[ ] Serenity
Clear your mind. There is no passion etc. Even when you're plummeting to your death and about to die, becoming smoking debris on the landscape, just-- You can be calm!
[ ] Hope
Use your feelings, but stay positive. Focus on the thought that you must succeed. You can do this, you can get the two of you out of this alive and functional.
[ ] Fear
Easy — you have plenty of it, barely held in check by necessity. Just give in to it, feel everything you want to feel, let the power flow from there.
==========
This is something I've been thinking of for quite a while, in between larger and more challenging original projects, just as something to do for fun in the meantime. It's planned to be relatively short and unambitious in scope, but we'll see how it works out.
You leave your hands hovering lightly over the controls, take a deep breath, and close your eyes. Inside, you're a mess of emotions: Terror and anxiety are most prominent, but they're not useful right now. Or at least, you're not willing to make them so. Not when you don't need to. Maybe never.
You find some point of peace within yourself, breathing growing deep and regular. You don't stop there, though. You don't merely embrace a passive calm, waiting for the Force to save you. You push past your negative emotions, focusing on the positive: Hope, letting that fuel a determination to do what needs to be done. You aren't imposing your will on the Force — instead, you're acting, and relying on it to help you as a trusted ally.
It's a dangerous line you're walking here, some would say, even as you feel the Living Force, feel how it touches every living creature on this planet, every blade of grass, every jungle predator, every sentient in old Imperial cities of grey durasteel. The feeling of love you feel for them as a collective and for the universe as a whole could so easily be twisted into something darker. Life is risk, though, and you're living in the moment. For now, what flows through you, whatever Jedi purists might say, is still Light. You know the difference. You've been taught well, if not quite typically.
Your hands move again, guided by the Force this time — not frantic, but certain. You will get your good little ship and your evil and awful and evil droid through this, even if X2-L4 is unlikely to actually be properly grateful.
You and the Force manage, somehow, to use what limited control you have to angle Roeza just right to arrest her descent, hitting the right air current so that the angle of your entry isn't quite so calamitous. You miss the ocean on one side, and a small city on the other.
The end result is, you hit the ground hard, but not fatally, landing in a forest amongst beautiful, ancient trees. Which the wake of your small starship does horrible things to. Branches snap, trunks topple, small animals flee for their lives, and you're thrown forward against your crash netting like hitting a wall. Everything goes black for a moment.
When you wake up, it's because something cold and metallic is jabbing you hard in the side, beeping shrilly in time to the poking. "Ow! I said ow! Stop it, Ex-Two!" You grab for the astromech's manipulator arm, but he rolls back away from you while you're still trapped in the netting, chiding you in beeps and clicks, conical head swivelling and forth for emphasis. Evil. And awful. And evil. You're very glad he's okay.
Struggling to your feet, you look around, noting the proximity of the lush foliage to your ship, the sounds of birdsong outside slowly beginning again, the very slight incline of the deck beneath your feet. Not that Roeza has a lot of foot room to begin with. A tiny cockpit, with a tight squeeze back into a slightly larger cabin. Beyond that, an engine room that smells like electrical smoke.
You poke your head into the engine room. Your qualified opinion? It's real bad. X2 pipes something sarcastic at you, you do your best to ignore it, going to check the outside of the ship.
Roeza's side hatch opens with a groaning, shuddering complaint, like it might give up halfway. So... That's working like normal. Less than normal is the wall of twisted wood that this reveals: you're pinned down beneath the vengeful corpses of trees that you and Roeza have recently knocked down.
Ugh.
With a sigh, you produce the object hanging from your belt — oh good, it's still on your belt! — and activate it with a comforting snap-hiss. In the numerous times you'd imagined the first time you'd actually use it outside of training or carefully managed sparring matches, it had always been for something considerably more dramatic than cutting wood.
As you set to work on the unglamorous task, you're taken back several years, to when you were learning how to build a lightsaber to begin with:
"I could show you an instruction manual, or give you step by step guidance, but I won't. You know the theory, it's now for you to apply it on your own."
You sigh. "I don't know where to start."
Your pa'ma regards you for a searching moment, green, tattooed face the particular kind of impassive that means she's thinking. "The important part is that you know what the weapon means to you. What it represents. You will use that as your focus."
You frown, trying not to fidget in place. "Mom says it should be a tool, not a weapon." Despite "pa'ma" meaning the same thing, you both know which of your parents the Basic word always refers to.
"Yes, she would say that," your pa'ma says, unoffended as well as unsurprised. "Why, though?"
Ugh. A quiz. You shift awkwardly under her one-eyed gaze. "Because... a lightsaber has many uses? It's a light, and it cuts things, and it's a symbol, and, um... you can throw a tool away or use it up, if it's important, and stuff? So... so I shouldn't only think it's a weapon for hurting people." It had sounded a lot cooler and wiser, coming from your other mother. You scrutinise your pa'ma for a moment. It's hard not to let your tone get a little accusatory as you add: "But... you don't believe that's true, right?"
"It's entirely true, for her. Which is the crux of the matter. This is something personal, young one. If that feels true to you too, that's what's important." She is frustratingly unwilling to chase your tangents, sometimes.
"Okay, but... what do you think instead?"
Pa'ma relents. "All weapons are tools, Skylah. Because taking life is a task, like any other. The morality of the act is case by case, not inherent. That doesn't make killing nothing, but it remains a task, neither sacred nor profane. First and foremost, the device you seek in those parts is an implement of death and violence. A tool meant for killing. And it will be lethal in your hands, someday. I never let myself forget that, or think of it any other way."
You consider these two very different outlooks — contradictory, even — from your two teachers. "I'm... actually less certain what I'm doing now, then," you complain.
She nods -- this outcome is entirely expected. "Then you would benefit from studying the philosophical texts you've been provided on the subject more closely."
A deep suspicion blossoms in your chest, coming onto your face in the form of a narrow-eyed look. "I'm not going to be building a lightsaber today, am I?"
"No," she agrees, "very likely not."
It had been another month before you finally managed to build the device humming familiarly in your hand now. In the end, which viewpoint were you swayed by?
==========
[ ] A lightsaber is a tool
It has numerous practical and symbolic uses, a shield as a sword, and combat is only a small part of why you carry it. Revering a weapon is abhorrent, and it is important to remind yourself that there are other options.
[ ] A lightsaber is a weapon
It is an extremely lethal implement that can kill or maim with a careless gesture. It is a killing tool and should be respected as such, without shying away from it when violence becomes necessary. Ceremonial significance and utility are important, but when you reach for your blade, peaceful options have been exhausted.
While we're here, where did the crystal come from?
[ ] You found it
[ ] You made it
This will have ramifications for the construction and appearance of your lightsaber, as well as how you use it. The same people trained you in any case.
Both votes will be counted together as a set, so please choose one from each list.
A lightsaber is a weapon, you made your crystal: 18
A lightsaber is a weapon, you found your crystal: 13
A lightsaber is a tool, you found your crystal: 4
You hack open the last log, using a bit of telekinesis to ease the two pieces to the ground... then you all but collapse against Roeza's outer hull. It's grown dark enough while you worked that the makeshift clearing you've carved out is illuminated chiefly by the moon overhead, and the warm orange glow of your saber.
You look down at it in your hand, eyes following the solid contours of a hilt designed for powerful, two-handed strokes, without being so unwieldy that you can't use it with one. Good for Djem So, and clearing brush. If you'd needed more of a confirmation of your choice back then, you couldn't have asked for a situation that aligned better with your mother's lessons on the subject. You kill the orange blade, letting yourself fully slump to the ground. Although it radiates no actual heat, you find that you miss the cheerful glow, as the nighttime chill sets in. It's your crystal, that you were sternly but patiently taught to coax out of base elements in a makeshift forge. Its resonance in your hand is a comfort, when you have little else to draw on.
It takes a little bit of buildup, but you eventually pull yourself to your feet, stagger back into the ship, and collapse into your narrow cot.
==========
The next morning, you wake up, wash as best you can, consider how inadequate the sum of money you have on hand feels compared to the damages to Roeza, and decide that, even so, you're going to have to try and find parts to repair her with. Unless you plan on taking up permanent residence in the forests of Tyrost.
Or calling home for help so soon after leaving. Which sounds worse, in some ways.
Regardless, though, this means civilisation. You gather up enough of your dwindling food supplies — one of the reasons you're on Tyrost to begin with is to stock up — pull on your jacket, and tuck your lightsaber inside of it.
Then you present X2 with a small stun baton that can fit his manipulator claw. Watching the astromech brandish it with more enthusiasm than skill, you wonder why you even have something like that lying around. "Protect the ship, Ex-Two," you tell him, trying not to sound too dubious. He salutes with his stun baton and whistles out an affirmative. This is the friendliest you've ever seen him: Apparently, all it took was arming him.
On that note, you undertake the hike into town. The Force is strong here, but, given that the Sith ruled this world for as long as they did, it's no surprise that you feel, more than anything, a strange sort of pull on your negative emotions. Your frustration at what went wrong, your worry at what might happen next, almost like the very ground you walk on wants you to turn that to anger. It's kind of a downer! At least the weather's nice, sky clear and blue overhead.
Eventually, you find a road, and follow it into town, buildings springing up sporadically at first, until you're suddenly on the outskirts of a real city. Myresend isn't large — only a couple of million, practically a town by your standards. Sith Imperial architecture seems to seek to make it seem larger than it is, however, soaring towers in grey, black and red looming over you, dredging the aesthetic preferences of a nearly-extinct species out into modern day. Geometric and angular, everything calculated to inspire awe mixed with an awareness of your own tiny insignificance next to the former masters of this planet. Unfortunately for them, you've seen taller.
The Sith statues have been toppled, the Imperial banners torn down, but the peace monuments and murals praising freedom left in their place feel so out of place as to be a little half-hearted. The Republic liberated the people of Tyrost from a brutal, facist regime that kept slaves, treated most alien species as lesser beings, and broke all dissent against the supremacy of the Sith with cruel indiscretion. Nonetheless, they had invaded the planet, killed its garrisoned troops in battle, occupied its cities, and replaced its entire ruling structure with something foreign imposed from without. Their choice had been between that, or simply leaving the planet to descend into chaos. Or, this was the impression you'd been left with when you decided on Tyrost as your next supply stop — there had been some problems with local Imperial partisan groups, even a decade and a half later, but the Republic occupation force had pulled out a few years ago.
So, surely, everything is fine now. You're certain that the Republic Armed Forces wouldn't simply abandon the new planetary government to its own devices, if things weren't perfectly in hand. Or, you hope they wouldn't. Maybe next time you're home, you should have a look at where your Senator has actually been voting on issues like this. You can't just keep voting for the same candidate as your mother forever.
On the ground-level streets of the city's fringes, locals pass by with their heads down, while the familiar drone and whirr of speeders overhead provides a constant background noise. Everything around you looks a little dingey, a little rundown. On street corners, you catch sight of men and women in a strange uniform, openly wearing blasters. Peacekeepers from the planetary government? You're getting the impression that this isn't the nice part of Myresend. If there even is a nice part of Myresend. You try to blame your unease on the ambient Dark Side energy, but you don't entirely succeed, as you try to find anything resembling spaceship parts in various rundown storefronts.
This lasts until you take a strange turn, finding yourself abruptly not on an open street, but in a narrow alleyway, buildings overhead high enough to block light and sound both. To your shock, you catch sight of two beings menacing a third. Not quite pointing their blaster rifles at him, but clearly poised to.
"In an awful hurry, eh?" The first of them says. You recognise with a sinking feeling that he's wearing the same uniform as the officers out on the street.
"Look, let's cut to the chase, here," their would-be victim says, hands raised placatingly. "I don't have any money. none. I'd be happy to bribe you, if you hadn't caught me at such a bad time."
The second officer threatening him — a uniformed human, like her partner — looks a little taken aback at his bluntness. This quickly changes into annoyance. "Mouthy," she says. She glances at her partner. "I hate that in an alien, don't you? He seems awfully suspicious huh?"
"Extremely," the first officer agrees. He's smiling, but it's not a nice smile.
This is a shakedown! Robbery! Extortion in broad daylight, with no more justification than that this man is a lovely shade of blue! As soon as you fully understand what's going on, you step in. Because you're a hero, and heroes don't need any other reason!
"What's going on here?" you demand.
The two officers whip around, sending you identical thuggish glares. "None of your business is what's going on!" the first officer snaps. "Unless you'd like to be taken in too."
Their victim is very marginally shaking his head 'no' at you. Which is very sweet of him, but you have this under control. "You want to leave him alone, then go report yourselves for your crimes," you tell them, waving a hand in a slow arc.
It works! The second officer's eyes go briefly distant. "I... think we should leave the alien alone," she says, vacantly, "and then... maybe go report our crimes." True to her word, she turns on her heel, and begins to leave the alley. At this point, the first officer grabs her by the arm, pulling her to a stop, evidently entirely unaffected by your attempted mind trick.
Well, it had still half worked.
"What's going on?" the first office demands, hauling his companion backward as she tries to keep going, looking between you and her. His eyes narrow in suspicion... then widen in recognition. "... oh," he says.
The second officer picks this time to come around. She's bleary, confused for a second or two, then abruptly seems to become aware of what just happened. The look she sends you is a mixture of shocked confusion and livid anger. She's bringing her weapon up at you and taking aim before her partner has time to practically scream "DON'T" at her. He's older than she is, somewhere in his mid thirties. He remembers the Sith.
Even as she fires a burst of Republic-surplus blaster bolts, your lightsaber has sprung to life, batting them back to harmlessly scorch into the walls around your attacker. This continues for fractions of a second, before you make your move — darting to the side, leaping up to propel yourself off the alley wall, coming down with a Falling Avalanche strike poised to cut her in half from shoulder to hip. The second officer screams, fully expecting to die.
Instead, half of her rifle falls to the filthy thermocrete underfoot. She stares at you, open-mouthed, and at the lightsaber poised to cut more than just a blaster next, before her partner wraps an arm around her chest, and starts bodily dragging her backward. "Come on!" he shouts, and the two of them make their escape.
You wish you'd had the presence of mind to give a cool one-liner, strike an impressive pose, something other than staring after them dumbly. "Well," you say, looking around at their intended victim who, you remind yourself, you just heroically saved, "that worked out, I guess?"
"... for me, it sure did," he says, sensual lips forming a tentative smile. "Thanks, whoever you—" he looks slightly doubtful, looking you over as if for hints. "... you're not a Sith," he decides, without any further information. "Are you?"
You want to answer the question, but you're suddenly a little tongue-tied. You remember before? How you stepped in to save him just because you're a hero, and heroes don't need any other reason?
That was a lie.
That was a lie you told yourself.
To be entirely honest? He's hot. REALLY hot, and he's looking at you with those soulful, yellow eyes, and all you can think about is how you want to reach up and tuck that stray strand of lavender hair behind one of his ears, where it's come out of his ponytail. It looks like it would be soft, and—
Sithspit, now you're GAWKING. Answer him, Lavaeolus!
==========
[ ] Lie, and say you are a Sith!
[ ] Lie, and say that no, you're a Jedi Knight
[ ] Tell the truth
At the same time, counted separately from the above:
"You're right," you admit. "No one ever made me Sith." Keep things serious, Skylah. Look cool and heroic. You're in an uncertain situation, and you're trying really, really hard not to reflect on the fact that someone actually for real just tried to murder you in a backalley, and it's literally not the time for flirting. Probably
"So..." he frowns thoughtfully. It's an adorable frown — you catch yourself studying the gentle curves of the abstract design on his face, yellow ink bright against blue skin. Ritual tattooing is common enough among various near-human cultures that it doesn't immediately help you narrow it down to a specific species, as cool as it looks. Oh no, oh wait, he's still talking, isn't he? What's he asking you?
"No! I mean, uh, no. I'm not here with any Jedi. I'm not part of the Ord—" you stop short, blink. Why would there be a Jedi here? Tyrost is officially a Republic-allied world now, but you doubt that Former-Imperial Space is the most receptive corner of the Outer Rim to Jedi peacekeeping. "I'm just, you know, I stopped on-planet for some supplies, but on the way down, I had some... very minor ship trouble." Well, that's not true. "Some slightly serious ship trouble." Still a lie! "I, uh, I might have, uh... I sort of cra—" you feel yourself flush. "I can fix it, though! I just need to find some ship parts! Cheap." Between you and X2, you actually are pretty confident that you can bash poor Roeza back into shape.
He takes this in, expression torn between amusement and a sort of thoughtful assessment, as he looks you up and down. It's pretty distracting. "You know," he says, slowly, "I think there's a way we can actually help each other out."
"There is?" You try and fail not to sound too eager.
"Come on," he jerks his head in the direction of not-this-filthy-alley. "We should really be somewhere else, after that fight. You look pretty hungry, and you saved me a heap of trouble, if not a beating. I'll buy you a meal."
Your stomach growls as soon as he mentions food. You decide to pretend it wasn't audible. Hey, wait a minute... "I thought you didn't have any money?"
He laughs. "I lied! Keel Sevria, by the way."
==========
You shovel a sleen dumpling into your mouth, unable to suppress a small, rapturous hum at the familiar taste of Drumond Kaas spices. By the time you arrived at this cramped, hole in the wall dumpling shop, you were so ravenous that the smell of the place practically knocked you out. Keel navigates you both to a table in the corner, not visible from the tiny, street-level windows. Tinny, Imperial music plays from the direction of the kitchen. The few other patrons eat their meals in silence, not looking up at anyone else.
"Wait," Keel says, "Do you even know what that i—" he trails off as you blithely dip your next dumpling in a cracked dish of virulently purple sauce and pop it into your mouth as well, heedless of his half-voiced warning. The flavour that explodes across your tongue, despite the dumpling being freshly steamed, is not hot like many spices but rather, somehow, cold.
He stares from across the scratched and dented durasteel table, clearly waiting for you to show some displeasure or surprise. When none materialises to pierce your air of euphoria, he says: "You know, most people from outside Former-Imp Space hate terrer root, if you just give it to them without any warning. Your accent sounds pretty Core."
You swallow. "Deep Core," you confirm. "It's so hard to find terrer root back home!' The root in question, usually dried and ground into an ominously coloured spice, is native to the ravaged Sith homeworld of Korriban. Like most of Korriban's original biosphere, it evolved a symbiotic relationship with the planet's unusual natural attunement to the Dark Side. The Ancient Sith brought the root with them to other worlds as they'd built the earliest version of the Sith Empire, but it can only really thrive on planets sufficiently steeped in Darkness.
When you fail to clarify this strange combination, Keel continues: "The accent is what made me think you weren't a Sith. I mean, that and going out of your way to not dismember anyone, even after that woman tried to shoot you. But then you've got the orangey laser sword, and those eyes, so I wasn't sure." He's studying them so intently that you freeze up, a dumpling slipping traitorously off your eating sticks to land messily in your dish of terrer sauce.
"I... I... I really like your eyes too!" you say, red-faced, averting your gaze as you retrieve the dumpling. Wait. You're supposed to not be flirting. Bad Skylah.
He gives you a startled sort of grin. "Yellow's more or less the Pantoran default," he says, helpfully solving your ongoing attempts to put a name to his species. "You don't see many humans with red eyes like that, though."
He's still looking at you, when you steal a glance back up. "Yeah, I'm... mostly human!" you agree, still flustered. "I mean, there's a bit of— mostly, though!" Oh no, why is he smiling like that? Your heart doesn't need to pound quite this loudly. "You said we could help each other?" you ask. Too loudly. A bored looking Twi'lek from another table looks up, and you flush harder.
His smile vanishes. It's like you just kicked a really sexy puppy. "Right," Keel says. "I wanted to build up to that. Basically... I really could use your help."
"My help?"
"Well, it's like this." Keel slips his jacket — old, patched in several places — off of his narrow shoulders, letting it hang off the back of his chair as he leans across the table toward you. He's wearing a blaster underneath, you see, although you don't blame him for not trying his luck with it against two soldiers with battle rifles. "There's this old ruin out in the forest. Pretty spooky, probably Sith, no one goes too near it. It's sealed up tight, anyroad, not even a proper lock to slice. But a little while ago, this woman shows up. Human. Alderaanian. Calls herself 'Jedi Knight Rist'. And, well, she had the lightsaber, so we believed her."
"We?" you ask, heart irrationally sinking a little.
"Me and my sister. Elra. Rist hears about the ruins — something something, 'guided here by the Force'" He puts air quotes around the words. "So, she wants to find it, poke around inside. Hires Elra and me to show her the way out there." At this point, Keel pauses, expression turning a little shifty. "We, uh... decided there wouldn't be any real harm if we increased the profits a little. If Rist could actually get one of the doors open, we think, we'll just slip in after her. Find a few trinkets to pawn off, then leave before the Jedi notices anything. Except... Elra slips in after her, and the door just closes. And now Elra is trapped inside, and she can't even find Rist to open the door again. So... she's been trapped for a few days, and is running out of food in there. I can definitely find you all the ship parts you need if you can get it open for us. What do you say?"
You chew this over, while simultaneously chewing several more dumplings — They're pretty incredible, and you don't usually even like sleen this much. What he's suggesting is potentially pretty dangerous, involving mysterious Sith ruins that have already swallowed up a Jedi Knight and Keel's sister. You have no guarantee that you'll even be able to repeat whatever trick the Jedi used to be able to get in. Keel himself has also outright admitted to lying, and to going behind this Rist woman's back in a way she probably would not have approved of — this doesn't scream 'trustworthy'. You should think this over very carefully. There are probably easier ways to find the ship parts.
He gives you a heart-meltingly hopeful smile.
"I'll help!" you promise, without even thinking.
Keel's smile grows wider, chasing away all your doubts. "Perfect," he says.
==========
The trip out to the ruins, it turns out, will involve a speeder bike that's possibly as decrepit as Roeza is. You immediately love it. "It'll hold up fine," Keel promises, as he starts it up. You decide to believe him, out of solidarity if nothing else.
You end up seated behind him, arms around his waist. Because, um, he's going very fast, and you don't want to fall off and die as the two of you rise into the air.
No other reason! You will not be taking questions at this time.
The buildings of the city quickly melt away, and Keel slows as it's time to go back down nearer the ground, navigating expertly between ancient trees. Despite the Empire's reputation, Tyrost's natural beauty, beyond what's been cleared away for habitation, remains impressively unspoiled. For you, having spent a significant amount of your childhood on an ecumenopolis, this is a pretty thrilling novelty.
With the lower speed, Keel is able to make himself heard over the hum of the speeder bike's repulsor: "So, Red." Wait, is that you? Are you Red? "I've never met anyone from the Deep Core before, all the way out here. What's your story?"
"Well, like I said, I'm just on Tyrost as a stopover." It's a starting point, something to get your bearings.
The trees rush past to either side, Keel weaving between them at an expert clip, never taking his eyes off the path ahead even as he replies: "So, where are you headed?"
"Dromund Kaas."
You're still holding onto him, so feel his back stiffen at the answer. He certainly wasn't expecting that. "Why?" he asks, as though he's questioning your sanity. "It's not exactly a pleasure trip, out there."
You shrug. "I was born there," you admit. Back home, precious few people outside your family know that. Out here, in the company of someone who doesn't even know what system you live in, it feels like much less of a big deal.
"You said you were from the Core!"
"Adopted." You provide this answer with the implication that it's a succinct but all encompassing one. You sigh. "Look, I know that it's not safe there. Some things, though, are just important. I need to see it just once."
He digests this for a few moments, before breaking the silence again. "You look a year or two younger than I am. What, did the Republic just scoop you up after they bombed the capital into mud?"
"Someone did." You consider his tone, the ugly associations he's broadcasting. The invasion as an act of brutality, not as a grimly necessary act, the way the Republic portrays it. It's not surprising from someone who grew up here, alien or not. "The Empire didn't leave a lot of options, you know," you point out. Every treaty broken, every agreement just an excuse to position a knife to the Republic's back. Generations of intermittent war on a Galactic scale. You know that, by the time it had come to the Battle of Dromund Kaas, there had been members of the Senate openly advocating to bomb the Imperial Capital world from orbit until its oceans boiled over. That hadn't happened, thankfully for you. The invasion itself had been nearly as bad.
Your earliest memories feel like they come from the end of the world. Bombs falling, fighting in the streets, buildings toppling. Left alone in the rubble of what you now know was Kaas City. Then hands lifting you up, carrying you to safety, As gently as they knew how.
"I'm not much for politics," Keel says. You do sense a profound indifference radiating off him, on the topic of the Republic's motivations. A sense, on the surface of his thoughts, of the Galaxy as a place dominated by Titanic forces, ordinary people small and vulnerable and easily crushed by the games they play. What was the difference between one giant and the other, or which one wins? In a way, also not surprising, from a Former-Imperial.
You're quiet for a little while, reflecting on this, sub-consciously tightening your grip around his waist. "Do you and your sister... you know, do stuff like this a lot?"
"What? Get trapped in creepy ruins?"
"Grave robbing," you clarify. "And, uh... going behind someone's back, when they're trusting you not to."
"... Nah," he says. "Me and El, we do what we have to sometimes, but we're not thieves, usually. We just thought, the Sith won't miss the trinkets, will they? The place has been abandoned for who knows how long."
You suspect that Keel has never met a Sith. "Mm," is all you say, giving yourself time to mull that over.
Soon, the bike comes to a stop, repulsor lift dying down. You reluctantly let go, and Keel gets up first. You hop down after him. You're here. It's hard to spot, at first. Then, through the trees, nearly overgrown by vines, a stone wall in the near distance. That, and the Darkness is stronger over there.
"Hey, Keel?"
"Yeah?" He stops short, having clearly been prepared to push forward through the trees to your destination.
You fidget a little under his scrutiny, one hand toying a little with your dark hair. "So, uh... before we go in there, can you, like, promise me something?"
Even his confusion is cute. Ugh, that makes this so much harder. "What is it?"
"Could you, you know, maybe... not lie to me? Again, I mean."
Keel hides the startlement behind a confused smile that's too convincing to be real. "Hey, Red, I haven't told—"
"No," you cut him off with a wave of your hand, "I'm good at telling. When you're doing it to me, anyway. It's, um, a Force Thing. When you try to push a lie at me, your intent goes all sideways." You wave a hand back and forth, presumably trying to convey that this should be read as 'sideways intent.'
It's Keel's turn to get flustered. "I... uh..."
"You weren't lying about your sister being stuck, or Jedi Knight Rist being in there," you continue, "and, like, I want to trust you, and help, but... I literally can't, if you're going to do that? Be all slippery, like with going behind the Jedi's back, or saying you're not a thief."
He breaks eye contact first, blue cheeks flushing purple beneath his tattoos. "... sorry," he mutters. "It's... not an endearing practice, to most people."
It's really difficult not to forgive him. And you're not actually trying very hard. You grin, and give him an encouraging slap on the shoulder. "Great! I'm not a Jedi, remember, so... I'm not going to arrest you or anything. Just don't steal from me, and we can be friends." This all being settled, you take the opportunity to walk forward, toward the ruin.
He stares for a second or two, baffled, then hurries to catch up.
The ruin itself is squat, visibly sinking into the ground, trees and underbrush not just crowding around it, but growing over top as well. It's a striking image, this ancient building almost swallowed up by trees. As you slowly reach a hand out to touch a weather-worn brick, the Darkness grows strong enough to make your hair stand on end, briefly. You try a breathing exercise, and get it under control.
"That's the Jedi's," Keel says, pointing to a second speeder bike nearby, this one in considerably better condition. "It hasn't been moved since I left to find help." He reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a portable holocomm, fiddling with it. "There's something in the walls that swallows the transmission," he explains. "I need to be close to get Elra at all."
After trying for several seconds, however, he fails to raise her. Worrisome.
"Is this the door?" you ask, hands brushing over a section noticeably clear of vines.
"Yes," he says. "The Jedi could open it, anyway."
At your touch, a series of dull crystals set into the brick pulse dimly red, and you feel something from it. Interesting — you'll need a moment, though. In the meantime... this is as good a time as any to get some more information.
Or to find some more about Keel.
Or both.
[ ] Ask Keel about his sister
You'd like to know who you're helping to rescue.
[ ] Ask Keel about Jedi Knight Rist
Your image of this woman is spotty at best, and you're interested to find out what you can.
[ ] Ask Keel about his cool life of crime
You meant what you said earlier, but it would be good to know who, exactly, you're working with in this regard.
Your name is Padawan Avress Dar. You are 18 years old, by the Order's records. 75 seasons, by your people's. It is very hard not to hate this planet.
"Calm yourself, Avress."
"Yes, Master!" You jump at the sound of his voice — you'd hoped that you'd been disguising the emotions better than that. You frown, slightly. "Sorry, it's just... unsettling, here." Tyrost is little like the planet of both your births, where you were only days ago. Mirial's climate is notable for being both uncomfortably arid and uncomfortably cold. A poor world, materially, but rich spiritually.
This place is lush and fertile, but it feels wrong here, as if the very Force itself is wounded. The experience is intensely disturbing.
Your master looks at you very seriously. Jedi Knight Jorden Venn is a tall, lean man, hair and beard cropped short, face modestly tattooed, lime-green complexion several shades more vibrant than your own. He's not a harsh teacher, but he can be stern when he thinks it's important. "I would not have brought you here, if I thought you weren't ready for this," he says.
"I am ready, Master," you say, hastily. You glance away, studying the surrounding treeline. "It just... surprised me."
You see him nod out of the corner of your eye. "The Dark Side only has as much power as you allow it. Stay firm in your training, Padawan."
"Yes, Master," you say again.
He scrutinises you, and you consciously draw yourself up, shoulders going back. After a moment of this, he smiles, eyes crinkling. "Relax, Avress. I'm not going to make you wait in the ship."
You sigh, and try to do as he says. The two of you are standing outside your ship, having landed a ways out from the coordinates the request for assistance sent you, on the far side of them from the nearby settlement. You're here in large part because you were closest — Mirial is not so far from Tyrost, in the scheme of things. "Do you know Jedi Knight Rist well, Master?" you ask, giving voice to something you've been wondering about.
His smile vanishes. There's something there, something he doesn't want to say, and it's like pulling teeth getting any of it out of him. "A little." He hesitates, looking out over the dark, menacing mass of trees around you, ringing the convenient clearing where he's touched down. You think that that's all you're going to get, until he adds: "I have certain... misgivings, about her exploring such a place alone. It is good that she called us."
"Why?" You don't know Amira Rist — you've never met her. Surely, though, a Knight of the Jedi Order, having passed her trials, should be ready for anything a mere ruin can throw at her.
"Jedi Knight Rist was not..." your Master hesitates again, and there's a sea of meaning in that pause, all of which goes frustratingly over your head. "... Raised in the Order."
"I see." That can't be all. It's not traditional, and you understand that such attempts often go wrong, but there certainly have been many great Jedi who began their training later in life than early childhood. For her to have reached the rank of Knight, you would think that all such doubts had been dispelled. There's something more he doesn't want to say, you think.
"We should not delay any longer," your master announces. "Finding her will put my mind at rest."
Approaching the site of the alleged ruin, your master sees it first. A shape through the trees, barely detectable — vast even where it's sunken into the earth and enshrined by Tyrost's flora. Lurking beneath this leafy cover, staring hungrily at you from across the distance, monstrous and unsleeping.
Apparently, all this Dark Side energy in the air is making you unpleasantly poetic.
"We will cover more ground if we part ways," your master decides, noting the circular layout. "I will go that way, you the other. If you discover something strange, or find evidence of Jedi Knight Rist, wait for me before you do anything. Do you understand?"
A desire to be seen as a good and obedient pupil wars with a faint indignation at the suggestion that you might not understand what is expected of you. "I do," you promise.
You pick your way carefully around the exterior of the structure. It's impossible not to feel on edge, so close to it. On some level, though, that might be healthy: Rist mentioned, in her transmission, that the Tyrost planetary government's claims to have gotten its Imperialist insurgency under control might be more than a little exaggerated.
The voices, when you hear them, still manage to catch you off guard, for all your hairwire reflexes. "... Not really what I expected, from a Jedi." A male voice, accent coloured by the local dialect of Imperial Basic.
"And what'd you expect?" The feminine voice is incongruously chipper and decidedly not local. It isn't Coruscanti, but it's something similar enough to take note, all the way out here. It's certainly not Jedi Knight Rist's cultured Alderaanian.
Creeping your way forward, crouched low in the bushes, you find a vantage point where you can peer out at the speakers, without immediately giving yourself away. There are advantages to being green, sometimes.
"I don't know. More... insufferable? Sanctimonious, I guess?" a Pantoran male answers, fiddling with a holocomm in all appearances of not expecting it to actually work. He's long-haired and sleekly built, hiding a sort of nervous energy beneath a veneer of casual confidence, complete with an affected, cocky smile that keeps tugging at the corner of his face. It's the kind of thing that some people go for, you suppose.
You are also definitely not faintly affronted by the impression of your Order he's giving to his companion.
As she replies, you hear the grin in her voice, even while he face is turned away from you, seemingly focusing on the wall of the ruin. "Don't worry," she says, "there are plenty of insufferable Jedi out there, if you go looking." She twists around to look at him for a moment. Reed-thin and not terribly tall, for a human, turning with an obvious bounce in her step. Dark hair in a jaw-length bob frames a fetchingly angled face, olive-toned and exuberant. The only visible deviation from baseline human are the eyes — even from this distance, you can see that the irises are livid red and faintly luminous in a way that can't just be the light.
"Well, yeah, I wouldn't know about that," the Pantoran continues. "Rist was pretty easy to work with, though, even laughed at some of El's jokes, and they're terrible. She went for one of the seedier parts of the city looking for information on all this, that's where she met us. Said people down there were at least more likely to give her part of the truth, instead of none of it, the way she was getting from the planetary authorities."
"She didn't say what she was doing out here?" the girl asks, cocking her head to the side as she considers all this.
"That was where the cryptic nonanswers came in, yeah," the Pantoran says. "'A mistake too long uncorrected'. Her coming here was the 'will of the Force', that kind of thing. El was pretty sure she was just being deliberately mysterious and cagey."
"Maybe! Probably not though," the girl said, shrugging. "Anyway, let's see about getting this open. I think I have it figured out." As she turns back to the temple, this time, you see that she's not just examining bare stone. There's a latticework of crystals, pulsing red at her touch. The two of them out here, discussing Jedi Knight Rist in the past-tense like this, would have been alarming on its own. But their doing something to the ruin? You can't stand by and let that happen! Surely, your master would want you to intervene.
==========
Avress:
What do you do?
[ ] Imperiously demand to know what they're doing from a distance
[ ] Sneak up right behind them before announcing yourself to look impressive
[ ] Physically interpose, to prevent whatever the girl is doing with the ruin as soon as possible
[ ] Write in: (NOTE: Avress is a little stiff and overly proud, and has her back up here. Bear this in mind.)
Sneak up right behind them before announcing yourself to look impressive: 11
Demand to know what they're doing: 5
Physically interpose: 3
Skylah
It's not just a machine, this ancient device you're interacting with. It's mystically attuned, somehow, to the Force, like a crude simulacrum of sapient thought, sleepily awake to your touch. When you try to reach out with your mind, though...
Severe, dominating, unrestrained. Conflict is the natural state of the galaxy, imposed peace a deceptive lull that dulls the mind and breeds weakness. Might makes right — the real order of things, the truth behind the hypocrisies of lesser minds. A foreign paradigm for you in many ways, your natural thoughts glancing off like oil on water. Impossible, on the surface of it, to fully wrap your head around.
Not unfamiliar, however. You recognise it, know the shape and the nuances of these thoughts, for all that they're not your own. All at once, it falls into place. You know what is being asked of you, what this door needs in place of a key.
You resurface, pull your hand away, ready to excitedly tell Keel the good news. It's then, at the last possible second, that you know that someone else is here. You whip around disconcertingly fast, come face to face with a strange Mirialan standing behind Keel, and scream in surprise. Equally startled, she is likewise unable to suppress a shout of her own, jerking backward. Your eyes bore into hers, and you both open your mouths to start speaking at once, before stopping at the same time, for the same reason:
Your hand shoots out to grab Keel's wrist while his hand is still only beginning to go for his blaster. Perhaps, in this stretch of forest, on this part of Tyrost, poking around an Ancient Sith ruin of all things, going for a weapon is reasonable when someone creeps up right behind you and screams. Very quickly, though, his confusion at your having stopped him turns into wide-eyed understanding — the Mirialan is likewise frozen in place, hand on the lightsaber she's halfway through pulling off of her belt. The three of you locked in a strange, three way standoff.
You all start talking at once:
"What you think you're—"
"Just who are—"
"Are you trying to get—"
You all trail off as your words overlap too much to make sense, the Mirialan staring from you to Keel, obviously still off balance. You try again first: "Are you insane?"
"Excuse me?" she the Mirialan demands. "This is a Sith ruin you're poking around at!"
"Yeah!" you say, raising your voice right back, "yeah, it is! We all know that! Why don't you take your hand away from the weapon, though?"
She does her very best to look affronted. "I'm not the one who reached for mine first!"
"You're the one who snuck up behind us like a stalker!"
Keel watches this back and forth, half in confusion, half in resignation as it increasingly seems like there is not going to be a fight. You feel his arm go limp in your grip, but you don't let go yet — you can't be sure how the stranger would respond to the sudden movement.
The Mirialan falters entirely here. This clearly is not going at all how she intended... however that was. "I was trying to—" she begins, falters, "um... well." Her jaw clenches shut as she slowly takes her hand away from the handle of the elongated lightsaber. Saberstaff, you realise, and update your mental predictions for the opening moves of a fight that isn't going to happen any longer. "... you weren't supposed to turn around that early," she mutters, almost too quietly to hear.
"What?" you demand, finally giving Keel his hand back. Hanging onto it would have been nice, under other circumstances, but lethal implements have a way of bringing out your serious side.
"Noth— What do you think you're doing out here?" Trying to regain some dignity, she draws herself up to her full height, attempting to loom over you. It's generally pretty effective — in addition to having height on you, she's got the build of someone who works out more than is necessary to maintain conditioning, as much as Jedi robes like to hide that kind of thing. From this angle, you get a pretty good look at the geometric tattoos under her eyes, her skin such a deep, mossy green that they're inked in white. You don't recognise the symbols.
"I don't have to make excuses to you for why we're out here!" you shoot back, leaning up to rather less effect. "What are you doing out here, aside from making a fool of yourself?"
"I," she begins, mustering as much placid condescension as she can scrape together from the ruins of her composure, "am here on business for the Jedi Order. You have no idea what kind of forces you're trifling with." In the back of your head, you begin to wonder whose Padawan this is — and even leaving aside her age, there is no doubt in your mind that this girl is still a Padawan. You'd think Keel would have mentioned her, if she were Rist's and also, you dimly recall your pa'ma telling you, "Mirialan Jedi usually come in pairs. It's 'tradition'."
Keel pinches the bridge of his nose. "My sister is trapped inside," he says, cutting through the posturing. "That's my business too. Re— Skylah is helping me."
The Mirialan looks at him, then at the sealed temple, and frowns. "What are you talking about?" she asks.
"Avress." Unlike the first, the second Mirialan actually announces his arrival ahead of time. The Padawan nonetheless cringes at the sound of his voice. He regards her calmly as he approaches, the weight of his gentle disapproval landing on her shoulders. "I asked you to wait for me."
"You... you did, Master," the Padawan admits.
He gives her a long enough look that she visibly squirms a little, before he turns to you and Keel, looking between the two of you with an unreadable expression on his face. "I am Jorden Venn, Jedi Knight," he says. "You've met Avress, my Padawan."
"She was really rude!" you cut in, crossing your arms over your chest. Keel shoots you a faintly plaintive look.
"Yes, I expect she was," Jorden says. Avress's mouth falls shut on the protest she was about to voice. "I would appreciate knowing who you both are, and what your purpose is here."
You sigh. At least he's being polite about it. "I'm Skylah," you say, consciously omitting your surname. It's not worth the inevitable questions. "This is Keel. His sister followed a Jedi into the ruins days ago, and he asked me to help get the door open again so we can find her. It's got some kind of Force-attuned lock on it, it looks like? Anyway! I know what I'm doing."
Avress gives a disbelieving exhalation. Jorden frowns very slightly, scrutinising you in particular, gaze staring into your eyes as if looking into you. "I sense some strength with the Force in you," he says, "but little Darkness. Whatever skill you might possess, be aware that this place is unfathomably dangerous — even the artifacts of the Sith are treacherous, however long their masters have left them idle." He looks to Keel imploringly. "I urge you to leave this place, and entrust this task to us. We will ensure your sister's safety if at all possible."
Keel casts an unmistakably dubious glance at Avress. "I'm not sure I want to leave that to chance," he confides. Avress bristles bristles a little at the obvious slight.
You don't try very hard to keep a smug note from your voice as you add: "You won't be able to get that door open anyway."
Jorden turns back to you. Surprised, maybe? He's much better at the unflappable Jedi thing than Avress is. "And why would you say that?"
You shrug. "Have a look for yourself."
Jorden turns from you to the door, cautiously moving toward it. Avress is trying to send her most more-serene-than-thou look your way, but it would have worked a lot better if you hadn't seen her jump in surprise earlier.
As the minutes drag by, Keel finally whispers: "Rist didn't take this long." He glances at Avress. "Where did you two even come from?"
"Jedi Knight Rist sent for assistance," the Padawan hisses back. "Master will have it open any time now — I'm sure it's very complicated." Jorden, with his hand hovering over the faintly pulsing crysals, does not seem to be any closer than he was to begin with.
"I'm surprised that Rist could even do it," you admit to Keel.
He ignores Avress's quiet scoff. "Why?"
Because she's a Jedi. But you don't say that out loud.
Jorden finally steps away from the door, face a little troubled. He turns to face you three, looking first at you, then to Avress. When he speaks to her, it's in a flowing, musical language you recognise instantly as Mirialan. Stealing a glance at you first, she replies in the same language.
Your pa'ma doesn't speak her ancestral tongue at home very often, but you don't need to know too much to recognise that they're talking about you, while you're standing right here. You scrape together what little you can remember from stray turns of phrase growing up, and manage, haltingly: "⟨You're being RUDE⟩." The two Mirialans stop short, plainly taken aback — theirs is not a language widely spoken outside their own species. Your accent is atrocious, but you hope they won't realise that you have nearly exhausted the extent of your vocabulary.
"... apologies," Jorden says, recovering with characteristic swiftness. Avress is notably more rattled, although her complexion hides the flush she's likely displaying. Jorden continues: "I would ask, then, only that you explain precisely what you know about this mechanism."
Oh. Well, you set yourself up for that, didn't you? The answer is going to be a little awkward.
==========
[ ] Just open the door, hope the Jedi don't notice what exactly you're doing
[ ] Be completely honest, although you think the Jedi won't like it
[ ] Try to play dumb
You were ten years old, at the time this happened.
You wake up in the middle of the night, jolted out of a dream both terrible and elusive. Whatever it had been, the dream is reduced to a pounding heartbeat and a few loose wisps of panic in the light of your bedside lamp, flicked on with fumbling hands. Your room is there, bizarrely normal in the wake the nightmares that flee your mind.
Glancing around, you catch the beedy, black eye of Bitey, the threadbare stuffed rancor you've had since early childhood. You're too old to really need him anymore, but under the circumstances, you lean across the bed and give him a polite squeeze. Like he's an old friend who took the time to check in on you, even though you don't have much in common these days.
You quickly decide that what you actually need is a midnight snack. Visions of the blumfruit cookies in the jar downstairs dance beguilingly through your head. Mom lets you have an extra one all the time anyway — or, a lot of the time. So, in a way, you already have permission. You think you'll try to be quiet anyway, though. Silent, even. Just to be considerate.
You slip out of your room, into the hallway bathed in the incandescent glow from the window that curves along its length. Through it, the nightless Tetan skyline stretches gleaming towers of light out to the horizon. Familiarity breeds contempt, however — Your ten-year-old self is not particularly impressed, on this night.
The great heist proceeds as planned, and soon you find yourself standing on tiptoe in order to carefully slide the cookie jar toward you on the counter, removing the heavy lid with all the caution of a surgical droid. You freeze as it clacks once against the jar, but despite how loud the sound seems to you, it proves to be insufficient to actually draw attention to your activities.
The cookie tastes better for being forbidden, and you eat it on the spot, the mundanity of the kitchen compromised by the peril of this nighttime errand. Or maybe you're still jumping at shadows a little, from that nightmare. It's in this state, halfway through your cookie, that you register the quiet voices coming from the next room.
"... really something you need to teach our daughter?"
"I want to prepare her."
You recognise your parents' voices instantly, and the fact that they're talking about you. Feeling guilty, you inch closer to the doorway. Perhaps, subconsciously, you're already keeping your presence partially masked, years before you can do it on demand: Neither of them senses you as you listen in.
You know what lesson this must be about. You're used to learning different things from the two of them, even things that disagree with one another, a little. Something about the tone this time, the conversation being held in the middle of the night, in hushed tones, confirms that what you were taught earlier that day wasn't exactly the same as a normal lesson. It had been... disconcerting, in a way your young mind can't quite articulate to yourself.
"Prepare her for what, exactly?" The skepticism isn't hostile. It never is.
"I won't have her losing herself to Darkness like a Jedi falling to rage for the first time. If she steps onto that path, she'll know what to expect. She'll have control." The words sound confident, definitive, spoken in that sonorous Kaasi accent.
A light sigh. "If you say so, honey." The reply speaks more to trust than it does to being wholly convinced.
There's a thoughtful, almost tangibly troubled pause before the conversation picks up: "She's not going to turn out like me, Arla. She's your daughter too."
That induces a half strangled spluttering sound. "That's not— I didn't mean— we'd be lucky if she grew up to be half as brave or loyal as you. I'm not worried about that!"
The reply is fondly amused, and a little placating. "I love you too, dearest. But there are large parts of me that come from things no child of ours will ever be put through. My aim is only to educate her. And to make sure she knows... where she comes from."
This pause is shorter, but heavier, somehow. "... You know what you're doing, then."
"As much as either of us do."
Now, the notion of 'losing yourself' comes back to the surface. That was what that nightmare had been about, you're now sure, although you hadn't had words for it at the time, before overhearing your parents.
Because what scares you about that kind of lesson, about what you're going to access to open this door isn't that it's repellent or frightening in of itself.
It's that it feels good.
Wordlessly, you slip past the Jedi, approach the closed door again, and press both hands to the strangely-warm stone. You shut out any questions about your actions, the sound of wind in the trees, the singing of the local birds, and focus:
Peace is a lie, there is only passion.
Through passion, I gain strength.
Through strength, I gain power.
Through power, I gain victory.
Through victory, my chains are broken.
The Force shall free me.
You recite the words carefully in your head, letting the meaning wash over you, heady and intoxicating. The Code itself is not the key, but the mindset behind it is. The philosophy. This is a door meant to open only in response to Sith, and to open it, you're going to need to trick it into thinking you are one.
It was never that Jorden was too ignorant or too inexperienced, or not powerful enough — as a seasoned Jedi Knight, you're willing to bet he has you beaten on all of those counts. His training, though, from his ideological grounding, to the way he's been taught to view the Force, to the way he relates to society itself, all of it is in conflict with what is needed for this task.
Despite Sith philosophy never having personally spoken to you very strongly, your own education has been a lot more flexible. This is something you can do, whatever Avress assumes. You focus on that — on her smug condescension, on how she seems to look down on you despite not knowing the first thing about who you are, where you come from or what you can do. On Jorden speaking to her over your head while you were standing right in front of them. You hone your indignation, your frustration, into something small and sharp and angry. Then you use all of those feelings, messy and negative and confused as they are, to reach out to the Force.
The power flows into you in a giddy rush, bolstering your presence before the door. Open! The thought is a command, pressing against the false consciousness keeping the door closed, seeking to overwhelm its defences and impose your will onto it. It resists — of course it does. All Sith trials, even the most insignificant, are trials of strength. But you're strong enough for this. When you break its will, when you open your eyes to see the door slowly, ponderously slide down into a hidden groove below, staring at the darkness beyond that you have just revealed... it does feel like a small Victory.
You turn to judge the reactions from the rest of the group. You see Keel first, grinning wide and relieved. You pulled through for him, and now you can find his sister. It's so much more sincere than his usual cocky smile that it makes your heart skip a beat. Avress is shocked, plainly, that you could do this thing that so stymied her master. That's very nearly as satisfying. Jorden is staring at you, face set, eyes giving off a very faint trace of... oh no, is that suspicion?
"Well! Looks like it's open!" you say, brightly.
Jorden doesn't move. What is he, judging you? If you hadn't done this, then none of you ever would have gotten in, and what would have happened to poor Keel's sister, or to this Jedi Knight who's been missing so long? It's really starting to tick you off. You'd like to— Whao, there, Skylah! This is why you don't go around deliberately falling into the Dark Side. It's bad for you.
"How did you open that door?" Jorden asks.
Uh... "The will of the Force guided me here?" You suggest. Which may be true, and also does not answer the question at all. He keeps staring. "I'm... pretty smart?" you offer. This, too, does not seem to satisfy. You fidget in place, feeling extremely on the spot, with everyone looking at you. "I think," you say, slowly, "I think that I'd rather not say." As you see Jorden open his mouth, you plough onward: "Hey, Keel, LET'S GO FIND YOUR SISTER."
Keel nods firmly. "Yes, let's," he agrees, striding forward toward you.
Avress grabs his shoulder, pulling him to a stop. "No," she says, looking sternly from him, to you, "you two—"
"Wait." Jorden holds up a hand for silence. You all freeze in place as his expression turns even more troubled. "Open your senses," he says, to Avress and maybe to you, "we are not alone out here."
You and Avress both pause. Everything around you is silent, peaceful. Just the sound of the breeze rustling tree branches overhead. Why is that so wrong?
Wait. Birds. They've stopped.
You sense the killing intent a fraction too late, but Jorden is faster. A blue lightsaber is in his hands, ignited and in motion just in time to connect with a blaster bolt streaking red out of the treeline, deflecting it harmlessly. It's soon followed by many more, coming at you and the others from all angles.
To Avress's credit, she's taken up a guard position in front of Keel, one half of her saberstaff ignited, carving a green cage in the air around both of them. It's all you can do, at first, to guard yourself, your own saber humming in your hands. You're aware that Jorden is taking the brunt of this right off, before you or Avress even have had time to think. He's everywhere, seemingly, deflecting shots that would otherwise have tested both of your less experienced defences.
"This violence is unnecessary!" he calls out. "Cease this at once!" You're not optimistic, but you suppose he's obligated to at least try. You're surprised that he gets any answer at all: a magnified voice echoes out over the treetops:
"YOU TRESPASS ON LAND SACRED TO THE TRUE SITH EMPIRE, JEDI SCUM!" it says, sounding tinny and distorted. "PREPARE TO DIE."
His overture rejected, the next blaster bolt is sent directly back into the treeline— a body falls heavily to the ground with a scream.
"Skylah!" It's Keel, ducking as he makes a dash from the dubious safety Avress is providing to the still-open door in the brick structure. "The Partisans are lunatics, come on!"
"Keel, wait!" He's already gone, a stray blaster bolt hitting the stone just above his head as he vanishes into the darkness — clearly expecting you to do the sensible thing and follow after him. You're tempted. You don't want him wandering around in there alone, and you told him you'd help him find his sister. But taking advantage of the distraction of Jorden and Avress fighting for their lives feels... icky. You can't just abandon them, when the worst they've done is be a little impolite.
Avress is going through a series of Shien deflections like something out of a training holo — precise and drilled, but the rigidity with which she's approaching it makes you suspect this isn't her preferred fighting style. Sure enough, a bolt makes it past both Jorden and her guard, grazing her arm painfully. She lets out a hiss and her stance wavers.
Your resolve solidifies: the Force carries you to her, and one after the other, you block two bolts that would have taken Avress in the chest. Without slowing, you all but tackle her into the nearest cover, both of you deactivating your sabers as you go down. She's still bigger than you, but she's not actually trying to resist, and the two of you land well and take dubious refuge behind a small, grassy hummock between the ruins and the trees.
"The local government said that the insurgency was under control!" Avress hisses to you, earlier standoffishness forgotten with this new target for her indignation. "This does not look under control!"
"Well, uh..." you peak up above the lip of the hummock, and duck down again just ahead of a bolt tearing off a layer of grass and soil, "well, like... yeah? Yeah it doesn't, but politicians lie a lot?"
Avress huffs. "That's no—" She stops short, and the two of you watch something round and metallic land nearby. Beeping. Neither of you have been in a warzone before, and the fraction of a second it takes you both to process what that means is a little too long. Fortunately, someone else is faster.
Jorden is suddenly landing among you, and what happens next happens so fast that you only piece it together afterward. Who ends up where is purely a matter of positioning as he tries to save you both, but Avress is flung backward through the air ahead of the grenade blast by a telekinetic shove, landing awkwardly beside the ruin door. As blaster fire strikes all around her, she throws herself into the doorway... which is already starting to close, because of course it is. In a moment, both she and Keel are sealed inside. You, yourself, have other concerns.
At the same time as he shoves Avress, Jorden literally grabs you and goes into a Force-assisted leap. The grenade goes off deafeningly, and the two of you land heavily a ways away, among the roots of a massive, ancient tree.
"Ow, ow, ow!' you groan, pushing yourself up to a disorientated kneeling position, ears ringing and vision swimming. It's bad enough that you don't entirely register the enemy approaching you, until they're right there on top of the two of you, peering around the tree trunk, blaster rifle in hand. Your response is trained, rather than conscious — your lightsaber is in your hands, and you're rising to your feet, orange blade cutting diagonally up to cut through a crudely camouflaged chestplate and the flesh below. The body — it's a body now, you just turned a person into A BODY — crumples to the ground a dull thud.
You're still looking at the dead human woman, as Jorden's own saber darts over your head, taking the next Partisan in the chest with a stab. His movements seem less fluid than before, almost pained... and in a moment, you see why: A piece of shrapnel lodged in his side, deep green blood seeping into his robes all around it.You stare, sound only slowly returning to you. He's trying to say something, words coming out indistinct. What is he saying? You concentrate, and begin to make it out: "... you hear me?"
"Yep!" you say, too loudly. Maybe a little... just a little hysterically. "Yes, I can hear you!"
He looks from you, to your still-lit lightsaber in its fiery colour, to The Body at your feet. Jorden locks eyes with you, a hand coming down on your shoulder. "Breath," he instructs.
Breath. Right. Breathing is good. You feel yourself start to calm. Your eyes go back to his side. That looks bad. "Do you have anything to put on that?"
"I have a few emergency kolto patches," Jorden says. "Help would be greatly appreciated."
The two of you move further into the hollow left by the roots. There's only one direction the enemy can immediately come at you now, and you calm further with something to do, some way to help. Whatever you think of Jorden's manner, the Jedi Knight more or less took this injury for you. You help him as best he can, and at the end of it, the shrapnel is at least removed and he's no longer at risk of bleeding out.
"What are they doing?" you ask, suspicious of why you've been left so much alone since cutting down the last two. You can still sense the enemy out there, lethal intent bearing down on all sides, although quieting slowly as the tension can't be maintained. It's shocking, really, how recognisable that is in a person. Before landing on Tyrost, no one has ever seriously tried to kill you before.
"They're keeping us pinned down. Either to encircle — and I don't sense that — or to..." Jorden frowns, adjusting torn and stained robes over the patch job, lightsaber still close at hand, "... waiting for backup." That premise seems to trouble him far more.
"What kind of backup?" you ask.
He looks at you, then. From your eyes, to the lightsaber in your hand. "Have you ever been trained by the Sith?" he asks. Bluntly, and very pointedly. It's a much more awkward question to answer than Keel's had been.
"Well," you say, slowly, "well... there's not really just the Sith anymore, is there? The Empire's gone, the Sith that are left kind of scattered or fell into a few groups. Or... or so I've heard." It's a slightly damning answer, and you realise it actually makes things sound worse than your real circumstances are. It has most certainly not allayed Jorden's suspicions. Thinking you know where his mind is going, you add: "Look, I only kind of even know who these people are! If they have... that kind of backup, it'll have nothing to do with me."
Before he can respond to that, you change the subject without tact or warning: "Are Keel and Avress going to be okay? The door sealed up behind them, right? Keel doesn't seem like he's super up for a lot of fights, and she, uh... no offence, seems kind of green? I mean inexperienced it's not a species thing!"
He blinks at that, trying to process the abrupt swerve you've just taken. "It is my hope that they will be well," he says. "Avress may seem... rigid in her thinking, but she is brave and dutiful, and trained as well as I know how. She will not abandon him, whatever they're facing inside. They will be fine until we can help them." He's deputised you to this, apparently, which is fair enough. You opened the door to trap them in the first place, and Keel...
You've only just met him, but you'd certainly like to know him better.
"Are you, alright, Skylah?"
This time, he's the one who catches you off guard. "Uh... just a few bruises?" you offer. "Maybe some scrapes?"
Jorden shakes his head. "This is not what I am asking you. You have just taken a life... for the first time, I surmise. A spiritually unbalancing experience, even for a trained Jedi. Are you well?"
Oof. Good question, now that he's reminded you.
==========
[ ] You're fine
It took you by surprise at first, but you don't think you have an issue with the act itself. It's something you had to do — you were acting in self defence and followed your parents' training. You don't feel anything more than that. Maybe that's worrisome in a different way.
[ ] You're upset
Taking a life for the first time has unbalanced you. You're not okay. You feel a little sick, thinking about it now, remembering how easy it was to end a being's life.
[ ] You're scared
People are trying to kill you. You just had to kill someone. Things might get worse, and the only person you even kind of know on this planet is newly trapped inside an ancient Sith ruin.
"I'm uh... I've been better?" you admit. "She uh, wow. She sure is dead!" You're still speaking a little louder than is necessary. You try to do as he advised, and just breath. In, out. Calm down a little. "Who even are these people?" you demand. It seems suddenly important to know something, anything about this anonymous, brown-eyed young woman whose slackened face you can't get out of your head.
"A militant group founded by Imperial veterans, claiming to be the Tyrost's Imperial planetary garrison."
You shake your head. "The Empire hasn't existed for almost twenty years! That woman couldn't have been more than a couple years older than me! How old could she have been back then? And now she's dead!"
"She's old enough to remember that once her people were strong. Ruled worlds, felt safe and powerful. And young enough not to remember the violence. The oppression. That they started the wars that destroyed themselves." Jorden sighs. "Is it any wonder, though, that they fall to vengeance? The last vestiges of a culture created to serve the Sith. And vengeance has ever been a particular obsession of the Sith. One they... seem to inspire in turn in many whose paths they cross." His voice is a little distant at that last. You're too busy fighting down a stab of annoyance to dissect it too much.
"Yeah," you say, "and that's why they lost two galaxy-spanning Empires in five hundred years. They're still people. They can still learn from that, move on."
"The Sith are slaves to the Dark Side," Jorden says, implacably. "To be what they are is to be incapable of that growth."
That... That makes you a little bit angry. "Redemption doesn't have to be... be..." you flail for the words to describe it, "it doesn't have to be this all or nothing thing like that. It can just be... just, bit by bit, year by year! If someone just gives her a chance, at the right time."
Jorden, frustratingly, is unphased and seemingly unconvinced. And he zeroes in on the slipup, not anything of substance: "'Her'?"
You stare, mildly panicked. "Uh..."
Rescuing you from giving him an answer, Jorden holds up a hand, face hardening slightly. "Their mood changes," he says. "Can you sense it?"
"No." All you feel is bad, your mind racing between frustration with him and horror at your first kill.
"Calm your mind," Jorden says, gently. "There is no emotion, there is—"
"Peace! Yes, yes, I know. Give me a second." You're anything but serene just now, and reaching for it feels impossible. So you make due with what you have: A desire not to die here. To help Keel and his sister and even Avress out of that temple. You feel the enemy... restless, but excited. And a little fearful? Oh no. "Oh no," you say. There's something else, here — something darker, more volatile, lividly pleased at the very idea of killing.
"This may be beyond you," Jorden cautions.
You give him a hard look. "I can still fight!"
He frowns, continuing on as if you hadn't interjected. "I was wary of trusting the planetary government's claim that there were no more Sith left on Tyrost, but if I'd expected this, I would not have come here alone with Avress. She isn't ready for this, either, I suspect."
"Seriously, I'm not helpless!" you remind him, trying and failing to quash your own internal doubts. "And you're wounded. You'll need me."
"I fear you may be correct, in that last," Jorden says. His lightsaber is in his hand, not ignited. You have always been taught very carefully that, if you draw your blade, it is only when you are fully prepared to use it. You follow his lead, trusting in Jorden's greater experience.
"Two of them," he says, grimly. You can feel the presence growing, and struggle to separate it into two. It's possible, but one of them is... louder than the other. "Listen carefully," Jorden says, meeting your gaze directly. "When I—"
A durasteel vice, invisible and intangible, closes on your throat. You're too busy focusing on keeping it from choking you, on breaking the grip before it can choke you out, that you're unprepared for the real threat: It yanks you hard, flinging you backward out of the hollow like a doll on a string. You slam down onto your back in the dirt, out in the open, and, still coughing and trying to catch your breath, are immediately confronted by the sight of a blade of red plasma stabbing straight down toward your face.
At the last moment, it's blocked by Jorden's blue blade, a parry he follows up with a powerful Force shove to your attacker's chest, sending him staggering back. As you scramble up to your feet, you take in the sight of two dark-garbed figures, both holding lit, red lightsabers with an obvious air of familiarity.
"An old man and a little girl," drawls the one who hasn't just attacked you. "Hardly a challenge."
"He's not that old," you shoot back. Jorden is only in his forties, you're pretty sure. "... and you're like... my age," you add, glaring. She's human, dark-haired, middlingly tall. Her unpleasant smirk flickers at your reply, apparently not being quite the fearful response she had hoped for. It's all happening a little fast for that.
Her companion -- tall, broad-shouldered, eyes covered by a dark piece of cloth -- sighs in irritation. He's still straightening up from Jorden's shove. "We're here to kill them, Jyte," he says. "Not toy with them."
She rolls her eyes, a gesture you're not 100% sure he can actually appreciate, without eyes. "I can do both! Master won't complain as long as it's done right, in the end." She grins at you with open, predatory anticipation. And not the sexy kind — not that women are usually your thing, you've checked. "Come quietly now, and... well, it won't be easy for you, but you'll live a little bit longer."
Behind them, you can see the shapes of the insurgents who had you pinned down. They're standing back, clearly letting the Sith do their work. "... No thanks?" you say. "Both of those options are... they're not great, I think?"
Jyte's smile turns into something closer to a snarl. "The chatty one is mine," she says.
"If you want to waste your time with the weaker prey," her partner agrees. Which is rude! He doesn't even know you or your capabilities, even though he's also probably right.
"Stay close to me," Jorden tells you, as you try to ignore the burning in your throat to adopt your standard Form V guard.
You only have a few seconds to study Jyte's own stance with its high, two-handed guard. Then she's coming at you with a startlingly aggressive, flying slash, raining blows down on your head with a combination of acrobatics and her greater height. She's deliberately driving you back away from Jorden, who has become locked in his own engagement with the blindfolded Sith.
Your defences hold strong, your training and reflexes enough to put your orange lightsaber in the right place to block her red one again and again, but she's not easing up. Your resolve hardens as the worst of the shock at being thrust so suddenly into a real lightsaber duel is burned away by pure adrenaline. The next time she tries to take off your head... you parry, then follow it up with a riposte that nearly guts her, before she manages to leap back away from you.
"Fine. You're not as helpless as you look," Jyte acknowledges, seething at you from across the short distance. Behind you, Jorden is weathering an only slightly less ferocious offense from the other Sith. His defence seems impenetrable, but you know that his side must be bothering him.
"How helpless do I look?"
She blinks, taken aback. "Very!"
"I'll... just try to take the compliment anyway, I guess? I'm pretty new at this. At fighting to the death. You seem like you're used to it!"
Your babbling, more a stress response than anything deliberate, seems to acutely set her on edge. "I am going to sever your spine and watch you crawl before I'm finished!"
"That's— eep!" she's leaping for you again, although this time you're prepared for it. She's a bit stronger than you, but the Force helps even that out, even if it can't do much about her better reach. Fortunately, an aggressive style like Jyte's Ataru is effectively countered by your own Djem So: a solid defence, followed up by counterattacks to push her off balance and steal her momentum. It's obviously frustrating her. She's practically snarling like an animal with every strike, eyes burning, presence wreathed in the Dark Side. The power behind her blows is increasing, but the form...
"Anger is a precision weapon," you hear your pa'ma telling you. "It is deadly when properly directed. Controlled. When wielded as a bludgeon, however, it can increase one's power at too steep a cost."
You can work with that.
"You're... honestly a bit more harmless than you looked?" you offer, in between blows. "Like, you seemed way scarier than this. I guess that's good for me, right? I think your friend would have been the tougher fight." Judging by what little you can catch of Jorden's fight with him, it's even accurate. "Have you thought about—"
"Shut up, shut up, shut up" she shrieks, punctuating each 'shut up' with an increasingly vicious blow. Your arms are trembling by the second. Not the third, though — Taking a gamble, you don't meet this one with another Form V parry. Instead, when it comes down, you twitch to the side, stance shifting in mid motion, hands spinning your lightsaber up in a perfectly executed Form II disarm.
Jyte's lightsaber falls to the ground in two pieces, along with what are probably a couple fingers, but you're too busy smashing her in the jaw with the butt of your lightsaber to look too closely. The Sith crashes down to the ground, with your lightsaber hovering over her throat. The onlooking Partisans stare wide-eyed, as if unsure what to do. They don't intervene — you suspect that they've been instructed not to. On pain of death, if your impression of Jyte is accurate. She stares white hot hatred up at you.
Out of the corner of your eye, you see the other Sith dart toward you, only to be pushed back by a sudden burst of activity by Jorden, holding him off. For this one moment, Jyte is at your mercy.
