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General Chat => Fan Fiction and Art => Topic started by: TheDutchman on August 15, 2018, 10:27:01 PM



Title: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: TheDutchman on August 15, 2018, 10:27:01 PM
This takes place after "Interlude-A Glimpse of Dawn"
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(https://thumb.ibb.co/iBcu18/Kailnarma.jpg) (https://ibb.co/iBcu18)
Prologue

As the battle-scarred and carbon-scored assault frigate obtained a geosynchronous altitude with the floating ship berth, a group of people disembarked, all of them disheveled, dirty, and battle-worn.  But each and every one of them walked tall, heartened by the recent victories over the Sith, including the most recent.

Especially the most recent.

Already being called “the Fourth Battle of Ruusan,” the combatants and prime architects of the battle had been recalled to Coruscant.  Some had cheered that they were going to be commended, others whispered that they were going to be reprimanded, but only two knew with absolute certainty the exact reasons for their presence.

Well, three if one included Lord Hoth.  But given that he wasn’t on-planet, those two kept their own counsel, doing nothing to dissuade the rampant rumors circulating.  

“Besides Rikard…word of what’s occurred should help to silence any…ah, ‘reservations’ shall we say, from the Clan leaders.  Sorry, ‘Speakers.’”  Sulen reminded her Kage.  She was a beautiful woman despite the mud upon her robes, armor, and face, although she’d been able to comb her jet-black hair.  Hanging straight down her back, Coruscant’s setting sun shone off Sulen’s hair, the sky taking on an orange hue along the horizon while the star turned blood-red.

…Fitting… Rikard thought.  …After all of the blood that had been shed lately…and I still have to prepare for battle, if a different kind…

For the first time in two years since the beginning of the Ruusan Campaign—and his election to Kage—the seven Vhal’Dan Clans had congregated together on Coruscant.  Last time they’d done so in solidarity, eagerly electing Rikard and in no small part due to his successes as a proven tactician and captain.  In fact, it was one of the few times that the Clans had been unanimous in anything in the history of the Vhal’Dan Jedi.

Of course, with the overwhelming threat of the Sith and the collapse of the Republic a distinct possibility, there were few tolerances for dissenting voices; action was not only encouraged but indeed required.  When Skere Kaan had defected to the Sith, creating his so-called “Brotherhood of Darkness,” the Republic found itself facing what had been its greatest champion.  And the Brotherhood had added countless former Jedi to its numbers.  By the time that Kaan and his Brotherhood were ready to attack the weakened Jedi, the Sith numbered over 20,000 strong.

And it was Lord Hoth that had ultimately took the reins as Supreme Commander under the title “Seneschal of the Army of Light, Jedi Lord Hoth.”  Gathering together those Jedi who opposed the Sith under one banner—his banner—Lord Hoth waged a war of attrition against the Brotherhood using guerrilla tactics, never directly confronting them.

And during those early years of the formation of the Army of Light, the Vhal’Dan had been seven separate clans, each distinct and with little-to-no fealty to the others.  To be certain, the Vhal’Dan clan Jedi would often aid the Army of Light.  In fact, it was on many of Lord Hoth’s offensives that Rikard had fought with the Army, gaining reputation and renown.  But ultimately the Vhal’Dan were divided, seven different and disparate entities that not always saw things in the same manner.  The clans would often fight against each other, infighting and turmoil impeding growth and progress.

Until their homeworld of Istic III was annexed by the Cloak of the Sith, the area that included the Outer Rim that the Brotherhood had taken absolute control over.  This was right before the Ruusan Campaign.  Such a singular, powerful antagonist was the impetus that the clans needed to finally unite for the first time in millennia in solidarity, finding a strength in unity that surprised even the individual clans.  And against such a foe, the seven clans had created the Vhal’Dan office of “Kage,” borrowing the title from the Mak’Tor.  And just below the Kage, the original ceremonial position of Clan Arbiter—the person elected among the seven clans to adjudicate inter-clan disputes—was now considered the right-hand of the Kage.  And to ensure that each clan had representation within the new government, the former clan ruler would hold the position of “Speaker of the Vhal’Dan.”

And so, tradition and necessity merged to form a synthesis, evolving as the seven clans of the Vhal’Dan became one heterogeneous entity.  The Vhal’Dan Congress consisting of the Seven Speakers were headed by the lone, elected Kage, the Arbiter in turn acting as the Kage’s adjutant.  

United, the consolidated Vhal’Dan Forces joined wholesale with the Army of Light, driving the Sith from Galtea.  The Vhal’Dan then became the vanguard in the Ruusan Campaigns, often times mirroring the savagery of the Sith with their own.  Rikard’s reputation among his enemies and allies alike grew…if not exactly for the reasons that he wanted.

In the “Cleansing of Istic,” Rikard had established himself as an adequate if not outstanding general, respected by his troops.  Unfortunately given his combat pragmatism, his methods were sometimes questioned by his peers and allies.  Rikard had told them that he would do anything to obtain the objective of the war, namely: win.  With gossip rampant, his political enemies used this for their own propaganda, some saying that Rikard would face the Maker without a soul, having lost it amidst the fighting.

He was ever-after known as Black Rikard Macias.

But success breeds its own defense; with every victory, any dissention was quickly quashed.  And for the first time in almost 1,000 years, Republic victories outnumbered Sith, the Army of the Light finally numerous enough to meet the Brotherhood of Darkness in strength.  People among the galaxy were beginning to believe that the Republic could finally rise from the ashes of war and establish itself once again.

Of course, with such hope also came stagnation and a call to return to old ways of thinking…

“Fools…bureaucratic fools…” Rikard’s disgust was apparent on his face, the scar running verticle along the right side of his face already slightly twisting his upper lip below his blonde mustache and beard.  His armored boots resounded through the halls as he made his way to the conference room.  Sulen’s own face was schooled and impassive…but her presence in the Force was something else entirely.  Rikard was certain that the fool Speakers would be able to feel them (thanks to Sulen) far sooner than before they saw them.  Certainly his Honor Guard felt it, all seven of them—despite their disparate species and genders—had the exact same look upon their visages: grim determination.  Rikard smiled, proud of his Honor Guard.  Even now, they were ready for battle, despite being selected among each clan as a representative.  Like their Kage and their Arbiter, their first allegiance were to the Vhal’Dan first, clan second.

And, as he’d been told at his investiture, the Kage was the Vhal’Dan.

Well, Rikard would remind them, these officious pfassks, that they’d all sworn fealty to their Kage, for the good of the Vhal’Dan.  The Old Ways were gone, dead; those that wished to perpetrate them the fossils of a bygone era.  The clans were no more.  There were only Vhal’Dan, allies, and enemies.  Rikard inhaled sharply, letting his irritation give rise to his anger.  Anger was a valuable tool, one that he knew to be at odds with the doctrine of the Jedi Order at large.  …Well…I guess that it’s only to be expected from a back-water Jedi like myself… He smiled sardonically.

That had been one of the reasons for the Clans’ hesitance to join the Army of Light: while, yes, they were technically Jedi, they were often seen as “second-class” Force-users by those of the Order proper.  Well, by most; there were various allies among the Order, most prominently the Mak’Tor.  …One of the few allies… Rikard thought, …Even a few friends…

But too few altogether for comfort, at least by Rikard’s esteem.  And now: the growing squabbling between the Speakers concerning what to do next after war’s end.  …Frelling idiots!  This war is not over yet… Well…that was one universal truth: there were always people to fight.

He stopped short of the doors, his Honor Guard now flanking him and Sulen.  They—the Honor Guard—could not go into the room; that was under the purview and exclusive right of Congressional Members only.  Sulen moved to key open the door, looking meaningfully into her Kage’s green eyes.  Good, she looked as ready for battle as he felt.  Giving a slight nod, Sulen turned and opened the door.  Before Rikard entered the room, he thought again of what he’d come to realize, considering those within and finding at least a couple of them wanting.  …With me…or against me… Rikard surmised, remembering his credo.

There were only Vhal’Dan, allies, and enemies.


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: Lord_S_Gray on August 16, 2018, 03:19:21 AM
"the Kage was the Vhal’Dan" - L'Etat, c'est moi.

Rikard is a very different leader to Kazic, or even Anson, I strongly doubt they would see eye to eye on much at all.  Having said that I can see him having a bit more of a commonality with Zearic whose ‘Take what you want and pay for it’ concept is far more pragmatic.

“There were only Vhal’Dan, allies, and enemies.”  Is very close to “there are only People and Outsiders,” He would get on well with Valens…excepting Rikard is (I assume) long dead before Valens is reborn…and you know they’d both see each other as a threat and end up in some kind of conflict – though I suspect Rikard who “would face the Maker without a soul, having lost it amidst the fighting.” (Brilliant line!) might be one of the few ‘Jedi’ who would be able to fight back with equal ruthlessness and cunning if not sheer power.

Given the clan based nature of their recent history it seems understandable though, they’ve shifted from loyalty to one tribe to loyalty to an over tribe with Rikard as Chieftain – but still clearly have that tribal view point nonetheless, even in looking to Rikard the ‘big man’ for leadership.

A very different character and a setting for the Vhal dan look forward to seeing where this goes, obviously we know it ends up at some point with the Vhal Dan on Galtea with the Speakers elective rather than representing clans, and inclusive enough for an Anzat like Kazic to join – but the journey there….I can’t begin to imagine!

*Congrats on the Raffle win BTW - who know maybe you will get Rikard's sabre?


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: Karmack on August 16, 2018, 01:00:19 PM
Black Rikard Macias, first Kage of the Vhal'Dan: The Sword of the Vhal'Dan, Bane of Sith, forged in Ruusan's fire and dipped in blood...

And so now we get the Vhal'Dan back story!  Like their first Kage, forged in fire and blood.  Driven together to fight the common enemy, the tribal divisions suppressed under the cloak of need.  Its easy to see how those differences could fester over time, eventually leading to the schism of their Civil War, the origins of them lost in the mists of time - but still very real and nearly fatal.

But as always, you deliver my friend!  Compelling characters and a wonderful setting.  Looks like I need to dive into Wookipedia and do some more research on the New Sith Wars, especially the battles of Ruusan and Lord Hoth's campaigns!  :-)


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: TheDutchman on August 16, 2018, 04:33:54 PM
Thanks guys!

I've been thinking about this for awhile and came to the conclusion that the Ruusan Reformation was the perfect backdrop for the origins of the Vhal'Dan.  And yeah Karm, Wookiepedia was a BIG help, not to mention that it was exceptionally interesting  :)

Oh, BTW, I made a mistake in the following sentence:
"United, the consolidated Vhal’Dan Forces joined wholesale with the Army of Light, driving the Sith from Galtea."

Sorry, I meant to write the planet Istic III, NOT Galtea.  My mistake  :P


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: TheDutchman on August 23, 2018, 10:40:41 PM
(https://thumb.ibb.co/cGbyTo/jedi_master_kmdar_by_raddar_d3l3xp0.jpg) (https://ibb.co/cGbyTo)
Chapter 1: Heavy Is the Head, Part I

First Vhal’Dan Congress
Kage Black Rikard Macias, human male
Arbiter Sulen Reu Lai, human female
Speaker Sarll Båz Rhadde, Cathar male
Speaker Lorack Vasch, Kel-Dor female
Speaker Khrom-Xon Prine, human male
Speaker Darjaní Korpil, human female
Speaker Jol’l Dulovic, Togruta male
Speaker Aah’valia Mortari, Trailian female
Speaker Piodas Bastra, Verpine

 “This is useless!  I don’t care how many times you insist, but saying such does not make it real!”  Rikard’s fists slammed the semi-circular table, cracks forming in the center where he sat.  “The Sith are not defeated!  Furthermore, during the interim that the passage from Ruusan to Coruscant took, they have not remained idle!”  Indicating Sulen with his bearded chin, he stood suddenly.  “The Arbiter has informed me that since we’ve been here in this ineffectual committee, the Sith counterattack has retaken the territories that we fought and died for!  And still you fools try to convince yourselves that there is no danger!

Rikard’s face was crimson with fury, his blonde mustache and beard in stark contrast.  Sulen sat behind him just to his right, her face completely impassive.  Statues showed more emotion than the tall Arbiter.  The Kage, on the other hand…

“You elected me as your Kage.”  His tone was even but it burned with rage.  “You will defer.  I will hear no more nonsense about reimplementing Clan Laws, at least not while the Sith are a problem.  Am I clear, Speakers?”  And while all seven Speakers held his gaze, not one dissented.  Almost as an afterthought, Rikard’s voice changed, an unspoken challenge underneath.  “…Unless one of you wishes to invoke P’Rae’Lior?”  This time almost every speaker lowered their eyes.  All but one.

Speaker Sarll Båz Rhadde.  A large Cathar Jedi Master, he had been the most vocal opponent against Rikard, almost always at odds with the slender Kage.  If Rikard said “Up,” Sarll would growl “Down.”  It was whispered that the only thing that he hated more than Rikard were the Sith.  And he was as versed in combat as he was in politics: he’d amassed many victories against the Brotherhood of Darkness, gaining prestige and repute.  In fact, he’d only lost the nomination of Kage from the Clans by the barest of margins.  Rikard knew him to be a powerful Jedi but unfortunately seemed to be able to agree to nothing with the Cathar.  Except the eradication of the Sith.

“Kage.”  Sarll’s deep bass voice rumbled.  “Our Congress is concerned.  The Sith are finally being beaten back across the galaxy; Ruusan seems to be where they intend to make their last stand.  It is our duty and right to make plans for the future of the Clans.”  Rikard noted that Sarll was deliberate in saying “Clans” and not “Vhal’Dan.”  A brief glance at Sulen was all the confirmation that he needed to see that she’d also made a note of it.  Sarll continued.  “The Clans came together in solidarity during our darkest time of need.  And because of that—and your actions, Kage—” the Cathar allowed, “—the Clans have not only survived but indeed thrived.  Each clan now numbers almost 400 Jedi strong…”

Rikard smiled humorlessly.  “Yes, almost 3,000 Vhal’Dan Jedi.  Maker’s blessings but we have a substantial constituency within the Republic, or will at any rate once we’re given our proper representation.”  Rikard doubted that last; he noticed that many of the Jedi Order were…uncomfortable with the Vhal’Dan’s recruitment, both in technique and numbers.  …Frell them… He thought.  But one way or the other, Rikard would ensure the best future for the Vhal’Dan…despite the machinations of fools like Sarll.  …No… the slender Kage thought …Sarll is many things but he’s not a fool… The Cathar Speaker’s voice pulled Rikard from his ruminations.

“…Be that as it may, the Clans are now stronger than ever.”  Standing, Sarll looked at each Speaker in turn, the massive Cathar adopting a pedantic pose.  “But we must discuss the facts.  The office of ‘Kage’ was never to be permanent.  As soon as hostilities are at an end, I submit that Bl—that Rikard Macias cede control of the Clans back to the Clan Chiefs.”

Rikard caught Sarll’s stumble; he’d wanted to say “Black Rikard” but stopped himself just before… As Rikard had admitted, Sarll was no fool.  He knew that he would lose against Rikard…at least for the time being.  And such a blatant breach of protocol would allow Rikard the chance to redress an insult of that magnitude.  Or so everyone thought and expected.  Rikard himself had actually taken to the epitaph and considered it a badge of pride.  But he would never let anyone know that.

“Rikard Macias has acted honorably in his capacity as Kage…”  Rikard knew that Sarll’s preamble was so much hot air as the expected qualifier came.  “…But the Clans have never suffered tyrants.  And that is precisely what I worry about should a Kage be allowed to remain after the Sith have been defeated.”  He took his seat, golden eyes staring directly into Rikard’s green.

“…Well Speaker, I’ll give you this: you’re consistent.”  Rikard’s voice was light as he remained seated.  “Now let me posit you something.”  Rikard stood, leaning on balled fists.  “Have ‘hostilities’ ceased?  Are the Sith defeated?  Did the ‘Dark One’ surrender while I wasn’t looking?  No?”  As soon as Rikard had mentioned Skere Kaan by his nickname, the Kage stood his full height, his tone no longer easygoing.  “When—or indeed if—that happens, you can discuss this until your lungs explode.  More, even.  But until that time, I am Kage.  And as you all agreed, as per the Clan Concord of the Vhal’Dan, while at war it is the Kage and no one else, who dictates policy.”  Rikard crossed his arms.  “Am I clear?”  His voice could crack durasteel.

This time all Speakers voiced their assent.  “Then that is all.  The Arbiter and myself must return to the Ruusan Front.”  Unceremoniously, he began walking from the table towards the doors.  Before they’d fully irised out, Rikard added, “And do not ever pull this again.  Or by Clan Law I will have your heads.”  He knew the emphasis on “Clan” would not be lost upon those Speakers who had dissented from his policies.  That would change now.  “…Oh, and ‘meeting adjourned.’”  Rikard said sarcastically as he walked from the room.

As Sulen followed her Kage, she had a ghost of a smile upon her face.

            <<<<< >>>>>

Walking the halls as they waited for their assault frigate to be resupplied, Rikard listened to Sulen as his Arbiter kept him apprised of the latest intel.  

“…the Sith have amassed a large army, threatening General Kiel’s flanks.  Jedi Lord Ga'Lan'Chillum, Kage of the Mak’Tor has taken position to reinforce Kiel’s forces but they are still outnumbered three-to-one.  Still, with a contingent of over 100 Singers, their combined army should be able to repulse any Sith offensive, short of the Dark One appearing.”  Sulen consulted no datapad nor report, she didn’t have to.  The Arbiter had an eidetic memory, one of the many talents that Rikard was thankful for.  “If we are able to de-orbit undetected, we should be able to trap the Sith in a pincer…” she continued, giving Rikard a concise run-down of the most likely options.  And usually she was right.  She was the perfect foil for Rikard, her sensible logic and tactics balancing his willingness to gamble and keen intuition.

“Sulen, I want three battalions, each fronted by a wall of Guardians.  We’ll use them in our feint while our last battalion consisting of Shadows supplemented with Sentinels will attack the flank, using your pincer as one of the diversions.  But I want a company of Forcesages accompanying each battalion, focusing entirely on countering Sith majiks from Inquisitors.”  As he continued to strategize, Rikard and Sulen began to encounter more Jedi in the hallways.  

The transparisteel walls would often give one a complete panoramic view of the world whilst in the skies of Coruscant; this time was no different.  The deep blue sky of the afternoon was painted with the white cirrus clouds high in the atmosphere.

But Rikard was oblivious to the vista; instead, he and Sulen put their heads together as they spoke in hushed tones.  Suddenly, Rikard rebounded as if he’d hit a wall.  Or something just as immovable…

Maker-dammit!” He exclaimed.  And then under his breath, “…bit my tongue…”  His eyes rotated upwards to see what he’d run into while he felt Sulen’s hands on his shoulder, Healing flows from the Force caressing him.

In front of him was a large Cathar male over two meters in height, his yellow fur accented with stripes of brown and deep red.  He was flanked by a dozen or so Jedi, not all Cathar: some were human, a couple were Togruta, and even one Sullustan.  The Cathar stared down, defiance upon his face.   Rikard thought he could stand within the Cathar’s profile and not be seen from behind, so large was the lion-like alien.  “Watch where you walk.”  Rikard could feel the bass vibrato of the Cathar’s voice reverberate through him, followed by a growl.

Before he’d been elected to Kage, Rikard would have immediately challenged the impudent pfassk who’d dared to do such a thing… But he’d since calmed.  Somewhat.  Inhaling slowly and letting the tension in his muscles go, he faced the Cathar.  “Apologies.”  He went to walk around the large humanoid.  But before he’d even stepped to the side, he felt a heavy, powerful hand upon his shoulder, the tips of the Cathar’s claws scratching against his armor.  The crowd around the Cathar hadn’t bothered to move, either.

“I do not want your sorry excuse for an apology.  We have business.”  And for the first time, Rikard noticed that the Cathar was wearing a Vhal’Dan Clan suit of armor.  His eyes squinted, fury rising in him.  A quick glance told him the rest: all of the Jedi were Vhal’Dan.

“You will address your Kage properly, Clansman!”  Sulen’s voice was uncharacteristically harsh, the tall woman’s hand grasping her saber hilt.  For the first time, the Cathar’s noticeable arrogance was not all-consuming.  While most of the others looked contrite, the Cathar dipped his head a centimeter.

“We have business.  Kage.”  He said the last almost as an afterthought.  “I, Rayfe Båz Ullis, invoke the right of P’Rae’Lior.”  He fell silent with no preamble or further elaboration.  And, although what Rayfe had done was by the barest letter of the Law, he was technically within his right to do so.  “Do you accept?  Kage.”  Rayfe’s amber eyes were full of condescension.

…Båz…so one of Sarll’s Pride… Rikard realized, recognizing the cognomen.  He stared up at Rayfe, Rikard’s own eyes reflecting his anger.

“Knight Ullis, now is not the time to address petty grievances.  We are at war.  We Vhal’Dan need—”  Sulen’s soft voice had an undercurrent of contempt, all delivered in a tone as hard as durasteel, her eyes including all of Rayfe’s companions, ensuring that they listened…right before she was cut off.

I accept.”  Rikard interrupted.  “Time?  Place?”  As they weren’t on Istic III, they did not have access to a proper Pancratium.  But that was only a small detail.

“Main hanger bay.”  Rayfe smiled.  “Now.”  Flexing his enormous arms, the Cathar stalked away followed by the retinue that had accompanied him.

Sulen stood close to Rikard, a serene look upon her face.  It was only because of their long-time friendship that Rikard could tell that she was worried.  “Rikard…I’ve heard of this ‘Rayfe.’  He’s one of Sarll’s litter by his Second Concubine.  He’s quick, powerful, and brutal.  But he’s young, arrogant.”  As they both walked towards the hanger, the tall woman took both of her sabers from her belt, keeping them in hand.

“Anymore good news?”  Rikard ran through a couple of basic techniques, loosening his muscles while strengthening his mind.  As he looked sideways at his Arbiter, the scar running up his face pulled the corner of his lip, giving one the impression that Rikard was trying to smile and frown at the same time.  Sulen gave a small smile.

“Yes.  He’s also the Knight who ‘accidentally’ put weapons master Derrosk in a bacta tank for a week, claiming that he ‘didn’t see Master Derrosk give the sign for capitulation.’  But without concrete proof, Rayfe received nothing more severe than a reprimand…”  She stopped suddenly, a hand upon his forearm as Sulen’s dark eyes looked directly into Rikard’s.  “Rik…be careful; he’s dangerous.”

Smiling, Rikard’s mask of anger dropped.  Grasping her hand in his, he looked at her fondly like the sister that she was to him.  “I will, Su.”

Sulen continued to stare.  “…You’d better.  I’ve invested a lot of time into you; I’ve even gotten you to the point that you can dress yourself.”  The corners of her lips twitched.

Rikard laughed appreciatively, walking arm-in-arm with her.  “Yes…Maker-forbid that you have to train up someone new…"

            <<<<< >>>>>


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: TheDutchman on August 23, 2018, 10:44:53 PM
Chapter 1: Heavy Is the Head, Part II

There were over three-dozen witnesses, all standing around the perimeter of the room.  And within the center were both combatants.  Both had doffed their robes but not their armor; Rikard had his saberstaff in hand whereas Rayfe was a Jar’Kai practitioner.  Under different circumstances, the scene might look comical: the Cathar dwarfed the slender Kage.  But the ambiance was anything but.

Stepping forward, Sulen addressed all those gathered.  “One of our Clansmen has claimed aggrieved status and has invoked the right of P’Rae’Lior.  One of our Clansmen has responded to the challenge.  May the Maker look upon the Clansman that is pure and strike down the pretender whose name shall be stricken from the Clans, never to be uttered again.”  She looked from one face to the other, all the while stepping back.  “Only one shall live to leave the circle.”  With that, every single Jedi along the perimeter ignited their sabers, held at the ready.  “May the Maker protect the Vhal’Dan.”  And with that last, Sulen stepped outside the circle.

Simultaneously, both Rikard and Rayfe ignited their sabers, the Kage’s dual green blades against the teal and silver of the Cathar.  Slowly, they began to approach one another, feeling out their opponent’s movements, defenses, and patterns.  And like quicksilver, they attacked in unison.

Rayfe’s two blades hammered against Rikard’s saberstaff as he tried to beat the smaller human into submission with his superior strength.  And while it was not dazzling, it was effective.  Rikard’s defense soon gave ‘way as the Cathar pressed his advantage, doubling his efforts.  Working to give himself some breathing room, Rikard retreated under Rayfe’s assault.  Smiling widely, the Cathar’s face took on a disdainful look.  He followed two swift slices with a powerful, double overhead cut intending to behead Rikard.  He went down to one knee, reinforcing himself against the attack.  Instead of riposting, the human was busy batting away the next round of attacks, always a little slower to regain his position.  This made Rayfe smile all the more broadly while he renewed his efforts.  Each swing threatened to decapitate, each cut was meant to bisect Rikard’s torso, each slice intended to part limbs from his body.

The contest had gathered more spectators, many more.  Almost half the ship had come to watch, including the seven Speakers on board.  Rikard smiled inwardly, showing nothing on his face.

Rikard was moving more slowly, almost imperceptible at first.  But as the contest continued, Rikard’s exhaustion became more and more noticeable.  And the next time that Rayfe performed a power attack, Rikard’s defenses almost broke.  Seeing this, the Cathar smiled deeply.  Desperately, Rikard locked up both of Rayfe’s sabers, the two combatants staring face-to-face momentarily.  Both of them gritted their teeth as they fought for primacy to overpower the other, as well as a war of wills.

The crowd looked on in anticipation, almost on the verge of shouting.  But no one made a sound; such was tradition.  But every set of eyes stared rapt as the two combatants fought.

Suddenly, Rayfe headbutted Rikard hard, breaking his nose.  Blood began to pour down his face and Rikard tried desperately to clear his vision, deliberately blinking rapidly.  Grinning, Rayfe pressed his assault, each cut seemingly followed by one faster than the last.  Rikard went down to one knee, his saberstaff hanging from loose fingers.  And with a triumphant smile, Rayfe cut down upon Rikard, an executioner’s blow intent upon severing the Kage’s head from his body.  So committed was Rayfe that his shoulders and head followed through with the strike, ending almost perpendicular to the floor.

With sight-defying speed, Rikard rose, pivoted, and sliced downward in one, smooth motion.  Rikard walked away oblivious of the blood flowing from his nose, quietly whistling as Rayfe’s headless body came crashing down to the floor.  As the Jedi in the circle extinguished their blades, they parted to allow the victor to pass through unmolested.

Heading towards the hanger exit, Rikard stopped in front of Sarll, looking at him knowingly.  “Now the war can continue.”  And with that, he walked confidently through the doors.

            <<<<< >>>>>

“Stop fidgeting, I need to clean the wound.”  Sulen said distractedly as she applied a salve of poly-bacta to Rikard’s nose.  Rikard sat in a chair, his head back.

They were both alone in the Kage’s Quarter’s on the assault frigate, Istic’s Aldrnari, Rikard on the receiving end of Sulen’s ministrations.  The soft blue light of the hyperspace tunnel bathed the entire room, making the dried blood on Rikard’s face appear black.

“That took you long enough.”  Sulen’s quiet voice wasn’t exactly chastising but it was close.  Smirking as far as his broken nose allowed, Rikard exhaled.

“I know.  But I wanted to make certain that my point got across.  Shavit!” He yelled that last as Sulen suddenly reset the bridge of his nose.  “By the Maker, Su...next time: warn me!”

With a self-satisfied smile, the tall woman sat in a chair next to Rikard.  “Sorry, Kage.  I just wanted to ensure that I got my point across.”  Still, the concern on her face was evident.  “Rik, I realize that you want to keep all of your enemies guessing concerning your abilities but did you have to allow yourself to get hurt?”

Grimly, Rikard’s eyes looked deeply into Sulen’s.  “In this case, yes.  You’re right: I don’t want anyone to know just everything that I’m capable of.  But that’s only part of it.”  Gingerly, he touched his nose, producing a grimace of pain when he did so.  Sulen crossed her arms, patient and silent.  “I also wanted Sarll to know something beyond a doubt.  Damn…”  Rikard’s face contorted as he tried to relax while dealing with waves of pain.

Sulen looked on unabashed.  “…That being?”

Rikard’s eyes closed.  “That there are things that he’ll never see that he won’t be able to account for.  Ever.”  Exhaling loudly, Rikard looked as if he was falling asleep.  Until he opened his right eye, a small grin playing upon his lips.

“And to think that some people consider you ‘simple.’”  Sulen laughed, playfully hitting Rikard on his shoulder.  “Get some rest, Rik.  I’ll let you know when we’re in the Ruusan System.”  And with that, she exited the room.

Leaving Rikard alone in the blue-lit room, contemplative and worried.  He hated that he had to teach such a lesson again, worse since the Vhal’Dan had lost a powerful Knight in the process.  …Damn you, Sarll… Rikard had had no fight with Rayfe, indeed the Kage had thought highly of the Cathar.  But it was necessary.  He knew that he was the best chance for the Vhal’Dan for the upcoming conflict.  Rikard knew that the Old Ways were gone, as dead as the Rakatan Empire.

He would see the Vhal’Dan survive.  Even if it meant culling the chaff from the former Clans.  …Damn you, Sarll… Rikard thought again right before he fell asleep.  The last thing that he needed were enemies on both sides; the Sith on one, outmoded and archaic fools on the other. 

A grin spread across his face as sleep took him.  At least you knew where you stood with the Sith…


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: Karmack on August 24, 2018, 12:16:05 AM
Nicely done, Dutchman!  You can see the beginnings of what we find in the Vhal'Dan in the modern era in this, but with a far more "primitive" twist.  I love your take on the "Trail by Combat".  P'Rae'Lior ... the 'final option' that Anson is considering as a possible way to end the war with Kazic.  Its very .... Nordic.  :-)  Which totally fits my impression of the Vhal'Dan from the beginning, a system based in something not unlike the Vikings.

Excellent flow, and the battle is engaging.  I suspected that Rikard was holding back, setting up Rayfe, but even "knowing" it was coming it was a suspenseful and tense moment when he took the blow to the face.  Well done, my friend.

More!  :-)


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: Lord_S_Gray on August 24, 2018, 03:04:44 AM
Heavy is the head indeed...Rayfe's dropped right off...

Rikard might regret it after the fact, but he had no problem following through with the duel...a very different Vhal'Dan indeed, much more aggressive - how much of his short temper in the council meeting was act is an interesting question.

"Even if it meant culling the chaff from the former Clans."...hmm....that is an interesting thought...I'm reminded of another Sci-Fi universe i read (Horus Heresy) little battle at Istvaan III...all the likely trouble makers sent to the planet to fight a rebellious governor...them bombed form orbit. What better way to dispose of Rikard opponent than hurl them at the Sith...

Exactly which Vhal'Dan is he trying to keep alive apart from his own vision of what it ought to be....


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: TheDutchman on September 13, 2018, 05:02:33 AM
(https://thumb.ibb.co/gEwpUp/fig3_15.gif) (https://ibb.co/gEwpUp)
Chapter 2: The Song of War

As Rikard stepped off of the main ramp of Istic’s Aldrnari accompanied by Sulen and his Honor Guard, he was met by three people, only two of whom he’d expected.  But one and all, he smiled warmly, genuinely gladdened to see everyone of them.

The first person he approached was a tall, slender blonde woman, her familiar green-and-gray eyes so like his own…harder now, he had to admit since last he’d seen her.  Jedi Master Cir-Lan Macias, Vhal’Dan battle- and blademaster, was Rikard’s twin sister.  And during the Ruusan Campaign, she was Rikard’s proxy whenever he was otherwise detained.  Which made news of the victorious Sith counteroffensive so alarming.  …Cir-Lan’s a better strategist than I am… Rikard thought, and not for the first time.  Still, one could not account for everything in war…

“Rik…” Her tired smile warmed her face.  “Glad to have you back, frater.”  She used the Vhal’Dan term of endearment for “brother.”  “Things have changed.  The Sith have reinforced themselves, consolidating the three armies that Jedi Lord Ga'Lan'Chillum and General Kiel were fighting with another two full companies.”  Cir-Lan’s lips thinned as she related the next bit of news.  “Kage Chillum had them bottled up but Kiel disobeyed his orders to stay on his flank; instead of supplementing the Mak’Tor line, that fool attacked with almost his entire army…exposing the Singers when the two other Sith armies hooked up with the main contingent.  Kiel thought that they were falling back and over-extended his lines…right into a double-envelopment.”  Rikard rubbed the bridge of his nose, seeing in his mind that vain-glorious idiot Kiel falling straight into the Sith trap… But Cir-Lan wasn’t done.  “The Mak’Tor lost almost half of their Singers.  It was only due to Kage Chillum’s quick-thinking that prevented it from becoming a complete rout.  But the Mak’Tor losses are significant…”  Cir-Lan glanced to her companion, the one person that Rikard had not expected to be here.  …Ah, well that explains his presence here… Rikard mused, a bittersweet thought at seeing his friend.

“Slo’Ma!  I’m sorry to see you under such circumstances, brother.”  As the two man clasped wrists, they both pulled each other into an embrace, clapping each other on the back.  Looking up to the taller man, Rikard could see that the horrors of the day had done little to dull the keen intellect evident in his clear eyes, although said eyes were sunken from exhaustion.  Rikard could empathize.

Incredible for one so young, Slo’Ma’Mack was not only a powerful Jedi Master but more remarkably was the Mak’Tor Master of Song.  Coupled with the fact that he was also the Singers’ battlemaster, Slo’Ma was one of the Army of Light’s most potent assets.  With what his sister had told him about the insubordination of Kiel and the ensuing debacle, now Rikard had a better idea as to why the Sith had changed the tide of war despite facing such tacticians as Cir-Lan, Slo’Ma, and Kage Chillum.

“Rik…” Slo’Ma’s baritone sounded as tired as he looked, even if his eyes held humor in them.  “…Nice to see that Sarll didn’t make a meal of you.  Yet.”  The taller man wrapped his arm around Rikard’s narrow shoulders.

Grimacing, Rik looked from under his brow.  “Yeah…remind me to tell you about that later…” He looked around his friend’s shoulder, addressing the other person that he’d expected to be here waiting for him.  “Dyrald, you need to start cooking for Su again; she’s getting irritable and I’m the one who is paying the price.”  Winking at the shorter man, he saw Dyrald disappear as Sulen wrapped him in a fierce hug, pulling the man’s face up to kiss her.

Short and wide, Jedi Master Dyrald Reu Lai was not only secretly married to Rikard’s Arbiter but he was amongst the most powerful Forcesages the Vhal’Dan had ever seen.  He was also one of Rikard’s best friends, and one of the main reasons that he was Kage: Dyrald had convinced as many Forcesages as he could that the Vhal’Dan were better served under Rikard as Kage instead of Sarll.  Consequently, Rikard was not the only human that the Cathar hated beyond measure.

“How was Coruscant?” Slo’Ma’s question was expected.  Disgustedly shaking his head, Rikard continued.

“The heads of the seven Clans…excuse me, ‘speakers’ (I don’t think that I’ll get used to that), well, they thought that since the Sith are finally on the run that they could go back to their old ways.  Kriffing fools…” Even from the corner of his eye, Rikard could see that Slo’ma wanted to laugh.  “As you no doubt guessed, that went about as well as a Hutt on a weight loss program.”  Then he told his friend about Rayfe’s claiming the right of P’Rae’Lior.  “I know that Sarll was behind that pup’s challenge but I have no proof.  Worse, Rayfe was a strong Jedi… May the Maker keep him…”  Rikard said the last under his breath.  Not surprisingly, Slo’ma echoed the Vhal’Dan Kage’s litany.

“My condolences, Rik.  But I can’t lie: I’m glad that you’re back.  Kage Chillum personally tasked me to coordinate with you for the next offensive.”  The taller man grinned.  “Ga’Lan thought that an army of Mak’Tor and Vhal’Dan headed by two Jedi Lords would be inspirational or something like that.”  Rikard chuckled appreciatively.  But both men sobered quickly.

“Agreed.  I figure that between you, Ga’Lan, and Cir-Lan, we’ll have a working counter-offensive to push the Sith back.”  It wasn’t quite a question but Slo’ma treated it as such.

“The Kage and I spoke at length about the logistics of the Sith army.  Rik, the Dark One himself is on Ruusan.”  Rikard stopped short, astonished.

“Skere Kaan is on-planet?  Since when?”

“Wait, there’s more.  One of the reasons—both for Kaan’s presence as well as the renewed Sith offensive—is that Mak’Tor Intelligence was able to confirm that the Dark One wanted to seize on an opportunity given to him by one of the Army of Light’s own.”  Slo’ma paused for effect.  “Jedi Master Githany.”  Rikard felt like a Gamorrean had sucker punched him.

“…So she wasn’t killed in the Second Battle of Ruusan… Where has she been all of this time?”  Rikard crossed his arms, absently stroking his blonde beard.

Slo’ma leaned in.  “Korriban.  Rik…she was at the Academy.”  That in itself was telling: Jedi Lord Hoth had dedicated a large contingent of the Army of Light to try to root out and destroy the Sith Academy.  Up to this point, Hoth had been unsuccessful.

“Slo’ma, how’d the Mak’Tor get this information?”  Rikard knew that Mak’Tor Intelligence was lightyears ahead of almost everyone else but had no clue as to how they did it.  And by the blank stare that Slo’ma gave him, nor would he know.  “Alright, alright.  I know; ‘clan secret.’”  Rikard put his hand up in capitulation.  He turned to Slo’ma.  “…you and Ga’Lan have an idea don’t you?”

The Master of Song grinned.  “Yes.  With Githany having handed Kaan the Army of Light’s entire battle strategy, we thought we could finally use that fact to our advantage.  Githany expects the Mak’Tor to be in the vanguard of the Army.  Our motifs alone make the Singers tactically valuable in any offensive.  We’re thinking instead of a flanki—”

Rikard interrupted.  “Slo’ma…you said that about half of your Singers were killed or incapacitated.  Who else knows that?”  The Mak’Tor master’s brow furrowed in thought.

“…Outside the Mak’Tor?  Just you and Cir-Lan”  Slo’ma’s piercing blue eyes locked onto Rikard’s.  “What do you have in mind?”

“Just a hunch; a minute on that flanking maneuver.  I was thinking let Mak’Tor Intel leak that almost all Singers were killed.  Have two of your three brigades merge with almost half of my Vhal’Dan and link up with General Kiel’s army at the spearpoint of the attack.  Then, the other half will supplement a quarter of your remaining Singers in a rear surprise attack.”  Rikard winked.  “Now to your flanking tactic: take your third brigade and combine them with a contingent of Vhal’Dan Forcesages and attack the right flank.  Finally, our joint Shadow forces should flank the left.”

“I like it.  But I think that our Sentinels should join the Shadows; also, they have several Singers among their ranks.  And I think that you may want a few Singers supplementing the vanguard.”  Slo’ma tone was contemplative as he considered Rikard’s strategy.

“Good thinking, Slo’ma.  And—if I may—you yourself should join the Sentinels and Shadows.  I figure if I’m with Kiel in the forefront he won’t kriff things up too bad.  That, and with you leading the Sentinel and Shadow contingent, they’ll do the most damage to the Sith.”  Suddenly, he clapped the taller man’s back.  “Besides, I think that you’re owed some payback on those Sith.”

“Thanks.  About that last part: I would suggest that Master Jar'es'Kinsler lead the Shadows.  He’s a powerful Singer and is perfect for the offensive.”  

Rikard nodded.  “Done.  Thanks, brother.  Can you tell Kage Chillum that I’ll ping him after Su and I get back to the army?”

Slo’ma gave a small nod and smile.  “Sure, plus I’ll talk to Ga’Lan.  He’ll probably have some input.”

“I hope so; when Cir-Lan isn’t with me, I rely on you two to perfect my crazy ideas.”  The two men turned to one another.  “I’d say ‘be careful’ but what we’re about to do is anything but.”  Rikard’s grin was equal parts pensive and predatory.  “Maker keep you safe, Slo’ma.”

“You too, Rik.”  And with that, the tall Mak’tor turned to where his speeder was parked.  Rik felt Cir-Lan behind him.  Offering his arm, the two walked together.

“Alright, soror—”  Sister.  “—we need to get all of the Vhal’Dan together.  Slo’ma and I have come up with some ideas to beat back this Sith offensive…”  As Rikard continued to talk with his twin-sister, they were shortly joined by Sulen and her husband, Dyrald.  Surrounded by Rikard’s Honor Guard, they made their way to one of the land speeders, going over the particulars of the strategy that Slo’ma and Rikard had devised.

But all the while, Rikard’s thinking kept coming back to how the Army had been betrayed by one of their own.  Which invariably made him wonder about Sarll.  The Cathar was many things but Rikard didn’t think that he was a traitor… Was he?  His constant undermining of Rikard’s authority might be all that it took to fracture the Vhal’Dan.  Somehow he would keep the clans together in a truly unified order.

Or he’d die trying.

            <<<<< >>>>>

“As I said, Milord, my acolyte may be eager but he is not wrong to suggest that the Brotherhood pursue his aggressive tactics.”  The Sith Lord’s black hair whipped about her face in the hot wind, her green eyes intelligent and cruel.  And—at least when she looked upon her Master—tinged with fear.  But such was the case regardless of whomever faced the Dark One, leader of the Brotherhood, Skere Kaan.

“Githany…we’ve just won a great victory.  Why should I listen to the advice of a mere Sith apprentice over that of my Lords and generals?”  Kaan’s hard face was proud, his stance arrogant.  But then, he had reason to be: even with the successes of Jedi Lord Hoth’s so-called “Army of Light,” his Brotherhood of Darkness held sway over a majority of the galaxy, even retaking the ancient Sith homeworld of Korriban where Lord Kaan had established the Sith Academy.  But moreover, he had united the fractured Sith under one banner—his—forming the Brotherhood.  And the galaxy trembled.

Except that the Ruusan Campaign had proven troublesome: the Sith tide that had washed over the entire galaxy had begun to meet with opposition in the form of the Army of Light.  Oh, Jedi Lord Hoth would never directly confront the Brotherhood, but the Sith had been defeated soundly on a number of occasions, the amount of casualties significant.

Like on Istic III.

Who knew that those backwater yokel Jedi clans would be so effectual in battle?  Even Kaan had to admit that the only course of action against the indigenous Vhal’Dan was to retreat after having lost so many Sith… He thought it a fluke and had decided that the Brotherhood would make a stand around the planet Ruusan.  And, at first, the Sith were victorious over the Jedi, many of Hoth’s warriors dying even before setting foot upon the planet.  The destruction of the Jedi seemed all but a foregone conclusion.  The First and Second Battles of Ruusan (and a number of skirmishes) had been resounding victories for the Sith.  

But then…those damned provincial Vhal’Dan joined the Army.  Worse: they were supplemented by those kriffing Mak’Tor Singers… With the Army of Light reinforced from both the Vhal’Dan and Mak’Tor, they turned the tide in the Third Battle of Ruusan, giving the Jedi their first win.  And even though the Fourth Battle had begun favoring the Sith, it had ended in inglorious defeat.

The Dark Lady Githany had provided Kaan with Hoth’s entire war strategy when she defected to the Brotherhood.  But clearly these Vhal’Dan and Mak’Tor did not subscribe to established Jedi stratagems.  Lord Kaan had been droll at the time.  …They fight like Sith… He’d thought, aware of the irony.

He no longer considered such to be amusing.

And once again, the Brotherhood stood on a knife’s edge, their latest offensive successful to be sure…but the outcome of the war still far from certain.

…If the Jedi can change, then should not the Sith be able to do likewise…?  Lord Kaan considered.  His red eyes focused upon the female Sith in front of him.  “I have decided to incorporate your acolyte’s ‘suggestion’ into my offensive.  I believe that it will ensure to keep the Jedi off-balance and clueless to our tactics.”

“I hear and obey, Milord.”  Githany smiled, turning to go.

“And Githany…”  Kaan’s hard voice gave the Sith woman pause.  “…Should for whatever reason this tactic fail, I will not only hold your acolyte responsible.  I shall blame you.  And you know the depths of my vindictiveness.  Then not only will he die—as he should have—but you will join him.  And in that instance, I shall take my time.”  Involuntarily, Githany shuddered.  Yes, she knew just to what lengths Skere Kaan would go to assuage his spitefulness.

The entire galaxy knew first-hand the Dark One’s spite and the lengths that he’d go to appease his sense of pride.

“Yes, Milord.”  She genuflected to her Master, her fear unfeigned and evident in her voice.  Quickly bowing herself away, she hurried to meet with her apprentice.  His advice had been not only sound but valid.  …It’s a good plan… She thought.  Searching through the Sith camp, she tried not to dwell on the possibility of failure and the ramifications of such.  She instead focused upon the here-and-now.

Cresting a hill, she saw him from afar near the command bivouac.  He must have also seen her for he swiftly intercepted her.  His hard face imperious, her acolyte spoke without preamble.  “Well?  What did Kaan say?”  She grimaced.  He’d never been one to stand on ceremony, much less deference.  But…he was too useful, too powerful an ally to dispose of.  At least for the time being.

“The Dark One agreed.  Meet him tonight at the cliff’s edge by the Virdunne Forest.”  Githany said, still wondering if she was doing the right thing.  Should she stay loyal to Kaan, or should she stand beside her acolyte… “And Bane, do not keep him waiting.”  She would just have to see.

Turning his back, Bane smiled, realization meeting expectation.  Yes, he would be the one to ensure victory for the Sith.

It was just too bad that the Brotherhood were no longer Sith.  And should his plans bear fruition, he would not only succeed Kaan as the one, true Darth but would also herald the destruction of the Army of Light.


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: Karmack on September 13, 2018, 01:19:11 PM
Oh, WHY did I know her acolyte was going to be Bane?   ;-) 

Dutchman, I love the way you're pulling me into this tale!  Its not easy to weave around fixed points and still create a fresh story, but you're doing it.  I like the Mak'Tor as well.   They're Jedi ... sort of.   :-)  You can kind of see how they're already on a trajectory that sets them apart from the main-stream of the Order, eventually leading to Kimar's decision to excommunicate them.  But in his day, Lord Hoth was also a maverick, 'unsanctioned' leader.  The historical figure I think of when I read about Hoth is General Chennault and his AVG "Flying Tigers" in China in 1941-2.  He's a rouge!  *wink* *wink*

Looking forward to more!  We know how this ends, so its kind of like the prequels.   But do we REALLY know????   ;-)



Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: Lord_S_Gray on September 14, 2018, 12:50:36 AM
The Army of light doesn't seem to shine much brighter than their dark enemy all things considered.  I like the parrallel here of Rikard and his allies and then Kaan and his, while Rikard seems to have a more positive less confrontational relationship there is just as much distrust toward Sarll and Kiel as Kaan has for Githany I think...it wouldn't take much to push Rikard into an equally exploitative mindset.  And as Karm noted, they are all 'rogues' here, all prototypes of what they will become, far rougher versions of the Jedi, Mak'tor and Vhal'Dan in later stories to the point i don't think they would recognise each other in some cases...but the times make the man...and Rikard is certainly being made by the times he is living in i think.


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: Taegin Roan on October 01, 2018, 06:49:37 PM
Indeed. As the others have said, and excellently crafted story. It is kind of cool to see a bit more of the Sith. I really like seeing the history of the galaxy. There really hasn't been anything like it since then. Even the GCW and CW were not nearly this bad. It was a different time though. And the fact that it was pretty much Jedi vs. Sith in every single battle didn't help. Keep it coming TD, really enjoying your "historical" stories.


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: TheDutchman on April 20, 2019, 07:34:46 PM
(https://thumb.ibb.co/msoCoo/Jedi-Shadow-TOR.jpg) (https://ibb.co/msoCoo)

Chapter 3: Hope & Machinations

A hard fist hit Rikard’s chin, momentarily disorienting him.  Lashing out blindly with the Force, he projected an omnidirectional Push in the attempt to give him time to recover.  Instinctively ducking, he felt the heat of his opponent’s lightsaber singe the gorget of his armor; clearly the Sith Lord had been able to evade Rik’s Push.  Now desperate, he once again trusted on his luck: sweeping his saberstaff in a wide orbit, he used a burst of Force Speed to get within the Sith’s lightsaber proximity throwing his saberstaff in the air.  This close, his opponent would be unable to use her weapon.

Or so he’d hoped.

Instead, he found himself frantically evading her reverse Shien grip.  Rik didn’t think; he moved.  It was only by luck that his left hand grabbed ahold of the Sith’s wrist and not her blade.  Simultaneously, he locked her in a tight arm bar, rendering her saber effectively useless.  For her.

Wrapping his other arm around, he gripped the Sith’s saber hilt while pulling her off her feet and into the air.  And with precise timing and acute Force acumen, the tip of his falling saberstaff impaled her head, falling straight through her body, and finally lodging into the ground below.  Throwing the body away from him, Rik called his saberstaff back into his waiting hands.

“Rik—DOWN!” Slo’ma’s shout was all the warning that Rikard got before the taller man’s lightsaber swung towards him, the golden blade bright in the twilight dusk.

Throwing himself to the side, Rikard landed hard but managed to pull himself into a roll and back up again before reigniting his saberstaff.  He came up, twin green blades at the ready.  Upon realizing that there were no enemies around he finally relaxed, looking behind him to see what his friend had saved him from.

…Damn I must be tired… He thought.  Only a meter from his feet lay two more of Kaan’s Sith Lords.  “Thanks.”  He said in between breaths.  Slo’ma was himself subdued, his only response a terse nod.  And then, his legs gave out from beneath him.

Rikard hurried to help his friend back to his feet, grunting in effort as he hoisted Slo’ma off the ground.  Together, the two Jedi made their way to one of the many small outcroppings of rock jutting from the muddy ground.  Sparsely-leaved pine trees surrounded them, many of them blasted and shattered.  And—at least for a brief moment—the fighting no longer seemed to be around them.  Now, most of the battle seemed to be focused in the forest along the horizon.

Breathing heavily, Rikard drank deeply from one of the canteens he had secreted about his armor, handing it to Slo’ma after he’d finished.  Gratefully, the taller man took it, finishing off the water within.  Both men looked around the battlefield, surveying.

As with as frontline strategies, it had survived long enough to finally devolve into a melee free-for-all.  Rikard had been right: enemy intel must have counted on there being no Singers left after the last Sith counterattack.  Grinning grimly, Rikard’s blond beard pulled up on the side, tighter where his scar ran up his face.  Yes, the Sith had taken the bait: heading the Jedi vanguard, Kiel had acted like a lightning rod…just as Rik and Kage Chillum had intended.  The Sith had expected for Kiel to repeat his “gallantry” of the past battle…which amounted to the fool running headlong into the enemy lines.  Well since he’d been so good at doing just that, Rik had “suggested” he do the same.  And like a hammer hitting a rock, Kiel did just that.

Of course, the Sith line had held…but that was to be expected.  What Kiel did do right was to gather ALL attention to him…thus allowing the combined Vhal’Dan/Mak’Tor battalion of Sentinels, Shadows, Forcesages, and Singers under Master Jar'es'Kinsler’s command to flank the Brotherhood.  And, as the hammer smashes the rock against the proverbial anvil, the Sith lines violently and spectacularly broke, the majority of the enemy cut off from any aid. 

But that wasn’t to say that there had not been reinforcements.  Indeed, the Dark One, Skere Kaan, was the one personally leading the counter-offensive on the exposed vanguard. 

Or so he’d thought.

With perfect precision, the Dark One’s forces found themselves flanked by a joint battalion of Mak’Tor Cantors and Vhal’Dan Cataphracts.  And leading the charge was the Cathar Speaker, Sarll Båz Rhadde. 

Rik grimaced.  He may be at odds with Sarll politically but he knew the Cathar was an excellent general.  And an immensely powerful Jedi.  Even if half of what Rik had heard was to be believed, Sarll had killed no fewer than two dozen of the Dark One’s own Sith battlelords and had even engaged Kaan in one-on-one combat, if briefly and only after Master Jar'es'Kinsler had fought him for the majority of the battle.

Of course, the Dark One had been able to regroup—testament to his skill as a master tactician—but the sway of the war was now markedly in favor of the Jedi.  Now…the Army of Light had to press the initiative.

Rikard ran his gloved hand through his short hair, careless of the drying blood.  …Wonder when that happened… He thought, surprised by the sudden pain of his head wound.  Absently, he tapped the armored cuisses on his right thigh, the action releasing the medkit compartment.  Removing a tube of poly-bacta, he squeezed some on his head, working it into the scalp with his other hand.  Again he thought of Sarll.

His Cataphracts had been timely, personally saving Rikard.  The Vhal’Dan Cataphracts were the regiment of Jedi that were intended to act as “crowd control” in the thick of battle.  Heavily armored—some had said “overly so”—the Cataphracts had more ordinance than a dropship and more protection than a tank.  As such, it tended to attract physically larger beings; somewhat necessary given the requirements of the power armor.  Well, Rikard was always one to follow the maxim that “more was more” when it came to armor and armament.  And when the Cataphracts had been combined with the Mak’Tor Cantors?

Rik allowed himself a grin.  “Those Cantors of yours sure are useful.” He offered casually to his friend.  Slo’ma turned his head slightly, a twin of Rik’s smile spreading on his own face.

“Yeah…of course, it helps when they’ve got a wall of Cataphracts to work their Singing from behind.” The taller man said just as casually.  Rikard could only nod.  The Cantors were akin to Forcesages…and not. 

He’d seen what Vhal’Dan Forcesages could do when given proper time and preparation.  Well, the Cantors could emulate them but with the added bonus of supplementing one another in a synergy that became more than the sum of its parts.  Slightly shaking his head in remembrance, Rikard was once again truly amazed of the display of power against the Brotherhood.

Too bad that Cantors were a rarity amongst even the Mak’Tor Singers.

“Did you see Jar’es?” Slo’ma’s tired voice suddenly sounded excited, surprising Rikard.  “He was able to fight off the Dark One himself.”  The taller man smiled.  “Makes me think that we’ve got a chance…”

Rik couldn’t argue.  When he’d first seen Jar’es’ unique orange lightsaber, it had renewed almost everyone’s spirits.  And with it in hand, Jar’es had singlehandedly repulsed several waves of the Sith offensive.  Rik knew that Jar’es was a powerful Singer but he also suspected that there was more to it than that.  He’d wanted to ask Slo’ma about it…but he figured if his friend had wanted for him to know, he’d bring it up himself sooner or later. 

Nevertheless, the thought of that orange blade and the man that wielded it did give him hope.

And for what seemed to first time since the Sith had attacked Istic III, Rikard allowed himself a broad smile while a seed of hope took root deep within him.

               <<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/JyL8pKQ/Darth-Bane-TEA.jpg) (https://ibb.co/JyL8pKQ)

The fighting had been brutal regardless of location but within the confines of the Virdunne Forest, the hand-to-hand combat was especially bloody: both Jedi and Sith had reached a virtual stalemate without either army gaining advantage over the other.

All in accordance to his will.

Bane smiled.  Standing atop the cliff, a tall and imposing figure, he could see his plans coming to fruition.  This would present him the opportunity to dispatch many of the enemy forces, and not just counting the Jedi.  Of course, Kaan would know nothing of his true intentions.  Not until it was too late…

“Bane.  I see you’ve already assessed the battlefield below.  Tell me what you see.”  Skere Kaan’s deep voice boomed, commanding and arrogant.  He was a fool, Bane thought.  But a dangerous fool nevertheless.

Standing tall a few meters behind Bane, the Dark One was surrounded by about 40 of his Sith Lords, Githany among them.  …Kriffing sycophants one and all… Bane thought contemptuously.  But for now, he would utilize them as the tools that they were.  And discard them as soon as their usefulness was at an end.  His face betrayed nothing of his emotions, the Force none of his intentions.

Instead, in a clear voice Bane replied, “Our army is at an impasse with the Jedi, the forest canopy and thick underbrush impediments that hinder our advance.  Against any normal commander, this would be problematic.  But for a true Sith master, this presents no obstacle.”  Deliberately, he closed his fist.  And even though Bane knew that Kaan’s Sith Lords detested him, he also knew that his reputation—and his power—demanded that they pay attention.  Bane pointed towards the forest below.  “What our enemy believes is that they are safe, safe among the trees.  I shall…disabuse them of their folly.”

Kaan’s red eyes had a shrewd bent to them.  “And how do you propose to accomplish this?”  His gaze went from the forest below and back to Bane’s.

Bane’s eyes never once wavered.

Bane did not answer the question immediately.  “Even now, our army is ineffectually spread out, attacking single Jedi whenever they’re found.”  He deliberately stared at each Sith Lord gathered.  “That is a fool’s errand.  Instead, we should kill them all, wherever they hide, en masse.”

With that, he began to utter the spidery language of the Ancient Sith.  As each syllable was articulated, a red glow began to encompass Bane.  “What I ‘propose’ is that we amalgamate our collective might and, using a focal conduit, completely annihilate the Jedi with a Force Wave.”

The gathered Sith Lords could feel the power radiating off of Bane, each wondering in both awe and trepidation: if such a feat was possible…

“And who will control these energies, becoming this ‘conduit?’” Kaan’s inquisitiveness superseded his disdain, a look of avarice beginning to affix itself upon his face.  Bane smiled inwardly.

“I will.  It is only I that knows of the proper ritual, the correct words to intone.”  Bane pointed at Githany, his voice commanding.  “Wrap yourselves fully in the Dark Side.  Place your intent upon the knife’s edge between ‘thought’ and ‘action.’”  He then addressed the rest of the Sith Lords.  “Follow her example.”

Within a minute the red glow that surrounded Bane seemed to infect those he’d instructed, first Githany and, as more of them acquired the red halo, the glow began to pulse growing more potent and all of it seeming to flow within Bane.  Soon, every single person on the cliff top was aglow with the power of the Dark Side, even Kaan.

Speaking the Ancient language of the Sith, Bane walked the precipice of immense Force energies, directing the flow, bending it to his will.  He felt intoxicated; the Dark Side was a mighty river and his to direct.  Surely, every single Forceuser in the area could feel him with the power that he held?!  And with the final word spoken Bane opened his eyes, releasing the pent-up Force Wave.

In an instant, the Wave manifested itself in an enormous conflagration, a towering inferno that seemed to especially seek out the Jedi in the forest below.  Whenever the flames touched anything, it left only a charred husk that, after a few seconds, would fall apart as ash.  Countless Jedi died…as well as many Sith.  But what did they matter?  Certainly nothing—less than nothing—to Bane.  And it was he alone who wielded the power, a fiery crucible of truth:

He was death.

He suddenly became aware that the pillar of fire had shrunk, the power within him was lessened.  Turning his gaze from the forest, he saw that several of the Sith Lords were no longer surrounded by the red glow of Sith magiks.  Someone was interrupting the ritual!  His eyes searched the crowd before him.  And foremost among them and absent the red glow stood Kaan, shaking his head while proclaiming loudly, “This is…beneath a Sith Lord.  Ours is the power of FEAR.  And the Jedi are right to FEAR us…but for them to truly know such is to look upon us.  And dread.  And die.”  Kaan’s contempt echoed throughout the clifftop, his eyes locked upon Bane’s, a snide bent to his mouth.  “Come.  We shall take our speeders and kill these Jedi in the Sith way.  And we will taste their terror.”  And with that, they all left Bane, joining their lord and master as he prepared to hunt down the escaping Jedi.

All except Githany and one other Sith Lord.

As she approached Bane, he affixed his raptorlike gaze upon her, his seething rage controlled but storm threatening to explode.  “Kaan is a fool.  A true Sith is more than just the fear they inspire; no, they are death incarnate.”  Slowly he nodded his head, whispering fools under his breath.

Worried that the Dark One would still hear them, Githany adopted a blasé attitude.  “Come now Bane.  This way it’s more fun than what you were proposing.  Who wants to kill all of those Jedi without seeing their miserable faces in their moment of death?”  True, she feared Bane…but she was absolutely terrified of the Dark One.  When he said nothing, she boarded her speeder and joined Kaan thinking to finally divest herself of Bane.

Or so she believed. 

Much like the Jedi below him, he would disabuse her of her own imprudence.  But first…

Looking around, he finally took stock of the lone Sith Lord standing in front of him.  …Kopecz… Bane named him, face impassive.

Meeting him gaze-for-gaze, the Sith Lord’s countenance was instead ablaze with anger.  And rebuke.  “Know this, Bane: your loyalty to the Dark Side before the Brotherhood will not be accepted by the Sith Lords.  You are alone.  You will submit to the Dark One’s will.  Or you will die.”  And with that, Kopecz left upon his speeder.

Bane stood alone atop the cliff, the flames below within the forest casting a hellish, smoldering radiance across the land.  And much like the fires that burnt the trees into ash, he knew that he would be the conflagration that razed the Sith and incinerated the Brotherhood.  Kaan had not been condescending, or at least not only.  No, even as he’d left, Bane saw within Kaan’s eyes the glimpse of his true feelings.

He was afraid.  He was fearful of Bane and the power that he’d wielded.  Not that it mattered; all of the Brotherhood would soon share in his lament.

He scowled momentarily.  Githany.  He’d thought that she’d seen the error of the Brotherhood, that the Sith could never survive their machinations, their incompetence, their existence.  Unfortunately, she was as much a coward as the rest.

Without another look, Bane left.  No matter; he would find a new apprentice, an acolyte worthy of the mantle of Sith, one that would give the Dark Side strength.

Someone who would eventually supplant and replace him.  As it should be.  Only the strong could gain mastery of the Dark Side.

Only the strong.


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: Karmack on April 22, 2019, 07:04:34 AM
Sweet!  I love the glimpse into Bane's early development, the road that leads in the end to the Rule of Two.   Question: Is Sheer Kaan canon (EU) or did you just make him up from The Jungle Book?  Because that's the name of the 'bad guy' tiger in that story.  LOL   Good imagery, either way.

And these Cantors...    Oh, we must discuss what ever happened to the Mak'Tor Cantors....   :-)


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: Lord_S_Gray on April 23, 2019, 01:23:25 AM
Sweet!  I love the glimpse into Bane's early development, the road that leads in the end to the Rule of Two.   Question: Is Sheer Kaan canon (EU) or did you just make him up from The Jungle Book?  Because that's the name of the 'bad guy' tiger in that story.  LOL   Good imagery, either way.

And these Cantors...    Oh, we must discuss what ever happened to the Mak'Tor Cantors....   :-)

Kaan is Canon along with Githany and Kopecz and the whole forest burning incident - what Dutch is wonderfully doing is adding the 'other side' of the story to these canon events with the Vhal'Dan/Mak'tor angle, where as in the Bane books etc. its just the Sith POV for the most part. But yeah if Bane was looking for an apprentice as ruthless as he is...Rikard would almost be perfect....

And we see the cracks inherent in any gathering of Sith...the self defeating selfishness....(not that the Vhal'Dan are that much better at this point following on from the P’Rae’Lior earlier, obvious why Bane realized he was better off alone...but only after he harnessed the darkside to himself exclusively as far as possible.


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: Karmack on April 23, 2019, 08:08:47 AM
Thanks for the history lesson!  :-)   I really don't know that much about this time period, or the Sith Wars in general.  I expect they are fascinating.   


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: TheDutchman on May 15, 2019, 10:30:58 PM
(https://i.ibb.co/zVQ4n2s/960756331fe4e76b8580bb0ee9f8a980.jpg) (https://ibb.co/zVQ4n2s)

Chapter 4: Honor Due the Dead, part I

“The numbers are coming in now, Rik.” Sulen’s voice was quiet…pensive Rikard thought as she continued.  He couldn’t blame her: whatever it is that the Brotherhood had done, it had killed thousands, most from General Kiel’s battalion.  …Damned Sith bastards… He swore.  …At least the firestorm killed almost as many of them as ours…  Still: small consolation to lose so many good Jedi.  He suddenly focused his eyes on his Arbiter, something pulling at his attention.  “Sorry Su, what was that?”

Even with blood (not hers) and dirt on her face, it did nothing to take away from her regal complexion…or her poise.  Patiently, she gave a small smile.  “I said: Kiel is waiting in your bivouac along with Lord Chillum, General Farfalla, and Sage Slo’ma.” She absently pulled at a strand of her jet black hair that suddenly fell into her face.  “Oh, and Sarll…‘asked’ to speak to you.”

…Wonderful… “I’ll bet he did.” Rik deadpanned.  “I’ll deal with Sarll.  Last.”  Inhaling, he squared his shoulders.  “C’mon, Su.  Let’s see what our fellow Jedi have in mind.”  The tall woman fell into step next to Rikard.  Somehow, she’d been able to clean her armor; certainly she looked more the Jedi Lord than he.  “One of these days, you’ve got to teach me that, Su.”

“Trade secret, Arbiters only I’m afraid, Kage.” Su’s slanted eyes held a gleam of mirth within them.  “Besides: I’ve just begun to train you up so that you don’t use your hands whenever you eat.”  Rik turned a look of mock rebuke at her.  Su’s face didn’t change in the slightest.  “They’re called ‘utensils;’ you should try them sometimes.”  She pantomimed using a spoon.

Rik pretended exasperation.  “Sure, now that you’re entrenched within the office I suppose you’ll tell me that I’ve got to change my small-clothes, ‘Mrs. High-and-Mighty Arbiter.’”  He threw his hands up as if in capitulation.  “‘Black Rikard’ indeed.  Now I know why the Maker has forsaken me: He’s afraid that the women in my life will start with Him next…”  Looking out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Su crack a grin, followed by a small laugh.  He soon joined her, both of them making a curious spectacle walking through the camp laughing.

               <<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/YB8SsQy/Kiel-Charny-Jv-S.jpg) (https://ibb.co/YB8SsQy)

“Are you frelling insane?!  This stupidity is far-reaching, even for you, Kiel.” Rik spit, his good humor a thing of the past.  “Or are you trying to get the rest of us killed in your pursuit of ‘Glory?’”

If Kiel was intimidated, he hid it well.  Instead of his normally arrogant countenance, his lips were curled in the barest of self-satisfied smiles.  To say that it put Rik’s hackles up was an understatement.  Fighting an urge to put his fist through Kiel’s face to the back of his head, Rik went through a calming technique that Su would often suggest…just for times such as this.  It helped.  Somewhat.

“Please, Lord Macias, listen for a moment.”  General Farfalla’s light, singsong voice was meant to be comforting, serene.  A half-Bothan, Valenthyne Farfalla had an effeminate beauty typical of his ancestry.  That, combined with his high soprano voice, gave one the impression of fragility.  And to those who made that mistake, it was to their own detriment, often resulting in their deaths.  Truth be told, he was anything but.

In Lord Hoth’s Army of Light, General Farfalla was amongst the Jedi Lord’s fiercest warriors.  He’d felled countless Sith, seeming to never tire or lament.  It was inspirational, Rikard had to agree.  And the half-Bothan had an excellent mind for tactics.

Which brought Rik back to the conversation at hand.  Kiel had proposed a pre-emptive strike centered on Kaan’s front lines.  By now, everyone knew that the Dark One was on-planet.  Fools like Kiel were chomping at the bit to do battle with him in glorious saber combat.  Or so Rik had assumed.

Given the precedent that Kiel had set, no one would have faulted Rikard.  However…

“Rikard, I believe that we have an advantage to exploit here…”  Lord Chillum intoned, his bass voice reverberating almost as deeply as Sarll’s.  Jedi Lord Galen Chillum, Kage of the Mak’Tor, was an enormous man, dwarfing everyone in the bivouac, even Kiel.  And among the Army of Light’s Jedi Lords, he was the absolute best tactician that Rikard had ever seen.  No wonder Kiel was so smug; he knew that if Lord Chillum supported him, Lord Hoth would immediately agree.

Not that Rik would blame him; as far as he was concerned, anything the Mak’Tor Kage said was gospel.  “Alright Galen.  What’s on your mind?”

Stepping forward, the big man keyed the datapad on his armored vambrace.  A holoprojection appeared in the middle of the room, showing troop deployments, varied battalion strengths, and each army’s current positions on Ruusan and all up-to-date.  Not for the first time was Rikard amazed—and grateful—for Mak’Tor intel.

“The Dark One has taken command of this division here.  Counting conventionals, he’s got a relative strength close to 8,000, give or take.  General Kiel came to me with his strategy, one that I fully endorse, with some fine-tuning, of course.”  Lord Chillum manipulated the projection, focusing on the division in question.  “The Brotherhood believes that our Singers are all but gone.  Let them go on believing that; what Kiel proposes is to have Vhal’Dan Cataphracts lead the vanguard to draw out the Dark One.  We’ll pretend to retreat, drawing him past this valley where we can flank him in a pincer with our Singers…and this time they’ll be supplemented by our Cantors.”  Lord Chillum keyed the holoprojection off, the lights illuminating once more within the room.  …Brilliant… Rikard thought.  The Cantors would allow the Singers to propagate one another, becoming more than the sum of their parts.  That was why Cantors were so effective and powerful.  And rare.

Kiel was now smiling broadly.  Nodding, Rik couldn’t help but agree.  “Yes.  It’s a good plan.  I’ll let Sarll know.”  Before anyone moved, Rikard suddenly grabbed Kiel’s forearm.  “Where will you be in all of this?”  Rik’s piercing green eyes squinted, pulling at the scar that ran up his face.

Kiel smiled.  “I’ll be going in with General Sarll’s Cataphracts.  After all, I’ve got a score to settle with Kaan.”  Rikard couldn’t decide if Kiel was that brave or just foolhardy.  He decided on the former; Kiel was a decent general, if not a very inventive one.  Still, being in the vanguard was always dangerous.  That was one of the reasons that it often fell to the Cataphracts to lead: they were heavily armored and could take as much punishment as they could give.   And when the time came, they would take the brunt of the Brotherhood’s counterattack in their “retreat.”

No, Kiel wasn’t a fool—at least not this time—and he was brave, if a bit vainglorious.  “General…” Rikard said, extending his hand, “…Good luck.”  Kiel’s smile finally vanished.  Since the beginning of the Ruusan Campaign, he and Rik had always been on opposing sides of the fence.  Still…they were both Jedi.

Kiel broke out in a grin, taking Rikard’s hand and clasping forearms.  “May the Force be with you as well, Bla…Lord Macias.”  Just the barest of pauses; he was about to say “Black Rikard.”  Rik held a ghost of a smile, pretending to ignore the verbal misstep for Kiel’s sake.  

“Give them hell, General.” Rikard said, gathering Sulen with a gaze before saying his goodbyes to the Mak’Tor Kage, General Farfalla, and finally his friend Slo’ma.  “Be careful.  And stay behind the Cataphracts; I’d rather not see that too-tall head of yours on some Sith pike.”

Slo’ma’s smile turned wicked.  “Me?  Never.”  He winked.  “Now the news will be making its rounds: ‘Jedi Lord Rikard actually endorses a strategy by General Kiel.’  Looks like you’ve grabbed the rancor by the wrong end, Rik; you’re never living that one down.”  He suddenly sobered.  “Be safe, my friend.  May the Maker watch over you.”  He said the last in little above a whisper.  The Mak’Tor belief in the Maker was ubiquitous to them but they were still voting members of the Jedi Order, unlike the Vhal’Dan.  And as such, their belief in the Maker had to be kept under wraps by necessity; often times there were whispers of “attachment” cast towards the Mak’Tor…but no one ever took it further.  The Singers were just too important to the war effort.  But Rikard knew that that tolerance would not last forever…

Which brought him back to his own Order’s dilemma with the Jedi.  When the Coruscant Jedi had finally come to Istic III to request Vhal’Dan assistance, Rik had only agreed if the Order was allowed a Seat upon the Council, with all the attendant voting rights that came with the office.  There had been a lot of bickering among the Council…but then they were reminded of their losses, including casualties numbering in the billions.  They’d eventually agreed and now that the Army of Light had been helped in no small part by the Vhal’Dan, Rikard had been all but ensured that the Vhal’Dan would have multiple Seats, exactly like the Mak’Tor.  Still, Rik was aware of the whispers…

The Order proper considered them “provincial” Jedi barely worthy of the label but Rikard was certain that the Brotherhood would not be on the defensive right now if not for the timely intervention on behalf of the Vhal’Dan.  After the Sith defeat on Istic III, Ruusan most certainly would not have happened.  Of course…the Vhal’Dan also would have ceased to exist as an entity had the New Sith Wars helped the Clans to consolidate…

“Credit for your thoughts, Rik…” Sulen’s melodious voice came from beside him.  Rikard turned his head to look at her, his wry grin pulling again upon his scar.

“Nothing of import…just the survival of the Vhal’Dan, the Jedi Order, and the galaxy.”  He blinked.  “…OK Su, how in the hell did you get yourself so cleaned up?  You look like you’ve just gotten a day’s worth of sleep, after an hour at a spa…”

Sulen grinned.  “Sorry, I’ve already told you: trade secret.”  Rikard adopted a poleaxed look.

“…Well it’s a wonder why you and Dyrald don’t have more kids; if I had a wife that could do everything like you and somehow look immaculate…” He left the implied compliment hanging.

Sulen’s face suddenly went blank.  “Things you need to tell Dyrald, and none too soon.”  But soon her trembling lip betrayed her good humor, causing both of them to laugh.

Rikard put an arm around his friend’s shoulders.  “Maybe after this battle.  C’mon Su, I’ve got to give Sarll the ‘good news;’ Maker knows that he’ll take it as a position of honor, the mangy bastard.”  

And with that, they both went to look for the big Cathar speaker.

               <<<<< >>>>>


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: TheDutchman on May 15, 2019, 10:41:51 PM
Special thanks to Lady Revan for the Easter Egg as well as the linguistic assist&ideas!  This chapter is dedicated to her  :)
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(https://i.ibb.co/87LLLkn/darth-bane-by-erichollobaughart-d9gwskv-pre.jpg) (https://ibb.co/87LLLkn)

Chapter 4: Honor Due the Dead, part II

As he came upon the camp, Bane saw that it was completely empty.  Fitting; much like the Brotherhood, the absence of any Sith lords reminded Bane that they were one and all hollow pretenders that only paid lip service to the Dark Side, their heads as empty as the camp.  The Dark Side—and the true Sith—deserved better.

No matter, everything was proceeding according to his plans, even Kaan’s apparent mastery.  It was fools like Kaan that reminded Bane why the Sith needed to change: become too conspicuous a target and it was fated to draw the wrong kind of attention.  A lesson that Bane had learned very…intimately.  He entered his tents, assessing the tableau before him.  Unsurprisingly, someone—or ones—had gone through his possessions, thinking that they’d done so clandestinely.  But Bane was much more observant than anyone could have guessed; certainly more than these idiots would ever know.  No doubt they thought to gain information as to the origin of the Dark Side Force Wave that he’d unleashed in the Virdunne Forest, killing Jedi and Sith by the thousands.

…Fools…ignorant fools… He almost smiled.  Bane needed no holocron, no datanode, no…book.  He’d long since memorized Darth Revan’s Sith Holocron and all of its contents.  Unlike the Brotherhood, who still relied on reciting their Sith magiks from an original source, Bane had…consumed the information of ages past, the Dark Side his only Master as well as being an inherent and fundamental part of him.  No Sith lord—and certainly not that imbecile Kaan—would command him.

Hearing the barest of rustling cloth Bane did not move; instead he prepared to attack, wrapping himself within the power of the Dark Side.  Casually, he turned his head towards the tent’s entrance.  Framed within the doorway was an extremely tall, gaunt human, his white hair almost indistinguishable from his chalky complexion.  Bane smiled inwardly.  He’d not seen the human since he’d left the Academy on Korribon.

“Qordis.” Bane did not offer any further affectation to the headmaster who, despite his sepulchral appearance, was almost as powerful as Skere Kaan himself.  He held one of the highest places within the Brotherhood; indeed most Sith lords feared him.  And regardless of the fact that Bane was two meters in height, he was forced to look up to stare into Qordis’ gray eyes.

“Bane.” Qordis nodded.  Unusual that; the tall human had never been the least bit cordial and at the worst of times was loath of his former student.  Of course, much had changed since then…

“What is it you want, Qordis?” Bane’s voice betrayed nothing as he pushed past the taller human, his broad shoulders thumping heavily into Qordis’ gaunt chest.  If he took offense, Qordis showed nothing of the like.  While Bane had thought the headmaster’s voice sounded weaselly before, it was particularly shrill now.

“Bane…I saw what you did at Virdunne, the power you commanded.  Furthermore, each and every student at Korribon Academy was in awe of your strength, your skills in the Dark Side.  As do I…”  The tall human laid a skinny hand upon Bane’s shoulder.  “Now I know why you’ve come to Ruusan, the true purpose…you’ve come to kill Kaan.”

Bane remained silent yet intrigued, so much so that he allowed Qordis the temerity of touching his person.

“They—we—are behind you; our loyalty is to you…our new master: Darth Bane!  Together, we shall become the True Brotherhood!  Not one corrupted by any Jedi ideals of past loyalties as Kaan most certainly is.  No, yours will be a Brotherhood of the Dark Side where we shall rule this galaxy and beyond!”  Qordis clenched his fist in a dramatic pose, his voice exultant.

Bane stared at the tall human, disgust becoming evident in his demeanor.  “Qordis…you are wrong.”  Suddenly Bane’s hand shot up, directing the Dark Side to do his bidding.  The headmaster grabbed at his throat as invisible tendrils wrapped around his neck, lifting him bodily into the air.  “I am not here to take control of the Brotherhood.”  Slowly Bane wrapped his fingers into a fist, the cords around Qordis’ neck tightening.  “I am going to destroy the Brotherhood.  Every.  Single.  One.”  Bane’s yellow eyes were electric with power.

“…no…please…don’t…kill…let…me…at…least…die…in…combat…a…saber…in…my…honorably…” Qordis’ voice slowly grew weaker, his hands tearing at his throat in a vain attempt to gain purchase upon the tendrils that crushed his windpipe.

Bane smiled, a predatory and remorseless turning of his lips.  “‘Die in combat with a lightsaber in your hand?’  Qordis you are a pathetic, insignificant, fool.”  Laughing, Bane pulled the headmaster closer.  “Know this: you will die, here and now, forgotten by all.  There is no ‘honor’ for you; there never was.  The Dark Side cares nothing about honor.”  Bane’s smile faded, his face impassive.  “There are only those that succeed…and those that die.”

His eyes bulging, tongue darting out of his thin, ashen lips, Qordis slowly asphyxiated, dying a gurgling, inconsequential, and unremarkable death.  And when Bane was finished, he tossed the worthless thing away, destined to rot like the rubbish in the camp and just as important.

               <<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/qdyfxP3/250px-Legacy-25-Rasi-Tuum.jpg) (https://ibb.co/qdyfxP3)

“…Which should pull the Sith after us.”  His deep bass voice rumbling, Sarll crossed his arms across his enormous chest.  “Did I miss anything?  Kage.”  As always, the Cathar Speaker seemed to add the last as an afterthought.  They stood in the middle of the mobile command bivouac, spartan by any standards.  But it suited Sarll’s needs.

Just as he finished, Rik saw from the corner of his eye as two of Sarll’s lieutenants entered the bivouac, one a Shifala and the other another Cathar.  Both of them were large Jedi, almost as tall as Sarll.  Standing to the side, they saluted Sulen and then waited silently, two enormous armored Cataphract statues for all the movement that they made.

Rikard shook his head.  “No.  Just make sure that no Sith go after those Singers.  Mak’Tor casualties are already heavy enough…”  …To say nothing of Jedi losses… He thought.  “I really need the Cataphracts to hold the line on this and get the Sith so riled up that they’re not thinking.  I need them reacting, Sarll.”  Rik stared up into Sarll’s golden eyes.  He thought back to Kiel.  …Maker-dammit, I guess it’s a day of reconciliation… Exhaling, Rikard put out a hand to the Cathar in repetition of earlier.  “Good luck, Speaker.”  

Sarll’s demeanor was considering.  After a second, he took Rik’s hand, his enormous paw engulfing the smaller human’s.  “Thank you, Kage.  We shall succeed.”  His eyes shifted to the two Cataphracts that stood to the side.  “You’ll find my After-Action Reports on this datapad; you’re welcome to read them here.  Excuse me, Kage.  Arbiter.”  Nodding to first Rikard and then Sulen, Sarll handed Rik his datapad before addressing the Shifalan Cataphract.  “Koawan Annix, assemble the Legion.  Tell them they have 15 minutes.”  She saluted Sarll and exited as the Speaker continued talking to the other Cataphract.  “Maenowan Låq Tarjo, I need for you…”

As Sarll joined his lieutenant, Rik turned to Sulen while they scanned the AAR.  Almost absently, Sulen began talking.  “That was…almost nice of you, Rik.”  Looking up from the datapad, Rikard tracked his Arbiter’s line of sight.  She was staring at Sarll.  “One might describe it as ‘friendly.’”

Rik knew what she meant.  “I don’t have the luxury to call Sarll to account for his ‘P’Rae’Lior-by-proxy.’  Not now, at least.  Besides…we need him right now.  After this damned war?  Then there can be a reckoning.”  He gave a lopsided grin.  “I thought about Kiel earlier and how it set precedent.  And I don’t have to like them to fight along side them.  And if wishing them well makes them fight better, then I’ll sing them praises if that’s what it takes.”  

Sulen knew that there was more to her Kage than that.  And despite his protestations to the contrary, he did respect Sarll.  But, much like Rikard, Sulen knew that the issues between the two were far from resolved.

But that was a problem for later.  She had others that required her Kage’s attention.  “Kage, we need to see to the Forcesage troop deployment.”  Her husband Dyrald had returned from the frontlines with some new intel.

“Good, Su.” Rik finished reading Sarll’s AAR, keying the datapad off just in time to see the Cathar showing his lieutenant out.

“…Have them upgraded with the newest software, maenowan.”  Stopping suddenly, he clasped wrists with the other Cathar.  “Malja watan, Doreon.”

Doreon, the Cathar maenowan, responded, his deep voice reverent.  “Malja watan, Sarll.”  With that, the Cataphract lieutenant left.

“I trust that all is satisfactory.  Kage.” Sarll boomed, already donning his armor.  “If you’ll excuse me, I need to see to it that the Cataphract Legion is apprised of our new orders.  Kage.  Arbiter.”  With an inclination of his head, Sarll left.

Rik turned to Sulen.  “Su…you speak over five dozen languages; do you know what they were talking about?”  He spoke some Catharese and whatever they’d said, it wasn’t that.

“…No.  I’ve never heard it before.” Sulen said incredulously, surprising Rik.  “…Would you like for me to look into it?”  Her tone was one of hurt professional pride.

Rikard shook his head, unconcerned.  “No.  Don’t worry about it.”  He patted Sulen’s shoulder.  “I guess that means you’ve been hanging out with an uncivilized Hutt like me for too long.  C’mon, let’s go see what Dyrald has to tell us.”

               <<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/HxhCkrr/Aurebesh.png) (https://ibb.co/HxhCkrr)

As Sarll approached the field where the Legion was assembled, he thought of what his lieutenants had told him.  But what really occupied his thoughts were the two lieutenants themselves.

Koawan Stryka Annix had already distinguished herself amongst the Cataphracts.  Brave, loyal, and highly intelligent, Sarll had mentored the Shifalan as a teidowan, seeing her incredible potential even then.  Now a fully knighted koawan, Stryka had turned out to be even better than Sarll had anticipated.  Not only was she utterly fearless both in and out of battle but her unique Niman variant of saber combat had ensured her appointment as Clan Blademaster in record time.  The Sith had learned to fear Stryka, and for good reason…

And of course, his friend and fellow Cathar Maenowan Doreon Låq Tarjo.  Doreon was one of those happy accidents that the Force sometimes offered up in life: gifted of an eidetic memory and a scholar of remarkable renown on the Homeworld, he’d studied the past of their planet.  And in doing so, he’d become one of the premiere tacticians of the Army of Light.  As well he should be…

Cathar had long, very long memories.  The last time that they’d been threatened as a race was during the Mandalorian Wars, where the Cathar people had been threatened with near-extinction.  They’d been close, so close to going out forever…

But for the bravery of one Jedi.

One that Cathar all beheld in reverence, spoken only amongst the people in deferential tones.  There was no Cathar alive today whom did not know of this Jedi’s courage, an angel of death balancing the scales to redress all of their grievances.  And while the rest of the galaxy knew her by the name she chose later for herself, the Cathar had been gifted with her true name, one that would never grace the hearing of the lesser sentients, those unworthy of the knowledge.

The Jedi Master Revan…Halin Chan.

It was Revan who had honored the people, who had willingly become their avenger.  Absently, Sarll touched the glyph upon his breastplate, one hidden in plain sight.  Among the designs of the power armor all Cathar had made an addition, one that—for the most part—went unnoticed.  It was Halin Chan’s gift to the Cathar.  A gift…as well as a dictate.  Located at the base of the sternum was a glyph representing a cabochon, a red jewel inscribed with bronze writing, the Aurebesh reading: “Malja watan.”  All Cathar would speak the words to one another whenever two or more met.

Sarll gave one of his rare grins.  Anyone who understood Basic could read and speak the words but the language that the phrase came from had been old even in Revan’s time and was long dead.  But she had known it, teaching it to the Cathar.  Malja watan.

Now—as it was then—the axiom rang especially poignant given the circumstances of war, be it the New Sith War, the Mandalorian War, or any future wars…

May you always find home.

Sobering quickly, Sarll squared his shoulders, again bearing the responsibility that he carried stoically and silently.  As with all duty, the honor was his to bear.  And he and his Cataphracts would do what was necessary, consummating the unspoken accord that the Cathar had willingly accepted as both obligation and tribute to their avenger.

And just like Revan, their names would echo in eternity as a result of their actions today.


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: Lord_S_Gray on May 16, 2019, 10:45:31 PM
Interesting contrast here - Rikard getting more along with his allies just as Bane puts into practice his desire to be rid of his 'allies' and then Saril and Bane both looking to Revans example in eerily similar ways on opposite sides...a mixed legacy indeed. Some very clever and subtle interactions binding these characters together almost despite themselves - kudos to Lady Revan who no doubt helped with some that! - also cool to see a young Stryka as well whose memory alone we see in Schisms.


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: Taegin Roan on June 15, 2019, 12:35:58 AM
Wow, interesting. LSG said it well, and though I have yet to catch up on Lady Revan's story, the legacy of Revan is one known to the vast majority of SW fans. As is Bane's. Looking forward to what you have coming next.


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: TheDutchman on July 02, 2019, 10:26:40 PM
Special thanks to PsychoSith for the awesome saber rendering!  This chapter is dedicated to him  :)
*******************************************************************************
(https://i.ibb.co/cK9NzCn/PM6hetg.jpg) (https://ibb.co/cK9NzCn)
Chapter 5: Casualties of Circumstance, part I

In the pre-dawn darkness the two armies met, a fiery conflagration of conventional ordnance, energy weapons, and Force-powers…killing, maiming…almost immediately devolving into hand-to-hand fighting as Sith and Jedi attacked one another.  There was no quarter given, the brutality of both sides evident upon the battlefield where bodies littered the entire landscape.  On one side, the Dark One Skere Kaan commanded his Sith Lords; the other: General Kiel Charny led what remained of his devastated battalions, the vanguard reinforced by the Vhal’Dan Cataphracts.

The two armies met in a desolate place where the Virdunne Forest suddenly gave way to the geologically active fumaroles, known colloquially as the “Valley of a Thousand Smokes” where Ruusan vulcanism constantly reshaped the land.  Steam and gasses obfuscated the area, hot pools of water dotted the landscape where crevasses had been filled.  Now, blood joined the water in a mixture of reds, blues, and black as the dead and dying lay upon the valley floor, like some artist’s macabre canvass.

Fighting alongside the Cataphracts, Jedi Lord Rikard Macias worked his saberstaff furiously, the twin green blades never ceasing against the onrushing Sith, their red lightsabers legion.  As he swung a wide orbit to block in a group of enemy combatants, he Pulled upon the area they were gathered on, most of them taken unawares.  And although some of the Sith had protected themselves against his Force attack, those that had not were suddenly and violently propelled skywards, helpless.  At the crest when they were momentarily weightless, Rik reversed his efforts, Pushing the group back towards the ground, crashing into their Sith comrades in a savage mangle of bodies, armor, and earth.  Allowing himself a grin, Rik attacked another group of the Brotherhood.  There were still many more, most of them now starting to flank the Cataphracts…

That was the truth of the matter: there was always “more.”

Rik knew that even as formidable as the Cataphracts were, they could not impede the inexorable Sith tide.  Scanning the Jedi ranks, Rik saw that the heavily armored Legion were taking a beating, their lines close to collapsing… They would have to pull back. 

But then again, that was the plan.

As if he’d read Rikard’s mind, the Cataphract commander General Sarll Båz Rhadde, sounded the retreat.  While the Jedi forces gave ground, the Cataphracts covered their withdrawal, redoubling their efforts.  It was an prodigious sight to see, Rik had to admit.

Almost to a being, the Cataphracts suddenly seemed to halt the Sith offensive across the entire line.  And while their heavy armor was severely carbon-scored and dented, the Song-steel had held beneath the onslaught.  But what amazed Rik most was the Cataphracts’ primary weapon.  Once again, taking advantage of the fact that almost all of the Cataphracts were larger than average humanoids, they one and all wielded an enormous, two-handed lightsaber, one unlike any other.

Laboriously constructed of a cortosis and Beskar metal alloy, the hilt was at least 60 centimeters long, with two pairs of quillons, the lower set made of the alloy while the upper pair were plasma…as was the main blade, one that projected over two meters from the emitter.  The uncommon sabers were massive, their deadly nature and efficacy supplemented by the intimidating psychological menace that the weapon represented.  And in the hands of the Cataphracts, they had become legendary.

The Vhal’Dan Cataphract Zweihander.  That was their formal classification although most of the Jedi referred to them appropriately as “Beskar Breakers.”  Unsurprisingly, they lived up to their cognomen.

Even in full retreat, Sarll’s Jedi were fearsome, their weapons causing even the most savage Sith Lord to give pause.  But this Sith army was different than any other: it was being directly lead by the Dark One himself.  And if Skere Kaan didn’t inspire every individual Sith Lord under his banner, they were all certainly more frightened of him than the Cataphract’s zweihanders.  Still: for every meter that the Sith gained, the cost was paid in blood and lost limbs.

“Rally!  Rally!” General Kiel’s voice could be heard above the cacophony courtesy of a trick of the Force.  Rik found himself grinning; for once, Kiel’s vainglory would prove a helpful tactic.  Just as every Jedi had heard him, so too had the Sith.

Now in full retreat, the Jedi moved through the valleys of the fumaroles, all leading towards open canyons on the horizon.  The Sith knew that in those canyons, the Jedi could effectively disappear, free to carry out guerilla tactics at whim.  With this in mind—and having heard Kiel’s deliberate call to pull back—Kaan drove his Sith Lords with singular intent and drive.  And as the Dark One himself killed the brave, lone Cataphract that had stood against him, he yelled wordlessly, directing his army to pursue and overtake, killing all that stood before them.

With the Sith on the Army of Light’s heels, they quickly closed the distance within the fumaroles, careless of the high volcanic anticlines that lined the valley.  Incited by the Dark One as well as their own bloodlust, the Brotherhood’s pursuit was total and complete; they were now fully committed.

As Rik came upon Kiel, he gave a small nod to the Jedi general who responded with an arrogant lopsided grin.  Taking positions, the remainder of the joint battalions turned, facing the oncoming Sith.  Time seemed to slow, adding an air of perfect clarity.  Sarll stood in front of his Cataphracts, the hair on the right side of the Cathar’s mane singed and burnt.  Otherwise, he was uninjured.  And cautiously hopeful.  Rik could relate; the Sith were almost on top of them now, their red blades casting a blood hue within the valley reflecting off of the quartz buried within the rock strata of the anticline’s walls.  Rik thought he could even see the Dark One himself among the incoming Sith horde but he knew that was probably just his own mind.

And with a deafening crash both armies collided, time once again resuming its normal passage.  Seeing the promise of Jedi annihilation in the Sith’s eyes, Kiel’s joint battalion fought a desperate and furious defensive.  And the Brotherhood knew it.  For the Sith, the Sixth Battle of Ruusan would be a decisive victory, one that saw the Dark One victorious…

…If not for the fact that the Army of Light had planned for just this outcome.

With perfect timing, the remaining Mak’Tor Singers—lead by the few Cantors left—shut the door on the trap, seeming to erupt from behind the anticline’s walls while completely surrounding the Sith army on either side.  As one, their Songs and Battle Meditation began to strengthen the Jedi, their numbers more than replenished by the Mak’Tor as well as the Vhal’Dan Forcesages, both contigents led by Rik’s friend Slo’Ma and Sulen’s husband Master Dyrald Reu Lai, respectively.  A third and fourth battalion flanking the Sith’s rear attacked, Rikard’s twin sister Cir-Lan at the head of one, the Vhal’Dan Arbiter Sulen Reu Lai leading the other.  Meanwhile, another Mak’Tor battalion crashed into the Sith horde center, folding the army into itself and cleaving the Brotherhood’s host in twain.  At its forefront was another Mak’Tor “secret weapon:” Jedi Master Jar'es'Kinsler.  As he viciously swung his unique ghostly orange blade about, he simultaneously attacked with ferocious Pushes while incredible phantasms assaulted the sight of any Sith he faced, his attendant Force Powers incredibly powerful despite not being supplemented by the Cantors.

Even now, Rikard wondered how Master Kinsler was able to accomplish such seemingly impossible feats.  Whatever it was, Slo’Ma had never mentioned it.  Regardless, the Vhal’Dan Jedi Lord was thankful that Jar’es was on their side.

Now almost equal in numbers, the Army of Light renewed its offensive, hope and determination galvanizing the battlelust that the Jedi felt.  Countless Sith Lords fell from the initial assault, the surprise of both the assumed all-but-dead Mak’Tor Singers and Jedi reinforcements resulting in the Brotherhood’s confusion and disbelief. 

And within the valley of the fumaroles under the noontime sun, the tide of the battle turned yet again, this time favoring the Army of Light.

However, Kaan was nothing if not adaptive.  Within minutes, he had his Sith Lords regrouping, a “spear” formed to break out of the box that the Brotherhood now found itself in.  He would see himself and as many of his followers out of this trap…but he knew—even now—that it would be costly…

               <<<<< >>>>>

As another Sith Lord fell to his saberstaff, Rik saw from the corner of his eye as a handful of Sith were set upon by two Cataphracts.  One he recognized immediately as Sarll…the other seemed vaguely familiar… As the Cataphract engaged multiple enemies, Rik was able to recognize that she was a Shifalen.  Once he saw her saberwork, he knew without a doubt who it was.  The Shifalen had become separated from Sarll, surrounded on all four sides.  Unflinchingly, she attacked.

Rikard had seen several blademasters in combat, some of them dead having come to the erroneous belief that their superior skills with a saber made them invincible.  That was not the case here: the Shifalen’s “form” was remarkable, an economy of movement and saber strikes, each resulting in another Sith death.  Rik had seen her utilize this unique variant of Form VI—a “Formless Form” she’d once told him—against many an opponent, yet he’d never once seen a better blademaster than Stryka Annix.

As Koawan Stryka cut down another Sith, she was joined once again by Sarll, a void in the fighting seemed to surround them for a moment.  From the corner of his eye, Rikard witnessed two Sith Lords crumple to the ground, a bloody Master Jar'es'Kinsler stepping over the bodies, his ghostly orange blade looking almost translucent in the steamy air.  Rik quickly joined them, taking advantage of the lull in combat.

“Jar’es.  Stryka.  Sarll.”  Rikard nodded to one and then the other two, standing in front of the two hulking Cataphracts.  The Mak’Tor Jedi Master stood by him although his head never stopped moving, his eyes trying to see everywhere at once.

At once, Rik was amazed by how young the man was; he must’ve been no older than his mid-twenties, if even that.  This close, he could feel the power radiating off of Jar’es, absolutely remarkable, especially for one so young… “Have you seen Slo’Ma?” Rik asked the Mak’Tor master.

Still surveying the battlefield, his quiet voice was almost too low to hear.  “No, Lord Macias.  Last I saw of him, he was directing the Cantors.”  That didn’t surprise Rik; he knew that Kage Chillum had charged his friend to lead the Singers.  He turned and faced the Cathar who towered over him.

“Good work on the line, Sarll.”  Golden eyes stared unblinkingly into Rikard’s green.  The Vhal’Dan Speaker still held his Beskar Breaker tightly in his enormous paw, his armor looking the worse for wear.  But aside from some burnt fur, Sarll was uninjured.  Yet he had a pained look upon his face.

“…We lost some good people with that action.  Kage.”  As always, the Cathar added the last as almost an afterthought.  Sarll then coughed, smoke from some of the burning speederbikes mixing with the steam and gasses blanketing the valley.

Rik’s lips tightened, the look on his face one of commiseration.  “I know.  May the Maker keep them…” Rik’s quick litany was echoed by the two Cataphracts.  “Take some comfort in the knowledge that their deaths are not in vain.”  Awkwardly, he placed his armored hand upon Sarll’s vambrace.  But before he spoke again, his face hardened.  “But don’t think on it overlong; we still have much to do now.”  Rik’s intense stare included Stryka as well.  “There’ll be time for lamentations after we kill these Sith bastards.”

With that Rik motioned to Jar’es, both men wading back into the fighting, leaving the two Cataphracts alone and to their own thoughts.

               <<<<< >>>>>


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: TheDutchman on July 02, 2019, 10:31:19 PM
(https://i.ibb.co/Q9pnfsp/Githany-lightwhip.jpg) (https://ibb.co/Q9pnfsp)
Chapter 5: Casualties of Circumstance, part II

Kiel laughed as another Sith Lord fell beneath his blade.  Scanning the field, he searched for the Dark One, anger and even revenge in his heart.  Oh, he knew the proscriptions against such but this was war.  Formalities and niceties were not going to win against the Sith.  Besides, Kaan had much to answer for: whatever he’d done during the Fifth Battle in the Virdunne Forest had resulted in the deaths of many a good Jedi…too many of them his friends.  Another Sith Lord stepped in front of him, her red blade arcing through the air intent on decapitating him.  Deftly, he sidestepped the attack, matching the Sith’s intensity with his own.  Working his saber, Kiel was able to finally dispatch her when she’d momentarily slipped on the blood that covered the ground, allowing him an opening in her defenses.  Unceremoniously, he stabbed her through the heart, already moving away from the falling body as he continued to search for the Dark One.

He suddenly spied a pair of Sith Lords, one of them holding what looked like a human boy captive while the other tortured an injured Jedi laying on the ground.  Kiel could see the pain, fear, and hopelessness upon the boy’s face as the two Sith laughed, the one torturing the Jedi tiring of her prisoner.  With deliberate slowness, she plunged her lightsaber into the Jedi’s belly, dragging it upward towards his head.  Cruel laughter punctuated the Jedi’s dying torment as the red plasma blade half-vaporized, half-cauterized the intestines, lungs, and finally throat.  As a final affront, the Sith Lord withdrew her saber from the Jedi’s neck and stabbed both of his eyes, the wet orbs burned away in an instant.

Red fury took ahold of Kiel, his saber in his hand and—even before he knew what he was doing—he attacked.  He immediately killed the Sith Lord who’d tortured the Jedi to death, moving onto the other holding the boy without saying a word.

“Take another step and I’ll kil—” The Sith Lord’s voice was forever silenced as Kiel (using the Force) crushed the man’s larynx.  And while Kiel never once stopped looking to see if the Dark One was near, he offered the boy some small comfort.

“Are you hurt?  Are you injured?” Kiel’s voice seemed to make no difference to the boy who stared off into the distance, neither seeing nor responding.  Kiel’s desire to see the Dark One face justice and what he saw as his duty to the boy ran through his mind, his decision vacillating from one and the other.  Finally, he decided to take the boy with him as he searched for Kaan.  And whenever he came across an enemy combatant, he would dispatch them like the obstacle he considered them to be.

So it went throughout the afternoon.  The Dark One’s army had been trapped between the Mak’Tor hammer and the Cataphract anvil, sundering the Brotherhood host in two.  Several large groups now whittled down the Sith defenders, all of them with the hope of meeting the Dark One.  And killing him.

For their part, the Brotherhood mounted a two-pronged counter-offensive, the first being the Dark One’s “spear” while the other was a contingent of Sith sent to harass Jedi forces, utilizing their speederbikes. 

Ever the astute tactician, General Valenthyne Farfalla had anticipated this tactic, his own skyborn forces inflicting considerable casualties as a result of his own surprise attack.  For the rest of the afternoon, Sith speederbikes rained down upon the fumaroles, shot out of the Ruusan sky by the half-Bothan general’s airforce.  Several had careened towards the ground where Kiel and the boy had only been moments before.

He grimaced as yet another Sith Lord engaged him.  None of these fools would keep him from his glory…and his destiny.  It would be him, General Kiel Charny, that would rid the galaxy of the stain that was Skere Kaan, returning honor to the Jedi and peace to every planet.  He deftly brought his saber from a spinning orbit, knocking his opponent’s blade away while he rolled his wrist, finally disarming the Sith Lord.  Without flourish he killed the man, grabbing the arm of the semi-catatonic boy as he led him through the fumaroles, always intent on spying Kaan.

He felt more than saw a lancing group of heavy blaster fire from his left, squinting unconsciously as a fireball bloomed from a speederbike explosion.  The boy didn’t react to that, careless even of the heat.  Kiel was about to move on when his eyes suddenly focused upon the figure walking away from where the speederbike had gone down.  Confident that Farfalla had splashed another Sith speederbike, Kiel was ready to dispatch the Sith Lord when he caught his first real sight of the pilot.  Uncertain if his eyes were deceiving him Kiel shook his head, staring at the approaching person silhouetted against the rising flames.  And when they became visible, he almost lost grip on his still-ignited saber, the boy all but forgotten.

“…By the Force…Githany…How?” He stammered.  Kiel was dumbfounded.

As padawans under the Cathar Jedi Master Handa, Kiel and Githany had first become friends and eventually lovers.  And—at least for a time—they’d been happy.  But all of that came crashing down when Master Handa had discovered their relationship, censuring both padawans.  Kiel had stoically accepted his master’s rebuke, ending it with Githany.  Hurt and disgusted, she turned to the Dark Side, joining the Brotherhood where she completed her training under the tutelage of her new master, Skere Kaan.

It was to the Dark One that, pledging fealty, she betrayed the Jedi Order by revealing key intel critical to the Army of Light.  As a direct result, the Second Battle of Ruusan had been a decisive Sith victory, the Army of Light’s first Ruusan fleet annihilated… To be certain, there had been massive Sith casualties as well, including one of Skere Kaan’s flagships, the Vengeance.  Of course, the rumor that Githany died had also spread along with the news of the Vengeance’s demise.

Instead prior to the Second Battle of Ruusan, she had been sent to the Sith Academy at Korribon where she met a charismatic and powerful student.  And while she took him as her own apprentice, he soon far outstripped her strength in the Force, his Dark Side Powers without equal.

Darth Bane.

Together, they’d returned to Ruusan where the forces of the Brotherhood of Darkness and the Army of Light clashed, the fate of the entire galaxy hanging upon who would be the victor…and who would be dead.

Never once had Kiel even considered that he would see his former lover again.  Even now that she stood before him, lightwhip humming in her hand, Kiel’s disbelief deadened his resolve.  His disbelief…and his feelings for Githany.

Without speaking she attacked, her lightwhip intent on scourging Kiel, to make him suffer, to beg, to feel the pain that she had once…

Kiel responded sluggishly able to parry but never once following up to attack.  He knew as soon as he’d seen her that he could not kill his former lover... Not after all of the pain that he’d caused her.  Feelings that had once been deeply buried now threatened to overwhelm the Jedi general.  Time and again, Githany’s lightwhip was thwarted but only just.  Kiel was unable…unwilling…to fight the woman who had been the love of his life.

Suddenly Githany’s lightwhip snaked down Kiel’s blade, wrapping around his forearm.  With a violent tug, the lightwhip sent his lightsaber—and his hand—through the air, falling to the ground a few meters from where they fought.

While the pain from his excised hand threatened to send him into shock, it was the emotional pain that now inundated the Jedi general.  Grasping the stump of his arm, the cauterized flesh smelling sickly-sweet, Kiel turned his eyes towards his former lover.

“Githany…I…I am so sorry.  I…never got to tell you.  But…I’m sorry.” Kiel’s face, while contorted in pain, looked serene.  For herself, Githany merely stared at him.

But for all her outward appearance, Githany’s emotions were in turmoil.  Rage, betrayal, pain, hate…love; all went through her mind at once, the sight of the man that she used to love kneeling on the ground.  There was no hate in his face, no admonishment…just the look of regret and contrition radiating from him.  And for the first time, Githany was uncertain as to what she wanted, really wanted…

A sudden flash of blue marked her vision, as if she’d stared straight into the sun.  A moment later, Kiel’s body collapsed at her feet, his head rolling away.  Looking around Githany saw a boy, in his hands he gripped Kiel’s lightsaber, the blue blade humming as he slowly lowered it.  His eyes seemed to regain focus as if doing so for the first time in a long time.  And then he spoke, his voice initially a whisper but growing stronger and louder with every word.

“…he…he was a Jedi…he…he fought the Sith…but…but he was…was angry…cruel…how…how can…can the Jedi…be so…cruel?  How…how can…how can the Jedi be so…so…useless?!  How?  HOW?!” He screamed.  He had no tears, no feelings of shame, only dismay.

With a shrewd look affixed upon her face, Githany slowly approached the youth.  And she felt it: the youth was Force-sensitive.  “Because…because the Jedi are cruel; they are callous and vindictive.”  Stranding in front of the boy, she placed a soft hand upon his shoulder.  “They are what is wrong with the galaxy.  Not the Sith.”

The boy’s head nodded, his eyes suddenly staring directly at her.  “Yes.  Yes…I know that you’re right.  I…I know that…that’s true…I know it…” He closed down the lightsaber.  “I know it.”  The last was but a whisper.

“You do.” Githany announced, a plan forming.  Cupping his face with both of her hands, she looked deeply into the boy’s green eyes.  “And I will be the one to show you how to save yourself…from the Jedi, from everyone.”  Githany stood tall, indicating to the youth that he should do likewise.  “I will take you as my apprentice.”  She announced.  Her features suddenly softened.  “What is your name?”

The boy squared his shoulders, his face determined.  “Darovit.”  He said, drawing out each syllable as if unused to speaking his own name.  “I am Darovit.”  With that, he knelt before her.  “And I am your apprentice, my Lady.”


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: PsychoSith on July 03, 2019, 11:32:44 AM
Special thanks to PsychoSith for the awesome saber rendering!  This chapter is dedicated to him  :)
*******************************************************************************
(https://i.ibb.co/cK9NzCn/PM6hetg.jpg) (https://ibb.co/cK9NzCn)
Chapter 5: Casualties of Circumstance, part I

In the pre-dawn darkness the two armies met, a fiery conflagration of conventional ordnance, energy weapons, and Force-powers…killing, maiming…almost immediately devolving into hand-to-hand fighting as Sith and Jedi attacked one another.  There was no quarter given, the brutality of both sides evident upon the battlefield where bodies littered the entire landscape.  On one side, the Dark One Skere Kaan commanded his Sith Lords; the other: General Kiel Charny led what remained of his devastated battalions, the vanguard reinforced by the Vhal’Dan Cataphracts.

The two armies met in a desolate place where the Virdunne Forest suddenly gave way to the geologically active fumaroles, known colloquially as the “Valley of a Thousand Smokes” where Ruusan vulcanism constantly reshaped the land.  Steam and gasses obfuscated the area, hot pools of water dotted the landscape where crevasses had been filled.  Now, blood joined the water in a mixture of reds, blues, and black as the dead and dying lay upon the valley floor, like some artist’s macabre canvass.

Fighting alongside the Cataphracts, Jedi Lord Rikard Macias worked his saberstaff furiously, the twin green blades never ceasing against the onrushing Sith, their red lightsabers legion.  As he swung a wide orbit to block in a group of enemy combatants, he Pulled upon the area they were gathered on, most of them taken unawares.  And although some of the Sith had protected themselves against his Force attack, those that had not were suddenly and violently propelled skywards, helpless.  At the crest when they were momentarily weightless, Rik reversed his efforts, Pushing the group back towards the ground, crashing into their Sith comrades in a savage mangle of bodies, armor, and earth.  Allowing himself a grin, Rik attacked another group of the Brotherhood.  There were still many more, most of them now starting to flank the Cataphracts…

That was the truth of the matter: there was always “more.”

Rik knew that even as formidable as the Cataphracts were, they could not impede the inexorable Sith tide.  Scanning the Jedi ranks, Rik saw that the heavily armored Legion were taking a beating, their lines close to collapsing… They would have to pull back. 

But then again, that was the plan.

As if he’d read Rikard’s mind, the Cataphract commander General Sarll Båz Rhadde, sounded the retreat.  While the Jedi forces gave ground, the Cataphracts covered their withdrawal, redoubling their efforts.  It was an prodigious sight to see, Rik had to admit.

Almost to a being, the Cataphracts suddenly seemed to halt the Sith offensive across the entire line.  And while their heavy armor was severely carbon-scored and dented, the Song-steel had held beneath the onslaught.  But what amazed Rik most was the Cataphracts’ primary weapon.  Once again, taking advantage of the fact that almost all of the Cataphracts were larger than average humanoids, they one and all wielded an enormous, two-handed lightsaber, one unlike any other.

Laboriously constructed of a cortosis and Beskar metal alloy, the hilt was at least 60 centimeters long, with two pairs of quillons, the lower set made of the alloy while the upper pair were plasma…as was the main blade, one that projected over two meters from the emitter.  The uncommon sabers were massive, their deadly nature and efficacy supplemented by the intimidating psychological menace that the weapon represented.  And in the hands of the Cataphracts, they had become legendary.

The Vhal’Dan Cataphract Zweihander.  That was their formal classification although most of the Jedi referred to them appropriately as “Beskar Breakers.”  Unsurprisingly, they lived up to their cognomen.

Even in full retreat, Sarll’s Jedi were fearsome, their weapons causing even the most savage Sith Lord to give pause.  But this Sith army was different than any other: it was being directly lead by the Dark One himself.  And if Skere Kaan didn’t inspire every individual Sith Lord under his banner, they were all certainly more frightened of him than the Cataphract’s zweihanders.  Still: for every meter that the Sith gained, the cost was paid in blood and lost limbs.

“Rally!  Rally!” General Kiel’s voice could be heard above the cacophony courtesy of a trick of the Force.  Rik found himself grinning; for once, Kiel’s vainglory would prove a helpful tactic.  Just as every Jedi had heard him, so too had the Sith.

Now in full retreat, the Jedi moved through the valleys of the fumaroles, all leading towards open canyons on the horizon.  The Sith knew that in those canyons, the Jedi could effectively disappear, free to carry out guerilla tactics at whim.  With this in mind—and having heard Kiel’s deliberate call to pull back—Kaan drove his Sith Lords with singular intent and drive.  And as the Dark One himself killed the brave, lone Cataphract that had stood against him, he yelled wordlessly, directing his army to pursue and overtake, killing all that stood before them.

With the Sith on the Army of Light’s heels, they quickly closed the distance within the fumaroles, careless of the high volcanic anticlines that lined the valley.  Incited by the Dark One as well as their own bloodlust, the Brotherhood’s pursuit was total and complete; they were now fully committed.

As Rik came upon Kiel, he gave a small nod to the Jedi general who responded with an arrogant lopsided grin.  Taking positions, the remainder of the joint battalions turned, facing the oncoming Sith.  Time seemed to slow, adding an air of perfect clarity.  Sarll stood in front of his Cataphracts, the hair on the right side of the Cathar’s mane singed and burnt.  Otherwise, he was uninjured.  And cautiously hopeful.  Rik could relate; the Sith were almost on top of them now, their red blades casting a blood hue within the valley reflecting off of the quartz buried within the rock strata of the anticline’s walls.  Rik thought he could even see the Dark One himself among the incoming Sith horde but he knew that was probably just his own mind.

And with a deafening crash both armies collided, time once again resuming its normal passage.  Seeing the promise of Jedi annihilation in the Sith’s eyes, Kiel’s joint battalion fought a desperate and furious defensive.  And the Brotherhood knew it.  For the Sith, the Sixth Battle of Ruusan would be a decisive victory, one that saw the Dark One victorious…

…If not for the fact that the Army of Light had planned for just this outcome.

With perfect timing, the remaining Mak’Tor Singers—lead by the few Cantors left—shut the door on the trap, seeming to erupt from behind the anticline’s walls while completely surrounding the Sith army on either side.  As one, their Songs and Battle Meditation began to strengthen the Jedi, their numbers more than replenished by the Mak’Tor as well as the Vhal’Dan Forcesages, both contigents led by Rik’s friend Slo’Ma and Sulen’s husband Master Dyrald Reu Lai, respectively.  A third and fourth battalion flanking the Sith’s rear attacked, Rikard’s twin sister Cir-Lan at the head of one, the Vhal’Dan Arbiter Sulen Reu Lai leading the other.  Meanwhile, another Mak’Tor battalion crashed into the Sith horde center, folding the army into itself and cleaving the Brotherhood’s host in twain.  At its forefront was another Mak’Tor “secret weapon:” Jedi Master Jar'es'Kinsler.  As he viciously swung his unique ghostly orange blade about, he simultaneously attacked with ferocious Pushes while incredible phantasms assaulted the sight of any Sith he faced, his attendant Force Powers incredibly powerful despite not being supplemented by the Cantors.

Even now, Rikard wondered how Master Kinsler was able to accomplish such seemingly impossible feats.  Whatever it was, Slo’Ma had never mentioned it.  Regardless, the Vhal’Dan Jedi Lord was thankful that Jar’es was on their side.

Now almost equal in numbers, the Army of Light renewed its offensive, hope and determination galvanizing the battlelust that the Jedi felt.  Countless Sith Lords fell from the initial assault, the surprise of both the assumed all-but-dead Mak’Tor Singers and Jedi reinforcements resulting in the Brotherhood’s confusion and disbelief. 

And within the valley of the fumaroles under the noontime sun, the tide of the battle turned yet again, this time favoring the Army of Light.

However, Kaan was nothing if not adaptive.  Within minutes, he had his Sith Lords regrouping, a “spear” formed to break out of the box that the Brotherhood now found itself in.  He would see himself and as many of his followers out of this trap…but he knew—even now—that it would be costly…

               <<<<< >>>>>

As another Sith Lord fell to his saberstaff, Rik saw from the corner of his eye as a handful of Sith were set upon by two Cataphracts.  One he recognized immediately as Sarll…the other seemed vaguely familiar… As the Cataphract engaged multiple enemies, Rik was able to recognize that she was a Shifalen.  Once he saw her saberwork, he knew without a doubt who it was.  The Shifalen had become separated from Sarll, surrounded on all four sides.  Unflinchingly, she attacked.

Rikard had seen several blademasters in combat, some of them dead having come to the erroneous belief that their superior skills with a saber made them invincible.  That was not the case here: the Shifalen’s “form” was remarkable, an economy of movement and saber strikes, each resulting in another Sith death.  Rik had seen her utilize this unique variant of Form VI—a “Formless Form” she’d once told him—against many an opponent, yet he’d never once seen a better blademaster than Stryka Annix.

As Koawan Stryka cut down another Sith, she was joined once again by Sarll, a void in the fighting seemed to surround them for a moment.  From the corner of his eye, Rikard witnessed two Sith Lords crumple to the ground, a bloody Master Jar'es'Kinsler stepping over the bodies, his ghostly orange blade looking almost translucent in the steamy air.  Rik quickly joined them, taking advantage of the lull in combat.

“Jar’es.  Stryka.  Sarll.”  Rikard nodded to one and then the other two, standing in front of the two hulking Cataphracts.  The Mak’Tor Jedi Master stood by him although his head never stopped moving, his eyes trying to see everywhere at once.

At once, Rik was amazed by how young the man was; he must’ve been no older than his mid-twenties, if even that.  This close, he could feel the power radiating off of Jar’es, absolutely remarkable, especially for one so young… “Have you seen Slo’Ma?” Rik asked the Mak’Tor master.

Still surveying the battlefield, his quiet voice was almost too low to hear.  “No, Lord Macias.  Last I saw of him, he was directing the Cantors.”  That didn’t surprise Rik; he knew that Kage Chillum had charged his friend to lead the Singers.  He turned and faced the Cathar who towered over him.

“Good work on the line, Sarll.”  Golden eyes stared unblinkingly into Rikard’s green.  The Vhal’Dan Speaker still held his Beskar Breaker tightly in his enormous paw, his armor looking the worse for wear.  But aside from some burnt fur, Sarll was uninjured.  Yet he had a pained look upon his face.

“…We lost some good people with that action.  Kage.”  As always, the Cathar added the last as almost an afterthought.  Sarll then coughed, smoke from some of the burning speederbikes mixing with the steam and gasses blanketing the valley.

Rik’s lips tightened, the look on his face one of commiseration.  “I know.  May the Maker keep them…” Rik’s quick litany was echoed by the two Cataphracts.  “Take some comfort in the knowledge that their deaths are not in vain.”  Awkwardly, he placed his armored hand upon Sarll’s vambrace.  But before he spoke again, his face hardened.  “But don’t think on it overlong; we still have much to do now.”  Rik’s intense stare included Stryka as well.  “There’ll be time for lamentations after we kill these Sith bastards.”

With that Rik motioned to Jar’es, both men wading back into the fighting, leaving the two Cataphracts alone and to their own thoughts.

               <<<<< >>>>>


Great chapters, Dutchman! Love the writing style, and thanks for the shoutout :)


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: Lord_S_Gray on July 05, 2019, 10:23:15 AM
Ceaseless war, but very well told, the moment of glory turned to defeat for Kiel, and shows how close the two sides were once. But really love the battle description, the back and forth of it all very well done Dutch and your integration of the Canon tale with your own is top notch. 


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: TheDutchman on July 12, 2019, 03:22:01 AM
(https://i.ibb.co/JyL8pKQ/Darth-Bane-TEA.jpg) (https://ibb.co/JyL8pKQ)
Chapter 6: The Knife That Twists

Within the Dark One’s tent, Bane sat on the hard ground, Force-senses projected outwards.  Using a potent form of Battle Precognition, he was able to effectively gain direct insight from the entire confrontation, down to each participant.  With sweat dripping down his shaven head, he was able to “see” the entire battlefield within the Valley of a Thousand Smokes…even before it had occurred.  And although it required Herculean effort, Bane was able to witness the ebb and flow of the battle as the Brotherhood of Darkness clashed with the Army of Light.  In many instances, the only way to distinguish between the combatants was by the color of their lightsabers, so savage was—would be—the fighting.

But that was immaterial to Bane; there were only a handful of individuals that he actually cared to scrutinize.  One of them was Skere Kaan, leader of the Brotherhood.  One of them was General Kiel Charny, Jedi battle-commander for the Sixth Battle of Ruusan.  One of them was Jedi Lord Ga’Len’Chillum, the Army of Light’s chief tactician.  And one of them…

…One of them…well, he had plans for him.

Terminating his connection, Bane gulped deep breaths as he brought his body back under his control, his heart slowing while his body eventually achieved equilibrium.  Doing so, he allowed himself a grin.  Yes, plans were proceeding precisely as he required.

Soon, he would divest both the Dark Side and himself of the Brotherhood, the pretender Sith that he despised.  Soon, the Jedi would suffer a defeat that would ensure his own ascension.  And soon…soon he would find a true Dark Side apprentice, one powerful, ambitious, and worthy of the title “Darth.”

But first: to prepare.  Bane stood on unsteady legs, momentarily weakened from his efforts.  Even with his innate prowess with Precognition the exertion required to view such an extensive sphere had physically drained him.  Anger filled Bane; he must never be weak.  Willing strength into his body, he took several steps forcing himself to move through the pain.

Pain.  Pain was an excellent tool, one that would continue to teach…and beguile.  Yes, Bane knew just how useful pain was.  A fact that Kaan was about to suffer ad nauseum.  

Keying the comms device in the tent he connected to the Sith fleet in orbit, specifically the flagship Nightfall.  Or more precisely, the fleet commander Admiral Adrianna Nyras.  As he spoke with her Bane again utilized the Dark Side with a potent yet subtle power, this time a Mind Trick.  Only, this was not at all like those employed by the Dark One, his proficiency at the Mind Trick beyond compare even amongst the Brotherhood.  No, Bane touched upon Nyras’ baser desires and one in particular: her incessant loyalty to Kaan.  A simple “suggestion” and the admiral did the rest, never knowing that she did so at the behest of Bane’s machinations.

This time Bane’s lips twisted into a smile.  Yes, his plans were coming to fruition.  The Brotherhood and the Jedi both would rue ever having set foot upon Ruusan.  And he would finally have an apprentice to further the Dark Side.

And the galaxy would be forever changed ever afterwards.

               <<<<< >>>>>

Growling fiercely, Sarll’s anger powered his exhausted body, huge corded muscles flexing as his arms worked his Beskar Breaker in tight orbits to defend himself.  The two Sith Lords that he faced were just as tired but doggedly determined to finish him off after the Cathar had killed so many of their comrades.  And—Sarll was forced to consider—they might just succeed.

Dusk was beginning to fall, the steam that blanketed the fumaroles eerily reflecting the colored panoply of lightsaber blades in a grisly display, one that—even as night darkened—reflected more and more upon the dead and dying.

A glancing blow to his right pauldron surprised Sarll, testament of his exhaustion.  …Almost took off my head… He thought.  Drawing deeply from the Force, Sarll’s senses seemed refreshed, at least momentarily.  But as much as he tried, he could not force anymore speed or strength out of his weary body.  Finally, he saw an opening in one of his opponent’s defenses and, snarling, he threw his body—armor and all—at the Sith Lord like a missile.  The Sith’s eyes widened as he tried to get his red blade between him and the incoming Cataphract but he was too slow and Sarll fell upon him like a collapsing mountain.  Burying his enormous lightsaber’s blade to the plasma quillions, Sarll pinned the dying Sith Lord to the ground, hoping to roll away from the inevitable attack from the second opponent.  Remarkably, Sarll was able to do so…

…But he was only partially successful: the Cathar managed to evade the red blade slicing down upon him but as a result he was unable to grasp his own weapon still impaling the fallen Sith.  Sarll was on his feet in an instant…but completely unarmed.  Quickly, Sarll took inventory of his armor’s compliments…and found all minimissiles spent, blasters dry.  Gritting his teeth, Sarll wasn’t even certain that he could use the Force to move a pebble, much less anything substantial… Defiant to the last, the Cathar prepared to attack with his claws and teeth.

Before Sarll could move, the other Sith Lord suddenly dropped her saber, the red blade extinguishing.  Falling heavily, the body joined the legion of dead that spread across the Valley of a Thousand Smokes.  Sarll’s golden eyes looked up from the dead Sith…only to focus on one of the last people that he’d hoped to see.

Rikard’s grin pulled upon his scarred face, his eyes sparkling while in his hands were his green saberstaff and a wicked-looking black kukri made of Songsteel.  Closing down the dual green blades, Rik holstered the kukri and held out his hand.  Slowly inhaling, Sarll took it, his own paw fully engulfing the smaller human’s hand.  Gesturing to a rock outcropping, both of the Vhal’Dan Jedi limped over and sat in silence.

While there were a handful of other Jedi in the general vicinity, for the most part, Rik and Sarll were alone.  They both breathed deeply, the lull in the fighting offering them both respite.  Finally Rik spoke.

“The Brotherhood is finished; the Sith lines broke entirely.  And with the timely intervention of General Farfalla, there are no more Sith speederbikes to deal with…” Rik ran a hand through his short blonde hair.  Sarll said nothing, continuing to stare into the distance.  “…Slo’Ma and his Singers decimated the Inquisitors.  And Jedi Master Jar'es'Kinsler personally defeated a half-dozen of the Dark One’s colonels…”  Rik gave a half-chuckle.  “…wonder how he managed that…”  While Rikard pondered that enigma, Sarll turned his gaze directly at the human, his eyes fierce and penetrating.  Rik didn’t seem to notice, instead scanning the heavens from a break in the miasma.

“Kiel Charny is dead.”  Despite whispering, Sarll’s deep bass voice echoed through the shallow fumarole canyon walls.  The Cathar’s eyes remained open even though the memory of coming across the Jedi general’s body was suddenly foremost in his thoughts.

“…Yeah.” Was all that Rik said as he continued to stare up at the stars, his gloved fingers idly tracing the ridges on his saberstaff, his lips thinning.

Sarll shook his head, incredulous.  “You are one cold-blooded bastard, Black Rikard.”  The Cathar crossed his arms across his huge armored chest.  Even seated, he seemed to loom over the thin human.  “You don’t give a damn about anyone, do you?” He baited.

“I know that you were behind that fiasco with Rayfe.” The human’s voice was quiet, not quite a whisper.  It was the last thing that Sarll expected.  Although he blinked a few times, Sarll was comported enough to not be thrown by the turn of Rikard’s verbal attack.

“You should never have been Kage.” Sarll’s voice boomed with his own convictions.  “The Clans—”

“The Clans are finished, dead.” Rikard’s sharp interruption was full of castigation and repulsion.  “There are no more Clans; only the ‘Vhal’Dan Order.’  Those that think otherwise are already as useless as a broken hyperdrive, as dead as Kiel Charny.” Rik’s eyes mirrored his vehemence.  “If you don’t like it, challenge me to P’Rae’Lior.  If not: shut the kriff up.”  Rikard’s face was full of fury, unfeigned and unrestrained.  Even Sarll was taken aback, completely at a loss for words.  Rik held the Cathar’s eyes in a raptorlike gaze.  After a moment the human rose and walked off into the obfuscating steam without having said another word.

As much as Sarll’s hackles had been up, he was forced to admit that the Kage’s chastisement had humbled him.  And something more, something that the Cathar Speaker was loath to admit.  Rikard had frightened him; Sarll finally saw the man behind the perpetual mask that he always wore.  It reminded him…well…

…It reminded him of the Sith.

               <<<<< >>>>>

Even as his Brotherhood rallied, Kaan knew that the Sith had lost.  The day had begun as he’d foreseen: the Army of Light’s desperate attack on the lines only to be repulsed, resulting in ignominious retreat.  He’d tasted their defeat, seen the fear in their eyes…but then…

…Then they’d turned, stopping up the Sith lines.  And before he’d known it…the Brotherhood was boxed in.  But that wasn’t the only surprise: he’d been told that the Mak’Tor Singers had been annihilated.  Coupled with those heavily armored Vhal’Dan Jedi Guardians… And that damned Jedi Master, the one with the orange lightsaber, its ghostly blade cutting down countless Sith Lords… It had almost been the death of him!  The timely intervention of the Jedi reinforcements from orbit had been the final straw…

Kaan felt the heavy hand of his last remaining general on his shoulder.  Looking up, he saw that it belonged to Kopecz, the large Twi’lek covered with dirt, sweat, and blood.  “My Lord, we must move now.  If we retreat, we can still regroup at our encampment.  At least some of us…” The last was said under his breath but Kaan still heard him.  

Instead of admonishing Kopecz, Kaan grimly surveyed the battlefield.  He knew that the Brotherhood had been decimated.  Whatever survivors he found with him in the Sith camp, his army would be severely depleted…

“My Lord, now!” Kopecz’s voice finally penetrated Kaan’s despondency.  Nodding, he gave the command to retreat.  The Brotherhood was defeated.

Defeated…

               <<<<< >>>>>

(https://thumb.ibb.co/cGbyTo/jedi-master-kmdar-by-raddar-d3l3xp0.jpg) (https://ibb.co/cGbyTo)

Rikard tried to calm down.  And—not for the first time—he rebuked himself for his outburst.  It was just that Sarll…well, dammit, Sarll had gotten to him.  Hearing the Cathar reprimand him had enraged Rik, the utter hypocritical audacity of the bastard… Again, Rikard shook his head.  Yes, he was furious at Sarll…but he was also angry at himself.  Angry…and ashamed.

He and Kiel had rarely seen eye-to-eye but he’d never wished malice upon the Jedi general.  News of his death had shocked if not necessarily surprised him…but Rik did care.  There had just been so many deaths from this war…

Thank the Maker that none of those closest to him had died… And now, with the Brotherhood all but finished, he could breathe a sigh of relief.  …From reproach to reassurance… Rik almost laughed, the gamut of his emotions raw and exposed.  That was why he had left Sarll…

Rikard had not wanted the Cathar Speaker to see him absent his armor.  But even as he admitted as much, Rikard worried that he’d been unsuccessful, his passion getting the better of him.  Rik shook his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he tried to will the past away.  

…Good luck with that you fool… He admonished himself yet again.

Suddenly, Rikard stopped, finally aware of his surroundings.  Or rather, the fact that he was unfamiliar with them.  Somehow, he’d gotten lost.  Mentally berating himself, Rikard gritted his teeth while he ran his hand through his shorn hair.  Irritated, he turned to head back the way he came.

Only to come face-to-face with a shadow given life.

Uncertain but unnerved, he hefted his saberstaff, igniting the twin blades.  The white-green plasma cast some illumination on the figure: it was a human, about two meters tall and muscular besides.  But that wasn’t what gave him pause.  Rik could now see the man’s eyes.

They had the yellow irises of a Sith.  Bringing his saberstaff to bear, Rikard readied his offensive when the figure spoke, his deep baritone voice ruthless, intelligent, and self-assured.

“Stop, Rikard Macias.” The man held his arms palm up, his hands empty.  Something in his voice… “I do not wish to fight you.”

Rikard didn’t lower his weapon even though confusion racked his mind.  “Why not?  I’ve killed dozens of your fellow Brotherhood…”

The man’s face remained impassive but his voice took on a disgusted tone.  “Those fools are not my brothers.  One and all they are imbeciles and they deserve their deaths.  And more…” The last was said in a whisper, Rikard barely able to hear but stunned by the words.  …What in the Maker-damned hell…?

Here was a Sith who…was not part of the Brotherhood?  “And what of your precious Dark One?  Do you think to trick your way into his good graces?  Or perhaps you think to offer him a valuable Jedi hostage?”  Rikard’s tone was skeptical.

Yet again, the man’s face remained emotionless.  But his tone… “Kaan is the biggest fool of them all, undeserving of his vaunted position.”  His yellow eyes seemed to stare past Rikard.  “He has earned the consequences of his folly…”

Rikard couldn’t believe his ears.  “And I should just trust the word of a Sith?”  Rikard’s mental defenses were up.  “You must think I’m an idiot not to think that I wouldn’t be alert for the saber coming at my back.”

If Rikard’s mocking had any effect, the man seemed to ignore it.  Slowly shaking his head, he crossed his arms.  “You mistake me, Rikard Macias.  I am neither here to attack you nor to trade droll insults.”

When the man didn't elaborate further, Rik found himself curious.  “No?  Then what?”

With that, the man finally smiled…if granite could be said to do so.  “Allow me to digress: I am Darth Bane.”  His eyes seemed to glow.  “I am here to accomplish two things: the destruction of the Brotherhood…” He paused, if for effect or something else, Rikard could only guess.  “…and to attain an apprentice worthy of the Dark Side.”

Rikard blinked, all words flying from his mind as realization teased his conscious mind.  And when his focused eyes fell upon Bane, the Sith’s smile deepened.

“Yes.  Yes, Rikard Macias…you shall be my student.  Together we shall see the Sith arise from the ashes, in glory and to the detriment of the Jedi.  And the galaxy shall be ours to rule…as master and apprentice.”


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: Karmack on July 12, 2019, 03:52:15 AM
And Bane picks his Apprentice.   And not without merit.  Nicely played, Dutchman.  :-)   One of the fun things about Gray Jedi is that they are always just that little bit more vulnerable to the dark side, if it can just be presented properly...


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: Lord_S_Gray on July 12, 2019, 04:36:01 AM
From the outset 'Black Rikard' had seemed just as vicious as the Sith he fought...it seems Bane noticed that too.  Now obviously we know the final story from the EU canon...but how they get to there from here...that is going to be very interesting...
more than a little parallel to Anson and Kazic in Saril and Rikard...that would seem the obvious clash...but things are rarely so obvious, and Rikard is no young eager knight regarding Bane's offer.  This will get very interesting...and probably very bloody with more awesome action scene, that fight between Saril and the Sith was brutal!


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: TheDutchman on August 08, 2019, 09:52:51 PM
(https://i.ibb.co/hWbDv6f/commission-jade-by-davidfernandezart-d126pag.jpg) (https://ibb.co/hWbDv6f)
Chapter 7: The Devil’s Temptation

Cir-Lan’s teal blade exploded through the back of the Sith Lord who’d been foolish enough to face her.  But before she could take a breath, she was attacked by four more Inquisitors, their red blades filling her vision.  They thought her easy prey, that they would overwhelm her with their concerted efforts.

She would disabuse them.

Cir-Lan swept to the side, Force-enhanced muscles speeding her from the Siths’ saber attacks.  The looks on their faces were priceless…as Cir-Lan knew they would be.  Reversing her grip, she cut down on the closest opponent’s arms, severing both just below the elbow.  In the same motion, she projected potent concentrated Force Push, sending the now armless Inquisitor crashing into the second closest Sith.  Still in motion, Cir-Lan somersaulted over the third Inquisitor, her lightsaber arcing through the Inquisitor’s head, bisecting it.  Landing lightly on her feet, she blocked the incoming red blade that threatened to decapitate her.  Flowing through the orbit, she adopted one of the close-combat katas that utilized the hilt as a bludgeon, smashing the nose of the fourth opponent.  Momentarily dazed, the Sith was unable to regain his defenses in time…not that it would have mattered.  Cir-Lan’s form was perfect: smoothly cutting upwards, she effortlessly switched from her Shien grip back to standard, bisecting the Inquisitor from groin to throat.  Even as the body crumpled, she’d already switched to Soresu, ready to defend.  Just in time: the second Inquisitor was rising, having recovered from the collision when Cir-Lan had sent her Sith companion crashing into her like a missile.  Cautiously, the Inquisitor approached.

What the Inquisitor didn’t know—and what Cir-Lan most certainly did—is that this Sith was already dead.  When Cir-Lan had projected the body of the Sith Lord in her Push, she’d also surreptitiously included one of her durasteel hair-sticks.  Oblivious of the needle-like missile, it had hit the Sith Inquisitor in the nerve-plexus of her right shoulder at the same time that her comrade’s body had violently crashed into her, covering the lesser impact of the hair-stick.  Cir-Lan smiled, awaiting the inevitable.

The Inquisitor suddenly stumbled, a confused look upon her face.  Her face still blank, Cir-Lan wasted no time and attacked, feinting first to her left and then to the right.  And while the Sith Lord was a competent swordswoman, she was no match for a Vhal’Dan battlemaster.  Cir-Lan’s blade arced directly towards the Inquisitor’s neck…from the right.  With perfect timing, the Sith Lord’s lightsaber fell from lifeless fingers, the red blade extinguishing as the weapon closed down.  As Cir-Lan’s blade took her opponent’s head, the last look upon the Sith Lord’s face was a mixture of bewilderment, pain, and fear.  However, once again Cir-Lan was moving, flowing from one kata to another as she was confronted by another wave of Sith.

Very quickly she lost time, deep within the battle-void that most blademasters enshrouded themselves in.  Countless Sith faced her only to fall.  And still she continued to fight.

Inadvertently, thoughts of Rikard preoccupied her mind as she waded through the Brotherhood.  Unsurprising really; she had always had a particularly strong connection to her twin…although the events of the day had distracted her from focusing upon the small knot of emotions in the back of her head that was her brother. 

As if to underscore that fact, Cir-Lan instinctively ducked, the red blade of a Sith Assassin barely missing the mark: instead of slicing through her spine, the lightsaber only scored her cuirass but did not penetrate.  She recovered in a second, dispatching the Assassin in little more than a minute.  She admonished herself: no more distractions.  As a result, she ignored her connection to her brother, at least while there were Sith to fight.

Sometime during the evening, she became aware that Sulen had joined her, the two women intuitively fighting as a pair.  They exchanged no words but fell into a familiar partnership that they’d developed during the long years of fighting together.  At one point they became surrounded, fighting back-to-back as they repulsed wave after wave…

…Until they noticed that there were no more of the Brotherhood around.  Well, none standing.  However, littering the ground around them were dozens of Sith bodies testament to the women’s lightsaber skills.  Breathing heavily, Cir-Lan closed down her weapon, her shoulders aching from exertion.

“Su…thank the Maker.” She smiled at the taller woman.  “I don’t think that I could’ve stood against that last horde…” She suddenly squinted, hyperaware of her own tousled hair and dirt-soaked face.  Somehow, Sulen looked immaculate with the lone exception of a single carbon-scored dent in her armor.  She even looked as if she had had time to reapply lipstick!  “OK Su…how do you do that?”

Sulen grinned, running her hand through her jet-black straight hair.  In her other hand, Su’s silver lightsaber hummed quietly, persistently…almost as if it hungered for more Sith blood.  “Sorry Cir-Lan, like I told your brother: Arbiter’s secret.” She winked an almond-shaped eye.  Still: she kept a diligent gaze that continued to scan the fumaroles, the thickening clouds of steam reflecting less and less of the red blades of Sith lightsabers.

Both women looked around as more and more Jedi gathered.  One and all they were exhausted, drained…yet triumphant.  And they knew: the Sith had lost, and more than just the Sixth Battle of Ruusan.

With this decisive victory, the Army of Light had won the war…or as good as, Cir-Lan thought.  The fact that the Dark One (and the diminished remainder of his army) had escaped was a minor detail to her.  As far as she was concerned, the end of the war was all but a foregone conclusion now.  “Thank the Maker it’s over.” Cir-Lan whispered, voicing her thoughts.

“No…” Sulen’s hard voice pierced the miasma, dark eyes falling upon the Vhal’Dan battlemaster, her still-ignited lightsaber punctuating her admonition as the silver blade cast pale shadows across her face.  “No it’s not.”

               <<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/KXk3KXd/wp3608615.jpg) (https://ibb.co/KXk3KXd)

Rikard couldn’t believe his ears.  “…Me?  A—your apprentice?!” The Vhal’Dan Kage couldn’t hide the shock he felt.  “Why?” He asked incredulously.  His thoughts felt…thick was the word that came to mind.  For a moment, he thought he even saw his twin sister in his mind…

“You embody everything the Dark Side—and therefore the Sith—stands for: you fight for victory, using your passion.  Passion that gives you strength, strength which confers unto you power.  Power over others.  Power over yourself.  Such power…” Bane’s eyes stared off into the horizon as if seeing the future of things to come.  “…Such power will set you free.”

Rikard blinked, his head feeling heavy, his thoughts…sluggish.  His body—exhausted from hours of fighting—felt an odd juxtaposition of vigor and numbness.  Meanwhile, Bane’s words echoed through his mind.  After all, wasn’t that the reason that he’d struggled to become Kage? 

Rikard felt something tug on his memories, as if being orchestrated from beyond.  Scenes of the Clans fighting against the Jedi, themselves… Again, Cir-Lan’s face raced through his mind… The Jedi forbidding the Clans entry, denouncing them as apostates…marginalized by an Order that forbade personal attachments…attacked by a Republic that had turned their backs upon the Vhal’Dan.  At least until such a time that that same Republic—desperate and pleading—implored upon the Clans to help stop the inexorable Sith tide as the Brotherhood won victory after victory, entire systems falling under the Dark One’s sway.

Rikard closed his eyes, mind numb…slow.  It was during this time that he’d proven his aptitude as a leader among the Clan chiefs…he hadn’t taken power as a means for himself…he wanted to protect…no, save the Vhal’Dan—

Damn you, Sarll… Came the thought, unbidden, flared rage burning away some of the lethargy—

—And in doing so he’d also come to believe in that same Republic…and the Jedi Order.  His eyes lost focus again.  They’d promised Rikard that the Vhal’Dan would finally be awarded their rightful seats on the Council…but…

…But Rikard knew that it would never be enough.  Again, Rik’s anger cut through the much of the fog…but not enough.  Cir-Lan’s face disappeared into the ether of his memories… Too much dissension, too many dissidents like Sarll…or too many venal and obstructive bureaucrats—like Jedi Master (and later Supreme Chancellor) Genarra—would always get in the way of true progress…of victory—

—Rikard’s head swam in the cloud of betrayal and conviction that he felt rising from within—

Bane stood before him, his yellow eyes intense, eyes penetrating…

—It became immediately evident as to what Rikard need do as his anger fused with his intent: for the good of the Vhal’Dan as well as the fate of the galaxy…

Bane’s smile widened knowingly as he peered into Rikard’s clouded eyes.

…Yes, Rik knew beyond any doubt that the best way to save the galaxy and the Vhal’Dan was to first ensure that it was he, Rikard, that would protect them all from upon high, his rule expunging the Brotherhood to secure peace while further purging the corrupt Republic of the rot that infected it from within.

And all because of his master’s tutelage, Darth Bane.

Bane’s face radiated shrewd triumph.  “Yes, yes…” His deep voice intoned exultantly.  “…My apprentice.”  His arm raised above Rikard’s head as if to give the shorter man a benediction.  “Bow before me.”

Rikard was already halfway down towards the ground when he paused.  Something…something tickled his mind…something…something was…unclear.  No, not unclear…elusive(?)…no, not that either…something…was… Cir-Lan…screaming at him…something…why couldn’t he hear her?  She had…tears in her eyes…something…

Rikard’s gaze suddenly regained clarity, his eyes intent upon the man towering over him.  Everything about him exuded power.  But…but wasn’t that what Rik had wanted in his allies?  Again, his mind felt sluggish.  Of course, that was it.  That was why he’d surrounded himself with the people that he had: from his twin sister to Sulen, from Galen to Slo’Ma, Rik had known that such people made him stronger.  In fact, that was the exact reason that he’d included Sarll amongst his generals.  The Cathar may not always see eye-to-eye with Rik but he was…powerful…

…Sarll…

Rikard mentally shook his head.  Suddenly, Cir-Lan’s, Sulen’s, and Sarll’s faces filled his head.  Power…no, that was not Rikard’s motivation.  Neither was that the reason that those around him—his family, friends, and allies—fought with him.  He…they fought for the freedom of the galaxy.  Even a political enemy like Sarll fought alongside him…both masters having saved the other’s life in this war.  The fog lifted as the irony of the moment struck Rikard: once again, Sarll had saved him.

But Rikard continued his motion, bending the knee before the Sith Lord in front of him, seemingly oblivious of the change in Rik’s mood.  …Damned Mind Trick… Rikard berated himself while simultaneously amazed at Bane’s command of the Dark Side.  Bane’s Mind Trick was unlike any that Rikard had ever experienced: extremely powerful but…subtle, delicate even.  If such was testament to the Sith Lord’s power…Rikard knew that he was in trouble.  However, he gave away nothing as he bowed his head while replying, “What is your bidding, Master?”

Bane’s lips twisted into an arrogant smile, his eyes gazing favorably upon the man bowing before him in supplication.  Or so he thought.  Just as Bane opened his mouth to speak, Rikard exploded in motion, his twin green blades spinning through the air intent on taking the taller man’s head.

Rikard’s teeth gritted as he put forth every ounce of his strength into fortifying his muscles, agility, and reflexes, wrapping himself fully within the Force.  He was faster than a nexu, faster than the winds on Bespin… There was no way an opponent could defend against him; any other being would have been insufficient the task, being one head shorter as a result.

Not Bane.

Even though surprised, the large human Sith was still able to somehow dodge away from Rikard’s attack, his reflexes preternatural in their speed and acuity.  Instead of taking Bane’s head, Rik’s saberstaff arced through air where he’d been a split-second prior.  And while the green plasma managed to singe the black gorget protecting Bane’s neck, the Sith Lord was otherwise untouched.

Shocked, Rikard paused as Bane threw him a murderous look.  …How in the Maker-damned hell did I miss…? He thought.

Slowly, Bane raised his now ignited lightsaber, the red blade humming loudly as if feeding off his rage.  “That…” he intoned deliberately, “…was a mistake, one of the last that you shall ever make, Rikard Macias.”

“My biggest mistake was not killing you immediately.” Rikard taunted, trying to buy time.  He could feel Bane drawing the Force around him, almost as if the Dark Side itself began to surround the Sith.  Even if Rikard had not been exhausted, he knew that Bane was more powerful than him.  As it stood now…he knew he had no chance.

As if reading his mind, Bane scowled while giving an almost imperceptible nod.  “No, Rikard Macias.  Your greatest mistake is your hubris.”  With a flourish, Bane held his lightsaber at high guard.  “Now you die.”

And with that, he attacked.


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: Karmack on August 09, 2019, 02:17:14 PM
Okay, here it comes....    Rik vs Bane.   To the death?   I await with baited breath...


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: Lord_S_Gray on August 10, 2019, 03:29:49 AM
Every chapter of this series shows the intensity - ferocity of the war on Ruusan and in turn the battle sharpened prowess of every member of the Vahl'dan - Saril, Rickard, Silent now Cir-lan - there is a ruthlessness and grim experience in all of them far more than even the Vhal'dan as they appear in Schisms or later born of this ceaseless war - and every chapter Dutch you show this over and over how the war is almost all they are and they have become experts in it. I could easily see Saril taking on Jarys or Cir-lan Kiraea in a way the next generations of Vhal'dan could not because of this difference in attitude where their whole order is still being formed in a crucible of war and it's future clashing with recent clan past in every one of them - the very clash Bane sought to use and nearly won, Rickard might say there was some mind trick...and there probably was, but 90 per cent of that struggle was all him.


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: TheDutchman on November 21, 2019, 10:14:35 PM
Special thanks to PsychoSith for yet another incredible saber pic!  This chapter is dedicated to him  :)
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(https://thumb.ibb.co/j0cL39/kotet-teaser-1024x576.jpg) (https://ibb.co/j0cL39)
Chapter 8: Disharmony In the Force, Part I

As the large figure of a man emerged from the obfuscating fog along the fumarole valley, he was surrounded by dozens of Jedi, many of them Singers.  One in particular was of a height with him if nowhere nearly as wide although—like all of their comrades—they wore matching sets of power armor.  But it was clearly evident to everyone that the big man was the one in charge. 

Opposite his entourage were two groups of Jedi, the nearest one led by two tall disparate women—one with copper skin and jet-black hair, the other pale and blonde—both of whom converged to join him.  Like the first group they were all armored, each person even now scrutinizing their stark surroundings.  Almost one and all, they still held ignited lightsabers ready in their hands.

The last group, the smallest, had obviously just come from the front lines: their armor was dented, carbon scored, some were missing pieces entirely, their faces one and all drawn, dirty, and exhausted.  Like the first group, they wore the same armor…with one seemingly insignificant difference: a small device hidden in plain sight, an Aurebeshi clef.  Fitting, as it represented the Mak’Tor Cantors.  And at the head of the Cantors was their leader, Director To’Lon’Al’Brem.

“Sulen, Cir-Lan.  Glad to see you both.  Director, good work on the line.” Ga’Lan’Chillum’s deep voice seemed to rumble from the ground, the miasma of thick steam unable to mute the enormous man’s bass speaking vibrato.  He gently yet absentmindedly brushed a stray hair from his forehead with his free hand.  In his other he held his saber, the blade humming and pulsing ever so subtly.  And much like him his weapon belied just how dangerous it really was.  Even in the thickest fog the orange-bladed saber seemed to glow preternaturally.  And for good reason as it beheld a marvel: instead of a normal kyber crystal, Galan’s saber was powered by a rare Dantari crystal, one that allowed the Mak’Tor Kage to channel Force energies spent in battle into his own potent battle Songs.  Taken in conjunction with his incredible Singing talent, Galan’s Songs were a force unto themselves to be reckoned with.

As the Brotherhood had witnessed ad nauseum.  At one point Galan had come across the Dark One’s lieutenant: the Sith Lord Kopecz.  While the Twi’Leki Darksider was stronger, Galan was more skilled.  It was only by the intervention of a contingent of Sith Juggernauts that Kopecz had emerged alive…only to flee in terror of the Mak’Tor Kage.  As Galan had attempted to follow he was continually thwarted by each of the Juggernauts, only to have them fall one by one under his orange blade, the Song he subvocalized supplementing his prowess.  By the time the final Juggernaut lay dead at his feet, Kopecz was long gone.  But there were other Sith to fight.

Galan smiled mirthlessly.  There were always more Sith to fight.

So imagine his surprise when he found himself suddenly surrounded by a battalion consisting of his Singers and the Vhal’Dan Forcesages.  Looking around, he’d noticed that there were only a handful of red blades still in motion and even those were steadily getting fewer.  Soon afterwards, he spied Cir-Lan and Sulen.

“By the Maker it’s good to see you Lord Chillum…” Cir-Lan’s tight voice sounded as exhausted as she looked.

“It seems that the Brotherhood is pulling back, thanks to you my lord.” Sulen nodded in deference to Galen, the Vhal’Dan Arbiter looking decidedly…clean, he thought.  Saluting Director Al’Brem as she came to stand by the Mak’Tor Kage, the tall woman’s eyes locked onto his.  “Forgive me my lord, have you seen Rikard?”

Galan squinted in worry.  “Sorry Sulen, I’ve not seen Lord Macias since last the Cataphract’s stand in the Blood Valley…” Galan had overheard some of the other Jedi referring to the fumaroles within the basin as such.  It was an appropriate moniker.  “…But last I heard, he was with General Båz Rhadde.”  Again he absently brushed some stray hair from his brow, the man’s face as hard as the surrounding rock strata.

“Thank you my lord.” Sulen nodded again, her silver blade casting shadows across her face that did little to hide the worry that she clearly felt.  And like that, she seemed to sag in her armor, the possessed aura around her giving way to tiredness.  Yet still she stood upon her feet, if swaying a little.  Suddenly, Cir-Lan was there next to her as Sulen draped an arm over the tall woman’s shoulder.  Gratefully, the dark haired Arbiter smiled as she leaned against her companion, the two women appearing to have a mix of black and blonde hair as they put their heads together.

Galan could empathize; he’d seen many of his own Mak’Tor Singers fall to the ground consumed by exhaustion as they obstinately refused to quit with their Battle Songs.  And it had been worse for the Cantors: from what Galan had personally seen, almost every Cantor had refused to quit in order to propagate the Army of Light’s Songs and Force abilities…even as they died as a result.  Glancing at Director Al’Brem, the Kage was amazed that the smaller man was still standing.  Even now, Galan could feel the Cantors’ propagation with the Mak’Tor Healing Songs.  But weaker than before.  …So few left… He thought as he counted—and recounted—those left standing.  Where before there had been hundreds, now…

…Now there were only a few dozen.  Galan prayed a silent litany to the Maker imploring upon Him to welcome those whom had fallen for their sisters and brothers, for the entire galaxy…

But their sacrifice had not been in vain.  The Brotherhood had been crushed, the remaining Sith Lords in full retreat into the mountainous caves at the other end of the fumaroles.  Already there was talk of pursuit…but Galan had silenced that, at least for now.  Their own people needed tending to, rest and Healing to be administered, to save those that could be saved…

Galan looked around at all of the bodies strewn about the ground, many of them wearing the armor of the Army of Light…too many of them in Galan’s estimation.  And while he promised that the dead would be given their due, he knew that they were beyond such concerns now.  Besides, he had promised to take care of the living first.  Speaking of which…

“Excuse me, To’Lon,” He said to the Cantor Director.  “Cir-Lan, Sulen…if I may?” He offered.  Both women gave small nods but their faces were a mirror of the other full of appreciation.  Drawing the energies from the crystal within his saber, Galan Sang a complex Healing motif, one designed to comfort as well as invigorate.  Even amongst the Mak’Tor, it was a rare ability but it was one in which Galan was a master.  In moments, both women stood unaided, tall and rejuvenated.

“By the Maker Galan, thank you.” Cir-Lan stretched, renewed.  Almost simultaneously, Sulen’s own response followed, if softer.

“Much obliged, my lord.” Sulen looked stately, her distinguished appearance once again in evidence for all to notice.  Her black hair even seemed to emit its own glow within the fumarole’s miasma of smoke and fog.  Cir-Lan took one look at Sulen, a playful grin breaking out upon her face.

“Remind me not to stand next to you, Su.  You make merely ‘gorgeous’ women look like Hutts.” She mockingly chided.  She gave Sulen a quick hug to take away any sting from her words.  The Vhal’Dan Arbiter was all dignity…except for the wicked smile that slowly spread as Cir-Lan continued.  “One day you’ll have to teach me your secret.”

Galan smiled at the interplay between the two friends, his own worry assuaged by the normalness of the situation.  However, he could feel a tightness at the corner of his eyes, the ghost of a promised migraine beginning to irritate his brow.  It was a warning sign, one of which he was intimately aware of: he’d been Singing for almost the entire day and his body was paying the dividends of his exertions.  He’d been so worried about others… He needed rest and he needed A LOT of it and soon.

He turned to the Mak’Tor adjutant at his right.  “Slo’Ma, get word to Lord Hoth.  Inform him that we’ve routed the Brotherhood and that the remaining Sith have all retreated to the caves past the Blood Valley.”  And even though his eyes hardened, Galan’s voice remained clear and professional.  “And please convey my condolences as I regret to have to report the death of General Charney Kiel.”

“Understood, Kage.”  Slo’Ma bowed, moving off into the obfuscating fog while taking about half of the Singers with him.  As he moved away Galan saw the Vhal’Dan Forcesages approach Cir-Lan and Sulen.  A short, broad Forcesage suddenly came up to the taller Arbiter and enveloped her in his thick arms.  Although he didn’t know Sulen’s husband Master Gray Dyrald Reu Lai except by reputation, Galan couldn’t help but smile at the two of them.  …That’s why we fight… He reminded himself as the lament of those dead and dying gave rise to his own questions.

“Kage…” To’Lon’s voice was hoarse.  Unsurprisingly as he’d been Singing the whole day and most of the night.  “With your permission, I’d like to withdraw back to the *FOB.” His face was a grim mask of determination.  Galan could empathize.

“Granted, Director.” But before the shorter man departed, the Mak’Tor Kage gently grabbed his arm.  “To’Lon…the galaxy owes the Cantors a debt of gratitude, one that I will do everything in my power to repay.”  To’Lon seemed for a moment as if he was going to say something, thought better of it, and instead slowly nodded.

“It is our duty, Kage.  Please, I beg leave of you.”  When Galan nodded, a tight smile upon his lips, To’Lon and his retinue quietly disappeared into the night, the smoky air enveloping them almost as soon as they departed.

Even though he was still surrounded by Jedi, Galan was left feeling alone.  Diminished.  He had to remind himself that such was the by-product of the Cantor’s powers.  …Thank the Maker that they’re on our side… The thought came unbidden but one that, once he’d admitted it to himself, he couldn’t stop considering.  Just what would have happened if the Brotherhood had had such a weapon at their disposal?  He suppressed a shiver.  Hopefully that was one concern that he would never have to contend with.

Before Galan could further command his Singers, he heard Cir-Lan shriek loudly and grab her head with both of her hands.  Echoing eerily within the fumarole canyons, it reminded him of the Mak’Tor shadow-wight of legend.

Being closest, Galan ran to the blond woman as she wordlessly shouted, her eyes shut tight against some terrible vision that she alone could see.  Tentatively, he placed a big hand upon her shoulder.  “Cir-Lan are you unwell?”

Looking up to the large Kage, Cir-Lan’s eyes opened, the red sclera of her eyes in stark contrast to her green irises…yet there were no tears that Galan could see.  “…it…it’s Rik…” Her quiet voice came through clenched teeth.  “…he’s in trouble…we…we need to find him…”  For as pained as her voice was, Galan could sense nothing amiss with her physically.  But he knew that she shared a strong bond with her twin brother.

He acted.

“Gather the Jedi, sweep out and find Lord Macias.”  Looking over Cir-Lan’s head, Galan turned his attention to the Vhal’Dan Arbiter.  “Sulen, help me please.” Gently he had the blond woman sit on a small boulder.  “Don’t worry, Cir-Lan, we’ll find Rik.” He reassured her.

But even as Cir-Lan sat, she slowly shook her head, her eyes once again welded shut.  “…no…no…” She kept quietly repeating over and over, a haunting hopelessness evident in her voice.

               <<<<< >>>>>



Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: TheDutchman on November 21, 2019, 10:15:31 PM
(https://i.ibb.co/yVmHhgP/Lo31Dkj.jpg) (https://ibb.co/yVmHhgP)
Chapter 8: Disharmony In the Force, Part II

…Dammit, no…! Rikard wordlessly cursed as he once again prevented Bane from decapitating him.  Gritting his teeth, the Vhal’Dan Kage pushed hard against the Sith Lord’s red blade, his saberstaff twirling furiously as he lost ground against the bigger man.  Meanwhile, Bane continued taunting him, his deep voice dripping condescension and revulsion.

“You are a fool, Rikard Macias.  Hoth will die.  Chillum will die. Farfalla will die.  The Jedi Order will be annihilated.  And the galaxy shall belong to the Sith.” His saber slammed against Rik’s, the crimson red blade stopping mere centimeters from his face.  Supplementing his strength with the Force, Rik deflected the red blade, spinning his own saberstaff to buy what precious time that he could, desperate to find a means to escape…

…Of which there was none.  “No, Rikard Macias.  You shall not flee from me.  I am Death.  I am inevitable.”  Bane’s voice was tauntingly aggressive, his tone certain, his power irrefutable.  But the Sith Lord was not bragging.  Or at least, not only; Rikard had heard of a Dark Side power, one that would discourage, dismay, and distract.  Clearly, Bane was a master of it.

Dun Möch.

“For every second that you deny me, I shall revisit upon yours tenfold; for every strike that you thwart, I shall redouble my offensive; and for every reprisal you have the temerity to sully upon me, I shall find those closest to you and kill them with impunity.  But I shall not be merciful nor swift in my vengeance; no, I shall savor their screams of agony, their pleas of woe, their pitiful cries of clemency for I shall have none, none whatsoever.”  Bane’s saber seemed to be in five places at once, his powerful offensive testament to his superior skill.  Rikard soon had no fewer than half a dozen burns, most minor but he’d lost the last two fingers on his left hand, vaporized by the Sith Lord’s red lightsaber.  And still Bane goaded.  “Only after I’ve taken everything from them—their eyes, ears, tongue, nose, limbs—only then when they are nothing more than sacks of flesh, rolling in their own excrement…and I’ve lost interest… Only then will I permit them to die.”  Rikard was barely able to get his blade up between him and Bane’s executioner swing.  “But I will let them die as a casualty of nature: either by starvation, thirst, or even the elements.  And I promise you this, Rikard Macias: they will one and all die old.”  The rictus grin that spread across Bane’s face was terrible to behold, mirroring the promised horrors of those that Rikard loved most…

“No!” He yelled, a wellspring of determination strengthening him, renewed vitality spreading throughout his body.  No longer exhausted, Rikard fought furiously, surprise and even alarm evident upon Bane’s face as the Vhal’Dan Kage drove back the larger man, the Sith Lord now on the defensive.  The twin blades of Rik’s saberstaff created a green-white cloud that shielded him from everything that Bane threw at him.  Red-hot fury contorted Rikard’s face as he drove his opponent back further, his retreat within the fumarole canyon flanked by several twisted trees, their bent limbs seeming to welcome the two men.

And with eye-defying speed, Rikard struck Bane a mighty blow across his thigh.  Had he not been wearing armor, Bane would’ve lost his leg.  But distracted by pain, Bane had lost the initiative; Rikard pressed on sweeping the taller man’s legs out from under him.  On his recovery, Rikard’s right hand connected with a sickening crunch to Bane’s face, breaking his nose.  As blood poured forth, Bane was momentarily blinded.

Rikard raised his saberstaff intent on impaling Bane, the point of his green blade aimed right at the Sith Lord’s heart.

Suddenly, something heavy doubled Rikard over.  Winded, he had enough time to see Bane’s enormous fist coming at his face.  The punch caused two things to happen: first, Rikard’s orbital bone shattered, his face beginning to swell almost immediately.  Then second: Rikard was sent flying bodily to the side coming to rest at the base of one of the leafless trees.  Trying hard to clear the cobwebs from his mind, Rikard directed Healing flows into himself while trying to rise.  Incredibly, he saw that Bane was already on his feet, his saber held out in front of him while his yellow eyes starred hatred at the Vhal’Dan Kage.

“That…was a mistake.  Before I was going to simply kill you.  Now: I shall make you suffer.  And before you die be assured that I shall make it my mission in this life to cause as much pain to those you love, not as a means to merely hurt them.  No, rather to wound you, to ruin that which you hold so dear…even from beyond the grave.”  He glanced meaningfully at the saber he held in his hand, the exquisite emitter seemingly surrounded by arcs of red lightning, as if empowered by the Dark Side itself.  “This is my Word.  And by my Word what little life I permit you shall be in horrendous torment.”  Bane grabbed the hilt by both hands, giving a flourish with the lightsaber, immediately followed by several intricate sword katas.

And like the fool that he was, Rikard stood mouth agape at the admittedly impressive display.  His attention fixed upon Bane, Rikard didn’t react until too late to the multiple missiles that Bane had ripped from the canyon walls to inundate the smaller man with.  Several rocks the size of a fist clouted Rikard as he frantically spun his saberstaff in an effort to block them.

But then, Bane was upon him.

In direct contrast to his earlier behavior, Bane’s silence was terrifying.  But that wasn’t the worst of it.  If the Sith Lord had been masterful before with his saberwork, he was preternatural now.  And all the while that Bane’s lightsaber swung, blocked, cut, he now supplemented his offensive with his powerful telekinesis.  And—whenever he could—Bane would clout Rikard with kicks and punches.

In short time, Rikard was bloodied and wounded, his defenses faltering as the Sith Lord pressed his advantage.  Rik knew that he had but one chance: he had to end this and quick.  Using the Force to dissipate the Phantasm that Bane was using to assault his eyes, Rikard did the unorthodox: using his saberstaff as focal point, he suddenly sent green electricity arcing up along the blade, several errant bolts striking him as a result.  This was what made this form of Electric Judgment so unpredictable: without proper time to prepare, the arcing bolts would often strike both opponents.  But, as Rik had to admit, he was desperate.

The results were amazing.  And gratifying.

Rik saw Bane succumb to the lightning, the energy obscuring his face as the majority of the bolts hit Bane all along his head, shoulders, and torso.  Rik gave a tight, mirthless smile.  He wished that he could see Bane’s face as he spit out, “I am inevita—”

Searing pain erupted in both of Rikard’s forearms, quickly followed by a teeth-shattering blow to his face.  He felt another quick succession of white-hot cuts as Bane’s blade cut into his shoulder, leg, and neck.  And quicker than thought, Bane kicked out, his heel connecting with Rikard’s hip, his pelvis shattering.  No longer properly supported, Rikard fell, turning as he did so.  A burning pain lanced up his back as Bane’s lightsaber cut into Rik’s spine, shallow at first but then deeper where the blade half vaporized, half cauterized his left lung.  Rikard felt several other telekinetic blows land before hitting the ground, hard.  Another brutal kick to his abdomen caused Rik to grunt in pain as almost every one of his ribs fractured in several place.  And after what seemed an eternity, Bane stepped back as if he were a sculptor admiring a newly-finished piece.

Breathing raggedly, Rikard spit out blood and pieces of teeth while fighting hard against the oblivion of unconsciousness.  Clouded, his mind sluggishly tried to replay the last few seconds of events.  …What in the Maker-damned hell…?  He impotently wondered.  Trying to focus his ruptured eyes, Rik was finally able to identify the pain in his forearms and hands.  Or rather, where his hands had been.

Now, both arms ended in cauterized stumps just below the wrist.  With only his eyes (moving anything else would produce a painful reminder not to do so), Rik could see that both of his femurs had been broken in multiple places.  He was missing the toes of his left foot and both of his arms were bent at odd angles.  And while he could not see his own face, he knew that almost all of his teeth were shattered if not altogether gone.  From the corner of his eye, he almost detachedly noticed that his ear was hanging off of the side of his face.  And that was only what he could see.

How he felt was much, much worse.

And looming above him, looking every centimeter like the visage of Death, was Bane.  “I told you Rikard Macias.”  But for the look of utter contempt, the Sith Lord’s face was completely impassive, although he had some electric burns along his cheek and scalp (though nowhere near as intense as Rikard had expected).  As if reading his mind, Bane smiled.  “Your pathetic attempts at Lightning are laughable.  Perhaps given time, I could’ve instructed you in the true power of what you attempted.  But I digress.”  He raised his lightsaber, the black metal weapon that he’d named.  “Darth Bane always honors his Word.”

Rikard’s world flashed red, orange, then gray, and finally black.

*************************
*FOB: Forward Operating Base


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: Karmack on November 21, 2019, 10:40:08 PM
oh...    That's bad.

What a brutal end.  I wouldn't expect much less from Bane, considering what he's ABOUT to do, but that's just so.....

Ouch.



Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: PsychoSith on November 22, 2019, 02:04:35 PM
Eesh. Grotesque, intimidating, and frightening. Well done!


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: Karmack on November 22, 2019, 03:33:38 PM
Eesh. Grotesque, intimidating, and frightening. Well done!

Dittos!

LOL   I was just thinking, Dutchman, how we both have been told we're hard on our Jedi. But this takes it to a new level!     Again I say: OUCH!


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: TheDutchman on November 22, 2019, 04:53:44 PM
Eesh. Grotesque, intimidating, and frightening. Well done!
Dittos!
Thanks my friends  :)

I have to extend yet again my thanks to PsychoSith for his awesome picture!  As soon as I saw it, the scene with Bane just popped into my head (actually dispelling a bit of Writer's Block that I'd been suffering for "Storms"  :D)

As I've said before: I absolutely LOVE being able to collaborate with the friends I've made here in the Forums!  And PS is no different; rather, allow me to stipulate: PS's creative submissions are of the visual medium vs. those of the literary submissions of my fellow authors.  But how inspiring they all are!  To wit: I would have NEVER thought of something as incredible as "The Gray & the Unchained" yet LSG and Karm REALLY created these wonderful narratives that helped me out!  Well, so too did PS with his sabers, especially the "Beskar Breaker" and the "Word of the Sith."  I say now that unequivocally BOTH of these inspired me to flesh out details for the scenes in question: I had the idea of the Vhal'Dan Cataphracts as heavy infantry and the Beskar Breaker just fit that role like a glove.  So too with the Word of the Sith; as soon as I saw it, I KNEW that Bane had to wield it! 

Anyhow, just a bit of the method behind the madness  ;)

LOL   I was just thinking, Dutchman, how we both have been told we're hard on our Jedi. But this takes it to a new level!     Again I say: OUCH!
Heh, yeah...about that. 

First off: Bane has been established as ONE BAD@$$ MF, so I could not in good conscious have Rikard best him.  As I wrote: even had Rikard been at his best, he STILL would've lost.  But moreover, Rikard's utter beating at Bane's hand (and Word  ;)) DOES have a literary purpose: basically Rikard HAD to be [REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED] or it presents a problem for the upcoming chapters!

See?

 ;)


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: Karmack on November 22, 2019, 05:48:49 PM
LOL

Clear as mud!   :-)


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: Lord_S_Gray on November 26, 2019, 11:24:46 PM
Brutal and vicious on all fronts as this whole story has been, unrelenting in every way as a war between Jedi and Sith ought to be. the I am Inevitable reminded me of Thanos in Avengers, a similar determination and merciless streak to their characters, as well as imposing size and physical prowess. No matter what success the Mak'Tor just had, the price was high with the Cantors, they are bleeding each other white, and with Rikards loss too, i doubt that day will be seen as a 'victory' in any sense. Looking forward to how this plays out with he already fracturing Vahl Dan political situation.


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: TheDutchman on December 07, 2019, 10:06:09 PM
(https://i.ibb.co/YQzC6GY/1a6e61f21d619401604dddf9c9546267b3f5bc9e-hq.jpg) (https://ibb.co/YQzC6GY)
Chapter 9: Blood Brothers

As he stepped into the clearing where the Army of Light had bivouacked their forward operating base, To’Lon took notice of the mood that pervaded the camp: overall, it was celebratory.  Word had spread from the front lines that the Brotherhood had been crushed, that the Dark One himself had thrown down his lightsaber in retreat.  Jedi in clean, undented armor laughed while others loudly proclaimed “The war is over!”  To’Lon had to suddenly sidestep a speederbike, one ridden by a very young looking Padawan.  Without so much as a backwards glance—much less any apology—the Padawan sped on, yelling a wordless cry of victory.

…Fools…Maker-damned fools… He thought.  To’Lon knew that these were the newest reinforcements, those that had never seen combat.  And now, it seemed like they never would…

…Or at least that’s what almost everyone was saying.  But he knew better.  He…and the Cantors.  Oh, there were others who were not celebrating: almost every Mak’Tor Singer was all too occupied for merriment as they continued to Heal the worst of the wounded…those that could be saved.  Even with potent Healing motifs, the number of dead was staggering.  And not just for the Cantors…

As To’Lon continued walking towards the section of the base that the Cantors had made their home, he walked by a ring of surrounding Vhal’Dan Jedi.  For a moment, To’Lon stumbled; had he…had he subconsciously walked this way?  Even now, the Cantor Director wasn’t sure of the answer himself.  Mentally squaring his shoulders, To’Lon made himself look around.  He’d been so concerned about his Cantors that he’d not given a thought to any of the other Jedi that he’d fought besides…no, not “besides.”  With.

Putting one armored boot in front of the other, he stepped to the nearest Jedi, another human that didn’t respond to To’Lon’s presence.  Instead, she had the “1,000-meter stare,” one that the Director associated with one whom had been in the thickest of the fighting.  Subvocalizing a motif, To’Lon gently touched the large woman’s shoulder while he tentatively wove a calming Serenity Song about her.  Almost immediately, she turned her light brown eyes towards him, the look of gratitude evident upon her face.  Quietly she spoke, her lilting sonorous voice almost incongruous with a woman her size.  “Thank you, Director.” She intoned, unsurprisingly.

…Of course… He thought.  “You’re welcome.” He smiled.  …Dammit, what was her name…?  He wanted to pull out his hair: even though he’d spent the bulk of the day fighting next to them, To’Lon still did not know most of the names of the Vhal’Dan Cataphracts.  “Maker keep you.”  To’Lon whispered, lest he be heard by one of the other Coruscanti Jedi.  Not that he cared one way or another if they labeled him an apostate, but after the day that he’d had… Shaking his head, To’Lon knew that he had no time to waste.  The Song was clear…

…But he knew that he could spare a few, brief moments, especially for those that had stood, fought, and died besides the Cantors today.

Briefly, To’Lon turned his neck, his eyes staring straight towards where he knew that his wife and family were… Even now, they were preparing, preparing for the One.  Would it be enough?  A single tear escaped his eye, slowly rolling down his bearded cheek.  Yea, Maker hadn’t they sacrificed enough?  Surely, if anyone had earned a reprieve, it had been the Cantors.  Yet, again, the large Cataphract’s grateful face loomed large in his memory, her comfort mitigating the horrors that she’d experienced…that she’d shared by fighting alongside his Cantors without complaint or once ever giving into the fear that the Cataphracts surely had felt…felt yet buried as they worked those enormous lightsabers against the Sith…

Blinking himself back to the present, To’Lon gave himself a tight, mirthless if patient smile.  Like he said: a few, brief moments…

Spying from the corner of his eye another Cataphract, To’Lon saw a large Cathar that was missing half of his mane, burns covering his face as he writhed in agony in his tent as the medics valiantly worked, applying poly-bacta upon the worst of the injuries.  He knew that it wouldn’t be enough.  But he could help…

…At least for a few, brief moments.

Stepping into the mobile hospital, he quietly, selflessly offered his help, To’Lon already subvocalizing another Serenity motif mixed with Healing.  It was the right thing to do.  It’s what the Maker would want for him to do.

To’Lon smiled, thinking of his wife.  Yes, that was true…but more importantly, it’s what Sa’Ra would want for him to do.

And like an angle of mercy, To’Lon moved down the line to the next casualty and the next and the next…

...For a few, brief moments.

               <<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/8cDbW7t/efcc440ad2333a8398da2a1e740f17b2.jpg) (https://ibb.co/8cDbW7t)

With his Word firmly within his grip, the lightsaber an extension of him, Bane looked upon the ruined thing before him that had been Rikard Macias.  He felt no hatred, no irrational anger—only that which empowered him, strengthening his connection to the Dark Side—no pity.

He felt only finality.

That was why as Bane was about to cleave the broken man crumpled at his feet, the large human squinted, his own red blade reflected in his eyes, his senses completely alert as he felt more than saw movement.  With no time to spare, he intercepted the incoming teal blade as he adjusted to this new threat.  The being that had attacked him—a Cathar he now saw, his orange fur matted against his gray armor—was even bigger than Bane, the lightsaber gripped within his paws massive.  Yet even as his opponent struck at him, each attempt to find as opening in Bane’s defenses, the enormous two-meter long blade was already in motion with a speed that belied its size.

“Sith bastard…” The Cathar spit, his carbon-scored armor testament to the ferocity with which this Jedi fought.  He waded closer to Bane, his sharp teeth gritted as he struck again and again.  Here was an opponent that could match the Sith Lord in savagery.  Bane grinned.  He looked forward to proving to this Jedi the power of the Dark Side…

“Yes, Jedi, come at me.  Come…and drink fully from the cup of defeat that your comrade drown in and know that—like him—you shall look up upon me from my feet, victim to my supremacy.” Bane taunted, deeply wrapped in his favored Dun Möch form.  It was then that he received his first shock: instead of growing angry or frightened, the Cathar did the unexpected.

He smiled.

“‘My comrade?’  You mean that pfassk over there?” He glanced where Rikard lay.  “Frell him.  And frell you too, you Sith tralk.”  As Bane’s shock momentarily took ahold, the Cathar’s blade bit into his black vambrace, the smell of burnt flesh filling his nostrils.  Withdrawing, Bane shook his head as he recollected himself.  And none too soon as the Cathar was on him immediately.

But not before Bane had recovered.  As the Cathar struck thinking to impale him, Bane swept his lightsaber wide, blunting the Jedi’s offensive.  Like he’d done before, Bane wrapped himself in the Dark Side.  This time without any flourish, he attacked.

Hard pressed, the Cathar gave ‘way, retreating across the uneven canyon floor, the quartz within the walls reflecting their lightsabers as they struck, locked, riposted all in an effort to gain advantage.  Both would occasionally use a Force Push, or send various missiles comprising of different rocks at one another, although with less and less frequency, evidence of their exhaustion.

The Cathar’s two-meter blade suddenly crashed down upon Bane’s, stopping mere centimeters from the human’s face.  Growling wordlessly, the Cathar’s breath felt hot upon Bane’s brow as his saber slowly sunk millimeter by millimeter towards the Sith Lord, threatening to cleave his head in twain.  But right before the plasma blade touched Bane’s nose, he deliberately clamped his hands around both hilts, pushing them both towards the ground.  Caught by surprise, the Cathar was clouted across his snout by Bane’s headbutt.  Without pausing, Bane then projected a concentrated yet powerful Force Push that hit the Cathar in the solar plexus, knocking the air from his lungs as well as off his feet.  Losing his grip upon his lightsaber, the Cathar hit the ground hard.  Reacting by instinct, the Cathar rolled slightly to the side in an attempt to evade.  Instead, he roared loudly as Bane drove his red blade down with the intent to impale his opponent through his heart.  The only thing that saved the Cathar was the fact that he’d shifted to the side, so instead of striking center-mass, Bane’s lightsaber stabbed into and through his upper chest near his shoulder.  A brutal elbow crunched into the Cathar’s already broken nose, knocking him nearly insensate.  Nearly.

“Brrggh…ast..rd…” He gurgled, wheezing as a result of the collapsed lung pierced by Bane’s lightsaber.

Looking bored, Bane slowly withdrew his blade in order to prolong the Cathar’s misery.  “No, I knew my father.  But he…he definitely was a bastard.”  He grinned.  “Shall I show you what I did to him?”  Theatrically, he raised an open hand, slowly closing it into a fist.  “After he’d beaten me yet again—for the last time as it turned out—I lay awake upon my bed thinking…wishing that he was in agony, that his heart would be crushed as if in a mechanized vice…” Bane’s fingers wrapped in upon themselves while the Cathar began to cough, “…and that he would die in immeasurable pain and terror, the pure dread that he would suffer…” His gloved hand became a fist, tight and solid, as the Cathar fought for breath, choking while impotently clutching his throat and chest, “…all the while wondering just how it was that his life was slowly taken from him…” Bane held up his fist, the Cathar’s eyes bulging as his mouth spread in a silent, breathless scream, “…and when I awoke in the morning, I found my father dead, having asphyxiated, his heart crushed, just like in my dreams…my waking dreams.” Bane smiled knowingly.  “I’d always wondered what he’d thought in those last seconds…perhaps you’ll show me?”  Bane’s teeth gleamed red as if he’d drank blood, reflecting the light of his saber.  The Cathar began to gurgle in the vain attempt to draw breath.

Suddenly, something small and fast hit Bane a glancing blow across the brow of his head, the rock hitting the far canyon wall.  Blood flowed, obfuscating his right eye as the Sith, stunned, looked around the canyon for the culprit who would dare molest him…

…Fixing his eyes upon the broken body of Rikard Macias.  Propping himself painfully up on one elbow, the Vhal’Dan Kage was even now attempting to follow up on his attack.  As other rock missiles followed, Bane contemptuously batted them away using the Force as he took a step towards Rik…right into the waiting grasp of the Cathar.

Grabbing Bane’s ankle, both the Cathar and Rikard gave a mighty Force Push.  And even though Bane was able to mitigate the worst of the Push, he lost his footing, landing heavily by the Cathar.  Without waiting, the Cathar’s enormous claws raked down upon Bane’s face, further blinding the Sith.  The Cathar grabbed Bane by the throat, his paw squeezing with every kilogram of effort.  This time, it was Bane that fought to draw breath.

Quick as it began, the Sith Lord ended it: focusing, he grabbed the Cathar in a crushing Force Grip, propelling him away…a missile that hit a prone Rikard Macias bodily.  With a sickening crunch, the two bodies collided in a tangled mass of broken limbs, rent armor, and flowing blood, blood which when mixed seemed indistinguishable from the other.

Rising on unsteady feet, Bane attempted to staunch the flow of blood that threatened to completely blind him.  Assessing his injuries, Bane knew that he would have to do something and quickly for his right eye as well as the orbital bone on that side.  But aside from that, Bane only had two- or three somewhat serious lacerations, and those could wait while he killed these Jedi bastar—

Bane pulled himself upright, his body locked motionless like a statue as he focused the Dark Side to aid his hearing.  For a second, he thought he’d heard…

“Over here!” Came a piercing cry, one that even now grew in volume.  “I think they’re over here!”

Gritting his teeth, Bane took a split second to decide between his desire for vengeance…

…Or his duty towards the destiny of the Dark Side.

There never was a moment of doubt.  Turning on his heel, Bane closed down his Word, the red blade extinguishing and leaving the canyon in darkness.

Bane took comfort in that, going so far as to grin.  Indeed, eventually the entire galaxy would be consumed in darkness, slave to the Darkside and ruled by the TRUE Sith.

As Bane walked away, he reminded himself that he would inaugurate a new age for the Sith.  And he knew exactly what he needed to accomplish first for that to occur.

And as the Sith Lord strode away, the ragged breathing of the two broken Jedi stubbornly refused to cease as Rikard Macias and Sarll Båz Rhadde both clung to life.

When the Jedi led by both Ga’Lan Chillum and Cir-Lan finally found the two Vhal’Dan, they had both succumbed to deep and unwaking comas.


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: Lord_S_Gray on December 12, 2019, 12:12:03 AM
Blood Brothers...a very fitting yet ironic title for Rikard and Saril, bloodied might be more apt now though, Bane really stomped them both, yes he too some solid hits himself, but in the end one on one he had their measure, and is certainly written here very well as a merciless but ingenious warrior who combines brute power with finesses and a particular Sith philosophy.  Where to from here for the Vhal'Dan though...even the legendary singers might not be able to repair the enormity of the damage inflicted on Rikard...


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: Karmack on December 12, 2019, 10:30:21 PM
Blood Brothers...a very fitting yet ironic title for Rikard and Saril, bloodied might be more apt now though, Bane really stomped them both, yes he too some solid hits himself, but in the end one on one he had their measure, and is certainly written here very well as a merciless but ingenious warrior who combines brute power with finesses and a particular Sith philosophy.  Where to from here for the Vhal'Dan though...even the legendary singers might not be able to repair the enormity of the damage inflicted on Rikard...

Honestly, I am shocked that Rikard is still alive.  Its a testament to his strength in both body and force.  But you're right, even he may not be able to come back from that much damage.

And Bane is just IMPRESSIVE.   Ouch...


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: TheDutchman on December 16, 2019, 07:00:30 PM
(https://i.ibb.co/J2FrVmm/Hoth-negc2.jpg) (https://ibb.co/J2FrVmm)
Chapter 10: Hope Deferred

“…Even the Singers don’t know when he’ll wake up.  If he will…” Cir-Lan’s voice dripped bitterness, her eyes red from crying.  “…oh frater…” Her voice trailed off, a grimace upon her face.  Slo’Ma couldn’t tell from her demeanor if she was angry, frightened, or sad.  More likely a combination of all three.  Gently the tall Mak’Tor Jedi rubbed Cir-Lan’s shoulder, his sympathy overshadowing his own grief.  …Time for that later… He thought.  But when he turned his head to look upon the man he considered brother, he once again felt his own emotions trying to break free.

Suspended in a bacta tank, the broken body of Rikard Macias floated, his chest slowly rising and falling as he breathed…but that was all the life that Rikard had shown since being brought to the Singers, wounded and comatose.  

The Singers had tried everything, from Healing motifs to Rejuvenation compositions; even a Cantor was called in to aid with the Song potency.  And without a doubt, Rikard would have died if not for the timely intervention of them all, each Singer Tuning Rikard as best they could.  The results were extraordinary; much of the mortal damage that had been done was remarkably on the mend.  Better still: the Singers had been successful in healing the cut that Rikard had received along his spine.  However, they were still worried about a few severe contusions and deep lacerations, like the cut along Rik’s throat.   …Thank the Maker that Rik will walk again…if ever he awakens… Slo’Ma thought, poignantly echoing Cir-Lan’s worries.  

He knew that the Mak’Tor were amongst the best in the galaxy, so much so that there were numerous clinics that had been established, especially within the Rim Territories.  The Mak’Tor had become virtually synonymous with healers.

Yet despite their best efforts, the Vhal’Dan Kage remained in his coma.

“…Damned Sith…” Cir-Lan’s sullen tone cut through Slo’Ma’s ruminations.  She suddenly barked a laugh, one without any humor.  “Even that frellik Sarll regained consciousness, although it will be awhile before he’s up and walking, that much more time for him to be a threat to Rik again…”  Unshed tears shone in her eyes.  Slo’Ma felt impotent.  He worried that anything that he said would sound disingenuous.  

So the Mak’Tor Sage of Song said nothing, instead subvocalizing a Serenity motif…for all the good that it did.  Yet within that shared silence, the two of them found some comfort in their lament, both pleading to the Maker for mercy.  Meanwhile, the only response that seemed to greet them both was the clinical loneliness of the hospital.

Rubbing the shorter woman’s back, Slo’Ma sighed as they looked on in silence, the world around them all but forgotten…

               <<<<< >>>>>

“…With the remaining Sith congregated within the tunnels hidden within the mountainous terrain.  Best estimates places their strength at a couple hundred, but certainly no more.  And My Lord, the Dark One is with them.”  Sulen’s clipped tones had little to do with alacrity.  She was just as concerned about Rikard as Cir-Lan and Slo’Ma and would’ve been (and wanted to be) right there alongside of them.  But she had a job to do.

“Thank you, Arbiter.” Lord Hoth’s voice echoed within the warroom, the space absolutely bursting at the seams with the Jedi gathered there.  Those three brief words were punctuated with the rage that Hoth had carried with him since the Ruusan Campaign had begun in earnest.  Point of fact, his anger had since become almost legendary.  As Sulen scrutinized the Seneschal, she could see that such was not an embellishment: the man’s face looked as if he’d swallowed something sour while his angry eyes kept straying towards General Farfalla.  Suddenly, the room felt much, much smaller.

Speaking of, even though the building was a prefabricated structure, Lord Hoth’s headquarters had a permanence about it, testament to the longevity of the War.  And—equal proof of its import—the entire upper echelon of the Army of Light was now in attendance, most of whom were in the very room.

Nodding, Sulen gracefully took her seat, her luxurious black hair reflecting the muted light of the warroom.  Arranged around an enormous circular table, the Jedi Lords, generals, and leaders of the Army of Light sat in collective silence, still absorbing the situation report that Sulen had just finished disclosing.  Almost every face wore an identical look of triumph but for a few very exceptions: most notably General Farfalla, Jedi Lord Chillum of the Mak’Tor, and the Seneschal of Light, Lord Hoth himself.

The air within the warroom was oppressive, almost electric.  This was as a result of the thinly veiled animosity between General Farfalla and Lord Hoth himself.  They were as different as night and day: Farfalla was compassionate while Hoth was pragmatic, yet both were staunchly entrenched in their convictions, each spurred on by powerful emotions.  Still: they were incredible tacticians, both on and off the field.  And—if rumor was to be believed—they’d recently reconciled.  Although Sulen wasn’t certain, she’d heard whispers that the only reason for that was the loss of a dear friend that the two shared.  Regardless, the two Jedi would never be friends; the best that could be said is that they shared a grudging respect of one another.

Sulen took in everything, her eidetic memory recording the proceedings for posterity.  And, unless she missed her guess, this was more than just a mere “momentous occasion in time.”  

Certainly not the way that most of the Jedi were thinking of.  Sulen almost smirked; there were always short-sighted fools, many responsible for history repeating itself…

“You see?  The Brotherhood are finished!  We’ve won!” Cried one of the Coruscanti Jedi Lords, Xam Cvetkovic, inadvertently epitomizing exactly Sulen’s worries.  She glanced at him briefly before continuing her scan of the room.  Which was why she—and she alone—saw the look that passed between Lord Hoth and General Farfalla.  …They know something, something they are unwilling to share… She surmised.  Focusing on the two men, she muted the others who had begun celebrating prematurely around her.

Little details became crystal clear: the tightness in Hoth’s eyes, Farfalla’s lips thinning, both of the men were perspiring more than the temperature would account for, the subdued, almost imperceptible shared look as their eyes locked together for an instant, conversations passing between them in the span of a breath.

Sulen looked around surreptitiously…and was certain.  She was the only one to have noticed.  But what to do with such information?  Once again, she turned the volume up to listen to the congregated Jedi as they continued to congratulate each other.

That is until a deep bass voice boomed throughout the room quieting the entire assembly.  “SILENCE!”  Every eye turned towards the speaker, a man who virtually dwarfed almost every other Jedi in the room.

Jedi Lord Chillum stood from his chair his full height; he was almost as big as Wookie.  Addressing Hoth, the Mak’Tor Kage was an impressive and imposing sight especially in his war-torn armor.  “My Lord, the Brotherhood is still a threat; they are not defeated by any stretch of the imagination.  If they are allowed to escape, the Sith will continue to be a lightsaber in the galaxy’s back.  I propose that we finish them off now, en masse.  No quarter can be given; the Sith will never relent.  Never.”  The big man looked around the room, deliberately pausing to stare at Jedi Lord Cvetkovic before he began speaking again.  “The Army of Light has lost too many good Jedi to capitulate now.  I—” He emphasized, “—have lost too many of my men and women to dishonor them by taking now the path of least resistance.”  Chillum’s voice lowered, still resonating throughout the room.  “I will not let their sacrifice be in vain.”  He once again turned towards Hoth.  “My Lord, now is the time for action, for strength…otherwise those who have died will have done so to no purpose and we shall all have to answer for our mistakes and sins.”

As Lord Chillum retook his seat, silence reigned throughout the room.  And throughout the Mak’Tor Kage’s entire diatribe, neither Hoth nor Farfalla had once blinked, their faces identical masks of impassivity.  

When the Seneschal finally spoke, the anger that had seemed as much a part of him as his own skin was conspicuously absent, his tone hard yet reasonable.  “Jedi Lord Chillum, we all know of the sacrifices that you, yours, and the Vhal’Dan have suffered especially during this campaign.  We have ALL lost friends, family, and comrades.  But know: that each and every death is a tragedy, one that I keenly feel...”  His voice was suddenly full of emotion, the passion evident as his fist beat upon his cuirass, “I'm dying with every Knight…every death is a burning nail in my chest!  And the Jedi must survive…for the sake of everyone in the galaxy.”  Inhaling slowly, Lord Hoth stared straight into Chillum’s eyes.  “I concur with your assessment, Lord Chillum.  But it is for my reasons stated that I will divide the army into three: the Core Jedi will go with General Farfalla, the Rim Jedi—” what he meant were the Mak’Tor, the Vhal’Dan, and other provincials, “—will be under your command.  I shall lead the vanguard composed mostly of Coruscanti Jedi and various specialists.”

Lord Hoth turned his attention to the other Jedi Lords, giving them orders but shortly again addressed the Mak’Tor Kage.  “Lord Chillum, I task you with staying here to secure our *FOB.  Pick out a select few Singers and transfer them to my regiment.”  Lord Hoth then turned to Sulen.  “Arbiter Reu Lai, as you are now in command of the Vhal’Dan, while you are to supplement the Mak’Tor, put together a strike force and have them report to me.”  He then continued giving commands which took care of the minutiae before finally addressing the collective assembly.  “For the first time in almost 1,000 years we have the opportunity to finish the Sith. You have your assignments.  May the Force be with us all.”  Standing, Lord Hoth adjourned the congregated Jedi.  But before he left, Sulen once again saw him share a look with General Farfalla, one full of…resignation?  Regret?  She couldn’t be sure.  But she thought of a parable that Rik had once shared with her, one that had come initially from his Clan…

“Duty is heavier than a planet, death lighter than a cloud.”

Looking at Lord Hoth’s face, Sulen now knew what her Kage and friend meant when he’d told her that story…

She suddenly spied Lord Chillum’s eyes, his gaze locked onto hers.  Knowingly, she nodded; they needed to talk.  With a nod and a brief knowing look, she saw the Mak’Tor Kage gather together his retinue, talking specifically with Master Jar'es'Kinsler.  She ambled with purpose as she navigated the ocean of Jedi that exited the warroom.

First she had to speak with Ga’Lan but then…

…Then she had to see Rik.

And pray like hell that he still lived.

               <<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/PtGx52V/Zannah-first-kill.jpg) (https://ibb.co/PtGx52V)

Tears, large and wet, rolled down her cheeks, falling upon the small bulbous green-furred body of the Bouncer that she cradled in her hands.  Anything…everything that she’d tried hadn’t worked, no matter how hard she manipulated the Force.

“I…I tried…” The girl whispered, nuzzling the bouncer. “I’m so sorry, Laa.”

She hugged the Bouncer closer to her face, trying to fill her eyes, as if obscuring her vision could change things.

On the ground in front of the girl, the bodies of two Jedi lay crumpled in a heap, both of their heads twisted at unnatural angles.  And try as she might, the girl’s gaze kept creeping towards them.  Eyes filled with tears began to cry anew.  Oh, not for the two Jedi; they’d killed her friend.

No, she began crying because she had known—known!—that she could’ve done something to stop them before they’d…

Sobbing, the girl’s teeth gritted in anger.  No, not anger…rage.  Soft fur tickled her cheek, the body of the Bouncer still warm.  But she knew better.  Her friend wasn’t asleep.

Laa was dead.

…Never again…NEVER…! She promised.  And as the tears began to dry, the girl had a revelation.  …I am a killer…  There was no rebuke at this realization, only a regret…

…A regret that she hadn’t killed the Jedi sooner.

*************************
*FOB: Forward Operating Base


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: Lord_S_Gray on December 17, 2019, 12:00:12 AM
hmmm....time is running out...in a way none of the Jedi assembled in that cramped room expect, soon nothing they are focused on will matter at all...


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: Karmack on December 17, 2019, 12:33:16 AM
Nicely written.   I feel like Hoth is taking his contingent in, somehow knowing that the Sith AND the Jedi that attack them will be lost.    But maybe without seeing that Bane will escape and successfully implement his new "rule of two".   

Hmm.

Still, great passage.  LSG is right - none of them know what is coming....


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: TheDutchman on March 25, 2020, 03:16:52 AM
Special thanks to Karm for his contribution  :)  
This chapter is dedicated to both Karm and our own resident Sith Lord, Logos  ;)
****************************************************************
(https://i.ibb.co/P9Qwvxn/0e7a386dd8f35418a686a79199d3ababd79bb134-hq.jpg) (https://ibb.co/P9Qwvxn)(https://i.ibb.co/kxJDQ7r/Kaan-crazy.jpg) (https://ibb.co/kxJDQ7r)
Chapter 11: Prophecy’s Consummation

The Sith'ari will be free of limits.
The Sith'ari will lead the Sith and destroy them.
The Sith'ari will raise the Sith from death and make them stronger than before.

-Prophecy of the Sithari, Sorzus Syn


As he entered the Sith camp, Bane saw that it was comparatively empty, the remaining Sith Lords of the Brotherhood desperate, afraid, and despairing.

And, he knew, malleable…just like Kaan.

Bane almost smiled.  His plans were coming to fruition.  Just a few more details to attend to… Spying the Dark One’s tent, he strode towards it.

The Sith Lords nearest the entrance turned their gaze turned upon Bane as he entered Skere Kaan’s command bivouac, the tall human seemingly more imposing than ever.  Within, those left of Kaan’s Brotherhood were stooped in defeat, their fear radiating off of them in waves.  Good.

And there in the center was the Dark One himself.  His head wrapped to staunch the flow of blood from a particularly nasty cut, Kaan looked self-assured, outwardly projecting confidence to his followers.  But Bane was not fooled by the illusion; he could see the small man cowering behind the façade, a trapped rat who knew that he was the rancor’s next meal…

“Kaan.” Bane’s deep voice reverberated through the bivouac cutting through the voices of the crowd, all attention suddenly turned towards him.  To the Sith Lord, they were less than nothing, beneath even his contempt for them.  But for Kaan, he had different plans.  “Send them away; I would speak with you.”

While every Sith Lord present hated the tall human for his conspicuous arrogance they did nothing at all despite Bane’s terse dismissal.  Their fear of the man was much greater than their hatred.  Still they waited for the short, deliberate nod that Kaan gave them before exiting the Dark One’s tents, leaving the two men in shadowed silence.

“Come to gloat, Bane?  Let me guess: this is the will of the Dark Side, come to punish me for not listening to you.” Kaan’s disdain was evident but his voice also held a hint of madness, the cracks in his mask now more noticeable with the other Sith Lords gone.  Just as Bane had foreseen.  “We had the Jedi—had them!—I just don’t understand how…” Even as Kaan spoke, Bane could see the man’s madness twisting his mind, beginning to drag him down.  …Not yet… He thought.

“It was I that ordered Admiral Nyras to break the blockade on the Jedi fleet.” Bane admitted.  That did the trick; Kaan’s eyes immediately locked onto Bane’s, all confusion evaporating.

“You?  Why?!” Kaan adopted an intimidating posture, one that even Bane seemed to shrink from.  Fury radiated from Kaan, everything within his tent seeming to lose focus as the Dark One began to exert some semblance of self-control.  His eyes stabbed into Bane’s.

Bane slowly recovered, looking earnestly at Kaan.  “Like I told you: I have already given you the means to victory within the Dark Side.  The Jedi will not be defeated by ships or by speeders; it is only through the Force that they will fall.”  He took a half-step closer to Kaan.  “Only by the Dark Side will the Sith defeat the Jedi.”  The conviction in Bane’s voice was unfeigned, Kaan could tell.  And as for Bane’s “means,” well…Kaan’s hand inadvertently fell upon one of his cloak’s pockets.

Before the events of the Virdunne Forest, Bane had approached Kaan, having recently come from the Temple of the Ancients on Lehon where he had acquired the elusive holocron of none other than Darth Revan.  Bane had devoured its secrets, with one item of particular note that he had offered to Kaan, the same item that Kaan had secreted within his cloak’s pocket.  Bane had inscribed a ritual, one that had not been seen in millenia…

…The ritual of a Sith Thought Bomb.

“Yes…” Kaan’s words slowly left his mouth as the Dark One began to regain a measure of composure.  His eyes once again locked onto Bane’s, Kaan’s mind worked as he began to see the tides of the war turn, the Brotherhood not only victorious but his position at its head secured and incontestable.  Looking upon Bane, Kaan’s determination gave him a renewed sense of purpose…and hatred.  He knew that his Brotherhood would be better off without at least one Sith Lord…

He reached out with the Force, the familiar mastery of his Mind Trick enshrouding Bane as Kaan struck urgently against his enemy.  Yet his touch was subtle, delicate even.  As much as he despised Bane, even he knew that he could not defeat the man, at least not alone.  Kaan knew exactly what to do with this one…

“You’ve done well, Bane.  I must commend you…”  His voice adopted an almost genial tone.  “…Especially considering the danger you’ve placed yourself in…”  The tendrils of Kaan’s Mind Trick sank into Bane’s head, the Dark Side inundating the tall Sith Lord.  Bane’s eyes glazed over, his jaw slackening as the Compulsion took hold.  “…The other Sith Lords, they are afraid of you…”

“…afraid…”  Bane’s voice seemed small.

“They will never follow you…” Kaan intoned while drawing the trap of his Mind Trick closed around Bane.  “…The Brotherhood needs someone strong…someone that they’ll follow to the Maw and back…and that is not you.”  Clamping down hard upon Bane’s mind, Kaan impelled his will upon the taller man.  Bane slowly nodded, the Compulsion complete.

Squaring his shoulders, Kaan gave a small laugh.  “You will stay here at camp while I take the Brotherhood into the caves.”  He would draw the Jedi to him into a trap of his design, one that would spell the end of the Jedi…and the ascendance of his reign, his supremacy irrefutable.

His shoulders square, Kaan strode forth from his tent full of resolve, barking orders to those of the Brotherhood left to him.  They would suffice…more than, he reckoned.  And while thoughts of grandeur buoyed the Dark One, his self-assurance infectious as the remaining Sith Lords fell into step behind them, their own confidences renewed, no one paid any mind to the lone figure standing seemingly insensate and immobile within Kaan’s tent.  Had they, they would have seen the figure’s dull gaze suddenly and conspicuously turn sharp, the malevolent intelligence return as the face once again became durasteel.

This time, Bane allowed himself to smile fully.  As he divested himself of the last vestiges of the deception that he’d succumbed to Kaan’s paltry Force Compulsion, Bane couldn’t help but wonder: how could an utter fool like Kaan truly believe that his Mind Trick would work on one such as him, a true adherent of the Dark Side?  Further proof—not that he needed any—that Bane’s plans for the Dark One and his pathetic “Brotherhood” were not only necessary but proper.

Waiting for the last speederbike to fly away, Bane finally left the tent, satisfaction inundating him as he felt yet another piece of his plans—the most important, really—finally shift into place.  The Dark Side was stronger without fools like Kaan or his Brotherhood to soil the name of the Sith.  He allowed himself a moment of reflection, one in which he could finally don his just reward as a result of his actions as he implemented the path that the Dark Side required of the true Sith…

The mantle and title of Darth.  He would now be the master that the Dark Side needed…

Bane’s cheek involuntarily twitched, a reminder that not all of his plans had come to fruition.  Yes, he was master…but a master without an apprentice.  Cursing to himself, he thought again of Rikard Macias.  He’d had such high hopes…

Such a waste.

Solemnly, Bane mentally shook his head.  It did him no good to linger upon failure.  And Bane had faith in the Dark Side.  He would find his apprentice, one worthy of the mantle of Darth and who would carry out his plan to ensure the destruction of the Jedi.

Bane left the Dark One’s encampment without so much as a backwards glance, content in the knowledge that it was by his design that the Sith would achieve victory over the Jedi.

After all, he had foreseen it.

               <<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/RT0TSLk/Bactatank-negwt.jpg) (https://ibb.co/RT0TSLk)

Staring at the body floating within the bacta tank, Sulen’s face remained impassive, only the single tear sliding down her coppery cheek betrayed her emotions.  That and the sound of grinding teeth as she clenched her jaw in both frustration and foreboding.

She suddenly felt the soft touch of a gentle hand upon her shoulder.  Without looking, Sulen grabbed the hand, squeezing it affectionately.  And from her periphery, Cir-Lan came into view as she stepped beside her.  “Any change?”  Sulen’s normally staid tone cracked as yet more unshed tears threatened to escape.  

She had just come from Lord Hoth’s warroom, relaying the commands that she’d been given from the Seneschal of Light to both Cir-Lan and Slo’Ma, their reactions almost identical despite their opposing orders: both of their faces looked grim, yet determined.  Cir-Lan was to accompany Lord Hoth (as well as Sulen’s husband and a large contingent of Forcesages) for the final assault of the Brotherhood, whereas Slo’Ma was to remain at the base along with Jedi Lord Chillum as his adjutant.  Briefly giving both women a hug, Slo’Ma took a final look at his friend within the bacta tank and, after whispering a prayer, left to report to Lord Chillum.  After giving them both the particulars, Sulen had then been able to let herself focus on her Kage.

“Yes…” Cir-Lan’s tone was drowned with sorrow .  “Rik’s dying…”  Her lip quivered.  “Nothing…nothing!...is working; not the bacta, not the Singers…not even one of the Cantors…nothing…” The tall woman’s fingers stroked the transparisteel tank where Rikard floated, comatose.  “Oh, Sulen…”

The Vhal’Dan Arbiter wasn’t given to despair; she was a practical woman.  Furthermore, she knew how tough—how obstinate—Rikard was.  She’d seen him go against seemingly suicidal odds, only to somehow come out on top.  He’d been fighting most of his life, first against the Clans and later the Sith, every time with Sulen beside him.  She smiled sardonically: of course she’d heard the stories whispered in hushed tones by koawans and teidowans alike that Black Rikard would outlive the Order, cast out by the Maker absent a soul to punish those that wronged the Vhal’Dan.  

But it wasn’t real, none of that mattered.

Now Sulen did allow her tears to fall unchecked.  Rikard was dying.  He was dying and there was nothing that anyone could do to stop it.

Sulen shook her head, gritted her teeth and willed herself to stop crying.  After a moment, she took a steadying breath and hugged Cir-Lan.  “Sister…we cannot let his sacrifice be in vain.  The Brotherhood are on the run and Lord Hoth is intent on ending the Wars.  And now he can do it.  But he needs us—all of us—to do everything we can, the best that we can.”  Sulen gestured towards the man in the tank.  “Rik would tell us to do likewise.”  She lowered her head, her long, black hair falling into her face.  “We can give the galaxy peace, finally.  And that’s because of him.”  She squeezed the other woman’s hand reassuringly.

Nodding, consoled if not necessarily comforted by the Arbiter’s words, Cir-Lan exhaled.  “You’re right.”  She stepped away, reluctantly.  Before she exited the medical tents, she glanced back to Sulen over her shoulder.  “Thank you, Su.  I…”  She stopped for a moment, her eyes losing focus.  Turning, she stared intently at Rikard, slowly walking back to the tank before pressing both of her hands against its surface.  Sulen saw the woman’s lips move but no sound came forth; instead, Cir-Lan laid her head on the tank, her eyes closed.  Then, abruptly she turned, wiping her face while making conciliatory sounds before finally rushing out of the tents.

While she was unsure of what to make of what she’d seen, Sulen thought that she could understand Cir-Lan’s actions, especially considering it was her twin that was dying in front of her eyes.  Sulen’s gaze lingered on Rik, her brother not by blood but by bond.  

…Please Maker…please… She pleaded, hoping beyond hope that her prayers would be answered.  And as Sulen walked out under the night sky, she stared up at the largest of Ruusan’s moons, its full, bright disk creating shadows around her…

Shadows that mirrored those cast by her grief and loss.

               <<<<< >>>>>

Exhausted, To’Lon finally emerged from the night, having arrived at the tents he shared with his wife and family.  …It’s time… He could feel the Song, see the flows as it carried him, his family, and the Cantors towards the future.  He smiled bitterly.  He knew what needed to be done.

Spying the form laying in their shared bed, To’Lon approached his wife quietly asleep.  However, she immediately awoke by the muted sounds of his booted steps.

To'Lon ducked his head, gently bringing his wife's forehead to his own.  "Joy of my heart..." He started, then stopped as his voice failed.

"...And light of my eyes." She finished for him.  Her voice was steady, but her eyes were bright with unshed tears.  Unsurprisingly, she was already fully dressed.

To'Lon swallowed and kissed her nose before pulling her into a fierce embrace. "You are amazing, you know that?"  There was so much more that he wanted to say.

"Of course I do." Sa'Ra smiled into his neck. "You tell me all the time, don't you?"

The humor helped To'Lon get his emotions back under control and he was able to smile as they broke the embrace.  "Is it safe?"

"Yes.  Ja'Ron, Do'Lon, and M'Rey are ready to travel.  We will join the others when we leave here."  She stroked his cheek. "Are you absolutely sure..."

To'Lon caught her hand and kissed it, his eyes locked on hers.  "Yes.  The Song is clear.   It will be many, many days but eventually One who knows the Songs of old will find you.  When he comes, he will be in great need.  We must be ready to help him."

Sa'Ra nodded. "I know.  Ja'Kob the Seer has said the same thing.  We will be ready."  She pulled him into another fierce hug. "I love you..."

To'Lon said nothing, simply returning her embrace...and wetting her hair with his tears, knowing that it would be the last time he’d do so in this life.

And much like his tears and hopes, the full moon disappeared, obfuscated by the clouds as they concealed everything within the camp as well as the Cantors’ future.

               <<<<< >>>>>

Rikard was dying.

He knew it, he could feel it even though everything had been tried.

The worst part?  He’d failed.  He’d let down Cir-Lan & Sulen, Slo’Ma & Ga’Lan, Lord Hoth & General Farfalla.  He’d even failed Sarll.  Everyone who counted on him…the Vhal’Dan, the Jedi, the galaxy.

…It…it’s too much… He could feel the oppressive weight crushing him.  …Too much by far…

Bane.  Just thinking about the man made Rikard involuntarily spasm.  He wanted to tell himself it was anger but he knew, deep down, it was because Bane had hurt him.

…And…he was afraid.

Amidst a storm of hot, searing pain, fear and regret crushed down upon Rikard.  But…it was no more than what he deserved, what he had always feared about himself.

And once Bane had shown him—really shown him—what true power was, he didn’t think that he’d be able face such again.  He told himself that it was better to surrender rather than endure.

And so, ever inward, Rikard spiraled, further and further down into the blessed blackness of oblivion.


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: Lord_S_Gray on March 25, 2020, 04:23:35 AM
Always love how you write Bane he's like the unstoppable force, utterly implacable and focused. The scene with Cir'lan too, the imagery of the moon and shadows about her...
Things are moving, we know where to...but who will be there when the tsunami hits among the new characters...and what will Rikard role if any be...


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: Karmack on March 25, 2020, 07:53:09 PM
Wow.  I am always impressed by these, and I love the narrative.   Thank you for sharing.   Bane is exactly what he should be, and seeing him dupe Kaan into doing his will for him...   Yeah.   Contempt is not misplaced in this case.  :-)

We know where its all going, but the journey is rich and inviting.  Well done, Dutch!   Looking forward to the rest!


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: TheDutchman on June 13, 2020, 11:38:06 PM
(https://i.ibb.co/mH1crYR/Githany-Thought-Bomb.jpg) (https://ibb.co/mH1crYR)
Chapter 12: The Unquiet Grave

Githany ran, the growing light of the cave entrance a beacon in front of her.  Behind: the Sith Lords of the Brotherhood fought Lord Hoth’s joint forces consisting largely of Coruscanti Jedi, Vhal’Dan and Mak’Tor specialists, including almost every single Cantor still alive.  Led by Lord Hoth himself, the 100 Jedi had engulfed the remainder of the Brotherhood in savage guerilla combat.

Within the caves the two forces met.  For such a relatively small encounter compared to the most recent campaigns, the combatants seemed to make up for the lack of numbers with their ferocity.  So as the two armies clashed within the caverns, every single Jedi within the Army of Light and the remaining Sith of the Brotherhood fought with wild abandon, both sides seeing an end.  

Well, most of the Brotherhood.

A sizable contingent of Skere Kaan’s most powerful Sith Lords were right now congregated in a linked circle, their respective Dark Side energies being drawn into and focused by Kaan himself.  As he spoke the ancient Sith words, his voice gaining volume as the recitation progressed, the fighting around him intensified.

Githany’s face dripped with sweat; she willed her legs to run faster.  Panic, terror the likes of which she’d never experienced crawled up from the pit of her stomach, a hard knot sticking in the back of her throat.  She must put as much distance between herself and the Dark One, who she knew to be completely delusional in his suicidal plans for Sith victory.

So eager was Githany to escape that she had abandoned her apprentice, Davorit deep within the caves.  Even this close to the surface, she could still hear the fighting between the Sith and Jedi armies, screaming as they killed, screaming as they died.

None of it mattered.

She could feel the power of the Dark Side coalescing into Kaan, his most faithful acolytes encircling him.  She shouldn’t have been able to feel them, to see them…but such was the intensity of the power gathered here that every Forceuser on the continent could feel that something was happening, if not exactly what.  But for those that were this close—like Githany—they could see within their minds the gathered Sith Lords as they concluded the Dark One’s ritual.  

Incredibly, a large silver ovoid had formed in the center of the Sith Lords, the metallic surface like liquid mercury, black flames beginning to lick the air almost hungrily…

Githany began to cry, utter dread constricting her throat so that instead of shouting intelligible words of warning, only primal screams tore forth from her mouth.  The cave entrance was only another fifteen meters away, but it might as well have been on the other side of the galaxy.

She closed her eyes tightly, allowing her to see with perfect clarity the Force vision that assaulted her.  The Jedi had broken through the Brotherhood’s ranks, swarming the Sith Lords as they made their last stand within the caves.  Githany saw the Jedi crash through the line, individual combatants seemingly frozen in time as even the most insignificant detail was laid bare before her: a blond Vhal’Dan Jedi with a teal blade cut down two Sith Lords before engaging another, a slender Mak’Tor Jedi with a ghostly orange lightsaber taking on an entire group of Sith by himself, a bearded Cantor, his shoulders sagging under some unseen burden, his eyes haunted yet full of…acceptance?  Submission?  Or perhaps something else; for Githany, she didn’t care…

She saw as Lord Hoth himself was at the fore the vanguard, intent on confronting the Dark One himself.  His broad face beheld a mixture of resolve and resignation.  But she knew that—like herself—Hoth was too slow.  As Hoth reached for Kaan, Githany opened her eyes.  The mouth of the cave lay ten meters away.

But then she felt…it.

Like a star going supernova, the silver ovoid construct of the Thought Bomb reached critical mass, violently exploding outwards.  Everyone—be they Sith or Jedi—within the blast radius were immolated by the Dark Force energies as the shockwave expanded, annihilating anything it touched.

From the people within the caves to the long, adjacent valley, the Thought Bomb shockwave destroyed almost everything.  Even those Force-sensitives that were kilometers away were adversely affected directly proportional to their proximity to the detonation.  And their strength in the Force.

But one and all they would never forget the horror that was the Seventh Battle of Ruusan.

               <<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/hWbDv6f/commission-jade-by-davidfernandezart-d126pag.jpg) (https://ibb.co/hWbDv6f)

Cir-Lan couldn’t believe the diminished numbers of the Brotherhood even as she was attacked by three of them.  With a tight orbit, she deflected their red lightsabers, two of the Sith Lords falling upon her riposte, the last barely able to parry her teal blade.  Not that it mattered; Cir-Lan’s next attack took the Sith’s head from her body.

Before her opponent hit the ground, Cir-Lan was already wading through the Sith line.  She spied Master Gray Dyrald Reu Lai, Sulen’s husband.  The stocky human was surrounded and in danger of being overrun by a group of Sith Sorcerers.  With speed given wings thanks to the Force, Cir-Lan scythed through their flank before they could react, killing three before they’d even noticed her presence.  By that time, a couple of Vhal’Dan Forcesages had come to Dyrald’s aid, more than evening the odds.  Wordlessly, the short Gray Master nodded his thanks before once again focusing his Force powers against the Brotherhood on the Sith line.

With a moment to spare, Cir-Lan gazed ahead at Lord Hoth, watching as he smashed through the line.  Following the large Jedi Lord, Cir-Lan’s eyes locked onto the group of Sith in the distance, something reflective behind them.  Was…was that…liquid silver?  She couldn’t tell; yet when her eyes fell upon it, a surge of panic began to rise within her.  …What in the Maker-damned hell is that…? She thought.  But before she could contemplate it further, she felt a disturbance within the Force, followed by a sharp flash of blinding light.

And before Cir-Lan could react—save the widening of her eyes—the silver ovoid exploded forth in an ever-expanding wave.  …Oh, frate— She began, her thoughts on her twin brother before the Thought Bomb vaporized her completely.

And the wave expanded outwards, the killing far from over.

               <<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/xznJkxV/Qixonicrystal.jpg) (https://imgbb.com/)

Mak’Tor Jedi Master Jar'es'Kinsler focused on the next group of Sith as he slammed them into the ceiling with a violent and powerful Force Push before using their broken bodies as missiles against the remaining Brotherhood.

With only a split-second’s warning, Jar’es felt the disturbance within the Force, his ghostly orange blade suddenly flaring brightly.  He had enough time to see the annihilating wave of silver wash over everyone before the realization that it would reach him in the time between thoughts.

Yet as the liquid silver burning fire rushed towards him, Jar’es felt himself being pulled downwards, away from the destructive onslaught…down and within himself it seemed.

As the Mak’Tor Master disappeared before the expanding wave, no one was any the wiser of his fate—his true fate—even after the caves collapsed upon the void that the Thought Bomb detonation left in its wake.

And centuries would pass before anyone would.

               <<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/1vgh79S/Dj-IEhsn-VAAAAlq-Q.jpg) (https://ibb.co/1vgh79S)

Even as exhausted as his Cantors were, To’Lon’Al’Brem knew that each and every one of them gave everything of themselves in the hopes of swiftly ending the Sith threat.  He felt a resurgence of pride…pride mitigated by sorrow.  He could only hope that Sa’Ra, his children, and the small contingent of Cantors that had accompanied them were safe.  

He silently prayed to the Maker, daring to hope that this would not be the end…that somehow, someway his Cantors would be spared this destruction, that they would prevail…

…But he knew what had to occur, what must happen…lest the prophecy of the One be all for naught.  Ja’Kob had told him, had foreseen it all.  The One would come, come and inaugurate the Golden Age of the Mak’Tor.  It almost made To’Lon smile…

…Until he remembered the cost.  By the Maker, the cost!

And right before the Thought Bomb’s destructive explosion engulfed him, To’Lon’s last thoughts lingered on his family, and the desperate hope that he’d somehow left the galaxy a better place, his and the other Cantors’ sacrifice made not in vain…

               <<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/kBcyGCv/Thought-bomb-Book-of-Sith-JPG.jpg) (https://ibb.co/kBcyGCv)

As the Dark Side energies converged upon Kaan, the enormous silver ovoid grew pregnant with destructive power, each syllable of the ritual bringing him that much closer to his ultimate victory.  His Brotherhood would rule the galaxy!  He only needed but a moment longer…

Behind him, the silver ovoid of the Thought Bomb continued to grow, burnished ripples accompanied by black flames that cast eerie shadows throughout the caverns, transforming the gathered Sith and Jedi into a writhing mass, angels and daemons terrible to behold.  

But none so dreadful as the ovoid itself.

In front of Kaan, his Sith Lords fought on against the 99 Jedi that Hoth had brought with him.  The Dark One smiled; did Hoth really think that he could win, especially with only 100?!  As if thinking of the Jedi Lord had conjured him forth, Kaan saw the Seneschal of Light himself before him, just past the Sith line.

And in that moment, their eyes locked.

Kaan noticed that Hoth neither looked angry nor eager; the Jedi Lord’s face was somber, almost sad.  Still, he fought as hard as he’d ever had, clearly intent upon Kaan.  And that was all the “evidence” that the Dark One needed; to him, he knew that his victory was now inevitable.  

Kaan smiled, having uttered the final word of the ritual.  The Brotherhood would triumph; first Ruusan but soon the entire galaxy!  The Dark Side filled him, encompassing him, permeating the entire cavern, even the air!  He was invincible!

But then…he felt it.  Those same Dark Side energies continued to expand, well beyond his control.  Turning his head, Kaan’s eyes locked onto the silver ovoid, widening in panic and disbelief when he saw the quicksilver surface explode in black flames that annihilated everything.

The Dark One’s final thought—one that burned as intensely as the Thought Bomb detonation that immolated him—would accompany his torment for centuries, helping to create the most powerful Force Nexus in the galaxy.  Hate, fear, resentment, and jealousy subsumed the area, the caves collapsing in on themselves forming what would be known as the Valley of the Jedi.

Ruusan was forever changed: flora, fauna, entire ecospheres, even cities succumbed to the Thought Bomb’s devastation.  Those not killed in the initial detonation would suffer from the ensuing planetary catastrophe, depopulating most of the planet as a result.  Those that did survive were…changed.  But that was not the worst of it…

The Force Nexus was so potent that in a few short years the established hyperspace lanes disappeared, leaving Ruusan inaccessible from the galaxy at large.

Of course, none of this mattered to Skere Kaan.  His singular thought took up the entirety of his awareness as he was consumed by the Thought Bomb, one that would torment him within the hell prison of the Force Nexus…

How was it that Bane had gotten the better of him?

               <<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/1nK8Tsp/Zannah-Before-Bane-JPG-1.jpg) (https://ibb.co/1nK8Tsp)

From his mountaintop vantage several kilometers from the Thought Bomb detonation, Darth Bane witnessed the fruition of his plans as the last of the Brotherhood was eradicated from the galaxy.  He gave a rare full smile; the deaths of 100 Jedi—including that of Lord Hoth—were an unexpected benefit.  Kaan’s Sith were no more.  Everything was as he’d foreseen.

His cheek twitched.  No, not “everything.”  His plans for his intended apprentice had failed.  That weak Light-Sided fool Rikard Macias!  His hands balled into fists, corded muscles in his forearms bulged while his jaw clenched in teeth-grinding frustration.  It was not his place to question the Dark Side but how could he have been so mistaken?

Of course, everything that had happened had led him here, to this instant.  No, he would forever remain devoted to the Dark Side.  Perhaps…perhaps it was he that had done something wrong—

With a suddenness that caught his breath, Bane felt a disturbance in the Force, one that he not only recognized but indeed welcomed.  Running down from the summit, his long legs carried him across the rough, rock-strewn ground and into the thickening trees that made up the mountain wilderness.  Even though it had been several minutes since he’d felt the disturbance, Bane was easily able to locate the exact position; it was almost as if the Dark Side was a beacon directing him.

As the trees gave way to a rocky clearing, Bane knew he was close, the scent of sulfur permeating the air from the nearby fumaroles.  Incredulously, he stopped short, the tableau before him something he would have never expected: in front of him on her knees was a tear-streaked girl, two Jedi with their heads at odd angles and a green Bouncer laid about her, all three dead.  Bane said nothing at first, wordlessly surveying the site.  Then she looked up at him, eyes still wet and red.  …Interesting… He thought.  She had absolutely no fear, none at all.

“What are you doing here?” Bane’s quiet voice held no malice, yet there was a cruel bent to his tone.

“I…they, they killed him.  They killed Laa…” More tears spilled from her eyes, anger tinging her voice.

“The Jedi?” Bane already knew the answer, instead asking another question.  “Who are you, girl?”

The girl’s lip trembled when she answered.  “I…Rain.” She whispered.  Then, giving an almost imperceptible shake of her head, she said louder, “Zannah.  My name is Zannah.”  Even as she looked up at Bane with her tear-soaked eyes, he could sense no fear from her.  Perhaps…was this what the Dark Side meant for him to learn?  Fascinated, he crossed his arms across his muscular chest.

“I am Darth Bane.” He announced.  The girl’s face did not so much as move a muscle.  “Do you know who I am?”

“You’re a Sith.” She said absent any terror.

“You’re not afraid of me?” It wasn’t so much a question as a statement.

“No.” Zannah’s tone was matter of fact.  

Bane hid his surprise behind an impassive mask of cold disinterest.  “I have killed many people.  Men, women…even children.” He prodded, hoping to elicit a response.  He was quickly rewarded for his efforts.

“I’m a killer, too.” She pointedly looked at the two Jedi before her, no longer crying.  “They killed Laa…my friend.” Her face contorted in anger.  “I…I hate them.”  When next she gazed into Bane’s eyes, he could see the hatred burning within the girl.  “And if I could, I’d kill them again.”  Her fists were wrapped so tight that her fingernails had cut into her palms, drawing blood.  “I…I don’t know the ways of the Force, not really.  My…someone once told me that I could learn.  But…but I need a teacher.”  Her face was harder than durasteel.  “I know I’m young.  And…and I don’t know the…Dark Side…” She fumbled over the words, but only momentarily.  “…But I swear: I will learn from you.”  Her eyes burned brightly.  “I…I want your power.”

Bane smiled, wide and sincere.  He knew that his faith had once again been rewarded.  “And you’ll be given the chance, Zannah.  Not on these Jedi, of course…but anyone—everyone—like them… Yes, you shall revenge yourself upon the weak fools who would subjugate your passion, your strength.”  He held out his hand to her, offering her more than she ever could have dreamed of…or envisaged.  “You shall be my apprentice.  Together, we shall be worthy successors of the Dark Side.”  When next he spoke, his tone was almost gentle.  “Rise, Darth Zannah.”  

Gripping his enormous hand with both of hers, Zannah took to her feet.  Standing before him, Bane utterly dwarfed the girl.  Turning on his heel, he began to walk the way from which he’d just come.  Following him, the girl was forced to run in order to catch up but she noticed that the tall man’s silhouette seemed to eclipse the sun.  No, that wasn’t right; the light was getting dimmer.  Looking past her new master she saw the large, billowing cloud of ash, detritus, and airborne dirt now darkening the sky.  “What…what is that?” Her voice held equal parts amazement and apprehension.

Bane looked over his shoulder, never once slowing, simply stating two words: “Our destination.”


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: Lord_S_Gray on June 14, 2020, 10:33:12 PM
Surly its about time Disney gave you a book deal to re adapt the whole New Sith wars as a series! What an ending...for some characters at least...the unstoppable force of crazed mania on Kaan's part made manifest.  Poor Cir'Lan I quite liked her shame to see her and presumably Dyrald as well struck down, as if Rikard has not lost enough....though Jar'es'Kinsler was...interesting being pulled into himself with a picture of a crystal...and Bane again following the Dark Side trusting in it over and over to round out the classic scene from the comic so long ago, i can't recale it fully but I didn't think he spoke that much to Zannah at that stage, but still given this is translating the more visual medium to pure text the change makes sense. 
But lets not forget this is about largely the Vhal'dan presumably the Storm has hit now the Exodus from Ruusan begins...we know the Vhal'Dan endure, thrive even, but the path from here to Galtea....and who even survives to tread it...


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: TheDutchman on March 09, 2021, 06:35:35 PM
Sorry about the belated submission but Real Life keeps getting in the way.  For those of you who've stuck around: THANK YOU  :)  Anyhow, without further ado...
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(https://i.ibb.co/Wg5pX06/Tarsus-Valorum-TEA.jpg) (https://ibb.co/Wg5pX06)
Chapter 13: The Sweetest Tongue Hides the Sharpest Tooth, Part I

Striding into his newly acquired office, Tarsus Valorum took a moment to survey the spanning tableau before him: the entire south wall was a transparasteel ovoid window overlooking the Coruscant Senate District perched atop the Republic Executive Building, the city stretching towards the horizon, as far as his eyes could see.  His posture was constrained, his face blank and unreadable.  He turned, facing the small retinue that had presumed to follow him into the opulent room.

"You may leave." His voice broached no argument, the hard set of his eyes staring down all but the most stalwart of individuals.

Dismissing his attendants and advisors, he rounded the formal Chancellor's table--colloquially referred to as the Resolute Desk--and sat rigidly in the oversized-if-simple chair.  Once finally alone, he allowed himself to relax.  Somewhat.

For the first time in over 400 years, the Senate had elected a non-Jedi to the office of Supreme Chancellor.  And now, according to the latest intelligence reports, the Army of Light was close to breaking the Brotherhood, the Sith Lords all but finished.  There were still enough Dark Siders that hostilities continued but Skere Kaan was no longer the galactic threat that he had been.  With the Dark One no longer a major consideration with the decisive victory for the Army of Light, the Republic could finally turn its attention to concerns other than war.  And he was in the perfect position in which to enact new policies, an agenda years in the making.  Yes, the 6th Battle of Ruusan had been exceedingly helpful in Valorum's election...that and the fact that any Jedi opposition was off-world.  Oh, there were Jedi on Coruscant, but none with the political acumen or clout of any of the Jedi Lords.

Most importantly: Lord Hoth, the Seneschal of Light was conspicuously absent.  Valorum's lips turned up at the corners; yes, war was horrible...but it presented some truly unique and serendipitous opportunities.  It was for that precise reason that the Chancellor had called upon the Senate to initiate emergency election proceedings: Lord Hoth not only would've won had he been on Coruscant but--and this was by far worse--he would have perpetuated the archaic system that had led the galaxy to the very war they found themselves in.

The Republic needed new blood, new direction.

Of course, there would be some growing pains; Valorum was first a realist.  But he was also a visionary.  Unfortunately, that also meant that in order for the Supreme Chancellor to implement change, the Old Guard must be torn down and swept away.  Pursing his lips in thought, Valorum considered having Hoth removed altogether; after all, a martyr always made an excellent figurehead in which to garner support.  And he still had his contacts in the Fpi Assassins, or he could always enlist the services of the Loag...

Shaking his head, Valorum dismissed the idea.  He wasn't worried that anything could be tied back to him, rather he worried that the Jedi would do exactly that, using Hoth for their own designs.  He smirked; it would be remarkably simple for them to propose a "Vote of No Confidence" in the Supreme Chancellor's leadership, his tenure incredibly brief.

Thankfully, Valorum always hedged his bets.

He'd been in contact with one of Hoth's most powerful allies, working slowly yet inexorably to win the man over to his side.  Surprisingly, it hadn't taken anywhere near the effort that the Supreme Chancellor had thought it would.  He chalked it up to the fact that not only would there be like-minded Jedi, those that saw necessary change as progress, but also--and this was important--were as tired of war as the rest of the galaxy.

From such beginnings, Valorum knew that he could implement sweeping changes, genuinely convinced that once having done so, the Republic would rise from the ashes of conflict better and stronger than ever.  

Valorum swiveled in his chair to again look out the window.  He sought neither glory nor recognition, but Tarsus believed in the absolute and inviolate dream of a Grand Republic, one where sentients throughout the galaxy could exist with the hope of justice and their right to live their lives as they saw fit.  He would finally put an end to the incessant fighting, conflicts flaring from the millions of loose confederations that currently made up the Republic.  Instead, he would streamline a convoluted, bloated, and ineffectual institution, reorganizing those systems into 1,024 sectors, each given equal representation by their elected Senators.
 As for the Jedi, Valorum would de-militarize the Order, instead placing them under the auspices of the Republic's Judicial Department.  While they would still act in their capacity of "peace-keepers," the Jedi would no longer be an independent entity and certainly not one that could threaten the Grand Republic.  

The Supreme Chancellor was utterly convinced that he could inaugurate such a government.

...And that not everyone would be happy about it.  

Sighing, Valorum stood, squaring his shoulders.  Well, he never once expected that everyone would be accepting of the Grand Republic.  He was suddenly reminded of the Wookie proverb: "The Tree of Liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants."  His eyes again hardened.  Both he and Hoth were patriots.

...And they were tyrants.

Tarsus knew that the transition would experience opposition, but he already had planned accordingly.  And as for those secret promises that Hoth had made in order to secure support for his Army of Light...Valorum had planned for that as well.

Pressing a button on the Resolute Desk, he spoke in a clipped, polished tone.  "Please connect me to the Fairwind."  As the Supreme Chancellor waited for the holonet connection--the distance between Coruscant and Ruusan too great for instantaneous communication--he mentally recalled the key points he would make.  And even though he was not Force-sensitive, he too felt the magnitude of future prospects.

He, Tarsus Valorum, would do everything to ensure that his ideals of a Grand Republic were realized...no matter what.

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(https://i.ibb.co/JQmZ0gK/Farfalla-HS.png) (https://ibb.co/JQmZ0gK)

From atop his mountain vantage, Jedi Lord Valenthyne Farfalla, general of the Army of Light, stared at the devastated landscape before him.  ...By the Way... His disbelief was completely at odds with his disposition.  Outwardly, his armor gleamed, the diadem that crowned his head was pristine with rubies adorning his brow, his flowing, perfumed blonde hair giving him an effeminate quality.  If anyone assumed that he was anything other than the outstanding Jedi warrior that he was, they would be...disabused of such predilections.  And if they thought him vain, they kept such critiques to themselves, whispered only in small groups, always as rumor and never with a definitive origin.  Not that Farfalla cared; he knew his own worth.

That said, he had the courage of his convictions to know that Lord Hoth was a man that he would follow, from one side of the galaxy to the other.  ...He knew...he knew and yet he still went... He marveled, thinking back to the final discussion that he'd had with the rugged Jedi Lord.  Hoth had told him that he'd seen their victory, that the Army of Light would finally vanquish the Brotherhood once and for all...but in doing so it would cost him his life.

It was the reason that he'd been adamant that only volunteers accompany him against Skere Kaan, the reason that Hoth had ordered Farfalla to pull back, the reason that he'd left Jedi Lord Chillum in charge back at their base.  He knew that for the galaxy to have a lasting peace, he would have to sacrifice himself and 99 others on the alter of freedom.

But those deaths would pay dividends, resulting in the total annihilation of the Sith.  Or so Hoth had told him; Farfalla wasn't so sure...

As he'd pulled his Jedi back from the caves, they'd encountered a contingent of the Brotherhood being led by the Sith Lord Kopecz.  They had not fought like an army routed; no they were still as deadly as any Kodashi viper, especially Kopecz.  Shaking his head, Farfalla was still amazed: the Twi'Leki Sith Lord had not been what he'd expected.  Kopecz had demonstrated a personal honor that the half-Bothan had come to expect from the Jedi Lords he'd fought together with, like Grand Master Berethon, as well as Kages Chillum and Macias.

For while Farfalla ordered his Jedi to track down and eliminate the remaining Sith, Kopecz had utterly refused to flee the field.  A lone figure amongst the mountainous hills flanking the valley caves, the Twi'Leki Sith stood tall in the face of the Army of Light.  Even had he not been honor-bound to do so, Farfalla dismounted his speeder to meet his opponent for single combat, curious to say the least.

He smirked.  In Bothan society, there was no such thing as an "honorable duel;" there was only the victor and the vanquished.  How your opponent lost was immaterial; that they had and you alone were left standing was all that mattered.  As a half-Bothan, it personally disgusted him that such perfidy should be exemplified on Bothawui as "The Way."  Farfalla almost barked a laugh.  He had more in common with those provincial Vhal'Dan than with his own species, the Gray Jedi's doctrine of P’Rae’Lior as a means for a redress of grievances one that Farfalla found honorable, laudable even.

It was that admiration that Farfalla felt when Kopecz--already mortally wounded--demanded that the Jedi Lord face him.  The Twi'Leki had known that he was dying, that he'd be no match for Farfalla.  Still...

Regardless of what Kopecz had done in life, at least he'd died well.

It was a sobering thought, one that invariably led Farfalla back to Lord Hoth's fate.  His fate...and his legacy, one that the half-Bothan would see to fruition.  Peace throughout the galaxy.  It was these thoughts that helped to galvanize Farfalla as he ordered the withdrawal of his Jedi from the valley of death.

With suddenly much to do and with no time to do it, General Valenthyne Farfalla commanded his adjutants attend him as he headed back to the Army of Light's base.  He and Hoth had been at odds for how to proceed when...no, if, the Army of Light had succeeded.  Hoth had been desperate against the inexorable Sith tide that had rent the galaxy asunder for almost a millennia.
 His only concern had been "Stop the Brotherhood" and nothing afterwards...or the detrimental results that such a vacuum would create.

Farfalla knew better.

The galaxy by and large was united for the moment, but without a common foe, old transgressions would soon surface, reigniting disputes and long standing grudges.  Or perhaps some other force would rise up, intent on taking advantage during the aftermath of the New Sith War.  But those weren't the most immediate concerns...

Many of the Jedi Lords that had joined Hoth had done so with the understanding that their participation would be rewarded.  Coupled with the fact that these same Lords were of an era that knew only war, they would invariably revert to their lowest common denominator: warriors.

Warriors...when what the galaxy needed now was stability.

Peace.

But Farfalla knew that such peace could be ephemeral.  He readied himself once again for battle, only this time of a different arena.  The Army of Light had won the galactic peace that they'd fought so hard to achieve.  Now, Farfalla would help to ensure that it remained so.

            <<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/RT0TSLk/Rikard-bactatank.jpg) (https://ibb.co/RT0TSLk)

Deep down in the darkness, surrounded by shadows darker than night, Rikard Macias drifted in a haze of pain, sorrow, self-pity, and apathy.  Every iota of his being, his resolve, had been called into question...and found wanting.  He'd been convinced of his prowess, of his convictions; it had helped him to secure the office of Kage for the newly formed Vhal'Dan Order.  He'd beaten all of his opposition, every opponent, every pretender...all of them trying to drag the Order back to the time of the Clans, all seven fighting one another as fiercely as they had fought the Sith.  For centuries--no, millennia--the Vhal'Dan had lived and died on Istic III.  Shunned by the Jedi Order, left alone (for the most part) by the Sith, the Clans had had no reason to congregate, to amalgamate.

But then the Brotherhood had come.

It was Rikard that had championed the idea of a united Vhal'Dan, looking to their Mak'Tor allies as the example to implement the office of Kage, a position that would surpass even the established role of Clan Arbiter.  The alternative: the annihilation of their disparate Clans at the hands of the Dark One's forces.

Rik had united the Clans, he and Sulen and Cir-Lan, they three together saving the Vhal'Dan.

...All for nothing.

Bane had shown Rik what true power was.  And pain.  And hopelessness.  Everything that Rikard had been, was, and ever would be was now focused upon the singularity of his failures.  And so, sinking ever further into oblivion, Rikard's thoughts turned within, around and around themselves like a Mobius strip.

...Rik...!

A nagging, intrusive thought flitted across Rik's consciousness.

...Rik...!!

This time, louder, demanding, more urgent.  Rik tried to ignore it.

...Rik...!!!

No longer able to disregard it, Rikard focused upon the irritant.  Suddenly, everything--his self-pity, his pain, his apathy--evaporated, forgotten.  ...Cir-Lan!...Soror!... He thought, reverting to the ancient Vhal'Dan term for "sister."  ...What's happened...where are you...?  He was still surrounded by darkness, yet he thought he could see a dark shade of gray.  ...Soror!?...

...You must not give up...do not succumb...they need you...now...always...Frater... Cir-Lan's voice sounded as if it were retreating, losing volume with every syllable.  ...you...are...the...Vhal'Dan...lead them...to...Gal...ea...love...you...  And quieter still: ...help...

Whatever he'd heard or thought he'd heard, it was what he needed.  Stark, crystal-clear lucidity accompanied by agonizing pain inundated him but it reminded him of his convictions--his Oaths--that he was responsible, that he was needed.

That he was alive.

As shocking as the experience was, in actuality Rikard slowly regained consciousness.  With each passing minute, he became more aware of his surroundings: he was floating in a bacta tank, the blurry shapes of two people standing in front of the tank breaking up the haziness of his perspective.  He thought that he might even recognize them...

...Sulen...Slo'Ma... Their names finally came to him after slipping through the fingers of his memory for long seconds.  There was another figure there...large, unfamiliar... But it helped him to focus.  That and the pain.

Incredibly and with agonizing slowness, Rikard's acuity began to return.  It would still be days before he could think comprehensively, longer still for his body to work, but he no longer felt the tendrils of oblivion threatening to drag him down.

If only such coherence would not have been accompanied with excruciating pain and inexorable loss.

            <<<<< >>>>>


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: TheDutchman on March 09, 2021, 06:38:08 PM
(https://i.ibb.co/KXF3fwd/Sulen-5.jpg) (https://ibb.co/KXF3fwd)
Chapter 13: The Sweetest Tongue Hides the Sharpest Tooth, Part II

"Sulen..." Slo'ma's quiet voice interrupted her contemplations.  Looking up at the taller human, she followed his gaze.

Completely alone and approaching the bacta tank from their left, Sarll slowly ambled over, his leg covered in a bacta-brace that only accentuated his limp.  Likewise, he had another bacta-brace covering the right side of his chest, shoulder, and arm, leaving the rest of his massive torso exposed.  Despite the thick fur covering his chest, Sulen counted many scars cross-hatching the large Cathar's upper body.  ...Not now... She inhaled slowly and released a breath, calming herself.  She fully expected a fight; after all, Sarll had always been antagonistic.

"Arbiter.  Master Singer." He gave two deferential bows of his head.  He even sounded...respectful?

"Speaker Båz Rhadde." Slo'ma's tone was neutral.  Of course Rikard had told his friend of his many disputes with the large Cathar.

"What is it you want, Sarll?" Sulen's normally unflappable tone was tinged with a hint of irritation.  Still, her immaculate visage looked as it always did: pristine and untroubled.  Besides, right now she was focused upon her brother, her's by bond if not blood.  And Sarll's presence here befouled both the solemnity of the situation as well as her mood.

Sarll nevertheless heard the unspoken rebuke.  Turning to face Sulen, he stood tall in front of her.  At 1.88 meters, Sulen was a tall woman yet Sarll dwarfed her.  Still, both of their faces could've been carved from quadranium.  But what happened next completely took the Vhal'Dan Arbiter by surprise.

"I wished to pay my respects...to the Kage." For the first time, Sarll did not so much as pause when addressing Rik by his cognomen.  He actually sounded polite...

Sulen couldn't believe it, although her face betrayed none of her feelings.  "Of course." She said, stepping aside.  Could this be some kind of ploy?  It certainly would not be the first time that he'd attempted something new.  That had always been Sarll's modus operandi: if one attack failed, he'd regroup, learning from his mistakes before initiating his next stratagem.  Clandestinely, Sulen kept watch over the Cathar Speaker from the corner of her eyes.

As each minute passed, the three Jedi stood in front of the bacta tank in silence, thoughts raging in each of their heads.  The tall human Arbiter considered every scenario in the hope of countering Sarll, each possibility examined and ultimately disregarded.  When Sarll finally did speak, Sulen couldn't believe her own ears.  "He saved my life.  From the Sith.  He didn't have to.  I would not have..."  Despite his quiet tone, Sarll's deep bass voice seemed to shake the ground; all the while, he continued to stare at Rikard as he floated in the tank.

Sulen had schooled her face, allowing none of her emotions to show.  But what she felt... Did Sarll mean what he'd just said?  And why would Rik save the Cathar; there was certainly no love lost between the two--

Suddenly, waves of pain, anger, panic, and horror inundated Sulen, the Arbiter found herself on her knees, her hands gripping her head.  It took a few moments for her to realize that it was not only her, but that everyone had been adversely affected: both Slo'ma and Sarll were also shaking their heads as if to clear their minds, their eyes full of pain.  She noticed that Sarll's face twitched in unfeigned agony as he grabbed at his chest while Slo'ma's nose had begun to bleed profusely.  For herself, Sulen felt as if someone had used her head to test a hammer, her body as if she'd ran 100 kilometers...only to have then lifted a speederbike for several hours.  She'd never felt anything so...debilitating, so invasive.

It had felt as if it had lasted hours, days...but when she consulted her chronometer, she was shocked to see that only two minutes had passed.  ...Surely not... She thought, disbelieving.  As it was she was barely standing!

Looking around, Sulen could see that every single Jedi had felt...whatever it was that had hit her.  And while most of them also looked worse for the wear--even those flat on their backs, prone upon the deck--the Arbiter could tell that the other Jedi were also slowly recovering.  It gave Sulen some comfort to see.  She caught movement in the corner of her eye.  ...By the Maker, Rik...! She thought surprised, scrutinizing the man within the bacta tank.

Even more surprisingly, Sulen could now see that his eyes were open...and lucid.  Smiling and amazed, Sulen placed her hands upon the transparisteel surface of the tank, mouthing "Frater" while her eyes began to tear up.  And while Rikard's face was covered by the breath mask, Sulen could see his eyes; within them she could feel the love, gratitude, and confusion that he also projected with the Force.  She felt a comforting large hand upon her shoulder.  Looking up, Sulen saw that Slo'ma had his own smile radiating from his face, one that not even his bloody nose could diminish.

Everything else momentarily forgotten, Sulen and Slo'ma shared a hug.  However, as she looked past Slo'ma's shoulder, Sulen noticed that Sarll looked pensive.  Whether or not the Cathar looked so due to the unknown event or from Rikard having regained consciousness, Sulen couldn't decide.

          <<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/jLHrynR/Republic-Executive-Building.png) (https://ibb.co/jLHrynR)

As the hyperspace tunnel collapsed back into starlines, the ship entered its orbital insertion window to make planetfall on Coruscant.  It had no markings, indeed it had a borrowed transponder so as to grant further anonymity.  Soon the ship had its landing permits, everyone none the wiser.

Joining one of the main aerial shipping lanes, the ship easily sped across the ecumenopolis' surface.  After a short time, it veered from the lane, exiting to the Senate District, specifically the Republic Executive Building.  Docking in one of the private landing bays, two lone figures exited the ship, their brisk pace indicative of their haste.  From their ship, they entered the building and, taking one of the innocuous service turbolifts, neither of the two saw anyone at all.  Exiting the lift, they strode unseen through labyrinthine corridors, making many turns before finally stopping in front of an otherwise completely unremarkable door.

After a moment, the door irised open, allowing the two figures entry before silently shutting behind them.  Squeezing through narrow passageways that seemed to lead to nowhere, the two were surprised when they found themselves stopped by a single blastdoor.  Looking askance at one another, they were about to speak when the heavy door slowly yet quietly opened.  In front of them stood a lone, slender human, a drink held within a casual grip.

"Jedi Lord Valenthyne Farfalla, so nice of you to come.  Please, make yourself at home." The human's voice was genial.  He did not address the other figure as he was still a padawan but knew exactly who the man was.  Gesturing, the human offered them entry into a luxurious room, one overlooking the Senate District.  And while Farfalla was unfazed by the cityscape spread out before him, the padawan gaped open-mouthed at the awesome--almost overwhelming--sight.

"Padawan Othone." Farfalla gently called, breaking the spell that the padawan had fallen under.  "Please sit here."  Uninvited, he took a seat himself opposite the human.  ...So begins the final battle... He thought.  In a controlled voice, the Jedi Lord addressed the human.  "So...you've called me here.  What is it you want, Chancellor?"

With a small smile playing upon his lips, Valorum stared deeply into the Jedi Lord's eyes.  "Nothing less than peace and security for the Republic."  His face was suddenly hard.  "My Republic."

As all three men squared against one another, the entire population of Coruscant--indeed the galaxy--went about its business, unaware of the monumental changes that would occur as a result of these three men and the decisions made during this meeting.


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: Lord_S_Gray on March 09, 2021, 10:21:43 PM
Enter the politicians now the warriors job is done...why do I get vibes of the Potsdam conference with the last scene, that the true new face of the Republic will be drawn up by a small coterie, and the warriors upon blood and bone this chance for reconstruction was built, namely the surviving Vhal'Dan and more militarized Jedi Lords, will be...discarded.

There is a kind of irony here, that in a sense Rikard getting curb stomped by Bane may have saved him, he was the type to have joined Lord Hoth in the final attack...not that that would feel like much consolation in his present living hell. Saril's change intone toward Rikard is also noticeable, a sense of humility for the first time in the Cathar.


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: Karmack on March 09, 2021, 11:35:49 PM
Enter the politicians now the warriors job is done...why do I get vibes of the Potsdam conference with the last scene, that the true new face of the Republic will be drawn up by a small coterie, and the warriors upon blood and bone this chance for reconstruction was built, namely the surviving Vhal'Dan and more militarized Jedi Lords, will be...discarded.

There is a kind of irony here, that in a sense Rikard getting curb stomped by Bane may have saved him, he was the type to have joined Lord Hoth in the final attack...not that that would feel like much consolation in his present living hell. Saril's change intone toward Rikard is also noticeable, a sense of humility for the first time in the Cathar.

Oh, nice.   I love that last meeting.  LSG, you're spot-on with the reference to the Potsdam conference.  Farfalla will become the new leader of the demilitarized (and de-politicized) Jedi while Valorum becomes the newly powerful Chancellor of a reorganized Grand Republic.

Ushering in a golden age of peace and prosperity that will last a thousand years...   ;-)


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: TheDutchman on February 24, 2022, 05:23:40 PM
(https://i.ibb.co/sbqvYk7/Zannah-bane-JPG.jpg) (https://ibb.co/sbqvYk7)
Chapter 14: Lazarus' Lament

...No...not again... Rikard wordlessly pleaded, knowing the sequence of the nightmare that continued to plague him during the last three weeks of his consciousness, as well as the futility of his petitions.  He'd tried to change it, thinking that he of all people should be able to do so.  After all, was he not the architect of his own dreams?

Or at least that was what he told himself despite knowing it to be false...or, at best, a half-truth.

As with all lucid dreams, the details of the setting were blurry and unfocused.  Yet, the two figures that Rikard spied were as clear as the Tatooine sky during noon: a small, thin girl whose face no longer held any youthful innocence and a hulking human who towered above her, his yellow eyes passing judgement on all that they witnessed.

...Bane... Rikard remembered.

The Sith Lord who had entreated the Vhal'Dan Kage, petitioning him to become the enormous human's acolyte...one that Rikard had refused.

With violent results.

Even now almost a month later, Rikard still required further bacta treatment...and for those injuries that bacta could not cure... Well, he still wasn't used to the number of cybernetics that fixing his body had required. 

As if wrenching Rikard's attention back to the nightmare, the two figures spoke, their voices loud and unnaturally acute.

"What is this?" The girl asked gesturing around the collapsed cave, the ceiling open to the Ruusan sky.  All around them the rock strata was deeply scarred and burnt as if immolated by an enormous explosion.

Which it had been.

"Kaan's smartest decision: his suicide." While Bane's face remained impassive, Rikard could've swore that the corner of his lips turned upwards, if only for the briefest of moments.  To Rik, he seemed to be looking for something...

Once again, the dream seemed to shift deliberately, the young girl anxiously looking about as if expecting some monster to attack them.

"...Shouldn't we leave?  What...what if the other Sith come ba--" She jumped slightly as Bane's booming voice cut her off.

"There are no other Sith. There never will be, except for us. One Master and one apprentice; one to embody the power, the other to crave it." Bane's tone reverberated with a finality that even Rikard could sense, the words only serving to confuse the already confounded Vhal'Dan.  He knew of Kaan's death and those Sith Lords that had not fought on to their death were to be imprisoned (if not outright executed following a tribunal of the remaining Jedi Lords).  But no other Sith?  Even in the depths of the nightmare, Rikard believed Bane.

It was unfortunate that he was still no closer to understanding exactly what the dream--he--meant...

"Come, apprentice." Bane was already walking away, a shadow joining the darkness, when the words quietly echoed in the crumbling chamber.  Looking through another large hole blasted through the earth, Rikard could see the devastation of the lands surrounding the caves, the worst being a large fissure that had split the once-green valley in twain, the desolate rock canyon a harsh reminder of the hard-fought victory that the Jedi had finally claimed over the Brotherhood.

After a millennium of conflict, strife, and death, the New Sith Wars were finally over.  But at what cost?

Again, the familiar pain of loss erupted anew in Rikard's chest, tears threatening to overwhelm his eyes.  ...Cir-Lan...Soror... He lamented and not for the last time.  His twin had been his constant companion, from his childhood pranks to his ascension to Kage for the newly-unified Vhal'Dan Order.  Throughout the countless battles beginning on Istic III to the Sixth Battle of Ruusan, Cir-Lan had always been the one guarding his right flank, her comforting, reliable presence a bastion for him during the worst of times.

And there was no better a Blademaster amongst the Vhal'Dan...as well as the last of his blood-kin.  Sulen and Slo'Ma were his family...but Cir-Lan had been his last surviving relative.  ...Maker-dammit why?...Why her...? He wondered impotently, the ache of loss renewed by the nightmare.  He sank to his knees, feeling as empty of life as...well, as the valley of death wrought by the effects of the Thought Bomb.  ...It...it should've been me... He admonished himself again.  ...If only I had not lost to Bane...if only I had been stronger...  Feeling miserable, he heard and felt motion at his side yet remained motionless on the scorched, barren rock floor.

The girl hurriedly followed Bane, casting a final backwards glance as she rushed to catch up to the tall human.  But before she too disappeared into the blackness, Rikard could swear that she looked straight at him, grinning a mischievous smile as her blue eyes turned yellow, a wicked bent to her face suddenly contorting her features into a daemon's visage. 

"Your sister will suffer for centuries for your failures." A voice whispered, loud enough for Rikard to clearly hear.  "And as for your beloved Vhal'Dan...well, they shall forever be without a true Home...never to know the comforts of a homeworld that will not inevitably be lost to them soon afterwards."  Mocking laughter like bones crunching underneath boots rang out throughout the chamber.  And with each word, the fear seizing Rikard's body strengthened a hundredfold until sweat poured forth from ever pore of his skin.

"You are the first failure in a long line of failures, Kage.  And your Order--like you--shall perish in the Storms of Exodus..."

          <<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/H4TWPXg/Sarll-5.jpg) (https://ibb.co/H4TWPXg)

Waking suddenly, Rikard's eyes shot open, attempting to adjust to the low-light of the pre-dawn darkness.  Looking around he felt more than saw that his blanket was twisted and mangled, his pillow soaked with sweat.  For long moments, he did nothing but try to control his ragged breathing, his mind razor-focused upon the dark premonitions promised him (and the Vhal'Dan) from his nightmares.  Inescapably, his thoughts ran to his twin sister.

He shut his eyes tightly, willing himself not to cry. ...please...please not this time... He prayed to the Maker as if to bargain, knowing such to be utterly futile but still doing so nonetheless.  ...please...

After some time (Rikard knew not how long), he opened his eyes, restless and disconsolate.  Just like every night for the past few weeks.  ...dammit... He silently cursed.

Knowing that he would not be able to get any more fitful sleep this night, he stripped off his nightclothes and changed into a utilitarian jumpsuit, quickly exiting the cramped quarters that he'd been given to convalesce in only to suddenly stop idle in the middle of the hallway.  ...I've done enough resting... The thought came unbidden as he attempted to shake off the fear, discomfort, and agony of the nightmare.  He remembered something Su had told him long ago, some advice that helped to alleviate the melancholy if by the smallest of margins: "Occupy your mind with something other than the sorrow.  If nothing else, you'll have accomplished something as a result, which should give some sense of comfort."

Su always gave him the best advice...even if he himself wasn't ready to hear it at the time.  Somewhat encouraged, Rikard began to walk, slowly at first but more swiftly the further he got from his room.

Knowing now exactly where he was heading, the slender human hurried along the prefabricated corridors, most of them blessedly empty given the early hour of the morning.  What few sentients Rik did come across, he would just stare disconcertingly at them.  One and all they swiftly walked around him, giving him as wide a berth as the narrow hallway would allow.

Rik continued on, the encounters all but forgotten.

Finally arriving at the Rehabilitation Center, Rikard went to one of the strength machines.  Adjusting the pressor program, he fully immersed himself into the rigors of the now-familiar workout routines, the exercise both therapeutic as well as hypertrophic.  But more than that, it allowed him to gain the necessary equilibrium to properly master his new reality.

In the weeks following his regaining consciousness, Rikard had worked diligently on learning how to properly use his cybernetics, the faux limbs quickly gaining facility as he stubbornly worked through pain, awkwardness, and discomfort.  Determination overcame tedium and frustration as Rik tried again and again to regain his independence and autonomy.  Now, he was almost back to normal.

Almost.

One of the reasons that those that he encountered were so uncomfortable and squeamish around him was the same reason that Rikard preferred not to speak as often anymore.

After his fight with Bane, Rik's body had been brutalized and shattered, the worst being the mangled mess of broken teeth and the lacerated skin of a jaw that had hung off of the side of his skull.  While he had countless broken bones, contusions, and lacerations, the worst was what the Sith Lord had done to his face...

Unfortunately by the time that he'd been immersed in the bacta tank, it was too late to save the Kage's jaw.  Instead, in place of his mandible (and right eye & ear), conspicuous cybernetic replacements gave Rikard a decidedly Sith-like look, the vocoder reminiscent of the holopics Rikard had seen of Darth Malgus.

He barked a laugh, stopping immediately when he heard himself.  To his one remaining biological ear, the digitized sound of what was unmistakably his voice only reinforced the ersatz quality of the vocoder.  Inhaling swiftly, Rik upped the weight on the press machine, determined to think of something--anything!--else.  Broken ribs, excised hands, toes, shattered femurs, collapsed lungs, crushed vertebrae, fractured arm--

...Stop this, dammit..! He would have ground his teeth...if he still had them.  Instead he tried focusing on the proper movement of the weight, of keeping a strict form, of--

Cir-Lan's fading, panicked plea begging Rikard to save her, to keep her from a fate worse than deat--

Something broke inside Rikard.

Shouting (or at least the vocoder equivalent), suddenly standing he grabbed the press machine by the handle, ripping the entire arm assembly loose.  Blinded by rage, anguish, and dread, Rik wordlessly yelled as he hurled it towards the wall behind him.  He expected the loud crash as the plasteel collided with the bulkhead but not the other sound that preceded it.

The low roar that erupted behind him surprised Rikard, making him turn on his heel; there should have been no one here this early...

Having ducked at the last moment, the handle of the broken arm had scored a glancing blow off of the Cathar's head as Sarll pulled himself up to his full height.  At more than 2 meters, he dwarfed the slim yet tall human, the Cathar's bulk engulfing Rikard's silhouette twice over.  And that was before the Cathar had put on his armor.  As Sarll stood there, the gleaming copper-like veneer of the durasteel/nanite weave alloy gave him the appearance of a tank...and the power of an entire infantry platoon,  all the while wielding his own personal golden-bladed beskar breaker, Durandal...a fact proven time and again during his countless battles throughout the Wars (and the internecine Clan disputes before that).  The head of a roaring lion in low relief decorated his enormous cuirass, as fierce as the sentient who wore the armor.

There was a reason that Sarll was the Cataphract Triarch.

Irritated, Rikard was about to throw an offhanded remark rebuking the Cathar but the words died upon his lips when he saw the look on Sarll's face.

It was something that Rikard had never seen from the Speaker, had never expected to witness: Sarll looked uncomfortably bemused at the smaller human, his golden eyes searching.  Usually when he spoke, Sarll's normal bass vibrato felt as if it shook the ground beneath; now, his subdued tone merely sounded like a swarm of Thunian hornets.  A large swarm.  "I have come to de--" He began only for Rikard to impatiently interrupt him.

"Let me guess, Sarll: 'Declare P’Rae’Lior'?  Now I know why you're 'fully dressed.'  Fine, we'll fight outside since we don't have a proper Pancratium.  I'll--" But Rikard stopped speaking when Sarll, firmly but gently, placed a massive armored paw upon the human's chest.

"Stop.  That was not what I was going to say."  A low growl emanated from the back of Sarll's throat.  "Rikard..." He began slowly.

It was all the Kage could do to not gape in astonishment.  Sarll had never once called him by his first name.  Well, never absent the cognomen of "Black."  But more surprising was the Cathar's tone: it actually sounded...respectful.

"Rikard..." He began again.  "I have come to declare the fealty of myself and my Cataphracts to the Office of the Kage, from now unto perpetuity.  We shall be the armor that protects you, our Zweihanders will cut where you direct, the Force our shield to defend you."  And then, to Rikard, the Triarch did the unthinkable.

He knelt. 

Rikard was suddenly reminded of the huge monolithic statues found half-buried on the planet Jedha: immovable and implacable.

With only the briefest pause Rikard attempted to cover his own shock by reciting by rote the ancient words of the Oath of Allegiance: “I accept and bond you into my service and absolve you of all past trespasses.”  But after a few seconds worth of silence followed it with a single, sincere question.  "Why?"

Sarll raised his head, his eyes not quite level with Rikards as he continued to kneel but his face turned harder still.  "As you put the good of the Vhal'Dan ahead of your own desires, so too must I."  Rikard said nothing, still amazed.  Without rising, Sarll exhaled as if to divest himself of his impatience.  "You saved me from that Sith bastard."  He said quietly.

Rikard blinked, his next words spoken as if a foregone conclusion.  "Of course; you're Vhal'Dan." He said, only now realizing the weight of his actions and words.  ...Damned pain making me slow...

"Yes, Kage." Sarll replied, his point proven.  "You did not think of our rivalry, nor of any disagreement.  You acted.  Definitively."  Sarll still had not risen.  "To protect me."

Giving his head a small shake, Rikard gestured.  "Please rise."  He gave the Cathar a scrutinizing gaze, thinking that the imposing armored Cathar would barely able to fit through the hallways.  But that was not what concerned him.  "I know that you've never liked m--"

"And I still do not, Kage." Sarll stated deliberately, but continued in a more subdued tone.  "But that is immaterial.  As I stated in my Oath of Allegiance: my loyalty is to the Office of the Kage." Rikard heard the distinction.  "Not the person."

For a moment, Rikard stood with his arms folded across his chest.  "Fair enough."  He stared intently up at Sarll's face, undecided between which was harder: that or his armor.  "Have you been waiting for me to be alone to tell me this?" The ghost of a smile played across Rikard's lips.

Sarll once again seemed suddenly uncomfortable.  "It...it was only proper that I speak with you one-on-one.  Alone.  Kage." This time only the barest of pauses before addressing Rikard by his station.

"I see." Rikard said simply.  "Thank you, Triarch.  I trust that you and I will work towards the mutual benefit of the Order."  Sarll's discomfort seemed to disappear at the subtle dismissal as if he'd finally returned to familiar territory after an uncertain hyperspace jump.  He was about to exit through the silent irising door when Rik called after him.  "Sarll."  The Cathar turned, a half-scowl upon his face, his armored shoulders almost brushing both sides of the doorway.  "May the Force be with you." He said plainly, earnestly.

After a second, Sarll nodded, his face not exactly softening but rather becoming less...stern.  "And you, Kage.  Excuse me."

For long moments Rikard did not stir, his mind racing with the events of the morning until he suddenly realized: for the first time in almost three weeks, he felt something other than the pain of loss.  Contemplative, he returned to his room.  First using the sonic shower, he then dressed and, for the first time since emerging from the bacta tank, donned his Clan's--no, his Order's--armor, the device of the Kage's Office affixed in the center of his cuirass.  He'd been neglectful of his duties...

But at least he'd been there for Su.

Sadly, Cir-Lan hadn't been the only Vhal'Dan casualty of Kaan's Thought Bomb suicide: Sulen's husband (and leader of the Order's Forcesages) Dyrald was among the 100 lives lost that had gone with Lord Hoth. 

They'd commiserated with one another, their shared pain over the loss of family only serving to strengthen their already close friendship; indeed, they considered the other their sibling by bond if not blood.  Especially for Su: it was telling that she trusted Rik enough to allow herself to be able to deal with the anguish that she felt over losing Dyrald as Rik did likewise with Cir-Lan.  There, alone in Sulen's small apartment, were they able to mourn absent the emotional barriers that they otherwise constantly had in place guarding themselves. 

The only difference was that Su seemed to recover considerably faster than Rik.

While the grief did not go away--nor would it ever--it did change enough for both of them to feel a splinter of catharsis.  Now, combined with this newest "development" with Sarll, Rik felt that he could finally join Su in healing, emotionally as well as physically.

And if he knew anything about his friend, he was confident that she'd looked after the affairs of the Order during his convalescence.  Well...now it was time for the Kage to resume his place and assume the responsibilities that he'd been elected to shoulder.

As the Ruusan dawn fell over the camp proper, Rikard Macias, Kage of the Vhal'Dan Order strode through the corridors, looking for his Arbiter, his own renewed armor indicative of recovering spirit.  For Cir-Lan, for Dyrald--no, for ALL of the Vhal'Dan who had died during this damned War(!)--he must be strong.

He would do what he had to for the good of the Order and for every single Vhal'Dan within it.


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: Lord_S_Gray on February 25, 2022, 03:20:10 AM
As if his physically ruination was not enough, Rikard now suffers mental anguish of unwanted and tormenting dreams/visions (the extent to which he ascribes them as dreams or visions uncertain likely even to him, he has no way of affirming they are images of what is/has/will occurred on Ruusan)

I wonder who the mocking voice to Rikard was though.  It doesn’t seem to be Zannah, too young and arguably wouldn’t care, nor Bane who would speak with more force if he wanted to speak at all (again you write him very well as a pure entity of Darkness, less man than walking encapsulated embodiment of his philosophy).  So who? His own fears perhaps, but then it is a prescient voice given what we do know of the Civil War hundreds of years later.  Perhaps it is better it is never known, the voice of the wind.

Saril make a very noble gesture here, working for the good of the Order rather than himself, and while the Cathar tend to this kind to nobility (at least the Vhal’Dan set of the species) there is no denying the animosity with Rikard could’ve pushed him to challenge and more than likely win a duel. That his loyalty is to the office rather than the man shouldn’t be taken as a stab at Rikard but a considered way of keeping the Vhal’Dan united despite personal rivalries, and Rikard is smart enough to understand that.

The war has cost the Vhal’dan here much, but moments like that show a genuine effort to rebuild something better from what remains, though broken in many ways Rikard is still Kage and ironically seems more secure in that position than at any previous time.  I suspect he will need that unity now more than ever as without Sith the Republic politicians must be feeling uneasy about all these militarized blooded Knights hanging around. 


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: TheDutchman on November 16, 2022, 05:08:35 PM
(https://i.ibb.co/wpj8VzZ/Rikard-post-Bane.jpg) (https://ibb.co/wpj8VzZ)
Chapter 15: The Promises of Politicians, part I

“All of the promises of politicians, generals, madmen, and crusaders that war can create peace have yet to be borne out.”
-Old Shifalan Axiom

As the green blade of her practice saber expertly parried her opponent's attack, newly-raised Silver Knight Stryka Annix gave a small smile of approval.  "Good.  Very good.  But..."  She drew from the expertise of countless battles to help refine her unique variant Niman Form of lightsaber combat, easily riposting to--once again--overwhelm and penetrate her opponent's defenses.  Even as he retreated, her opponent did not panic; instead he gritted his teeth in a failed effort to try to keep Stryka's blade from striking home.  However, the outcome was never really in doubt...

Quickness belied by her larger frame, the Shifalan's lightsaber swiftly battered against her opponent's in succession, a flurry of strikes, first low then high and low again, only for Stryka to unexpectedly pivot her wrists, deftly twisting her blade around the sapphire blue lightsaber that now impotently defended nothing but empty space.  As her blade struck true against the teidowan's chest, he gave his head a small shake of disbelief.  And admiration.  "...But you're leaving yourself open on your non-dominate side."  She let out a patient sigh, nevertheless pleased with his progress.  "That's enough for now, teidowan.  We shall continue this tomorrow."

She closed down the practice weapon, a sudden glint of humor in her piercing brown eyes.  "Loser recalibrates the crystals." She said, handing her comparatively slender opponent the practice saber, her scrutinizing gaze weighing her new apprentice.  "Teidowan Ovarug...Kazic..." She decided that this was one of those times in which her lessons would be best learned under the purview of a more familiar bond.  "Do not be discouraged; you are learning fast."  Her wide face broke out in a sincere smile.  While it was true that he probably would never be the blademaster that she was, Stryka had a feeling that this Kazic would be persistent to the point of obstinance.  Which wasn't a particularly bad thing in this case.  "And don't forget..." She reminded, "I've had several decades of experience that you've yet to live.  I'm very proud of you." She said, meaning it.

The young Anzat smiled, his red eyes level with hers.  "Thank you, Master."  With the saber hilts in hand, he was unable to straighten the strands of black hair that had fallen from his topknot, giving him an almost feral appearance, although the look was somewhat spoiled by the youthful roundness of his smooth face.  After all, he'd barely turned 15 this last year... "And I want you to know that I'm both honored and humbled that you chose me as your apprentice.  I hope to someday to live up to your decision with my own successes."

Stryka gave one of her rare smiles.  ...Someday... She thought.  Of that she had no doubt whatsoever given that Anzat lifetimes were measured in the centuries.  "I'm sure you'll do yourself--and I--proud, teidowan."  Slightly abashed, the tall Anzat bowed at the waist, his quick thanks uttered as he headed towards the Weapons Wall where the practice sabers were stored.

Unbeknownst to Kazic, the Shifalan Silver Knight stared after her young teidowan, scrutinizing him as he adeptly opened the crystal furnace housing the kyber of the practice sabers.  With uncanny precision, he withdrew both crystals, locking them into the calibration unit to ensure nominal output.  Not for the first time, she was amazed at the assured nature of her new apprentice, his long limbs promising a tall frame.  Suppressing a smile, she wanted to laugh when she realized that the "shadow" on his cheeks and around his lips was a first attempt at growing a proper beard.

Well, time would tell just how successful he'd be with that.  "Teidowan." She softly called after him.  "After you're finished here, I expect that you shall join Master Korr Cyone aft for 4th Dimensional Calculus.  I shall see you for Meditation and Metaphysics practice this evening."  Again, he bowed at the waist as she exited the through the bulkhead.

"Of course, Master." He said before busying himself with the recalibration unit before the irising doors of the ship's training salle sealed the room away behind Stryka.  Pivoting on her foot, she allowed herself to feel the pride that she'd come to accept as happenstance from having a new apprentice.  She was proud of the fact that he was a quick and clever study, never mind that his current swordsmanship left something to be desired.  ...Well...he'll have the next millennium to work on it... She amusingly contemplated as she turned her broad shoulders sideways so as to more easily navigate the corridors of the Vhal'Dan tactical frigate, Istic's Aldrnari

Such was the lot of any Cataphract serving on a capital ship: since space was at a premium, the vessel was designed to be as efficient as possible...which meant that there were no oversized passageways, cabins, or extraneous construction.  Especially the Clan tactical frigate.

While the ship wasn't one of the larger vessels found in the galaxy, the Valor-class frigates were much like the Clans--the Order, Stryka corrected herself--it may not be the largest but it was nevertheless a fearsome and deadly weapon of war. 

Stryka smirked.  "The Vhal'Dan Order."  It sounded foreign yet...even she had to admit to a tinge of pride.  Still...

It would take some getting used to, even moreso after what the Triarch had informed his Cataphracts of concerning their adjusted role following the elimination of the Brotherhood; that the Battalion would protect the Kage, acting as armor and shield (much like the Cataphracts' own suits).  Such was the new way, or so Stryka had been told.  Well, if Sarll could change, then so would the Battalion.

Besides: live, fight, or die, she would do all that and more for the Triarch...and if he was now Oathsworn to the Kage, then so too was she.

A sudden wave of dizziness hit her like a physical wall causing Stryka to brace herself against the bulkhead while she felt the tactical frigate jump to hyperspace.  It was a problem that always affected her: whenever she experienced the pseudomotion of a jump it took a couple of seconds for her to regain her "space legs."  It was a weakness that she despised in herself, one unworthy of a Cataphract.  She knew that she would have to work on the problem--and herself--that much harder. 

What concerned her more was that she knew that there was no scheduled jump in the ship's itinerary.  They were supposed to remain in orbit around Ruusan for the foreseeable future; even the youngest teidowans knew that.  Stryka didn't like spontaneous changes; she preferred to consider all variables before making a decision...which was why it amazed everyone (herself included) that she was such an expert combatant: more often than not, one had to rely upon instinct in battle when dueling an opponent.  It was a conundrum that kept crossing her mind, one that her own master had tried--unsuccessfully--to unravel. 

But for now, she wondered just why they'd gone to hyperspace.

Figuring that the Triarch was probably with the Kage, she made her way towards the latter's room.  Walking towards the Kage's Cabin, Stryka was unsurprised to see a young, pale blond human standing guard beside the door.  While she wasn't short, she still had a youthful quality about her face.  Probably because she was young.  Stryka knew--again from Sarll--that the Kage had chosen an assistant to help him, both with his recovery as well as any of the numerous (and tedious) political duties he was now responsible for.  For a moment, Stryka was at a loss for her name, delving the depths of her mind's eidetic repository for an answer...

Gray Knight Corde Elnyr, recently raised from teidowan after completing her Trials of the Dragon Cave, she'd seen action in the last of the fighting (people were already calling it the "7th Battle of Ruusan" as if to mark its historical importance and from what Stryka had seen, those people were probably right).  From what the Triarch had told her, Corde was something of a Force savant, able to hold her own against any of the Brotherhood that she'd fought.  Probably why the Kage had chosen her...

"Knight Elnyr, I need to see the Kage." Stryka demanded.  Standing in front of the young human, the Shifalan Cataphract dwarfed the girl.  However, the Gray knight did not move.

"I'm sorry, Koawan but the Kage is indisposed at the moment." Corde's brown eyes were steady, respectful...and ever so slightly defiant as she stared up at the much taller Silver knight.

Immediately Stryka liked her.

"I see." Stryka's posture relaxed, her tone more genial.  "Then perhaps you can answer a question for me: why have we entered hyperspace?" She casually crossed her thick arms, surreptitiously scrutinizing young Knight Elnyr. 

She was impressed by what she saw.

The young woman was a walking armory: her lightsaber was within easy reach hanging from her belt where, secreted along the synth-leather, she also had no less than three narrow vibroblades, with another two barely visible in her boots.  She had two blasters holstered on each of her upper legs, two more hidden in her shoulder harness, and--unless Stryka missed her guess--two miniature "fastdraw" holdout blasters up her sleeves.

Furthermore, Stryka had seen Corde practicing Pankration, the Vhal'Dan's martial arts system.  She was surprisingly adept especially for her age, doing well against opponents with years of training and experience.  The Shifalan Cataphract gave a small smile; she had to hand it to him but the Kage had chosen his "assistant" well.

The young woman gave a quick glance past Stryka's shoulder down the passageway.  Then, deciding that she could talk privately just the two of them, she spoke just above a whisper.  "Koawan, I'm not certain but I think it has something to do with a communique that the Kage received from Coruscant."  She shrugged.  "I know that one moment he was preoccupied with reports, then after the holocall, his face was one of controlled fury.  He then called for the Arbiter and every Speaker; they're with him right now."  Suddenly her eyes looked to Stryka earnestly.  "Koawan...is it true that the Kage saved the Triarch's life?"  Her tone was one of sincere curiosity.

Stryka found herself responding with equal authenticity.  "He did."  Everyone knew that there was no love lost between the two...just as everyone now knew--despite that fact--the Kage had acted, showing just how committed to the Vhal'Dan Order he was.  And after sharing this moment with Corde, Stryka was surprised to find that she too was likewise devoted to the Order.

Corde didn't immediately respond but she gave an almost imperceptible nod.  "Like I said Koawan, the Kage is busy...but if you'd like, you're welcome to wait here in the meantime."  She gestured with her chin to a spot opposite her in the passageway, a hint of a smile upon her lips.

Grinning, Stryka took up residence where Corde had indicated.  "Thank you, Knight Elnyr." She settled in parade rest stance to await the Kage, mirroring the young human.

"My pleasure, Koawan." She said respectfully.  After a brief moment, she cocked an eyebrow a half-centimeter.  "I heard about a Shifalan Cataphract whose zweihander saw over 100 of the Brotherhood to the Afterlife, not to mention saving the lives of her Triarch and remaining Cataphracts."  She looked from the corner of her eye.  "Or are those just 'Clan gossip?'"

With a bittersweet sigh, Stryka's chin dipped towards her chest as memories flooded her mind.  She didn't know particularly why--although she trusted her instincts--but Stryka found herself contemplative.  And willing to talk.  "The...'Clan gossip,' as you say, is wrong.  It wasn't 100."  She inhaled.  "It was closer to 200..."

So began a deep and abiding friendship that would last for many decades to come for both women.  And when Stryka became the fourth Kage of the Vhal'Dan Order, it was Corde who served as her Arbiter.

It was only hours later that the doors irised open disgorging almost all of the Speakers, although Stryka noticed that Arbiter Rue Lai and the Triarch were still standing with the Kage deep in conversation.  She knew better than to interrupt.

When the Triarch finally did step out of the Kage's Cabin, his face was a mixture of emotions: anger, anticipation, and even amusement.  "Silver Koawan Annix..." He addressed her, gesturing with a nod that she follow him.  Like her, he had to turn a bit in order to fit within the corridor, his own heavy, burnished armor almost touching both bulkheads.  "I--we--have new orders from the Kage himself."  If anything, his voice suddenly dropped deeper as if that were possible.  "...Orders we will not like."

As they both continued to walk she listened, and Stryka knew that her Triarch was right.

She liked the orders not one bit.

           <<<<< >>>>>


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: TheDutchman on November 16, 2022, 05:13:22 PM
Special thanks to For Tyeth for the visual assist!  This chapter is dedicated to him :)
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(https://i.ibb.co/grWRkbb/Senate-Guard-Adversary-Cot-R.png) (https://ibb.co/grWRkbb)(https://i.ibb.co/7St5Y2Y/Rikard-Sulen-Corde-1.jpg) (https://ibb.co/7St5Y2Y)
Chapter 15: The Promises of Politicians, part II

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Vhal’Dan Congress
Baransu no Kage: Black Rikard Macias, human male
      Kage's Adjutant: Corde Elnyr, human female
Council of Balance:
  Arbiter: Sulen Reu Lai, human female
  1st Speaker: Sarll Båz Rhadde, Cathar male
  2nd Speaker: Lorack Vasch, Kel-Dor female
  3rd Speaker: Khrom-Xon Prine, human male
  4th Speaker: Darjaní Korpil, human female
  5th Speaker: Jol’l Dulovic, Togruta male
  6th Speaker: Aah’valia Mortari, Trailian female
  7th Speaker: Piodas Bastra, Verpine
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As the warship Istic's Aldrnari exited hyperspace, the tactical frigate took an orbital insertion above the northern pole before settling into a geosynchronous orbit above the Senate District of Coruscant.  Within minutes, one of the armored shuttles departed from the vessel, the red-painted hull indicative of diplomatic passengers carbon scored and faded.  The ship--much like its crew--had seen countless battles of the New Sith Wars.

A thousand-year war that had finally concluded, the Sith now all-but-eradicated.

For the first time in a millennium the galaxy was at peace, the armies of the Sith outright destroyed.  Already there was talk of monuments to the Army of Light, especially in veneration of its leader, Jedi Lord Hoth...a conspicuous contrast in the state of the Republic even as recent as a year ago. 

And the galaxy was about to change even more.

Unsurprisingly, the Republic of today would be unrecognizable compared to the one that had seen the first hostilities of the Sith flood that had precipitated the War.  The residents of the galaxy had lived with war for so long that they no longer knew of anything else.  It would take a visionary to enact said change, to inaugurate a New (some hoped for "Golden") Age for the Republic, its' citizens lives elevated.  From the ashes of the New Sith Wars the Republic would rise anew, a phoenix reborn amidst the fires of galactic conflagration.

Unfortunately, such change always came at the expense of someone.

As the diplomatic transport de-orbited, it joined the main skylane headed directly towards the Republic Executive Building.  In minutes, the shuttle had landed in one of the central berths, the landing gears having settled onto the deck no longer than 5 seconds before the main ramp opened from below the fuselage.  Immediately ten people disembarked, all of them armed and armored, their faces virtually identical in their shared determined indignation.  As one they entered the building, those who saw them quickly moving out of their way; those that didn't were unceremoniously pushed aside.

Not one voiced any word of complaint, at least not after seeing the looks upon their faces.

As they strode through the wide halls--the main thoroughfare leading to the Congressional Dome--they eventually veered off, heading deep into the political wing where, after several twists and turns through the busy halls, they finally stood before the Supreme Chancellor's Office.

Clearly word had spread prior to their arrival as over three dozen, cerulean-robed Senate Guards barred entry into the large room, their Mk II "Paladin" blaster rifles held at the ready instead of slung on their shoulders.  The Blue Guard (as they were known) was a fearsome, elite security force whose members were chosen from every branch of the Republic's military.  Not only were they charged with the protection of the members of the Galactic Senate, but also as the personal bodyguards to the Supreme Chancellor himself.  But one amongst them stood above the rest.

A young man presented himself in front of the others, his hand hovering toward his belt where he kept his lightsaber hidden.  Johun Othone had been apprenticed to his master, Jedi Lord Farfalla but upon his Knighting, he was appointed as leader to the Supreme Chancellor's personal bodyguard.  It underscored just how capable the members of the Blue Guard were.

Nevertheless, the ten armored Jedi standing in front of them were much, much more dangerous, veterans not only of dozens of battles fought between the former Clans but, more recently, the warriors whom had fought--and survived--against The Brotherhood.  The spotless sapphire light-plasteel armor of the Blue Guard stood in stark contrast to the war-scarred durasteel/nanite alloy armor of the Vhal'Dan, most still spotted with dried blood, plasma burns, and small dents.

Unlike the Blue Guard, the ten Vhal'Dan had their blasters holstered and their lightsabers hanging from their belts, but that looked as if it could change in the blink of an eye.  One of the Jedi stepped forward, a regal woman with luxurious black hair and flawless coppery skin, one whom carried herself as if used to command...and that such commands would be obeyed.

"Stand aside." Sulen's voice carried clearly throughout the vast hall, her immaculate armor matching the pristine hair, skin, and visage of the tall woman.  "Jedi Lord Rikard Macias, Kage of the Vhal'Dan requires the attention of your Supreme Chancellor."  Her tone broached no argument, neither did the dangerous look in her dark brown eyes.  To anyone looking, it was quite the trick: the slender, armored woman stood staring down over 30 of the blue-clad guards.  Most people would've felt compelled to obey and hurriedly move.

Yet not one of the Blue Guard so much as budged.

Each and every member of the Senate Guard had been chosen for their bravery and their martial skill, proficient in both the weapons they wielded as well as hand-to-hand combat.  But even with their numerical superiority, against the ten Vhal'Dan they were vastly eclipsed in those very areas of expertise, even their commander.  Still, they had their orders...

"Captain Othone..." A digitized voice sounded from the wall beside the closed door to the Supreme Chancellor's Office.  "Let them pass." The clipped, polished tone of the voice gave no doubts as to whom it belonged to.

Immediately, the Blue Guard parted, although not one of them slung their rifles; instead they held them in the port position.  Simultaneously, the large door irised open admitting the ten Vhal'Dan Jedi to enter.

Taking a step to the side, Sulen fell into place besides Rikard as he entered the large office, flanked on the opposite side by Corde.  Behind them towered Sarll in his heavy burnished armor, the remainder of the Speakers arrayed to either side.  As they strode deeper into the office, the large ovoid transparasteel window behind the Supreme Chancellor bathed the entire room in light.  Thus it was that Rik saw that there were a dozen Jedi already there, Jedi Lord Valenthyne Farfalla standing just to the side of the large chair behind the Resolute Desk.  Rising from the chair, Tarsus Valorum struck an imposing figure, his bright blue eyes shrewd and determined.

One would've thought that he was also a Jedi, given his nonchalance at being surrounded by them.

"Greetings Master Rikard Macias, greetings masters..." He included Sulen and the Speakers with a simple gesture.  "Welcome to Corusca--"  But he was swiftly and unceremoniously interrupted.

"Jedi Lord Rikard Macias has returned to collect on the promises given him by the Seneschal of Light, Jedi Lord Hoth..." Sulen voice wasn't loud yet it seemed to boom within the offices.  "...Nine seats in the Galactic Senate and two permanent member positions with 'Right to Veto.'  Meanwhile, the Kage and Council of Balance also retains sovereignty over any and all things Vhal'Dan."

Several of the gathered Coruscanti Jedi behind Farfalla looked shocked, others introspective, while a few openly scoffed.  As for Farfalla himself, the Jedi Lord remained completely silent.

The Supreme Chancellor had adopted a patient look, his tone becoming pedantic.  "Master Gray Reu Lai..." He addressed Sulen but his eyes were locked upon Rikard's, cunning and attentive.  "...I'm afraid that that is no longer possible.  You see, with the death of Master Hoth and my own ascension as Supreme Chancellor, the Senate--no, the Republic--as you knew it no longer exists."  He paused for effect, his hands gripping the lapels of his robes of office.  "I have enacted a series of dictates for the benefit of every Galactic citizen: the Ruusan Reforms.  This includes the welfare of the Vhal'Dan Clans--"

"The Vhal'Dan Order." Sulen corrected, her slanted eyes narrowing further.

"The Vhal'Dan Order..." Valorum repeated, not missing a beat.  "...And allows them equal representation as one of the new 1,024 regional sectors throughout the galaxy."  Without consulting any map, he added, "Your homeworld, Istic III, is now located in the Teraab Sector in the Mid Rim.  This falls under the auspices of--" He gestured to a short Bothan woman standing next to Farfalla.  "Senator Utri Sei'Lya, seated within Hoth's Brand System."  The Bothan's fur shifted conspicuously, indicative of her pride...or perhaps her hubris.

"'Hoth's Brand System?'" Sarll's deep bass vibrato seemed to shake the entire office.  "What is that?" He asked pointedly.

"The former Ruusan System.  Victory should be celebrated, don't you think?" Valorum's smooth tone was silky, his eyes knowing.

"...And act as a reminder of dead martyrs..." Sarll's whisper could be heard in the hall through the closed door.  "Very useful political capital."

"Quite right, Master Gray Båz Rhadde." Valorum's tone was light and not quite self-congratulatory.  "After all, Lord Hoth's sacrifice should be lauded.  And quickly forgotten."  His eyes never left Rikard.  "Just like his promises."

Even though Rik's face didn't change, an air of menace seemed to radiate from him.  Everyone in the room could feel it.  But Valorum wasn't finished.

"Also: the Jedi are no longer a separate entity in the Republic.  From now on, the Jedi High Council shall be under the supervision of the Republic's Judicial Department."  His face finally dropped his serenely blank mask turning hard.  "I have abolished the rank of 'Jedi Lord.'  There will no longer be a Jedi military."  Valorum's voice grew gentle.  "From now on, the Order shall be the Republic's peace-keepers."  There seemed to be a note of finality with that last statement.

Rikard finally spoke.  But not to Valorum.

He looked to Farfalla.  "And you agree to this." It was not a question.  "What were you given?" His tone was quiet but intense.  Rikard had fought with Farfalla against the Brotherhood, standing next to him in the line as they stood against the seemingly endless Sith hordes.  While he never considered the half-Bothan a friend, Rik had not thought him an enemy either.  Until now.

Farfalla's eyes never wavered.  "Grand Master of the Order."  He looked neither excited nor contrite; he was merely a man of his own convictions.

Rikard said nothing, the silence stretching uncomfortably until the Supreme Chancellor broke it, his eyes taking them all in.  "In lieu of Hoth's promises, I offer you my own: your Vhal'Dan shall be accepted into the Jedi Order proper as equal members, just as your Masters here shall be eligible for a seat on the High Council."  Rik's ear caught the deliberate singular "a seat" but said nothing. 

Valorum finally locked his gaze upon Rikard.  "Master Gray Rikard Macias, you have already been guaranteed a spot upon the Council in no small part to both your successes against the Sith as well as from the endorsement of Master Ga'Len Chillum."  Valorum's voice lowered as if he were speaking to Rik and only him.  "I've offered the Mak'Tor the same and they've accepted.  You would do well to follow their example."

For several long seconds the two men stared at one another, everyone within the room tense.  The friction in the room was palpable as everyone stared from one to the other, neither man's face betraying any emotion.

"No." Rikard's reply seemed to echo throughout the office.  The tension ratcheted up, Jedi on both sides ready to grab at their lightsabers, every set of eyes looking around the room.  Except two people: the Kage and the Supreme Chancellor.  If either man had expected anything different, they kept it to themselves.

"So be it." Valorum squared his shoulders, his mouth a thin line.  "The Vhal'Dan C--Order will be integrated within the Jedi proper." He swept a hand towards the ten armored Vhal'Dan.  "Your provincial ranks and positions have no bearing here.  Furthermore, there are no 'Speakers,' no 'Arbiter'..." He looked deliberately at Rikard.  "No 'Kage.'  You will abide by the laws of the Republic or forfeit your stature as citizens."  As soon as the last word had left his lips, the dozen Coruscanti Jedi ignited their lightsabers at the same time the Blue Guard leveled their rifles.

Not even a half-second later, the Vhal'Dan had their own lightsabers ignited and held at the ready, the ten standing roughly in a tight circle to defend on all sides.  Rikard was flanked by Su and Corde while Sarll was surrounded by the other Speakers, the Triarch's armor suddenly bristling with mini-missiles that had target locks on every single opponent facing him.

All three groups were poised on a razor's edge.  All it would take would be one small spark, a single gram upon a trigger...

"Wait." Rikard's digitized voice broke through the rising tension, the Kage lowering his saber (but did not close it down).  "Chancellor, the Vhal'Dan are not subject to your laws as we are no longer citizens of Istic III and, therefore, the Republic."  Sulen and Sarll both had the ghost of a knowing smile upon their lips.  "As such and commensurate with those same--with your own--laws, we are accorded the respect and standing of a visiting autonomous government."

From the members of the Blue Guard to each of the Coruscanti Jedi, their faces displayed a range of emotions: from confused to poleaxed, from shocked to grudgingly impressed.  But there were two people whose faces remained completely impassive: Grand Master Farfalla and, naturally, Tarsus Valorum.

"And what government do I now address, Master Macias?" Valorum's voice held no animus but the tightness around his eyes betrayed his own anger at having been outmaneuvered.

"Kage." Sulen pointedly emphasized.

Valorum slowly inhaled.  "Kage." He allowed.  "What government?"

Every member of the Vhal'Dan smiled inwardly.  They'd been expecting something like this after being told by their Kage that Valorum would most likely renege upon Hoth's promises.  However, only three people--Su, Sarll, and Rik--knew the exact details behind the Vhal'Dan's exodus from Istic III, their new homeworld now located at...

"Galtea." Rikard announced.  "The Galtean Union." He proffered by way of explanation, finally closing down his green lightsaber (although no one else had).  This time, it was Rikard that wore a small, not-quite-congratulatory smile.

This time, even Valorum was taken aback.  "Galtea...in the Marcol Void?" His eidetic memory gave him the location if not the reasons why the Vhal'Dan had chosen the virtually unknown planet...with the lone exception that it lay beyond the boundaries of the Republic.

"Galtea." Rikard repeated.  "We shall now take our leave.  Chancellor." He bowed at the neck to Valorum, then turned to Farfalla doing the same.  "Grandmaster."  He turned on his heel and headed for the door, unconcerned by the Blue Guard standing in his way.  From behind Rik, Sulen spoke a final time, almost as an afterthought.

"Do not attempt to visit Galtea without the Kage's explicit permission as our sovereignty extends to the entire system.  As per Republic law." This time there was no ambiguity with the Arbiter's deliberate choice of words.  Again, she fell into step besides Rikard, designedly followed by Corde and the Speakers, Sarll bringing up the rear.  As they did so, each Vhal'Dan extinguished their lightsaber but kept it readily in their hands.

Making his decision quickly, Captain of the Blue (and newly-raised Jedi Knight) Johun Othone barked a command.  "Stand down!"  He knew what his order were...but he was also an intuitive man, one of the reasons to be sure that Farfalla had promoted him.
 Leading by example, he stepped away just as Rikard was about to run into him bodily.  What followed was a precession of the Vhal'Dan Speakers, each with a satisfied look upon their face.

As he passed, the enormous Cathar stared dangerously at each member of the Blue Guard, finally looking over his heavy shoulder at the Coruscanti Jedi and the Supreme Chancellor.  Farfalla quietly instructed his Jedi to put away their weapons, each knight extinguishing their lightsabers one by one.  The Cathar grinned at the spectacle but paused briefly before exiting the Chancellor's Offices.

He had wanted to bring some of his Cataphracts.  Actually, that wasn't true; he wanted to bring them all.  However, the Kage had given them an order, one that Sarll had to admit was wise: "Bring only the Council of Balance to the meeting, that way they could not be accused of having anything other than a diplomatic envoy."  And not, say, a "military" group.  He was thinking about that as he stared at each face, knowing that his Kage had outplayed them all.  He gave a final look before following the rest of the Vhal'Dan.  What he noticed raised his estimation of both Rikard and Valorum.

The last thing that Sarll saw was that Valorum had recovered from his shock, a small smile of admiration showing through on his face. 

Leaving how they came, the Vhal'Dan strode through the Senate Building, rumors already spreading on hyperspace lanes about what might or might not have transpired in the Chancellor's Offices.  Such would spread throughout the planet, the system, and the galaxy in no short time.  But, ultimately, there was but one person that truly appreciated what had happened and how Rikard Macias had given him an acceptable alternative.

Tarsus Valorum, realist&visionary, patriot&tyrant watched as the Vhal'Dan withdrew from his offices and finally disappeared in the twisting hallways leading back to the docks.  Soon thereafter, he dismissed everyone, even Grand Master Farfalla.  Once again introspective, he had to admit that he'd been given a gift of sorts from the Kage.

He knew that freedom required diligence and sacrifice.  But he was also intelligent enough to know when to be magnanimous: he'd been beaten; let the Vhal'Dan have their win.

Besides, they were part of the reason that his new Republic lived.

The Supreme Chancellor allowed himself a singular moment of wistful contentment.  Sometimes doing the right thing happened to be the best thing to do.

Mentally, he put the Vhal'Dan out of his mind, compartmentalizing everything associated with them, realizing that they were no longer his problem (A problem, yes, but not for him nor for now).  Besides, he still had a job to do.

Working well into the night, Valorum sat behind the Resolute Desk planning, intent upon changing the Galaxy and making his dream of a Golden Republic an undeniable reality, one that he fully intended on lasting a thousand generations.


Title: Re: The Storms of Exodus
Post by: Lord_S_Gray on November 17, 2022, 01:04:12 AM
What use are a Clan - sorry Order - of warriors when there is no war left to fight? And what happens to the promises made by dead men to their allies in the heat of conflict?

That seems answered here, the Jedi, as they were are no longer needed or desired, and the promises to variegated Gray Orders died with Hoth. It's hard to put much blame on Valorum, he is now trying to rebuild something better for the Republic after a very long conflict, and doesn't want to be bound by someone else's commitments made under duress and desperation.

Changes are needed and his plans are not without logic, his underestimation was probably the firm independent streak of the Vhal'dan compared to the Mak'tor and other Jedi Lords who, by conviction or necessity accepted the changes and creation of a reformed Jedi order - of course even then tensions remained but that is for a few centuries later.

Rikard at least anticipated such and had plans in place to surprise the Chancellor.  Still I think, on balance, Valorum (and Farfalla) got the better part of the deal, the Vhal'dan among the Jedi, and Rikard on the council, could've been difficult for 'Grand Master' Farfalla to control and certainly the Cataphracts would not give up their more martial nature - so what might've been a troublesome faction within the Order is now outside of it and the Republic
 and thus no longer Valorum's problem to manage - he has more than enough others.

Yet we see the 'Exodus' of the title here, the Vhal'Dan dealing themselves out of the Republic they fought for - one wonders how later generations of Vhal'dan remember/Interpret these events - betrayal by the Republic, a mutual parting of ways, or Vhal'dan asserting their sovereignty against integration and dilution.  All are arguably correct, such is the complex nature of the political and personal situation Dutch has delved into so well here.  

In the end neither side really got what they wanted, but both ended with something they could live with. Now the true Exodus begins!.

Also good to see more of Stryka and her ill fated teidowan.