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General Chat => Fan Fiction and Art => Topic started by: TheDutchman on May 18, 2019, 04:15:21 PM



Title: Retrieval
Post by: TheDutchman on May 18, 2019, 04:15:21 PM
All of this takes place after the events in “What You Leave Behind” as well as during “Brothers.”
****************************************************************************
Prologue

(https://thumb.ibb.co/dCFEJ8/ashara-zavros-by-pekoetea-dbl2xib.jpg) (https://ibb.co/dCFEJ8)

When Rakham came to the door, he paused knowing what awaited him on the other side.  …And this is why I never wanted to be a Master… He thought.  Still: you could wish in one hand and feed the Sarlacc with the other and see which one got filled first.  Besides, as much as he denied it, he was a leader and not just of the Templars.

Sighing, he pressed the chime on the door and waited.

“Come in, please.” Came the quiet voice from a voicebox in the door.

Rakham keyed the door open and entered into the room.  It was brightly lit, almost too bright.  Taking a few seconds for his eyes to adjust (he still had some lingering problems but time would take care of that), Rakham’s eyes fell upon one of the room’s two occupants.

…D’Aylanna… His friend from years past.  The diminutive Jedi Master looked hardy and hale, even her blue lips looked vibrant.  Yet, she still lay motionless upon the airbed that she’d been laid upon, her navy-blue and gray robes arranged carefully.  Holding her olive-skinned hand was the other occupant, her orange fingers gently stroking her mother’s.

“Master Rakham.” Jorya nodded, solemn and quiet.  She’d pulled up a seat next to the bed, one hand adamantly grasping her mother’s, the other holding a datapad that she had obviously been reading from.  She must’ve noticed Rakham squinting.  “Sorry, it’s just that Mother prefers bright light.”

He nodded.  …Of course… After all, D’Aylanna was from Hapes Prime, a planet bathed in perpetual daylight.  The brightness of the room was incongruous with the Templar Archive which was usually full of shadows, the old stone walls indicative of eons past.  Of course, looks could be deceiving…

“Hey Jorya.  Any change today?” Rakham asked even though he already knew the answer.  D’Aylanna’s body was as healthy as could be but ever since she’d come back from the Taris mission she’d been in what could only be described as a coma.

“No.”  Jorya began to gently stroke her mother’s head.  Clearly, Jorya had been diligent in combing the Hapan Master’s midnight blue hair; it had a luxurious sheen to it.  “But…I can’t give up hope…”  Jorya lowered her head, a single tear sliding down an orange cheek.  “…Even if it is the will of the Maker…or the Force…”

Stoically, Rakham laid a consoling hand upon Jorya’s shoulder.  He and Dala had done everything that they could, including going through every centimeter of the Archive and the relics within.  Instinctually, Rakham felt that the answer had something to do with Kadmaur…something he’d said offhandedly a long time ago, or a nonchalant bit of trivia that his former master was always testing him with… Something that tickled his memory but not enough to elicit anything exact.  …Dammit… He thought, and not for the first time.  He’d meditate on it later on…

But, like it or not, he felt responsible.

Feeling helpless, Rakham turned to leave but before he could do so, he felt Jorya’s hand upon his.  “Thank you, Master Rakham.  I know that Mother appreciates your visits.”  The Togruta’s red lips smiled even though he still saw sadness within her blue eyes.

“Anything for your mother, Jorya.  She…she was always the best of us.”  He said, thinking himself clumsy with his last statement.  …Idiot… He castigated himself.  But if Jorya thought anything, it clearly wasn’t that.

“You’re a good man, Master Rakham.  And Mother trusted—trusts—you.” Jorya’s voice was full of conviction and the assurance of youth.  Rakham couldn’t help but be impressed and a little surprised: clearly D’Aylanna and Zearic had done something right when they’d raised the Togruta.

 “I won’t let your mother down, Jorya.  Or you.” He patted her hand, the gratitude in her eyes both comforting him…and evoking admonishment.  Oh, not from her but from himself. 

Full of self-rebuke, Rakham left the room, his head working and wondering how he could help his friend…and keep his promise to her daughter.

               <<<<< >>>>>

As Rakham entered the Archives' main hall, Berra and Edda sitting at one of the tables along the wall while his brother sat by himself reading a datapad, when he got the second shock of his night: standing before him was a big, wide human one that he thought he recognized.  Only, somethings weren't right...or at least not as he remembered.

The man had a grim look on his face as well as a hard look in his strange hazel eyes.  He had a few more white hairs salting the full beard he now wore but that wasn’t what gave the Templar Master pause: the last time that he'd seen this man, he'd possessed a cybernetic eye, right hand, and left leg.  And even a cursory glance was all Rakham needed to tell that those cybernetics were gone, living flesh and tissue in their place.  ...What the hell...?  But that wasn't the only difference, although certainly the most noticeable.  Rakham couldn't quite believe his senses but...this man's presence in the Force was strong, as strong as his own when before he'd been substantially weaker.  But any doubts that he had were laid to rest when next the man spoke.

"Master Crescentfall."  The deep baritone was exactly as Rakham remembered it.  Somehow, this man standing before him was D'Aylanna's husband, Zearic Vih'Torr.  Rakham extended a hand to him.

Zearic never even looked at it.  Before anyone in the Hall could do anything, the big man moved, grabbing Rakham by his tunics and shoving the taller man against the wall.  Berra and Edda started saying something while Heditt didn't even bother with talking, igniting his saber with a dangerous look in his eyes.

"What did you do to my wife?!"  Zearic's balled fists were vises, the anger on his face mostly masking the worry he obviously felt.  Mostly.  Rakham took a patient breath; he'd expected something like this.

"Zearic...we have much to discuss.  Perhaps in privat—"  Rakham was cut off as Zearic shoved him against the wall again.

"Frell that!  Tell me what in the Maker-damned hell happened to D'Aylanna!"  Looking out of the corner of his eye, the big man shot a warning glance at Heditt, for all the good it did him.  Heditt had stopped advancing but still held his ignited saber at the ready.

And just when Rakham thought that the scene would explode into violence, Jorya entered the room from behind them.

"Dad!"  Jorya's voice held surprise, fear, and concern in equal measure, pulling Zearic's eyes towards her.  Momentarily softening as he looked upon his adoptive daughter, the wide maenowan swung his head back towards the taller Templar Master, the hard set of his face somewhat mitigated.  Looking over Zearic, Rakham gave an imperceptible shake of his head to his brother, then, looking down with a look of unfeigned sympathy on his face, the Templar Master quietly spoke.

"Zearic.  I'm not certain exactly what has happened to D'Aylanna.  But as I've already promised your daughter, I will do everything that I can to get your wife back."  Rakham didn't move but stared patiently into the big man's angry eyes.  They seemed to search for something, an almost feral light shone from them.  Then suddenly his wide shoulders slumped, his anger dissipating. 

Heditt finally closed down his saber but kept it in his hand.  Jorya ran over, rubbing her father's wide back, a look of sympathy on her face.  When she looked at Rakham, she mouthed an apology.  Rakham gave a small smile before looking back at the big maenowan.

"Zearic...D'Aylanna isn't dead.  And although she's in a deep coma, Jorya was able to shed some light on the situation, if only to raise more questions."  Rakham saw Zearic shift his attention to the tall Togruta, their eyes meeting in a wordless shared expression of grief tinged with an undercurrent of hope.  Rakham continued.  "But one thing is for certain: I promised your wife and that I'd look after her and Jorya.  I now extend the same to you."

Zearic's face was unreadable.  Rakham had seen hard men before and the man before him was amongst the hardest yet.  But beneath the pain, the anger, and the bitter fight between hope and despair, he saw a man who loved and missed his wife.  When Zearic did speak, his deep voice had lost its harsh tone but was no softer for it.

"Alright, Crescentfall.  My wife and daughter trust you...so shall I."  As Jorya gently led him away, he suddenly turned, his strange hazel eyes drilling into Rakham's.  "And I'll hold you to your promise."  Again, Jorya worded an apology before leading her father to D’Aylanna’s room.

Rakham's gaze didn't waver from where the two Vhal'Dan Jedi had disappeared, not even when Heditt approached and started talking.  "He shouldn't blame you, Rak.  Not your fault..."  Before Heditt had even stopped, Rakham was shaking his head.

"My fault?  No...but my responsibility?"  Now he looked at his brother, staring down at the shorter man.  "And regardless...I understand the man."  He smiled wistfully.  "Maybe after this is over, I can share a flask of Agavinol with him..."  Rakham's face turned hard.  "But right now, Heditt, the only thing that he wants of me is to h...no, ensure his wife's complete recovery."  And as he walked away, Rakham looked over his shoulder.  "One way or another, that's exactly what I'm going to do...or die trying."

               <<<<< >>>>>

As Zearic and Jorya entered the room, the big man went immediately to his wife, kneeling on the side of the bed and taking D’Aylanna’s hand in both of his.  Jorya came up behind her father and put her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.  Grabbing her forearm with one of his big hands, he squeezed in both appreciation as well as reassurance.  Together, the quiet sounds of their sobbing filled the room.

After a time, they both got off of the floor, taking the plain but comfortable chairs that had been provided to them.  His breathing slow and deliberate, Zearic looked at his daughter, a small smile playing upon his lips.  “How are you, Dear One?”

When she’d seen her father in the Archive Hall, a plethora of questions had gone through her head.  But after what had happened, she’d forgotten them at the time.  Now, they came flooding back.  “Dad, what’s happened to you?  Why would you only write to us and so seldom?  How did you get your eye, hand, and legs back?  And how is it you’re so much stronger than before?”  Her words came forth faster and faster, each word louder and spoken with more emphasis until she was practically shouting.  Before she knew it, she was standing in front of Zearic, her hands balled into fists.  “Dad, what the hell happened to you?!”

Slowly rising from his chair, Zearic looked into Jorya’s eyes.  They were both nearly the same height, the big maenowan slightly taller…but when last they’d been together, Jorya had overpowered her father in the Force.  They’d both expected it, planned for it even.

But now…

Now, Jorya could feel that her father’s presence in the Force was considerably more potent, closer to Master Karmack…almost as strong as Mother.  She wasn’t sure just what to make of it.

Zearic had both dreaded and anticipated this, although in his thoughts he had D’Aylanna to help him explain everything.  But this…he was truly at a loss about what to do.

Before he could speak, Jorya grabbed his right hand—the one that Gaetana had cut off—her grip firm yet gentle.  Her ministrations were tender but probing, he could tell.  She’d known that he’d lived with that pain for about as long as she’d known him.  Meanwhile, her other hand reached for his face, gingerly touching the temple around his left eye, where his cybernetic implant was—had been.  Zearic was still getting used to…his new reality.

…I do what I must to keep them safe… The thought once again came unbidden.  Yet the irony of the situation threatened to overwhelm him.  Instead, he drew deeply from within, the part of him that D’Aylanna had always insisted he possessed, regardless of the adversity they confronted, the part of him that would never give up, the part of him that had saved Jorya’s life, the part of him…

…The part of him that D’Aylanna loved.

Strengthened, he gently took ahold of Jorya’s hands.  Much of what he’d just been through… Well, he wanted to tell her.  But not yet, not now.  Looking into his daughters eyes, he knew now what he needed to do.

“Dear One, I promise that I will tell you everything.  I just ask that you be patient with me.  Know that…everything that has happened, everything that I’ve gone through I’ve done in order to keep you and your mother safe.  Whereas before I…I was…too weak, insufficient to the task.”  He spit the last out vehemently, his self-loathing evident in his tone.  He exhaled slowly and when Zearic spoke next, he was calmer.  “But now, seeing you and your mother…I’m…I’m glad to have paid the price that I have.  But know this: it is all for nothing if we can’t heal your mother.”  He took Jorya’s hands and wrapped them with his.  “Just as it is all for nothing without you, Dear One.  I promise to tell you everything.  But first: we must help D’Aylanna.”

Jorya stared into her father’s eyes, the odd mix of green, brown, and red irises a comforting sight, his loving words helping to banish the hopelessness.  She rushed at her adoptive father, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace, or at least as far as they would go.  She felt his thick arms around her, his big hand amazingly tender as he stroked her lekku gently.  After a moment, she started when she realized what she was hearing.

Her father was singing.  It was a Hapan lullaby, one that Mother had sang to her as a child.  Hugging her father tighter, she whispered, “I love you, Dad.”  She felt his heavy jowls smile, the new beard scratching her forehead.

“I love you too, Jorya.”  And he kept singing.

Standing there, they both took comfort in their shared commiseration.  And for the first time since her Mother had fallen into a coma, Jorya felt relief.  Now that her Dad was here, he would know what to do, he would find out what he needed, and he would help her Mom.  And with that, she told him about her Delve and what she’d seen.

…Except for the old man.  Whomever he was, he’d scared her and badly.  Jorya told herself that she didn’t want for her father to worry about that but at least part of her knew that wasn’t the full truth.  But even as she thought about it, she promptly forgot, her mind on other concerns. 

Had she done differently, she probably could have saved herself the future hurt that would result from her decisions.


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: TheDrunkenConsular on May 18, 2019, 05:40:25 PM
I love it!  I absolutely can't wait to read the next chapter.


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: Lord_S_Gray on May 20, 2019, 03:55:04 AM
Already seeds of a very interesting story, both Jorya and Zearic holding information back, possibly because they don't even know what to make of their experiences themselves yet...and the one person who could bridge those gaps is the one who they need to help, this will be a difficult emotional ride for them I think...and for Zearic in particular the contrast between his own 'renewal' and his wifes injured state will be especially painful...but also possibly as source of temptation in how he tries to help her potentially - echoing Kazic in Schisms (which again is a great example of the Forumverse interconnections, how things cycle, different characters facing the same problems). 


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: Karmack on May 20, 2019, 04:05:50 PM
Nice Dutchman!   I've long wondered what it would look like when Zearic finally came for D'Aylanna and faced Jorya.  Their love for each other is evident, but they continue to shield each other from present hurt to future detriment.   So much like any one of us.  :-)


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: TheDutchman on May 31, 2019, 10:46:23 PM
(https://thumb.ibb.co/kM5Hwc/ashara.jpg) (https://ibb.co/kM5Hwc)
Chapter 1: Waking Nightmares, part I

“Jorya, what the hell were you thinking?!” Zearic’s voice was quiet but his tone held a vehemence that the Togruta hadn’t heard before.

“…Father, I wa—” She began but was quickly cut off.

“What you did was not only patently dangerous to you but to your mother as well.”  He took a step towards her.  …By the Maker did he get bigger…? She thought inadvertently before mentally shaking her head.  Couldn’t he see that she was trying to help?

“Father, we all had no idea what to do, not even Master Rakham.  I knew that I could d—” Once again, Zearic interrupted.

“‘You knew that you could do it?’  Jorya, just because you were successful once does not mean that you are an adept…certainly not an expert!…and in a situation as dangerous as this!” Controlled anger radiated from him.

Why did he not see that they—she—was desperate to help Mother?  “Dad, I onl—” Again, her father interposed, his irate tone incongruous with his quiet voice.

“Did you learn nothing from last time?” He shook his head.  “Apparently you being censured wasn’t enough as you did not learn your lesson.”  

With that, all of Jorya’s forbearance disappeared, something in his tone igniting her temper.  “‘My lesson?’  I am the only one who is doing anything!  I’m the only person who can help Mom!”  She stood straight, almost of a height with her Father.  “No, Dad, I learned my lesson very well: ‘take what you want and pay for it.’”  Jorya’s tone matched her father’s, the look on her orange face a mirror of Zearic’s.  

For a moment, the big maenowan’s face remained impassive.  And for as resolute as she felt, Jorya wondered if she might have gone too far...

Suddenly, her father’s entire demeanor changed: his shoulders seemed to slump, his breathing became more regular, his countenance more normal, voice calm, almost…self-deprecating.  “You’re right; I did teach you that.”  He suddenly offered for her to take a seat at the small table in D’Aylanna’s room.  Pulling the other chair over and with an alarming creak, Zearic settled into it opposite his daughter.  Inhaling slowly before he began speaking again, his face softened.  “Jorya…what I should’ve said was: ‘Take what you want but be prepared to pay for it.’”  

Sitting in her chair, back rigid with her arms crossed, Jorya wasn’t quite ready to let her anger go.  “Dad, you’ve told me that for years.”  Her beautiful face wasn’t marred by the furrowed brow above her eyes.  Staring at her Father, she remained determined.

Zearic finally did smile, even chuckling briefly.  “Yes.  Yes, Dear One you’re right.”  He ran his hands through his newly shorn hair and down his face, smoothing his beard before he began speaking again.  “I…should have been more careful with how I…qualified that lesson.”  

A flash of recent memory ran through his mind: his own angry words—words leading to angry actions—spoken against his own friend, Zearic’s own convictions still convincing him that he hadn’t been wrong…

…Well, not completely…but it was a regret for another time; his family needed him in the here-and-now.  …Regrets… He couldn’t help but think that he’d never escape them…but he could do something about them.  Well, at least some of them…

“Jorya, I’m sorry that I got angry.”  He offered her his right hand.  “You are an adult now, a full koawan.  It was wrong of me to treat you like a child.  And in that, I apologize.”  His face was serious now.

Jorya looked at her father, her anger finally subsiding.  “It’s OK, Dad.”  Taking his hand in both of hers, she leaned forward laying her forehead against his.  “And thank you.”  Silently, he nodded before sitting back into the chair.

Zearic’s gaze became raptorlike.  “But Jorya know this: what you did is dangerous, both for you and your mother.”  He held up his hand to forestall any retort.  “I understand you were desperate to help, the need to save your Mother.  And all things being equal…I probably would have done the same at your age and in your position.”  Again, he gave a small smile.  “This is advice, not an indictment: in the future please be more careful.”  Jorya returned his smile, giving a slight nod before she heard her father continue.  “…I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you too.” He said the last in almost a whisper.

Jorya’s heart ached hearing the apprehension in her Father’s voice, the pain he tried to hide but couldn’t.  Looking into his face, she saw Zearic’s utter exhaustion, his wide face looking sallow and drawn.  Not for the first time, she wondered just what had happened to the man she loved as her father.

She rose from her chair, standing next to Zearic and hugging him tightly.  “I…thanks, Dad.”  They held each other in silence for a moment before they both settled back into their chairs.  It was Jorya who spoke first.  “Dad…you haven’t had anything to eat since you got here, and I know that you haven’t slept since you made planetfall.  Would you like for me to get you something?  Or would like for me to leave you alone and you can be with Mother, maybe get some sleep?”

As if mentioning it had made it so, Zearic looked as if he would suddenly collapse.  “I…yes.  Yes, you’re right, Dear One.”  Awkwardly rising from his seat, he started towards the bed where D’Aylanna lay.  Jorya was by his side in the blink of an eye, gently helping him as he tentatively lay next to his wife.  

In any other circumstance it would have looked comical: the small Hapan woman was dwarfed by her husband as he curled up next to her, arm protectively wrapping her steadily breathing chest.  And for the first time since she’d seen her father in the Templar Archive, she saw just how worried he really was.  Grabbing a blanket from one of the chests in the room, Jorya carefully draped it over her parents, gently smoothing it as she rubbed her father’s shoulder and her mother’s hands.  She kissed her mother’s forehead and her father’s cheek whispering each time “I love you, Mom” and “I love you, Dad” before turning the illumination down.

She paused at the open doorway looking in on her parents.  Mother continued to breath slowly and steadily.  Her Father…he was already asleep, exhaustion finally taking him as he lay next to his wife of twenty years.  Jorya smiled wistfully, keying the door shut.

But for as tired as Zearic was his sleep was disturbed, punctuated by memories of the past and nightmares of the future.

               <<<<< >>>>>

Jorya decided that she could do to blow off some steam, especially for as angry as Father had made her.  She headed to the Archive’s Training sallet, an enormous room that was an odd marriage joining high-tech machinery and ancient stone walls.  And although the sallet was often occupied, it was completely empty when Jorya entered.  Familiar with the equipment, she grabbed and then activated one of the many practice drones that the Templars often used.  She ignited her lightsaber, taking a few practice swings while warming up her body as well.  Inhaling slowly, she briefly closed her eyes, taking all of the residual anger that she felt and concentrated.

…Anger… Father had told her …can be useful, if channeled properly…so long as you are not giving way to hate—that is of the Dark Side—then it behooves you to utilize all resources at your disposal… It was one of the tenets that separated the Vhal’Dan from the Jedi Order proper: one should not ignore or condemn a tool that is useful just because others consider it “evil.”  The tool itself is neither “evil” nor “good;” rather, it is the intent of the one using said tool that matters.  It was another lesson that Father had taught her early on.

Jorya exhaled, adopting a ready stance gripping her lightsaber in both hands.  Her legs were slightly apart, one foot in front of the other, her split gray skirts swaying slightly.  “Begin.” Her voice was monotone but she felt her emotions surge below the surface.  The program activated by her command, the drone shot up in the air, circling the Togrutan koawan.

Almost immediately it opened fire, constantly changing its air-pattern hovering, looking for openings in Jorya’s defenses.  But she would give it none.  Working her saber in a defense/deflect configuration—partly what Father had taught her, partly what she had developed herself—Jorya allowed her anger to help give her that edge that all saber-practitioners sought whenever they held their lightsabers.

Deflecting a quick burst of concentrated plasma fire (while the drone’s weapon-setting was “non-lethal” each blaster shot still let you know that you’d been hit), Jorya incorporated Mother’s Teräs Käsi with the Vhal’Dan Pankration that Father had taught her, her Force-powered somersaults supplementing her saber defense in an impenetrable shield that protected her from yet more blaster fire.  

The last time that she had sparred with Father on M’Tzigon, she had overpowered him.  And while he’d been gone, she had continued to improve, gaining proficiency and growing more stronger.  Stronger…

Jorya’s brow furrowed in remembrance as well as reflection: when previously she had overcome her Father’s defenses, she’d expected it to happen.  Both Father and Mother had told her that she would be a strong Jedi, Father even emphasizing that she would outstrip him in strength.  But…now that she’d been able to be alone with Father, really focus on him, she’d been able to feel the…difference, the disparity… He was now as strong as Master Karmack, or so close that the difference was negligible.  

How?

The blue-white blade made several orbits, the blaster bolts deflected expertly followed by another somersault.  She had a ghost of a grin, the fusion of martial arts she’d learned from Mother and Father incorporated into various katas that she’d developed into a virtuosity as unique as she was.  She suddenly adopted a reverse Shien grip, intercepting two more plasma bolts before employing another sweeping orbit in which she fluidly shifted into a traditional grip once again.  Just like Father had taught her.

Her smile faltered.

Part of Jorya was happy for him; she’d always felt that the Maker had done Father a disservice in making him so relatively weak in the Force.  She’d always felt that he deserved more.  But now that that had come to pass, she felt trepidation.  And fear; not for herself, but for Father.  And with his refusal to talk about it…that had only served to worry her more.

The rate of fire increased exponentially, Jorya’s arms working her saber furiously yet concise, forms beautiful yet deadly.  Mother’s instruction had introduced her to sabercraft that melded form and function.  Coupled with Father teaching her some of the Water Forms, Jorya had grown into an incredible swordswoman.

And now that Father was here, she’d hoped…believed that he would be able to do something for Mother.  Jorya gritted her teeth.  But now, she felt as if her anxiety had increased exponentially: Mother’s coma was bad enough… Now, Father desperately tried to hide his inner conflict but Jorya could recognize the signs.  However, until he chose to share it with her, she could—and would—respect his decision…but that didn’t mean that she had to like it.

Suddenly, she heard a beeping noise.

It was the drone; it had completed its program.  …What the hell…? She thought to herself.  Had the 30 minutes really gone that quickly?  Closing down her weapon, a quick check confirmed exactly that.  With an almost imperceptible shake of her head, she selected another routine, the anger she’d had now but a memory.  But in its place was a growing lake of worry.

Father had always been her hero.  More than that: he was her Dad and she loved him.  And now that she was a full koawan, she felt that it was her honor as well as her obligation to help protect him…just like he’d always protected her.  But for right now, she was unsure about just how she could accomplish such a feat…

One thing she knew for certain: she’d have a better chance of helping Father if she also had Mother by her side.  Jorya’s face became grim.  And in order to help Mother, she needed Father… Trying not to give into despair, she keyed in the final instructions to the drone, thinking that she could at least continue to plan, keeping busy for the meantime.  Stepping back, she once again ignited her saber.

“Begin.”

And as she worked through the second routine, this time she channeled her worry.  Again, her lightsaber was a shield that allowed not one blaster bolt to reach her.  Jorya just wished that life was so easy: that any adversity could be dealt with by more training or—better still she joked—a lightsaber.  Even as she improvised a new defense/deflect model, she continued to think and worry about both of her parents and what she could do to help them…

               <<<<< >>>>>



Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: TheDutchman on May 31, 2019, 10:47:39 PM
(https://i.ibb.co/1zCV67Q/tumblr-paebs07-yg-n1vksov3o1-edited-blue.jpg) (https://ibb.co/1zCV67Q)
Chapter 1: Waking Nightmares, part II

As restless as his sleep was, Zearic was deep within the dream that haunted him.  Or more appropriately, the nightmare.

He was on an island, one completely surrounded by molten lava.  Above him an enormous two-sided pendulum swung, the apex of each oscillation taking both sides of the pendulum far over the lava.  And on each end, a person was bound immobile and helplessly.  As the pendulum rotated over his head, Zearic could clearly see who it was.

On one end was D’Aylanna.  On the other was Jorya.

Suddenly, a huge shadow appeared before him, forestalling Zearic.  It was Black Armor, his tormentor, his failure, his…master.  Knowing that he was bound in place by ties stronger than quadranium he obeyed, completely helpless to resist.  He heard a noise from behind him.

Turning his face, he saw Karmack, cruel, condescending laughter condemning him even as it ridiculed.  “And you thought that I was a threat to them?  You’re more dangerous to them than I ever was.”  Zearic wanted to cover his ears, to silence Karm’s deriding assertion, to defy him—anyone—that those were lies.  But he knew that the Mak’Tor Sage spoke truly.

As if admitting such caused Karmack to disappear, a new figure suddenly appeared in his place.  His face was familiar but still…strange.  Zearic thought he knew the person in front of him…why couldn’t he put his finger on it?

“…My son…my greatest disappointment.” As soon as the figure spoke, Zearic recognized him immediately.  His adoptive father, Kazic…only not the old Anzat that had saved him from Dalos IV.  This man was strong, youthful, full of vitality…and loathing.  “Have you learned nothing from what I told you?  No, no of course you did not.  How could you?  You were always too…weak, too pathetic.”  Kazic’s judging red eyes drilled holes through Zearic, his tone acerbic and disgusted.  “You will fail.”

Zearic closed his eyes, straining.  As if moving a mountain, he fought to speak, his teeth gritting tightly.  And, by some miracle, some act of the Maker, he was able to get his jaw working, his tongue loosed, his breath his own!  “I…will…save…them…”  Each word a whisper spoken with Herculean effort.  “You…will…not…stop…me…” Sweat poured down his face, the exertion taking all of his willpower.

But he was able to do it, to defy them!

Laughter, the likes of which he’d never heard or experienced thundered through his mind.  It was as mocking as it was definitive.  It did not come from Kazic; it came from Black Armor.  Nevertheless, Kazic’s own laughter echoed through the air.  “‘Stop you?!’ ‘Save them?!’” Kazic doubled over in mirth.  “You mistake me: I won’t stop you.”  Suddenly the Anzat sobered.  “And you can’t save ‘them.’”  He motioned with his goateed chin to Black Armor.  “You can only save one.”

When Zearic turned his eyes back towards the hulking armored figure, he found that he could move again.  He started to run…only to stop, feeling defeated and impotent.  Instead, he looked up into Black Armor’s helmeted face.  

[CHOOSE] The word resounded throughout his skull, Black Armor pointing first at one end of the pendulum and then to the other.

Zearic shook his head.  “No.”  He turned to face Kazic.  “No, I refuse to believe that, I refuse to accept that I am a…a danger to my family.”  He looked from the Anzat back to Black Armor.  “I will save them!”

[CHOOSE] Black Armor was motionless.  Behind him, Kazic stood impassively staring at Zearic, his arms crossed.  Above him, the pendulum swung, both of the people he loved most in the galaxy now stared at him with penetrating looks of judgment.  Under such scrutiny, Zearic crumbled, knowing himself to be guilty.  Guilty because he was weak, guilty because he was unworthy.  Guilty because…

…Because he was a danger to them.

[CHOOSE]

Looking up, Zearic knew of only one solution that would save both D’Aylanna and Jorya.  He looked at Black Armor and nodded.  He opened his mouth, speaking to Kazic.  “Yes.  I will choose…”

Filling himself to bursting with the Force, Zearic’s speed was augmented beyond any physical limitations.  He moved, a blur of motion.  But not towards the pendulum, not even towards Black Armor or Kazic/Karmack.

He ran towards the edge of the island he was on and, with Force-enhanced muscles, jumped from the cliff face.  For the few seconds that he felt weightless, the intense heat of the lava beat upon his face, blisters forming as his flesh began to cook.  As he fell towards the molten liquid rock, the 1,000 degree centigrade temperature, Zearic could feel the rest of his body sear from within.  And as his body hit the lava, much of it stuck to his flesh and clothes as he bounced along before settling in one place, slowly sinking beneath the glowing hot surface, the density of the lava much greater than his own.

And as his nerve endings attempted to transmit tactile sensations, his body began to shut down as lancing, agonizing pain assaulted his brain while the smell of burning flesh filled the air.  The last thoughts he had before oblivion took him gave him some small comfort: that he would NEVER be a danger to his family ever again…

               <<<<< >>>>>

Zearic awoke with a start, his body soaked in sweat.  Running his hand through his shorn hair, he looked down at D’Aylanna.  If his violent awakening had disturbed his wife, she obviously hadn’t noticed: she still lay with her hands across her slender belly, the gray and navy blue tunics and skirts arranged nicely except where Zearic had inadvertently disarranged them.

Instinctively, he looked towards his rucksack.  Half expecting to see the unsheathed black blade of the Tenebris Pugione, he was admittedly less than surprised when he didn’t.  He suspected that he no longer suffered the nightmare-inducing effects from the blackstone dagger—at least he wasn’t now—but given the severity of the dream, the…intensity of it…well, one could never be too careful…

The details of the nightmare fading, he gently reached down, touching his wife’s face before tenderly kissing her dark blue lips.  He checked his chronometer, amazed that he’d only been asleep for less than an hour.  But as always, his eyes strayed towards his wife’s serene-looking face.

Tears began to run unchecked from his eyes and into his beard.  …Please, Maker, please… He pleaded over and over, his big arms grabbing D’Aylanna’s unresponsive body to him as he buried his face into her hair.  The only sounds that filled the room were that of Zearic’s quiet sobbing.

After a while, Zearic’s exhaustion overtook him once more, his breathing slowing as he finally fell asleep.

This time when he dreamed, they were unremarkable and soporific, lasting—for the first time in many weeks—throughout the night.


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: Lord_S_Gray on June 02, 2019, 10:10:20 PM
So far this story has a very different tone, very much a family drama kind of thing so points for trying out a different kind of narrative Dutch.

Zearic is interesting in this, that even physically restored and stronger than ever still he feels weak, and the imagery of his dream was disturbingly poignant...but his response was a very 'gray' Jedi thing to do - he refused the dichotomy presented by others would not play the game the way they wanted (or did he....). And the parallel to Jorya is interesting too as she reflects on Zearics lessons further just as he acts them in a way.


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: Karmack on June 03, 2019, 02:03:00 PM
Echoing LSG: this is very different.   I like it.  :-)   

I thought it was interesting, Zearic trying to modify the lesson "Take what you want and pay for it." that he'd transmitted to his daughter.  He sees her brash actions in a different light, understands on a very different level that paying for it might be a lot harder to bear than you realize in the moment.  Perhaps he will have the courage to share the lesson in the only way that will really work - by being transparent.

I can imagine that any force-user who was active and had any kind of relationship would have this issue, though.  Rather like a super-hero - they're nature and activities bring their loved ones into danger.  In this case, his wife and child are also capable Jedi, but his new 'status' does bring an element of danger.  One he is worried about.  But at the same time, this will always be true of anyone who is active in the pursuit of Good (or Evil, for that matter).  You see this played out in cop shows and other types of fiction all the time.   This is probably one of the origins of the Jedi's traditional avoidance of attachments: to protect the Jedi from strong emotional forces and to protect others from the Jedi's job or other risks.  Look what happened to Padme'.   Or the Countess that Obi-Wan had a thing for.

So there's risk.  I think "keeping it in the family" as Zearic and Karmack did by marrying another Knight with similar training and capabilities helps a lot, but one day their actions will bring a tragic end. 

Or a horrific choice.

How do you deal with it?   That's always the question...


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: TheDutchman on June 04, 2019, 03:57:58 PM
So far this story has a very different tone, very much a family drama kind of thing so points for trying out a different kind of narrative Dutch.

Zearic is interesting in this, that even physically restored and stronger than ever still he feels weak, and the imagery of his dream was disturbingly poignant...but his response was a very 'gray' Jedi thing to do - he refused the dichotomy presented by others would not play the game the way they wanted (or did he....). And the parallel to Jorya is interesting too as she reflects on Zearics lessons further just as he acts them in a way.
Echoing LSG: this is very different.   I like it.  :-)   

I thought it was interesting, Zearic trying to modify the lesson "Take what you want and pay for it." that he'd transmitted to his daughter.  He sees her brash actions in a different light, understands on a very different level that paying for it might be a lot harder to bear than you realize in the moment.  Perhaps he will have the courage to share the lesson in the only way that will really work - by being transparent.

I can imagine that any force-user who was active and had any kind of relationship would have this issue, though.  Rather like a super-hero - they're nature and activities bring their loved ones into danger.  In this case, his wife and child are also capable Jedi, but his new 'status' does bring an element of danger.  One he is worried about.  But at the same time, this will always be true of anyone who is active in the pursuit of Good (or Evil, for that matter).  You see this played out in cop shows and other types of fiction all the time.   This is probably one of the origins of the Jedi's traditional avoidance of attachments: to protect the Jedi from strong emotional forces and to protect others from the Jedi's job or other risks.  Look what happened to Padme'.   Or the Countess that Obi-Wan had a thing for.

So there's risk.  I think "keeping it in the family" as Zearic and Karmack did by marrying another Knight with similar training and capabilities helps a lot, but one day their actions will bring a tragic end. 

Or a horrific choice.

How do you deal with it?   That's always the question...
Thanks guys for the feedback.  As you both adroitly pointed out: it IS different.  I'm trying to get more into the mental/emotional conflict of Zearic and Jorya and the fact that Gray Jedi might be able to have access to different powers but SO much of their intent becomes more prevalent than something as simple as "Oh, that's a Jedi/Sith" ability and/or attitude.  And, of course, the growing pains of families, especially in times of adversity.  Honestly, what you guys have said is so incredibly on-point that it gives me a bit more courage with where I was thinking of taking the narrative... ;)

On another point (courtesy of Karm!): the fact that we have a family of Jedi makes for excellent pathos.  Families by their very nature have so much story potential just as they are; with a family of Jedi I believe that there is SO much to be mined from them and their situations.  I really have to give credit where credit is due and that's Karm's excellent "We Are Gray."  I remember reading the EU books and thinking how interesting the interpersonal relationships were among the Forceusers (e.g. the Solo children to their Uncle Luke) but how I still felt that they were somewhat stunted (this was HEAVILY influenced by whichever author was writing the story so it was really hit-and-miss from each writer and and another).  However, I can honestly say that given open minds, creativity, and a bit of panache ( :D), collaborations SHOULD really embody some of the best stories.  to wit, I have had an absolute blast writing "The Gray&the Unchained" which I know helped me up my writing game, often playing off of Karm's and LSG's ideas/scenes to produce something superior than what I'd originally thought of.  Sorry, didn't mean to go off on a tangent... Anyhow, when I watched "Attack of the Clones" and learned that Jedi don't have families, I thought that that was a mistake (as a literary device).  I understand why Lucas had included it in the story to create conflict but I also considered it a poor choice...but that's another rabbit hole that I don't want to go down  ;)

Special mention: thanks to TDC for letting me use his characters!  They'll be integral in future chapters and I appreciate his trust  ;D


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: TheDutchman on November 01, 2019, 03:36:25 PM
(https://i.ibb.co/bd81Tng/maxresdefault-5.jpg) (https://ibb.co/bd81Tng)(https://i.ibb.co/ChC0SfL/3a8aa739d04e24c3ac2f09e297aa2c4f7b12388c-00.jpg) (https://ibb.co/ChC0SfL)
Chapter 2:  Reparation and Revelation

“…As I was saying, Arbiter—” Zearic was unable to finish his sentence, interrupted by the only other person in the room.

“Be silent, Vih’Torr.” The shorter man hissed.  Running his hand through his long graying hair, Listian Damarcus rose from the desk that he sat behind, coming around to stare fiercely into Zearic’s strange hazel eyes.  “Just so I understand, you unilaterally activated Bellicose Protocols because you’d handed over vital information concerning the Order’s intel and resources…” Listian slowly inhaled.

Taking the break in conversation as his cue to respond, Zearic began, “That’s correct, Arbi—” However, he was once again cut off.

“I’m not finished!  So, you divulged Order secrets to outsiders all to gain…what, training?” He folded his arms.  “You may answer now, Vih’Torr.” He practically fumed.

Taking a calming breath, Zearic responded.  “No, Arbiter.  Not for training; for information.  For the Order’s security.”  …To safeguard my family and friends… He thought to himself.  And while he couldn’t fault Listian for his exasperation, the big man’s own frustration was beginning to grow.  “And as I’ve said before: prior to trading the intel, I’d enacted the Protocols to ensure the Order’s protection.  We need to learn all that we can about this new group.” Even with his hands clasped behind him, Zearic dwarfed the Vhal’Dan Arbiter, at least in stature.  Nevertheless, Listian seemed to loom over the much larger man even as Zearic spoke.  “Arbiter, the Order regularly enacts the Protocols as a safety measure since the Purge…especially because of the Purge.  If anything, my own actions merely anticipated the upcoming change by bringing the timetable forward.”

“And since when has such a decision been under your purview, Vih’Torr?  Were you elected Speaker in absentia while gone from Sekot and without anyone telling me?  Or are you claiming to speak with your wife’s authority while she is catatonic?” Listian stepped forward, staring into Zearic’s eyes.  On any other occasion, the tableau presented would have looked humorous given the size disparity between the two men.  But where the Arbiter was a short, lithe human with slender limbs, his strength in the Force was remarkable, almost a match to Oyuna Chand’n, the current Vhal’Dan Kage.  Conversely, Zearic’s own Force strength was as disproportionate between his and Listian’s size, the large maenowan being considerably the weaker…

…That is until recent events, for which he was now much closer to Listian in terms of raw Force power than before.  And both men knew it even though the Arbiter had not outright commented how such had occurred.

“My apologies, Arbiter.  Never…” Suddenly Zearic’s own gaze became raptorlike, his tone imposing, “…But I know that the trade was worth the intel that I gained as a result.  And not just what I received in martial knowledge.”  His voice became more imploring, “Arbiter, there is a powerful shadow organization out there, manipulating entire governments on a galactic scale.  I don’t know how they’ve remained hidden this lon—”

Listian barked a scornful laugh.  “‘Shadow organization manipulating entire governments on a galactic scale’ you say.” He gave a small shake of his head.  “Whatever you think that you gained—to say nothing of your questionable motives(!)—is not the issue here.  The fact that you made these decisions without consulting your betters is a most egregious concern, to say nothing of your unauthorized actions taken as a result.”  Listian’s voice adopted a formal tone, as if commencing judgment.  Which he very much was.  “Maenowan Zearic Vih’Torr, you are formally censured.  You are to remain here within the Templar Archives until further instructed.  Do you understand?” His voice was as hard as the surrounding dark granite walls.

Zearic’s own temper was up as well.  He understood the reasons for being censured—he readily accepted it—but what he couldn’t countenance was that he felt that Listian was being both willfully obdurate and dismissive with everything that Zearic had told him: Mendax’s attack on the Mak’Tor, the Dark Jedi within the capital city of Sierra, the Men-At-Arms forces battling her fleet in planetary orbit, those damned drone troopers and their “Kage-killer” setting, the death of Kage Silman Lo…the thousands that had lost their lives.  And for what purpose?  He was still uncertain of so much...

One thing that he had not told Listian was of his…compliance to those…those beings.  …Shavit… He silently cursed, …How in the Maker-damned hell am I supposed to protect my family…?  Suddenly, something caught his attention.  “Forgive me, Arbiter but I am…what?”  For the first time since the meeting had begun, he fell speechless.

“You heard me: you are stripped of your rank of maenowan until I deem otherwise; you shall for all intents and purposes assume the mantle of Silver Knight again.” The small human’s voice was condescending yet scathing.  “As soon as I speak to the Kage, I will make your demotion formal and permanent.”  Listian came face-to-face with Zearic, or at least as close as the height disparity would allow them.  “Remember when you stood in front of Oyuna after that debacle on Byss?” The Arbiter’s voice had lost its formal tone replaced with one that was almost conversational and genial.  But his eyes were anything but.  “I knew that you were trouble then, certainly unworthy of remaining with the Order.  You were only given latitude as a favor to both Kazic and D’Aylanna; if I’d had my way, you would have been expelled then and there, never to wear the robes of the Vhal’Dan ever again.  You were always weak.  It wouldn’t surprise me if what really happened is that you left G’av to save your own cowardly hide.”

Zearic saw red, his fists clenching and unclenching, right up until the last sentence.  Upon hearing Listian’s last words, the large human turned cold and for the first time, stared directly into the Arbiter’s eyes.  “…I lost a brother that day.  Not that I expect for you to believe me; I’ve always suspected that you held a personal grudge against me and you’ve now proven me right.”  He shook his head, letting some of the disgust that he felt show.  “You have no soul, Arbiter.”  He took a slow breath.  “I couldn’t care less what you think of me and I don’t have to stand here and listen to that…”

Listian moved closer still.  “Then why don’t you do something about it, koawan?” He said tauntingly, his gray eyes full of anger…

…And hatred.

Zearic’s face was red yet impassive, his jaw clenched tight.  Then, visibly his jowl muscles relaxed.  “No Arbiter, I know the Law same as you; I won’t assault someone of your…station.”  But for all of his gentle tone, Zearic stared daggers into Listian’s eyes.

“Always an excuse, Vih’Torr.  Fine; let us dispense with our ranks so that you can’t hide behind that.”  The small human stabbed his finger into Zearic’s wide chest.  “You aren’t fit to wear those robes.  What say you, coward?” Listian’s voice practically seethed.

Zearic paused, knowing what he’d like to do.  Yes, the Arbiter was stronger in the Force than he, but no longer by the gaping margin that he had been.  With what he’d learned and acquired from Nimmin Cha, Zearic knew that whatever Listian thought he knew about his martial skills was a far cry from the reality of it.  And the Arbiter knew nothing of his Oblivion daggers…

All of this went through his head in an instant.  What he did instead was to dip his chin in respect of the office meanwhile forcing a light tone in his voice.  “No Arbiter, I don’t think so.”  Zearic turned his head, a conspiratorial look upon his face.  “…But if ever I do come after you, Listian—” He deliberately stressed the name, “—You won’t have to worry about any excuses.  Just the ones that I’ll have to tell to your surviving family…oh, that’s right: you don’t have any, do you?” Zearic twisted the knife one last time before turning on his heal to exit the room.

He felt a strong hand upon his forearm—his right forearm—where the Arbiter stopped him.  Both men looked at one another, no love lost between the two.  “I’ll never understand what D’Aylanna sees in you, Vih’Torr.  You are beneath her, nothing…less than nothing.  It’s a pity that it isn’t her in this room speaking to me and you in her place, comatose.” His eyes flashed, the last façade of his office gone, exposing the rage of the man beneath.  Rage and—

Suddenly Zearic understood.  He revealed nothing of his thoughts on the subject, instead admitting, “You’re right, Listian—” His voice held neither irony nor anger, “I don’t deserve D’Aylanna.  And if I could trade places with her, I’d do so in an instant, absent any and all consideration.”  Zearic looked pointedly at the Arbiter’s hand upon his arm, his voice once again adopting a formal tone.  “Excuse me, Arbiter.”

The two men stood staring at one another for a moment longer before Listian dropped his hand wordlessly returning to his seat behind the desk.  And without a backwards glance, Zearic left the room.

But his mind continued to turn over and again the events of the evening.  And of the revelations learned.

               <<<<< >>>>>

Seeing Father tramp away from the Arbiter’s quarters in the Templar Archives, his steps heavy and quick, Jorya hurried on her long legs to catch up.  He must’ve been preoccupied as the momentary look of surprise crossed his face as she fell into step next to him.  Reading his mood, she did not talk for many moments as they both strode through the halls.

After several minutes, she was about to ask him a question when he suddenly came to a stop, his voice was quiet.  “Not here.” His terse tone all but ensured her silence.  Nodding, she wordlessly directed him to her quarters; they were more private than the rooms that Father shared with Mother, if for no other reason that there were several medical datanodes monitoring the comatose Hapan Master.

Keying the door closed, Jorya consciously locked it.  She’d seen Father agitated before on several occasions, enough to recognize that he was now beyond that.

He was angry.

No, furious by his demeanor, the mask that he’d worn within the halls dropping as he turned with crossed arms across his barrel chest.  And although Zearic was breathing heavily, his mouth a grimace, he remained silent while he collected his thoughts.

With renewed worry, Jorya gently prodded, “…Dad?” tentatively placing a hand upon his wide shoulder.  Gazing at her, his strange hazel eyes were full of rage…until his brow unfurrow.  Somewhat.

“Sorry.  And thank you, Dear One.” He patted Jorya’s hand, engulfing it within his own.  “It’s not you.” He suddenly stared off into the distance, his gaze a straight line to where the Arbiter’s rooms were past the Archive’s dark granite wall.

“It never is, Dad.” Jorya said playfully but sobering upon her next sentence, “What happened?”

Zearic’s stare didn’t waver, the muscles in his jowls flexing.  Jorya could swear that she heard his teeth grinding.  Patiently, she stroked his wide back while she wait for him to continue.  She didn’t have to wait long.  “…I’ve been censured.”

“Sorry to hear tha—” Jorya began but stopped short upon hearing next what her Father shared.

“The Arbiter demoted me.  I’m no longer maenowan.”  The quiet, emotionless tone was completely incongruous with the anger Jorya felt radiating off of her Father.  Jorya’s mouth worked but no words came out, so shocked was the Togruta.  When she was finally able to speak, her voice was shrill and incredulous.

“Wha…how…can Arbiter Damarcus do that?!” Jorya’s blue eyes flared as her own anger—this time for her Father—burst forth.  It was almost comical; both father and adoptive daughter had adopted almost mirroring stances: arms crossed, shoulders squared, mouth clenched in anger.  However, the mood within the room was anything but.

“Point of fact, no Jorya, not exactly.” Zearic’s gaze hadn’t faltered.  “But my only legal means of recourse to challenge Listian’s verdict is within the Hall of Balance, specifically under the Kage’s purview.” Zearic turned his head, his anger beginning to dissipate somewhat.  “And while I have no doubt that Oyuna will vacate the Arbiter’s judgment, she is not here.  Only Listian.”  He said the last pointedly.

Slowly nodding her head, Jorya’s own voice was considering.  “And you think that the Arbiter has it out for you?”  She still couldn’t believe what Father had told her.  Demoted?  To the best of her knowledge, that had not occurred since…well, since the Clans in the New Sith Wars and Black Rikard’s time.  Jorya thought that nothing else could surprise her.

She was wrong.

“I think that he’s enamored with your Mother.”  Zearic mused, confiding his suspicions.  “Listian has always been…not exactly antagonistic of me but I never counted him a friend.”  Slowly, he removed his outer tunic.  “Now I know why…”  Divesting himself of his inner tunic, Zearic finally sat down, his red undershirt stretched seemingly to capacity.  He ran his hand through his shorn hair, a small smile suddenly appearing.  “I wonder if your Mother knew; if she did, she certainly didn’t tell me.”  As soon as the words had left his mouth, Zearic’s smile disappeared.  “…Seems there was much that she didn’t tell me…” He had spoken under his breath but Jorya’s superior hearing caught every word.

She took a seat next to the big man.  “Dad, I know that Mother has responsibilities as 7th Speaker that she can’t tell us but do you really think that she’d keep anything important from us?  From you?”  Jorya had asked it rhetorically but she could tell that Father was well and truly concerned.  Not only had his anger returned but now she could tell that he was fighting off an emotional pain, one wholly unfamiliar to him.  Changing tactics, she pushed on.  “Dad, if she kept anything from us then it must have been for our own good.  You know Mother: she’d take on a Gorog all by herself if it meant that she’d save us in the process.” She said, only half in jest.

Zearic thought back before the Mendax debacle, when he and Jaim had been searching for information at the Vhal’Dan Hall of Archives and the erased and redacted records with that single, damning epitaph: “Sealed by order of Seventh Speaker elect, Master Gray D’Aylanna Vih’Torr.”  He told nothing of it to Jorya.  But his body still betrayed him.

For a moment, Zearic’s demeanor was absolutely rigid, his face contorting from hurt to angry.  But after a moment, his shoulders slumped as if he was willing a burden from them.  Putting on a halfhearted smile, Zearic looked at his adoptive daughter, patting her slender back.  “I’m sure you’re right Dear One.  Don’t mind this old man, it’s been a rough day.  Let’s just try to get some rest.  And that’s an order.”  He said the last in mock sternness.

Jorya briefly hugged him, resting her cheek upon his wide shoulder.  “It’ll be OK, Dad.”  She suddenly stared at him, her eyes sparkling.  “But I don’t think that you’re in a position to give me anymore orders; after all: you’re no longer a maenowan.”

Zearic just stared at her for a moment, his face blank.  And then he barked a laugh.  Hugging Jorya to him, he muttered under his breath, “…Just like your Mother…”

Together, they tried their best to salvage the remains of the day and doing a decent job of it.  But in the backs of their minds, their collective worries refused to give up the ghost.


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: Lord_S_Gray on November 03, 2019, 03:30:29 AM
One of the best things about your writing Dutch, shown in this chapter and Schisms especially is there are never clear cut right/wrong positions character take - the example here being Zearic who absolutely went exceeded his authoirty in doing a deal that imperiled the Vhal'dans security and implementing bellicose protocols, whatever his excuses that following the Purge they are done regularly and the precautions he took.  On the other hand he as a Maenowan took a chance to gather intel and knowledge when a very unique opportunity to do so presented itself.
On the other side Listian is completely correct censuring him for this, but by the same token there is more than a hint of personal vendetta in his censure which undermines that, and he seems dismissive of Zearics initiative, and judgement, in taking a chance to get valuable intel.
Neither side comes out as having acted wisely and in that way it a very realistic depiction of internal politics and the struggle between competing priorities in almost every organisation.

And another ironic point I liked Zearic noting to the Arbiter re the Shadow Organisation ... " I don’t know how they’ve remained hidden this lon—"  and then later recalling "that single, damning epitaph: “Sealed by order of Seventh Speaker elect, Master Gray D’Aylanna Vih’Torr.”" how long before Zearic joins those dots together....


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: TheDutchman on November 13, 2019, 05:35:03 PM
(https://i.ibb.co/4P0BKmZ/main-qimg-49c17e9dc615258f1e81f175a61f781b.png) (https://ibb.co/4P0BKmZ)
Chapter 3: Insight Through Inebriation

Berra had just taken a seat, exhausted from training in the Templar sallet, a glass of avignol in her hand, when the door chimed.  The Miraluka projected her Force senses outward past the door, wondering who would be calling upon her at such a late hour.  As soon as she felt him, she jumped to her feet, her avignol all but forgotten.  Quickly she strode to the door, keying it open.

In front of her stood Zearic Vih’Torr.

Even though she had no eyes with which to see him, she was able to get a picture of the man in front of her: only slightly above average height, he was wide and heavy—heavier than a human male his size should be—and, although he tried his best to hide it, he was agitated, switching his weight from one leg to the other.

But more importantly, she could feel the man: his aura was intense, a gray-blue vibe comported about himself surrounding a tight yet perceptible core of red.  Not that she knew what such colors meant…as colors.  But as emotions?  Berra was nothing if not empathetic with sentients’ emotions, with most humanoids being particularly revealing.  Zearic Vih’Torr certainly was.

And he was not.

Even as Berra’s senses adjusted to the aura that she naturally scrutinized, she could sense something…amiss deep below (if such a location could be said to exist).  No, not “amiss.”  Tentative?  Uncertain?  Unfamiliar?  It was odd; as she knew, most humanoids fell along a spectrum that she’d come to recognize as “normal” or “default.”  This man was…and was not.  She didn’t know how else to articulate it, not even to herself.

Mentally she shook her head; that was not important now.  “Good evening, Maenowan Vih’Torr.”  She answered by rote, her mind quickly catching up to her instincts.  “I’ve been expecting you.”  She moved to the side, beckoning him in.

“Thank you, Mistress Tarun.”  His quiet baritone was deep, reserved yet assertive.  “My apologies for bothering you so late in the evening.  I’ve been meaning to speak with you.”

“Of course.  Can I offer you kaf?  Or perhaps something stronger?  I have some excellent avignol, aged 25 years; from Master Crescentfall’s own stores.”  She gestured to a cozy if utilitarian table, the chairs comfortable and well-worn.

Zearic gave a half-grin.  “I would gladly like a glass of the ’25, please.”  He eased into the seat, careful and deliberate.  Again, she felt tentativeness radiate off of him as if he were expecting something.  After a few seconds, Berra felt him relax, his aura likewise changing.

“Of course, Maenowan Vih’Tor.”  She grabbed another one of the tumblers from the shelf and set it down.  Expertly, she began to pour.

“‘Zearic’ please, Mistress Tarun.  And its ‘Koawan.’” He said the last in a bitter tone, swallowing down the avignol in a single swallow.  “By the Maker, that’s good.  Not to impose Mistress Tarun, but may I trouble you for another?”  Berra couldn’t help but smile.  Although she’d just met the man, she felt comfortable around Zearic’s genial nature. 

…Much like Jorya…which makes sense… The thought came automatically as she grinned while pouring him a double.  “No trouble at all.  And I insist that you call me ‘Berra.’”  Like Zearic, her tone was warm and inviting.  Grabbing her already filled tumbler, Berra took a chair opposite him and settled into her seat.

This time, the big man took his time with the avignol, savoring the potent spirit.  “Delicious.  Thank you, Berra.” He proclaimed.  Setting the tumbler down absent over half its contents, Zearic then looked at Berra, an intense look upon his face.

“I…I wanted to thank you for everything that you did for my wife.” Even though his voice was strong and clear, Berra could sense the underlying anguish coming from him.  “I just wanted to express my gratitude…and to, to tell you that you should in no way feel any responsibility with D’Aylanna’s current condition.”  Despite the fact that she herself had none, Berra could tell that Zearic’s eyes held her with an intense gaze.  But more importantly, she could feel the absolute sincerity radiating from the man.

“Jorya told you.” Berra said instead.  She shouldn’t be surprised; Jorya had often spoke fondly concerning her adoptive father and of their shared confidences.  Besides, Zearic wasn’t wrong to mention it: Berra did feel responsible, or at least somewhat.

As if reading her mind, Zearic leaned forward.  “She did…but moreover I can sense it about you.  You honor my wife but, Berra…you are not at fault.  D’Aylanna knew the risks when she answered Rakham’s call.  And besides…she would never blame you, especially not after everything that you did.”  His voice trailed off for a moment before beginning again.  “I blame that damned ‘Shade’ or whatever that Revenant was.  And so should you.  Don’t waste time or energy trying to assume responsibility for something that isn’t your fault.”

Berra said nothing, her emotions a veritable tempest.  She logically knew that what Zearic said was true; furthermore, she’d gotten to know D’Aylanna well—certainly enough to consider her a friend—that the Miraluka knew that the Hapan Speaker would never fault her.  And from what she could feel from the man in front of her, neither did Zearic.  Still… “My mind tells me the same, even the other Templars have told me such dozens of times but…” In her mind’s eye, she could still hear Jorya’s shrill, terrified shriek as she desperately pleaded for help, the unmoving diminutive body of her mother cradled in the Togruta’s lap.  “…But sometimes it just isn’t as simple as that—”

“Yes it is.” Zearic’s blunt matter-of-fact statement cut through Berra’s trepidations.  “You’re not to blame.  Period.”  Suddenly, she felt his mood shift, once again becoming genial.  She thought she heard him chuckle.  “…A wise woman once told me not to take responsibility for the actions of others, especially when they’d acted upon their own prerogative.”  His voice became wistful.  “…It took me a long time to realize that she was right.”  Suddenly, Zearic’s voice changed, becoming intense and conspiratorial.  “But I know that’s of little comfort.”  She could practically hear the wink in his tone.

Once again smiling, if bittersweet, Berra filled both tumblers.  “No, it isn’t.”  As one, they both drained their glasses of avignol.  “But admittedly…it does help.  Thank you, Zearic.”  She poured the last of the bottle out between the two tumblers.  Raising a glass, Berra intoned solemnly, “To your wife.”  Zearic instantly clinked his glass against hers, immediately offering his own toast afterwards.

“To you.” Once again, they both drank the potent liquid, the sensation not altogether unpleasant.

And as the evening drew long into the night, the two Jedi drank another bottle, trading tales as well as commiseration, both opening up to one another as a twin consequence of their shared experiences as well as their lowered inhibitions from avignol consumption.

It was well after midnight when Zearic had confided to Berra one of his concerns, one that evoked an epiphany for the Miraluka.  It was longer still after Berra and he had hammered out plans that, if successful, might offer the answers that they both so desperately wanted and needed.

               <<<<< >>>>>

“And you really think that there’s something within Kadmaur’s Archives that can help?” Rakham’s arms were crossed but he lounged easily in his chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

“From what Mistress Berra had said, she thought it possible.” Zearic’s voice seemed slightly subdued, his eyes bloodshot.  Incredibly, the Miraluka had been able to meet him shot-for-shot with the avignol.  And while he wasn’t given to indulgence, it had admittedly been a while since he’d last drank that much.  Carefully, he sipped some of the sweetwater that Rakham had offered him.  “She suggested search parameters referencing ‘black orbs’ either directly or tangentially.”  By the Maker his head pounded…

Zearic had found in Berra a friend, one that—like him—shared a mutual obligation…and shame, at least as it came to D’Aylanna.  And for all of his protestations, the big man also still carried the weight of responsibility, to his wife, his daughter, his family and friends.  Berra had been as insistent as he that neither of them were at fault.

But that did little to assuage their own self-convictions.

From there, Zearic had admitted that one of the biggest trepidations was what he’d found at the Hall of Archives on Sekot, the erased and redacted files done at D’Aylanna’s behest.  But that hadn’t been what had elicited a memory—or at least the hint of one—for Berra.  It was when Zearic had mentioned the black Oblivion orb that Kazic had described in the surviving partial recording.

When Berra had sat up straighter in her chair, she mused, “…black…orb?”  She’d put a hand to her head in the hope that doing so would somehow trigger a more concise memory.

“Have you heard of such material?  Oblivion orbs?” Zearic had also sat up, his spirits tentatively rising.  Cautiously.

Berra’s voice was distracted for a moment.  “‘Oblivion’…?”  When next she spoke, she sounded almost completely sober.  “No, no sorry.  I’ve never heard of these ‘Oblivion orbs.’  But…I…I could almost swear that I’d heard something…something from Kadmaur, well one of his holorecordings…a…a black orb?”  Again placing her hands to her head, Berra’s face sank into her palms.  “Shavit…oh, sorry Zearic.”

Smiling, Zearic had patted her hand.  “Please; D’Aylanna is always telling me that the Maker will punish me for my language.”  Also sobering, Zearic continued.  “So a ‘black orb’…you think that we can find something in the Templar Archives?”

Berra’s face looked contrite.  “I…I’m not certain.  Zearic, I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be.”  Zearic sat back, despondent.

Berra suddenly snapped, muttering under her breath, “…damned avignol…”  But when next she had spoken, the Miraluka sounded hopeful, “Even if I can’t remember exactly, I’m sure that Master Crescentfall would know what I’m talking about.” 

From there, the two of them had spoken at length concerning what they wanted to do next.

But, just as Kazic had reminded Zearic when he was young, the “journey of a thousand kilometers begins with a single step.”  Zearic smiled despite the headache.

This was that step.

Rakham looked at the shorter man, consternation upon his face.  “Zearic…I gave my word—both to D’Aylanna and to you—that I would do everything within my power to help, and I will.”  The tall Templar Master’s tone became troubled.  “But know this: Kadmaur’s holojournals are…well, sometimes they’re vague.  Ambiguous.  He had so many secrets…I think that in keeping everything around him an enigma, he was deliberately pensive to even those closest to him…” His voice trailed off, lost in the memories of the past, his past…

Even now, the revelation that Kadmaur hadn’t been anything like the man that Rakham had grown up with, a seemingly wise, patient, and genial Jedi Master, incredibly powerful in the ways of the Force.  Oh, he was many of those things…but who Kadmaur had truly been?  Rakham knew enough about the old man to know that he knew nothing.

Still, he had promises to keep.  Recalling himself to the present, Rakham looked down at the wide man in front of him, those strange hazel eyes bloodshot and red, a look of anguish and hopelessness held in abeyance upon Zearic’s face.  “I will scour the holorecordings for any mention of ‘black orbs’ even if I have to spend the next month without sleep.  I know that D’Aylanna would do the same for me.”  He smiled, hoping to conciliate the despair he felt from the man in front of him.  “I’ll find something.”  He held his arm out, hand outstretched.

Zearic slowly inhaled, thoughts of his wife occupying his mind.  But there was no question really.  Again he reminded himself: D’Aylanna had trusted this man.  He took the proffered hand, unsurprised by Rakham’s equally powerful grip.  Both men nodded, a new understanding having been reached.

And respect.

“Thank you, Master Crescentfall.” Zearic said sincerely.  “My wife was right about you.  I am sorry for…” He trailed off, whether or not overwhelmed by sorrow or relief even he could not say.

“Don’t mention it.”  Rakham’s quiet tone was magnanimous.  “And you’d do me a favor by calling me Rakham.”  His gaze was intense, deliberate.  Zearic gave a small nod.

“Of course.  Rakham.”  Zearic’s mouth twisted in a half-grin.  “And please: ‘Zearic.’” 

Rakham knew that it would take more than that for the two men to like one another.  But…it was a start.


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: Lord_S_Gray on November 14, 2019, 10:42:41 PM
Compared to his arrival it seems Zearic has settled....somewhat...Berra's hospitality no doubt helping...but still as she clearly saw as only a Miraluka (...or a certain genetically enhanced descendant species) can see there are serious instabilities deep within him. Kadmaur has quite the collection...even something as focused as black orbs could find many interesting results...or perhaps many dead ends as this is a character with many many secrets...Liking the very different nature of this tale, had lots of 'action' tales now it seems moving into a new character focused era (for a time at least)!


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: Karmack on November 14, 2019, 10:46:35 PM
Compared to his arrival it seems Zearic has settled....somewhat...Berra's hospitality no doubt helping...but still as she clearly saw as only a Miraluka (...or a certain genetically enhanced descendant species) can see there are serious instabilities deep within him. Kadmaur has quite the collection...even something as focused as black orbs could find many interesting results...or perhaps many dead ends as this is a character with many many secrets...Liking the very different nature of this tale, had lots of 'action' tales now it seems moving into a new character focused era (for a time at least)!

Agreed.  This is almost more of a detective novel vibe.  :-)  I also appreciated Berra's insight into Zearic. I need to look up Mialuka on Wookiepedia...


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: TheDutchman on January 23, 2020, 11:47:35 PM
(https://i.ibb.co/bd81Tng/maxresdefault-5.jpg) (https://ibb.co/bd81Tng)
Chapter 4: Breadcrumbs

Wanting to smash his fist down upon the datanode, Rakham instead took a calming breath.  He’d hit another dead-end.  Again.  Absently, he reached for the bottle that was within easy reach, its contents already half-gone.  He couldn’t help himself as a humorless grin spread across his face.  Heditt would tell him that he was drinking too much.  And he’d be right; after everything that had happened with the Revenant…and then D’Aylanna…

…Damn you, Kadmaur… The thought came unbidden, and not for the first time.  His former master had had so many secrets…secrets that, even now, Rakham had a difficult time reconciling.  Had he really known him at all?

Inhaling sharply, the tall Templar Master ran his hands up his face and through his hair.  He knew that he was missing…something.  He’d felt it before when Vih’Torr had mentioned those black orbs.  “Oblivion objects” he’d called them.  Something had tickled his memory…nothing to elicit anything exact but…

“Dammit!” Rakham exclaimed.  He could feel the answer on the tip of his tongue, at the edge of a memory.  Something that Kadmaur had said offhandedly, something seemingly unimportant…probably was at the time, but still…

Staring at the holofeed, Rakham tried running through a meditative technique, one that ironically Kadmaur had made him practice time and time again.  Allowing his vision to lose focus, the tall man willed his heart to slow, the tension within his muscles to relax.  He could even feel his cybernetic legs loosen, pained thoughts of how he’d lost them to Vader blown away like a breath in the wind…

…But try as he might, nothing came.  Nothing at all, a complete blank.  Not obfuscated memories, not buried feelings…nothing.

Exhaling resignedly, the tall man shook his head.  He’d held hope that it would work.  Tiredly, Rakham began to rise.  He was exhausted.  Maybe Dala would still be awake; he could run by her his thoughts concerning—

Abruptly he froze, teeth hissing in realization.  It wasn’t that the technique had failed—it hadn’t—it was just that his focus kept sliding off of the realization that there was nothing.

He wasn’t having a difficult time remembering…he was dealing with a deliberate erasure of his memories.  Even now that he was able to hold onto the thought, it felt as slippery as an oiled Rishi eel.  With Herculean effort, he held onto his realization with an adamant grip, his own mind seeming to fight him.  It was as if his mind kept trying to look past an object that was right in front of him but his eyes wouldn’t lock onto it.

Gritting his teeth, Rakham concentrated.  He’d heard about certain Force techniques—all either prohibited or under the purview of the Sith—that could be used to obfuscate memories or to alter them altogether.  It took time, preparation, and incredible power in the Force.  And the only way for them to work on strong minds was to subtly manipulate the victim while she or he was asleep.  He’d never once thought that he’d be the victim of such…

Understanding suddenly flooded through him and he could see with crystal clarity the “how:” Kadmaur.  Once again the depredations of his old master threatened to inundate and overwhelm him.  But Rakham was made of sterner stuff than most.

Possessing an indomitable will, Rakham pressed onward, banishing the obstacles before him while keeping a durasteel grip upon those memories that had been deliberately hidden from him.  Raging against the tempest that suddenly buffeted him, a maelstrom that promised to sear his consciousness from his mind, Rakham screamed his defiance, redoubling his efforts.

Of course, this was all taking place upon a metaphysical plane; had anyone entered his rooms, they would have noticed nothing particularly amiss, just that the tall Templar Master seemed to be meditating, staring unseeing into the distance.

Yet the battle that he fought was no less dangerous than any of the lightsaber duels that he’d engaged in.  Moreso truth be told: should Rakham lose this fight, he knew that he’d lose more than his memories. 

He’d lose his sanity.

Drawing deeply in the Force, Rakham also wrapped himself in the serenity of his family, his friends.  Dala & Heditt, Berra & D’Aylanna, all of the faces of those who had befriended him, helped him, loved him solidified in the back of his mind, granting him an anchor with which to weather the storm he now faced.  And none too soon: the crashing waves of the storm seem to hit him from all sides at once.  Still, Rakham refused to yield.

As suddenly as it began it was over, the silence of the room punctuated by the heavy breathing that Rakham soon realized was his own.  Mentally shaking his head, Rakham could now focus upon the memories that Kadmaur had suppressed.

It was long after the black of night had been banished by the dawning sun that Rakham was finally able to work through the memories and just how they fit his current situation, longer still for him to mute his anger at Kadmaur for subjecting him to such a violation.

But once he’d done so, Rakham hastily left his rooms, careless of the overturned chair he’d propelled himself from as he rushed to the rooms that Zearic shared with the body of his catatonic wife.

               <<<<< >>>>>

Waking suddenly, Zearic’s hands grabbed instinctively for two things: the first was the hilt of the lightsaber he always kept on his person.  The second—and more important of the two—was the small, surprisingly soft hand of his wife.  He knew that he’d been awoken from yet another nightmare yet he was fairly certain that that was not the cause.

As if to answer him, the door chimed loudly, Zearic’s eyes rotating to stare at the closed door in momentary confusion as he fought to divest himself of the last tendrils of his nightmare.  It had been the worst yet: he’d been trapped within a labyrinthine structure where the walls were made entirely of the writhing bodies of his dying friends and family.  But that wasn’t what disturbed him the most…

As the structure had collapsed, it had revealed a monstrous, twisted forest from which a monolithic tall black pyramid stabbed skywards into a moonless night.  As he ran towards the building, Zearic noticed that the trees behind him closed ranks, effectively cutting off any possibility for escape.  Not that he had any mind to escape; he somehow knew that D’Aylanna waited for him within the pyramidal structure.

Worry, fears giving rise to his worst trepidations, consumed Zearic as he ran into the pyramid.  His lightsaber now ignited, the blue blade did little to illuminate the corridors.  And while the walls were made entirely of some kind of black stone, the darkness within the hallways were blacker still.  He continued to scream D’Aylanna’s name, his deep voice echoing throughout the halls until his voice was hoarse.

All to no avail: he heard nothing, saw nothing.

…That is, until he’d ran into the heart of the pyramid.  Here in the wide antechamber stood an ornate sarcophagus in the center, one that was covered in faces, each and every one of them screaming with mouths agape.  Suddenly he found himself confronted by a cloaked figure, one that seemed somehow familiar…

Before he could fully focus upon the figure it attacked, side-by-side red lightsaber blades igniting.  Leaping towards him, the figure’s weapon unfolded into a saberstaff, the red blade crashing into his blue.  Try as he might, he could not seem to do anything more than parry, even when he’d finally ignited his silver offhand shoto.  Cursing, Zearic fell into his Water forms in the hopes that he could get past his opponent’s defenses.

But each attack was defeated and turned upon him in response.  It was only a matter of time…

The dark figure’s saberstaff suddenly turned the wide man’s blue blade away, knocking it high.  Burning pain—pain that Zearic remembered from the time Gaetana had cut off his right hand—erupted in his arm, this time close to his shoulder as his opponent’s blade sliced through, only to cut off his other arm in the next orbit.  A powerful, swift kick to his solar plexus sent him crashing on the black stone floor.  As he looked up from his back, pain radiating from his severed limbs, his eyes tried to discern any details of the face hidden within the deep, black hood as his opponent sauntered over to stand atop of him.  But his sight was blurry, the darkness of the pyramid too vivid a contrast of the blinding afterimage of his icey-blue lightsaber blade, now lying useless several meters away.

Squinting, Zearic strained to focus, doing what he could to enhance his vision.  And as his opponent raised their saberstaff above their head to stab him with, Zearic could swear that the curved, red lips of the wicked grin directed at him was…well…

…Was that of his daughter, Jorya.

Again, the chiming of the door interrupted his ruminations, helping to dispel the nightmare scene of Jorya stabbing him through his eye.  Shaking away the last dream vestiges he rose from the bed, Zearic spared a concerned glance at the motionless body of his wife, her diminutive frame hardly displacing the bedsheet at all.  Clearing his throat, he grabbed his red undertunic hanging off of a seat in the lounge while walking towards the outer door, finally keying it open.

Looking haggard, Master Rakham stood in front of him, dark circles under his eyes.  “Zearic, I know it’s early but I knew that you’d want to hear this as soon as possible.” He said without preamble.  Not even waiting for Zearic to motion him in, Rakham strode through the door and into the small apartment’s atrium.  Like most of the Archive, the wall was mostly comprised of the ubiquitous dark stone of the moon, sporadically broken up by some impersonal artwork, décor, or incongruous tech.  Rakham paced as Zearic keyed the door closed, going to one of the durasteel cabinets that held some glasses.

“Sweetwater?  Or something stronger?” He asked the Templar Master only half-joking.  Rakham looked as if he were going to say something else but thought better of it.

“Water.” He finally stopped pacing, the dim light of the room enhancing the dark circles underneath his eyes.  “Zearic, I think I know what’s going on.”  The wide man stopped short almost dropping the glass he held.

“What have you found?” Was all he said, only regaining some of his composure, the glass that held his own drink all but forgotten in his hand.

Rakham’s voice came slow full of conviction.  “I finally remembered why the orb seemed so familiar.  Damn you, Kadmaur.”  That last was spoken just above a whisper and Zearic didn’t think that Rakham had intended to say such aloud.  …He must be as exhausted as he looks… He thought.  Still, Zearic waited as Rakham continued.  “There’d been something that had been bothering me since we’d returned from Taris, but with everything that was happening with the Revenant, I’d completely forgotten.  Then, when you’d told me what you and Berra had discussed, it got me thinking in the right direction.”  Rakham’s eyes seemed to lose focus for a moment, lost in a memory.  “Kadmaur had once told me of a device—one that he’d acquired hundreds of years ago as it turned out—that was much like you described.”  But when next he spoke, Rakham’s voice was clear and strong.  He stared down at Zearic.   “He’d studied it as part of his obsession of the Rakatan Empire and his hopes of achieving immortality…such an innocuous thing… A sturdy plinth approximately one meter tall with a black orb in the base.  A Rakatan Mind Trap.”

Sharply inhaling, Zearic felt himself sink into the chair that he hadn’t realized that he’d pulled out for himself.  “A mind trap?  How?”  Was all that he could think to say, knowing full well that Rakham would know better than he when it came to identifying such an ancient artifact.  Shaking his head, he hurried on.  “Sorry, not what I meant.  So…you think that somehow, somewhere D’Aylanna came into contact with this mind trap?”  His question was sincere.

“No, not ‘think,’ know.”  He pulled a datapad from his belt pouch, keying it on while expertly navigating the system.  “Berra’s half-memory was enough to point me in the right direction.  But as it turned out, the answer was in here—” He tapped his head, “—all along.  Look at this.”  He slid the ‘pad towards Zearic, a highly detailed pic slowly rotating on the screen.  It was just as Rakham had described it: a dark, one meter tall obelisk with weathered writing snaking downwards from the tip to the base where, as if balanced upon it, the plinth rested upon a black orb.  “Look familiar?”

Zearic couldn’t believe his eyes.  “But…how?  And how did you know?  Don’t get me wrong, I finally feel some hope…the first time in a long time…” His voice trailed off but Rakham thought he’d heard the wide man say something like “harm” or “cam” or something like that.  Before he could ask, Zearic continued, “…And you’re sure that this is what we’re looking for?”

Rakham thought of the metaphysical trap that Kadmaur had set, the feeling of being violated, betrayed…and he knew that Zearic didn’t need to hear about that.  What he needed was to be assured, to know with conviction… “Yes.  I am certain, Zearic.  And I bet, when I show this to Berra, she’ll recognize it as well.”

The two men left the room, striding through the Archive’s halls full of purpose.  And for the first time since he’d arrived on-moon, Zearic had a hopeful look upon his face, thoughts of his Ereneda flooding his thoughts.

               <<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/r0fFMrs/Ahsoka-embraces-Rex.jpg) (https://ibb.co/r0fFMrs)

Circling the taller Togruta, Edda held her green saber in a defensive posture.  Jorya had already won four of the last five bouts and Edda had the welts from her practice saber to prove it.  Sure, the saber blades were “low-power, non-lethal” but that didn’t mean that they were harmless.  The sting from where Jorya’s lightsaber had hit her let you know that you’d been hit, “non-lethal” or no…

Suddenly, Edda found herself once again parrying Jorya’s strong offensive.  She seemed to be everywhere!  Jorya had told her that she’d learned everything from her Mother and Father, but that Zearic especially had begun to train her in the Water Way.  To hear Jorya tell it, her Father always schooled her with his saberwork, the memory of Jorya’s own stinging wounds making the Togruta rub her arms absently.  But for Edda, she couldn’t believe that Jorya could ever lose a lightsaber bout.  As if to emphasize the thought, Jorya’s blue blade smacked Edda’s forearm, causing her to wince in surprise…and pain.  “Ouch!” She couldn’t help but exclaim, the rasping of her own voice doing little to diminish how shrill she sounded.  At least to herself.

“Remember: keep your guard strong but loose; if you’re too rigid, your opponent can make use of that and—”

“—Take advantage accordingly.” Both of them finished, Edda’s lips spreading in a self-deprecating grin.  “Right, sorry.”

Jorya gave a small if reassuring smile.  “Don’t be.  You’re learning fast, Edda.  Faster than I did.  And you never have to be told more than twice.”  The Togrutan koawan was suddenly again in motion, this time even faster.  “And don’t forget: never rely upon just one form or one strategy.  Just as water assumes the shape of the vessel it fills, it can either flow…or it can crash.  Be water, Edda.”  Her blue saber hammered down upon Edda’s green saber, mirroring her own words.  And while Edda was able to parry Jorya’s powerful attack, she could feel a stinging numbness worm its way up her arms.  “Excellent block!” Jorya’s voice was full of reassurance.

Edda gave a small nod.  “Thanks.”  But then she thought of Jorya’s words and the motivations behind them.  Be water.  With her breath suddenly slowing, Edda flowed into one of the sword katas that Jorya had taught her, her lightsaber grasped in both hands in a high guard.  And opening herself fully to the Force, she felt a tranquility that hadn’t been there before.  Be water.

Feeling Jorya’s attack even before the Togruta had moved, Edda was able to anticipate the blue blade that sliced at her, knocking it away while simultaneously flowing into the next kata, insinuating her own green saber between herself and Jorya.  Even though the Togruta parried, Edda continued her offensive, one with the saber.  Be water.  Each and every attack was deliberate, fluid, assured.  Had they been fighting for seconds?  Minutes?  Hours?  Be water.  Edda couldn’t tell, but what she did know was that she was pressing her friend and hard.  Jorya continued to retreat within the salle, every riposte that she tried seemingly knocked aside.

And then Edda felt it: the solid connection of her lightsaber blade as it dipped under Jorya’s otherwise faultless defense, hitting her in the solar plexus.  The sharp exhalation that came from Jorya’s lips seem to break Edda’s focus, the Hapan woman blinking as the events of the moment finally caught up with her.

Winking, Jorya closed down her lightsaber.  “Edda, that was amazing!  Father has told me that when Water Warriors fight, they are attempting to achieve ‘Oneness’ and that when they do…well, they’re unstoppable.” She clapped Edda’s shoulder approvingly.  “I’d say that today was your first step towards ‘Oneness!’”

For a moment Edda could do nothing but shake her head.  “No, no; that wasn’t me.  I…you…you were the one instructing me.  I was…was just following you, Jorya.”  But Edda could feel pride welling up within her.

“Yeah but it was you with the ‘Oneness.’  Father taught it to me but—to be honest with you—it took me a lot longer to feel it, longer still to finally achieve it.” Edda could see that Jorya was beaming with pride.  It made her feel like…like she could do anything.

“I…thanks Jorya.” She said instead, her normally raspy voice almost clear.  “It’s like you said: I could almost feel when I neede—” Edda’s voice went silent as soon as she saw the two men enter the salle, both with virtually identical looks upon their faces.  From behind them, Edda saw Mistress Tarun enter, her attention vacillating between the two men as she spoke to one and then the other.  “Mistress Berra, Master Rakham, Maenowan Zearic.” She said, giving a deferential bow.

“Dad! …What is it?” Jorya’s smile slid off of her face, her blue eyes keen upon her father’s hazel.

Edda saw the wide man gently grab Jorya’s montrals as he cupped her face.  “Master Rakham and Mistress Berra know how to help your Mother.”  Jorya’s face seemed to morph, first to disbelief then sadness and finally relief.  Tears filled her eyes as she wrapped her slender arms around her Father’s neck.

There were plans to make, many things to attend to before they could even begin, but there was now an air of preparation, of hope, that had been conspicuously absent from the Archives since Zearic had arrived. 

As Edda stood and stared at her friend in a loving embrace with her father, she was of two minds: first and foremost, she was truly happy for Jorya.  After all, she’d seen the Togruta sobbing over the prone body of her Mother, questioning, pleading, and cursing the Maker that she believed in while searching for answers…and receiving none.  Recalling that, Edda was now gladdened to see Jorya smile and laugh with renewed hope.  But second…

…Second, she had a nagging sliver of fear, visceral and paralyzing fear.  It was something that Edda kept to herself, not so much as hinting to anyone else within the salle—within the Archive(!)—that she harbored this dread…

…What if…what if despite everything…

What if they were wrong?


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: Lord_S_Gray on January 24, 2020, 05:00:58 AM
Like Karm said it does have a detective vibe...and they just got  a major break in the case - if a sour one for the manipulation Kadmaur inflicted on Rackham.

but this Vision of Jorya...is it the Tenebris affecting Zearic again? and the timing of that scene just before Jorya's training session where even though Edda get a win in the end Jorya is showing her growing skill set...can't be coincidence...then the wounds he took in the vision, almost an exact undoing of his recent restoration....just as one thread strengthens it seems you fray another dozen Dutch keeping us hooked!


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: TheDutchman on April 15, 2020, 06:10:47 AM
Special thanks to For Tyeth for his awesome rendering of Zearic!
This chapter is dedicated to him  :)
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(https://i.ibb.co/92DXK3p/3a8aa739d04e24c3ac2f09e297aa2c4f7b12388c-hq.jpg) (https://ibb.co/92DXK3p)(https://i.ibb.co/4PfJdCn/xelel02.jpg) (https://ibb.co/4PfJdCn)
Chapter 5: Preparations, Part I

Although dawn had not even lightened the ferrocrete halls of the Templar’s Archive, Jorya sped towards the rooms that her mother and father shared.  …He can’t leave me, not this time… She told herself, still anxious from the night’s activities…or more accurately, the decidedly lack of information that she’d been told despite her father’s assurances.  …I…he needs me with him…I’m the one that found the first clue…I…I’ve been there and he hasn’t… Jorya mentally tallied the list of reasons of why she should be the one to accompany Father, to finally heal Mother… Upon each recitation, she felt her chest tighten a little more, making her run a little faster, her skirts billowing.

…Father can’t leave me…! The thought hit like a physical blow, stalling her entirely.  For a moment Jorya could do little but control her erratic breathing, meanwhile going through one of the Serenity Techniques that Mother had taught her.  It helped.  Somewhat.

But it also served to remind Jorya as to why she was so agitated: the last time that they’d gone there, Mother had come back comatose.  No, worse than that…

…Stop it, dammit…! She willed herself to remain calm.  “Panic never did anyone any good,” Father would remind her.  Mentally squaring her shoulders, Jorya took another calming breath, slowly exhaling as she deliberately put one foot in front of her and then the next.  Now walking, she allowed herself a moment to address her own worries so as to stop them from spiraling away from her.

She was worried, plain and simple, worried that she was about to lose both of her parents.  She tried telling herself that she was being foolish but it was a feeling that she just couldn’t shake, something…something that she felt coming from Father…panic?  No, that wasn’t right, something more like…unmitigated fury… Only, that wasn’t it, either.  More like a…a tentativeness, something that she’d felt from him since…well, since his meeting with Arbiter Demarcus.

Jorya smirked.  She once again paused, the revelations that Father had confided were suddenly foremost in her mind.  He’d been both censured and demoted then, but that wasn’t what had truly unnerved him.  He’d told Jorya that Arbiter Demarcus had feelings for Mother and it was his jealousy—at least in part—that was driving the Gray Master’s harsh treatment of Father.  Yet…

…Yet by his own admission, Father deserved his punishment, that he was responsible.  He’d stalwartly admitted as much to Jorya one evening, his face almost inscrutable while he sat staring towards his shared bedroom, undoubtedly worried about Mother.  “I did what I had to do and I’d do it again.”  Jorya remembered him absentmindedly caressing the two black daggers that he always carried with him now, their dark blades drinking in the light around them.  When next he spoke, his tone was inexpressive and accepting: “And now I’m paying for it.” 

His eyes lost focus, Father’s next sentence barely audible;  Jorya was certain that had she been human, she wouldn’t have been able to hear what he’d said: “…she left me for a reason…”  She’d decided not to press the issue concerning that.

But there was something else.  Father hadn’t been the same since he’d returned from M’Tzigon, and not just his miraculous growth in the Force and the rejuvenation of his limbs.  And even though he still refused to talk about it, she’d been able to pick up a few clues here and there.

Jorya had always had a special relationship with her Father, one that transcended most familial bonds.  As such, she’d been able to deduce from unspoken clues—vague as they were—that something had happened between Father and Master Karmack.  Just thinking about the two men at odds with each other gave her pause.  Whatever it was, she felt uncertain…but she refused to believe that the two friends could have come to something as severe as drawn lightsabers over such…

Suddenly, Jorya found herself in front of her parents’ apartments.  Without hesitating, she keyed the door open, rushing into the large entry foyer and headed directly towards the bedroom.  The door was open, bright light washing away any shadows that might have lurked within the rooms.  …Mother always loved the light… She inadvertently reminisced, D’Aylanna’s Hapan heritage the reason for the small Gray Master’s preference for brightly lit places.  But it was a bittersweet thought, one that caused Jorya’s small, quick smile to disappear.

After sparing a lingering look and prayer for her Mother lying motionless atop her bed, Jorya strode past her parent’s bedroom, searching.  She finally spied her Father in the apartment’s atrium, busily packing for the mission at hand.  …“Mission”… She thought, …How…clinical, dispassionate… Her sudden anger at herself didn’t surprise her; she now admitted that she’d been fighting back the waves of fury ever since this morning. 

Stopping in front of Father, Jorya couldn’t help but notice that his wide shoulders were more square than she’d seen him since arriving, his back straighter.  “Yes, Dear One?” His voice was soft, genial.  Placed atop the table, Father had each individual piece of his power armor before him.  He continued inspecting one of the vambraces, ensuring all was in readiness.  To anyone else it would have seemed that Zearic could have been packing for an impromptu vacation…if it included full Vhal’Dan battle armor.

But Jorya knew better, could sense what Father really felt through the Force.  The chaotic nature of the Maw seemed less tumultuous than what she felt from Zearic.  She wasn’t sure if that made her more proud or angry at him.

“Father, I know what you’ve decided to do and where you’re going and I think…no, I know that you’d be better off with me at your side.  It…it’s dangerous and Mother would protest but I have to go with you and protect you.  You can’t go without me; you need me!”  Everything that she had planned to tell him—that she’d practiced all morning—evaporated in her mind as passionate words poured from her mouth while Jorya attempted to persuade Father.  She knew—knew!—that her attestations were not only right but necessary.  …I will NOT lose Father too…!  She folded her arms in front, an air of perseverance surrounding her.

“You’re right: I do need you.” Zearic’s quiet voice was calm in direct contrast to Jorya’s more emotional assertion.  Like a cold deluge, Father’s words inundated the Togruta, immediately cooling her anger as her thoughts strove to catch up with her hearing.

“I…you…what?” Was all that she managed to say, at least for the moment.

A small smile played across Father’s lips, his broad face earnest.  “I need you with me.  Now and always.”  He put down the armor, gently resting a large hand upon Jorya’s shoulder.  “There is no one that I trust more to have my back, especially where we’re going and what we intend to do.”  His eyes were clear yet still retained the hard look that had been ever-present since arriving at the Templar’s Archives.  “Dear One, you’ve proven yourself many times in the past: at Geonosis against Jennira, with Ken during your tenure with the Sons of Kessel, and now here with the Templars.”  Even though they were of a height, he seemed so much bigger than her.  “Jorya…I’ve told you before and I meant it: you’re a better Jedi than I ever was, especially at your age.  I’m proud of you…and lucky to call you my daughter.”

Jorya felt all of her anger melt away.  Fiercely, she wrapped her arms around Zearic in a tight embrace.  Or rather, as far as they’d go around the wide human.  And as she did so, Jorya felt her Father’s thick arms encircle her, feeling more than just protected.  She felt more than her Father’s recognition in that hug.  She knew that he loved her and now…

Jorya knew without any doubt that he accepted the fact that she was her own Jedi, a koawan to be trusted.  While still in his embrace, she heard the quadranium-hard tone of his voice when next he spoke.

“Now…let’s go get your Mother back.”

               <<<<< >>>>>


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: TheDutchman on April 15, 2020, 06:17:14 AM
(https://i.ibb.co/hXDHryv/miraluka-jedi-by-oichechiun-d8wtd25-350t.jpg) (https://ibb.co/hXDHryv)
Chapter 5: Preparations, Part II

Last evening’s meeting had run late into the night, plans proposed, discarded, considered, and accepted.  And throughout it all, Berra had been focused upon Zearic, the colors of his aura a kaleidoscope to her senses.

She could feel a…a renewal was the best way that she could describe it.  Zearic practically radiated the emotional transformation that he’d undergone since Master Rakham had deciphered the clues that would help D’Aylanna.  Nor was this the only change…

Once again, she considered her own heritage and her connection with the Force.  Many species—especially humans—were able to touch the Force, utilizing it in a myriad of ways.  But Zearic’s connection was more…more primal.  More like a…well, a Miralukan.

But that wasn’t exactly it either.  Yes, he was strong in the Force, as strong as Rakham and even D’Aylanna, but his proficiency seemed more instinctual.  She’d never met a human whose connection felt so…familiar.  That was another reason that Berra felt a…a kinship was the closest word she could think of to describe it.

And so it was that she’d found herself relating to the big man, recognizing the friendship for the rarity that it was.  Apart from sharing an appreciation for fine avignol, they’d both been able to confide in one another, speaking candidly concerning their lives…especially the loss of loved ones: Zearic for his Ereneda and her with…

Berra felt her upper lip quiver.  …My Jorsk… Once again her sadness threatened to wash over her as the memory of the dashing Hit Squad lieutenant coalesced in her mind.  Before Taris, she’d spent much of her free time with Jorsk, the initial friendship they’d had developing into something much deeper.  …Oh Ashla, please watch over him until the day that we both are joined once again in your presence… She prayed.  Berra tried swallowing the lump in her throat and when that didn’t work, she busied herself with checking (for the hundredth time) her Templar tactical gear.

Berra shed no tears, though not for lack of sorrow.  As a Miraluka, she had no eyes, the vestigial eye sockets having evolved so that there were no tear ducts as well.  Physiologically, it was impossible for Berra to cry.  But emotionally?

She felt herself sobbing, the pain of Jorsk’s death threatening to drown her under waves of anguish.  …Stop this…!  Berra’s teeth clenched, her hands balled into fists as she willed herself to calm down.  Slowly, slowly, her ragged breath resumed a semblance of normalcy.  Rakham needed her, Zearic needed her, Jorya needed her…

…D’Aylanna needed her.

Berra took several more deep breaths, no longer feeling as if she would plead to Ashla…or curse at Bogan.  But…by Ashla did she hurt…

No sooner had she recollected herself than she felt a presence outside her room.  A moment later, her door chimed.  Unconsciously smoothing her skirts, Berra strode over and keyed the door open, already guessing the identity of her guest.

“Forgive me, Mistress Tarun, but Master Crescentfall sent me to help you.”  The tall, burly woman outside her door was not a stranger, although Berra hadn’t seen her since their escape from Taris.

“It’s alright, Lhyli.” Berra reassured her.  “If you could please grab the larger stasis box, I’d appreciate it.”  She could sense the woman’s emotions, an odd mixture of intensity, duty, pride, and sadness.  Unconsciously she scrutinized the large woman, noticing the subtle differences about her, especially concerning the device upon her Beskar armor.  “And congratulations with your promotion.  I know that Jorsk would be proud.”  Berra tried to keep the pain from her voice but she was only partially successful.  Clearly, the Mandolorian woman heard it.

“Mistress, I…thank you.”  Her hard voice softened.  Jorsk had been one of Hit Squad’s best officers but, more importantly, like a brother to Lhyli.  “I only wish that he’d seen me make lieutenant.”  She said quietly, her almond eyes mournful.  But a second later she was all business, her face impassive.  “Will there be anything else, Mistress?” She lifted the large stasis box as if it weighed nothing but a few grams.

Sighing, Berra understood.  …Now is not the time… “No, thank you, Lieutenant Alvai.  Master Crescentfall is expecting us.”  As she left her apartments, Berra’s mind kept straying towards thoughts of Jorsk and D’Aylanna.  And like Lhyli Alvai, she had an obligation, one that she fully intended upon fulfilling.

               <<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/C9zSgCG/e979ea1a953ca1d0aa23ee853fc7ea0a.jpg) (https://ibb.co/C9zSgCG)

Rahkam checked and rechecked everything that he needed.  After last time, he wasn’t looking forward to going through the Undercity of Taris, especially in light of everything that had occurred.  Well, at least this time they had some actual “hands-on” intel: thanks in no small part to Teks as well as Berra, they had a detailed map to aid them.  Point of fact, much of last night’s meeting had been taken up with just that along with their plan of attack.

Rakham’s lips thinned.  With everything that the Templars had gone through, specifically their war with the Revenant, their numbers were diminished.  Their strike team would be small as a result.  But then again, this time they were better prepared: they knew the layout of the Undercity much better.

That and they were going in armed to the teeth: full tactical armor, lightsabers, and blasters.  And that was just the Forceusers; the twin fireteams of Hit Squad were walking armories, each Mandalorian armed with at least one rifle, several sidearms, vibroblades, two full bandoliers of powerpacks, and no less than six thermal detonators.

Gathered together in the Templar’s Archive hanger, the eight Hit Squad members had donned their full beskar armor, even now wearing their helmets while they recited the tenets of the Resol'nare, otherwise known as the “Six Actions.”  Rakham understood and spoke some Mando’a but could only make out a few words.  

Lieutenant Lhyli Alvai lead them, their chanting almost hypnotic.  “Aliit ori'shya tal'din.”  Rakham grimly smiled.  …Damn right… He thought.  He knew that phrase very well.

Suddenly, the chanting ended, Lhyli decreed, “This is the way.”  One and all, the other Hit Squad members echoed her, their voices reverent.

“This is the way.” They said as one.  With that they suddenly broke apart, making their final preparations, breaking the spell mesmerizing Rakham.  Blinking, the tall Templar Master took one final look around the hanger.  He’d already told Dala his goodbyes, kissing her deeply and lingeringly.  He hoped that it wasn’t for the last time…

Seeing Zearic enter the hanger, Jorya right behind the wide human, Rakham dispelled the wistful mood that had settled over him and instead focused upon what the Mandalorians had avowed.  He thought of his wife, Dala, his brother Heditt, and his near-sister, D’Aylanna.  Walking over to join the Vhal’Dan Jedi, he whispered, “Aliit ori'shya tal'din.

"Family is more than blood."


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: Lord_S_Gray on April 15, 2020, 12:27:24 PM
Woo It's back! Again a very 'Family' vibe in this tale, and to turn a phrase 'what was left behind' from the other tales of Gray Jedi are being dealt with here emotionally. Jorya is always a favourite and good to see her reconnect with Zearic a bit here, but she still and will for some time keep herself back a little till she knows the full stroy, and that is a sign of her maturity that Zearic now recognizes. Loved the little reflection of Berra on the Miralukan connection to Zearic...but her sorrow over Jorsk, the Mando'a preparing to go once more into the underworld they lost so many...that will be a haunted experience for many of them I suspect and you've set that tone here very well.
Can't wait to see when they arrive(if they arrive who know what surprises await) and espeically once Zearic gets into action just what will Jorya and the others see...and what will they feel.


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: Karmack on April 15, 2020, 02:13:58 PM
Woo It's back! Again a very 'Family' vibe in this tale, and to turn a phrase 'what was left behind' from the other tales of Gray Jedi are being dealt with here emotionally. Jorya is always a favourite and good to see her reconnect with Zearic a bit here, but she still and will for some time keep herself back a little till she knows the full stroy, and that is a sign of her maturity that Zearic now recognizes. Loved the little reflection of Berra on the Miralukan connection to Zearic...but her sorrow over Jorsk, the Mando'a preparing to go once more into the underworld they lost so many...that will be a haunted experience for many of them I suspect and you've set that tone here very well.
Can't wait to see when they arrive(if they arrive who know what surprises await) and espeically once Zearic gets into action just what will Jorya and the others see...and what will they feel.

LSG nailed it: This is a great family feel!   D'Aylanna really became part of the Templar family, and Zearic has become part of it now by adoption, through Jorya and D'Aylanna.   But he still has that little secret, and when he does go into battle it will be interesting to see how they all react.   At this point, his skills will be top-tier and with the daggers...   

I also loved the hints and connections back to previous tales and the tension between himself and Karmack at this point.  Oh, if only Jorya knew what actually happened on [REDACTED].


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: TheDutchman on April 26, 2020, 04:55:36 PM
Special thanks to For Tyeth for his awesome rendering of Zearic!  This chapter is dedicated to him  :)
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(https://i.ibb.co/VqjbyHy/jedi-battlelord-jhin-roh-2-by-sl-8426-d7wvl2o-fullview-v2.jpg) (https://ibb.co/VqjbyHy)
Chapter 6: “Once More Unto the Breach…”

Even with its Hapan manufactured Froond-class hyperdrive, Fenris’ Dirge took almost two days in hyperspace to reach the Taris System.  And during that time, the entire strike team went over mission objectives and contingencies, studying the Undercity schematics that they’d paid so dearly for during the Templar’s last excursion to the planet.  They were as ready as they could be.

And that’s what scared Rakham the most.

Yes, the Templars had been fighting a war on multiple fronts last time but it was the Taris Operation that should’ve been the easiest.  …What I wouldn’t give for a bottle of the ’24… He thought.  But the Templar Grand Master was more practical than that, more responsible.  Still, he could feel his anxiety rise to new levels as Jorya’s voice came over the comms.

“We’re entering the Taris mesosphere, 2 minute reentry.  Rendezvous at Sector 35872, Substrate Forn.  ETA: 4 minutes; Taris time approximate: zero dark eighteen local.”

Rakham couldn’t help but be impressed by the young Togrutan koawan.  Even knowing what they were up against, her voice was the very definition of professionalism.  And her piloting skills were good, very good: even as Fenris’ Dirge hit turbulence within the stratosphere, Rakham barely felt the Mandalorian Infiltrator tremble as Jorya adjusted her vector.  She even anticipated the inertial dampeners compensating, so instead of the typical shudder that accompanied the switch from artificial gravity to planetary, every passenger in Fenris’ Dirge felt as if they were riding a calm wave to shore.

“Nicely done.” He muttered under his breath.  Jorya was one of the better pilots he’d flown with, and that was saying something given some of the Templars’ pedigrees and skill-sets.

“She’s good.” Zearic’s voice surprised him; Rakham didn’t think that he’d been heard.  Turning his head, he got a good look at the Vhal’Dan Jedi.  Fully armored, the wide human looked unsurprisingly intimidating.

Fabricated from Hapes’ indigenous Charubah steel, it was similar to Beskar if not quite so resistant to lightsabers as the Mandalorian iron.  Instead, it was incorporated with nano-tech that gave the wearer an edge in speed and agility when needed and smart/point-defense ablative capabilities for tanking.  Furthermore, the hooded tactical cloak was a dark gray blaster-dissipating mesh, courtesy of Mak’Tor R&D.  From the front of his belt, Zearic had both his main-hand lightsaber as well as his shoto, although that wasn’t what caught Rakham’s eye: when the big man turned his back momentarily, Rakham saw that he wore two downward black hilts sticking out of a custom crossdraw carry sheath incorporated on either side of the spine plate of his armor.

Rakham blinked; he wasn’t certain but he could swear that the light…dimmed around the daggers’ handles…

“She takes after her Mother.” Zearic’s voice interrupted Rakham’s thoughts, unfeigned pride evident in his tone.  “In more ways than one…” He said wistfully.  

Rakham’s smile was also bittersweet.  “Did D’Aylanna ever tell you about the first time she tried to pilot a ship?” He thought back to that frightened teenager who had acted so brave despite the danger that had surrounded her.  It reminded him of what was good in the galaxy, making his smile widen.

A wry grin began to spread on Zearic’s own face.  “You mean when she tried to fly a Consular-class cruiser from Hapes Prime and almost crashed?” His full-bellied laugh lightened the mood.  “I ONLY heard about that story when she’d drank one-too-many Tatooine Sunrises.  I didn’t let her live that down for quite some time.”  His voice adopted a fondness lacing his contemplative tone.  “And she gave as good as she got…”  Zearic once again became wistful.  “She was right; I still can’t fly.” He said almost to himself.

“Wait…” Rakham said incredulously, “…You don’t know how to pilot a ship?”  His smile seemed to light up his entire face.  “How…”  And—for one of the rare times in his life—Rakham found himself speechless.

“‘…How’ is it that my wife and daughter are such good pilots and I’m not?” Zearic finished for him.  “The Maker knows.  Both D’Aylanna and Jorya have tried for years to teach me.  And I can fly, sort of…as long as I don’t have to do anything complicated like steer.” His joviality just underscored his self-deprecation.

“So you’re telling me that you can’t take off—” Rakham tried desperately not to laugh.

“Or land.” Zearic nodded.  “Hilarious, I know.”  He ran a gloved hand through his closely shorn hair.  “My old master, Kazic Ovarug, would often say that the Maker must have made me as an afterthought on His day off given I’ve always been last in my class.”  While suddenly introspective, he still wore a grin on his face.  “I wish Kazic was alive now… So many questions…”  Zearic’s voice lost its volume, and with it, his levity.  Rakham saw the big Vhal’Dan’s hands move absentmindedly toward the two daggers he carried and knew the moment was over.

Which was just as well; Jorya’s voice once again came over the comms.  “We're one minute outbound.  IFF Transponder is ghosting our presence.  We’re in the pipe, five-by-five.”  

There was a bustle of activity as everyone performed last-minute prep, gathering in the cargo hold and attaching autocoiling nylasteel abseiling lines to their armor.  In a matter of seconds, everyone including Jorya was hooked up and ready for the jump.  Fenris Dirge would remain in a stationary hover while the strike team was on the ground, ready at a moment’s recall thanks to Jorya’s beckon call.  The red light of the hold cast a hellish pallor upon everyone.  Seconds seem to slog by as everyone waited for the tell-tale sounds of the antigravity units to kick in.

Outwardly, everyone exhibited a collective calm: breathing slowed, faces became impassive, and a quiet pervaded the hold.  Inwardly though, every single person was a coiled spring, adrenaline kicking in, and razor-focused.  All that was left was but to wait.  

Not long as it happened.

Suddenly the lights above the eight drop hatches went from red to green.  Immediately, all Hit Squad members fast-roped down, setting up the perimeter as the four Forceusers promptly joined them on the ground.  Slapping the quick-release to the nylasteel ropes everyone had used to abseil, the lines recoiled back to the ship, the drop hatches closing.  Meanwhile, the Infiltrator veered off in a pre-determined stationary flight pattern while the strike team wasted no time in heading deeper through first the Upper- and then the Lower-City, arriving at a key junction where they could access the Undercity.  Their passage was swift and unseen, their destination upon them in minutes: an old and now unused turbolift shaft that had been hastily closed over.

But for Hit Squad, it was a momentary obstacle and a minor one at that.

One thermal detonation later, the strike team was able to repel down from the roof to the Undercity.  But it was here that the similarities between the past and current operations differed: they would not be taking the streets of the Undercity proper.  Instead, they would use the raised causeways that Teks had found, a network of stanchions and metal support ramps high above the avenues.  These would take them the majority of the distance to the Revenant ziggurat, the tallest structure within the Undercity.  

It was massive.  With a footprint as large as a Star Destroyer, the pyramid’s façade seemed to absorb the light it received, reflecting back a sickening crimson hue.  Black water (at least that’s what everyone assumed it was) ran in riverfalls down the step-like sides at irregular intervals.  And at each corner was a ferrocrete gargoyle, twisted, hideous faces forever frozen with mouth-contorting screams towards the heavens.  Even the very sight of it overawed everyone who looked upon it.

Except the strike team.  They saw it for what it was: their destination.

Of course, the audible drone of the Undercity blanketed the area, setting everyone on edge.  Like a clawing, teeth-clenching cacophony, the ambience of the Undercity was made even more hostile by the fact that the entire area was swathed in inundating waves of Force Suppression radiating outward from the ziggurat.  …Odd, that… Berra thought.  She’d assumed that with the defeat of the Revenant that the Force Suppression surrounding the pyramid would be no more…

“Remember, we planned for this contingency.” Rakham’s quiet reminder came through gritted teeth.  “Damned rakghoul…”  Even though they had the benefits of an elevated position and better light, none of the strike team had seen any of the creatures since first penetrating the Undercity.  They were certain that would change…

Zearic approached the Templar Grand Master, looking up at the taller man before giving a single nod.  Rakham gave one in return before calling the strike team around him.  “Remember: keep to the plan.  No stragglers and no heroics.  We will not lose anyone, not today.  Watch your corners and especially for traps.  I have a feeling that there is still…someone within that pyramid.”  He looked everyone in the eye before giving a final nod.

And with that, they began their approach to the ziggurat.

They advanced in two columns, paired together: Rakham and Berra, Zearic and Jorya, then the two Hit Squad fireteams, the heavy-weapons specialists ready to lay down any suppressing fire the strike team would need while the snipers provided target discipline.  And even though adrenaline was high in each and every one of them, they moved like a well-oiled machine…despite their collective fear.  Rakham felt both pride and relief that they had Hit Squad helping them.

The metal stanchions of the ramps cast shadows across the strike team’s path, multiple forks in the causeways doing little to slow them as they followed the path marked out previously by Teks.  As such they made good time, the pyramid soon large enough to dwarf anything else within their sight.

Coming to a halt on one of the large landings adjacent to the ziggurat, Hit Squad took up positions to establish a perimeter, even setting up a mobile sentry unit they’d carried in two backpacks complete with motion detection, comms, and 360 degree blaster coverage.

Surveying the area, the tall Templar Master quickly gave orders.  “Fireteam Besh: remain here; this is our rallying point.  Fireteam Aurek, I want you to set up sniper patrols so that we don’t have any surprises waiting for us when we exit like last time.”  Rakham nodded to the tall Hit Squad commander.  “Lieutenant Alvai, watch our backs.  Keep in comms contact in 15 minute intervals.  If we don’t come out within 3 hours, I want you all to pull back and head home to the Archives.” His tone broached no argument.

Not that any of the Mandolorians considered giving any; they were all professionals.  “Understood, Grand Master.” Lhyli’s quiet voice was monotone yet reassuring.  But when next she spoke, Rakham could imagine the Mandolorian lieutenant’s half-grin under her helmet as she added, “Give ‘em hell, Templars, Vhal’Dan.”  Turning, she started to give concise orders to the rest of Hit Squad.

Leaving the Forceusers to do what they’d come to do.

There was nothing to say that hadn’t already been said during the trip to Taris.  They’d studied the maps, familiarizing themselves with the entire pyramid complex, or at least as much as had previously been explored.  Rakham nodded to Berra, Jorya, and finally Zearic in turn, an identical look of grim determination affixed to each of their faces.

As one, the four of them ran into the pyramid.

               <<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/jr42V9R/Ashara-Zavros.jpg) (https://ibb.co/jr42V9R)

Jorya’s grip on the two lightsabers in her hands tightened, likewise her grip on the fear she felt creeping up from within her.  She thought of Mother and how she was a woman of utter conviction.  No one was braver in Jorya’s estimation.  But even as she was buoyed by the remembrance of D’Aylanna, worries of the past threatened to overburden her.  Jorya hadn’t been with either Mother or Berra when the two women had last stepped foot within the pyramid; instead, she’d come with the Vhal’Dan Expeditionary Force who’d answered the Templar’s call for assistance.

Now, surrounded on all sides by massive red-lit stone walls, Jorya tried to reassure herself that she would take care of Father, that she was absolutely determined that whatever had befallen Mother would not take Father too.  Gritting her teeth, she focused on the task at hand, trying her best to read her environment.

Of course, with Force Suppression obfuscating the entire structure, they were all cautious, although Berra had the worst of it: she was relatively blind as her Miralukan senses were muddled by the Suppression.  Still, she never once so much as hesitated.

As the four Jedi penetrated deeper into the ziggurat, Jorya could feel the structure began to reverberate, a tripartite pounding not unlike an alien heartbeat echoing all around them.  Differential changes in the air also gave her the impression that someone was breathing heavily right behind her, making her constantly glance over her shoulder…only to find that the only persons in the hallway were them.  Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that they were all being watched.

Glancing down at the holomap projecting from her vambrace, Jorya could see that they were at least heading in the right direction: deeper and inwards their destination, the central antechamber.  Following the map, the four of them made good time through the labyrinthine halls, the walls, floor, and ceiling all the same blood-red ferrocrete.  …Everything about this place sets my teeth on edge… Jorya admitted.

Suddenly, Rakham, Berra, and Father stopped.  Looking around Father’s shoulder, Jorya could see why: where the map showed a single passage, there was instead a fork in the hallway in front of them, two doorways with darkened passages stretching before them.

…Shavit… She swore to herself, only to have her thoughts echoed aloud by Father.

“Shavit…” Zearic said quietly.  “Ideas?” Thoughtfully stroking his beard while he closed down both of his lightsabers, Father hung both of his sabers on his belt.

“By Ashla, I can’t sense anything past three meters.” Berra’s tone was almost apologetic.  “Sorry…”

“Don’t be.” Rakham momentarily touched her elbow before consulting his own holomap.  “Not your fault.”  He looked at Father.  “I don’t think it’s a good idea—”

“…To split up?  Agreed.” Zearic finished, both men’s face sharing a quick grin before being replaced by consternation.  “Rakham, you know the Revenant far better than I do.”

“Much good it does us here.” The taller man frowned.  “Still…” He stepped towards the right doorway to where Berra was standing.  “Teks’ map shows that we’ve got another level to climb before we reach the antechamber.  We can—"

A deafening sound resounded through the chamber cutting off the Templar Master and causing Jorya to look up.

Her eyes widened as a heavy ferrocrete slab a meter thick quickly dropped from the ceiling directly at her head.  But before she could react, Jorya was bowled off her feet, landing on the floor under a crushing weight.  Instinct kicked in before panic and she told herself that if the slab had fallen upon her, she wouldn’t be cognizant enough to deliberate upon whether or not she were dead.  Jorya smirked at the thought, giving a self-deprecating laugh as the rest of her conscious mind caught up.

Dirt and dust clouds choked the air, causing her to cough.  Still stunned, Jorya tried to look around but her vision was almost completely obfuscated by the dark silhouette that was her Father.  Staring at her from the depths of his hood, Zearic’s strange hazel eyes drilled into hers, concern carved into his face.

“Jorya, are you hurt?” He asked fearfully, his arms still protectively encircling her.  She could feel Healing flows course through her, fairly feeble compared to other Jedi…but then again, Father’s healing abilities had never been his strong suit.  Apparently, that was still the case regardless of how much stronger in the Force he had grown.  Still, she appreciated the thought and effort.

“I’m…I’m OK, Dad.”  Only then did he get up, offering her a hand and pulling her up.  Not for the first time was Jorya glad that they both had worn their armor.  “What happened?”  She asked though she could already guess to at least part of the answer.  The dust cloud was beginning to dissipate but all that Jorya could see was that the slab that had fallen had created a new wall, separating her and Father from Berra and Rakham.  And cutting them off from the way that they’d came.

“Some sort of trap, not sure.  But when I felt the rumbling, I knew we were in trouble.  Sorry about the tackle but, well, I just couldn’t take the chance that you’d be hurt.”  Zearic looked intensely at the slab that had fallen.  “I just…reacted.”  He turned, staring at Jorya.  “Sorry, Dear One.”

“It’s OK, Dad.  Really.  But what about Master Crescentfall and Mistress Tarun?” She asked, reaching out with the Force to pick up the shoto that she’d lost when her Father had collided with her.  She held onto both of her sabers instead of hooking one onto her belt.  She’d been lucky; that slab could’ve—should’ve—killed her…and if Father hadn’t “reacted”…well, then she was certain that she would’ve been crushed underneath.  That should have bothered her more…but it didn’t.

And another thing: she noticed that Father was significantly heavier than he’d been before.  It had been a running joke between the two of them; she’d even teased him about gaining another five kilograms back before… Jorya’s breath caught, her eyes full of concern as she stared at Father.

…Before everything that had happened on M’Tzigon.  …Everything leads back to there, back to Master Karmack… She thought.  And now she had yet another question without any answer to it.

Mentally shaking her head, Jorya filed it away for later when she had more time.  For right now, they had other problems to deal with.

“Rakham…Berra…how copy?” Zearic’s baritone echoed in the now much smaller chamber.  He repeated several times but received only static.  “Maker-dammit…” He said under his breath.  

“Dad, what do we do now?” Even though Jorya was anxious, her voice remained steady, her face impassive.  When Zearic looked at his daughter, Jorya could feel his pride for her.  …She really is a better Jedi than I… He thought.  …Much like her Mother… The thought came, bittersweet.

Slowly Zearic exhaled, reaching behind him to draw out both of his black daggers.  Gripping them in his left hand, he pulled from his belt and ignited his mainhand weapon, the icey-blue blade casting shadows across wide face.  The dangerous look in his eyes mirrored that on his face.  “Now…” Zearic’s voice was harder than quadranium.  “…Now we get what we came for.”

With that, Father advanced through the darkened doorway, Jorya quickly following, both driven by singular intent…with the unknown awaiting them.


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: Lord_S_Gray on April 26, 2020, 10:38:58 PM
Much better prepared, the auto turrets should help...a bit...though with any luck the Rakghouls are elsewhere, not much to eat in an abandoned (?) Ziggurat....but getting cut off like that...at an intersection...seems a little...deliberate...


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: Karmack on April 27, 2020, 02:01:20 PM
LOL   I was thinking the same thing.   "We shouldn't split up..."

BAM

They're split up....

Love the embedded references back to earlier events, too.   LOL


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: TheDutchman on May 09, 2020, 08:40:11 PM
Once again I have to give a shout-out to FT: his renderings of Zearic's daggers are nothing short of incredible!
Another chapter gladly dedicate to For Tyeth  :)
***************************************
(https://i.ibb.co/6WS63rJ/22f58a1842333dd700d1d7fc6c610045.jpg) (https://ibb.co/6WS63rJ)
Chapter 7: In the Mouth of Madness, Part I

“Berra!  Are you alright?” Rakham coughed, waving one hand to disperse the thick dust cloud while proffering his other to the tall Miraluka.  Taking it gratefully, Berra’s teeth gritted in annoyance.

“You mean aside from a Hutt-sized headache and bruised backside?  Sure…” Her voice trailed off.  “…By Ashla, Rak…Zearic…Jorya!” She took a stutter-step towards where the two Vhal’Dan had been standing before the ferrocrete slab had slammed down.  Her head turning, Berra looked up at the tall Templar Master, a look of horror straining her face.  “Rak…I can’t sense them…either of them…”

Rakham’s face was hard.  “Neither can I.”  His voice softened.  “Help me try to lift the slab; I can’t do it by myself.” There was something odd about that; Rakham was a powerful Forceuser.  He should have been able to easily lift it…

After a moment, both of the two Templars exhaled, momentarily taken aback by the effort.  The Miralukan Templar shook her head.  “Rak, I don’t think that this just some ‘slab;’ I think that it’s part of the pyramid’s structural walls…” Berra’s voice was quiet but assured.  Nodding, Rakham knew better than to argue at a time like this.

“Yeah…” He squeezed Berra’s shoulder.  “Look: I’m sure that Jorya and Zearic are fine.  They know the plan as well as us.”  He adopted a lopsided grin.  “In fact, I bet they’re both already on their way to the central antechamber.”  …I just hope that they don’t make me a liar… He mused.  “C’mon.”

Rakham ignited his lightsaber, the snap-hiss of the blade quickly followed by Berra’s own weapon.  Together, both Templars headed through the doorway, lightsabers humming loudly in the pitch darkness and into the unknown that awaited them.

               <<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/wW8wjSV/Visas-sockets.jpg) (https://ibb.co/wW8wjSV)

Berra stopped, her breath caught in her throat as she attempted—unsuccessfully—to feel her surroundings.

She was totally and completely blind.

And it had nothing to do with her lack of eyes; she couldn’t even sense anything with the Force.  It was if someone had placed her in an endless room without walls, blanketed by the blackest night.  There was nothing, nothing at all.  She raised her hands to her face, tentative and shaking.  She could feel her Miralukan blindfold covering her vestigial eye sockets but could “see” absolutely nothing.

“Rakham?” As afraid as she was, her voice was clear and steady.  “Rakham?”  She began to wave her arms about, knowing that the tall Templar Grand Master was only a meter or two from her.  “Rak?”  Where was he?

…Ashla please help me… She prayed.  Taking a calming breath, Berra shunted away her fear.  It helped.  Somewhat.  Instead, she focused upon her hearing.

In lieu of sight, Miraluka had developed a keen sense of hearing, an evolutionary compensation that had its advantages.  Exhaling slowly, Berra forced her hammering heart to relax, regaining its normal rhythm.  Allowing her ears to take over, Berra focused upon her surroundings…

…Nothing.

Nothing at all.  Not Rakham, not the tripartite beating of the pyramid, not even the hum of her lightsaber.  …What in Bogun’s-damned name is going on…? She cursed, panic rising from her stomach.  “Rak?  RAK?!”  Impotently, she waved her arms about, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, sensing nothing…

She was utterly alone…one of her worst nightmares given life.  Still, Berra was a strong woman; she consciously steeled herself, her spine quadranium.  …It’ll take more than an empty space to—

Sudden, deafening shouting assaulted Berra, sounding as if coming at her from all sides.  “HELP ME!  PLEASE, HELP ME!”

…By Ashla… Aside from the initial shock, Berra couldn’t believe what she was hearing, whose voice it was that cried out.  …Jorsk…!  “Jorsk!  Where are you?  JORSK!” She screamed, her voice cracking with both emotion as well as fright.  It…it was her Jorsk!  

“Berra?  Berra!  Help me!  BERRA!  PLEASE HELP ME!” Jorsk’s disembodied voice was full of pain, of terror.

“Jorsk!  Please…please tell me where you are!  Jorsk?  JORSK?!” Carelessly, Berra began to jog ahead to where she thought Jorsk’s voice was coming from.  “JORSK!  PLEASE, WHERE ARE YOU?!”

Berra’s stride didn’t falter, dread giving speed to her legs.  “Berra!  BERRA HELP ME!” Jorsk’s voice now sounded completely panicked, fearful, and full of anguish.  “…no…No…NO!” He screamed.  “BERRA HELP!  HELP!”  The agony in his voice was torture for her.

Sobbing, Berra broke into a full run.  “Jorsk!  Please, tell me where you are!  Please, Jorsk!” She cried.  “…please…darling, please…” She begged under her breath, impotently fighting off waves of defeat.  And despair.  

Reaching deep within herself, she willed herself to continue, to never give up.  She would find Jorsk, help him, heal him…

But no matter how fast she ran, or how loud she shouted, Berra couldn’t find her beloved.  And as each scream became more shrill and pleading, Berra, helpless, felt herself surrender more to the overwhelming hopelessness she felt crushed underneath by...

               <<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/YXCv71n/35962-1-1368359860.jpg) (https://ibb.co/YXCv71n)(https://i.ibb.co/x2JsFy1/for-astral-one.png) (https://ibb.co/x2JsFy1)

Zearic stopped, his breath caught in his throat as he attempted—unsuccessfully—to feel his surroundings.

Taking a moment for his eyes to adjust to the pitch darkness, he could swear that he saw a light in the distance.

“Jorya?” He whispered.  “Jorya?” Zearic said, louder when he heard nothing.  “Jorya!”

As he felt his own fear rising, so too did he feel the roused hunger of the Tenebris.  Only, this wasn’t like the other times when he’d sensed the dagger orchestrating his feelings; no, this was entirely something else.  Zearic’s teeth clenched tightly; he’d thought that he’d mastered the dagger, but now…this?  And whatever it was, it had fully awakened the dagger’s abilities: he was inundated with fear.

…Stop this, dammit…! Zearic castigated himself even as he felt consumed by terror.  “Jorya!” His voice sounded hoarse.  “Dear One!”  He felt himself running towards the light in the distance.

As dark as his surroundings had been, the sudden blinding light caught him completely by surprise.  Blinking his eyes to acclimate, Zearic looked around at his new surroundings.  They seemed…familiar.

Clouds of condensation hung onto the ceiling, rusted pipes twisted across and above his head, the hallway a collection of dilapidated metalwork, the floor made smooth by the countless boots of foot traffic atop the previously rough-hewn stonework of the tunnels.  To one side was an enormous, industrial blast door, the kind used in sealing deep-sunk mines; to the other was a crosshatched metal stanchion-barred door leading to a lift, one that penetrated ever-downward…

Zearic’s breath caught, icy tendrils climbing up his spine.  …No…not here…not again…!  He was, somehow, back on the unnamed fourth planet of System DC_10004568, where he’d been freed of his cybernetics…and imprisoned by a genetic imperative that utterly bent his will to that of the Black Armors…

As if spurned by his realization, the machinery of the lift lurched to life, the scream of unlubricated metal loud in Zearic’s ears.  The smell of burning iron filled his nose mixing with the earthy scent of rock and dirt.  Sweat broke out along his brow, dripping down the small of his back.  

Someone—or something—was coming up from below.

Fumbling about his belt for his lightsabers, Zearic’s hands came up empty.  …What in the Maker-damned hell…?!  He wondered, only to remember his twin Oblivion weapons.  Grasping behind him, he pulled the two black daggers free, the twin blades of the Tenebris gleaming dangerously while the thinner single blade of the Nocte rested against his wrist, the hilt wrapped in his reverse Shien grip.  

Unsurprisingly, the Tenebris seemed to almost vibrate in his hand, so great was his fear.  The machinery of the lift clanged to a stop, hydraulic lines shuddering as the braking mechanisms engaged.  Slowly, loudly the twin elevator doors opened.

Time seemed to drag to a halt in Zearic’s perspective.  As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t move, his boots fixed to the floor.  Even with his terror feeding the Tenebris, his aggression flowing through the Nocte, he couldn’t bring himself to run.  And what exited wasn’t at all what he had expected.  

It was far, far worse.

Not one, not two, but four Black Armors exited the lift, their enormous Tremor Swords already in hand.  Zearic’s eyes flicked towards his daggers, looking puny and trifling by comparison.  …I…I will NOT run… But he wanted to do nothing more than that.  But that wasn’t the worst of it: he suddenly saw the helmets of the Black Armors retract, exposing their faces.

“…no…” Zearic’s voice was small and insignificant.  His daggers fell from numb fingers as he sank to his knees, both blades disappearing in clouds of black vapor.

Looking down at him from the black, crystalline hulking armor were the faces of his wife, his daughter, his adoptive father, and his friend.  Each face—D’Aylanna’s and Jorya’s, Kazic’s and Karmack’s—looked from one to the other and then back towards Zearic.  One and all they smiled, cruel and sadistic.

Raising their arms, four Tremor Swords stabbed up into the air.  At the apex, four blades fell back towards the ground, sharp and deadly.

And one and all, they laughed at the small, insignificant man who had failed them…

…He who they had left behind.

               <<<<< >>>>>


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: TheDutchman on May 09, 2020, 08:50:09 PM
(https://i.ibb.co/Bc4SF65/Jorus-Wiki.jpg) (https://ibb.co/Bc4SF65)
Chapter 7: In the Mouth of Madness, Part II

Rakham stopped, his breath caught in his throat as he attempted—unsuccessfully—to feel his surroundings.

Immediately, he could sense that something was wrong, very wrong.  Surrounded by complete darkness, he couldn’t see Berra at all.  “Berra?  Berra!”  Even as he called out, he knew it to be pointless…although he wasn’t exactly sure about how he knew.  Still, he had to try.

Spying a distant point of light, Rakham continued to call Berra’s name but to no avail.  Suddenly, light sprang all around him, the pitch black of the tunnel giving way to…

…The Templar Archives.  “What the hell?” Rakham whispered, his eyes squinting.  Scanning his entire field of vision, Rakham swiveled his head from right to left and back again, certain that what his eyes saw were indeed the dark ferrocrete walls of the Archives.  …This isn’t right… A small voice from the back of his mind reminded him…but it was faint, and forgotten quickly.

Walking through the familiar corridors, Rakham passed through the Grand Hall, the Apartments Wing, finally stopping at the Archive’s Vault.  And it was here that he received his greatest shock…

Standing amidst the treasure amassed by the Templars was a lone figure, one in white.  A figure that Rakham was very, VERY familiar with.  “Annoura…” He whispered.  She smiled, dark eyes peeking out from beneath her hood.  “…you…you’re dead.”  He knew this to be true, after all: he’d killed her himself.

Her smile became more predatory.  “Am I?  Are you certain, Grand Master?”  She seemed to glide across the floor, slowly approaching him.  “After that traitorous bastard Anzio Ket betrayed me, I decided upon a new course of action.”  She pointed to Rakham.  “I’ve called you to me, impelled your loyalty, and accepted your servitude.”  She laughed, her melodious voice incongruous with the evil bent of her face.  “I have called you…and here you are.  You are mine.  You may call me…Domina.” 

Rakham could feel himself being pulled to her, his mind ready to accept the truth of the matt—

—She’s lying—

A voice, one Rakham was both familiar with and dreaded ripped through the confusion, shredding the Mind Control that he now knew he’d been assaulted by.  While Annoura spoke, he could even now feel the pressure on his mind, trying to subvert his will.  Yet with every single word, Rakham’s suspicions rose.  …I…KNOW…that this isn’t right… He reminded himself.  In fact…

Before he took a step towards the tall woman, Rakham adopted an arrogant posture.  Stifling a yawn, his face looked bored.  “Really?  That’s the best that you could come up with?  Which tired, used playbook did you steal those lines from?  Or did you get a discount from a fourth-rate villains ‘How-to’ holofeed on monologues?”  He began to walk towards her.  And upon seeing the look of consternation twisting her face, Rakham crossed his arms and laughed.  “What, nothing to say?  Whomever you are, you are NOT Annoura.”  Standing in front of her, his face became dangerous.  “But you’ll be meeting her very soon…” 

He suddenly felt the reassuring hilt of his lightsaber within his grasp, the already ignited green-white blade arching towards “Annoura’s” head.  Cleaving her neck at an angle, the woman discorporated like smoke in a hurricane.  Rakham felt himself exhale a breath that he hadn’t known that he’d been holding.  It certainly wasn’t anything that he’d been expecting…

“Good.  You’ve learned well.” Once again came the familiar—and all-too-dreaded—voice, this time from behind him.  Glancing over his shoulder, Rakham saw his old master staring at him.

“What are you doing here, Kadmaur?” He asked, having grown tired of the venerable man’s games.  “I’m busy.”

Kadmaur smiled.  “Saving you, as usual.”  Rakham could now see that Kadmaur’s legs and shoulders had an…ephemeral quality about them, as if things were out of focus along the edges.  Still: the old man’s face (and particularly his eyes) were crystal clear, piercing even.

Shaking his head, Rakham shrugged.  “Fine; how did you save me?”

“Think on it, I’m certain it’ll come to you.” Kadmaur’s face had an almost-smile upon it, the cruel glean of his eyes a look that Rakham remembered all too well.

Rakham was about to dismiss Kadmaur’s words outright, but something in his tone caught the Templar’s attention.  Why is it that he hadn’t succumbed to the Mind Control?  Thinking back to the times that Kadmaur had directly taught him, he could think of nothing.  Frustrated, Rakham shook his head.  “…Even dead, you’re a nuisance to me.”  He turned to leave.  “I shouldn’t be surprised; after all that I’ve learned about you after you betrayed me—betrayed everyone(!)—you’ve proven time after time that you only looked out for yourself.”  Angered, he faced Kadmaur, his hands now balled fists.  “You even defiled me!  Using the Force to contro—” Rakham’s breath caught at the thought of his revelation that Kadmaur had done something to him, setting a metaphysical trap to manipulate him.

More specifically, his memories.

But Rakham had overcome Kadmaur’s “conditioning;” after all, it had been him who had finally unlocked the secret of the Mind Trap that D’Aylanna was now imprisoned within.  Light dawned on Rakham as his understanding caught up with his memories.  His gaze returned to his old master.

The look of pride upon Kadmaur’s face was genuine.

“Yes.  You were able to break the control of my Qâzoi Kyantuska.  But you can never be free of me; once a victim of Qâzoi Kyantuska, always will you carry a sliver of me…” Kadmaur smiled toothily.  “…One that may infect any that you join minds with…” His eyes were blacker than the Maw.

“I’ll never let that happen.” Rakham assured.  “I will en—”

Kadmaur’s smile vanished.  “Enough.  Your threats against me are groundless.”  Another almost-smile turned the corner of his lips upward.  “And you need not worry; only this phantom of my will remains with you.  To possess someone with Qâzoi Kyantuska, one must perform a VERY specific set of events, commensurate with the victim’s skil—”

“Good; it’s enough that you stay dead.” Rakham was about to turn when two realizations hit him.  “…That’s how I was able to fight off the Mind Control…”  Again, Kadmaur smiled.  “…Because you’d already done so, ‘claiming’ me…” The tall Templar spat.  “You bastard…”

“You’re welcome.”  Kadmaur floated towards him, stopping almost nose-to-nose with Rakham.  “Never forget: you are alive only because of me…”

With a swift motion, Rakham’s lightsaber flashed, its green-white blade bisecting the phantom that was Kadmaur, his form quickly dissipating in a puff of smoke.  Breathing heavily, Rakham’s face contorted in fury.  Even now, Kadmaur tainted his life, always an unwanted influence that he was constantly remined of…

…Worse: one that he knew had helped save him even now.  …Will I ever be free of him…? He wondered.  But only for a moment; Rakham moved on to the second of his revelations.

Inhaling slowly, he closed his eyes to concentrate.  Opening himself to the Force, the tall Templar Master focused upon the “reality” that he found himself in, accepting the falsity of it, knowing it to be untrue.

With conviction, Rakham felt himself coming out of the torpor that he’d somehow succumbed to, eager to join Berra and—once he’d helped her—unite with Jorya and Zearic.

His last thought before regaining consciousness was that he would never leave anyone behind ever again…

               <<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/Gcq9Z1h/14515655-175200522948146-5476189130394173440-n.jpg) (https://ibb.co/Gcq9Z1h)

Jorya stopped, her breath caught in her throat as she attempted—unsuccessfully—to feel her surroundings.

Immediately, she could sense that something was wrong, very wrong.  Looking around, she couldn’t see Zearic at all.  “Father?  Father!”  Even as she called out, she knew it to be pointless…although she wasn’t exactly sure about how he knew.  Still, she had to try.  “DAD!”

Instead of pitch darkness, she found herself surrounded by dark clouds, each one violently churning with confined lightning.  Yet within them there was something…familiar.  Where had she seen them before?

She was about to utilize a Memory technique that Mother had taught her when—between blinking—she found herself surrounded on all sides by rocky tunnels lined with metallic supports, pipes, and conduits.  As she turned, one of the walls gave way to a large chamber, multileveled and incorporating modern, prefabricated buildings, support trusses, and mining materials.

Jorya sucked air between her teeth; she immediately recognized the place.  Last time she’d been here was with Father, Mother, Ken, and Master Karmack.  Worse: she somehow knew that it was the exact place where…

…Where Mellichae had almost murdered her.

How had she gotten back here?  Shaking her head, she knew that such a question was unimportant, even though she was unsure as to why she knew that.  Instead, she wondered why was she here.

“You are here to die, welpling.” A voice like bone grinding to dust boomed from behind her.  Turning on her heel, Jorya looked up into the familiar grinning face of a Zabrak, an evil look in his eyes.  Faster than she could react, his metal cybernetic arm shot out, his vicelike hand encircling her slender throat, lifting her off her feet.  Grabbing at the cybernetic hand with her fingers, Jorya fought down the panic that threatened to overwhelm her.  She tried to conjure up a Force Push, a Phantasm…anything that would distract Mellichae and give her time to recover but she could barely even draw breath into her lungs.

“Yes welpling…the mistake that I made last time was not killing you when I first had the chance.” His tongue darted out of his mouth, licking the side of her face.  Repulsed, she spit in his eyes…for all the good it did her.  The Zabrak smiled, his hand tightening upon her throat.  “A mistake that I shall not repeat.”  His face dropped all pretense of amiability.  “Now…die…” He drew the last word out, savoring it like a fine wine, drawing her lips to his as if he were breathing in her last breath…

…No…this can’t…I won’t…this isn’t… Incredulous, Jorya’s thoughts became sluggish, her head feeling as if she were stuck on the event horizon of a singularity, paused on the brink of annihilatio—

—NO!—

Suddenly, violently, Jorya’s mind flared with emotion, raw and fervent.  For a moment, she felt as if her body moved of its own accord… No, that wasn’t quite it; more like one of those Hapan marionettes that Mother so despised, dancing on strings that directed her movement.  Quick as the feeling was it all but vanished, leaving her nonplussed.  But she felt powerful.  Filled with the Force, she struck at the Zabrak with a raging tempest.  Mellichae flew back several meters as if bodily thrown by a thermal detonator explosion.  Gulping in deep, delicious breaths of air, Jorya stared daggers at the Zabrak, seeing red.  Intense anger—fury that she had never thought possible(!)—washed over her.  Back straight, she advanced upon the Zabrak, enraged.  In an instant, she had both lightsabers in her hand, azure and violet blades casting furious shadows across her face, blood pounding in her head.

“…Wha…how is it that yo—” Mellichae’s lips moved yet another’s voice spoke, much higher in pitch.  But Jorya wasn’t listening; she was driven by a singular intent.  She would never allow anyone ever again the chance to threaten her, to make her feel so vulnerable.  So…victimized.

Without uttering a word, she brought both of her lightsabers to bear in tight orbits, each pass cutting diagonally across the big Zabrak’s head and shoulders, body and torso.  Falling in pieces, Mellichae’s dismembered parts fell at Jorya’s feet only to disappear like mist.  Pure rage still radiated from her for a few moments…until she forced herself to slow her heart, inhaling and exhaling regularly.  …Breathe in, breathe out…

Calm descended upon her, dousing the flames of her wrath.  Father had taught her that anger itself wasn’t evil; rather it was what one did with it.  It could be constructive, it could help sustain one in adversity, it could help shield the victims of injustice…

She thought back to her torture at the hands of Gaetana and the Inquisitorious.  If it hadn’t been for Father… But he had saved her.  That fact, plus the adversity that she’d faced in the relatively short span of her life, had made her strong. 

Strong and dependable.  Thinking of Father—her Dad she thought fondly—made her smile but only for a moment.  For burning within her was a…a power that she had rarely tapped into.  Yes, she was stronger for it but also it gave her a…clarity, an adeptness that Father had told her she was capable of on more than one occasion.

But more importantly, she could sense the…the tentativeness of her “reality,” although she still didn’t know how she knew, only that she did with absolute certainty.

…I have to help Father; he needs me… She thought, looking around at her surroundings.  What she saw was a perfect replica of the Geonosis caves; what she knew was that she was still on Taris, deep within the pyramid.

She inhaled slowly, closing her eyes to concentrate.  Opening herself to the Force, the tall Togrutan koawan focused upon the “reality” that she found herself in, accepting the falsity of it, knowing it to be untrue.

Her last thought before regaining consciousness was that she would never feel weak ever again…


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: Lord_S_Gray on May 10, 2020, 01:43:49 AM
Madness indeed. Wow. Each faced with some very hideous hallucinations...albeit for Rackham there is a worse reality he has just been faced with or is it? Kadmaur might exists as a sliver in him or is that part of the madness? I can't tell which makes it all the more intriguing.

Reminds me in a way of Lucovis Terror Bomb and Vectivus Mirror Orb weapon...or given the ziggurat is older perhaps they copied such techniques in their own devices.

Lots of great nods to prior stories, Jorsk, Mellichae, that harrowing vision of Zearics that just won't die even after he faced it in person.

And of course what is causing all this? Is it some defence of the structure itself or someone or something else? Terrifngly engaging narrative switch from the tone of the first few chapters


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: TheDutchman on May 29, 2020, 03:25:05 AM
(https://i.ibb.co/4PfJdCn/xelel02.jpg) (https://ibb.co/4PfJdCn)
Chapter 8: Four Is Death

“…Father?” A voice called to him, somehow…familiar?  “Dad?”  He thought he knew who the voice belonged to…

…they left you for a reason…

Gritting his teeth, Zearic refused to acknowledge the thought.  It was more difficult than he cared to admit.

“Dad?!”  That voice…he…knew that voice…

Slowly, slowly Zearic’s head cleared, cognizance gradually reasserting itself, releasing him from the torpor that he struggled to divest himself of.  “Dad!  It’s OK, you’re OK…” A strong yet gentle hand stroked his shoulder.  It was helpful, calming.  …Jorya…Daughter…Dear One… Each new memory elicited another, helping to clear his confusion.  “I’ve got you, Dad.”  Jorya’s voice was quiet but reassuring.  Turning his gaze towards her, he could see the worry in her blue eyes.

“…Jorya…” His quiet voice croaked out as if he hadn’t spoken for days, weeks, months even.  He felt as if his head was full of cobwebs.  “…Are you alright?” Blinking away the lethargy, he exhaled forcefully, running his hand through his shorn hair, causing his gray hood to fall around his broad shoulders.

Jorya smiled, her face brightening as a result.  “Me?” She gave a quiet laugh.  “I…yeah, Dad, I’m fine.” She held out her hand, helping her Father rise to his feet.  This time there was no doubt: he was heavier than he’d been, she observed.  Jorya was stronger than her lithe frame suggested but she felt a strain in helping Zearic up.  …A question for another time… She filed it away but couldn’t help but feel perturbed concerning the growing number of concerns that she had.  Instead, she projected the Force outward, hoping to expand her senses and gain at least some answers.

Zearic looked around surveying everything.  Whatever had happened, they hadn’t gotten far: they were only about four meters past the doorway they’d run through.  “Do you remember anything?” His deep baritone reverberated through the hallway despite his quiet tone.

Jorya shook her head.  “No.  I mean, I remember feeling how wrong everything was when I found myself back at Geonosis…but how I got there?  Nothing at all.” Unconsciously, she checked her lightsabers, blasters, vibroblades.  She still had them all about her person.

“Geonosis?  I was back on…it wasn’t Geonosis.” Shaking his head, Zearic glanced out of the corner of his eye; Jorya had caught his lapse.  “How were you able to wake up?” He asked instead, hoping to change the subject.  As soon as he asked it, the big man wondered why he hadn’t been able to wake himself… Scowling, his face reflected the anxiety that he tried to control.

“I…” Jorya frowned, considering.  “Honestly, I don’t know.  I just knew that it wasn’t real, that I was suffering from some kind of Mind Control.”  She looked at her Father, considering.  He seemed…larger.  That wasn’t exactly what she meant although he seemed to loom large within the hallway.  She could feel a…a menace within the Force radiating from him.  This wasn’t just his augmented strength or connection with the Force, this was something new.  “Father?”

Zearic’s eyes swiveled, locking onto hers, the red in his strange hazel eyes pronounced.  “We’re dealing with some powerful Forceusers.  I couldn’t break free, but… But it’s not only that: maybe there are still some Revenant left here…” He fell momentarily silent.  “…I think that…that the pyramid itself is somehow involved; don’t ask me how…” He looked around, his words punctuated by the faint yet ever-present tripartite beating that resounded through the blood-red walls.  “The Force Suppression weakened our defenses, making us susceptible to the Mind Control.  We won’t make that mistake again.”  He activated his mainhand lightsaber, the icy blue blade turning the stone tunnels black…almost as black as the twin daggers that he held in his other hand.  “Let’s go.”

With both of her sabers ignited, Jorya fully wrapped herself in the Force.  Father was right: they would not be caught off-guard again.

Both Vhal’Dan ran through the hallways, careful where they stepped, senses alert for traps and unseen dangers.

And hidden eyes took notice of the two figures, one wide, one nimble, both vigilant against the mental snares that had been prepared for them.

               <<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/hXDHryv/miraluka-jedi-by-oichechiun-d8wtd25-350t.jpg) (https://ibb.co/hXDHryv)

“Rak…listen…” Berra’s whispered warning stopped the tall Templar Master in his tracks.  Moving nothing but his eyes, he stared ahead trying to penetrate the shadows of the hallway.  Both his green lightsaber and Berra’s teal helped to illuminate the passages but the light seemed to stop abruptly about ten meters ahead of them.

“What is it?” His voice was so low that no one save Berra could have heard him; even the hum of their lightsabers sounded louder.  Besides, the two of them had always had a strong connection within the Force, almost akin to a battlemeld.  With it they had developed a keen synergy, though not near as powerful as a Force dyad.  Still, because of it they’d saved one another’s life many times.

“…Rakghoul.  A lot of them, and close…” Berra’s quiet voice carried the weight of that pronouncement.  They’d lost too much to those…creatures.  Rakham extended his hand, patting his friend on her back reassuringly. 

“Berra, I think we can get around them.  I couldn’t see it before but there’s a stairway up ahead.  If our maps are mostly still valid then we need to take those to get to the central antechamber.” The tall Templar Master tried to push past the Suppression, concentrating intently.  But it was no use; it seemed that everything that he did was unsuccessful.  “I think that the pyramid itself is blocking us, diminishing our connection to the Force.”  He knew it to be true as soon as the words left his mouth.

Berra merely nodded, her own suspicions likewise confirmed, or as good as.

“I’ll take point.” Rakham gripped his saber a little tighter.

“I’ve got your back.” Berra smiled sardonically, recent memories of their fighting against the Revenant were foremost in their minds, friends, comrades…family that they’d lost.  It was a list that Rak had memorized, one that had grown long.  …I will not add D’Aylanna to it…!

Both Templars ran through the halls and stairways, careful where they stepped, senses alert for traps and unseen dangers.

Which was why they were so shocked when the stone tunnel suddenly opened up revealing a large antechamber, one that was completely unfamiliar and unexpected.  Rakham frowned, looking around the room while Berra fought against the Force Blindness that hindered her senses, effectively obfuscating everything to her past three meters.  They both knew that none of the current layout adhered to the maps that they had been following, unless…

…Unless, this too was part of the Mind Control?  “Berra…” He whispered.  “I…I think I know what’s going on.  Give me your hand.”  Their bond was always stronger with physical contact.

Without a word, Berra grabbed the tall human’s hand, both focusing their senses, a skill sharpened by years of practice, supplemented by their familial relationship.  They were one with the Force and each other, their shared strength, resolve, and love bolstering their Force Meld. 

Using a sight not from their eyes and a strike not from their fists, the Templar’s Force Lance acted as a psionic hammer, shattering the Mindform Illusion.  With it gone, they could be see that they had indeed arrived at their destination: the pyramid’s innermost antechamber, the multi-layered construction giving the impression of stone islands and platforms joined by bridges amidst blood-red causeways.

And standing on the very center dais were a pair of extremely tall, long-limbed, white robed women, their skin and hair almost the same pale tint as their tunics and pants.  Even at this distance, Rak could swear that they looked exactly identical, an opinion that was further reinforced as he and Berra approached them.

“How is it—” The one on the left spoke.

“—That you were—” Said the one on the right.

“—Able to overcome—” Again the left.

“—Our Force Domination—” Back to the right.

“—And Mindform Illusion?” The one on the left finished.

Rakham and Berra were surprised: there was no pause, no separation between each women’s dialogue.   Incredibly, they could distinguish no feeling of individuality within the Force.  It was as if a single person was speaking.

Rakham could now tell that the two women were Cereans, their elongated heads covered in flowing white hair that ended well past their backs.  And in all regards, they were absolutely identical…

…Except their eyes.  While they both exhibited complete heterochromia, the woman on the left had one blue eye and one gray, and the woman on the right had one green with the other gray.  Uncertain exactly what this portended, Rak brought his lightsaber up in front of him.

Berra had already assumed her own offensive lightsaber kata; Rakham could only guess what the Miraluka felt.  And his disquiet only grew when next the two spoke again.

“It no longer—”

“—Matters; it seems—”

“—That the others—”

“—Somehow have broken—”

“—Free as well.”

Rakham didn’t even try to differentiate between the two; he just assumed that the twins must possess some kind of Force Bond.  As for his own connection with Berra, she felt…ready was the best word to describe her.  It both comforted as well as galvanized him. 

And none too soon, for the two simultaneously doffed their robes, words pouring from their lips.

“My sisters and—”

“—I will be—”

“—The last thing—”

“—That you see!”

As one, both of the Cerean women ignited saberstaves, their orange-red blades casting demonic shadows about their faces and reflecting off of their billowing shalwar trousers.

Screaming, they attacked.

               <<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/R3mR1jt/Togrutas-swtor.jpg) (https://ibb.co/R3mR1jt)

“Another dead end?” Jorya’s exasperated voice was quiet but if her tone was any indication of how she felt Zearic almost expected her to start yelling in frustration.  Of course he knew better; Jorya was one of the most temperate women that he knew.  After all, his daughter had taken after her mother, thank the Maker.

“Yeah…” Zearic frowned.  Where their maps showed a stairway, there was instead a solid stone slab.  It was the third time that this had occurred.  He knew that something wasn’t right, and for the last ten minutes he had felt a…an itch between his shoulders.  It was a feeling that he’d come to recognize during his training on M’Tzigon, especially during his battle with…

He shook his head, not wanting to focus on the past.  Or at least that’s what he told himself, a small voice in the back of his mind chastised him for his obvious evasiveness.  There was much that had happened on M’Tzigon that he was still uncomfortable with, not the least of which was his voluntary training at the hands of the former Sith Inquisitor Nimmin Cha.  Mercilessly Zearic crushed that voice…but…

…But it did give him an idea.  “Use everything that you can to win: your resources, your ally’s, even your enemy’s.  Especially your enemy’s.  What matters most is victory, not how you got there.” Cha’s oily words slid across his memory.  Zearic despised the former Inquisitor…but he had to admit that he had been right.

He locked eyes with his daughter.  “Jorya…do you remember what Kazic told us about his wives…and their connection through the Force?” Zearic whispered under his breath, confident that—with her superior hearing—the Togruta would hear him.  His hands tightened on his Oblivion daggers involuntarily.

Her eyes intent upon his, Jorya gave an almost imperceptible nod.  Kazic had told them many times of how he would open himself to the Force, specifically attuned to his wife’s presence and she, his.  Once established, they were able to create a kind of Force Meld, although Kazic had never called it that.  And with that connection, Kazic and Saani had been able to increase their own Force Sense manifold.  Zearic just hoped that it would work.  He quickly pulled the Force about him while reaching towards his daughter. 

For a moment, nothing seemed to happen.  But after a moment he could feel the Togruta’s tentative Force Sense, a mirror of his own.  Together they merged their disparate Force awareness into one.

He felt Jorya’s presence in the Force attune to his own.  It was a remarkable experience…and an intimate one.

Zearic and Jorya had always been close.  From the time that he’d saved her life, freeing her from a COMPNOR Interrogation Center and killing the Inquisitors that had tortured her, the big man had soon formally adopted her and—with his wife D’Aylanna—quickly made her feel like the daughter that she was.  And throughout the years, they’d become an ever closer, tight-knit family.

As the Force Meld formed, all that—and more—went through Zearic’s head.  It was incredible: he could feel his senses expanding, improving; it was as if his eyes could see in much more vivid detail and resolution, his hearing that much more acute…his Force acuity so much more potent.

It was that last that was able to finally help the two Vhal’Dan detect the Mindform Illusion and recognize it for what it was.

With a deftness that surprised even him, Zearic probed against the Force construct, “seeing” a “thinness” that represented a weak spot.  Like a quadranium wrecking ball, he shattered the Illusion, the vestiges of the fabrication dissipating before their very eyes, exposing the reality of their surroundings.  What they saw was both what they’d expected and at the same time shocking to them.

They were in a large chamber filled with columns, the stone supports reaching high up towards a ceiling that not even Jorya’s superior eyesight could see.  In the middle of the pillars was a large void where twin ramps on either side fed up into a wide raised platform.  Upon this stood two incredibly tall, lithe Cerean females, both clad completely in all white, their hair and skin a slightly different alabaster hue.

The closer that Zearic got, the more details he could see; although both were clad in similar pearl colored dress-like kameez gowns, their homogenous looks had one notable exception: their eyes.  They both had complete heterochromia.

Squinting, he could now see that the woman on the left had one blue and one brown while the woman on the right had brown and green eyes, respectively.  Otherwise…if there was any difference between them, it would take more discerning eyes than his.  As he and Jorya were at the base of the ramps, the women suddenly spoke.

“How is it—” The one on the left spoke.

“—That you were—” Said the one on the right.

“—Able to overcome—” Again the left.

“—Our Force Domination—” Back to the right.

“—And Mindform Illusion?” The one on the left finished.

Zearic and Jorya were surprised: there was no pause, no separation between each women’s dialogue.   Incredibly, they could distinguish no feeling of individuality within the Force.  It was as if a single person was speaking.

Enveloped in their Meld, the two Vhal’Dan were able to almost intuit each other’s strategy.  That, and their collective years of fighting together.  Jorya held both of her sabers at the ready, violet and sapphire blades casting a grim silhouette to her orange face.  Zearic almost smiled; even here and now, pride radiated from his breast.  The Togruta chanced a quick gaze to him, a quick smile playing upon her red lips.  Clearly she had felt his emotion strong as it was.  But the moment was all too fleeting, broken when the eerie women spoke again.

“It no longer—”

“—Matters; it seems—”

“—That the others—”

“—Somehow have broken—”

“—Free as well.”

It was disconcerting to Zearic hearing one voice essentially coming from two mouths.  Throwing his two Oblivion daggers in the air, he grabbed his shoto from his belt, igniting it, the shorter silver blade joining the icy blue of his mainhand saber.  As he advanced up the ramp, the twin black daggers hovered around his head and shoulders, their spinning blades giving the impression that he was shrouded in a shadowy aura.  Again the two women spoke, one immediately after the other.

“My sisters and—”

“—I will be—”

“—The last thing—”

“—That you see!”

As one, both of the Cerean women ignited twin paired lightsabers, their red-orange blades casting hellish outlines about their faces and reflecting off of their billowing kameez frocks.

Screaming, they attacked.


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: Karmack on May 29, 2020, 04:32:12 PM
interesting....

I was going to call foul on simply cutting and pasting the last several paragraphs in each thread, but I'll give it a pass this time because its just so intriguing!   Nicely played!

And now ... on with the serious fighting bits.   :-)


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: TheDutchman on May 29, 2020, 04:51:03 PM
interesting....

I was going to call foul on simply cutting and pasting the last several paragraphs in each thread, but I'll give it a pass this time because its just so intriguing!   Nicely played!

And now ... on with the serious fighting bits.   :-)
Karm look a little more closely to the verbiage...it's deliberate because [REDACTED]

😈😈😈


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: Lord_S_Gray on May 30, 2020, 04:52:08 AM
Wow this is shifting from a reflective family drama to outright horror, the Mindform illusion and Kadmaur echo were bad enough now these Four - or is it two? or more - or None at all - Cerean waifs - I'ts like they are in the haunted house and now they've met the the latest ghosts - The barrier between the reality and illusions is nonexistent almost and I think that all four of the heroes are at this point somewhat unreliable narrators as their own senses are being meddled with. Not sure this will be a typical fight at all...perhaps the best hope they have is either Berra being able to use her Miraluka sense to see through the mists or Zearics daggers cutting through and confounding given their own exotic provenance. 


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: Karmack on June 01, 2020, 08:16:26 PM
Karm look a little more closely to the verbiage...it's deliberate because [REDACTED]

😈😈😈

Oh, I figured it was deliberate.   I suspect that the Vahl'Dan and Templars are actually fighting each other....   ;-)


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: TheDutchman on June 01, 2020, 09:15:35 PM
Oh, I figured it was deliberate.   I suspect that the Vahl'Dan and Templars are actually fighting each other....   ;-)
That's...actually an inspired idea Karm  :)


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: TheDutchman on June 04, 2020, 03:57:53 AM
(https://i.ibb.co/XsdR2SX/picture-1.png) (https://ibb.co/XsdR2SX)
Chapter 9: Memory Never Fades

As her chronometer clicked off its last second, Lieutenant Alvai released a sigh of frustration.  And sorrow.  Rakham’s three hour window had elapsed.  Of course, none of Hit Squad saw this as they all still had their helmets on, a fact that Lhyli was grateful for at the moment.  …C’mon, five more minutes… She pleaded.  …By manda, I can give them that much at least…

But as the five minutes came and went, her heart sank.  She knew what she had to do, what she’d been ordered to do.

“Sergeant Thek, Sereant Bal, I want Aurek and Besh Squads to break down weapon emplacements, tactical droids, and prepare to move out.” She said in clipped tones.

Moving up beside her, Lt. Alvai’s adjutant, Sergeant Major Dak Qualto waited for the two sergeants to carry out Lhyli’s commands, leaving the two of them relatively alone.  “Lhyli…he ordered us." He said gently.  "Master Crescentfall—indeed all of them—knew the risks; that’s why he gave us those instructions.”  He put a comforting hand on the larger woman’s shoulder.  “It’s not your fault.”

Lhyli slowly shook her head.  “I know, Dak.  But I don’t have to like it.”  Nodding to her friend in gratitude, she exhaled.  The next part was always the hardest: following orders you didn’t like.  …Dammit… Lhyli cursed, each hand a balled fist, frustration raging in her head.  She knew what she had to do.  

Within a minute Hit Squad had formed up on her and Dak, where Lhyli gave last-minute commands.  “Sgt. Major Qualto…let’s move out.” She announced.  Her tone was completely impassive, a lump in the back of her throat accompanied by a niggling feeling of betrayal.  Dak’s words ran through her mind again and again.

“Lhyli…he ordered us.”  

She could almost taste the bile in the back of her throat.  And as Dak fell into position beside her, Hit Squad following, they quickly left the pyramid entrance behind them.

She only hoped that Rakham and Berra would forgive her.

               <<<<< >>>>>

As the two red-orange blades clashed against his icy blue and silver lightsabers, Zearic’s daggers continued to rotate a meter or two around his shoulders, their spinning blades acting both offensively and defensively, locking onto the tall Cerean woman’s aggression while simultaneously feeding off of his fear, a remarkable circular system that he’d come to learn—and perfect—from his time with Nimmin Cha.  Creating a feedback loop from both his and his opponent’s emotions, the daggers responded immediately to his subconscious whims, often times before he had to make a deliberate choice.  Coupled with the fact that Zearic had received advanced training during his time in M’Tzigon, his saber skills were at their peak.

…Which was why he was so astonished: his opponent’s saberwork was superior, and by a wide margin.  Despite his mainhand saber, shoto, and twin daggers, Zearic could find no openings in her defenses, no lapses to exploit, nothing.  And she answered every strike with a brutal riposte, every attack parried or turned aside only to flow into another offensive.  It was as if she were using his own Water Forms against himself…

Again his daggers hammered at her defenses, twin red-orange sabers flashing in tight orbits as she incredibly deflected every attack, regardless if they were blades of plasma or Oblivion stone.  As soon as his offensive stalled, Zearic found himself suddenly defending, using every iota of his skill to keep the Cerean’s blades from striking true.  

He was worried; more than that truth be told.  After all, if he was having this much trouble, how was Jorya faring against her own opponent?  Chancing a look across the room, he saw that his daughter was also having a difficult time against the taller woman.  But both of her blades never ceased moving, her Jar’Kai virtually infallible.  Again he found himself proud of Jorya.

“Why do you—”

“—Continue to fight—”

“—When you know—”

“—That you face—”

“—A superior adversary?”

Zearic had gotten used to the two Cereans speaking as one.  Even as they employed their own idiosyncratic Dun Möch, Zearic ignored them, instead worried more for Jorya.  One of the many things that Cha had hammered into him was the potency of Dun Möch, both how to use it to devastating effect…and how to ignore it.

Unfortunately, Jorya had only rudimentary training against it.  He knew he had to do something.

Zearic knocked the twin red-orange blades back, using his daggers to harass and distract as he somersaulted over to Jorya.  Deep within their Force Meld, both Vhal’Dan were able to anticipate the other, Jorya maneuvering herself so that when Zearic landed they were back-to-back and in an excellent defensible posture, the two Oblivion daggers now circling the two of them.

Taking advantage of their close proximity and the momentary lull in the fighting, Zearic whispered, confident that only Jorya would hear.  “Ignore their Dun Möch.  Instead, trust your feelings; trust yourself.  The Force will help reveal the truth.”  There was so much more that he wanted to add, but the Cerean women were upon them, all eight plasma blades burning through the air, casting shadowed outlines across the tall stone columns, the floor, as well as the four saber practitioners.

Even back-to-back, Zearic and Jorya could feel themselves being overwhelmed.  The Vhal’Dan Jedi gritted their teeth as the two Cerean women exposed theirs, a predatory smile splitting their faces.  They opened their mouths, speaking as one.

“Now you die.”

               <<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/RDWY728/dbtuacj-ee5a23a5-2480-42ef-bfce-99d23163e6e6.jpg) (https://ibb.co/RDWY728)

Ducking under the saberstaff, Berra was able to get her lightsaber up just in time to intercept the orange-red blade that almost decapitated her.  …By Ashla that was too close… She thought.  But before she could ruminate too much, the Cerean woman was on her, forcing Berra to work her lightsaber furiously.  Even then, she felt as if she were still but a half-step behind.  Her opponent smiled evilly, and although Berra couldn’t see it, she certainly felt the woman’s deadly intent.  And her disdain.  It was a feeling that she hated, one that Berra was unaccustomed to.

As the Templar’s resident blademaster, rare was the person who could match Berra in swordsmanship, rarer still someone who was superior.

Until now.  The orange-red blades of the Cerean woman’s saberstaff created a fog of plasma, seemingly everywhere at once.  It was all that Berra could do to defend as her opponent allowed her nothing.  

Nothing to utilize to her advantage; nothing to press her offensive.

Suddenly she felt Rakham through their battlemeld: he was being hard-pressed and, having sustained several cuts, was slowly losing ground to the other Cerean woman.  Backflipping away, she tucked her legs up just as her opponent’s blade burned through the air where they’d been a second before.  Landing agilely, Berra was able to engage the other Cerean attacking Rakham, giving him the precious seconds he needed to recover.

Berra could feel her opponent coming from her right flank while she parried one, two, three simultaneous slashes from the Cerean in front of her, leaving Berra exposed.  A wicked smile split the other woman's face as she raced up to the Miralukan Templar.  The two Cerean women laughed.

“Why do you—”

“—Continue to fight—”

“—When you know—”

“—That you face—”

“—A superior adversary?”

Her opponent punctuated the last word, her lightsaber already in a deadly arc intent upon cleaving Berra in two…

…And would have had Rakham’s green lightsaber not intercepted the orange-red blade at the last minute.  Regardless, the Cerean women didn’t slow in the least, having adapted to their new enemies.  This time both Templars gave ground as they fought a retreat across one of the wider bridges.

Berra wanted to scream; the Force Suppression made her head feel as if it were going to explode.  She tried shaking off the feeling, only for it to reinforce itself twofold.  This time Berra did shout, a ragged, frustrated sound escaping from her mouth.

…Berra, there’s something wrong here… The thought came to her from Rakham, more a feeling than a concrete sentence, although their Meld was strong enough that she could intuit the gist of it.  She almost growled, her head was pounding.  Of course there was something wrong!  Everything since they’d descended into the Undercity had felt wrong!  Especially within this damned pyram—

Berra started suddenly, an epiphany striking her just as she blocked yet another preternaturally fast saber cut.  …What…what if…the Force Suppression is purposely focused on me…?  Even thinking that seemed harder than trying to lift a Hutt with only her arms.  Yet…

…Yet, it did make sense.  After all, Miraluka were especially attuned to the Force, often times able to see things, interpret things that other Forceusers could not.  So…what if she were being deliberately targeted?  All the while this went through Berra’s head, she continued to defend against the fast incoming saberstaff blades.

And she could feel it: a crushing, bone-weary sensation of defeat, coming not only from her but from Rakham as well.  Their shoulders sagged, their green and teal lightsabers felt heavy in numb fingers…

The Templar Jedi stood opposite one another as the two Cerean women exposed their teeth, a predatory smile splitting their faces.  They opened their mouths, speaking as one.

“Now you die.”

Gritting her teeth, Berra ducked under the Cerean’s incoming blade, rolling towards Rakham before she popped back up to her feet.  “Rak…hammer away at them!” She hissed, trying to inject some aggression into them both, fighting the lethargy with everything she had.  But through their meld she practically yelled …Metaphysically…!  She could only hope that he’d understood.

Shunting almost all of her mental prowess into a bludgeoning attack that she hoped would smash through the Suppression, Berra lanced out with the Force, striking…something.

Both of the Cereans stumbled, their saberstaves almost falling from their hands.  But more importantly, Berra’s senses were suddenly unobstructed.  Before the Suppression could reassert itself, she projected her Force Sense outward, searching for anything amiss, hoping dearly that she would be able to find the answers she desperately needed.  She pushed past her pain and focused.

Like a door irising closed, she felt her senses diminish as the weight of the Force Suppression obfuscated everything about her.  Once again Berra was effectively blind while the two Cerean women had seemingly just recovered.  

But not before she was able to ascertain a critical detail.  …Of course…!  She realized.

Turning her head, Berra yelled to Rakham, also sending her intent through the Meld as intensely as she could.  “Rak, everything you have, NOW!”  This time when Berra attacked, she did not do so with her lightsaber; instead she dedicated her entire existence into a simple yet potent strike in the form of a Force blade made jointly manifest combining both her’s and Rakham’s power.  Meanwhile, Berra fought desperately through the Suppression, her senses keen as she remained mindful of how it affected the Cerean women.

What happened next served only to prove her suspicions right.

               <<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/kMWJjKR/mqdefault-1.jpg) (https://ibb.co/kMWJjKR)

“Now you die.”

Without hesitation, Zearic insinuated himself between the two Cerean women and Jorya, determined to protect his daughter.  He didn’t bother with any rejoinder or useless platitude; instead he rushed towards the women, his desperation attack intent on giving Jorya enough time to escape.  From the corner of his eye he saw Jorya’s blue eyes widen, comprehension hitting her like a physical blow.

Part of him heard his daughter’s voice, pleading and shrill.  “No, Dad!  DON’T!” She tried to say, but he savagely cut her off, roaring a single word.

GO!”

So unexpected and ferocious was his assault that he was able to surprise both Cereans, his lightsabers able to effectively tangle the four red-orange blades…leaving them unprotected from his true offensive.

Deadlier than a gundark, the twin black blades sped towards each woman’s elongated forehead.  Even if the daggers didn’t kill them, they would at least allow him to save his Jorya.  Twisting his wrists, he locked the plasma blades down.  As the Oblivion blades sped true, Zearic had but two laments: that he was unable to save his wife and that he would not be able to watch his daughter grow into the woman that she’d become.  

But then, the unthinkable occurred.  Laughing, the Cerean women dropped one of their lightsabers, both then throwing up an arm, palm out, reaching forth with the Force.

The two daggers stopped cold in mid-air.

At first, Zearic stared disbelievingly at the scene in front of him.  But then something from deep within him, perhaps as a result of his far-flung Miralukan heritage courtesy of his Aethan ancestor, something inside perceived the…the wrongness of what he was seeing.

He knew that the Oblivion daggers didn’t respond to telekinesis.  Zearic’s eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the two Cerean women, both smiling.  But everything about them now seemed…false.  After everything that he’d learned and seen concerning the Oblivion weapons, he was aware of how rare the material was, and the fact that he’d learned reliable information concerning it.  His penetrating eyes continued to stare at the women.

He knew about blackstone; he doubted that they would.

All of this went through his mind in a split-second.  His mind made up, Zearic renewed his attack.

He saw with satisfaction the dual expressions of utter confusion from both women’s faces as his lightsabers hammered against their remaining blades.  But that wasn’t what caused the wide man to smile.

As the Cerean women parted—intent on flanking him—they suddenly stopped, their feet rooted to the stone floor.  Both of their faces had identical looks of consternation and disbelief.  It was then that Zearic could see past the women and through the Mindform Illusion, a veil that had descended upon them…now torn asunder.  He saw them.  All of them.

Jorya and himself…Berra and Rakham.

The four Jedi stood in opposite corners of a wide stone platform surrounded by high columns and deep water causeways, all within an enormous chamber where multiple bridges traversed the spans between levels.  And there in the center of the stone stage stood the tall Cerean woman, white hair flowing from a bulbous head, clad in a loose white kameez gown flowing over billowing shalwer trousers, reddish-orange saberstaff in hand, her head swinging left and right, a panicked look within her blue, green, gray, and brown eyes…

Alone.

“…How…?” Came the lone, forlorn voice, small and afraid.

Quiet though it was, the woman’s voice had a very different effect on the four Jedi.  Almost as one, they rushed the Cerean, closing the distance before the tall woman could react.  Four lightsabers struck, teal and green, purple and icy blue, each severing a limb.  Heavily, she fell to the stone floor, shrieking in pain and fear.  But that was not all.

Zearic’s two Oblivion daggers, the Tenebris and the Nocte, spun through the air, striking the Cerean woman in the cauterized stumps below her shoulders where her arms had been, burying themselves to their hilts.  As she screamed, Jorya’s fists flashed towards her, almost faster than the eye could see.  With her left palm, the Togruta hit the woman’s brachial plexus, knocking the wind from the Cerean while silencing her.  Jorya swiftly followed this by a vicious right hook that knocked the woman unconscious.

And in the stark silence that followed, both the Templars as well as the Vhal’Dan Jedi took a moment to relax, exchanging handshakes and hugs, the recent memories of their ordeal fresh upon their minds.

But at least they had been reunited.  And for a short time, that was all that mattered.


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: Lord_S_Gray on June 04, 2020, 06:52:39 AM
Nice broke the spell, and dissected that Cerean...but...that only leaves more unanswered questions, who in the galaxy was that! How did they get those kind of crazy abilities - did they use the pyramids power, and why? Or is this all another illusion, it seems at least in large part one.  The only thing that seems totally reliable in this narration (read in a brilliant way being unreliably topsy turvy for the four heroes!) is Alvai's reluctant following of orders to pull back. Awesome and mind bending work Dutch, its like amore badass version of Inception in Star Wars galaxy.


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: TheDutchman on June 04, 2020, 11:53:15 AM
Nice broke the spell, and dissected that Cerean...but...that only leaves more unanswered questions, who in the galaxy was that! How did they get those kind of crazy abilities - did they use the pyramids power, and why? Or is this all another illusion, it seems at least in large part one.  The only thing that seems totally reliable in this narration (read in a brilliant way being unreliably topsy turvy for the four heroes!) is Alvai's reluctant following of orders to pull back. Awesome and mind bending work Dutch, its like amore badass version of Inception in Star Wars galaxy.
Thanks, LSG!  "Inception" is a great analogue, one that I hope to do justice to  :)

And worry not!  Answers WILL be forthcoming (sooner than you might think  ;))...

I always hated it when a story left a dangling unanswered thread just because "that's how it is in life" OR "it's mysterious"   Loose threads that lead into other stories: GOOD; loose threads that lead to nothing: BAD  ;D

One little hint: Kadmaur was a busy man with what he collected over the years...


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: Karmack on June 04, 2020, 02:56:49 PM
Thanks, LSG!  "Inception" is a great analogue, one that I hope to do justice to  :)

And worry not!  Answers WILL be forthcoming (sooner than you might think  ;))...

I always hated it when a story left a dangling unanswered thread just because "that's how it is in life" OR "it's mysterious"   Loose threads that lead into other stories: GOOD; loose threads that lead to nothing: BAD  ;D

One little hint: Kadmaur was a busy man with what he collected over the years...

LOL   Inception was also what I was thinking of.   Brutal end to the fight, and I am also VERY curious about who that was and how that was done.   Nice! 

And I agree with your assessment on dangling threads.   Sometimes I think they get left because the author just couldn't figure out a way to finish them off.   I think that because ... I've done that.   LOL    But of course, it also gives you something to come back to later, so....   

Looking forward to more!  Maybe one day I'll even be able to write again...   


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: TheDutchman on June 04, 2020, 04:16:19 PM
LOL   Inception was also what I was thinking of.   Brutal end to the fight, and I am also VERY curious about who that was and how that was done.   Nice! 

And I agree with your assessment on dangling threads.   Sometimes I think they get left because the author just couldn't figure out a way to finish them off.   I think that because ... I've done that.   LOL    But of course, it also gives you something to come back to later, so....   

Looking forward to more!  Maybe one day I'll even be able to write again...   
Thanks Karm!

AND you've GOT to write more!!

/whispers "something something concerning particular Singers"  ;)


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: Lord_S_Gray on June 04, 2020, 11:40:39 PM
LOL   Inception was also what I was thinking of.   Brutal end to the fight, and I am also VERY curious about who that was and how that was done.   Nice!  

And I agree with your assessment on dangling threads.   Sometimes I think they get left because the author just couldn't figure out a way to finish them off.   I think that because ... I've done that.   LOL    But of course, it also gives you something to come back to later, so....    

Looking forward to more!  Maybe one day I'll even be able to write again...  
Thanks, LSG!  "Inception" is a great analogue, one that I hope to do justice to  :)

And worry not!  Answers WILL be forthcoming (sooner than you might think  ;))...

I always hated it when a story left a dangling unanswered thread just because "that's how it is in life" OR "it's mysterious"   Loose threads that lead into other stories: GOOD; loose threads that lead to nothing: BAD  ;D

One little hint: Kadmaur was a busy man with what he collected over the years...

Yes don't want too many thread dangling, still there is a place for mystery, e.g. in my stories I try and keep the exact nature of the Aethan Goddesses just that bit vague...Milaea has a theory on who they are at the end of FotA and how they came to be, but it doesn't quite explain everything which I think is a good balance as its not central the story but adds some mystery in the right balance I hope.  I suppose it depends how critical it is to the narrative. And with a character like Kadmaur...well there is lots of scope for that kind of thing!


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: TheDutchman on June 05, 2020, 12:11:34 AM
Yes don't want too many thread dangling, still there is a place for mystery, e.g. in my stories I try and keep the exact nature of the Aethan Goddesses just that bit vague...Milaea has a theory on who they are at the end of FotA and how they came to be, but it doesn't quite explain everything which I think is a good balance as its not central the story but adds some mystery in the right balance I hope.  I suppose it depends how critical it is to the narrative. And with a character like Kadmaur...well there is lots of scope for that kind of thing!
You're absolutely right, LSG; mystery within the narrative is integral often times with good writing.  Mystery without resolution?  NO.

For your example: the Goddesses are MEANT to elicit questions, not to mention that again, mystery done WELL is organic and helps drive the story.  Furthermore, the Aethan Pantheon helps to flesh out your setting, creating more interesting storytelling (and great writing  :)).

I guess that what I'm saying/complaining about is the difference between good use of foreshadowing vs. deus ex machina events.  Of course, speaking of my own writing, I know some foreshadowing is months/years in the making.  For which I apologize  ;)  I'm afraid that scheduling fan fiction chapters can be quite problematic (little things like family, work, and life often get in the way  ;D)


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: Karmack on June 05, 2020, 01:57:37 PM
Exactly.

How long has WYLB been 'in progress'?   ;-)  Oy....


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: TheDutchman on July 20, 2020, 03:27:23 AM
(https://i.ibb.co/92DXK3p/Jorya-13.jpg) (https://ibb.co/92DXK3p)
Chapter 10: Qualified Elucidation, Part I

“…Which is how Berra was able to finally break the Mindform Illusion, no thanks to that tralk.” Rakham gestured with a nod of his head.  “So, good news: we’re not crazy.” He finished, catching up the Vhal’Dan Jedi with events since their separation.  With his hands on his hips, the tall Templar Master closed his eyes, his head pivoting back as he tried to alleviate the pain and fatigue he felt radiating from his head, neck, and shoulders.  But when next he looked down, he gave a conspicuous wink at Jorya.  “Well, that and you both not being dead and all.”

Jorya gave an appreciative chuckle.  She’d taken a knee, her breathing slower and controlled.  But by the Maker did she feel beat!  “Yeah, Father and I were worried that something bad had happened to you and Mistress Tarun.  The worst part was that we couldn’t sense anything…anything at all.” She finished quietly, suddenly focused upon the Miraluka beside her.  “Are you sure that you’re OK?”

If Rakham and Jorya were tired, Berra was absolutely exhausted, which came as no surprise.  “I will be, I just need rest.” She had a small, weary smile.  “By Ashla I could sleep a week…”

Having unceremoniously collapsed in a jumble upon the hard stone floor, Berra could barely sit up, her head lolling on her neck even now after Jorya had administered what small Force Healing she herself could provide; not from lack of skill, but rather due to her own exhaustion.  Jorya felt that it was the least that she could do since Berra was the one shouldering the brunt of the effort that it took to not only break the Cerean’s Mindform Illusion but also from having maintained the Force Meld between her and Rakham for several hours.

Which was one of the problems: said Force Melds were extremely taxing processes.  While any sufficiently powerful Forceuser could contribute in one, it took Herculean effort to maintain and ensure that the participants did not accidentally damage one another’s minds.  And should proper care not be taken, or say that one member become distracted to the detriment of the group, the Force Meld would become more than just a liability; it—and everyone part of the Meld—could become corrupted by the Dark Side.

So it was no wonder that they were all suffering from varying degrees of fatigue.  Rakham and Berra were masters, testament to their trust, control, and fortitude.  Zearic, maenowan in all but name, was likewise trained…but even as a koawan, Jorya had demonstrated exceptional stamina and courage, able to hold her own within the Meld that she’d shared with her father, again proof of the special bond between them.  

That was the key, and one of the primary reasons that they had been able to defeat the Mindform.  They were more than just Jedi; they were family…though admittedly a family that had been pushed to their physical and mental endurance.  One and all, they were utterly exhausted, their bodies now paying dividends on the requirements that their Force powers had exacted upon each Jedi…

…Except for Zearic.  True, he was also tired, but not to the extent of the others.  Yes, sweat dotted his brow and he could feel the promise of future soreness, but he was the only one not gulping air nor physically slumping .  While he was sure that his ancestry had at least something to do with that, Zearic knew that it was mostly due to his ability to efficiently exploit the Force, yielding nominal results.  Not for the last time, the wide man was grateful for Cha’s training: the former Inquisitor had taught him how best to utilize his Force reserves, to maximize and economize his available power.  So instead of being completely spent, he was “only” moderately fatigued.  Still, the disparity was enough that Rakham and Berra had noticed, but given the situation, they weren’t really so much concerned as they all were relieved.

All but Jorya.

Oh, she was as glad as could be considering…but it was yet another question that she had about her Father.  …Now is neither the time nor place… A thought that she’d repeated to herself seemingly ad nauseum.  She loved Father, trusted him more than anyone…but she knew that the time for a reckoning was fast approaching.

“What is that noise?” Zearic’s quiet voice sounded forceful despite its volume.  He looked from Rakham to Berra to Jorya and back again.  All three had identical looks of dread.

“Rakghoul.” Berra’s impassive tone was almost at odds with the intensity in which she said it.  “Hundreds of them.  At least.”  She tried to rise to her feet but stumbled when she attempted to stand.  Suddenly, large calloused hands grabbed her, holding Berra tightly.  With a grateful turn of her lips, she smiled up at Zearic.  Had it not been for him, she knew that she would’ve fallen flat upon her face.  “Thanks…” She whispered.

Zearic had a small smile of his own.  “Don’t mention it.”  Gently, he lowered the Miraluka down upon the ground, trying to help Berra get comfortable.  Rakham was suddenly there beside the Templar woman, her head resting upon his leg as he directed Healing flows into her.  Force Healing was not Rakham’s forte but he was stronger than both Jorya and especially Zearic.  Still: the tall Templar Master had to be cautious as well; he didn’t want to exhaust himself worse than he already was.  

Walking along the knife’s edge between the effort of helping Berra while pacing himself, Rakham settled in as best he could upon the hard stone floor.  “It’s OK, Berra, rest.  I’ve got you covered.” His weary tone was buoyed by the reassurance he projected for Berra’s benefit.  And knowing him as well as she did, Berra smiled up at him, her face radiating gratitude in addition to pain.

“Thanks, Rak…” Berra’s cheeks drew taut while the rest of her body seemed to relax.  Sharing a quick glance with Rakham—both men’s faces looked dour—Zearic could sense that Berra was in worse shape than she seemed.  For her part, Berra never once complained, going so far as trying to hide how bad she felt.  But they sensed it: she was suffering.

Zearic took a knee, helping as best he could with the Healing.  Unfortunately, he’d never had much skill with it.  But he could do something to help by distracting the Miraluka Master.  “Berra, can you tell me what happened here?  To us?  And what about her?” Zearic gestured over his shoulder at the comatose Cerean.  He couldn’t help but grin; Jorya had knocked her out with one punch.  And if the Cerean had the same regenerative powers as the other Revenant that they’d encountered, his Oblivion daggers would prevent her from re-growing her arms.  Seeing his daughter looking at him, Zearic gave a wink, producing a small smile from the Togruta.  However he quickly sobered when Berra winced audibly.

“I…I’m OK.” She forestalled both Rakham’s and Zearic’s unspoken questions.  Her head pivoted towards the wide Vhal’Dan.  “And yes, yes I can tell you; with the Force Suppression down, I was able to see clearly into…her mind.”  Everyone heard the deliberate pause.  “More importantly, now I know what’s been happening here, at least to us.”  Rakham, Jorya, and Zearic exchanged glances, their drawn faces becoming more grim as the Miraluka Templar continued.

“She’s Revenant, but not one of Annoura’s.”  Even with the droning of the unseen rakghoul below, Berra’s voice was clear and strong, the Jedi hanging onto her every word.  “Remember what Faradi found out?  That Kadmaur had broken away from the Revenant, taking many of them with him?”  Berra made a tired gesture with her hand.  “Well, this pyramid was his originally, a…laboratory of sorts.  And that…woman…was among his acolytes…”  Suddenly she shuddered, “…And his experiments…”

               <<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/Zg3W3Ld/Kadmaur-3.jpg) (https://ibb.co/Zg3W3Ld)

After long years of study, Kadmaur had finally deduced the workings of the Rakatan Mind Trap that he’d tricked Kazic into giving him, mastering not only its use but also its secrets.  And now, it served him with his latest, most ingenious—and appalling—experiment.

Within the blood-red granite walls of the pyramid, in one of its innermost chambers, were identical med-couches, their clean, clinical appearance incongruous both with their surroundings as well as their intended grisly purpose.  Laying naked upon each table was a young Cerean woman whom, much like the med-couches, was also identical to the other.  They were tall and slender with long, jet black hair cascading down their shoulders, most would consider them extremely attractive (although Kadmaur made no distinction; he was beyond such distractions).  They were exact duplicates in every way…

…Except their eyes.  They both had heterochromia: the woman on the right had a right blue eye and a left green, the other had a right gray eye and left brown.

“Master…” The woman on the right said, fear dripping from each syllable, “…I…I am…uncertain about—”

“—This procedure…” The other continued without pause.  “I am—”

“—Afraid…” The said as one.

Making soothing sounds, Kadmaur gently stroked their fine dark hair, the Force engulfing the entire room.  Without looking at it in the corner, Kadmaur called a dark obelisk to him, placing the plinth between the two women, the black orb at its base dull.  “It shall be fine, my lovelies.  I promise you, you shall be more powerful than any Revenant or Jedi—than any group of them!—before I am finished.” His smile looked almost…kindly.

Until one looked into his eyes.  From their depths, Kadmaur’s sadistic intelligence burned brightly, hidden behind a façade that was almost ever-present…except in times like this.  He’d waited—planned!—for this for centuries.  Gently but firmly, he plunged into each Cerean’s mind, their mental barriers shattering beneath his will.  Once there, he placed both of the women into a torpor, their bodies completely limp and defenseless.  Good.

With another gesture, a small scalpel appeared between his fingers, Kadmaur’s eyes perceiving the intricate, disparate flows of the Force as it first surrounded and then permeated both women, each stream passing through Kadmaur on its path to the opposite woman.  With a slow, steadying breath, the venerable human readied his right hand, the sharp blade held motionless against the Cerean’s carotid, the pale flesh of her neck vulnerable.  Now.

With a swift, deep slice, the metal pierced skin, arterial spray pumping from the open wound, streaming droplets wetting Kadmaur’s black robes.  At the same time, the obelisk floated promptly towards the pooling blood, the black orb beginning to shine as more and more blood covered it, the lustrous sphere now emanating a dark glow from within.  Simultaneously, the light in the Cerean’s eyes flickered, dimmed, and finally darkened entirely.

Kadmaur knew that he must work quickly before exsanguination became a problem.  Still, he did not feel hurried.  With his other hand, he activated a hologlove, one connected to spotless metal machinery that looked for everything like a biomechanical, multidigit appendage.  He was now ready to begin the next phase.

With a telekinetic flip of a switch, the horizontal tables elevated, the reclining women now upright.  Deftly manipulating the hologlove, the machinery also an extension of his will, Kadmaur then began to cut into the Cerean woman’s head, switching to a laser scalpel once the skull was exposed.  With a pungent sickly-sweet scent in the air, he then excised the entire brain, carefully placing it within a transparent vat of bacta.  Harvesting bone and skin from the now empty skull, both of which followed the brain in the bacta as well, Kadmaur switched to the other Cerean.

With a series of parallel cuts, he peeled back the flesh and bone after removing in its entirety the crown of her skull, putting it aside in the bacta vat.  Kadmaur then used the harvested tissue to widen the cavity, resulting in an even more bulbous head.  However, he needed the extra space for the next phase.

As the harvested biomass fused with the indigenous tissues, Kadmaur used the Force, focusing on the brain within the bacta vat.  Laboriously, he began to stretch (there was no other word for it) the brain matter, creating an open-ended sheath while gently inserting it within the widened skull cavity, maneuvering the two brains so as to fit together seamlessly.  Once finished, he replaced the skullcap back atop the woman’s head, the bone and flesh knitting together under the dual influence of the bacta and Kadmaur’s powerful Force Healing.

Incredibly, the other Cerean’s body—the one now without a brain—continued to…function.  Kadmaur had learned millennia ago that many of the body’s homeostatic processes continued after physical death…which was absolutely necessary for the final phase.

Disengaging his hand from the hologlove, Kadmaur focused upon the obelisk, the black orb somehow casting a glow.  As with before, he coated the black, glowing orb with blood.  Using the knowledge that he’d gleaned over the last few centuries, he Delved into the Mind Trap, navigating the intrinsic snares and other dangers commensurate with the procedure.  Ah, there!

Latching onto what he sought, Kadmaur gripped his prize as tightly as he could…if such a sensation could be said to exist upon this metaphysical plane.  There was no need to remind himself to ignore the seemingly constant wailing within; the previous occupant had left a sliver of herself when he’d freed her and he’d expected to encounter it.  Withdrawing quickly, he nevertheless felt the jagged barbs threatening to keep him confined within the Mind Trap as well.

Once again sustained by his indominable will, Kadmaur was able to extricate himself without too much difficulty, leaving only a remnant of a remnant of his presence within.  The sudden return to his body was unsettling to say the least.  Breathing deeply as his lungs demanded oxygen, Kadmaur involuntarily wiped the sweat off of his brow.  He knew that it would not be easy but even he had admittedly underestimated the toil that his actions had warranted.  But he wasn’t finished yet.  

Delving into the still-living Cerean, Kadmaur then…injected his prize within the dual brains, a curious amalgamation of the two personalities emerging in a fashion that not even Kadmaur had expected…and it was more incredible than he could have hoped.

Tired from his exertions, he felt nevertheless exultant: the glorious ends more than made up for the tedious means!

With a final manipulation before withdrawing his Force Delving, Kadmaur could not help but smile and deeply.  Staring intensely—knowingly!—the Cerean woman’s eyes were open, lucid and enquiring.  He shook his head in amazement at the apparent changes to the woman.  Her once jet black hair had turned entirely white, but that wasn’t all… Where before she’d possessed one blue and one green eye, her eyes were now mixed: one eye both blue and brown, the other green and gray.  But more importantly were the flows in the Force, around and within the Cerean woman…

No longer were there two distinct individual entities; now there was a…a merging, a gestalt that had become more than the sum of their parts.  He’d succeeded!

But then, he knew that he would.

“Master…” A voice reverberating between two disparate timbres, almost with differing enunciations, an abnormal resonance assaulting Kadmaur’s ears, “…Am I—” The woman shook her head, an inharmonious shake/nod that served to underscore just how unnatural this…being was.

“—Are…we…alive?” That last was spoken in a completely different tone.

Kadmaur’s grin widened.  “You are.  In fact, we shall have to redefine how one perceives ‘life,’ now that I’ve been successful.”  Kadmaur helped the Cerean woman to her feet, using the Force to call into his waiting hands an utilitarian robe that he then draped around her shoulders.  “How do you feel?”

The woman’s lips twitched as different emotions warred across her face.  After a moment, she spoke in quiet tones.  “I—we—feel…powerful…” She said finally.  Kadmaur nodded, his smile fatherly yet self-satisfied.  Proffering an outstretched hand, he guided the Cerean through the granite doorway and into the next room.

“Now my lovelies…we have much to do.”

               <<<<< >>>>>


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: TheDutchman on July 20, 2020, 03:29:35 AM
(https://i.ibb.co/4ZxjqtC/Cerean-Revenant.png) (https://ibb.co/4ZxjqtC)
Chapter 10: Qualified Elucidation, Part II

Kadmaur was nothing if not a patient master, instructing the woman in the more forbidden arts of the Force whilst simultaneously and constantly pushing her, making her stronger, more skillful…deadlier.  Indeed, she had progressed faster than even his most conservative estimates and imaginings.  Given time, Kadmaur would have helped perfect her powers into something unseen outside of a certain genetically engineered race…

…Except that Annoura had thrown the proverbial spanner into the mix, effectively derailing his plans.  Under her leadership, the Revenant hunted down the rogue contingent that had accompanied Kadmaur, killing all but his Cerean acolyte and the powerful master himself.  And had he not prepared, his apprentice would surely have died as well.  But…

“My lovelies, you’ll be safe here.” Keying the biomechanical casket open, Kadmaur turned to the Cerean woman.  “This stasis box will allow you to continue your training with the added benefit that you shall not feel the ravages of time, nor will you be subject to scanners and other sensing instruments.”  He could feel the detonation of breaching charges shake the granite beneath his feet, a violent reminder that while individual and small groups of Revenant held no danger to him, even as powerful as he was, Kadmaur could not hope to win against the army that Annoura had arrayed against him.  At least, not today.

Still, his time was brief and he had many plans in motion that required his direct attention.  He could afford to pause this particular experiment…and besides, the time that the woman spent in the stasis box would allow her power to grow…

“As soon as I am able, I shall collect you, my lovelies.”  And with that, he sealed the stasis box, making good his escape, planning his return as well as his revenge…

               <<<<< >>>>>

Centuries passed.

During which, Annoura secured her position as the Revenant’s leader, making Kadmaur’s former pyramid into data repository.  And for all that time, not once was she able to find—much less deduce—that one of Kadmaur’s experiments still thrived.

But then, why would she?  There were no tell-tale signs of machinery, no disturbances within the Force; there was nothing at all to discover.  Had it not been for the serendipitous fact regarding Jorsk’s thermal detonator destroying the life support power conduits when he’d saved Berra from the rakghoul horde, no one would’ve been the wiser.

However, once the stasis box detected that primary life functions were endangered, it awoke the lone occupant.  It took her several days to acclimate, even longer to finally learn of her new reality: her Master was long gone, his laboratory had been taken over by a hostile force, and that, most importantly, she was now the architect of her own future.

Her first act—other than gathering intel and strength—was to “clean house.”  The remaining Revenant were purged, often times by her own hand, but more frequently they went insane, imprisoned within their own minds, victims of her Mindform Illusions.  Moreover and to her delight, she learned that the rakghoul responded to her commands; mindless, yes, but slaves to her whim and loyal to a fault.

After eradicating all of the Revenant, she gathered what rakghoul that she could find, binding them to her, where they resided within the pyramid as her personal army of pets…and weapons.  She found that after being in stasis for so long, she no longer had any desire to leave this place.

And she didn’t have to.

Thanks to the sporadic arrival of sentients—be they smugglers, itinerant wanderers, or simply derelicts—she would first draw them in, entrapping them, and then, after whatever time was required to break their minds, enslave them, using each and everyone as her thralls…

               <<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/pL4CRhJ/Berra-Tarun-5.jpg) (https://ibb.co/pL4CRhJ)

“…So that accounts for why the Undercity was so vacant…” Rakham’s voice was pensive.  “I’d wondered about that…”

Berra nodded.  “She has done this to doze…hundreds…” She said, horrified.  Zearic exchanged a glance with Jorya, both alarmed.

“Which is precisely what I intended to do to you…” A quiet voice interrupted Berra, everyone turning to see that the Cerean woman was conscious, if disoriented.  “But now…I’ll settle for your deaths.” 

Even though the Jedi were surprised, they acted almost immediately.  Jorya, closest to the woman, moved in for a strike, intent on knocking her out again but before her fist could land, her arm froze midair, as if locked in a block of ice.

Meanwhile, Zearic ignited his lightsaber, the icy blue blade casting a sepulchral pallor over the Cerean woman’s face, a face that held no fear whatsoever.  “You can’t kill me, not like that.” She taunted.  “Besides, you’re too late.”

As if to punctuate her words, the Jedi heard a deep, grinding sound, accompanied by a violent shaking that threatened to bring the pyramid down around their heads.  Rakham, Jorya, and Zearic looked around, Berra suddenly rigid as she had to—once again—fight off the rising Force Suppression radiating from the Cerean woman.  For several long seconds, silence reigned until…

“…no…” Berra’s voice was small, terrified.

A horrifying cacophonous screeching noise exploded from below, brutal sounds that were approaching.  Fast.

The Cerean woman smiled, a sadistic, rictus grin.  “Now you die.”

As she spoke the last word, the Jedi saw a dark, roiling mass emerge from one of the ramps leading to the causeway down below.  Coming into the light, each Jedi felt utter dread as the creatures emerged from the shadows.

And hundreds of rakghoul ran into view, an inundating tide from which there was no escape.

(https://i.ibb.co/9WGZs0z/rakghoul.jpg) (https://ibb.co/pdnhJTG)


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: Lord_S_Gray on July 20, 2020, 04:33:34 AM
Elucidation indeed...Kadmaur has a very long history with such immortality experiments indeed.  The sequence here of the Transformation was excellent - disturbing -but excellent - a much better version of what I tried to do in FotA with Lucovis and Sofa (and in a sense Aethena/Valance to Milaea and Valens and the Blackstone Altar before that) indeed the similarity to those helps as it shows while the intent in each case was different, and the mechanism used varied (Lucovis needed a choir of cultists that died, Sofa was into and out of a modified body requiring Milaea's raw power) there are enough similarities to show they all come to a similar overall means of 'out of' and 'into body' transition with the Force - none of which is easy and all of which is risky - Kadmaurs possibly the most of all as he's using the Rakatan Mind trap as the storage device which has its own...erm...hungers.  Arguably it shows at some point they may all have learned from similar sources which is a fascinating Forumverse linkage and ponders question of who learned from who - did they all find a source on techniques such independently, or did Kadmaur find something Lucovis/Xithar had once owned, or vice versa indeed?  Anyway forgive the tangent, it just adds richness and mythology to not just Kadmaur and the current story, but all the stories before it in my opinion.

Also shows how Kadmaur's...relationship...with the Revenant was a double edged sword, no doubt it garnered him vast resources but also caused great irritation.   

Anyway a quick pause of a chapter, done well, the battle they thought was over has just begun...and none are in a state to fight it...Berra is out, Jorya and Rackham little better, Zearics unnatural strength and daggers could hold a few off, but only buy seconds. A deal with the devil perhaps....


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: TheDutchman on September 11, 2020, 07:02:27 PM
(https://i.ibb.co/SJRr7Fv/Zearic-01.jpg) (https://ibb.co/SJRr7Fv)
Chapter 11: The Inexorable Tide

"Two left!" Jorya's terse voice was loud enough to be heard above the screeching roar of the ocean of rakghoul below as they attempted to climb, bite, and claw their way onto the stone island that was the Jedis' sole refuge.  Behind the Togruta, Berra knelt, trying to focus her powerful Force Suppression around the Cerean woman at her feet, the attempt to blunt her connection to the Force requiring herculean effort.  In front and to either side, Rakham and Zearic had their ignited lightsabers scything through any of the creatures quick enough to gain purchase atop the island's crumbling side.  Those rakghoul that had ascended from below were strewn about in an ever-growing heap, those not cut down by lightsabers were shot by Jorya before they could get any closer.  Tossing one of the two remaining detonators, Jorya squeezed off another shot, the rakghoul's head vaporizing in a cloud of black mist.

Catching the thermal detonator on the fly, Rakham triggered the explosive, throwing it towards the remains of the narrow ramp that helped funnel the rakghoul to a trickle.  "Fire in the hole!" He yelled.

A few seconds later, a large explosion shook the island, chunks of ferrocrete, durasteel rebar, and grisly rakghoul body parts rained down as a result.  With that, everyone was finally able to take a figurative and literal breath.  Their lightsabers humming loudly, both men gathered around the women behind them.  "That will slow them down but not for long..." Zearic's quiet tone mirrored his growing fatigue, his wide shoulders slumping.  Nodding his agreement, Rakham rested his hands on his thighs as sweat dripped down his face.  By the Force was he tired!

Rak had had no time to think, no time to scrutinize his situation but he couldn't shake the gnawing feeling that things weren't right.  ...Of course not; we're being attacked by mindless, murderous terrors intent on killing us...  But even that self-recrimination seemed...artificial, almost proffered.  ...Wha-...?...Think, dammit...!  But when he did, all he could focus on was the writhing sea of rakghoul below.

Coming up behind them, Jorya placed a hand upon each of their backs, her own Healing talents helping the two men with the exhaustion that threatened to crush them.  "Thanks.  We need a plan and quick."  Rakham's head pivoted, searching for...something, anything that would help them.

The rakghoul had almost overwhelmed them at the start; it was only due to Jorya's quick thinking that had enabled them to survive this long: before the first wave of the creatures could reach them, she had thrown her detonator at the incoming rakghoul.  Using the Force, she released the Dead-man's switch while simultaneously erecting a wall to funnel the worst of the explosion away from the Jedi and back towards the rakghoul.  Each of the Jedi had carried a thermal detonator on their person; using two, they'd been able to destroy the ramp leading below, along with a considerable number of the mindless creatures as they'd attacked.  And thanks to Jorya's precision blaster sniping, the Templars and Vhal'Dan had killed dozens.

Unfortunately, for every rakghoul that had died in the explosions or those cut down by Rakham's and Zearic's lightsabers, there were more...many, many more to take their place.

"You've bought yourselves nothing but a few mere minutes more of life, Jedi dren!" The Cerean woman taunted, her face strained as she fought against Berra's Force Suppression.  That, and the pain of Zearic's daggers that were still lodged to their hilts in the stumps of her shoulders, keeping the woman from regrowing her arms.  As it was, her legs had already regrown a few centimeters below where they'd been amputated.

The Cerean woman was an obstruction, one that had completely derailed their objective (one that none of the Jedi had forgotten): the retrieval of the Rakatan Mind Trap.  Scanning the distance, Rakham finally spied his target.

"Shut up." Rakham said distractedly.  Looking at Zearic, he gestured with his head towards one of the ferrocrete platforms in the distance, one with a singular, conspicuous plinth a shadow backlit by the omnipresent red light.  "We need to get there." He said deliberately.

Following his gaze, Zearic squinted.  "Shavat..." Calculating the distance, the wide man knew they were in trouble.  "That's got to be...175...maybe 200 hundred meters?"  He turned his head.  "Jorya?  Jorya!"  He had to repeat; the Togruta started, a look of consternation upon her face.  She turned towards Zearic.  "Jorya; how far is that island?"

Jorya stared for a moment, her superior eyes deducing the distance.  "Closer to 225 meters, Father."  She gritted her teeth.  "Shavat..." Even though she'd whispered, Rakham and Zearic had heard her distinctly enough.  Both men flashed a quick grin in response.

"Good thing your mother isn't here, Dear One." Zearic winked.  Despite the levity, the situation didn't allow much mirth.  Sobering quickly, Zearic looked up at the taller Templar Master.  "Any ideas on how we're supposed to get there?"

The question was not without merit; there appeared to be no paths to the platform.

...Which kept bothering Rakham.  Another thing that he could've sworn--

But a soft voice interrupted the Templar Master's thoughts.  "Father...Master Rakham...I...I thought that I'd seen a bridge leading towards there." Jorya said distractedly as if reading his mind, her voice quiet yet assured.  Her blue eyes looked from Rakham to her Father and back again, then deliberately at the Cerean woman.  "I think that we're still suffering from her Mindforms."  Jorya scowled.

Rakham stared intently at the Cerean.  Could...could she be that powerful?  Yet...it made perfect sense.  How long had she been conscious before she'd spoken, alerting them?  They knew that her Mindforms were amongst the strongest that they'd ever encountered.  But what of the rakghoul that they'd heard when the Cerean woman had been unconscious?  Those they had certainly not imagined.

Once again, his thoughts were interrupted, this time by a deep, baritone voice, one full of conviction.  "I believe you." Zearic said from behind Rakham, his armored arms folded in front of his broad techno-plated chest.  "Berra, I know that you're beyond exhausted.  I think that she's able to subvert even your Suppression."  The big man went over to the Miraluke, holding out a hand.  "Don't waste any more energy; focus on yourself."  Tiredly, gratefully Berra took it.

Once again Rakham caught himself thinking of Kadmaur, not only his utter disregard for...well, everything, but also the Mind Tricks that he'd subjected Rakham to.  That and the sliver that Kadmaur had left in his mind, courtesy of the Qâzoi Kyantuska.  As much a violation that Rakham had ever endured, he was forced to admit that it had enabled him to resist the Cerean's Mindform, albeit imperfectly.  But it did make him wonder...

Rakham edged closer to the opposite side of the island, the writhing rakghoul conspicuously absent that side.  "I don't know, Zearic.  Sorry, Jorya but you don't know Berra like I do.  She would know if she were being Tricked."  Facing both of the Vhal'Dan, Rakham's face was obscured from the Cerean woman...which was why she didn't see his surreptitious wink.

Understanding, Jorya stepped forward, her hands balled into fists.  "What?!  I...you..." She angrily sputtered.  Rakham took another step backward, his heel hovering on the edge.  And from the corner of Rakham's eye, he saw the Cerean woman grin wickedly.

Suddenly sharp, rending claws sank into the Templar Master's lower legs and boots, tearing through the tough leather and into the limbs beneath.  Throwing himself forward, Rakham hit the floor hard on his knees and hands just as Zearic's slicing blue blade and his cut took off the now-visible rakghoul's arm below the elbow.  A roar of pain erupted below despite the lower causeway appearing completely empty.

"I guess you were right, Jorya." Rakham's voice took on a distracted quality although his eyes never left the Cerean woman.  Triumphant, she threw her head back and laughed.

Evilly grinning at Rakham, she sounded as if she were passing judgment.  "And thus shall you pay for your folly." She looked at Zearic.  "You'd best kill your friend lest he endure the pain of transformation.  You would be doing him a favor; he'll be conscious for almost the entire transition.  That or once he's fully rakghoul, you risk exposing yourselves as well."  She stared deliberately at Jorya.  "Who will you choose: your friend or your daughter?"  Zearic's face was quadranium.

Despite the urgency of the situation, Zearic closed down his mainhand saber and hung it on his belt while keeping an easy grip on his shoto, the silver blade humming steadily.  Jorya moved over to Berra, again directing her Force Healing to help the Miraluka, while keeping an eye upon the Cerean woman.

But it was the spreading grin upon the Templar Master's face that gave the Revenant woman pause.  As precious seconds ticked away, she saw the tall man sit cross-legged, a serene mask affixed to his face while he casually inspected the claw marks on his boots.  Following his fingers with her eyes, she saw as he spread the rend in his boot as wide as it could go...

...Revealing the cybernetic prosthesis underneath.  As realization took hold, the Cerean woman's face beamed, anger and hate evident.

"You will still die; there are enough real rakghoul down there to kill you all many times over."  Her tone became haughty yet exultant.  "And do not expect for them to lose interest or leave.  They are mine to do with as I desire, their every instinct tied to my conscious minds!  You ar--"

"Can you pick out the one word there you probably shouldn't have said?" Zearic interrupted, his strange hazel eyes reflecting the surrounding red light of the pyramid.  Before the Cerean woman knew what was happening, he stabbed his lightsaber into her forehead, the silver tip extending a half-meter out the back of her skull, effectively lobotomizing her.  With an extra push, he lodged the hilt into the woman's cranium even as her tissues mended around the saber, trapping the weapon.

The effect was immediate.

This time, all of the Mindforms shattered.   Every illusion--from much of the rakghoul horde disappearing to the now-revealed paths leading to-and-from the disparate platforms--was revealed.  But the most notable difference was the complete absence of Force Suppression.  Her face finally relaxing, Berra was able to think clearly, the pain of her migraine finally beginning to slowly retreat.  Still, the exhaustion remained.

As did many of the rakghoul.  True, the ocean that had been no longer existed, revealing instead a lake by comparison.  A large lake of the creatures.  Rakham sneered at the thought.  But...it got him thinking.

Lifting the Cerean with the Force, Rakham paused, gauging the nearest congregation of the creatures.  Standing, he grabbed both of the Oblivion daggers tightly in his hands and with a sickening sound, pulled them both free.  Teeth clenched, Rakham then used the Force as he flung the body--shoto still buried and ignited in her head--into the middle of the massed rakghoul.  Two or three screamed as the silver blade cut into each of them as the body fell but it was a momentary reprieve.  Almost careless of the plasma blade, the rest of the rakghoul seemed to merge, bodies crushing together as they tore the Cerean woman apart literally piece by piece, consuming everything as if in remembrance--and retribution--of their time enslaved.

Well, almost.

The rakghoul had left part of the head from which Zearic's shoto remained still impaled, the silver blade casting nightmare shadows amidst the press of rakghoul bodies.

With the Force Suppression finally and completely gone, the four Jedi took a moment to regroup.  

        <<<<<>>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/Rz9JbNH/Jorya-18.png) (https://ibb.co/Rz9JbNH)

"How did you know?" Berra asked, still unsteady on her feet.

"Good question; I couldn't tell the difference between what was real and the Mindform." Zearic agreed, accepting the twin daggers from Rakham as the taller man handed them back with a quick bow of his head.  Tiredly, the wide Vhal'Dan sheathed them in the crosscarry holster in his lower back armor.  But try as he might, he could not retrieve his shoto: with the massed shuffling of the remains, it had cut into the floor and sank into the unknown.

Rakham paused, not really wanting to admit what Kadmaur had done; he was having a hard enough time coming to terms with it himself.  Feeling a soft touch upon his arm, he looked down to see Berra's masked face.  "It's OK, Rak." Her comforting voice reminded him of their special relationship.  In fact, aside from his wife Dala, there was no one whom with which he was closer.

"Sorry, Rakham.  Berra's right; not my place to ask." Zearic's tone was even, accepting.  But Rakham noticed that, while the wide man seemed to respect his silence, the hard look in his eyes spoke volumes: Zearic knew now was neither the time nor place.  But he would not just forget.

As if to remind them of their urgency, the rakghoul below roared in a mix of frustration, determination, and savagery as they sought to attack the Jedi above.  Rakham noticed that the creatures were dispersing, running along the causeways off into the distance.  He was not reassured.

"Let's get what we came for; I don't know about you but I don't think that those rakghoul are just going to give up." Rakham saw virtually identical looks of trepidation upon Berra's, Jorya's, and Zearic's faces.  As one, they ran along the connecting bridges, backtracking a couple of times when a bridge dead-ended, an optical illusion courtesy of their perspective from below the stone platforms.  Each time that they did so, they could swear that the droning that enshrouded them got louder.

Several times Berra stumbled, coming close to falling off one of the railless bridges.  Truth to tell, she would have...had Jorya not caught her by her belt.  It was testament to their exhaustion that none of them used to Force to catch Berra.

By the time that they finally arrived at the correct platform, the four Jedi were winded.  Even Zearic's endurance was beginning to flag.  But before them was the prize that they'd come for, the worn surface eroded by the centuries.  "I'll carry the Mind Trap." Zearic stated, a shared feeling of success bouying him.  Unslinging his Model 8 modular backpack, the wide man carefully secured the plinth within, adjusting the added weight when shouldering it.  The plinth was heavier than it looked.  Still, he felt his hope rising, a quick look at Jorya showed that she felt likewise.  "Let's go." He said, a tight smile upon his lips.

Indeed, all four of them felt relief, especially after the last few hellish hours within the pyramid.  Cautiously optimistic, all four Jedi nevertheless kept their lightsabers ignited, the Templar's green and teal blades complementing the icy blue and violet blades of the Vhal'Dan, the light of all four sabers pushing back the blood-red darkness of the pyramid as well as the shadows in their minds.

Taking a moment to get their bearings, the Jedi now knew beyond any doubt: the droning had gotten louder.  As Jorya and Rakham determined the best point of egress--in this case, the open tunnel located in the far, upper blood-red wall--Zearic felt a hand upon his armored shoulder, Berra's strong grip fueled by her own anxiety.  "We need to leave.  Now."  Despite her worry, she was not panicked.  But one and all they could sense the absolute urgency of the matter.

They moved on, careful when crossing the bridges lest they succumb to their exhaustion and fall from the railless stone scaffolds.  When Berra finally did collapse, Zearic wordlessly picked her up, carefully throwing her over his shoulder while Rakham called her dropped lightsaber to his hand, igniting the teal blade.

"I'm...sorry..." Berra whispered, barely able to speak.  Despite his armor, Zearic tried to make Berra as comfortable as he could, the Miraluka almost insensate now.  It was no wonder; she'd been the Cerean's primary target, she'd been the one fighting the Force Suppression, and she'd been the one to break through the Mindforms initially.  And Berra had been using the Force for hours.

Both Jorya and Rakham tried to direct Healing flows into first Berra and then Zearic, the wide man waving them off.  "It's OK; you'll need to conserve your own strength." He admonished, shaking his head.  Berra could only give a tight smile and nod, hanging over Zearic's shoulder.  Readjusting his shoulders, the Mind Trap on one side, Berra on the other, his jowls rippled beneath his beard as he clenched his teeth.  "C'mon."  Neither Rakham nor Jorya argued.

Exhausted, they ran as fast as they could from one stone island to the next adjoining platform, always another bridge needing to be crossed.  But the dark tunnel opening was closer, ever closer.  They now needed only traverse a handful of connected bridges leading to the ramp that would take them directly to th--

With a shrieking roar and rumbling shudder, the Jedi paused, horror dawning on each of them.  "By Ashla..." Berra whispered.

"Oh Maker..." Jorya's disbelief was palpable.

"Shavat..." Zearic quietly cursed.

Rakham said nothing, the words suddenly stuck in his throat.  In front of them where the ramp had led up to the tunnel, a wide section of the stone wall crumbled, rakghoul pouring forth from the opening.  Worse still, the ramp leading upwards had completely collapsed as a result...sending boulders crashing into the bridge they'd only just crossed, the walkway disappearing in a cloud of dust and detritus.  It was a miracle that Jorya, Rakham, and Zearic had been able to keep their feet beneath them.

Looking around, Rakham saw that the wide platform that they were on had two other bridges leading away...only to dead-end.  Behind them the broken bridge abruptly ended in a drop of dozens, if not a hundred meters.  Which left rakghoul ahead and no way to escape the island that they were currently on.  The cacophonous droning seemed to underscore the hopelessness of their situation...

They were completely trapped.


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: Karmack on September 11, 2020, 08:18:10 PM
"We're surrounded..."

"Yep.  They've GOT to attack us now.   They've GOT to ... and then we'll have them."

;-)

Seriously.  About the only thing worse would be wandering around in the dark with a dwarf and an elf only to find a legion of un-dead ghosts intent on murder...  Oh, wait.  That's been done. 
Yeah.  I can't help but think SOMETHING is coming.   Our heroes are at the end of their strength and resources.   They're either gonna die or be rescued.   And they CAN'T die, you're not far enough into the story yet!  LOL

Nicely spun, my friend.  Now .. spring the trap and let's be done with this pyramid!


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: Lord_S_Gray on September 13, 2020, 12:04:43 PM
Yeah.  I can't help but think SOMETHING is coming.   Our heroes are at the end of their strength and resources.   They're either gonna die or be rescued.   And they CAN'T die, you're not far enough into the story yet!  LOL

Nicely spun, my friend.  Now .. spring the trap and let's be done with this pyramid!
Exactly what I was thinking...they've been beaten mind blasted and exhausted...time to press the red button and hope the Mando come to the rescue i think....and this is just to get the mind trap! Once they have it then the real work begins. Though thinking about it...maybe another faction interested in D'alyanna might show up....

Anyway the image of the saber in the cerean head (let alone the daggers in her as she tries to heal) then tossed to the rak's...game of thrones eat your heart out!


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: TheDutchman on September 25, 2020, 05:54:45 PM
Special thanks to FT for his awesome rendering of Zearic with his armor!
This chapter is dedicated to him  :)
****************************
(https://i.ibb.co/Nrjs0BT/Zearic-Armor-4.jpg) (https://ibb.co/Nrjs0BT)
Chapter 12: To Disobey..., Part I

Within the blood-red ferrocrete superstructure of the enormous pyramid, deep in the heart of the largest antechamber, rakghoul poured from the ruptured wall, the lone bridge leading to the isolated stone island acted as a bottleneck, allowing the Jedi to mount their defense.  There was a growing pile of rakghoul bodies--often times limbless or headless--that littered the island while thick, black, noxious blood ran down the sides like a macabre waterfall.  Blasters in one hand, lightsabers in the other, Rakham, Jorya, and Zearic downed rakghoul by the dozen, intent on giving Berra the time she needed to rest.

"Soon as you can, grab control!" Teeth clenched, Rak's voice dripped with fatigue, his green blade scything through the nearest rakghoul while he squeezed off another shot, taking one of them in the chest.  He'd figured that if the Cerean woman could dominate them, maybe Berra could--if nothing else--pacify them.  Of course, that was all completely academic for the time being: as it was, Berra couldn't control one of the creatures, much less the massed horde...

As soon as the rakghoul had flooded through the breach in the wall, each Jedi had grabbed their weapons, Rakham to the left, Zearic to the right, Jorya between the two men while Berra recuperated behind them.  Between kills, three pairs of eyes searched, looking for something...anything that would help.  

...If only the rakghoul would just cooperate... Rakham thought sardonically.  Another swing of his arm, another squeeze of his finger, another rakghoul killed...and another behind it to take its place.  He shook his head, trying to divest himself of the numbness that attempted to settle upon him.  Luckily, Zearic's deep baritone pierced the haze.

"Jorya, 60 azimuth, 70 altitude.  About...90-95 meters... Look."  Even though Zearic's tone sounded grim, there was an undercurrent of hope.  "What do you see?"  He swung his lightsaber in a tight orbit, lining up a shot.  Even though he didn't hit it center-mass, the rakghoul fell to its knees, toppling over the railless bridge and into the darkness below.  "Dammit..." He muttered; while his swordsmanship had continued to progress, Zearic's marksmanship was still mediocre at best.

Cocking her head back, Jorya stared into the distance while the two men covered her.  "It looks like...a doorway."  Her distracted tone was completely incongruous with her sharpshooting.  Two more rakghoul were cut down, quickly followed by another as Jorya's precise targeting paid dividends in blood, black and virulent.

"That's what I was hoping you'd say." Zearic grinned.  "I've got an idea." He said between swings, four more rakghoul fell absent their heads.  "Jorya, give me the last detonator!" He exclaimed, holstering his blaster.  It took Jorya only a moment to grab the device and toss it to her father, but even in that short time the rakghoul seemed to renew their efforts.  The creatures had gained a footing on the island, careless if some of them fell while the rest charged forward, inundating the Jedi.

The Jedi were now so exhausted, the only Force powers that they used were those that enhanced speed and accuracy with the rare Push.  Each one worked their lightsabers furiously, shooting virtually point blank.  They were already hard pressed but when Zearic looked past the rakghoul directly in front of them, he could see that several more waves were attempting to cross the bridge.  He cocked his arm back to throw the detonator, precisely gauging the distance, before throwing.

Just as he released and with a flurry of motion, Zearic was knocked off of his feet by a number of seemingly suicidal creatures that had crawled beneath, surprising them, each one clawing and biting at him.  It was only by virtue of his armor that the attacks failed.  "Father!" Jorya screamed, each shot from her blaster as quick as a repeater.  While Rakham covered, Jorya shot down another row of the creatures that had fallen upon Zearic, her lightsaber closed down for fear of hitting her Father.  Meanwhile, his icy blue saber cut into the rakghoul above him, the plasma blade slicing at their ankles, his return swing cleaving their heads from their bodies when they fell.  Finally, Zearic was once again able to stand.  Rising unsteadily to his feet, he gave both Rakham and Jorya a nod before returning to the line, the tide of creatures threatening to overwhelm them.

But the damage had been done: with his throw interrupted, the detonator went wide of its intended mark, exploding to the side of the bridge instead of its center.  Still, now the bridge was only wide enough to allow rakghoul to cross single-file for a span of 5 meters, diminishing the flow of the creatures to a trickle.

"We need to get up to that door!" Zearic yelled so as to be heard.  Rakham nodded, urgently thinking.  Suppressing his own apprehension, the tall Templar Master took a calming breath.  Running through a Memory technique, Rakham caught upon one of the details that he'd been debriefed on.  

"That doorway should lead to the outside; Teks took that way before."  He didn't mention that Hit Squad had also initially taken positions on that level as well; they all knew (and had heard) the orders that Rakham had given to the Mandalorians: if they weren't out of the pyramid in three hours, they were to make their way back to Fenris' Dirge and return to the Templar Archive.  

Those three hours had come and past hours ago.

Rakham shrugged his pack off his shoulders.  Fishing around in one of the ancillary pouches, he found what he needed: his smart-line and grappling-gun.  Standing, he looked around in order to determine the best anchor point.  Loading the grapple into the barrel of the gun, Rakham lined up his shot.  He stood behind the two Vhal'Dan Jedi as they worked their lightsabers; he didn't want to get swarmed like Zearic had been.  Squeezing the trigger, Rakham saw the grapple speed towards the island above, a natural anchor point just within range, if a long shot...

...A shot that, even now, Rak could tell would be short.  ...No, dammit...!  Wrapping himself in the Force, he seized the grapple and--with a final effort--Pushed to manipulate its trajectory so that the barbs would catch and bury into the anchor point.  Giving a sharp pull, he felt the sturdiness of the line.  Releasing a breath he hadn't realized that he'd been holding, he looked down.  From the other end, he fired the grapple's belay anchor into the stone at his feet, pulling the smart nylasteel line taut.  Checking from the corner of his eye, he saw that Jorya and Zearic had succeeded in keeping the rakghoul at bay: the pile of bodies had grown into a hill.  Rak almost grinned at the thought.  And it had created another impediment for the rakghoul to clear before they could reach them.  The creatures seemed to realize that as well: instead of mindlessly attacking, they seemed unsure of how exactly to proceed.  Several well-placed blaster shots only added to the rakghoul's reticence.

"OK, Jorya, you and I will cover your father while he climbs with Berra to the platform.  Then you'll follow; I'll be right behind you.  Once Berra's at the top, she can control the rakghoul and stop them from attacking."  At least that's what they all hoped; only time would tell if Berra would be able to do so.  ...And this might just work...

As if reading their intentions, the rakghoul rushed the Jedi, their caution all but forgotten.  Zearic took a step forward, his icy blue blade reflected in his strange hazel eyes while he cut down the first wave.  He gave a dour, lopsided grin.  "Or I'll cover you; I'm already here."  He pulled off another shot, this one drilling into a screaming rakghoul's mouth, the gore that resulted splattering the creatures behind it.

"Not you for two reasons..." Rak said, his tone almost conversational, firing off several shots before igniting his green blade again.  "One: you're the only one that can carry Berra right now."  Everyone knew it to be true; even with the aid of the Force, Jorya and Rakham were too exhausted to scale the nylasteel line while carrying the Miralukan Master.

"And two?" Zearic punctuated his question with another orbit of his lightsaber, taking off a rakghoul's head, shoulder, and part of its arm.  Three more blaster shots knocked back two of the three attacking rakghoul as they climbed the mound of bodies in front of them.  But the next pull of the trigger resulted in nothing more than a sputter.

Rakham's voice held no rancor.  "Two: I'm a better shot."  Rakham nailed two more rakghoul, each shot right between their eyes.  "And..."  From over Zearic's shoulder, Rakham's shot vaporized the third creature's head before it could duck.  "...A half: your blaster's running on empty."  Both men chanced quick grins before returning to the task at hand.  As Rakham took Zearic's place on the line, the wide man holstered his now-useless blaster and hung his mainhand saber on his utility belt, pulling another nylasteel line from one of his belt pouches.  Helping the Miraluka to her feet, Zearic then spooled the line around her waist and--after Berra had gathered her skirts--her upper legs, creating an improvised sitting harness.  Securing a line from a belay point on the harness, he then looped the rope around his shoulders.  Finally, as Berra hopped up on Zearic's back, he drew the line taut while securing the rope, having created an effective tandem abseiling harness.  As he moved towards the nylasteel rope, Berra tried as best she could to get comfortable considering he still had the Mind Trap secured within his modular pack.

All the while Rakham and Jorya were busy picking off rakghoul, their expert shooting adding to the growing obstruction of bodies.  They knew that it was a temporary obstacle at best but there were no better alternatives.  Still: seeing Zearic begin to scale the nylasteel line fanned the flames of their hope, growing with every meter that the wide man climbed.

In any other circumstance, Rak would've found the sight before him comical: with Berra clinging to Zearic's back, she was dwarfed by the profile of his broad shoulders and thick neck.  The Vhal'Dan's body was almost three times as wide as the svelte Miraluka.  ...Pay attention... He reminded himself as one of the rakghoul got too close.  Thankfully, Jorya's violet blade exploded through its throat before the creature could even open its mouth.  "Thanks." Rak tried to keep the exhaustion from his tone but was only partially successful.  

"No problem..." Was all Jorya said, her attention on the rakghoul.  But like Rakham, her thoughts were for Berra and, especially, for her Father.  ...Please Maker, keep them...him...safe... She prayed.

           <<<<< >>>>>

Suspended in the air between the stone islands, Zearic's entire focus was climbing.  Normally this would've been a breeze but after hours and hours of Force use and expenditure, he could feel his body being pushed beyond its limit.  ...C'mon bastard ancestry...what good are you if you can't help when I need you most...  Although he had to admit that prior to his "renewal" he doubted that he would've made it this far... Another meter.

And Rakham was right: Zearic was the only one who could make the climb encumbered as he was.  Still: a 100 meter nearly vertical ascent was no easy task, a fact that his body was intimately aware of.  But one thing that he'd learned especially well was that such limits could be overcome.  Where the body might stall and give out, the mind could offset--even succeed despite--such adversity.  ...Clean living...and a high pain tolerance... He thought, only half in jest.  But it worked.  Another meter.

Hand over hand Zearic climbed, his muscles taxed with each movement.  His arms felt like rubber, his legs burned.  Every microtear within his muscles ached, every twinge promised future soreness, yet he did not stop.  Scissoring his legs, he reached up the line and pulled, arm over arm, another meter up.  Even though Berra was not a large woman, he could feel her as dead-weight upon his back and shoulders, to say nothing of the Mind Trap.  Sweat ran down his face, the muscles in his jaw sore from gritting his teeth.  Another meter.

But he refused to give up.

Zearic did not bother to look below; there was nothing that he could do and Zearic could not--would not--waste precious energy in doing so.  Focus on what he had to do now; there was nothing else...yet his mind wandered.  Hand over hand, he pushed with his legs, another meter climbed.  Rakham was counting on him.  Arm over arm.  Berra was counting on him.  Push with his legs.  Jorya, his daughter was counting on him.  Another meter.

His Ereneda was counting on him.  He smiled despite himself.  D'Aylanna's face was in front of him, as beautiful as the day he'd met her.  He remembered everything: from her dark, almond eyes to her pouty blue lips to her small, delicate hands, surprisingly small...and tender.  Things that he and he alone knew, he gently wrapped in his thoughts...she was as beautiful as a Tarisian Rose, and as resiliant.  Another meter.

His right hand reached over his left...

...Coming into contact with hard, worn blood-red stone.  Looking up, Zearic saw that he'd scaled the distance.  ...Just a little further...  Pulling himself up, he propped his arms ramrod straight against the stone platform's surface, palms down.  Then, as if his legs were weighed down with Oblivion boots, he carefully brought first one leg and then the other over the edge of the side, his boots finally atop the stone island.  Releasing the belay line securing Berra to him, Zearic felt himself sway, his sagging shoulders heavy as he slumped forward.

Or would have had Berra not caught him.  Strong, gentle hands guided Zearic from the side of the platform where he finally sank down, lying upon his back.  Each time his armor came into contact with the stone, a dull ringing reached his ears.  Zearic lay his head back upon the floor, drained.  It was hard and rigid; it was enticing and comfortable.  "Thanks." For the moment it was all that he could say.  Smiling quickly, Berra patted his shoulder, making certain that he was secure.  She then went back to where the nylasteel grapple was anchored to shout down to Rakham and Jorya.  And through her unique vision with the Force, Berra "saw" the spectacle below.  Her voice faltered, caught suddenly in her throat.  Fighting hopelessness, a scream finally tore from her throat.  "Rakham!"

His legs were covered with rakghoul.  Desperately, Berra tried to impose her will upon the creature and she thought that she sensed one of them pause...only for her head to sink, her chin resting upon her chest.  She was too tired, she had not rested enough.  "Rakham..." Berra whispered.  She could "see" him look up at her.

And each felt constricted by the cold tendrils of dread...utter, inexorable dread.

          <<<<< >>>>>


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: TheDutchman on September 25, 2020, 05:58:44 PM
(https://i.ibb.co/R3mR1jt/Jorya-17.jpg) (https://ibb.co/R3mR1jt)
Chapter 12: To Disobey..., Part II

Rakham's arms felt heavy, as if weighed down by quadranium, his lightsaber slower after each swing, his blaster firing more sporadic.  Beside him, Jorya fared no better.  But they were determined to give Berra and Zearic the time that they needed.

Another wave of rakghoul began to press against the grisly wall, toppling the summit from the pile of bodies, parts rolling down only to fall off of the island and into the blood-red darkness below.  Yet, that worked to their advantage: as Rakham and Jorya dispatched still more rakghoul, it created a second layer for their gory barricade.  Soon, the flow had become a trickle.  And none too soon.  "My blaster's dry!" Jorya exclaimed, holstering the weapon, her final power pack depleted.

Which was unsurprising, really.  They'd been fighting almost nonstop for 3-4 hours.  Not only had they used their spare packs, but Rakham had noticed that what they'd expended on the Mindforms had unfortunately been all too real.  ...Too many wasted... Rakham admonished himself, if unfairly.  But there was nothing that he could do about that now...besides, the rakghoul had retreated, at least for the moment.

There was no better time.

"Jorya, go!" He shouted just as a rakghoul appeared in front of him, the screaming mouth wide and close enough that he could feel its breath, hot and rank like rotten, desiccated meat.  ...Eat this...! He thought, yelling wordlessly as he shoved his blaster into the gaping mouth, each successive pull of the trigger flash-boiling the tissues of the rakghoul's brain, head, and neck.  Before he knew it, Rakham was moving, reacting to the instinct that had served him so well, scything his green blade through two more rakghoul that had attempted to flank him.  With loud, sickening sounds, the eviscerated halves parted, in a gruesome parody of a flower opening.  Without slowing, Rakham rolled back onto his feet, his blaster vaporizing more rakghoul heads, his lightsaber blade the only thing keeping the suddenly cautious creatures momentarily at bay.

Chancing a look from the corner of his eye, Rakham could see that Jorya was more than 20 meters up the line, plenty of space for him to begin his own climb without colliding with the shorter Togruta.  And, as he'd noticed, the rakghoul now seemed to think twice about rushing him...

What was it he'd heard Jorya say?  "Sometimes you have to role the hard 12."

Quick as thought, he fired off four shots, each round slamming into a rakghoul, killing them all instantly.  Turning, he attached both weapons to his belt and got a running jump up the nylasteel rope.  He figured that he had several seconds worth of a lead as the rakghoul tried to reach his former position.  ...Should be plenty of time...  He allowed himself a smile.  A small smile.

Even though he wasn't burdened like Zearic had been, Rakham's arms were shaking, muscles spasming with each meter.  But he'd timed his escape well: he already had a 6 meter lead, the creatures gathered at the base of the nylasteel line, staring impotently up at him.  He heard a scraping sound above; looking upwards, he saw Jorya widen the distance between them, now almost halfway up the rope.  Spirits rising, Rakham barked a laugh.  They were going to make it!  He couldn't believ--

Suddenly, sharp claws tore into his boots, strong hands grabbing at his ankles.  Rakham glanced downward, his jaw dropping involuntarily upon seeing what greeted his eyes.

The rakghoul that had gathered together had created a ladder using their own bodies, over a half-dozen of the creatures grabbing at the tall Templar Master's legs.  Just how they'd managed to think of such a feat--to say nothing of working together--was completely shocking.  Worse: it had cost Rakham a handful of precious seconds for now 3-4 of the creatures had gained purchase on his lower legs, their claws digging deeply into the cybernetic replacements.

Another 30 centimeters and their nails would tear into his flesh...

Spurred on by panic, Rakham pulled himself upwards, his arms protesting under the added weight of the creatures that were now stubbornly attached to him.  With one hand, he grabbed at his lightsaber while he kick downwards, dislodging the four rakghoul that clung onto him...but in doing so, his grip inadvertently slipped on the nylasteel rope.  As gravity took hold of him, he felt a microsecond of momentary weightlessness, but it was a false sense. It took Rakham less than a second to correct as his fingers burrowed into the rope but he'd already fallen by over a meter in that time.  Worse, in his haste his lightsaber had fallen from his grasp as he attempted to catch himself.  Before his exhausted mind could act, the silver hilt flashed as it fell end-over-end, disappearing into the blood-red darkness below.

And, he saw, the rakghoul had recovered from his kicks, their rabid attention intent upon their prey that was now uncomfortably well within reach.

He knew that he would not be able to out-climb them, which left only one option available to him.  Grabbing his blaster, Rakham aimed as carefully and as quickly as he could.  A quick succession of 4 headshots gave him some breathing room, at least enough for him to pull himself up another meter.  He was about to climb some more but he sensed more than felt claws at his feet.  Securing the rope between his boots, Rakham once again aimed his blaster, firing one, two, three times, all kills...only to have the blaster sputter on the fourth pull of the trigger.

His blaster's power pack was depleted.

Cold sweat ran rivulets down his back.  That had been his last pack.  Fighting the growing panic, Rakham began scaling the nylasteel rope again as fast as his exhausted body would allow him.  The first time he felt rakghoul claws on his boots, he kicked down, dislodging them.  The second time, he threw the now-useless blaster at the lead rakghoul, caving its face in.  The falling body took another two of the creatures with it as they all fell into the blood-red shadowy abyss of the pyramid's base.  Hand over hand he climbed.

But on the third attempt, the rakghoul stubbornly clung to his right boot, their claws sinking into the leather, into the cybernetics even.  With a wordless yell, Rakham screamed, trying to use his other leg to kick them off.

But it was a futile gesture.  Soon, the rakghoul had ahold of his left boot as well.  He could no longer climb, not with the added weight of the rakghoul.  Still, Rakham fought on, sweat stinging his eyes.

"Rakham!" Berra screamed from above.  Looking up, he couldn't see that her face was a mask of consternation but he easily sensed it.  He should know; he felt it himself.  ...Fight, dammit...!

But each successive kick was less effective, slower, and weaker.  He knew that in a moment, the rakghoul would pull him down.  And that he would not--could not--let happen.

He felt a...a calmness descend upon him.  His thoughts lingered on Dala and Heddit, on Berra and D'Aylanna, on Jorya and Zearic.  ...I kept my promise, Zearic... He thought, a sliver of pride mitigating his mood, if somewhat.  Still, he lamented leaving his Templars...he'd wanted to keep them safe...he had...too many responsibilities... His fingers relaxed, his left hand loosening its grip.  He woul--

Once again, his senses exploded in his mind, alerting him.  Grabbing tightly onto the nylasteel rope while trying to make himself small, Rakham felt the heat from dozens of plasma bolts as they sprayed the massed rakghoul below him.  Several waves of blaster fire rained death upon the creatures, heads, bodies, and limbs vaporized by the volume of fire.  The rakghoul withered under the concentrated fire of heavy repeaters, blaster rifles, and precision sniper shots.  Rakham smiled, tired and grateful, allowing himself to breath again.  Yet another volley of fire, and another, and still more followed, so many that the floor of the stone island began to liquify in spots.

Beyond his best hopes, Hit Squad was here.

There was still a lake of rakghoul along the pyramid's wall but on the island that they'd escaped from, almost every single one was dying or dead.

Rakham could kiss Lyhli, he'd buy them each a bottle of the best avignol, and toge--

He felt claws dig into his feet and ankles, the rakghoul hissing even as the creatures below died.  They absolutely refused to let go.  And Rakham could see that Hit Squad had no shot, no angle to burn them down.  Furiously, Rakham kicked, flailed, anything to get rid of the rakghoul.  But nothing worked.

Rakham could feel the four clawed hands of the creatures dig further up on his cybernetic legs, this time in his cybernetic calves, their feral growls sounding triumphant to his ears.  

Suddenly, he froze, extending his legs while gripping the rope in an iron grip.  And waited for the inevitable.

          <<<<< >>>>>

"Mistress Tarun, clear out!" Lieutenant Alvai's voice startled Berra.  Reacting more by instinct, she rolled to the side and backed away from the side while Hit Squad set up firing positions along the edge.  Time seemed to stretch on as each member of Hit Squad sighted their targets downrange, a pause that seemed to take an agonizing amount of time.  In reality, it was a span of two seconds.  "Fire for effect!"  On Lyhli's command, every member of Hit Squad opened fire.

It was a bantha-shoot.  

Standing to the side, Berra sent a silent prayer to Ashla as Hit Squad's blaster fire cleared the island below, and rakghoul lucky enough to escape disappearing back into the breach.  Smiling, Berra was about to offer her thanks when she sensed a spike of twisted panic from Rakham.  Extending her Force Sense downward, she could "see" that he was in trouble: there were a couple of rakghoul that were still a threat.

And there was nothing that anyone from Hit Squad could do about it.

Berra quickly assessed the situation: both Jorya and Zearic had collapsed upon the ground.  Even the Hit Squad snipers would not be able to make the shot, not in the time that Rakham had available to him before...

Giving her head a small shake, Berra refused to even think about what would happen if the rakghoul got their claws upon Rak...or if they bit him...

She knew what she had to do, what only she could do.  "Lieutenant Alvai, make a hole!" She barked.  Without the slightest hesitation, the large Hit Squad leader complied.  With her lightsaber in hand, Berra ignited the weapon.  Drawing deeply upon the Force, she flung her saber down towards Rakham, its green blade reflected in his light eyes.  

She felt Rakham's apprehension lessen, although it did not disappear.  In its place, trust and hope radiated from the Templar Master.  It served to encourage Berra, giving her an edge with the Force that she needed.

The rakghoul had stabbed their claws into Rakham's upper calves, their heads even with his knees.  There was no time for subtlety and as exhausted as she was, Berra lacked her normal exacting precision and finesse.  All of this went through her mind in less than a second.  She knew what to do.  ...Hold on tight, Rak...! She sent through the Force.

Reaching out with the Force, Berra grabbed her lightsaber and with invisible hands swung the blade in a wide arc.  She "saw" Rakham extend his legs, "felt" where his real legs ended and the cybernetics began.  Directing the green blade, Berra's lightsaber sliced through the rakghoul's heads, Rakham's cybernetic legs, and the nylasteel rope, all falling into the blood-red gloom below.

Relieved of the burden of the rakghoul, Rakham used his arms to climb the remaining distance up to the island.  "Lhyli, help him please." Berra slumped to the floor, this time in relief rather than exhaustion while two members of Hit Squad grabbed onto Rakham's arms, pulling him over the side.  With smiles all around, the reunited Jedi and Mandalorians were able to finally relax somewhat.

          <<<<< >>>>>


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: TheDutchman on September 25, 2020, 06:01:09 PM
(https://i.ibb.co/fDMgJCf/Hit-Squad-4.jpg) (https://ibb.co/fDMgJCf)
Chapter 12: To Disobey..., Part III

After wrapping Rakham's cybernetic stumps in poly-bacta infused med-patches, Hit Squad continued to administer triage to everyone.  While this mostly consisted of providing water, protein bars, and inspecting any possible lacerations or punctures from rakghoul, each Jedi was grateful.  Incredibly, no one had been scratched or bit...well, save for Rakham's excised cybernetics.  

There was something to be said that one of the few provisions that the Jedi had planned for was that each and every one of them had worn their armor.  Obviously they'd needed it.  Of course, there were differences: the Templar armor tended to be slightly more nimble at the cost of durability when compared to the Vhal'Dan's.  But the most significant contrast was that Zearic's heavier armor was a new Cataphract variant specifically tailored to his stature...and his "renewal."  After he'd returned from M'Tzigon, Zearic had modified his armor to take advantage of his stronger physiology with thicker armor; he just regretted that he had not had time to also included the minimissile system that was usually a Cataphract standard but he hadn't had time.  But the results spoke for themselves: there were reasons that the wide man had been able to repel the rakghoul attacks.

The Hapan Charubah steel of Zearic's vambraces and cuirass were little worse for the wear despite the creatures having clawed and bitten the armor with their frenzied attacks.  Jorya's own armor, more lithe and specialized like the Templars--while not as thick nor as heavy as her Father's--was nevertheless almost as durable: the only evidence that any of the rakghoul had scored a hit was a grouping of shallow scratch marks on her chausses, above her knee.

But not all attacks had left physical evidence; Berra still sagged as a result of her metaphysical fight against the Cerean woman.  Unsurprising considering that she had been the primary target and it was Berra that had eventually broken through the Mindform Reality.  Zearic shuddered to think about what would've happened had Berra not been with them...

Rakham only reinforced that concern despite his tone.  "I've never been so glad to have had Vader cut off my legs than now." He joked.  Both Jorya and Berra gave a quick laugh while Zearic smiled wryly.  Growing up under the tutelage of Master Kazic Overug had given the big man a deep appreciation for self-depricating humor.  ...Kazic...D'Aylanna...Why did she erase those records...? His thoughts inadvertently led down hyperspace lanes that he'd rather not think about, not here and not now.

"Master, Mistress..." Lieutenant Alvai's voice was the very definition of professionalism, even filtered through her Beskar helmet.  She had her blaster rifle slung in front of her chest, ready at a moment's notice.  "We should move out.  I left both mobile sentry droids at key locations to protect our egress.  We've switched out our powerpacks for fresh ones and we didn't see any rakghoul on our way here.  Still: I don't want to press our luck and remain stationary."

Zearic thought he could sense trepidation coming from the Hit Squad lieutenant but it could just be that she was feeling cautious.  It reminded him though...  "Lieutenant." He stood in front of her, both of them of a height.  She swiveled her head, giving him her attention.  Zearic extended his hand.  "Thank you."

For a moment, she stood motionless, a long enough pause that Zearic wondered if something was wrong.  His concerns were assuaged when she took his hand in a firm grip.  "Thank you for keeping Master Crescentfall and Mistress Tarun safe."  It wasn't obvious but Zearic noticed that Lieutenant Alvai's gaze stared straight at both Templars.  He knew now that there was definitely something there concerning the Hit Squad lieuten-- "Excuse me, Master Jedi.  Mistress." She said, interrupting his thoughts.  She nodded first to him and then to Jorya, politely pushing past the wide man to give concise orders to the rest of the Mandalorians.

Leaving him with his daughter.  "Dear One, how are you?" He offered her a hand up.  Gratefully, she took it and, standing next to him, followed his gaze with her eyes.

"Beyond exhausted..." Her smile looked as tired as she felt.  "Dad, is it just me or did Lieutenant Alvai sound...sad?  OK, not exactly...but...I don't know...off?"  Jorya's eyes shifted, staring pointedly into her Father's.  He did know what she meant and had an inkling of what it might be.  But like so many other things, here was neither the time nor place.  Telling her as much, Zearic squeezed her shoulder affectionately.

"You're not wrong, Dear One.  But later; we need to move."  The rest had done them all good but that didn't change the fact that the four Jedi were still running near empty.  Zearic went over to Rakham who was drinking from a canteen and held out a hand.  "Ready?"

Rakham understood.  Nodding without saying a word, the Templar Grand Master quickly drank the last swallow and put the canteen away in his pack.  Taking Zearic's hand, he swung up on the wide man's back, trying to find a comfortable position.  Almost immediately, several members of Hit Squad were there, especially the larger Mandalorians, although none so wide as the Vhal'Dan silver knight.

"Master Vih'Torr, let one of us help Master Crescentfall," Sgt. Major Qualto offered, calling to another Mandalorian before Zearic had answered.  "Corporal Derrosk!  Take Mast--" But the Hit Squad NCO was cut off.

"While I appreciate the offer, Sergeant Major, I'd feel more comfortable with all of our shooters unencumbered." His tone, while tired, was matter-of-fact.  "I've got him."  Suddenly, Zearic's tone turned sardonic.  "Besides, any fool can carry a load; not everyone can shoot straight."  The Mandalorians gave appreciative chuckles while Jorya and Rakham outright smiled.  

As Hit Squad lined up, Rakham first shared a look with Lieutenant Alvai before giving her a nod.  "Let's move out." She intoned.

For a second time, the Templars had penetrated the Revenant Ziggurat, although with much more success than previously: true to Rakham's word, they did not lose a single person while obtaining their objective.

Unfortunately, that retrieval was only half of the problem that they faced.

           <<<<< >>>>>

Incredibly, the sentry droids were completely unmolested, not one rakghoul was seen as Hit Squad negotiated through the pyramid's twists and turns, their exit much easier.  Of course, they did not have to deal with the machinations of a deranged and psychotic Revenant experiment this time.  When each of them passed through the heavy doors leading outside of the pyramid to the Undercity, they all breathed a collective sigh of relief.  

Running along the ceiling stanchions leading away from the ziggurat, the enormous blood-red structure shrank into the distance behind them.  Finding the abseiling point leading to the Lower-City, they used their smartropes to climb.  From there, it was a simple matter of reactivating derelict service-turbolifts with their sentry droid interface, using them as batteries for their trips.  The dark gray environs of Lower-city finally gave way to angled rays of morning sunshine as their turbolift took them to the top levels of Upper-city.  

Debarking from the service-turbolift, they finally made their way to their rendezvous coordinates where Jorya sent the correct enumeration sequence activating the beckon call for Fenris' Dirge.  As the Mandalorian Infiltrator swept in towards the hard-deck, it carefully slowed, hovering a half-meter above the deck.  Hit Squad had already set up a perimeter until everything was correctly stowed and secured, the last member of Hit Squad, Lieutenant Alvai, finally stepping aboard and sealing the hatch.

With Jorya piloting, the sleek ship soared through the stratosphere, their IFF transponder ghosting their presence as they soon obtained orbit and--in a flurry of pseudomotion--entered hyperspace.  Everyone aboard could finally relax even as there was still some work to do.  But at least Taris was behind them, further with each passing second.

They'd arrived how they left: without incident from any of the locals.

...Which was not to say that they left unnoticed.

           <<<<< >>>>>

As soon as she was certain that her navcomputer had all of the pertinent coordinates entered, Jorya could finally massage her neck.  She'd done everything that she could; now all that she could do is wait for their arrival at the Templar Archive.  Not for the first time, she was grateful for the advanced Hapan autopilot.

With the cockpit awash in the blue light of the hyperspace tunnel, Jorya decided to check that everyone was OK in the main hold.  As she made her way from the cockpit, she took a quick detour to her cramped quarters to divest and stow her armor.  Glad to be free of that burden, she entered the main hold where there were pockets of activity amidst the quiet ambiance.

Unsurprisingly, Father was harnessed into the grav-seat that he'd fallen asleep in; Jorya knew that he'd given Berra his own sleeping quarters and suspected that's where the Miraluka Templar was now.  As she gently checked Father, ensuring that he was indeed safely secured, Jorya's eyes took in the rest of the hold with a casual gaze.

Off to one side, the majority of Hit Squad were relaxing in strung hammocks, their gear concisely stowed beneath each one and within easy reach.  To the other side, she saw two Mandalorians powering down the sentry units while Sgt. Major Qualto was busily consulting a datapad.  One and all, each member of Hit Squad had their helmets and armor on.

Kissing Father on his shaven head, Jorya whispered, "Love you, Dad" before heading to the Med-bay where she knew Master Rakham would be.  But before she had walked down the hallway, she saw that one of Hit Squad was already heading towards Medical.  ...Lieutenant Alvai... She thought, identifying the large Mandalorian woman by her armor.  Curious, she quietly followed.  Seeing Lt. Alvai enter the Med-bay, she stopped just shy of the entrance and listened.

"Master Crescentfall, we've secured our gear and I've issued chow orders for the rest of Hit Squad." The woman's melodious voice always surprised Jorya.  Even in the hallway, the Togruta could easily discern details and nuances.  She could hear the distraction in the lieutenant's tone.  That and something else...

"Thanks, Lieutenant..." Master Rakham's voice sounded fatigued and pained.  Again: no surprise there given everything that the Templar Grand Master had been through.  Frankly, Jorya was amazed that the tall human was still conscious.  "...What is it?" Despite his exhaustion, Jorya could hear the concern in Master Rakham's tone.

...Just as she could hear the hesitancy in Lt. Alvai's.  "I...I...would like to submit myself for disciplinary action, Master Crescentfall."

There was a pregnant pause within the Med-bay.  "...For?" Master Rakham sounded genuinely confused.  Jorya peaked around the corner.  While she couldn't see Master Rakham's face--Lieutenant Alvai was standing in the way--Jorya could see that the Templar Grand Master was sitting up in the med-couch.

Back ramrod straight, Lt. Alvai stared straight ahead.  "Master Crescentfall, I disobeyed your direct order.  I've no excuse."

Jorya saw Master Rakham's body suddenly relax.  "Lieut--Lhyli..." Jorya could hear his smile, "I am glad and truly thankful that you did; you saw how bad things were in there.  Hit Squad saved us."  He gestured with a hand.  "Lhyli, sit please."  Even as she did so, Jorya noticed that Lt. Alvai still did not remove her helmet.  "Lhyli, one thing that a good commander must learn is when to act upon their conscious in good faith.  This was certainly one of those times."

"I...see." She sounded unsure, at least to Jorya.  But when Master Rakham next spoke, Jorya knew that he'd heard it as well.

"Lhyli, yes there is a command structure that we Templars follow and for good reason.  But I do not want good soldiers blindly following orders; I need officers that demonstrate good judgment.  Let me ask you this: did you try to raise us on comms?"

"Yes, Master."

"I figured as much.  Just like our last time there, there was a jamming field in place so there was no way to reach us...or for us to contact you.  Given the information that you had available at the time, you made a qualified command decision.  One I might add that I would've also made.  'Disobeyed a direct order?'  I'm damned glad that you did; if not for that jamming field, I would have ordered you to do exactly as you did!" Master Rakham barked a laugh before wincing in pain.  "Dammit..." He reached for the bottle of water adjacent to the med-couch.

Before he could grab it, Lt. Alvai was on her feet, already with the bottle in her hand, gently offering it to Master Rakham's lips.  Grateful, took several long gulps, falling back into the med-couch.  "Thanks, Lieutenant."

"Thank you, Master."  The Mandalorian's voice was gentle and appreciative.  She leaned over, helping Master Rakham get more comfortable, even drawing the blanket up to his chest.  But before she turned to leave, Master Rakham grabbed her hand, his large hands gripping hers in a vise-like grip.

“Lhyli...Aliit ori'shya tal'din.” His eyes stared straight at Lt. Alvai's helmet.

She hesitated for a moment before raising her free hand to her helmet.  Without releasing Master Rakham's hand, Lt. Alvai bowed her head, removing her helmet.  Sitting down once again, Jorya got a good look at the Hit Squad lieutenant.  She wore her light brown hair in a chin-length bob cut, her slanted eyes intense.  "Aliit ori'shya tal'din.”  She smiled, nodding.  "This is the way."

Master Rakham gave his own tired smile.  "This is the way..." His voice drifted off as he finally succumbed to sleep.  

Before she was seen, Jorya quietly strode away and back into the main hold.  Almost every Mandalorian was relaxing now; those not asleep were quietly engaged in a round of Corellian Spike sabacc.  But Jorya could sense their camaraderie, even as one of them lost the hand that he was playing, using a particularly colorful Mando'a expletive as he threw away his cards.  Jorya would have to remember that turn of phrase...

But it reminded her of what Master Rakham had said to Lt. Alvai.  Smiling, she went over to Father who was slowly and loudly snoring.  Without waking him, she kissed the top of his head again.  Taking a seat next to him, Jorya tried to get as comfortable as she could.  Sleep took her quickly, all the while thinking of the Mando'a adage, one that only reinforced her love for her Father and Mother.

"Family is more than blood."


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: Lord_S_Gray on September 28, 2020, 01:18:10 AM
Just in time....LOL loved Rackhams line about being happy he lost his legs, he would've been infected for sure if they had been real.

What a slog, that place is a nightmare, mental torments from the awakened Cerean, a sprawling labyrinth and hordes of mindless rakghouls.  At least they got through, but damn, they must be tempted to go back and nuke the place. 

Intense, gritty and fevered action Dutch a great sequence from the moment they got to Taris, I could see this so clearly in my mind like a horror movie lit by he glow of sabers and flash of red blasters that illuminate gnashing teeth and claws, very well done like a mid series cliff hanger of three episodes each ending in a cliff hanger.

LOL can't help but think Zearic would've spoken to Cha about borrowing some Mark IV Dark Troopers if only he had known what he was going into.


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: Karmack on September 28, 2020, 05:45:33 PM
Just in time....LOL loved Rackhams line about being happy he lost his legs, he would've been infected for sure if they had been real.

What a slog, that place is a nightmare, mental torments from the awakened Cerean, a sprawling labyrinth and hordes of mindless rakghouls.  At least they got through, but damn, they must be tempted to go back and nuke the place. 

Intense, gritty and fevered action Dutch a great sequence from the moment they got to Taris, I could see this so clearly in my mind like a horror movie lit by he glow of sabers and flash of red blasters that illuminate gnashing teeth and claws, very well done like a mid series cliff hanger of three episodes each ending in a cliff hanger.

LOL can't help but think Zearic would've spoken to Cha about borrowing some Mark IV Dark Troopers if only he had known what he was going into.

I think even the Mark IVs would have had SERIOUS issues in that place...

I loved the Mando details at the end.   Though I think someone watched "The Mandalorian" recently?  ;-)   Curious, though: Mando has this thing about taking his helmet off, but the Mandalorians in "Clone Wars" didn't seem to have a problem with it.   Is this just a continuity error thingey?

And I think just maybe Lt. Alvi might have a little bit of a soft spot for Rakham...   Or maybe thats already a stated fact and I missed it.   To much skimming...   LOL


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: Lord_S_Gray on September 28, 2020, 10:12:00 PM
I think even the Mark IVs would have had SERIOUS issues in that place...

I loved the Mando details at the end.   Though I think someone watched "The Mandalorian" recently?  ;-)   Curious, though: Mando has this thing about taking his helmet off, but the Mandalorians in "Clone Wars" didn't seem to have a problem with it.   Is this just a continuity error thingey?

And I think just maybe Lt. Alvi might have a little bit of a soft spot for Rakham...   Or maybe thats already a stated fact and I missed it.   To much skimming...   LOL

Ha indeeed, but at least some droids would odd less vulnerable bodies against the ravenous hordes, act as a metal shield for a time.

I think it's a revenge thing kind of, last time hit squad was there they got hi pretty bad, and lost one member Jorsk who was Berra's love interest and a relation to Alvi, probably taking it out on the mindless hordes a bit. 

I suspect the no helmet thing (contradicted by Jango in E2 as well!) is more likely a cultural change thing, like post the Empires purges the survivors revert to more secretive cultural behaviors from their crusading past, plus to keep their identities secret, and Mando culture given its long history is unlikely to be a monolith, their could be many different cultural types of Mando branching off from the main tree especially if they were forced off Mandalore itself at some point.


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: Karmack on September 28, 2020, 10:35:56 PM
Ha indeeed, but at least some droids would odd less vulnerable bodies against the ravenous hordes, act as a metal shield for a time.

I think it's a revenge thing kind of, last time hit squad was there they got hi pretty bad, and lost one member Jorsk who was Berra's love interest and a relation to Alvi, probably taking it out on the mindless hordes a bit. 

I suspect the no helmet thing (contradicted by Jango in E2 as well!) is more likely a cultural change thing, like post the Empires purges the survivors revert to more secretive cultural behaviors from their crusading past, plus to keep their identities secret, and Mando culture given its long history is unlikely to be a monolith, their could be many different cultural types of Mando branching off from the main tree especially if they were forced off Mandalore itself at some point.

That could be.   It makes sense there would be different sects with different specific beliefs.


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: TheDutchman on September 29, 2020, 05:18:44 PM
LOL can't help but think Zearic would've spoken to Cha about borrowing some Mark IV Dark Troopers if only he had known what he was going into.
Heh, actually the Hit Squad heavy weapons Mandos were inspired by the Mark IVs  ;)

I think even the Mark IVs would have had SERIOUS issues in that place...

I loved the Mando details at the end.   Though I think someone watched "The Mandalorian" recently?  ;-)   Curious, though: Mando has this thing about taking his helmet off, but the Mandalorians in "Clone Wars" didn't seem to have a problem with it.   Is this just a continuity error thingey?

And I think just maybe Lt. Alvi might have a little bit of a soft spot for Rakham...   Or maybe thats already a stated fact and I missed it.   To much skimming...   LOL
My cousin and I had a "Mandalorian" binge session last year and I thought "I should include this!"

I think that LSG's reasons for the whole Mando-no-remove-helmet thing is apropos for post-Empire (and TBH, is sound, valid, and brilliant IMO).  I decided to include it as a way to show Lhyli's feelings towards Rak.  FYI: good catch Karm; she is indeed in love with Rak BUT knows (and more importantly ACCEPTS) that he's happily married to Dala.  SO, she adopts him (and Dala...and Heddit by extension) into her Mandalorian Family. 

And that's a BIG point for Mando culture: FAMILY is much, MUCH more than just blood.  I really, REALLY have to hand it to TDC: without his established Hit Squad, I would have missed out on this incredible culture!


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: TheDutchman on April 13, 2021, 06:56:22 PM
Again, sorry about the submission slippage and thanks to everyone following my writing.  This chapter is dedicated to you all  :)
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Chapter 13: A History of Violence, Part I

"She has him now, I think..." Edda's voice croaked.  Her tone was completely at odds with the look of excited anticipation upon her face, the Hapan's green eyes flashing as her smile widened.

"Not yet... C'mon Dad!" Jorya winked, shouting her last through cupped hands.

Within the Archive salle, two figures circled one another, their lightsabers motionless one moment only to explode into violence the next.  They both had doffed their outer tunics, inner sleeveless shirts emphasizing their difference in appearance: one was slender yet toned, taut muscles trained to operate at peak performance, reminiscent of a deadly viper whose lightning-quick strike would fell a bantha; the other was wide and massive with thick arms and neck, broad, heavy shoulders and barrel-chest evoking every onlooker of a mountain: implacable and enduring.  And while the larger of the two was slightly taller by perhaps 4-5 centimeters, they both seemed to loom large within the salle's ring.

In a flurry of action, green blade met blue, the two opponents testing, probing each other's defense, always on the move.  Whenever it seemed like one of the blades would penetrate, the other would parry, offering a riposte that prolonged the match that much longer.

All to the delight of those who'd gathered to watch the spectacle before them: two master swordsmen showing their prowess.

As Jorya looked on, she noticed that the crowd of remaining Templar Jedi and Mandalorian spectators had grown since the dueling had began.  She was shocked to find that Master Crescentfall was amongst the onlookers; not Rakham but rather his brother Heditt.  Even surrounded as he was, he seemed to be...alone, a solitary face separate from those around him.

For a moment, his blue eyes met hers, a strange feeling filling Jorya as if he could see into her mind... Blinking, she looked on, only to notice that he now had a small smile upon his face, giving her what seemed like a conspiratorial wink before silently making his way towards the exit.  Jorya couldn't help but feel a sense of...not loss, exactly but a certain kind of sadness from Master Heditt Crescentfall whenever she saw him, especially when he was around his taller brother.  She wondered why...

"See!  I told you she'd have him in less than a dozen moves!" Edda's gritty voice exclaimed.

Castigating herself for missing the round's finale, Jorya turned her attention back to the ring.  Edda was right.  Within the salle her father had succumbed to Mistress Tarun's green blade, even now the Miraluka easily resting the training weapon lightly on the back of Zearic's neck.  Cheers erupted from the spectators as both Jedi broke out in smiles, Zearic clasping her hand in respect.

"Point, Mistress Tarun!" Came the referee's call, a short, stocky Mandalorian who'd entered the ring.  "Back to your corners for the match point!"

In mock disappointment, Jorya scowled.  "Give me a chance to get my money back.  Double-or-nothing!"  She held out her hand to Edda.  

Her smile becoming a wide grin, Edda clasped her friend's hand immediately.  "Done.  How many?"

Jorya looked on at her adoptive father, pretending to consider.  "Over twenty."  Taking a few practice swings, Father kept his arms limber, his thick legs adopting a light, ready stance.  Meanwhile, Mistress Barun flowed back into one of her variant Niman katas.

It was incredible: both combatants were experts though the Miraluka definitely had the edge.  There was a very good reason as to why she was the Templar's blademaster.  And while Zearic had yet to win one match against her, he'd come close three times, lasting more rounds against her than most of Berra's opponents usually did.

And so, the betting: how many exchanges before Mistress Tarun won.

As the Mandalorian referee looked from Berra to Zearic, both combatants nodding their assent, he raised a hand.  The salle fell silent only to suddenly explode into action and frenzied cacophony as the referee's hand fell.  This time Jorya could tell that Father was fighting more carefully, that instead of following up on a few ripostes, he fell back into a careful defense without pattern.  However, there were still several times when he went on the offensive, at times seeming on the verge of overwhelming Mistress Barun's own defenses...only to have to work hard against the Miraluka's sudden counterattack.  No, Jorya told herself, Mistress Barun wasn't like the viper she'd previously compared her to; she was much, much more dangerous.

Still, Zearic held his own, Berra unable to follow up upon her own offensive as she continued to speed around the wide man.  Hearing a gasp from beside her, Jorya glanced at her friend.  Edda's face held a look of wonder on it, her amazement apparent for anyone to see.

Jorya could relate: even now--despite having trained with Father for years--she was amazed that a man his size could move so quickly (although since his..."revitalization" he seemed to be even faster).  Jorya's keen eyes had witnessed what had caused Edda's surprise: Mistress Tarun had pressed Zearic hard, finally cornering him without any discernible defense against the Templar blademaster's superior saberwork.

Yet, somehow he'd been able to intercept a strike that should've hit, not only parrying but actually following with his own savage offensive.  

"Amazing..." Edda whispered.  Jorya nodded absently, simultaneously both impressed and concerned.  He'd never been this fast, this strong, this...powerful.  It had been her time with him on Tarsis that finally confirmed what she'd already suspected: he was now almost as strong in the Force as Mother where before he'd have been lucky to match half her strength, his saberskills even more potent than before.  Mentally Jorya shook her head; more questions unanswered.

A roar went through the crowd as Zearic pressed Berra, the tight orbits of his blue blade seeming everywhere at once, the Miraluka's green blade barely able to deflect it.  It looked as if the big man might actually win the roun--

Suddenly, Berra's retreat halted, her true intentions made manifest as she slid effortlessly from the corner that Zearic had almost boxed her into, his assault stalling as he found himself now on the defensive, furiously working his lightsaber as Berra closed the lid on her own trap.  If the crowd had been loud before, they were now deafening.  Zearic was able to parry twice more before Berra's saber slipped under his blade, the tell-tale crackling of the lightsaber signifying that her attack had hit home under his sternum.

"Match, Mistress Tarun!" The referee's proclamation was completely drowned out by the collective shouting of the spectators.  Turning towards each other, both combatants bowed respectfully to each other.

Then, with all semblance of ceremony dispensed with, Zearic's face twisted with a self-deprecating smile and, approaching Berra, wrapped her up in a bearhug, whatever he'd said to the Miraluka lost amongst the cheering even to Jorya's superior hearing.

"Exactly twenty, Jorya." Edda's wry grin was reflected in her eyes.  "Double to me!" She winked.

Jorya shook her head.  "So close...here.  He'll get her next time..." Jorya sighed, her good-natured tone unmistakable as she pressed the chit into her friend's hand.  "...And I'll get my money back as well."

Both young women glanced at one another, breaking out in laughter after a moment.  Taking each other arm-in-arm, they walked towards the salle ring, the spectators beginning to disperse.  Despite the match having ended, Jorya noticed that almost none of the crowd had thinned, many of them waiting to speak to either Mistress Tarun, Father, or both.

While the two young women walked towards the salle ring, Jorya thought about how the time on Tarsis had given her a unique perspective of Father: it had given her a kind of barometer by which to compare his abilities to what she'd seen and experienced from before.  Granted, it wasn't exact but she now had a very good feel about it.  Jorya had planned to speak to Mistress Tarun, but the Miralukan Blademaster seemed to be always busy.  She made a mental note that she would have to speak with Mistress Tarun as soon as she had her alone.

As they approached, Edda suddenly disengaged her arm.  "'Scuse me, Jorya; I need to speak to Mistress Tarun." She smiled before moving off towards where the Miraluka was talking to some gathered Hit Squad members, some with and others without their helmets.  Jorya wondered why it was that some of the Mandalorians refused to remove them while others obviously had no compunction against doing so but never got around to asking about it.  She gave a half-smile: still more questions, she thought sardonically.

Coming up to Father, Jorya waited patiently before finally tapping his shoulder, calling his attention from the last Hit Squad member he was deep in conversation with.  Excusing himself, Father nodded after the Mandalorian before directing his complete attention to the Togruta.  "Dear One!  Well, I've always tried my best to teach you and now--thanks to Berra--I think that I've taught you everything that there is to know about losing."

She could tell by his tone that his self-rebuke was feigned for levity's sake.  "Father, you were amazing!  I've never seen you in better form." Jorya smiled, meaning it.

"Sure...right up to the point where Berra beats me." He winked.  ...This is good... Jorya thought, noticing the changes in Father: where before he looked as if he had the weight of a planet dragging down his broad shoulders, he stood taller, the dark circles under his eyes had, if not disappeared, certainly had diminished.  And, most telling, his sense of humor had returned.

He was once again hopeful.

She playfully slapped his shoulder, feeling as if she were hitting duranium.  "Seriously, Father.  I've never seen you faster...better." She emphasized.  "You came close a few times." Jorya noticed.

"Heh, 'close' won't cut it in the Real World.  But that's exactly why I'm lucky enough to be able to train with a blademaster as skilled as Berra; I honestly think that she could give Pranay a lesson or two." Zearic named his Water Warrior master.  "Besides, Master Kål Rhadde tasked me with amalgamating my Water Training together with my Cataphract drilling."

Jorya shook her head in wonder.  Since Father had returned from M'Tzigon, he'd petitioned to transfer from the Water Warriors to the Cataphracts, the Vhal'Dan heavy mobile infantry units.  During Black Rikard's time, the Cataphracts had been the Vhal'Dan's heavily armored specialist division, incorporating personal anti-armor artillery and anti-personnel countermeasures, with nanotech powered armor, all the while brandishing the Vhal'Dan Zweihander: the famous "Beskar Breaker" of legend.  

Jorya was unsurprised at Father's decision; one and all, the Cataphracts were larger humanoids, a prerequisite due to the amount of armaments that they carried...despite the power armor mitigating most of the burden, each Cataphract was required to be able to operate their weapon-systems absent their armor.  And Father was a natural fit for the unit...both figuratively and literally.

Once again, Jorya found herself introspective, although for the better this time: as far as she knew, no one had been both a Water Warrior and a Cataphract.  She wondered if that had played some part in Father's acceptance into the unit...certainly she would not have put it past Master Kål Rhadde to have considered such.  She smirked; even as a teidowan, Jorya had heard of the exploits of the Cataphract Triarch.

Master Gray Alcyorr Kål Rhadde, Triarch and commander of the Vhal'Dan Cataphract Battalion, was a descendant of one of the first Speakers of the Order: the powerful Master Gray Sarll Båz Rhadde.  An enormous Cathar, his size was almost incongruous with his personality: he was soft spoken, cordial, with the patience of saint and the demeanor to match.  Some had been baffled that such a serene and spiritual being would choose to join the Cataphracts.

And join he did, soon again surprising many: Alcyorr not only did well, he excelled, especially with the more brutal tactics that the Cataphracts often employed.  To his credit, he attained the rank of maenowan after only 8 years, a record that was only just recently bested by D'Aylanna herself.  Three years later when Alcyorr became a full Gray Master, he was also awarded the position of Triarch and given command of the Cataphracts...a serendipitous event that did more than put him at the right place at the right time; it helped saved the Order itself.

It was still during the early weeks of the Empire when the Vhal'Dan had learned of Order 66, and the extermination of the Jedi was well underway, the Emperor's enforcer Darth Vader the biggest threat seen in the galaxy since the New Sith Wars.  Somehow, Vader had found the Vhal'Dan on Kewda, their former home planet.  While hundreds unfortunately were killed, it was Alcyorr's decisive action and bravery that had kept the Sith Lord from completely annihilating the Order.

Meeting Vader in personal combat, the Cathar had held his own...at least for a time.  But Vader was too powerful, his personal army, the 501st, too numerous.  Still, Alcyorr refused to surrender, even after Vader had taken his lightsaber from him, along with most of his left arm and both of his legs below the knees.  Vader would have killed the Cathar...

...Except for the intervention of a full Cataphract Troika.  Without any thought of themselves, they attacked Vader and his 501st, once again the last line of defense against the Sith onslaught.  All 27 members of the Troika died...but thanks to their sacrifice, not only did many of the Order escape but the unconscious Cathar Triarch had been saved, med-evac'd by a Vhal'Dan LAAT/i gunship commanded by none other than the future Arbiter, Listian Damarcus.

So thanks to Alcyorr and the Troika, most of the Vhal'Dan survived, an Order in exile until they'd finally found Zonama Sekot.

Refusing accolades and awards, Alcyorr once again surprised many when he asked to return to his place as Triarch of the Cataphracts, content with his position as 6th Speaker.  He even rejected all ideas to run for Kage!

Alcyorr had proven his bravery, but it was his temperate nature that had further helped keep the Order alive while they searched for a new home planet.  After an exhaustive search, Alcyorr and his Cataphracts were at least partially responsible for helping find the new Vhal'Dan home.  And so: after a year hopping from planet to planet, Zonama Sekot finally welcomed what remained of the Order.

So if the Cathar Master had assigned Father to continue his Water Warrior training in addition to his Cataphract duties, Jorya knew that it was all to a purpose.  Which reminded her, "Father, when will you receive your Beskar Breaker?"

Zearic adopted a pensive look.  "As soon as we have your Mother back."  He looked as if he were going to say more but remained silent.  Jorya felt the shift, both in Father's demeanor as well as in the Force.  Yes, he was feeling hopeful...but he was still as worried as ever that they could truly wake Mother.

Thankfully, they were not alone in searching for an answer.

The Archives held a veritable wealth of information, secrets that many in the galaxy were completely unaware of, all of it congregated in one place for both study and protection.  All of it overseen by one of the most powerful Jedi of his time.

As the noise of the Templar salle fell ever distant behind them, Jorya felt as if the silence of the Archives was heavy with anticipation, the visceral atmosphere felt most keenly by herself, her Father, and one other...

Templar Grand Master Rakham Crescentfall.

           <<<<< >>>>>


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: TheDutchman on April 13, 2021, 06:58:38 PM
(https://i.ibb.co/1RCBsMG/Holocron1.png) (https://ibb.co/1RCBsMG)(https://i.ibb.co/X39ZhBG/4c2b298d99e0e66a2284c36f863d5e33.gif) (https://ibb.co/X39ZhBG)
Chapter 13: A History of Violence, Part II

Rubbing his hands across his face in frustration, Rakham stretched his neck from side to side as he stood up from the holodisplay.  A bottle of avignol was within reach, half its contents already gone.  He'd been at it for nearly three weeks and he still had not found the exact mechanism that would help D'Aylanna.  He'd consulted everything pertinent to the Mind Traps, from the Rakatan Empire to archaic Force relics to even Sith Alchemy Recipes...

He was running out of options.

He stopped as soon as he noticed his pacing, taking a calming breath.  No, Rak reminded himself, he knew that wasn't precisely true; there was one resource that he was almost certain would contain the information that he was looking for...

His eyes were drawn across the room to a wide, worn desk that held a small collection of artifacts, both mundane and gross: a jar containing the brain of some creature, the conical organ looking faded, shrunken, and sodden, a cobalt blue, three-digit saurian claw that was somehow perfectly preserved, a collection of books with esoteric titles such as "Fact&Myth-Xenoarchaeology: From Infinity Gates to Star Chambers," "The Yinchorri Within World," and "Capugio&Hansho, Síne&Sínã: the Seigniory Dischord."

Rakham ignored all of it, having eyes only for the lone object on the opposite side of the long table: a biomechanical, crystal-lattice dodecahedron.

Kadmaur's Holocron.

Or at least one of them.  Rak had found it among the Archive's most protected artifacts.  Immediately, he had prohibited anyone from getting near it, much less using it.

Until now.

...I promised... He thought, guilt stabbing through his trepidation. 

He was especially worried that the holocron would be exactly like the invasively cunning Mind Trap that Kadmaur had clandestinely placed upon his memory.  He'd barely survived before, the implications of what would have happened to him even now turning his stomach in knots, his sanity the cost of failure.

...I promised...

"Dammit..." He whispered.  Rak was suddenly reminded of one of the many times that Heditt had castigated him over some stupid act...only he didn't need his brother to tell him that what he intended to do now was probably a very bad idea...

...I promised...

With that, Rakham knew that he'd already made up his mind.  "Well, no time like the present..." Grabbing the bottle, he took a several gulping swallows before setting the avignol down and picking up the holocron.  With his throat burning, Rak focused on the device, unlocking the mechanism with the Force to gain access.  Steeling himself, Rakham prepared to confront whatever terror would be belched forth from hell...

Without any fanfare, a genial voice greeted him, a holographic likeness of his old master projected behind him.  Rakham started and not just as a result of the unexpected pleasantness, but rather upon seeing the full size projection of Kadmaur: it looked nothing like the white-haired, worldly master of his memory; instead, Kadmaur looked...not exactly "young" but younger, his hair and beard dark, less lines upon his face, and--most importantly--a benevolent cast to his face.

"Welcome, Jedi.  How might I serve?"

Rakham blinked.  Whatever he'd expected, well...this wasn't it.  "I...I need information." He found himself blurting out.  Mentally berating himself, Rakham regained his composure.  "I need everything pertinent concerning Rakatan Mind Traps and how to free someone held within."

The holoprojection paused, as if a line of code was running in a loop.  Suddenly, it blinked out, the holocron's light extinguished.

"Shavit..." The curse was still on Rakham's lips when a whirling noise came from the holocron, like metal scraping against glass.  Staring intently at it, Rakham could swear that it was moving, changing.  But much like a Möbius Strip, the planes and edges of the device didn't seem to align anymor--

"So...you've finally realized the truth."  If Rakham was startled before, what he saw now terrified him: the holoprojection was no longer that of a young(ish) Kadmaur, rather it was as Rak remembered of the venerable human right before he died...

Stark hair fell down to uncharacteristically square shoulders (for one so old), the projection of an ancient man who defied Time, still powerfully built yet unable to shake the ravages of centuries...at least in certain instances: his hair was completely white, his skin showing a few mottled spots, steel-gray eyes seeming rheumy one moment, clear and lucid the next.  But the worst of it was the look upon the ancient Master's face: one that had seen the passage of millennia, witnessing countless births and deaths, and bearing witness to eldritch secrets of the galaxy.

In short: Rakham's greatest nightmare.

"I have." His voice betrayed none of the fear that he felt running down his spine.

As with all holocrons, the projection of faux-Kadmaur was more than a mere recording; indeed it was a Force Manifestation that could actually interact with those that used it.  Rakham thought back to Tarsis and the Mindform Illusion that he'd eventually broken out of; more importantly, the "sliver" of Kadmaur that had...infected him (there was no better word for it in Rakham's opinion; he certainly felt sickened by the fact) courtesy of his former Master's Qâzoi Kyantuska.  And in many ways, the holocron's projection was very much like that sliver: an interactive avatar that possessed at least part of Kadmaur's personality and ego.

"Well done; you were always my most prized apprentice." Faux-Kadmaur nodded, unfeigned pride radiating from him/it.

Ignoring the compliment, Rakham reminded himself of his objective.  "I need all of the information concerning Ra--"

"Rakatan Mind Traps.  Yes, I know." A hint of irritation seemed to dim Faux-Kadmaur, the holoprojection wavering uncertainly for a second.  However, the attenuation solidified almost immediately, an almost-smile once again affixed upon the old master's face.  "Of course.  As you know, I have pursued extensive experimentation utilizing just those artifacts."  Without moving, the holoprojection seemed as if it were growing bigger, looming larger with every word.

Rakham did not so much as blink, crossing his arms defiantly as he stared placidly at Faux-Kadmaur's face.  "Give me the information.  Now."

Faux-Kadmaur never lost his/its almost smile but it seemed to pause once again.  "Of course.  I only require a single answer from you and I shall divulge all of the secrets stored within my datanode."  Faux-Kadmaur's eyes gleamed.  "And you must answer truthfully."

Rakham's mind swam, wondering just what Kadmaur was...had been...up to...

...I promised...

"I accept."  Rakham's tone was full of conviction.  "Ask your kriffing question and quit wasting my frelling time."

This time when the holoprojection did move towards the Templar Grand Master, Rakham could sense the change: within the room, the air, even within the Force.  Faux-Kadmaur's face became more shadowed, his teeth sharper, eyes dangerous, his entire visage more...daemonic. 

The effects on Rakham were immediate.  Adrenaline born upon distress coursed through his veins yet his face remained impassive.  Both of his new leg prostheses suddenly produced dual phantom pains from his lost limbs.  Expending Herculean effort not to sway, sweat began to bead Rakham's brow. 

If Kadmaur hadn't been able to best him in Real Life, then this ersatz hologram had nothing at all on him.  Still, it was quite the trick--if a trick it was--Rakham had to admit.  But he was made of sterner stuff than even Vader had expected.

Faux-Kadmaur spoke, his/its voice slightly hollow.  "In order to save the one imprisoned within the Mind Trap, would you be willing to take their place?"  The holoprojection smiled.  "That is what my experimentation discovered: the only way to release a prisoner was to become one yourself."

Even though Rak's face betrayed nothing of the emotions that inundated him, he felt absolutely poleaxed.  Surely there must be options...

His mind raced frantically, the faces of all of his family a deluge that he foundered in, his love, his responsibility to them foremost within his thoughts.  He couldn't do that to Dala...nor Heditt...not to mention his fellow Templars.  Zearic couldn't possibly expect him to--

...I promised...

Everything else suddenly fell by the wayside.  Rakham was many things, but he'd never reneged on his word.  There was never any doubt; Rakham had given a promise and that was that.

Besides, he knew that D'Aylanna would do exactly the same had the situation been reversed.

"Yes." He said, only a mere second having passed.

The change was subtle; Rakham doubted that he would've caught it had he not been staring straight at Faux-Kadmaur.  The shadows seemed to retreat, the teeth resuming their normal shape, his old Master's face suddenly more...not exactly benign but--less antagonistic(?)--no longer diabolical.  "I believe you would..."  Even the holoprojection sounded amazed.

And impressed.

"...But such a sacrifice is no longer necessary." Faux-Kadmaur's almost smile widened.

"What?  You krif--" Rakham gave a sharp shake of his head, regaining his normally unflappable composure.  "Explain."

The holoprojection's eyes never once lost their gleam.  "I was able to construct a back-door exploit, one that the Rakata would've never considered given their more...base natures."  He almost laughed.  "For galactic would-be conquerors, the 'Infinite Empire' certainly was blind to the existential condition of life." Faux-Kadmaur scoffed.

"I'm sure it's fascinating." Rak did not so much as both to hide his mocking tone.  "The back-door exploit?"

Again, Faux-Kadmaur seemed to pause as if suddenly affronted.  However, a second later he continued as if the tall Templar Grand Master hadn't spoken at all.  "The solution was simple: blunt the metaphysical barbs--they are impossible to completely remove--and create a new means of egress...in this case: communal entanglement.  Utilizing such, the prisoner can be extracted."

Rakham felt a chill run down his spine.  Could Kadmaur really have succeeded in such?  Could it truly be that simple?  Everything about it seemed to run counter to everything that his former Master represented...but then again, Kadmaur had always been a proponent of Occam's Razor, constantly reminding Rakham that the simplest answer was usually correct.  "Tell me everything about your findings, starting with 'communal entanglement.'"

While Faux-Kadmaur related his former Master's discoveries, his procedures, and the attendant hazards, Rakham knew that the danger that he'd felt on Tarsis had now traveled with him and into the very Templar Archive itself.

          <<<<< >>>>>


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: TheDutchman on April 13, 2021, 07:26:44 PM
(https://i.ibb.co/wszRq1K/D-Aylanna-4.jpg) (https://ibb.co/wszRq1K)
Chapter 13: A History of Violence, Part III

Having returned to the rooms that he shared with his wife, Zearic first checked that the droid nurse was performing its hourly duties: massaging, moving, contracting muscles to ensure that atrophy was minimal, giving the unconscious D'Aylanna a bath as well as changing her clothes.  Even as the droid worked, the big man ignored it, instead staring at his wife's beautiful face, her brown skin somewhat sallow, her eyes sunken, her blue lips pallid.

"I love you, Ereneda." He whispered, his heart aching.  Ereneda...the term of endearment that he always used for D'Aylanna.  It was Hapan, and while Zearic could speak the language, he wasn't necessarily fluent.  Still, this word he knew, was intimately knowledgeable of: it meant "She who has no equal."  Gently, he grasped her limp hand, trying hard to keep the spark of hope within him alive.

Satisfied that everything was as good as it could be given the circumstances, he disrobed, taking a long, refreshing sonic shower.  Thoughts spun within his head, a turmoil of emotions and anxiety, mixing together in a heterogeneous chaos much like water and oil.  And as worried as he was, even he now admitted that there was a ray of hope where before there'd been none.

Finished with his shower, he slowly exited, acutely aware of the aches that he'd received from Berra during their sparring matches.  Unconsciously, his fingers began tracing the many scars that crisscrossed his broad chest, the hair more peppered with white than he recalled.  And yet, he did not feel old...in fact, he felt better than he'd had in a long time, much as he did when he was younger and in his prime.  Still...those scars... He knew that if he could see them, that those scars that he had on his chest would be even more pronounced upon his back.  Yet, it was not his scars that worried him now.

Zearic found himself staring at his own reflection, no longer lost within his own thoughts.  Staring into his own eyes, a new set of concerns arose: what would D'Aylanna think of his new limbs, his newfound strength...as well as his unwilling servitude to the Black Armors.  Oh sure, his body was whole again--a new hand, new legs, new eye, stronger connection to the Force--but at what cost? 

What...what if his genetic imperative wasn't limited to involuntary acquiescence...but something worse, more sinister?  Would his wife and daughter ever be truly safe around him?  How could he protect them from danger when he himself could be the most dangerous of all?  If those Black Armors directed him to use his Oblivion daggers to slit their throats, would he even be able to resist?  Or would he blindly comply, the knowledge of what he was doing made worse by the fact that no power in this galaxy would be able to stop him once given the command?!

Suddenly he found himself looking at a shattered mirror, cracks spiderwebbing from an impact crater about the size of...

Blinking, he looked down, his meaty right hand balled into a large fist.  Blood poured from multiple cuts, the lacerations jagged and profuse.  "...Shavit..." Zearic's whispered curse slipped from between his lips.

With a blank face, the large Silver Knight began pulling pieces of the ancient glass from his hand, making no sound as he withdrew several large slivers.  Searching around the room, he found a first-aid kit, including both high-tech tools as well as archaic implements.  Using a pair of small pincers, he finished extracting the glass shards, applying several strips of poly-bacta to speed healing.

But the same fears continued to haunt him, even as he dressed the wounds by rote, finally disposing of the bloody bandages that he'd used to clean his hand.

He was about to pull on one of his outer tunics when the door chimed.  He was expecting Jorya or Berra but was mistaken on both accounts.

Standing in the doorway, his head brushing the very top of the jamb, was an excited--and agitated--Rakham Crescentfall.  "Rak?  What's going on?"

Striding through without being invited, Rakham paced towards the apartment's sizable atrium.  Spying one of the large cabinets within, he keyed a door open, pulling out a bottle as well as two crystal tumblers.  Pouring two very generous drinks, he handed one to Zearic before drinking down the entire glass's contents in one swallow.  Quickly, he poured himself another.

Zearic was about to ask for elucidation but Rakham beat him to the punch.  "I know what to do."

The avignol forgotten in his bandaged hand, Zearic felt an enormous weight lift from his shoulders...only to be replaced by a different one almost immediately afterwards.  "Great news but why do I get the feeling that it's much, much more complicated?"

Rakham paused, his drink halfway to his mouth.  "Because you're right."  He drained another glassful of avignol, pouring yet another, this time the dark liquid almost touching the rim of the glass.  "There is a way to get D'Aylanna the hell out of that thing.  And it involves you; actually, you and Jorya."

Zearic froze.  "How so?"

Rakham swallowed the contents of his glass, staring deeply into Zearic's eyes.  "We need to use the connection between you, Jorya, and D'Aylanna."

At first Zearic couldn't believe their luck but then remembered the look on Rakham's face.  "...And?"

Rakham looked down at the bottle, half considering emptying the entire bottle.  "...And there's a possibility that you'd be lost."

Zearic scowled.  "Meaning what, exactly?"

Rakham stopped pacing, setting the bottle down.  When next he spoke, his voice was hard.  "Meaning that, unless I follow the exact process that we could lose more than D'Aylanna."  He forced his teeth to unclench.  "Meaning, all of us would be trapped within.  Forever."

For a moment, Zearic did not speak.  Calmly, he set down the tumbler and, grabbing Rak by his shoulders, stood face-to-face, or at least as close as their relative height disparity would allow.  Some other time in some other place, it would look almost comical: a much wider man, grasping a much taller man in a parody of an Outer Rim circus carnival where different looking glasses would distort the height and width of the viewer.  However, there was no levity at all to be found here. 

Without hesitation, Zearic answered, the conviction in his tone unmistakable.

"Do it."


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: Lord_S_Gray on April 13, 2021, 10:50:53 PM
Kadmaur...Rackham just cannot shake him can he...I can't help but think Rackham's seeming to drink a whole lot more, half a bottle before the holocron, and straight to the cabinet visiting Zearic - he seems shaken since learning of the 'sliver' and using alcohol to cope.  I wonder if some part of him didn't hope for being locked away in exchange for D'Alyanna despite it all.

And Zearic well...he's one step forward to be sure...but still there is an Oblivion Shadow hanging over him, an itchy uncertainty about what they will do and when, if anything.

Both men are dealing with inscrutable and intractable problems in their own minds and bodies - just as lost as D'Alyanna in their own way, and honestly even getting her back will in no way fix those issues, arguably it will exasperate them. 

Only Jorya seems to be in a relatively good place, she sees hope in her father, a new start with the Cataphracts - but she hasn't seen the other side that has him breaking mirrors without realizing.

Also I shudder to think what Kadmaur was doing with what appears to be a preserved Kwa hand and book on Infinity gates. And those Hansho's just keep appearing lol!  The mechanism of Retrieval though, it seems...sketchy at best - back door exploits are rarely as simple as they seem, the Rakattan certainly had blind spots, but they were no fools and very determined to make those mind traps a permanent punishment - Kadmaur no doubt had the extreme experience to preform such a task if he wanted, Rackham and Zearic...
Anyway some cool little bits of lore on Kadmaurs old desk there!


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: TheDutchman on October 29, 2021, 05:21:26 PM
My apologies (again!) for the schedule slippage with the stories; I'm afraid that Real Life has been particularly busy lately.  Hopefully, this latest chapter will presage easier times with more writing  ;)  Regardless, thank you for continuing to read my (and my fellow authors  :)) works^^
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(https://i.ibb.co/x71Z5FF/download-5.jpg) (https://ibb.co/x71Z5FF)
Chapter 14: “Aliit ori'shya tal'din” (Family Is More Than Blood), part I

Now...
As Rakham ground his teeth, renewed agony sheered through his entire body, the pain flooding into his mind and soul as the Mind Trap's defenses attacked him.  He must hold on!

But even as he repeated his convictions, the energies surrounding him, touching him--tearing through him--almost made his knees buckle.  He felt as if his teeth would shatter, ground to dust from the growing pressure from his jaw.  His muscles were taut in his body, but for his skin, looking like an anatomy chart where every sinew seemed to be visible.

But the real pain was what Rakham experienced in the Force.  If his body felt as if he were caught between two live power couplings, his self in the Force felt as if he were standing in the middle of a star.  Closing his eyes by reflex, it did no good: he was still being blinded by the now strobing power inundating him.

...I'm afraid...I...I can't do this...not by myself... The thought flared through his mind...or had he spoken aloud?  He just didn't know...even if he'd shouted he couldn't be certain...especially since he didn't think that he could hear anything, his eardrums having probably ruptured.

Trying desperately to hold on, Rakham could only think of one thing, almost as if it were a mantra foretelling his impending demise...

I'm afraid...I...I can't do this...not by myself!

          <<<<< >>>>>

Then...
As morning descended on the Templar Archive, most of the inhabitants were already awake, moving about the ancient and labyrinthine stone hallways with determination and purpose.  Of course, there was no single objective that every person worked towards; there was always more work than bodies at the Archives.

However, a small handful were readying themselves, preparing for the unknown adversity that awaited them, all with the hope that they would finally be able to revive D'Aylanna, every single past attempt having failed.

In the heart of the Archive, in a vast room that virtually no one frequented save the Templar Grand Master and those that Rakham himself invited, four people had already gathered.  The Templar's Blademaster, Berra Tarun, had been the first to arrive, followed by three of the Templar's guests: the Gray Jedi of the Vhal'Dan. 

Zearic's broad frame dwarfed the limp, diminutive body of his wife as he carried her tenderly in his thick arms, followed by their tall, lithe adopted Togrutan daughter, Jorya. 

Gently, the large Silver Knight placed D'Aylanna's unmoving body on the mechanical table in the middle of the room, the sleek modern technology of the furniture and implements at odds with the ancient stone walls of the Archives.  As with all Miraluka, Berra had no eyes but she could "see" with her strong connection in the Force.  "Looking" at Jorya, Berra noticed that the normally buoyant young woman was rather austere this morning, while her father... If Berra had had eyes, she would've blinked.  She could feel hope beaming brightly from him, a subdued current of worry vibrating underneath.  Again, Zearic's aura radiated a...an almost primal intensity, his connection to the Force so very similar to her own...and yet very, very different. 

Incredibly, she found that it was actually familiar for her.

That was one of the reasons for Berra's comfortable friendship with the big human: she felt a kinship with Zearic much as she would her own kouniádos, the closest analogue being "step-brother."  Berra gave him a reassuring smile which he returned, if tightly.  Jorya wordlessly stood next to him, leaning against Zearic as they drew strength from each other.  None of them spoke as they waited.

Which as it turned out, wasn't very long at all.

As a large, heavy durasteel door slid open, Rakham stepped out from the adjacent room which served as his own private sanctum.  In his hands he carefully carried the Mind Trap.  Striding on long legs, the Templar Grand Master walked over to the table where D'Aylanna lay, placing the Mind Trap on one of the stout tables flanking the area in front of Jorya.  Before the door shut swiftly, the Togruta thought she caught movement from within from the corner of her eye, but she couldn't be certain... Giving her head a mental shake, she focused her entire attention on the Templar Grand Master.

Jorya wasn't the only one; as Berra "stared" towards Rakham, she could feel the indomitable will radiating from the tall man.  She knew that he would need every ounce of strength given what he intended...

"As I told you before, I discovered the secrets of the Mind Trap, or at least this one." He said without preamble.  From Berra to Jorya to Zearic, he held each of their faces in his gaze, burning them into his mind.  "Furthermore, as with much of Rakatan technology, the Mind Trap has an intelligence of its own.  Coupled with the fact that there are multiple layers of security, what we're attempting to do is at least as dangerous as what we encountered on Taris."  Rakham inhaled, the tightness around his eyes lessening.  Somewhat.  "However, now that we know what 'key' to use, I believe that we can finally save D'Aylanna."

He looked at the small Hapan woman lying upon the medtable, a slight pallor to her normally dark skin marring her otherwise exotically beautiful face.  One similar yet so different from the remarkable teenager that he'd helped save decades before, now a remarkable woman and powerful Jedi in her own right.  He smiled wistfully; she was like a younger sister to him, a detail that was ironically more import than he would have ever thought.

In fact, it was for that reason that the others were here: they were D'Aylanna's family.  Husband, daughter, and near-sister... He saw how much they all felt for her and knew what she felt for them.  All of them were family, if not by blood than most certainly by bond.

And that was the secret.

"Communal entanglement" Kadmaur had called it.  How perfectly...clinical of him.  For everyone else, a simpler if much, much more complicated aspect that most--an incredible majority it seemed--sentients across the galaxy shared.

Love.

Rakham's smile deepened, thinking of what Kadmaur...well, Faux-Kadmaur...had told him.  It also gave the Templar Grand Master his own insight: for galactic would-be conquerors, the Rakatan Empire was absolutely blind to one of the most intangible yet powerful forces in the universe.

Love.

It was their key as well as D'Aylanna's hope and salvation.  And he had told them as much, reminding them all now.

"Remember always how you feel towards this woman.  How she is a wonderful wife, an amazing mother, a loyal sister, a friend without compare.  Remember that, keeping those feelings strongly in your heart.  They will be the beckon call as well as the anchor that D'Aylanna needs in order to survive the tempest that extracting her will cause."  His face became hard.  "Whatever you do, do not let those feelings go, do not allow doubt to cloud your mind.  We won't just lose D'Aylanna; we will all be ensnared by the Mind Trap.  Forever."

For such a lofty statement, Rak's quiet voice was absolutely calm.  Again he stared at them all, weighing the effect that his words had had.  And knew of each person's convictions.  The all gathered around each other, renewed confidence filling him as Zearic's heavy hand grabbed his shoulder, Jorya took his own hand in hers, and Berra laid her fingers on his forearm.  They said nothing; they didn't need to.

They were ready.

One and all they held the Force, weaving it around first themselves and then each other.  Embraced as they were, they could feel each other's emotions, the hope, the anticipation, the tightly controlled concern.  But of doubt?  There was none.

Just as he'd researched, Rakham Delved into the Mind Trap, ready and cautious.

Almost immediately, the defenses of the device reacted.  Multiple attacks affronted them, trying first to break their solidarity and then each one of them individually.  Each assault was different by both the means as well as how it affected each person.

For Rakham, he saw Vader striding over towards him, his amputated legs still twitching from the Sith Lord's lightsaber cuts, his own weapon out of reach and somehow unresponsive to his Force Pull.

For Berra, she was back in the complete darkness that she'd been trapped in on Taris, futilely shouting Jorsk's name as she blindly ran nowhere, her voice echoing in the emptiness.

For Jorya, she was back in the prisoner cell at Kuat, Gaetana's vicious rictus grin spreading across her merciless face as she slowly excised her lekku, beginning torture that would last for days.

For Zearic, he was back in the mines on fourth planet of System DC_10004568, the doors of the elevator opening to disgorge terrors from the nightmares the Tenebris Pugione had inflicted upon him before he'd learn to master the blade.

One and all, each of them was faced with their own personal horror intent upon distracting them from their true purpose.  And one and all they weathered their nightmares, coming out the other side shaken but undeterred.

However, the Mind Trap was nothing if not adaptive and--just as Rakham had warned--it possessed its own artificial intelligence.  Attacks deluged them on a metaphysical plane, each one threatening to shear the Jedis' minds from their bodies.  It was as tedious as it was frightening, as oppressive as it was dangerous.

Still, they held together, their solidarity an armor that the Mind Trap's Rakatan masters had not thought of, much less plan for.  Which was not to say that the device did not try as hard as it could to destroy the interlopers, but its difficulty in understanding what it faced was beyond its programming.

Love.

Still the Mind Trap attacked.  When one failed, a new assault would immediately begin.

From Rakham to Berra, Jorya to Zearic, each Gray felt the passage of time as if seconds were centuries, the distance as if microns were kilometers.  That was one of the Trap's defenses: it was seemingly infinitely broad as well as infinitesimally small.  One could get lost looking for a single "room" among myriads or could lose themselves in a lone expansion where distances held no meaning.
 But where so many others had failed, they would succeed.

They had the key.

With everyone focused upon D'Aylanna, they felt the rush of infinity speed them towards...something, even as there was no sense of space/time whatsoever.  Yet, they could sense that they were growing ever closer to their target, their goal.

Their family.

With a deafening suddenness, the attacks stopped, the gale-force storm disappearing altogether, the cacophonous screaming eerily silent.  And there, there in the very middle of the calm, seemingly meditating was D'Aylanna.  Not that she had eyes here--in the Mind Trap, nothing was tactilely tangible--but if she did, she would've opened them, smiling broadly...or would if she had a mouth.  Crying tears of pure emotion, love mixed with relief with hope with trepidation, she "joined" them as they reached for her, enveloping her within their own Force cocoon, protection from the Mind Trap.

Only the pure love of family could accomplish such; any other means would result in pain.  Centuries before when she'd been trapped, Saani's own extraction had left her in debilitating agony as a result of Kadmaur's and Lor-Riou's imperfect removal...a mistake that Rak knew that he would not now duplicate.

For a moment--an eternity--they all held each other as tightly as their incorporeal forms could.  Still, knowing that time was of the essence, Rakham "reminded" them that they needed to leave.  Now.

Yet, finding D'Aylanna had been only half of what they needed to accomplish.  Now, they all had to escape.

For as difficult as the Mind Trap was to Delve, it was doubly worse trying to extricate themselves from the device.  As soon as they'd "turned" to "leave," the attacks renewed, their severity increased by an order of magnitude.  And still it got worse.

As Rakham gritted his teeth, renewed agony sheered through his entire body, the pain flooding into his mind and soul as the Mind Trap's defenses attacked him.  He must hold on!

Past finally caught up to present, the destructive energies of the Mind Trap shearing through all of them, Rakham's pain echoing his conviction: I'm afraid...I...I can't do this...not by myself!

Thankfully, he didn't have to.

Surrounded by his family, Rakham drew strength from Berra, from D'Aylanna, from Jorya, from Zearic.  And, their secret weapon, the one variable that he'd known he would need in order to overcome the Mind Trap's AI: his wife, Dala.  If D'Aylanna had been their anchor within the Mind Trap, Dala was their anchor without.

And their means to escape.

Stepping from the inner sanctum that Rakham had initially come from, Dala hurried over to the gathered Jedi, focusing her own Force powers according to her husband's plans in order to dupe the Mind Trap's defenses.

The suddenness of Dala's inclusion to their Force Meld completely disrupted the Mind Trap's algorithm, the AI unable to process the addition of an unknown while its full energies were preoccupied with preventing the five others leaving.  Like a computer worm program of old, Dala's unexpected attack caused the Mind Trap's AI to glitch, opening a sudden avenue of egress.

One that would close swiftly if they weren't quick enough.

With speed of thought powered by the strength of love and conviction, the six Jedi broke free of the Mind Trap, each one returning violently to their bodies with mind-shattering suddenness.  After what they'd all experienced, the silence and calm of the Archive's inner sanctum was jarring.  Yet, standing there on the table where Rakham had placed it was the Mind Trap, unmoving, powerless, and silent.

As each drew deep breathes, they all gathered around the body of the diminutive Hapan still laying motionless on the medcouch, pained concern overwhelming the exhaustion they all felt as they waited for some sign of life in D'Aylanna.

For long moments, she did not stir...

Only for her dark eyes to slowly peek out from underneath her sunken lids, a grimace slowly spreading across her face as the pain of unaccustomed light and sound inundated her.  Taking a deep breath, her grimace deepened, turning instead into a half-smile, her face still drawn and sallow.  But as her blue lips parted, her whispered breath was heard by them all:

"...thank you...love you all..." She kept repeating, the quiet sound of her voice drowned out by the joyous noise of her family as they all hugged her, most crying, but all relieved.

Il'liyanav Lana’A D'Aylanna Vih'Torr--D'Aylanna to her family and friends--had finally been recovered, her Retrieval made possible by those who had never given up (would never give up!) so long as they drew breath.

Completely exhausted, Rakham half-collapsed, half-fell into one of the aircouches adjacent to the medcouch where everyone else had gathered around where D'Aylanna lay.  Smiling tiredly, he whispered again the phrase from Hit Squad that he'd come to appreciate: Aliit ori'shya tal'din.

"Family is more than blood."


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: Lord_S_Gray on October 30, 2021, 01:56:38 AM
A dangerous method indeed but the extended family had the key the trap couldn't comprehend. I suppose it makes sense the trap was likely built originally for beings similar to or perhaps even other rakatta lords, powerful ambitious and almost completely self centred. Again and again in this series it has been the whole unit that has allowed them to succeed, united they stand, divided they would have fallen on Taris
 That is their strength and that is what will help D'alyanna recover...it won't be easy and she has much to catch up on but with her families help she could be in no better hands.

Have to admit i thought from the intro Rakhams call for help would be answered by his Kadmaur mental shard. Doubtless its still in there...and Rakham may very well be the one who needs rescuing if he can't contain it, i fear the exertion of Taris now the mind trap may open up dangerous crack...


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: TheDutchman on November 02, 2021, 03:47:42 PM
A dangerous method indeed but the extended family had the key the trap couldn't comprehend. I suppose it makes sense the trap was likely built originally for beings similar to or perhaps even other rakatta lords, powerful ambitious and almost completely self centred. Again and again in this series it has been the whole unit that has allowed them to succeed, united they stand, divided they would have fallen on Taris
 That is their strength and that is what will help D'alyanna recover...it won't be easy and she has much to catch up on but with her families help she could be in no better hands.

Have to admit i thought from the intro Rakhams call for help would be answered by his Kadmaur mental shard. Doubtless its still in there...and Rakham may very well be the one who needs rescuing if he can't contain it, i fear the exertion of Taris now the mind trap may open up dangerous crack...

Good catches!  You are precisely correct^^

Just a little bit of a "peek behind the curtain:" the Kadmaur mental shard (I'm TOTALLY stealing that phrase BTW  ;)) responded to the Cerean womens' Qâzoi Kyantuska on Taris...because that's what he'd used before on Rakham.  It seems that that particular Sith ability seems to pop up when you least expect it...and with unforseen ramifications just like what happened between [REDACTED] and [REDACTED]  ;)


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: TheDutchman on May 13, 2022, 10:46:24 PM
(https://i.ibb.co/jz1mxmf/Jorya-someone-5.jpg) (https://ibb.co/jz1mxmf)
Chapter 14: “Aliit ori'shya tal'din” (Family Is More Than Blood), part II

"Make a hole!" One of the heavy-weapons Hit Squad members barked before trotting up the crowded wide ramp leading into the Fenris' Dirge hold.  Effortlessly, Jorya deftly glided out of the Mandalorian's way, giving him a nod of thanks.  He was carrying one of the larger cargo containers in his arms, body language as well as the tone of his voice indicative of the obvious strain that he was under.  Looking past him, she tried to suppress a smile.

"Edda..." She spoke softly in a clandestine whisper, indicating with a nod of her head, "...Watch."  Infected by her friend's mood, the young Hapan woman grinned, surreptitiously observing as the Mandalorian loudly put down the heavy container, letting out an audible sigh of relief.  Jorya's eyes then followed the Hit Squad trooper as he exited, suddenly slowing before his boots had hit the ground.  Even with his helmet on, Jorya and Edda could tell that he was staring.  Both young women suppressed their laughter upon seeing the man's shoulders visibly slump, his helmeted head cocking in disbelief.

Coming towards them was Father, carrying a similar container, only he'd balanced it on his right shoulder, while in his left hand he carried one of the replacement medpacks.  Jorya knew that the medpack alone weighed well over 50kg, the container significantly more.  And while Father's jaw was clenched in effort, he still moved as if only moderately encumbered.  "Do you need a hand, Father?" Jorya asked innocently, watching the other Hit Squad specialists.  Their helmeted eyes continued to follow Father even as he boarded.

Distractedly, Zearic answered, "No, Jorya, thank you."  Finally placing the two containers down, he thumbed the button activating the mag-locks, securing them in their place.  "Dear One, would you please initialize our departure protocols?  I know that your Mother will want to be ready for take off as soon as everything is complete."  He finally looked around, noticing for the first time that almost every single Hit Squad member was staring at him.  "Did I accidentally shave off half of my beard and mustache?" His question seemed to break the spell, the Mandalorians once again began moving about their business, more than a few either shaking their heads or giving a chuckle.

But when Father looked at Jorya and Edda, he gave them a conspiratorial wink, causing both of them to laugh aloud.  While the members of Hit Squad wondered what the commotion was about, there was a general ambiance of goodwill and hope coming from everyone.  After everything that they'd been through, from the Revenant War to the retrieval of the Mind Trap on Taris, everyone felt like they could finally relax, having earned some well-deserved downtime.  Besides it was time for the Vhal'Dan to get back to Sekot, having spent months with the Templars and Hit Squad.  But one and all they'd never forget their time fighting side-by-side, forged in the fires of battle, binding friends and family inextricably together.

With the last of the supplies stored away, Zearic first personally thanked every person who'd helped them, giving each a firm shake of hands before finally joining his daughter and her friend.

"As glad as I am to have that done, I can honestly say that I'm sorry to be leaving the Archives." He said, doing a once-over of the hold, slowly nodding to himself.  "Good job you two.  Fenris' Dirge looks as new as if she'd just come from the Sekot Shipyards."  He put a big hand upon Jorya's shoulder, engulfing it.  "Good thing, too.  Your Mother would never forgive me for not taking care of her 'true love.'"

Edda and Jorya returned his smile.  "Thanks, Dad.  And don't worry; she's ready for Mother."  She sobered quickly though.  "Um, Dad?  Could I talk to Edda alone, please?"

Zearic nodded.  "Of course, Dear One." He said immediately.  But before leaving he turned to the shorter woman.  "Edda, I'm happy to see that my daughter has a friend like you to count on.  She has a good head on her shoulders; takes after her Mother, thank the Maker."  He proffered his calloused hand towards her.  "Speaking for myself: I'm grateful for everything that you've done for my family.  If there's anything that I can do, you need but ask."  The tone of his voice matched the solemnity of his face.  "You have my eternal gratitude, Edda."

Bashfully, the young Hapan woman looked briefly at his hand but ignored it, she instead stepped towards Zearic and gave him a quick hug, or at least as far as her arms could reach around the wide man.  "You're welcome." She said quietly, her raspy voice full of warmth.

Looking down at her, Zearic gave a quick smile while gently patting her back.  Stepping away, he once again grinned at Jorya before exiting the cargo hold and walked towards the immense rocky Temple Archives.  The loading complete, the Mandalorians also headed into the Archives leaving the two friends alone.

Edda nodded towards where Zearic had disappeared.  "Your Father's a good man." Even now after countless bacta treatments, her voice still affected from the horrible burns she'd suffered in her youth, turning her words into a croak.

Jorya nodded.  "The best."  Her smile became wistful.  "Edda, I...I wanted to give you something."  In an uncharacteristic display of inelegance, she fumbled in one of her belt pouches, producing something shiny.  It was a kyber crystal.  Handing it to Edda, Jorya wrapped both of her delicate orange hands around her friend's.  "It's the first crystal that I ever 'harmonized' with, back when I was taking my Trial of the Dragon Caves."  She withdrew her hands, a somewhat pensive look upon her face as she stared at the shorter Hapan woman.

Edda's eyes sparkled as she scrutinized the crystal: it was a brilliant hue of sapphire, the light subtly shining from within, indicative of having attuned to its owner.  It was as rare a gift that could ever be given and Edda knew it.  A slow smile spread across her face as she looked up at the taller woman.  "I...Jorya...I don't know what to say..." Edda whispered.

Jorya looked intensely at her friend.  "I do.  I'm proud of you, of your achievements and progress, and not just with the lightsaber; all of it.  I'm thankful for all of the help that you gave my family."  Her face suddenly softened.  "But most of all, I'm happy to have a friend like you."  With that, the two women embraced warmly.  "I hope that you'll come to Sekot someday soon."  She spoke into the top of Edda's black hair.

"Me too." Edda's muffled reply came against Jorya's lekku.  "And thank you for...for everything: teaching me, training me, always helping me along the way." She rasped, the hand holding the crystal turning white from the pressure as she hugged Jorya tightly.  "I'll miss you, my friend."

Jorya gave a brief laugh.  "So will I."  Her blue eyes were watery.  She reflected back on everything: from Mother answering Master Rakham's call, to the back-and-forth throughout the Revenant War, to both trips to Taris, to seeing Father--renewed!--for the first time since he'd left for the Deep Core all those months ago, to finally seeing Mother awaken from her entrapment, all thanks to Master Rakham and Mistress Dala.  She thought of the many training sessions with Edda, how she'd worked so hard to get better...which, ironically, made Jorya herself better as well.

Smiling wistfully, Jorya thought about what it meant, really meant, to be a maenowan.  For her, that was still years off in the future...yet it no longer seemed the insurmountable objective that she'd feared it to be.  Both Mother and Father had been successful maenowans and, despite whatever Arbiter Damarcus had done, Jorya still thought of Father as one.  But more importantly, she now felt confident enough that she too could become a capable teacher.

Of course, having as good a student as Edda had certainly helped.

"C'mon, let's catch up to Father.  I've yet to say my 'good-byes' to Masters Rakham and Heditt, or Mistress Dala." Jorya said.  Father was right; she was going to miss this place and the friends she'd made, most especially Edda.  Just like Mother and Master Rakham considered one another near-siblings, so too did Jorya feel about Edda. 

They were sisters, by bond if not blood.

Arm in arm, the two young women walked down the ramp of the Infiltrator, following Zearic as they headed into the Archives after him.

          <<<<< >>>>>


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: TheDutchman on May 13, 2022, 10:47:18 PM
(https://i.ibb.co/8PBj3PR/D-Aylanna-13.jpg) (https://ibb.co/8PBj3PR)
Chapter 14: “Aliit ori'shya tal'din” (Family Is More Than Blood), part III

"Are you sure you'll not stay?  Dala's been bothering me to take a break since before the start of the War." Rakham's easy smile was comforting and would've been believable if not for the obvious concern in his eyes.  "Besides...me an' Zearic are finally civil to each other.  Although..." He took a step towards the much shorter woman, a hushed tone to his voice that could nevertheless be heard clearly across the room.  "...How you ever got him domesticated I'll never know."

Craning her neck, D'Aylanna smiled fully, only a vestige of the pain she was in showing on her face.  "You'd be surprised.  He knows enough that he could avoid most of the pitfalls at Court." She joked, continuing her slow, deliberate strides across the large Hall.  "But then again, what non-Hapan male could ever be acceptable to Ta'a Chume?  I'm sure you remember." They both smiled at the shared memories of their first meeting on Hapes Prime.  "By the Maker, I'm glad to have escaped from there..." She whispered.

Suddenly, D'Aylanna's right leg buckled.  It wasn't by very much and was over as quick as it had happened but Rakham was suddenly right next to her, his arms held out, both to catch as well as protect.  Taking a steadying breath, D'Aylanna looked up at her near-brother, eyes grateful.  "I'm fine." She unnecessarily straightened her gray skirts.  "...But thank you still."

Rakham nodded.  "Of course, Marquesa." He said with a hint of mirth, if only to mask the spiked worry.  "You know, it's only been a week so you might want to take it easy, have Zearic help you out."  He pointed a thumb vaguely behind him.  "I mean there must be some benefit of having married a man who is literally three times your size." He had a sardonic grin on his lips.

D'Aylanna chuckled appreciatively.  "My Shakal is a finer man than all of the Illuminated Ones within the entire Consortium." She said proudly and sincerely.  Shakal  It was D'Aylanna's nickname for her husband.  It translated from Hapan as "worthy" or "he who is worthy," an exemplar that was rarely used in the highly matriarchal society of Hapes Prime.

But for D'Aylanna her Zearic most certain was, that and more.

Despite his joking, Rakham also knew the validity of that truth, especially after getting to know him: the wide Vhal'Dan was a good man.  But it was still a relief to be able to once again jest with his near-sister.  "Well at least you'll never need an umbrella to keep the suns off of your face whenever you visit the Consortium, at least not with Zearic beside you."  He joked, offering his muscular arm for D'Aylanna to steady herself.  Thankfully and to the surprise of them both, she only needed to use one of her hands on his arm to steady her.  "See?  Your body's getting stronger every day." He said, all levity gone from his voice, his eyes intense. 

It was true.  Thanks in no small part to the treatment routine that Zearic had programmed the medical droids with, their careful ministrations had staved off the worst of atrophy and physiological degeneration.  And even though D'Aylanna still wasn't as strong as she normally was,  she had unsurprisingly improved exponentially in the seven days since she'd been freed from the Mind Trap, further testament to her indomitable spirit. 

Still, it was a process.

Sitting in one of the many chairs arranged around the enormous table within the vast stone Hall, D'Aylanna looked up at Rakham, giving him a grateful if tired smile.  "Again, thank you."  For as exhausted as she was, she refused to close her eyes, the uncommonly bright daylight sun shining through the transparasteel shutters, bathing the entire Hall in light.  For D'Aylanna, it was as close to Hapes Prime as she could get given the circumstances.  Breathing in deeply, she smiled, feeling the comforting presence of her family around her.

"Ereneda..." Her Shakal's deep voice--so incongruous with its intensity and tenderness!--caressed her ears as he walked up from behind her.  "Thanks to everyone, we're ready."  His big hands rested upon her narrow shoulders, their heavy weight not uncomfortable.  She still couldn't believe that he no longer had his cybernetics but, as he'd assured her, it was a long tale for another time.  But as far as she was concerned, it was a gift; she'd seen him during the worst bouts of pain as he had dealt quietly with the Rejection Syndrome with his cybernetics, regardless of how close the bio-genetic interface was.  And, above all, she trusted him implicitly. 

Enjoying the moment, she nuzzled her face on her husband's thick arm, grateful for the tactile sensations.  That was the worst of the Mind Trap: there was nothing corporeal within, only unending, intangible nothingness.  Well...not "nothingness."  In the time that she'd been imprisoned, there had been a...a shrieking entity that must have been half-mad, responding only sporadically to D'Aylanna while its teeth-gritting screams pierced the void.  She feared that it was actually her that had gone mad, but now knew better thanks to Rakham.  Whatever had happened to the previous occupant, they had left a...a "mental shard."  Or so he'd called it. 

D'Aylanna was a strong woman.  But she knew that if she'd been trapped within for longer, she would most certainly have suffered more than the minor atrophy of her body...

With a quick shake of her head, she divested herself of such ruminations.  No need to go down those hyperspace lanes leading into darkness... Instead, she chose to focus on those with her in the here-and-now.

Even without looking, she knew that almost everyone had gathered within the Hall: Rak's wife Dala had come in closely followed by Heddit and Lt. Alvai, while her Jorya and her friend Edda were close on her Shakal's heels.  About three dozen members of Hit Squad--those both with and without helmets--had also surrounded them, most of them mingling with the other Vhal'Dan Jedi that had answered the Templar's call against the Revenant.  But the one person that seemed conspicuously quiet was Berra.  The Miraluka Templar hadn't so much as said a word to D'Aylanna since she'd escaped the Mind Trap.  Before she could speak, Rakham and Dala were there in front of her, virtually identical looks of bittersweet happiness radiating from their faces.

"Well Marquesa, I think I've let you leech off of the Templars for long enough." Rakham's voice was whimsical but his eyes were not.  Staring deeply into them, she saw just how worried he'd been.  No, still was.

Dala elbowed him.  "That's no way to talk to your sister, nerf-herder." She mock-admonished, her face softening when she addressed D'Aylanna.  "You're always welcome here and will always have a home."  Gently, she wrapped the smaller Hapan woman in a tight embrace.  "Thank you for helping us, you and Jorya both."  She smiled.

Even as a tear slid down her brown face, D'Aylanna looked regal.  But her smile radiated the joy and gratitude that she felt.  "No Dala, thank you...and Rak."  She hugged the Templar woman back.  Even standing, the top of D'Aylanna's head barely reached Dala's nose, but there was nothing humorous about the tableau. 

An ambiance of wistfulness filled the Hall as each of those present spoke of friends gathered and those lost during the Revenant War, the horrors of Taris, and the genius of Rakham&Dala's plan for the Mind Trap.  Many of the members of Hit Squad lingered back respectfully to allow the friends their time together before the Vhal'Dan parted ways with the Templars.  Yet despite that, each person felt the lingering happiness and contentment as they said their goodbyes, hoping that neither distance nor time would separate them much.

D'Aylanna found herself alone in the eye of the proverbial storm as those around her made their rounds to one another.  She was not (or felt) alone, it was that everyone had spoken their words to her; but because of such, she saw something that made her smile...

After speaking to everyone else, her Shakal and Rakham suddenly found themselves facing one another, a growing awkwardness surrounding them.  She smiled tightly as she looked on: an extremely wide man standing next to a very tall man, both with identical looks on their faces.  D'Aylanna was about to say something when Rakham extended his hand in front of him.  It was such a simple gesture, one that was as ubiquitous to courtesy the galaxy throughout...

Simple...and perfect.  D'Aylanna saw her husband take Rakham's hand and then a relieved if small smile upon his face as he wrapped Rakham in a quick bearhug.  She could've swore that she'd heard Rakham grunt in effort as Zearic lifted him bodily, the crunch of bones audible from the embrace.  "I can never thank you enough, Rakham." She heard the gratitude in his voice.  "You'll always have a place with us on Sekot." 

"Don't mention it." He wheezed as Zearic placed him back upon the ground. 

D'Aylanna's eyes connected with Dala's, the two women sharing an amused grin.  Looking around the room, it seemed that everyone had been taken in by the goodwill demonstrated by the two disparate men; even the Arbiter's normal frown was missing!  D'Aylanna bowed her head, contemplative.  It was a comforting reminder for what both the Templars and the Vhal'Dan were fighting for.

"D'Aylanna." A quiet voice interrupted her thoughts.  Looking up, the diminutive Hapan Speaker smiled at Berra.

"My friend, I was worried that I wouldn't see you before we lef--" She began only to be cut off.

"I'm so, so sorry.  I should've never left you."  Berra's face was tight, her voice choked with chagrin.  "I...I should've done more.  I...I..." The Miraluka balled her small hands into fists while clenching her teeth.

With a soft smile, D'Aylanna gently grabbed the taller woman's hands.  "Berra, you were never to blame.  And how could you--could any of us!--have known?  If it hadn't been for Rak, I doubt that any of us would have guessed what had happened."  She squeezed her friend's hands between both of hers.

"And there was no way that we would have ever been able to recover D'Aylanna, not without everything that you did, Berra.  Besides, we already spoke about this and at length." Zearic's deep voice came from behind the two women.  Placing one hand upon each of them, each one enveloping their shoulders, Zearic drew them into an embrace.  "Berra, my friend, the only reason that my Ereneda is here is because of you."  He looked intently at her hooded face.  "I cannot thank you enough."

Berra seemed to finally accept that, her own face relaxing.  "I...you're welcome, both of you."  Hugging first Zearic and then D'Aylanna, she held them both at arm's length.  "You are my family, you and Jorya.  I will miss you."  She gave a bittersweet smile and then a small, tender gesture of benediction.  "May Ashla keep and bless you." 

D'Aylanna nodded her appreciation, sensing that Berra had finally seemed to unburden herself from the presumed responsibility that she was in no way culpable for.  Good; what had happened to her was no one's fault, least of all Berra's.  It spoke of the Miraluka's character and the depth of her friendship, to Zearic and Jorya as well as hersel--

With jarring violence, D'Aylanna felt her consciousness shift as it was shunted forth, her hands gripping her head while a panicked, shrill scream erupted forth from her throat.  A Premonition, stronger than any she'd ever encountered, ripped through her mind, feeling as if she were caught in the middle of a gale-force tempest, the slicing winds tearing the very flesh from her body.

But worse than that was the agony she felt in her soul.  Horrified, she "looked on" bearing witness to her Vision.

As she stood defiant in the face of the incoming, inexorable black tide, D'Aylanna ignited her lightsaber, dual purple blades eager to burn the increasingly falling rain pelting her...only to realize the futility of it all.  Death, violent and savage, exploded from the Unknown in an inundating flood covering star system after star system, each individual that it touched dying horribly, contributing to the growing Darkness.  On either side of the flood were two beings that D'Aylanna could not identify, not because she didn't recognize them but because their faces were completely blank save for two enormous, ravenous mouths.  From one, the thing's mouth constantly vomited blood, the red tissue feeding the flood, turning black as it did so.  However, a single viscous string separated from the river of blood, that same rivulet constantly consumed by the other being as its pale mouth accepted the blood as if reluctant yet determined to devour it all.  And still the flood continued.

But suddenly there were four barriers, disparate and different, that could--should they all work together--contain the black waters before they drowned everything in sight...but only if all four barriers were employed together.  Even then, the rising flood would erode away a portion of each barrier, leaving that which was left behind stronger but nevertheless haunted...

What it all meant, D'Aylanna could not say, only that it WOULD occur in the future...and the only way to survive the incoming tsunami would be to unite together.  But unite whom?

When D'Aylanna's Vision finally cleared, she looked around.  Naturally, her Shakal was cradling her in his big arms, his face carved with worry, everyone else gathered around behind him with virtually identical looks of concern.  "Ereneda...are OK?  What happened?" Zearic's tone matched his face.  After a moment to collect herself, D'Aylanna stood, her legs still shaky.

But as soon as she recovered herself, she told them all, leaving nothing out, the terror only increasing while she spoke.


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: Lord_S_Gray on May 15, 2022, 10:39:00 PM
The title says it all. “Family is more than blood is a running theme through many of Dutch’s stories, e.g. Zearic/Jorya/D’Alyanna and Kazic/Saani/Aresaea in the positive light and Kazic/Anson in the negative.  Here it reaches a positive apogee between the Templars and Vhal’Dan as D’Alyanna begins her recovery, some question about Zearic’s own ‘recovery’ wisely put to the side for the time being. But amidst the well wishes and the bonding over shared travails there is a far darker edge, firstly who or what is left behind in that mind trap as a shard, a hideous fate to be sure…but most striking is the Vision.  Perhaps the most horrific yet utterly compelling Force Vision I’ve read, tides of death faceless beings dripped in blood…D’Alyanna is not especially known for premonitions, perhaps her state after escaping from the mind trap left her especially ‘vulnerable’ to such a hideous certainty.  But what does it all mean, and what if anything can those clustering around her now do to avert/Prepare/Interpret These vague yet utterly menacing tidings?
It seems their family like unity will be a necessity to survive what is to come.

Meta-note:that pic of D’alyanna proxy in the rain is very well themed!


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: TheDutchman on May 26, 2022, 08:02:47 PM
Thanks!

This was one of my favorite pics that I found on the net; I just knew that I would have to use it  :)

Plus, aside from the fact that D'Aylanna has dark eyes, that pic is an excellent analogue, dark lips, purple lightsaber, and all  ;)


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: TheDutchman on June 30, 2022, 08:23:20 PM
(https://i.ibb.co/pfdgHkJ/Fenris-Dirge-2.jpg)
Chapter 15: The Strength of Many; the Strength of Few

As Fenris' Dirge broke through the bloated, cumulous clouds and out of the small moon's outer troposphere it was not alone.  Following the Hapan-manufactured Infiltrator were four large Mandalorian gunboats, all five ships dark, sleek, and deadly.

As were their occupants.

"I've transmitted the coordinates and await 'handshake' verification." Jorya's voice was the very definition of professionalism.  Zearic gave a small smile; not for the first time did he feel immense pride for his daughter.  Watching her casually, the large Cataphract noticed how her long, slender orange fingers seemed to dance across the controls, the white-blue hue from the ship-to-ship hologram emphasizing the differences that months of absence caused.

...D'Aylanna taught her well... He thought.  Only now he no longer felt wistful, not after his wife's recovery.  Closing his eyes, Zearic thanked the Maker for family, allies, and good friends.  And for the first time in months, he allowed himself to actually relax, his own fears of past experiences with Karmack pushed down below the threshold of his worry (although it was still there in the back of his mind).  Still, he had reason to feel relief.  Looking over his shoulder, he saw from the corner of his eye the meditating form of a small woman, her legs crossed even as she sat upon the deck, a serene bent to her beautiful brown face.

D'Aylanna, his wife.  His Ereneda.

"Confirmed.  Slaving our navicom to yours." The voice coming from the hologram was deep for a woman's, her tight tone crisp with a military precision that bespoke of reliability and confidence.  "See you next when we make planetfall, Mistress."  Zearic turned his head in time to see the Mandalorian formally salute, the holographic projection showing the gleaming beskar armor of the officer.  She was of a height with him, big although nowhere near as wide.  "Captain Alvai out."  Even as the hologram faded, he noticed a change in the Force, courtesy of his connection to both his daughter and his wife.

After his Ereneda's Premonition, things had grown tense in the Archives, everyone speaking at once.  But then Rakham's voice had cut through all of the noise, his words wise, patient, and calming.  There was no way to know when this "dark tide" was coming, but at least they could prepare.

Not surprisingly, D'Aylanna had provided a plan: a formal alliance between the Templars and the Vhal'Dan.  Not only was D'Aylanna 7th Speaker on the Council of Balance, but the Arbiter, Listian Damarcus, was still in the Archives proper.  As serendipitous as it was, the fact that the Vhal'Dan were there to begin with was a stark reminder of the Revenant War.  To say that negotiations were short and uncomplicated was an understatement.

The new Templar-Vhal'Dan Alliance was simple: if one group came under attack, the other would lend assistance and render aid.  Of course, it helped dramatically that members from both groups had fought together, often saving one another.

And so, it was that a kind of "exchange program" developed: several of the Gray Jedi from the Vhal'Dan would stay with Rakham, his to command under the purview of the Templar Grand Master.  Conversely, several individual Templars would travel to Zonama Sekot as ambassadors, an almost unprecedented program of open and free trade of materiel, knowledge, and ideas.  But that wasn't all that the Templars had provided.

A sizable contingent of Hit Squad Mandalorians were to accompany the Vhal'Dan to Sekot as well, to operate as an independent Spec Ops detachment, the Concordat Company.  As a result, the Hit Squad leaders had promoted Lieutenant Lhyli Alvai as the new Company's Captain.

And, thanks to D'Aylanna, Hit Squad's coffers were also addressed.  "I wish to secure the employ of Hit Squad for the Vhal'Dan."  She'd reached into one of her belt's pouches, producing an earring.  Hanging from an aurodium rope was an incredibly vibrant gemstone, the light scintillating brightly from within.  It was a Hapan rainbow gem.  It was rumored that the Hapan Royal Princess' tiara featured enough rainbow gems to buy a solar system; indeed, they were that valuable.  While "merely" a single, small stone, the earring would easily be enough to hire Hit Squad for years to come.

However, when Captain Alvai had called upon volunteers, they could only take every two in three Mandalorians given the number who tried to enlist.  Again, it was testament to the bonds and trust between the Templars and Vhal'Dan developed in the conflagration of war.  

To commemorate the occasion, the Company would take on special nomenclature: they were now the Concordat Mandalorians.

All of this went through Zearic's mind as he continued to look from his daughter to his wife.  And, although he knew it to be fleeting, the wide Cataphract knew that it was this, his family, that he would never stop fighting for.  It also renewed his own fears, the uncertainty concerning his own actions around the Black Armors...which, invariably led to the his experiences with Karmack.

He'd put it off to focus on getting his Ereneda back, everything for her Retrieval.  Now was the time.

He closed his eyes, his face remarkably calm.  ...As soon as we're in hyperspace... He promised.

However, before he knew it, Zearic was fast asleep, the trials, tribulations, and events of the past few months finally catching up to him.

For the first time in a long while, Koawan Zearic Vih'Torr, Silver Knight of the Vhal'Dan, Tertius of Triad Senth of the Cataphracts, slept absent his nightmares.  Not those from the Tenebris, not those about Mendax, not those about Karmack, not those from Taris.  And if he dreamed, it was to the sounds of a dulcet Hapan lullaby where, walking along a white-sanded beach, he saw his Ereneda approaching him, a smile upon her lips, her love for him evident upon her face, her dark, delicate toes barely tracking through the sands as she ran the remainder of the way to jump into his waiting arms as they kissed one another over and over again.

          <<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/X2ZrSqS/Jorya-1.jpg) (https://ibb.co/X2ZrSqS)

Having helped Mother carry her sleeping Father gently with the Force, Jorya laid him down upon the bed within her parent's shared quarters.  Gently, she removed his boots, careful to wake him.  She need not worried; after everything that he'd been through, this was the first deep sleep that she'd seen him take since coming to the Archives.  She mused that even the ship's warning klaxon wouldn't be sufficient to wake Father.

Once done, she took a moment to help Mother remove her own boots, robe, and outer tunic.  With a soft word of thanks, D'Aylanna stopped her daughter, her small hand as hard as durasteel, her large, dark eyes looking up at Jorya.  "Dear One..." Mother still wasn't used to speaking.  "...I wanted to thank you for everything: for saving me, helping Master Rakham, but mostly..." Her dark brow furrowed.  "...But mostly for taking care of your Father when I could not..."  Unshed tears shone in Mother's eyes while she seemed to search for the right words.  With patience, Jorya comforted her.

"It's alright, Mother."  She held onto her Mother's smaller hand.  "I've got you, both.  I love you." She said, earnestly.

As if a weight had been taken from her, D'Aylanna wordlessly nodded her thanks, silent tears of relief streamed down her brown cheeks.  "We...I...love you so much, Jorya..." Her voice already growing softer as her midnight blue hair rested upon her pillow, D'Aylanna's hand reaching for her husband's much larger hand.  Soon, both of their breathing slowed and, in what was definitely the first time in months, untroubled deep sleep embraced them, Father's big hands even now touching his wife's arm.

Jorya smiled, happy for her parents, happy for herself.  They were together once again.

It was comforting; after months of worrying about the two of them, to see both of her parents together, peaceably resting was a salve to Jorya.  Idly, she keyed her parent's door closed and, taking one last check on the navicom, she took a final look at the hyperspace tunnel swirling before the entire transparasteel canopy.  

It also reminded her of her own exhaustion.

Walking into her own fairly spacious quarters (relatively speaking; they were still more cramped than her actual bedroom on Sekot), she kicked off her boots, shrugged out of her tunics, and skirts.  So tired was she that Jorya didn't even bother to remove her arm wraps.  Instead, she crawled into bed, her long orange legs stretching out atop the covers.  

She was asleep in moments...

          <<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/qCS52tG/Jorya-Lightning.jpg)

Walking along black corridors, Jorya nervously glanced from side to side, her boots echoing throughout the hallways.  The walls appeared to be the large, dark granite rock of the Templar's Archives, except... Jorya squinted, unsure if even her superior eyes were registering what she was actually seeing.

Except that the rocks looked like daemonic faces, twisted, perverted while screaming in agony, stalactite fangs growing larger, sharper, unseeing eyes staring accusingly at her.

Before she knew what was happening, she was running.  She knew not where or from whom, only that--somehow!--she must escape...

But as fast as she was, the faces were always just a breath behind her, stone fingers with claws of quartz swiping through the air just where her head had been a second before.  ...Run...! She thought, panic welling inside her, causing her legs to pump that much harder.

Jorya was in peak physical shape, thanks to her parents' training, as well as her own initiative.  And like Father had said, she would potentially be as strong as Mother in the For--

She stumbled, aware that to do so and stop meant death.  Quickly she resumed her running, peaking from the corner of her eye behind her.

Dead, black faces of rending andesite teeth were almost upon her.

...Yet she couldn't help but think of Father.  Of his new, stronger connection in the Force, his own strength now even greater than Joryas...when months before she'd overshadowed him.  She needed that power, needed to be stronger.  For the Vhal'Dan.  For her parents.  For herself.

For right now.

...You can be stronger...

Jorya almost stopped, unsure if she'd heard the whisper that registered in her mind, if not her montrals.

...You can be stronger...

She heard it again, slightly louder this time.

...You can be stronger...

This time there was no denying it; she had heard a voice.

...You can be stronger...

It seemed to ring out from above her, below her, around her, the dark rock shaking.

...You can be stronger...

Looking back, she slowed.  The rock-like terrors were retreating, centimeter by centimeter.  Nodding, Jorya suddenly understood.  "Then let me be stronger!" She yelled.  Instinct overtook conscious decision, all rational thought burned away in the tempest of Jorya emotions, fear turning to fury.  Hands uplifted, she felt the raw power of her desire fill her.  

Powerful, blue-violet bolts of pure Lightning arced from between her fingers, from between her eyes, and rose from her body.  She would be the daughter that Father and Mother deserved, one that was strong like them.  Her face calm but intense righteousness raging within, she gestured to the retreating stone faces, their formerly frightening faces now frightened themselves.  Huge arcs of Lightning surrounded her, inundated her, caressed her.

She was power incarnate.

She didn't even have to do anything, merely release the gathered energy within.

Lightning bolts forked through the air, bloated arcs burning the very atmosphere it pierced, striking the faces, all of them disappearing while the afterimages of each face seemed to float for a moment before finally fading away for good.

...And so we are agreed...

Even though a whisper, the voice in Jorya's head echoed violently, causing her to grab at each side of her montrals.  Her teeth were gritting so hard that she feared that she would shatter her teeth.  "What?  What does that mean?" She looked around, a new brand of panic growing from within.  "Who are you?  What do you want?  ANSWER ME, DAMMIT!" She yelled.

...you...

The single word was almost below even her superior hearing threshold, yet she broke out in a cold sweat.  "...Wha..." She barely had time to sputter before she noticed her once-gray tunics began to turn darker, the tint of the fabrics adopting a muted hue, at least at first.

But then, a more vibrant color began to emerge.

Jorya stood there, mouth agape.  She now wore the black-and-red of a Sith acolyte.  "...no..." She heard herself whimper.  "...no..." But even as she attempted her denials, she knew it rang of the hollow sounds of helplessness.  "...no..."

...You wanted...craved...demanded!...for the power...this is the price...

The voice whispered in her head, growing certainty accompanying her terror.

...Just ask your Father...

Laughter, cruel and sardonic laughter erupted from everywhere, an indictment of her own convictions.  But worse, was the feeling that this was far, far from over...

          <<<<< >>>>>

Jorya's eyes exploded open, utter dread filling her.  After a moment, she relaxed, growing awareness granting her some small comfort.  She was in her bunk, in her quarters, in Fenris' Dirge, Father and Mother sleeping next door.  She noticed that her blanket was a tangled, soaked mess, sweat dripping from her forehead despite the climate controls set at a comfortable 22 degrees celsius.

Taking several calming breaths, she finally felt the last vestiges of her nightmare disappear.

Convincing herself that it had been nothing more than that, she snuggled into her pillows, finally closing her eyes before sleep--this time gentle and untroubled--took her.

However, if she'd looked at her reflection before doing so, she would've seen that her eyes had changed from her normal sapphire blue to one displaying shades of another color, one even now fading but nevertheless once there...

...The yellow eyes of a Sith.


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: Lord_S_Gray on July 01, 2022, 07:41:51 AM
That was AWESOME! The dream that was not a dream!

The of half of the chapter nicely summarized 'clean up', the growing alliance between Templar and Vhal'Dan is a positive...but a few reminders that all is still far from well with Zearic are still troubling...and he still has yet to tell his family the truth of what has happened to him.

but the Jorya scene!.  It's telling that the vicious stone faces and the relentless dread she is running from is NOT the most terrifying aspect, its Jorya herself, empowered beyond her dreams, in service to her parents, yet at what cost...the almost taunting reference to her father is very apt, the love of family and the need to protect them from myriad threats seems to be both the Vih'Torr's family most notable feature and most dangerous flaw.

One can't help but wonder who is offering the power to her, or if it is indeed just one person, there are many roads to such power, the Dark Side is one, but Zearic and the late Mendax benefited from something more 'visceral' (yet equally costly), Karmack from the Crystals of Xandir...

But then given it is a dream one must remember much of it is likely symbolism and allegory, Jorya's mind could be interpreting any kind of fall as being of the Sith as the most accessible symbol of darkness to her mind. And perhaps the Voice is her own...

Regardless a really brilliant sequence full of mystery and anticipation, a fitting follow on from D'Alyanna's own vision, one wonders if Zearic will make up the full set, though perhaps he has already had his share of nightmares over the years!     


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: TheDutchman on July 06, 2022, 11:41:08 PM
(https://i.ibb.co/dWSqvJX/Zearic-8.png) (https://ibb.co/dWSqvJX)(https://i.ibb.co/F5NZ5Y3/Alcyorr-1.jpg) (https://ibb.co/F5NZ5Y3)
Epilogue, part I

After the latest debrief, a tired Zearic hoped he was finally done talking with the endless stream of officials.  Briefly he paused and smiled, appreciating the irony given that his next appointment was at the Kage's apartments.  He needed to speak with Oyuna, privately this time.  However, with the Government Residences just in sight, he paused when he heard his name.

"Knight Vih'Torr?  The Triarch would like to speak to you.  If you'd please follow me?" Came the respectful voice of one of the younger Gray Knights currently in training to petition for entry into the Cataphracts, his eyes looking somewhat awestruck.  Zearic patiently smiled.

Word of what had happened at M'Tzigon and Taris had proceeded his arrival back on Sekot and in the week following had only spread more.  And that week had been exceedingly busy.

From debriefings in front of the Kage, then the Council of Balance, and then each Speaker (except D'Aylanna, of course), he'd spent almost the entire time talking about what had happened.  Coupled with the fact that the same had happened to his wife and daughter, they'd not seen much of each other at all during the interim.  They'd all been occupied with first the appearance of almost 250 Mandalorians making planetfall, then with the Templar/Vhal'Dan Alliance, then everything to do with the Revenant War...there just were not enough hours in the day, each of the 26 hours taken up by something with barely enough time for sleep.

Which meant that he'd been unable to tell them everything.

...That stops tonight... He promised, knowing that they would finally be able to gather as a family for the first time since landing on Sekot.  But first... "Thank you.  Please lead the way." He said before taking out his comm and, speaking briefly, left a message for the Kage.  He figured that she wouldn't mind, especially given the informal nature of the meeting.  That done, he focused on the task at hand.  Zearic figured that he'd meet Alcyorr in the Cataphract's Barracks for whatever this was.

Formally they were known as the "Cataphract Special Warfare & Defense Center" but was almost always referred to by its unofficial name: "Alcyorr's Den" or just "The Den," a holdover from the days of the great Triarch Nurhl Båz Rhadde.

However, after a minute Zearic knew that he was not headed that way.  Instead the Gray Knight took him to one of the multiple bounce tubes interlacing the entire Vhal'Dan Planetary Forces Installation.  Odd that, he was forced to admit.  Still, it piqued his interest.  After walking at least a kilometer and a half through multiple structures, bounce tubes, and hyperloops, Zearic finally recognized where he was being led.

It was the Triarch's personal quarters.

Located deep in the heart of the base, Alcyorr Kål Rhadde's apartments were situated in a highly tactical spot, close to one of Sekot's secret spaceports while also allowing him unparalleled access to the Vhal'Dan Order's vast datastorage archives.  Additionally, he had access to his own personal starship (located directly below his own building) as well as one of the heavy ground-based shield generators.

...Rank hath its privileges... He thought, something that he himself would probably never experience; D'Aylanna was the politician and was far, far better at people than he ever was.  Still: if this was as good as it got, he was a happy man given his family and place amongst the Vhal'Dan.  

But he had to admit: it was a very nice area to live in.

Soon enough, Zearic was standing in front of a tall, wide durasteel door, nodding to the young Gray Knight before turning his attention back to the present.  Chiming the door, he waited.

But not long.

After only a few seconds, the door silently slid open.  Normally, he would've been able to see what was in the room but the Cataphract Triarch almost took up the entire doorway.  Zearic was used to usually being the largest person in the room but he was dwarfed by the Cathar standing before him.

"Ah, Zearic.  Please come in." Alcyorr's deep bass voice seemed to shake even the durasteel deck.  Nodding, he entered the spacious and surprisingly serene apartments, following the Triarch as he led Zearic towards what turned out to be a shaded atrium.  He noticed that the aircouches were oversized (probably since all Cataphracts were larger than average beings).  Politely refusing a drink, Zearic patiently waited while Alcyorr offered food and refreshment between pleasantries, finally arriving at the point a few moments later.

The Triarch sat back, deliberately settling into his large aircouch before taking a few moments to scrutinize Zearic.  The sun shone at an oblique angle behind the Cathar, bathing him in an aura that cast shadows across his large brow, his eyes shining like twin beacons.  For his part, the wide human stared back, his face impassive and composed.

"I've been going over your After Action Reports." Alcyorr's pale blue eyes looked as if he were staring straight through Zearic.  He fingered a glass full of some dark, exotic liquor with a huge, clawed finger while he spoke.  "I have but one question to ask: would you have made the same deal that you did with Cha knowing what you do now?"

Zearic did not so much as hesitate.  "Yes."  He thought of D'Aylanna; the rest was easy...even if it meant that his short time as a Cataphract was over.  But for his family?  He'd do anything.

For a long moment, the enormous white Cathar stared at him, his lionlike face almost unreadable.  Zearic could see why this man was held in such high esteem and fear.  Then he gave an almost imperceptible nod and continued.  "You are no longer Tertius of Triad Senth.  I am assigning you to Triad Isk."  That was one of the coveted recon/surveillance-patrol Triads.  "As Secundus."  

Zearic controlled his surprise.  He'd expected perhaps expulsion or to be relegated to one of the "green" Triads, that is, the knights that were no longer Cataphracts, but rather were little more than baby sitters for training newly-inducted members.  However, he simply stated, "Understood, Triarch."

Alcyorr's mouth seemed to turn up at the corners, his eyes shining.  Whatever he saw in Zearic's face, the Triarch seemed satisfied.  "Your Primus is Maenowan Olynya Ve'Reen.  She along with your Tertius, Koawan Sio Harwic, will instruct you on your next assignment."  Standing, he looked the wide human over again, extending a massive paw.  "Congratulations Vih'Torr.  I trust that you'll bring that same conviction to the Cataphracts."  Unsurprisingly his incredible grip was a quadranium vise.

But Zearic gave as good as he got, although his hand turned white from the exertion.  He could swear the Cathar gave him an almost imperceptible smile.  "Thank you, Triarch.  I won't let you down." Was all that he said.  However, he noticed that when Alcyorr had withdrawn his paw, he'd left Zearic a device in his hand.

"I know you won't." He nodded.  Briefly glancing down, Zearic spied what it was he'd been given.  It was a Cataphract Secundus' insignia, to be worn on the chest of his armored cuirass.

In laymen's terms: he'd been promoted.  At least as far as the Cataphracts were concerned; the Arbiter had made Zearic's censure official as well as his demotion from maenowan.  Such was the price of his decisions to learn from Nimman Cha all that he could.

"Take what you want and pay for it." His father Kazic had told him.  "Just be prepared to pay the price."  Zearic shook his head.  No one could argue that he'd paid for his choices.  And if Oyuna tried to intervene on his behalf...well, he would "respectfully decline" her assistance.  He knew what he'd done as well as the ramifications for such.  

Besides, he wanted to be able to look his wife and daughter in their eyes and with pride.  He'd decided back at the Archives to accept his punishment, regardless of Listian's personal antagonism.  Zearic's eyes tightened.  He knew that he'd have to deal with the Arbiter again in the future.  But for now, he'd be the best version of himself, a man that D'Aylanna and Jorya would be proud of.

Thanking the Triarch again, Zearic left.  He considered heading to the Kage's apartments but shook his head instead.  He had a strong and sudden compulsion to be with his family, a need that had been deferred for months.  ...Oyuna's not going anywhere... He confidently assured himself.

Thinking of his family, he pinged both his wife and daughter, asking them to meet them at their shared apartments.  He would tell them, tell them everything.  Tonight.

Grasping the Secudus' insignia tightly between his fingers, Zearic felt a renewed sense of hope in addition to his relief with getting D'Aylanna and Jorya back.  Walking briskly towards the Residential District, he gave a silent prayer of thanks to the Maker for everything that had happened.

He would tell them.  Everything.

          <<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/BLJvmgN/Oyuna-Chand-n-1.png) (https://ibb.co/BLJvmgN)

Oyuna Chand'n, Kage to the Vhal'Dan Order, attempted to stretch her knotted neck, hopeful to relieve overtaxed muscles as she went over the minutiae of the Alliance for what she felt was the tenth time.  She had to admit that Listian and D'Aylanna had done well, very well, at securing a lasting bond between the Order and the Templars.  The problem was the logistics: what would be given primacy, whom would assume situational authority where and at what time, how would the division of personnel, materiel, and supplies be distributed--

She closed her eyes.

Drawing a slow breath in, she enveloped herself utilizing a Serenity Technique.  It helped, alleviating the worst of her tension.  Making a deliberate decision, she pushed the datanode aside; she'd deal with it later.  Besides, Zearic was due any minute now for their appointment...

She'd kept abreast of the situation, including his demotion.  Her lips tightened; she had to admit that Listian's verdict was valid--by the Maker even Zearic admitted as much!--but felt that there was more to the wide man's motives than just what he'd told them.  Even now, she knew that he'd held some information back.  Still, she trusted that he would rectify that during the same appointment that she now was waiting for...

That was the problem with being Kage: there was always someone wanting something.  Oyuna's orange eyes rested upon the lone holopic that decorated her large desk.  It had been taken over twenty years ago, back before she'd been elected Kage.  It was a snapshot in time: just her and her wife, Belynn hiking through the Cylid'nian Mountains for their tenth anniversary.  Her sudden smile was bittersweet; in all of her time as Kage, Belynn had been patient, sharing her with the members of the Order that she loved so dearly, even on days like today.

Their anniversary.

She quietly chuckled.  Oyuna knew that the Maker had to have a sense of humor given the comedy of errors that was life.  But somedays it seemed to the Kage that that said comedy was increasingly dark.  That was when she heard the chiming coming from her comm.

Grabbing the device, she noticed that she'd received a message.  Of course it was from Zearic.  As her eyes scanned the text, Oyuna couldn't help but feel a little relief that he wouldn't be able to make it tonight, could he please come tomorrow, etc, etc.  Amused, she decided that she would instead draw a long, hot water bath and wait for Belynn.  Admittedly, she'd been neglecting her wife lately; there just seemed to be more obligations than hours in a day...

Well, she'd make it up to Belynn.  Stepping into her large bedroom, Oyuna removed her boots and disrobed.  As she took off her tunics, she idly looked up at the ceiling, pausing in her smallclothes.  She didn't recall having opened the skylight...

While she considered that perhaps her wife had just forgotten to close it, she suddenly stiffened as she felt the hot, stabbing sensation as a thin stiletto vibroblade went between her upper ribs.  Grabbing at it with both of her light blue hands, she felt clumsy, confused, and frustrated as her fingers sloughed off the vibroblade handle, a disembodied dark hand seemingly appearing from thin air.

Desperately, she grabbed for the Force.  But try as she might, she found herself unable to touch it; it was as if an impenetrable wall of transparasteel separated her from the Force.  She could see it, sense it, but could not use it...

Pain, weakness, and dizziness hit her hard, her fingers attempting to pull at the now-visible arm holding the stiletto numbly sliding over the synthcloth covering the arm.  Sinking to her knees, Oyuna tried to focus.  She could now see that what she assumed was an arm floating in the middle of her room in fact belonged to a tiny woman garbed in a skintight jumpsuit, her dark face and midnight blue hair now visible as well.  Thinking that she looked familiar, Oyuna had the most difficult time pulling on that elusive thread...

Then she looked at the woman's eyes.

The small woman stared at her from abyssal depths that held absolutely no emotion whatsoever.  The Kage had seen killers before--sociopaths, murderers, psychopaths, and despots--without blinking an eye.

This woman frightened her.

"I did not expect that only you would be here." Oyuna's ears registered a voice devoid of feeling, incongruously high and almost sweet.  "No matter; it is better that his death be a private affair.  As is proper." The woman said as if making a pronouncement.  Although when next she spoke, her tone had an undercurrent of anticipation.  "Besides there's always a 'next time.'"  Oyuna's vision blurred, dark clouds beginning to encroach upon the edges.  Yet despite that, she saw the face of the woman in crystal-clear detail when she turned her dark eyes back to her.  "...Well, not for you..." And when she did smile, it did not reach her eyes.

Several tears streaked down the Kage's face, desperation sinking into the pit of her stomach as her awareness slowly shrank in upon itself.  She had to warn Zearic, she had to...to tell...someone...someth...what was she...whom...Belynn?...yes...her wife...

As Oyuna raggedly breathed her last, her final thoughts were on Belynn...her beautiful wife...and how she'd miss their anniversary...

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Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: TheDutchman on July 06, 2022, 11:41:58 PM
(https://i.ibb.co/RDftyGL/mqdefault-4.jpg)
Epilogue, part II

"Ah, Jorya, I'm glad that you've arrived.  Please, sit." Zearic gestured to the vacant spot next to D'Aylanna on the aircouch.  Incredibly he both looked and felt calm, collected, and at peace.  As the Togruta sat next to her adoptive Mother, she smiled down at the much shorter woman, giving her adoptive Father her full attention.

Zearic looked from his wife to his daughter and back again, drinking in their faces and the love radiating from them both.  Not for the first time he thanked the Maker for his family, for his friends, for his life, and for the Vhal'Dan.  Like he said, they deserved the truth.

"Shakal, you know that you can tell me anything." D'Aylanna's soft voice caressed him, lending him her strength and love.

"Dad, you don't have to worry; Mother and I will never stop loving you." Jorya's voice--so full of youthful vim yet so wise!--emboldened him.  He no longer felt as if he would lose them if he told them; in fact, he would be lost if he didn't tell them...especially if something bad occurred as a result.

"I...thank you, Ereneda, Dear One.  I love you both so much..." Zearic inhaled, slow and deep.  He focused upon the faces of the two women in front of him, they who he loved more than life itself.  ...Please Maker, help keep them safe...even if it is from me... He prayed a silent litany, strangely no longer at odds about himself.  

He would see them safe, no matter what.

"After Geonosis, my injuries were getting to me, especially with the onset of Rejection Syndrome from my cybernetics.  Well, when you both left to help out Master Rakham and the Templars, I began having...doubts, my self-recriminations making me paranoid."  He reached behind him, drawing out the larger of the two Oblivion daggers he wore in the cross-carry sheath in the small of his back.  "Part of that was because of this, the Tenebris Pugione.  But another reason was because of a trail of bread crumbs that Jaim and I--yes, Dear One, your uncle--started following.  It led us first to search as many data repositories as we could access, until we ran into the proverbial brick wall." Zearic smiled wistfully at the memory.  Closing his eyes, he could see it as clear as day.  "We were in the Vhal’Dan Hall of Archives searching for..."*

*please read the submissions in: "Interlude-Conundrum:" http://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=36209.msg642286#msg642286 (http://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=36209.msg642286#msg642286)
& "What You Leave Behind:" http://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=38818.msg646417#msg646417 (http://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=38818.msg646417#msg646417)
for all of the details  :)

          <<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/ZmyrK4d/Jorya-15.jpg) (https://ibb.co/ZmyrK4d)

It had been a long day, one that had further turned into a long evening.  By the time Father had finished telling her and Mother everything leading up to his arrival at the Templar Archives, they'd all felt as if they'd gone through the emotional wringer.  There had been plenty of horrors, surprises, and outright shocks.  But amidst their collective tears--crying together as a family--they persevered through all of it.

By the time Dad had finished speaking, she and Mother had gone to either side, hugging him as tightly as they could (although amusingly even then their arms barely reached around Father's broad chest and shoulders).  They'd held each other for some time, saying nothing; instead they wrapped themselves together in the Force both giving and receiving comfort and support.

It was as beautiful as it was cathartic.

By the time they'd released each other from their embrace, it was well after midnight local time.

Exhausted but content, Jorya left her parents' apartments, forgetting her robes.  As she lived in the Bachelorette's Quarters (lodgings commensurate with her rank as a full koawan), she had to take one of the hyperloops to get there.  All the while during her trip, she allowed herself to meditate on nothing in particular: a single drop of rain falling in the nearby Myrkviðr Forest, a blade of grass in the Llaño Plains, the strata in a weathered igneous rock in the S'Kandyas Mountains.

By the time she arrived at her apartments, she was beyond tired.  She threw her tunics, skirts, and leggings to the floor, kicking off her boots before she approached the comfortable bed in the middle of a modestly-sized bedroom.  Again, she didn't bother with her arm-wraps, snuggling deep into the blankets and pillows.  Before she knew it, she was fast asleep...

...And once again found herself in the middle of a shadowed, rocky canyon, the stone faces frozen in silent screams.

Why?  Why was she dreaming this again?

That's when it hit her, really hit her: she was completely lucid within the drea--the nightmare she corrected herself.

"Why am I here?!" She shouted. "What is this about?!  What do you want?!" Jorya's voice echoed throughout the canyon walls, the rocks appearing to move as if they were attempting to cover their own ears.  "WHAT DO YOU WANT, DAMMIT!?!" She demanded, not expecting an answer.

...Only--to her eternal horror--to receive one.

"You." Came a soft, almost dulcet voice from behind her.  A voice that she knew all too well.  Jorya broke out in a cold sweat, her body shivering uncontrollably.  Gritting her teeth hard to keep them from chattering, she steeled herself and turned.  The voice belonged to the past, to someone whom she had thought she would never see again.  Whose very face and voice inspired dread in Jorya beyond measure, a voice that she'd often heard when she'd been tortured again and again.  Involuntarily, her hand grabbed at her cybernetic lekku, the one excised when she was held prisoner at Kuat, courtesy of the Inquisitorious...

Standing before her was a tall, Ferroan woman whose severe face did little to distort her beauty.  She'd been apprenticed to this woman more than fifteen years ago, only learning later that she had killed her parents, absconding with her to Kewda.  It was only a few years later that Jorya learned who she really was, a terrible and accidental discovery that had led to her imprisonment at Kuat.  All of this passed through her mind in an instant, the history of her violent experiences burned forever in her memories, as well as the evil woman whom had frightened Jorya beyond measure.  It was only because of Father and Mother that she'd been able to survive, to recover, to live.  But seeing her here in front of Jorya brought up feelings that the young woman had thought long forgotten.  Standing in front of her, bedecked in her black armor, robes, and lightsaber, was the High Inquisitor--and later Sith Lord--herself:

Darth Mendax, Gaetana Ravine.

Despite her staggering--almost debilitating--fear, Jorya bravely stepped towards the tall woman, anger fixed upon her face.  She hoped to hide the horror that she now felt, remembering what Father had told her long ago: that courage was not the absence of fear but rather the ability to take action despite it.  She stood her full height, looking the slightly taller Ferroan woman almost directly in her golden eyes.  "What are you doing here?  Father told me that Master Karmack killed you." Jorya made herself smile.  "It's too bad that my Mother hadn't been there; I'm sure she would've schooled you again, like she did on Geonosis."

But if her taunting had any impact, Gaetana's face never changed.  Wearing a small, confident smile upon her light blue lips, she finally spoke.  "Oh my foolish, young acolyte.  Once again I must correct you, show you the error of your thinking."  She moved the first two fingers of her hand in a show of theatricality.  Immediately, Jorya found herself flying backwards until she hit the andesite stone wall behind her, causing her to bite her tongue, her arms splayed to either side and pinned to the wall.  Fighting down panic, Jorya did not struggle...not that she could anyway.  She was held fast against the rock.

"You see, acolyte, you damned yourself, tethering your mind to mine when you foolishly Delved the Dark Singer, Jennira Hri all those years ago1." Laughter, almost musical in tone flowed from her mouth.  Casually she walked towards Jorya.  "You see, Jennira was bonded to me, tethered by my mastery of Qâzoi Kyantuska2." Her long fingers reached out, stroking first Jorya's orange cheek and then her cybernetic lekku.  "Any mind that touches one controlled by Qâzoi Kyantuska becomes themselves infected."  She suddenly slapped Jorya, hard.  Tasting blood in her mouth, she made herself stare at Gaetana, fighting the growing panic from within.  "That was to get your attention because the next part is important."  The expression on her face hadn't changed at all.  "When that Mak'Tor bastard Karmack--" She spat, "--KILLED me3, I had only a fraction of a second to choose.  And seeing that you were doing so well with your training..." Her tone was one of biting sarcasm, "...I thought that I would use you for the Soul Transfer...BUT..."

Gaetana fell silent as a deep, yet kindly voice boomed from behind the Ferroan woman.  "...But, she was only partially successful, again thanks to the incredible energies released by the Mak'Tor Master Singer."  A tall figure shrouded in shadow stepped forth into the light, his hooded face no longer obstructed by the hood hanging from his head.  Jorya's terror doubled, tripled, as she looked upon the man's face.  She'd never met him, in fact she'd only had seen a few old-time picts of the man in Master Rakham's office in the Templar's Archives, but she recognized the face now staring at her, his white beard incongruous with his broad shoulders and deep chest.

Master Kadmaur.

"...how...?" Jorya's voice sounded infinitesimally small, especially compared to the other two.  Standing to either side of the trapped Togruta, Kadmaur and Gaetana looked at one another, their smiles deepening to grins.

"Again, I have you to thank for that, my acolyte." Gaetana laughed.  "When you, Rakham, and your Father--" She spat the last word, fury contorting her face, "--released your Mother from the Mind Trap, your Minds all touched.  Normally, nothing could happen; certainly nothing did for your Father--" Again, the rage in her tone threatened to overwhelm her but she calmed herself immediately afterwards, "--but for you and 'Master Rakham--'" Her voice now dripped with contempt, "--something did."  Theatrically she clapped, laughing delightfully.

Kadmaur's shoulders shook with his own amused laughter.  "Indeed." He stared deeply into Jorya's eyes.  "You see, as you and Rakham had both been infected by Qâzoi Kyantuska, it created a...a SAMENESS between you two.  At least, that's as best a description that your mind might understand." Seeing that Jorya was still confused, Kadmaur's tone became pedantic.  "Youth." He said disgustedly before continuing, "Both of you were infected with an imperfect mental shard as a result of the admittedly incomplete compatibility of Qâzoi Kyantuska and your own innate 'goodness...'" This time it sounded as if Kadmaur spat, "...but, with the close proximity of the two broken shards, they combined..." He motioned his hands up and down, pantomiming a scale.  "Well, Gaetana and I had a choice: do we fight against one other...or do we work together, to survive?"  He sounded contemplative.

"Of course, we had another choice to make, one that would be much, MUCH easier to decide." Gaetana went behind Kadmaur, wrapping her arms from around his back in a faux gesture of intimacy.  Her voice adopted a higher pitch as if to mock Jorya.  "'Who should we possess?' We asked each another." Her cruel eyes looked hungrily at Jorya.  "Three guesses on who we chose?"  They both then laughed, long and sadistically.

Finding a renewed sense of anger born of frustration, humiliation, and fear, Jorya shouted back.  "Frell you, frell you both!  I...I DENY you!  I will fight you!" She snarled.  "My Mother and Father will help me; together we'll send you both back to hell where you belong." Jorya hissed.

Again, if they were concerned, neither of the two acted like it.  "Ah, the vigor of youth!" Kadmaur instead exclaimed.  "I shall enjoy breaking you slowly..."

Gaetana gently cupped Jorya's face.  "Do not worry, my acolyte.  Kadmaur and I have already thought of that."  She pulled on Jorya's cybernetic lekku, hard.  "They'll never suspect...until it's too late.  And then your Mother and Father will know true pain."  A dangerous glint in Gaetana's eyes took the fury out of Jorya's spirit, replacing it with terror, despair, and sadness.  "Shall we begin?"

Immediately Jorya began to scream.

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(https://i.ibb.co/7KvwHxL/Jorya-8.jpg) (https://ibb.co/7KvwHxL)

D'Aylanna's morning had been both early and busy.

The worst had happened: Belynn Chand'n had found the Kage dead in her apartments early this morning.  All recording devices had been completely wiped clean, not even the silent alarms had been tripped.

When she and her Shakal had been awakened with the sad news, they decided to split their efforts: he would talk to the Triarch while she would speak with the Arbiter.  Together they would meet at the Hall of Balance with the rest of the Speakers.  But before she'd left her own apartments, D'Aylanna had noticed that Jorya had left her robes at their place.  And since the Bachelorette's Quarters were on the way to the Hall of Balance, D'Aylanna figured she'd see her daughter and give her back her robes.

Now, standing in front of Jorya's door, D'Aylanna found herself growing concerned by the fact that she'd chimed the door three times now.  

She was about to use her Speaker's Override when the door opened.  Standing in the doorway, already immaculately dressed, Jorya looked down at her much shorter adoptive Mother, her right hand still in her pockets.  "Mom, what a surprise!  What are you doing here?"

D'Aylanna paused, feeling a...almost an "itch" (that wasn't quite right but it was the closest approximation to it).  "Dear One...are you well?" Her dark eyes stared piercingly into her daughter's blue.  For a second, Jorya didn't respond.

"It's just that it was a late night, Mother...and with everything that Father told us, I was...I am still concerned." She sighed.

Again, D'Aylanna thought she felt something...but reminded herself that it probably had to do with the Kage's murder.  "As long as you are OK, Dear One." She said, handing Jorya her robes.

Jorya smiled if awkwardly.  She grabbed her robes from D'Aylanna, her right hand still in her pocket.  "I'm telling you, I'm fine, Mother.  But I would like to talk to you and Father again, soon." Her hand absently stroked her cybernetic lekku.  "I feel like I have so much to tell you..." She patted D'Aylanna's shoulder, firmly if gently pushing her out of the foyer.  "But not now; I know you're busy.  We can talk later."  And with a note of finality she closed the door.

D'Aylanna paused.  She hadn't recalled when (or if) her daughter had ever been so...brusque.  But either as a result of her own recent trauma or Oyuna's death, she dismissed the feeling as nothing more than a consequence rising from the combination of the previous night's resolution and this morning's tragedy.  Her mind occupied, she left for the Hall.

But for Jorya, she found herself standing in the middle of foyer on unsteady legs.  Where was she?  She couldn't remember anything, anything at all since...last night?  Looking down, she was surprised to find her robes in her left hand.  Questions consumed her already confused mind.

...Hadn't she left that at her parents' apartments?  And why was she in the middle of her entryway?  She could've sworn that Mother was here...

Suddenly, she felt--really felt--what was in her right hand.  Withdrawing it from the pocket in her split skirts, she was shocked to see that she held in her hand her shoto.  Jorya's head swam.  When had she put that there?  For that matter why was it there?  And why was it that she couldn't remember a single detail concerning this morn...

Jorya's conscious thoughts came to a complete stop, her body suddenly relaxing while her eyes glazed over.  Moving mechanically, she draped her robes over one of the aircouches in the small atrium then, again moving as if by rote, clipped her shoto to the wide leather belt laying in the middle of the room.  Finally, she trudged into her bedroom, disrobed, and lay down on the bed...

Jorya's eyes exploded open, adrenaline pumping through her body.  Her eyes darted around the room in an attempt to gain her bearings.  After a moment she began to relax.  But considering the nightmares that she'd had last night, Jorya wasn't in the least bit surprised to find herself confused.

Rising, she went through her normal routine: refresher, sonic shower, sonic toothbrush, change of clean clothes, some fruit and protein bar before donning a utilitarian jumpsuit (she was scheduled to train some teidowans with basic Sho Chi katas this morning).  She was about to step out the door when she noticed her robes.

Jorya paused, a sliver of consternation and fear beginning to form in the pit of her stomach, as if something of immeasurable importance was lost.

Instead she shrugged, the answer coming to her almost immediately: Mother or Father must've stopped by sometime and dropped her robes off.  After all, she'd entrusted them both with her entry codes.  That must be it.

Without a backwards glance she left, contentment soon erasing whatever trepidations that she'd initially felt.  Leaving her quarters behind, she went forth to perform the day's obligations, the morning's peculiarities forgotten.

But, like before, had she checked her reflection she would've seen that her eyes had turned--however briefly--from her blue to the yellow eyes of a Sith.

The End
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________
1:as seen WAAYYY back in "Shadow Etude, CH.7: http://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=36277.msg594108#msg594108 (http://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=36277.msg594108#msg594108)
2:as seen WAAYYY back in "Interlude-Sith Savior: http://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=36209.msg595373#msg595373 (http://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=36209.msg595373#msg595373)
3:as seen WAAYYY back in "What You Leave Behind, CH.25, part 4: http://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=38818.msg679451#msg679451 (http://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=38818.msg679451#msg679451)


Title: Re: Retrieval
Post by: Lord_S_Gray on July 08, 2022, 07:40:41 AM
Wow, there is so much going on here it's hard to even know where to begin! A first breif mention of the great details of Sekot featured here, really makes it feel alive how places like "Myrkviðr Forest, a blade of grass in the Llaño Plains, the strata in a weathered igneous rock in the S'Kandyas Mountains." are just mentioned in passing, no need for further detail, it just makes it feel like we are truly in that galaxy far far away.

Alcyorr using the Cataphracts 'parallel' hierarchy to give Zearic a promotion after his demotion by Listian as the first step was interesting, tell more about the Cathar than Zearic of course in the question he asked him regarding the high price he paid for Cha's training. He better keep that Cataphract armour on cause someone is hell bent on killing him, and getting to the Kage, more than capable of doing so!.

And the Jorya...she was warned about her delving way back when the seemingly undying Mendax first was on the scene, and now the price is being paid in ways she never expected.  Host to both Mendax and Kadmaur, that is not a good place to be, and they seem more than able of using her as they please, effectiveyl resetting her memory inbetween moments of possession. Credit where it's due those two set their amibitons and selfishness aside to survive, can't really fault them for that in a sense. Jorya will need a lot of help exorcising those demons...but how can she get it when she doesn't always consciously recall the fact.

This was less an epligoue than a prologue to even grander narratives going forward!  What will become of the Vhal'Dan now thier Kage has been murdered in her own office, where will Zearics role with the cataphratcs lead him, and what of D'Alyanna's vision of a tide of death rushing to meet the nascent Templar/Vhal'Dan alliance.

If this story proved anything, it was the resilience and strength of family and friends united in common effort, D'Alyanna coming back was a great success, the Templar alliance a great step forward...and yet it all ends on grim notes. No matter how strong you are, there is always someone stronger, and there is always another Chapter.

Great work Dutch, a brilliant series laced with incredible details, gripping action and some very emotive moments!  Now when do we get to read what comes next!