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Author Topic: What You Leave Behind  (Read 55765 times)
Lord_S_Gray
Knight Commander
*

Force Alignment: 428
Posts: 1903



« Reply #240 on: May 01, 2023, 12:07:29 AM »

Chapter 39 - Fools Errands — Part 2
Chandrilla
Elegant white towers and gentle curving promenades along the ocean greeted the Hope as it settled onto the peaceful world, the last remnants of faux allegiance to the Empire in the form of banners and statues quietly packed away as soon as word of Palptaines death had been verified.

“Finally,” Karmack huffed once more standing like an angry gargoyle to frighten off enemies above an ancient city states gate. 

Closing his eyes he reached in and pulled the threads of the Song together seeking what he needed to protect the Mak’Tor and vindicate himself.

“Yes…we’ll find something here, guidance direction…”

<<<<>>>>

Swirling Killik reliefs, incomprehensible Gree tableaus that appeared like a tide moulded sea shore, the sharp glyphs of the Kwa pressed by sharpened bird bones into clay. 

All these floated in enviro-sealed displays ensconced within the pillars of he Hanna Institute of Antiquities lobby beneath a vast fresco of the Triumph of the Dawn Goddess held by micro repulsors on the ceiling, painstakingly reconstructed from its fragmented state found in the Burial Chamber of Contispex VIII of the Pius Dea Era.

Karmack brushed passed these and dozens of other priceless artifacts without a second glance, if his eyes flickered above him to the image of Contispex offering the Wealth of the Impure - nonhuman races - to the Goddess as tribute it was only to idly wonder in some back corner of his mind if the Artemis Goddess statues weren’t somehow related to the ancient Xenophobic Theoracy of the Pius Dea Era.

Arnor struggled to keep pace with his forceful strides that echoed on the marhl-granite floors, small groups of visitors and academics giving him a wide berth.

His face was drawn and gaunt, eyes dark from Force powered insomnia, hands twitching still from endless hours tweaking his crystal choir.  This alone would cause people to leer away, the intensity of his aura in the Force made them all but cower.

An oblivious young volunteer attendant, barely old enough to have a speeder license at the spacious Wroshyr desk was his target.

His knuckles pushed into the table as he used his height to overwhelm the teenage girl.

“Coruscant Expedition 4-Esk, where are the artefacts,”

Her lips quivered and hands rattled as she typed in the request without replying, two security officers in sky blue garb already approaching from the side to intercept the mad robed figure Arnors husband had become.

“Sir would you…” before the officer could even finish his sentence he stopped dead still as if frozen in time.

“I don’t have time for this…” Karmack huffed
“The artefacts…”

“I don’t know…it says Dr. Lysshi Tojul is the contact,”

“Where is she?”

“Level 8 but you need…” he was already heading to the turbo lift
“...an appointment…”

Once more Arnor was chasing his steps barely catching him before the Turbo lift doors closed.

“Karm, that was downright rude and unnecessary,” she snapped her annoyance at his arrogance growing by the minute.

his mouth curled in indignation
“I’m not in the mood to negotiate with grave robbers,”

The implicit tit for tat was ugly as it was hard to argue against when Karmack seemed to be thinking in increasingly black and white terms.

Before Arnor could even conjure a response the doors opened and Karmack swept out into the long curved corridor, frosted glass doors and bone white walls dividing it from spacious offices.

Guided by some invisible impulse he headed straight for Dr. Tojuls office, the door unlocked he strode in to a stunned middle aged woman in the middle of a holo call.

“...I’ll have to call you back J’un…” she said clicking the small image of a reclining Ikotchi off.

Karmack didn’t even look at her.  His eyes were drawn behind her desk to the right, where next to a book case, in one of the ubiquitous suspended animation fields that held antiques from across the galaxy was a large carved mural.

Made of a blue-grey stone it showed a sequence in three parts, the bottom third dozens of knights engaged in combat against enemy knight, the middle a large tar like symbol in the centre spreading rays that struck the knights dead, their faces wailing in terror, the top the Knights whole and hearty once more, bowing in all reverence before the Seat of the Maker - an archaic device in ancient Mak’tor manuscripts - indicating their acceptance into the After life as the Honoured Dead.

“You have no shame do you,” Karmack said with quiet disgust, Arnor would’ve much preferred him to yell compared to the sinister low tone he adopted.

“You don’t just desecrate our tombs, you put the artefacts you stole on open display,”

Around the image Arnor recognised Mak’Tora runes, all the symbology used was distinctly Mak’Tor pre-exile in origin, she’d flicked through enough of her fathers papers and books to know it corresponded exactly with the imagery used shortly after the war on Ruusan.

“I’m sorry who are…” once more a voice was stopped dead by Karmacks anger.

“Where are the rest of the artefacts, was a crystal, like this one. among them?,” he held the blazing Ancient One before her, the Kyber glowing with the intensity of its masters power, painful to look at.

“Karm!” Arnor grabbed his arm, he shrugged her off, his complete focus on the thief before him

“The…they…are in the Vaults…crystals…one for each body…none like that…but I don’t know…they’re gone…”

Karmacks burning gaze doubled in heat

“Gone, where?”

“Sold…”

Arnors grip on his arm loosened as she knew, just knew what he would ask and what the answer would be.

“Sold to whom,” he demanded utterly certain of the words that would pass Tojuls lips

“Artemis Industries,”

<<<<<>>>>>

“Everything is fine,” Karmack insisted with cold restraint as they passed the guard behind Tojul into the Basement 23 vault.

Arnor followed them deeper through the climate and gravity controlled chambers housing relics, like herself half forgotten.

Her husband was right, at every turn, there was Artemis, they had a decade long - at the very least - head start on them, the evidence they were after the Ancient One, and now the Starfire, overwhelming.

His anger, frustration, anxiety and fear were all completely rational  -these were beings who had revived Mendax for, what they could only comprehend as a way to either assassinate Karmack without getting their own hands dirty, or failing that force Karm to use the Ancient One so they could learn more about it.  Artemis, their Black Armoured thugs and Grey plated Mark IV droids were an existential threat to the Mak’Tor, physically and more than that spiritually.

He was trying to protect them, She could see that, she could feel that - her Husband wanted to find the tools he needed to fight off the darkness…but by the Maker the How of his crusade was was changing him and not for the better. 

Arnor was afraid in defeating Artemis Kamrack would lose himself.

“This one,” he snapped already knowing before the bulky vault door
“Correct,” was the swaying doctors reply, the Force Compulsion absolute on her mind

Karmack was already slipping.

Lights within blinked on, shimmering force shields blinked on dividing the walkway down the vault interior from the artefacts themselves so they were not tainted anymore than they had been.

Karmack strode in with silent reverence for the ancient bodies floating suspended upright in their full armour, still dented and cut from the battlefields of Ruusan, sabers grasped in their hands at eternal vigil, but he could feel the absence in each one, the lack of any crystal at the sabers heart.

This was not a dead end, his senses sharper than he could ever had imagined he was able to feel the traces of the Crystals, their ‘imprint’ upon the sabers, the Force flowing through it so much in life, and held so tightly within in death for centuries it could not help but leave an echo.

It was these echoes he listened to, the soft stirrings of the song last sung a millenia ago.  Determination, desperation, hope, and horror, all the leavings of crystals that had seen the worst of the fighting on the muddy plains and the harrowing devastation of the Thought Bomb that ended the war.

These were warriors who knew the Light, and the Dark, and did not flinch to fight it, real Knights, not the bureaucratic fops and political pieces so many had become cowering from the Empire…

I should have fought harder, more openly… he chastised his younger self, so weak, so unskilled, if he had unlocked the Ancient One earlier, mastered the Song he could’ve led the Rebellion himself, faced down the Inquisitors, Vader even, been a beacon of hope the Jedi- Temple and Gray - in hiding.

No more he promised himself, as Master Singer it was his Maker given duty to oppose Evil, and today that evil was Artemis.

One by one he found no song echoes of any similarity to the Ancient One within the fallen nights sabers, he almost felt relief, it meant, most likely the Starfire had never left Ruusan.

Artemis he realized must first have purchased the crystals from the Hanna institute hoping to obtain it easily, -when they realized it wasn’t there they went to Coruscant themselves, planting their blasphemous idol but finding nothing else. 

Finally for the first time since that first mention of the Black Armours in a briefing with Silman on the Sons of Kessel seemingly a lifetime ago he felt he had finally caught up to them, his forceful approach to obtaining this intelligence vindicated by results.

“It’s not here…it never was…” he said out loud

“Then it's still on Ruusan,” Arnor deduced “Now we just have to find the system….”

“We already have…” Karmack interrupted walking to the far end where the Triptych that once stood at the far end of the Crypt on Coruscant was held lit from below giving it an ominous looming presence.

It featured more details than the summary plinth in the doctor's office, the stories of individual Knights recorded beneath small single reliefs that showed their profile, their faces always turned to the Makers Throne in the Center of the large carving.   

Karmack ran his hand over the Triptych feeling the static of the force shield that protected it, past Lord Galen Chillum, and the Sage and bearer of the Ancient One Slo’Ma’Mack his ancestor to the seeming innocuous image of Gel’I’Xandir - the last known descendant of the Xandir Clan.

Silver Gel’I’Xandir, Honoured of the Maker, Slew the Dark Jedi Tjjun Raav, carrier of the Crystal of the Xandir Clan, fell in the Fifth Battle of Ruusan. Kal’an’Cam offer his Endless Gratitude to Gel’I’Xandir for saving him from the Mortars of Veesh Ridge.” Karmack recited from the Triptych entry all the while staring at the carved image that captured the likeness of a middle aged woman whose features were sharp and defined, eyes focused but weary of the war she had the misfortune to live at the time of.

Arnor stared but couldn't make out the ancient Mak’Tor Runes apart from the odd word or title, the Ancient Ones Power allowing the Master Singer to comprehend the most ancient of Mak’Tor writing since the time of its creation as easily as Basic.

“And Here…” he belt before the Triptych, at the base were odd symbols, lines cutting through circles and ellipses seemingly a decorative motif in the border of the main carving. 

“This is no decoration, this is a star map to Ruusan for Coruscant…” taking out his Datapad from his pack he began taking picts, but int ruth he was etching the symbols in his mind, with this and a regular star map he could easily find, if not the exact location, the approximate sector zone 1000 years prior, with a Star chart backdated to that time the calculator of its location would be simple astronavigation.

Now…now he had an edge on Artemis.

“She died in the Fifth Battle, weeks before the final Seventh, she would’ve had a field burial in a cave or hollow - something must’ve prevented them from repatriating her to Coruscant at the time…the Starfire, the Crystal of Xandir must still be with her,”

He stood at last with a sense of hope.

There was of course still the Doctor to deal with.

“Now you…” he sneered turing to Tojul, power flaring through him, his Will an avalanche of stone upon the reedlike weakness of the academic.
“...You will arrange for all Mak’Tor artefacts to be shipped to M’tzigon at your own expense, never again will you defile the heritage of our Order…if you don’t…”

The words were simple, direct, yet devastating, Tojul blinked a handful of times, then flopped down, Arnor barely catching her.

Karmack marched out.

<<<<>>>>


She said nothing, she did nothing but follow her husband back to the star port.

The image of what they left behind at the Hanna Institute reflects in her mind's eye, Doctor Tojul being carted away by first aid officers, the security guards withering under Karmacks gaze into stupors of inaction.

As they waited for the doors to open she stared at his face from the side and more than ever saw fully what he was becoming.

She had tried to be patient, given him the benefit of the doubt time and again, she understood his fears, knew his worries…but she couldn’t do nothing any more.

Over the ferrocrete and grated durasteel, Alex’s droid Zuzu whirring away from his path Karmack walked straight past the Jedi Sentinel and his young wife up the boarding ramp.

“We’re going to Ruusan,”

The order delivered without elaboration or justification.
 
“Wait a second, we never agreed to that!” Alex protested
“Tel’Owna contracted us to take you to Coruscant and back, we’ve already done more than that covering you in the underlevels and taking you here, we’re not Mak’tor you can order around,”

“We don’t have time for this,” Karmack replied insistently

You might not, but we have all the time in the galaxy,” Joanna snapped
“Now get off my ship!”

Up till then Karmack had been halfway up the ramp staring into the ship, now he slowly turned round, energy building in the ancient one Alex and Arnor could both sense,

Fists on her hips oblivious to the Force energy build up Joanna stood defiant.

“I am trying to save M’Tzigon, the Galaxy itself, from a seditious faction of necromancers and dark siders who already have armies of Kage Killer Droids, trillions of credits and superhuman soldiers. 
Only I can find the Starfire and drive them away, and I will not be delayed a minute longer by the ignorance of a forceless child blind to the threats all around us!”

Alex leapt in between Karmack and Joanna,

“Don’t you ever speak to my wife like that again!” Alex yelled “Feeling the Force doesn’t make you any better than anyone else!”

The Master singer shook his head at the younger man's foolishness,

“You can’t even comprehend the powers involved, the danger you're in, I am taking this ship to Ruusan with or without you,”   

“The hell you…” Alex had barely lifted his foot from the ground when a wave of force energy sent him flying across the hangar, clattering into empty shipping containers.

Joanna felt her hand pinned mid air reaching for her pistol.

Arnor stared at the man who had once been her husband knowing he was now beyond reach.

Karmack walked into he ship, Joanna staggering as his telekinetic grip released into Arnor’s arms, Joanna’s muscles aching from the unnatural stasis as Alex rushed to help.


“I..I can’t stop him,” Alex stammered

“I know,” Arnor finally spoke, “None of us can…for now we do what he says, but find a way to stop off somewhere quiet and unpopulated - I’ll contact someone who can.”   

<<<<>>>>

Morrigan
The storm-wracked orange crescent of Ossus appeared from the depths of black as Zearics Bane cruised closer.

Already she could feel echoes of her own song on a world she had never been.  Yes Dorian had hidden her crystals here, the fool.

“Told you I knew the way,” another fool behind her growled.

Aydyn was more animal than man, a predatory hunch to his posture as if perpetually ready to leap onto some unfortunate creature and tear its throat open with his teeth.

She would have to be very careful in how she dealt with him…until she had her Crystals…and then…

What a fine Pet he would make.

<<<<>>>>
Logged

Lord_S_Gray

Surik: "Kreia, what are you—are you a Jedi, a Sith?"
Kreia: "Does it matter? Of course it does, such titles allow you to break the galaxy into light and dark, categorize it. Perhaps I am neither, and I hold both as what they are, pieces of a whole."

TheDutchman
Knight Commander
*

Force Alignment: 1106
Posts: 4131


Avatar courtesy of For Tyeth


« Reply #241 on: May 03, 2023, 05:56:14 PM »

Further down the spiral we go...

With Morrigan's strength returning, she is that much closer to realizing her dreams of revenge as well as dominion.  Which is what makes her choice of companions such an irony: Aydyn's anti-matriarchal stance should make them natural enemies (indeed, I imagine that he epitomizes the idea of "apostate" in Aethan society) but it proves that both of them are intelligent enough (and willing) to make concessions to achieve their own ends.

Which makes me believe that Ossus is going to be more than a mere destination...and that both of them will get more than they bargained for (or expected).

Meanwhile, Karmack has finally crossed the moral event horizon, manhandling those that have helped him (poor Alex & Joanna), going so far as to completely ignore Arnor.  Indeed, the only caveat that Karm seems to respect is that "The Ends Justify the Means" so long as he is able to beat Artemis.  But even with Arnor convinced of activating the "nuclear option," the problem remains: will it be enough?

Which leads me to Er'Lav: she seems to be a more introspective Kage than Silman Lo.  That is not to say "better," merely more deliberate with her choices and responses.  Certainly enough for Cha to take notice.  Of course, with a cypher like the former Inquisitor, one never quite knows what he's thinking...

Meta-note: Excellent characterization, pathos, and intense drama.  Karm's desire to stop Artemis has gone beyond obsession; now he is deep in the mindset of an almost "Force Psychosis."  Reminds me of the beginning of Timothy Zahn's "Hand of Thrawn duology where Luke has become so powerful that he was ignoring the subtler thing surrounding the Force (Mara Jade even calls him on this).  Only this time, Karm is pursuing even MORE power...and he's not necessarily wrong to do so.

The only problem is, if he retrieves the Starfire, will he become a bigger threat than what Artemis represents?

A good character study of what happens when a good man begins to become intransigent while trying to protect what he holds dear  Smiley

And once again the pictures are awesome!  Kudos to LSG for the renderings^^
Logged

Sig courtesy of DarthScrub

Cataphract Triarch of the Vhal'Dan

My sabers:Zearic's Aldrnari, Archon v3 (modded w/ activation box) w/Obsidian, AS; Zearic's shoto, Apprentice v4 w/Obsidian, AS; Graflex SE w/Obsidian, GB; Archon v3 (modded w/ activation box) w/Obsidian, CG; Dark Sentinel v4 w/Obsidian, BR; Sentinel LE v4 w/Obsidian, GB; Initiate v5 w/Obsidian, AS; Sentinel LE v4 stunt, EG; Aeon LE v4 stunt, FO; Dominix v4 stunt, BR; Aeon v3 stunt, SY

Lord_S_Gray
Knight Commander
*

Force Alignment: 428
Posts: 1903



« Reply #242 on: May 31, 2023, 04:59:53 AM »

Chapter 40 - Confessions to a Daemon - Part 1

****Thanks to Dutch for these great chapters, concepts and Characters******

Zearic

Day 19

Flaming winds of scathing sand beat against the granite faces of the Maruunos Valleys.

Like the fingers of Celestial giants, hardened granite of M’Tzigon’s crust reached into sky, the last remnants of the southern Siccum Haranae Mountains that had long ago collapsed into the dunes, the grinding gypsum on the air whittling down what had once been vast edifice of slated rock into hundreds of sharpened hoodoos ranging from a few meters to several stories in height.

Stratified at 45 degrees to the horizon with blue, brown, and blacks that glittered with shimmering quartz fragments, and - as the occasional rusted ruin of an old excavators reminded him - so called ‘"Sand Kyber" - a harsh crystal even the Singers of the Mak’Tor had never worked into a usable form for lightsabers.

Squinting against the noon sun Zearic was astonished he’d come this far, being herded by Cha’s incessant attacks and vague hints at the next drop of supplies to this place.

The sands here were thinner, harsh vine-like cacti clinging to life in the shaded nooks of the Maruunos Monuments as the eco-tourism branded the jagged columns of eroding rock.

There was little to cover Zearic now, his bands and rags worn down, his skin would certainly require hydrational balms when - if - he ever left this place.

Only the clawing hunger of his stomach was harsher than the moisture sucking heat as his feet treaded carefully, senses altered for even the slightest incongruity as the worn soles of his boots proved no protection to the searing heat pulsing off the increasingly rocky ground as he moved forward.

Only to suddenly collapse a moment later.

As his legs sagged down the stun-spike stabbed into both his upped arms, the same nerve-freeze spreading down his arms and across his back and torso.

Before it reached his neck a band of iron encircled it, squeezing the air from his throat.  Dazed, his daggers suddenly dropped from the tight orbits they'd encircled around his shoulders, sticking blade-first in the white sands.

“We’re going to play a game of truth or Death,” Cha whispered in the larger but utterly impotent man’s ear, seeming to step out of thin air.

“Tell me why you came to me for training?” he emphasized the question with a squeeze round his neck that didn’t loosen.

Zearic coughed and gaped for air that Cha wouldn’t allow; he had to answer.

“Learn to use my new body, daggers…”

“No…” Cha tightened the grip “the Truth.”

“ready…in case Karm…goes too far…”

“Closer but not quite,” Cha squeezed tighter, Zearic’s eyes beginning to bulge as his thoughts began to bob up and down in the nascent stages of loss of consciousness.

“Protect…everyone from him…my family…even himself...”

“Will you die lying to me and yourself!” Cha snapped completely cutting off the Vhal’Dan’s air.

His face was bulging with trapped blood, body starting to tremble in oxygen starved convulsions, but Cha kept his grip firm.

“Admit what you really want to do!” The Inquisitor demanded.

“Beat him!” Zearic heaved out, an instant later the pressure was relieved and his lung reflectively filled with a huge guttural gasp inward, caring nothing for the sand and grit that filled his mouth, but the durasteel lock was still round his neck.

Zearic knew it wouldn’t be removed until every last despicable desire was vomited forth.

“I want to beat him, show him up for always being better than me…stronger…nobler…I hate him for it…”

Cha’s grip release fully and Zearic crashed forward to the sand, with an idle kick Cha put the disabled man onto his side so he could breath.

“He’s always been the hero, he had it so easy, raised on M’Tzigon in peace and harmony while I starved and begged on Dalos IV, advancing by leaps and bounds while I struggled with cybernetic rejection, he was fighting, Mendax and Mellichae, while I wrestled with nightmares…he gets the Ancient One full of boons, I get these cursed daggers…even my renewal…”

Sensation slowly coming back he raised his so recently regenerated arms to block out at the sun.  “...Comes with so many chains I feel like I’m being dragged to hell while he keeps stepping toward the heavens…I’m petty, I’m jealous, and I know I shouldn’t be, but frell it I can’t help it, and I hate myself for it…”

Pushing himself up he pressed on the fallen Nocte, eyes tracing the strange script along the blade.

“'She left you behind for a reason'…I keep telling myself it’s true, that it isn’t just a mind game, that I have a role to play, that maybe I’m the chosen one, raised up from less than nothing to something grand, a Knight who will save the galaxy, to kill the ‘Mad Singer?’." 

His head felt hot, having more to do with the blood rushing to his face as he spoke of things that he'd tried to bury deep.

"I should be too old for it but I’m not… Even if I have to fight him, and even if I beat him it won’t satisfy me, it won’t change a thing - I’ll still be the Runt from Dalos IV… A knight because my adoptive father made sure I became one, my name from a wife I do not deserve and cannot protect, a daughter from despair and convenience not my own blood, Power gifted by Gods - never earned, weapons stolen from the dead.”

He shook his head as his words ran dry along with his throat, sensation had returned to his limbs, heat and pain with it.

“I’m a fraud who thinks if he can win against a real Knight he might earn his place as one…” Zearic's hazel eyes blazed red, suddenly speechless as if having spoken the truth had left him empty.

“And that is why you came to me,” Cha’s voice held no levity only resonant sincerity of an empathetic friend. 

“We’re not good men Zearic, we can never escape what we are underneath the façade - you the violent nascent gang-knifer of Dalos, I the vindictive sadistic Inquisitor - murderers, criminals, first and always.  You have Karmack, I had my Brother…role models we can never live up to - so we hope to them tear down to our level.”

Picking Up Zearic’s forgotten sabers Cha came round in front of him, extending his hand.

Zearic instantly suspected a trap and held the Nocte ready to cut that hand off at the wrist.

“You’ve finally re-learned what you are,” Cha smiled, tossing the sabers at him.

Zearic understood now, why Cha had agreed to train him - not for the paltry Templar data and Vhal’Dan security details his masters could, sooner or later, obtain themselves - but because Cha was an Inquisitor who wanted Karmack dead - and the best way to do that - always - was have some other idiot murder him for you.

Zearic was that idiot.

<<<< >>>>
Logged

Lord_S_Gray

Surik: "Kreia, what are you—are you a Jedi, a Sith?"
Kreia: "Does it matter? Of course it does, such titles allow you to break the galaxy into light and dark, categorize it. Perhaps I am neither, and I hold both as what they are, pieces of a whole."

Lord_S_Gray
Knight Commander
*

Force Alignment: 428
Posts: 1903



« Reply #243 on: May 31, 2023, 05:00:49 AM »

Chapter 40 - Confessions to a Daemon - Part 2
Day 26
With the whine of unlubricated equipment a constant backdrop against which the blowing wind nullified any other sounds, Zearic had a difficult time trying to distinguish anything unnatural or amiss.  Even with his senses enhanced with a trickle of the Force, he could make out nothing else.  But he knew that he was in the right place: amongst the abandoned droid outpost would be supplies that he desperately needed.

Or so Cha had claimed.

As unseen eyes scrutinized the surrounding white sand dunes, the jutting rock anticlines, and the dilapidated automated machinery from the large, empty manufactory, the clear blue skies of the Oso Dormeando Dunes seemed to ripple as the hot, arid air further obfuscated the area.  Noiselessly, twin black daggers orbited invisibly as Zearic continued to survey what he knew to be his objective.

It had been an eventful week since Cha had ambushed him at the Sand Kyber excavators, drawing out his own inner daemons.

Within that time, he'd honed the tricks that he'd learned, gaining a level of expertise that surprised even him.  Every day since, he'd fought the former Inquisitor multiple times each day, each time progressing more, now almost matching Cha's unrelenting and savage power if not precisely his treacherous nature.  He'd more than learned the importance of fighting dirty.

Zearic had tapped into the Survival instinct that he'd all but buried and forgotten from his youth, the way of looking at everything through the Cold Equation. 

He'd taken Cha's words to heart: he would be what he was, what he'd learned--lived--on Dalos IV.  He was both predator and prey, every advantage that could be had would be used.

And he would feel what he felt, jealousy, bitterness, even hatred - instead of wasting energy hiding those emotions he would draw power from them.

But he refused to subscribe to Cha's nihilism.  Maker knew that Zearic was no saint, but if his time with his family had taught him, a man could change and learn from his actions, his experiences...

...His mistakes.

Zearic knew that he'd need all said advantages possible if he were to actually fight Karm while he channeled the Ancient One.  No, not "fight."  He would have to win; anything less and the Mak'Tor Sage would crush him.  As a result, he had several contingencies planned for just that reason.  …You're a bastard... He admonished himself, although the thought seemed smaller now, a hollow thing compared to the self-hatred he'd first felt speaking the unvarnished truth of yesterweek.

But uncertainty remained, his stark admission drawn out by Cha loud in his ears, the raw emotion of his deepest thoughts, doubts...desires...ripped from within him now echoing in his mind.  Speaking of it had given it a weight that he'd up until then ignored.

Karmack was a friend, a man whom he'd fought with side-by-side, a man that he'd come to trust implicitly...just as Karm had trusted Zearic.  Both men had saved one another on more than one occasion...

He felt shame...but not as much as he'd worried he would.  And that was the worst of it.

...Because... Zearic thought, once again looking at the Cold Equation.  ...Karm is too powerful, too obstinate...he listens to no one, not even Arnor...

It was the same answer every time.  Moreover, Zearic knew that Kage Er'Lav would only send someone else had he refused.  Yes...he'd finally accepted that he was a bastard.  At least this way, he could do everything possible to try to stop Karm, make him listen to reason, to show his friend which way he was headed...and the danger that he was putting himself and his family in.  And perhaps--just perhaps--Zearic would be able to feel worthy of his wife's respect, of his daughter's adoration, of his father's pride.

Or so he hoped.

...She left you for a reason...

He'd always had to deal with adversity: from the deadly streets of Dalos IV to the fact that he'd always ranked amongst the last in the Order--at least in raw power--Zearic's entire life had been a constant struggle.

But then Kazic had found him.  From then on, he'd had people--a family!--with which he could rely upon, friends that he could count on to watch his back.  He was no longer alone.  Only now, he had something else

With his renewal, he was no longer the weakling in the Force that he'd been his entire life.  With the month's training, he'd learned how best to use the gifts he'd been given.  Now, in addition to his daggers, he knew that he was no longer the helpless gutter-rat on the mean streets of Kavila forced to fight over discarded scraps.  For all intents and purposes, he should be happy with those facts.

And, but for three caveats, he was.  But what a trio they were...

First, even with his enhanced physiology, his increased strength in the Force, and his two Oblivion daggers, he couldn't possibly withstand Karm's powerful mental assaults, not when powered by the Ancient One.  At least he had an idea about how to counter that; Zearic just hoped that Jaim would agree.  The second was the fact that Cha had shown him the darkness within himself, holding up a mirror that blocked the Light that being around his family had made him forget...but, as Cha had demonstrated, it was most certainly a part of him.  Zearic had used the last seven days to embrace that darkness again.

Besides, if he could accept the reality of his motives then he could live with the results if it meant keeping his family safe.

But the third...well, he would have to deal with his seeming unmitigated subservience to the Black Armors after everything with Karmack.  If he still lived, that is.  ...So much from keeping D'Aylanna and Jorya safe... He cursed silently.  ...Especially when I cannot even trust myself...

But right now he couldn't afford to worry about that.  His objective--and Cha--awaited.

Wrapped in the advanced form of Buried Presence that he'd mastered from Cha, Zearic made no sound nor any mark in the sand to show his passing, the gentle winds that buffeted the Dunes kicking up more of the white gypsum sand.  It bothered the large Vhal'Dan not in the least, and not because the head scarves wrapped around his head protected him from sand and sun nor that his ragged tunics keeping the worst of the weather from slowing him.

Zearic was One with the Force, with his sabers, even his daggers; he was One with himself, Dark and Light.  Just as Cha had pointed out to him.

Silently, he made his way down to the automated manufactory, ancient large doors hanging from old, rusted hinges in danger of falling off in the next sandstorm.  Incredibly, some of the machinery still worked, several of the assembly line parts going through their automated programming despite the fact that there was no raw material to work on.  But that wasn't important; Zearic finally saw what he was so desperately looking for.

A large backpack full of supplies sitting upright on the floor between two clunking conveyor belts, several large droid arms moving about as if they still worked on...whatever it was that the manufactory had been built for.

Completely invisible while wrapped in Buried Presence, Zearic controlled his breathing, silencing even his pulse beating in his ears.  Even his spinning daggers made no sound, the two black blades acting as silent sentinels protecting him from Force attacks.

The problem with that though was that Cha knew of the daggers' abilities.

That only meant that Zearic had to continue thinking outside the box.  Scanning the large manufactory floor, Zearic knew that Cha would never make something so easy as a seemingly unprotected supply pack easy treasure.  Pulsing his Force ability, Zearic took control of one of the droid arms, moving it towards the backpack to see if he couldn't use its rusting jaws to grab the supplies.

He felt no surprise as the arm moved through the backpack, dispelling the Illusion.  Nevertheless, the trap had been sprung; Cha would've felt the Force energies momentarily spike.

And that's when he struck.

With only a half-second's warning, Cha's twin red blades erupted from thin air, his own Force Concealment dropping as he attacked.  Stealth no longer needed, Zearic dispelled his own Buried Presence, his icy-blue mainhand saber parrying one red blade while his silver shoto blocked the other.  But Cha never wavered with his offensive.

Around the ruined manufactory floor the two men fought, flashes of crimson, silver, and sapphire illuminating the shadowed interior against the sporadic golden rays of M'Tzigon's sun as daylight burst through the many holes and cracks in the dilapidated ceiling.  Up, down, and around rusting gantries, ramps, and platforms, the two men fought as the flow of battle passed from one to the other, each adopting a different lightsaber Form accordingly.  As if the sunlight would burn his skin, Cha danced away within the enormous interior, Zearic now pursuing him.

Both men seemed oblivious of the automated machinery around them.  But this time, instead of silence, Zearic tried a new tactic, one that Cha had been using almost constantly on him since the very first ambush almost four weeks ago.

"For all your talk, you run like a coward." Zearic growled, carefully drawing upon his Force reserves to prolong his stamina.

Cha smiled as a missile of broken stanchion flew past him intent on bowling Zearic over, only for it to be deflected by one of the daggers flying around the bigger man.  "A coward is someone who survives." His red lightsabers battered against Zearic's blue&silver in a blur of plasma.  "A hero is someone who is dead."

Zearic nodded mentally.  "So only heroes die?"  With this, the Vhal'Dan flowed from Soresu into Juyo, taking up the offensive and pushing Cha back.  Unconsciously, his daggers absorbed the Force Pushes that Cha tried to strike from all around, all to no effect.

"And fools." He barked a flippant laugh, face unconcerned that it was now Zearic that controlled the rhythm of the fight.  He projected a Phantasm toward Zearic, one that instantly dissolved as the daggers fed upon the Force energies.  Cha retreated back towards the manufactory floor where the conveyors were.

Zearic did not show the smile he felt.  "Like your brother?" He asked as they reached the center of the two main conveyors, readying himself by subtly shifting back to Soresu.

For once, Cha faltered, his mask falling to expose the man beneath.  "Namman...?" He whispered unintentionally, his lightsabers faltering for a split second, giving Zearic the opening he needed.

"I heard that when Karm killed him, he squealed like an emasculated gamorrean tralk..." He suddenly twisted his wrist, striking hard with his blue blade and sending one of Cha's lightsabers flailing through the shadows.  Simultaneously he attacked low with his shoto as Cha momentarily found himself exposed.  But the former Inquisitor did not run; instead anger clouded his face as pure rage enveloped him.

Just as Cha had studied Zearic, he too had carefully watched the former Inquisitor.  He was good, very good, with guarding his emotions.  But over those seven days, little things began to add up.  Taken with what Zearic had noticed from before, it had given him better insight of his opponent.

And how best to exploit such.
 
"Namman deserved better than that!" Uncharacteristic spittle flew from gritted teeth as Cha furiously attacked.  So savage was it that Zearic was forced on the defensive, hard-pressed regardless that he still had both of his sabers.  This time the big man gave ground, backing towards the conveyor belt with the droid arms.  "That Mak'Tor pfassk...his self-righteous piety...lies!  LIES!!" Cha's enraged speech became all but incoherent as white-hot fury erupted from him.  He hammered away at Zearic's defenses, the blue and silver blades barely able to turn away Cha's brutal attack.

Which was precisely what Zearic wanted him focused on.

Cha's eyes widened suddenly as he was pulled bodily up in the air, first by two droid arms, then four, and finally six pinning his arms at his side as they grabbed him, the former Inquisitor's remaining lightsaber dropping to the floor.  Zearic gambled that would not be the end of it.

The sound of twisting metal reverberated through the manufactory as droid arms were wrenched from their moorings, sparks, wires, and metal limbs crushed by Cha's Telekinesis.  Having extricated himself from the trap, Cha landed lightly on his feet and was already calling his saber back to his outstretched hand, his momentary shock giving way to anger again.

But Zearic was already in motion, both in body and mind.

Release

Zearic's mental command coincided with him quickly extinguishing both of his lightsabers, clipping them to his belt, and catching his falling daggers in one swift action.  Meanwhile, the collected Force energies of the daggers burst forth, a bludgeoning wave that sped towards Cha even as he stretched his hand forth to catch his lightsaber.  In the same motion, Zearic threw both of his daggers, their midnight blades dulling the golden sunlight around them as they flew with uncanny accuracy at their target.

Nimmin Cha.

The destructive Force avalanche crashed into Cha at the same time as both of Zearic's daggers sank into the man's outstretched forearms, sending him flying through the far conveyor and against a nearby durasteel bulkhead.  With a sickening crunch, the former Inquisitor hit the wall, arms pinned at his side as the Oblivion daggers sank deep into his flesh and the durasteel underneath, holding him several centimeters above the floor.  Before the clouds of dust, dirt, and rust had even settled, Zearic's ignited main hand lightsaber was mere millimeters from Cha's neck, the steadfast blue blade casting a sepulchral pall upon both mens' faces.  They could not have been more dissimilar...yet now they seemed so alike.

Zearic's face was contorted in an angry grimace; Cha's was affixed with furious intensity.  Both sets of eyes stared unwaveringly at the other, neither man moving except for their breathing.

"Do it."

Cha's voice was quiet, his tone unidentifiable; Zearic couldn't decide if it was goading or pleading.  The big man continued to stare at his opponent, everything that the former Inquisitor had ever said to him ringing in his ears.  And stronger than anything was an impulse, something that Zearic should've shied away from...but he didn't.  In fact, he hadn't felt this calm in some time.

Kill him

Nothing changed on Zearic's face but Cha reacted as if he could read the Vhal'Dan's thoughts.  He smiled, unafraid and absent any mask, his yellow eyes inviting.  "Do it." He said, slightly louder this time.

Kill him

Zearic thought of D'Aylanna and Jorya.  What would they say if they knew what he'd done?  Would they condone his decision as judge, jury, and executioner?  Would they castigate him while turning their eyes away from a murderer?

“Do it,” the demand echoed on the rusted metal.

Kill him

Ultimately, Zearic knew he had to do what only he could do.  He would make the hard decision, to protect those he loved and cared for.  …This man is dangerous...a villain and a murder besides... He thought.

“DO IT!” Cha shouted now, a fevered spasm rippling across his pinned body,

Kill him

His arms moved before he'd even realized that the choice had been made. 
Perhaps he had not been the one to make it. 

Zearic's icy-blue blade stabbing straight and deep into the durasteel bulkhead, the metal offering no more resistance than water.  He heard the weighty clattering of what he knew to be his daggers as they hit the ferrocrete floor, the Oblivion weapons cracking the stone underneath while air rushed into the void in front of him.

Cha had disappeared, using the last of his strength to Teleport.

Zearic turned, unsurprised to see that the former Inquisitor was standing behind him, both of his ignited lightsabers in his hands, Cha's face impassive.  When he lowered his swords, each red blade disappeared as he closed down the weapon while blood began to trickle from the wounds in his forearms. 

Yet, nothing showed upon his face: not pain, not surprise, not betrayal, not hatred, so blank as to make Zearic wonder if Cha's rage had been just another mask put on to test him.  He clipped his saber hilts to his belt, taking measured steps towards Zearic before stopping two meters from the big man.

And he smiled.

Cha spoke, saying three words.  Zearic blinked, his mind in a daze.  Deliberately, he closed down his own weapons before attaching them to his own belt before retrieving his two daggers, never once taking his eyes off of Cha.  He wasn't certain but the man had sounded...respectful?

With a gesture, Cha led Zearic through and outside the manufactory, revealing his small airship.  There was barely enough space for Zearic to fit in the passenger seat but he rode all the way back to the Mak'Tor Temple in complete silence.  Even when he exited the ship, neither man spoke, Zearic's thoughts a raging storm.

Walking into the Temple without even a backwards glance, Zearic heard Cha's ship speed away, not even bothering to look to see which direction he went or even if he debarked into space.  By rote, the big man trudged through the welcoming hallways, seeing none of the beauty of the indigenous granite or the lush, verdant alpine flora carefully arranged throughout the temple.

He spoke to no one, which was for the best; after one glance, most people hurried away from him and not just because of his worn clothes, unkempt hair, and wind-blown appearance.

One look of his haunted hazel eyes made all but the most stern of individuals turn in the opposite direction.

After finally returning to the apartments the Mak'Tor had given to him during his time on-planet, Zearic unceremoniously stripped, leaving the clothes where they fell as he entered the sonic shower.  As the soft, therapeutic pulses cleaned and relieved aching limbs, muscles, and skin, he caught himself from falling with large, calloused hands against the wall.  As the pulses cleaned the dirt, sweat, and sand from his body, the multitude of criss-crossing scars across his back seemed to become more pronounced.

Finally, he exited the shower and stared into the full-length reflection that gazed back at him, uncertain how he should feel.  Zearic could only scrutinize his renewed hand, legs, and eye, the skin of which looked new and unblemished when compared to the multiple burns, lacerations, and dozens of scars that covered the rest of his body; even the thick hair on his chest could not obfuscate them.

He should have felt energized, powerful, whole.  Instead, he could only feel numb.  Even as he meditated, he could not shake the ennui that had infected him.  He'd attempted to sleep but it was as elusive as water on Tatooine, so he hoped that the open atrium of his apartments facing the M'Skigon Mountains would help.  It had not.

Sitting cross-legged, he sought the peace of the Force and the grace of the Maker...all for naught.

But what he replayed again and again through his mind were Cha's final three words, as damning as they were loathsome:

"Now you're ready."

<<<< >>>>
Logged

Lord_S_Gray

Surik: "Kreia, what are you—are you a Jedi, a Sith?"
Kreia: "Does it matter? Of course it does, such titles allow you to break the galaxy into light and dark, categorize it. Perhaps I am neither, and I hold both as what they are, pieces of a whole."

Lord_S_Gray
Knight Commander
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Force Alignment: 428
Posts: 1903



« Reply #244 on: May 31, 2023, 05:02:10 AM »

Chapter 40 - Confessions to a Daemon - Part 3
Er’Lav
The meeting of the security council was barely over, the first since General Cliffs return to active duty.  The old man seemed a shaken shell of his former self from what she had seen, confronted by the brutal reality of the droids he had bought to spite Silman had hit him hard.

The President had been quiet, the whole debrief as predictable as it was painful, the Men-At-Arms had cremated the dead pirates; the rest, a far smaller number, now awaiting transport on a bulk carrier to Velbari.

From there no one cared where they went, the only certain result was the tale they carried back of the Mark IV droids murderous power would spread far and wide among the underworld.

If she were more cynical Er’lav might imagine that was Artemis' plan all along.

Walking down the corridor summoning up the strength for her next appointment her comm near buzzed a hole through her trousers.

Quickly sliding into an alcove between pillars she heard the unusually frenetic voice of Tel’Owna.

“Kage, we’ve just got a distress signal outside Chandrilla, you need to hear this…”

A patchy static of Arnor’s voice came through

“Just left Chandrilla, Karmack...he...he’s losing touch, dominating people's minds, not caring about how he gets what he wants, we’re en-route to Ruusan, he’s become paranoid awake for days, the Force is just keeping him going. I can’t get through to him at all. He nearly came to blows with Alex.  Please send someone, Du’an or Ju’lus, Alex is going to make a quick stop over on the outer planet of a system called Binos - a smuggler's stopping point, before heading on to Ruusan...I don’t know how much time we have...please hurry…”

Shavit, it was all she could do not to scream...of all the times…

“A problem, Kage?”

As if things couldn’t get any worse there was Cha.

And yet it wasn’t Cha.

The self satisfied smile was gone and once more his face showed the genuine concern, almost friendship.

“Ah...I know that look, Karmack...what has he done now?” Cha filled in the blanks - that at least was not surprising to her.

“Looks like Cliff was right all along, he is out of control…”

“And you’re the Kage,”  he added as if she needed reminding.

And she did have a plan just for this occasion.

Cha more than anyone knew exactly what--or rather who--that plan was.

Her fingers hovered over the comms blue lit number pad ready but still unwilling to make the call.

She nearly jumped when he gently laid his hand on her wrist, fixing her gaze on his face once more serious and concerned, the mask dissolved for a brief moment.

“Er’lav,” his voice was grave, “If you don’t stop him….” he left the obvious "someone else will" hanging.

Whatever her assurances from and promises to Sophi that Karmack was on his own, if Karmack looked for a fight with Artemis, he still had enough support among the Maenowans that, whatever the outcome, there would be consequences for the Mak’Tor.

Maker possibly even an outright schism...

She punched in the numbers, a brief trilling chime that seemed to puncture the enormity of the moment.

“Kage,” Zearic answered, his voice succinct and emotionless.

“Zearic, it's time.” she announced.  She paused for a brief second but when next she spoke her voice was full of conviction.

"Go."

<<<< >>>>

Logged

Lord_S_Gray

Surik: "Kreia, what are you—are you a Jedi, a Sith?"
Kreia: "Does it matter? Of course it does, such titles allow you to break the galaxy into light and dark, categorize it. Perhaps I am neither, and I hold both as what they are, pieces of a whole."

TheDutchman
Knight Commander
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Force Alignment: 1106
Posts: 4131


Avatar courtesy of For Tyeth


« Reply #245 on: June 02, 2023, 06:08:01 PM »

I love these collaborations.  I know that my writing has benefitted heavily from them, my fellow authors (LSG and Karm especially) giving me ideas or lead-ins that I would've otherwise never thought of.

Having said that, I feel that I must absolutely give credit where it's due: LSG had written such a spectacular section that it was very easy to work from^^  As such, this chapter is just as much his as it is mine and I challenge anyone to try to distinguish his from my own submission  Wink

Oh, and LSG's awesome Zearic pic is just icing on the cake  Cheesy

Looking forward to where this leads to next!
Logged

Sig courtesy of DarthScrub

Cataphract Triarch of the Vhal'Dan

My sabers:Zearic's Aldrnari, Archon v3 (modded w/ activation box) w/Obsidian, AS; Zearic's shoto, Apprentice v4 w/Obsidian, AS; Graflex SE w/Obsidian, GB; Archon v3 (modded w/ activation box) w/Obsidian, CG; Dark Sentinel v4 w/Obsidian, BR; Sentinel LE v4 w/Obsidian, GB; Initiate v5 w/Obsidian, AS; Sentinel LE v4 stunt, EG; Aeon LE v4 stunt, FO; Dominix v4 stunt, BR; Aeon v3 stunt, SY

Lord_S_Gray
Knight Commander
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Force Alignment: 428
Posts: 1903



« Reply #246 on: June 06, 2023, 12:41:10 AM »


Chapter 41 - The Wrong War - Part 1
M’Tzigon
He had sat on the gurney watching the Men-At-Arms passing one after the other with the bodies.

The Medic checked him over, scanned him up and down, poked and prodded, but General Cliff was focused completely on the ceaseless parade of bodies, some still twitching, all ruined by the brute force of the Mark IV droids.

It never seemed to end, time and again he saw the same Ment-At-Arms go back and forth burning more and more bodies.  Only later did he find, by the end, 412 had been killed by the machines sent on an extraction mission.

The Friend Foe identifiers that had caused so much carnage on S’Kar’Yom eve had worked, according to Artemis, perfectly, Cliff and the Sword of Light body guard had been plucked gently out.  But every other being in the vicinity not designated a member of the M’tzigon military was mercilessly slaughtered until the mission was complete.

It would be easy to blame the programming once more, but Cliff wouldn’t take that path again.

This was on Him

He had bought them, primarily, to take a jab at Silman and a counter to the Mad Singer Karmack, the droid's combat effectiveness, undeniable, made it that much easier to justify.

Now he sat in his darkened office, memorabilia and awards for outstanding service seemingly tarnished by his very presence.

What had he done? Who had he become to even contemplate bringing these monstrosities to M’Tzigon in the first place? 

Rationally he could argue they were damn good deterrents and absolutely vicious hammers to slam into any invading force on land or in space…but there was something wrong about the whole thing he hadn’t even contemplated before - something dark in the willingness to outsource his killing to machines, to rely on algorithms controlled by a distant company rather than trusting the judgement - and yes all the attendant faults and follies- of the man on the ground.

Regrets, rebukes and recriminations swirled round his head in endless cycles that all came back to those bodies being taken one by one to a mass cremation, vacant gazes from shattered skulls asking him Why.

Because he’d given in, because he’d let personal antipathy to Silman and Karmack cloud his judgement, because he’d hidden behind his rank to get at them - and hundreds of other beings paid the price.

Perhaps this was the path to the darkside the Knights were always more afraid of that outright hate, to be led unknowingly by your biases into the shadows claiming all the while you were doing the right thing - to hell along the path of good intentions

He shouldn’t care, they were pirates, rapists and murderers all, but he did.

Perhaps that alone, he thought darkly as the room he sat in, was the last redeeming quality he had left.

<<<<>>>>

Ossus



Harsh winds swept across the desolate plains before the vast craggy rock faces of Ossus.

Ancient statues carved into the raw orange stone had long since faded under the withering storms of the ruined world.

She followed a path written in time and Song, thin and wispy as the scarf that covered her face from the dust, her companion stalking ahead of her, but always looking backward with possessive hate in his eyes.

For all Aydyns many faults she couldn’t deny his aptitude. 

He was right about the raw meat he had brought impressing the local Ysanna tribes, buying them permission to move freely in their ancestral lands, and he knew the paths and patterns of the scattered but vicious fauna here - not it seemed from being a native himself, but rather a primal understanding of how such harsh landscapes worked etched in his genes.

“Found it yet?” he hissed, impatient as ever.

They had reached Ossus in record time compared to the estimate on the Nav Computer, his diversions using uncharted hyperspace routes shaving off nearly 6 hours emphasising the urgency with which he sought his ‘reward’.

The orange hued planet wracked by electrical storms ever since the Cron Clusters destruction aeons ago in the War of Exar Kun, filled the screen of Zearic’s Bane brightly lit by its star Adega.

Morrgian basked in the distantly imparted warmth for a brief moment before he interrupted.

“Where are your toys,” Aydyn snapped again, his dust gray armour never removed the whole 18 hour trip that she had seen.

“A moment,” she bit back trying to relax and allow the sweet dark melodies to fill her mind once more, the rhythms of the dark that fed and formed from the lust, rage and fear that coalesced like oil in the depths of every soul…

And how they combined, how they brought each other to new heights!  The pounding percussion of the Rage, the sharp scratch of the Fear, and the soothing mellow chimes of the Lust!

How she had missed it, her strength recovered at least enough to touch those basic notes and rhymes and find their counterparts if they still remained.

Dorian - such a waste, the music we could’ve made together if only you’d let yourself indulge…

She had loved him, though he frustrated and imprisoned her.  Not in a romantic, or familial way, but as a fellow Singer must love another - for only they could understand the beauty of each other's Songs, appreciate the richness of the cosmic harmonies - yes the love of a Kindred- if opposed - Spirit.

A monotonous grind of durasteel on concrete was the only sound her peripheral senses heard from her current companion.

Aydyn seemed, in the Song, even more dead than M4, a single cold focus that lacked true emotion - a creature of pure instinct whose undoubtedly vicious genius of a mind was a tool no more valued than his hands in acquiring the necessities of his survival.

It was not lust that drove him to her she realized - it was a biomechanical need.

A useful little fact she mused as she sought the harmony of the planet.

It took time out of mind, but finally a whispered soft timbre that tried to match her own call, but was nearly drowned by the blotted stain of the Jedi holocaust from millenia ago, and the more recent, but gradually fading, counter measures Dorian had put in place.

A wry smile came to her face, to think her Dark crystals would’ve outlasted Dorians Song Lock. 

A belated victory, but still a win to be sure.

Finally she returned fully to herself, a renewed strength coursing through her limbs. 

“I know the way,”

<<<<>>>>
This was not the EV suits intended purpose, but short of going back to M’Tzigon for desert gear they would have to do.

The arid planet was devoid of any technology or orbital traffic making it exceedingly simple to find the ion trails of Zerics Bane.

Morrigan's vessel was landed in the open a few kilometers from the vast escarpments covered in faded sculpture, her Mark IV droids patrolling it.

Setting down 10 kms away Ken led the party out into the shimmering dusk.  Hot winds filled with electrostatic charged dust relentlessly pushed into their faces as they followed the quickly vanishing foot prints.

All this was ephemera. 

Ken just didn’t know, when he found Morrigan, what he was going to do, or say.  He certainly couldn’t fight her, was unlikely to be able to sneak up on her…so what was he doing.

“You’ll know son,” Chillum half yelled over the howl of the wind
“Trust in the Maker and you’ll know,”

Ken nodded, he may not know why he was here, but he felt a deep certainty he was meant to be here.

They marched on toward the escarpment, the looming rock weighty in the sky as the night stars began to twinkle bright absent artificial light pollution and the winds mercifully calmed.

A kilometer from the mountainous rocks themselves they were in a field of jagged boulders and fist sized rocks, small shrubs peeking between them, tiny lizards that hunted in the cooler hours darting in between hiding places after even smaller rodents.

“Trails gone cold,” Balnard in the lead finally said, kneeling down, his Mandalorian armour caked in the orange dust.

“Grounds too rocky for tracks, but I’m guessing they went in,” he pointed to a narrow canyon barely 2 meters wide between the edifices of stone ahead, a black gash between orange rock that had a purple hue beneath the early night sky.

Chillum stared at the canyon seeking the thinnest traces of anything in the Song.

“Is this what they sent!” a voice boomed from on high.

All four looked around but couldn’t find the sources, it seemed to come from the canyon itself but how deep it was impossible to tell.

“A Geriatric Jedi, a Boy, Force Blank Spaarti Clone and a Little Witch…how the Mak’Tor have fallen, why They are afraid of you I have no idea,”

Sabers were quickly in hand, Balnard’s helmet Auspex array already tracing the sound waves back to the source, the green lines on the HUD converging on a vacant point a few hundred meters into the Canyon.

“That ain’t natural shouting…” he whispered to Julwyyn.
“A Voice projection…” she confirmed reaching into the Force to try and find their potential enemy

“Little Witch…” the voice was no longer booming, but a far more intimidating whisper just behind their ears
“...I’ve Known your spells for three of your lifetimes.” the voice continued in warning
“The Alliance of Alwyn the Just will keep You safe, even I won’t cross that line,”

Chillum and Ken had no idea what the male voice spoke of, even Balnard only knew the name Alwyn from some story of Old Dathomir Julwyyn had once told him.

“The Rest of you,” Now the voice was normal, and emanating from a figure barely 20 meters ahead of them in heavily plated armour the grey of ferrocrete dust that seemed stippled, in his right hand he had a sword of the same material, on the left arm was a slithering serpent like creature, a slim proton jet pack on his back behind a helmet with a single visor, a bloody maw painted on its otherwise black canvas.

“Will be an example to any other Mak’Tor not to follow my ’mistress’” he spat the last word with an ironic laugh only he understood.

In perfect time to the crackle of the electrical storms overhead Aydyn struck.

<<<<>>>>

Grip over grip she climbed the jagged time worn face of the cliff, the dry harsh air should be draining her more, but once more her ‘new’ body proved inhumanly resilient.

Far easier than Dorian over a thousand years before she found the cavern, drawn less by her own Dark Crystals echo than by the Song Web Dorian had constructed to contain them.

Crawling into the opening she set down her flood light.  The cavern was too collapsed in to even stand upright, she had to crawl through the wreckage of walls and rock, whatever this place had been in the past it was now beyond all recognition.

She smiled at that thought, in many ways so was she.

Shuffling and scraping through she reached a larger chamber, in the two thousand years since Dorians visit it had degraded to the point of utter ruin, half of it was collapsed in, the only additions were a scattering of bones and soot from where a native hunter had once taken shelter from an Static Storm.

But there it still was, a chest utterly out of place with the faded aesthetics of the rest, the only object in the whole area with any semblance of Force energy, a Song Lock tightly bound around it.

He had done well, but never expected it to last this long.  Song webs in the Force like all things changed over time, tiny shifts in the currents caused by the use of the Force or changes in the energies half a galaxy away all worked to slowly, ever so slowly, wear it down.

Even the Song laced Crystals within the rocks of the Canyon of Ossus changed over time.  A decade, century even it would have had no meaningful effect, but twenty times that and the cracks were just large enough to slip a crowbar in.

Her hair and face covered in the ancient dust she had disturbed from its centennial slumber she tentatively reached toward the Chest, feeling already the force-equivalent of a high-decibel sonic cannon about to trigger and blast her backward physically and mentally.

“Damn you Dorian…” she sneered, she had hoped it would have degraded more than that by now.

Sitting before the Chest as best she could in the cramped dry cavern she began weaving a Song Web of her Own.

<<<<>>>>
Logged

Lord_S_Gray

Surik: "Kreia, what are you—are you a Jedi, a Sith?"
Kreia: "Does it matter? Of course it does, such titles allow you to break the galaxy into light and dark, categorize it. Perhaps I am neither, and I hold both as what they are, pieces of a whole."

Lord_S_Gray
Knight Commander
*

Force Alignment: 428
Posts: 1903



« Reply #247 on: June 06, 2023, 12:42:15 AM »

Chapter 41 - The Wrong War - Part 2
Ossus
Julwyyns saber nearly took the top off Ken’s head as he tried to slash into Aydyn’s chest as they and Chillum tried their best to keep the Mercenary at bay.

The initial charge had been brutal, a kinetic wave that floored Balnard, followed by three daggers Chillum barely deflected or diverted, and a mag-train heavy blow Ken caught on his saber that buckled his knees and had almost certainly torn his left calf muscle.

Their response was fast and coordinated, knocking him back, gaining room, trying to keep his sword and hissing snake-like weapon occupied, while Balnard used his jet pack to get air and range on him.

It hadn't worked, Aydyn had gripped the Mando armoured agent with the Force and slammed him into a rocky outcrop before he could fire a shot.

Now they were just fighting for survival, and Aydyn seemed to be playing, testing their limits and skills before deciding which to end first.

The storm of sabers was incredibly fast, but somehow he was faster, any attempts to take advantage of the few opening they made were denied by the pressing need to keep the serpent like creature away from them.

With a chitinous scale body, it hissed with venom dripping fangs, alternatively flexible as a gold wire then rigid as a spear, regardless Ken did not want to be on the receiving end of its bite.

The Song was pulsing between the three, guiding them, Julwyyns light whip finally managed to score a scratch on the shoulder, Ken pressuring the other side as Chillum held the center.

Aydyn’s vast array of beyond human sensory organs felt the thermal flare and mass motion of Balnard getting up.  Inferior as the Outsiders were, the full four of them could cause an injury.

His Phrik shatter-sword doubled its speed in an instant, Aydyn finally relenting to drawing on the aether for speed in addition to meta-human reflexes. 

The instantaneous change in pace left the slow humans behind, he sliced at the witches legs drawing blood, then through to the boys chest breaking through the envirosuit forcing them both back - only the Old Human, still younger than Aydyn, kept pace with his greater experience.

Chillum went low to avoid the vicious sweeps of the sword and springing snares of the snake, painful as it was at his age to try and topple the enemy with a shoulder.

The Old man simply bounced off the heavy warrior, Aydyn pulsing a blast into Ken causing him to skid back once more, then a brutal strike Julwyyn barely parried that lost her footing.

“Nice try young man,” Aydyn sneered at Chillum with a smile to a joke only he understood.
Aydyn kicked out, Chillum rose up with a high slash, the serpent coiled round the Mak’Tors arms suddenly constricting him, Aydyn sliding to the side to elbow Chillum in the exposed sternum.

“PA!” Ken yelled as Chillum fell back, the breath torn from him.

Julwyyn locked eyes with her husband, drawing the deeper powers to her.
+Ken Get Down+ her voice was more in his mind than ears.

He went low as Julwyyn went high, a burst of light as glowing symbols in a circle formed around Julwyyns hands - this was old Runic magic of Dathomir - a Biding Circle she unleashed with a grunt of effort, using the Old Spells away from Dathomir and its Ichor was a hard effort.

The spiral of luminous green struck Aydyn front on just as Balnard came overhead, his combi-rifle set to automatic fire pounding into the warrior’s back, Ken rose up from beneath the Rune blast as ephemeral chains of energy wrapped round Aydyn’s arms and legs pulling him to the ground.

Bolts slammed into Aydyns helmet, rattling his skull and denting and cracking the phirk armour.

Ken’s Blue saber rushing toward the warriors neck for a brief moment it felt as if they had him.

A Burst of pure instinctive rage, lacking any finesse or poise, blasted the eldritch chains apart and hurled Ken backward.

Aydyn spun and threw his Vong-amphistaff into the damn Spaarti clone, Balnard suddenly wrestling with the viper trying to sink its teeth into his neck.  With single bound Aydyn leapt the 8 meters into the air and grabbed Balnard.  Far faster reflexes battered the Mak’Tor agent into submission before Aydyn delivered a double fisted below to send him crashing into the ground.

“Inferior…” he sneered as he landed into a run straight at Julwyyn. 

Her kinetic barriers were knocked aside, her whip and saber shrugged off as Aydyn swept her feet from under her then slammed the back of her head with his swords pommel putting her in an unconscious stupor.

Aydyn was no longer playing.

Ken swallowed hard as the gravel bit into his scratches.  He was alone, on an empty plain of dead sand beneath the shadow of a cliff about to fight a mountain of a man who all four of them together couldn’t defeat.

He firmed his stance and tightened his grip on his saber.
“Come on ‘knight’…try it…” Aydyn spread his arms and legs offering his armoured chest

“TRY IT!” he yelled, ripping off the dented helmet and tossing it to the ground with a thud too heavy to be real, revealing a face that showed pure rage on unnaturally youthful and refined features, as if an airbrushed holo-drama actors pict came to life.

More than that it was the same face he had seen from the Black Armour on Csilla, the same face he imagined lay behind the Black Armour of the Sons and the Black Armour that had killed Silman and crippled much of the council of balance, the artificial beauty marred by rage and world weariness. The face of their supposed enemy.

“Come on BOY, kill me, make the old man proud!”

Ken wanted to…wanted to so badly….his father would - this man was in the same league as Mendax for power and skill, just as mentally deranged, and allied to a Dark Singer…

Aydyn stepped within striking distance, arms still spread, weapons cast aside, even the vicious serpent kept docile.

The tip of Ken’s saber hovered at Aydyn’s nose, all Ken had to do was push left or right and it would be through his eye into the brain.

The moment lasted a month as all the events since his mind was torn like pages from a Book during the Drumhead with the Sons flooded back, the rage he felt on Csilla,  the arguments with Ry, interned just for being a Mack, the battle on Orbital 3, this whole pointless pursuit of Morrigan to get the Macks offworld again.

He’d bounced through each event, either trying to bludgeon his way through, or meekly going with the flow, never fixing on what kind of man, what kind of knight he should be.

He still hadn’t worked out just who he was, but he knew at a least a few things he wasn’t.

“I won’t kill an unarmed man,” Ken replied, wondering if Aydyn didn’t genuinely want to be killed, or it was an elaborate trick,

“Thought not,” Aydyn sneered, effortlessly batting the saber aside with his bare hand and taking Ken by the neck an instant later, the mercenary never having been in real danger.

The young Mak’Tor resisted, but the fallen meta-humans strength was far too great, he stared into Aydyn’s dead eyes, the lack of anything resembling reason or conscience a memory Ken would always remember as his head swirled from oxygen depravation.

His legs and back crunched as he hit the ground, a howl of frustration in Ken’s ears and a twisted sickly sweet resonance in the Force, sinister as it was seductive.

<<<<>>>>
The intricate laces of her delicate song were at last ready, the ephemeral creation had taken far less time than she anticipated, again her new body's faster rate of neuron firing accelerated the process.

In the gentle fabric of the Song Web she had woven barbs to spike into the gaps erosion had caused in Dorians harmonic layers to penetrate down through the layers and come up beneath the outer layers to unwind them all the faster.

As ingenious as her creation was there was no guarantee it would work, but from the sparks of violent pulses in the Force she felt nearby there might be no time to test it.

With a deep exhale she layered her Song web upon the song lock, vibrations and waves in the force locking together, twisting in a deep screech as counter harmonies were off key.

She worked quickly, sweat pouring off her to tweak the web where she could, some failed, sending softened but still painful spikes into her mind as traps were sprung.

But piece by piece the lock unwound, at a third of the progress she could feel her Crystals beneath more strongly than mere whispers, was able to even draw on them for assistance.  Like Dorians own harmonizing of the Crystals within the rock the Dark Crystals had faded and been distorted over the millennia but enough of the essence was there for her to grasp.

Working from without and within she sung the sibilant sensual notes that undercut the restrained dignified tones Dorian had imparted, the slick sounds weakening the firm but dry song lock by weakening its mortar.

With a gasp more of exhaustion than triumph the box opened.

<<<<>>>>

His body rebelled as tendrils of Darkness enveloped Aydyn’s aura.

Morrigan had returned just in time to see her mercenary about to snap the neck of the little toy boy.

“What is this…” Aydyn hissed out, unable to control his own limbs, his mind fighting back but the elegant flow of energy from Morrigan locking him in place and weaving its compulsion through him.

It was not easy, his rabid instinctive mind was hard to control, but he had let slip too much in his demand for ‘physical favours’ in return for his labour.  She knew he wanted her, needed her, and she had more than enough experience in using that to her advantage that it took only a short amount of time to tweak her Seduction Song to his unique biology.

Yet interestingly it did not seem to reach his conscious mind.

“Let me .g…”

“Silence,” she ordered, the flesh obeying where the Will would not.

Ken rose groggily, coughing harsh sand to see Morrigan, a dark radiance around her as five crystals glowed with anti light, three across her collar, one at each hand.

They had failed, she had her Dark Crystals…but had they lost?

Julwyyn, Chillum and Balnard were alive, injured but still breathing, as Morrigan walked past Aydyn, patting the chained warrior in a patronizing manner.

“Well Young Knight, have you come to slay the Dark Singer?” she asked with a confident flourish of her flowing blonde hair.

“To take me back to my prison?”

Standing best he could, Ken was well aware he had no chance against her thrall, let alone her.

But there were other ways to resolve a conflict and end this pointless engagement.

“No…there is nothing to be gained for either of us,” he stated bluntly
“Whatever reasons Dorian had for imprisoning you…you’ve paid for that over hundreds of years…maybe you were using Force compulsion on Spira, but not in a way that was killing anyone…we brought the fight to you.”

Morrigan lifted her gaze, truly looking upon the young man in detail for the first time, seeing something perhaps Ken was yet to see in himself. . 

“You’ve seen enough then, to know what I want now?” she asked

Ken nodded

“To live, to enjoy life, and…” he glanced at the tiny box in her hand, “…keep yourself safe”

Morrigan smiled, the boy understood, still she would not let him return to his likely less pragmatic superiors without a warning.

Allowing her grip to loosen Aydyn barked like a feral nexu, frothing at Morrigan and Ken, causing the Koawan to flinch back.

“How many of your knights would die trying to kill this…Freak” Morrigan asked

Ken looked at the wretched thing once more struggling like an animal in its invisible cage

“Even one would be too many…” he said, slightly surprised at his own deadpan tone.
“But that animal needs to be put down,”

“Agreed,” Morrigan replied as Chillum rolled in time to overhear the last of the conversation.

“But for now I hold his leash…and I promise you this, if I sense any Mak’tor watching me, following me, or in any way interfering with my new life, I’ll let him off of it somewhere it will hurt.”

Ken slowly nodded his assent, her deal was only fair, death was the only reward for continued antipathy and after millenia trapped she just wanted freedom, not power.

Convincing the Kage would be easy enough given Er’Lav’s indifference, convincing his father…Ken would manage that when the time came.

Nothing more to say Morrigan led the internally raging Aydyn into the dusts of Ossus dusk.

<<<<>>>>
Logged

Lord_S_Gray

Surik: "Kreia, what are you—are you a Jedi, a Sith?"
Kreia: "Does it matter? Of course it does, such titles allow you to break the galaxy into light and dark, categorize it. Perhaps I am neither, and I hold both as what they are, pieces of a whole."

Lord_S_Gray
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Force Alignment: 428
Posts: 1903



« Reply #248 on: June 06, 2023, 12:46:23 AM »

Chapter 41 - The Wrong War - Part 3
M’Tzigon
Palms sweaty, he gripped the hand written document as he headed toward the President's office, a path he’d taken so many times he had lost count, knowing only this would be his last.

Today General Elax Cliff would hand in his resignation. 

In a strict sense he had done nothing wrong, every action, every order, every purchase could be justified as in keeping with his Oaths, never had he exceeded his authority or acted recklessly.

In his own judgement of proprietary, Cliff had acted with vanity, spite and selfishness.

Mechanically he went through the additional security in place since Mendax’ attack, checking his credentials before the double dark blue doors.

A beeping confirmation and nod and the doors opened to an utterly unprecedented scene.

“...I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same and that I will obey the Orders of the President of the Free system of M’tzigon, and the orders of the officers appointed over me according to the Uniform Code of Military Justice,”

The young officer did not add the usual ‘So help me Maker’ as he stood hand raised before the President, other officials in attendance, including General Maast who was still acting as Chief of Staff following Cliff's imprisonment.

What was shocking was the officer was the Imperial Lieutenant Nordas who had previously steadfastly refused to assist with anything but manual labour, let alone swearing allegiance to M’Tzigon. Behind a few other Former imperial officers was, no doubt the reason for this change of heart, President Sophi of Artemis Industries.

“General you just missed the Oaths,” Alvarez commented, taking his seat behind the large wooden desk, the President had a heaviness about him, the recent disasters weighing him down.

“You’re dismissed men,” he added, the new members of the Men At Arms saluting in the Imperial fashion before heading past Cliff who caught Nordas.

“All of you are swapping allegiance?” he asked stunned
“Not all,” the unflappable Nordas replied “A few dozen opted to take an Artemis vessel back to Imperial territory,”
“I don’t understand? Why join us, you were set in your allegiance to the Empire?”
Nordas nodded with a slight reluctance showing.
“President Sophi got us in touch with the nearest Imperial command at last, their proposals were…unbecoming of what the Empire should be and… it seemed staying here and making a life was a better option…and after the incident at the pirates camp…”

If Cliff didn’t think he could feel any worse he was just proved wrong, had several hundred former Imperials opted to swear allegiance to M’Tzigon rather than risk the Phirk fists of Mark IV Dark troopers?

“We hope to be assigned to the Requiem,” Nordas added “We can be of most use there, getting your…our…fellow officers and soldiers up to speed, General,” he finished swiftly saltuting, the other officials leaving till only the President, Sophi, Cliff and Maast remained.

“Election is next year…” Alvarez said
“I’m announcing my retirement at the end of the week…after all this…well…the buck stops with me”

“Mr. President, with all respect to Ms. Sophi should you be discussing such issues  with her present,” Maast cautioned

“Considering her company is all but bank rolling our recovery…and now owns an unseemly percentage of our debt bonds…” there was unconcealed bitterness in his voice 

Another vornskr I let into the pen… Cliff bitterly thought waiting for the never right time to announce he was resigning.

“We’re saddened to hear that,” Sophi finally spoke stepping round toward Cliff
“But we remain excited to work with our partners in the M’tzigon military, and continue our relationships…”

She moved uncomfortably close, putting herself right up to Cliff so the others couldn’t see as she swiftly swiped the resignation letter from his hand
 
“Especially General Cliff, whom we consider a friend to the company, an integral and trusted contact,”

Maast looked quizzically not sure what was happening, Alvarez had ‘checked out’ long since mired in his own regrets.

Cliff tried and failed to meet Sophi’s gaze, he had never been this close to one of the notorious ‘Artemis girls’ - her presence was like a mountain looming over him, but he held on as long as he could.

Would hold on as long as he could.

The pall of doubt, if not dispelled, cleared significantly, Cliffs best way to wrest back control of his army and his beloved M’tzigon from Artemis was by staying within the system not jumping out.

“I look forward to it as well,” was his steely reply.

He had made this mess, he would clean it up.

“Enjoy your retirement Mr. President,”
<<<<>>>>
   
 
Ossus

The Gryphon was near silent, Julwyyn nursed her husband’s wounds, his grandfather sat in the co-pilots chair staring into the vortex of hyperspace, a bacta drip affixed to his arm along with bandages around his midriff..

Finally, after some hours Chillum spoke

“You made a difficult choice back there son…a very difficult choice,”

Ken noted his grandfather did not say the right choice, and would never say the wrong even if he felt it.

Chillum stood up, old limbs stiff from being in place too long, he placed his hand on Ken’s shoulder

“Your Pa wouldn’t have made that choice were he here…” Chillum paused for a moment, his sentence perhaps not thought out before he’d begun.

“I’m glad he wasn’t.”

Left alone in the cockpit Ken put it all, everything to do with Black Armoured creatures, pirate queens, Dark Singers and mad Freaks behind him where it belonged, and looked forward to seeing Ry again.

<<<<>>>>
Hyperspace

“You sure about this?” Jaim asked uncomfortable in what was usually Arnor’s chair on the Wayfarer as they approached the rendezvous.

The ship had only just been shipped back from Canto Bite after being impounded - like Zearic beside him, another ‘rescue’ by Artemis.

“No,” the broader man answered honestly,
“Yes,” he added just as honestly before deciding on his final answer -
“It doesn’t matter,”

Zearic drew the Tenebris, its loathsome nightmare and paranoia inducing power tickling at the edge of his mind but seeming to grudgingly respect his ‘revitalised’ form and sharpened experience using it, the blade as tamed as it ever could be in his hands.

“It’s what has to be done,”

<<<<>>>>
Logged

Lord_S_Gray

Surik: "Kreia, what are you—are you a Jedi, a Sith?"
Kreia: "Does it matter? Of course it does, such titles allow you to break the galaxy into light and dark, categorize it. Perhaps I am neither, and I hold both as what they are, pieces of a whole."

TheDutchman
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« Reply #249 on: June 08, 2023, 12:53:54 AM »

Cliff's revelations concerning his past decisions make for an appropriate mirror for Karmack's descent: both men insisting upon "saving" their family, friends, and planet yet finding that in doing so they've become something almost unrecognizable as a result ("The road to hell is paved with good intentions" indeed).  Still, the fact that he finds his backbone again is demonstrative of Cliff's willingness to change perspectives, to learn from his mistakes and grow.

Hopefully Karmack can likewise come to such an epiphany before he sinks too far down, becoming something he will regret...

Yet here we see the man that Ken is becoming, taking his own path and choosing his own decisions, ones absent the dogma and judgement of Dorian's time.  Granted, I'm convinced that Morrigan was guilty of her crimes...but, as Ken stated, she has paid the price of those sins for centuries.  And it is in Ken's actions, his insight and bravery, that the spirit of the Mak'Tor thrives and the teachings of the Maker endure.

Forgiveness.

Of course, that is not to say that the Morrigan is an innocent--just ask Aydyn--and may give some trouble in the future.  But then again, so will Aydyn  Wink

And all of this leading, inexorably, towards one major challenge/dispute: will Karm cross that Moral Event Horizon in his pursuit towards power?  Will Arnor save her husband from himself?  Will Zearic really fight his good friend (not to mention his own demons), possibly to the death?  For that matter, can he even kill Karm while empowered by the Ancient One, regardless of his augmentations and daggers?

And beyond that--if they both should live--will they remain friends after something so traumatic?  Can Arnor love a husband who has killed his friend, treating those he loves badly in his pursuits?

I only know that we'll find out (and hopefully SOON  Grin).
Logged

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My sabers:Zearic's Aldrnari, Archon v3 (modded w/ activation box) w/Obsidian, AS; Zearic's shoto, Apprentice v4 w/Obsidian, AS; Graflex SE w/Obsidian, GB; Archon v3 (modded w/ activation box) w/Obsidian, CG; Dark Sentinel v4 w/Obsidian, BR; Sentinel LE v4 w/Obsidian, GB; Initiate v5 w/Obsidian, AS; Sentinel LE v4 stunt, EG; Aeon LE v4 stunt, FO; Dominix v4 stunt, BR; Aeon v3 stunt, SY

Lord_S_Gray
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Force Alignment: 428
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« Reply #250 on: June 09, 2023, 12:13:31 AM »

I only know that we'll find out (and hopefully SOON  Grin).

On the home straight - 3 Chapters left that I hope do justice to all the great efforts you and Karm have put into these characters across many stories.
Logged

Lord_S_Gray

Surik: "Kreia, what are you—are you a Jedi, a Sith?"
Kreia: "Does it matter? Of course it does, such titles allow you to break the galaxy into light and dark, categorize it. Perhaps I am neither, and I hold both as what they are, pieces of a whole."

Lord_S_Gray
Knight Commander
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Force Alignment: 428
Posts: 1903



« Reply #251 on: June 15, 2023, 04:58:33 AM »

Chapter 42 - Knight and Knave - Part 1
Binos
“The weaponized potential of the Ancient One and the Starfire combined is extreme, and we both know it.  Your pursuit of the knowledge to make use them is the equivalent of designing a personal Death Star.”

Words from so long ago rattled in his mind as he stared into the Song, eyes itching and dry in the recycled air of the Hope

“And we do not want to be on the receiving end of its fury…so instead we offer you our assistance in obtaining it with a view to vaccinating ourselves against it.”

Andisdottirs offer on Commenor as an agent of the Athena Society, another front for Artemis, which was itself a front for the Cabal of powerful beings who sought to undermine M’Tzigon and obtain vast power, militarily, financially and most of all in the Force.

"They're afraid of me..." he had spoken out loud, the only thing Artemis feared was him, a True Master Singer, taught by Odjina, Chosen of the Maker.  He had refused them, they had let him leave, but not left him alone - unable to convince him they revived Mendax to end him.

Karmacks gaunt face twisted in a smile, their plan had backfired dramatically.  It forced him to become the very thing they feared, ensured he would rise victorious and stronger in the Song than any Mak’Tor since time immemorial, the Moonshadow found, Ancient One Unlocked and soon the Starfire would be his.

Nothing would stand in his way then.

you are probably the only person alive who can properly harness the Ancient One.  You have already become a 'walking weapon of mass destruction'."  Zearic had stood taking a step towards Karmack.  "You decide unilaterally how to employ that weapon. We are at the mercy of what you consider to be the moral use of it.”

The thinnest doubt from the recalled words cracked the edges of his Will, but Karmack clamped down harder.

He could not doubt, not be dissuaded, after all Zearics submission after the battle had proven he was an Artemis spy.

in all the reports, all these instances of friction – not just with Aertemis but with the Men-at-Arms as well  there is one common denominator…and that’s you..”

Er’lav’s voice this time broke into his Melody of Focus, the so called Kage another plant in the slow take over of M’Tzigon, they had started with General Cliff through the Droids contract, now the Kage, the President was probably under their thrall through recovery donations by now too.

Karmack felt the bitter emptiness of isolation, knowing he was alone in this fight, the only one who could comprehend the threat or do anything about it - the others were all too blind to the Song, too weak in the Force.

But he would bear that burden for them, they would all see, he would be welcomed as a liberator when he drove Artemis out, cut the slimy Cha’s head from his neck, threw those damn droids into molten fire, then retook the Mak’tor from the puppet Er’lav. 

He may well have to remove Cliff and the President as well if they had fallen too far.

...rm…arm…Karm… which voice was this?

“Karm,” Arnor shook him.  His eyes were wide open as he sat shirtless in the cabin but he seemed to be looking into some ephemeral plane.

“Karm you need to listen, you’re not yourself, the Ancient One, the Song…I know you mean well, but it’s changing you, you’re hurting people, hurting yourself…” her head hung down
“Hurting me…”

Is this another Artemis trick he wondered, had they gotten to Arnor?

“You can’t go on like this, you’re leaving me and everyone else behind, I barely understand where you’re headed or why anymore…” she leaned forward kneeling before his seated pose.

“As your wife, as someone who loves you more than myself, I’m asking you to stop.  Put the Crystal away, sleep for once, rest, pray, anything else but this constant marching forward.”

They have her too…ever since Commenor they have been trying to stop me, there is no level they won’t sink to…if they can revive Mendax and free Morrigan they can manipulate my wife against me - the logic was sound.

“Please,” tears welled in her eyes as he slowly shook his head.

“I will save you and M’Tzigon from Artemis, with the Starfire and the Ancient One I’ll free everyone from their power, then with the Moonshadow my power will be complete.”

He gripped her arms tightly his hands felt cold and bony
“I won’t let them stop me, I will protect you Arnor, even from yourself.”

Arnor backed away,

“I wish I could do the same for you,” she replied as the ship shuddered as it dropped out of hyperspace.

“What is happening, why are we stopping?”

“Gas and fuel exchange,” Arnor said offhandedly as possible

Karmack shook his head at the obvious lie, disappointed it had come to this.

“No, everything was done on Chandrilla,” he leapt up sprightly despite his body seeming too thin and face drawn with exhaustion.

Swiftly he went to the cockpit where Alex and Joanna were waiting, the dusty red orb of a small moon beside a cream gas giant ahead.

“We’re heading to Binos, a little smugglers port to get suppl…aaacckkk…”

“ALEX!” Jonanna squealed as Kamrakc choked him without lifting a finger
“Set course for Ruusan, this charade is over,” the Master Singer demanded.

Alex began to chuckle amidst the coughing

“I don’t conn..control the ship…Zu..zu does…” Karmack released his grip as Alex spoke glancing at the small droid.
“Can’t Force Compel a droid Master Singer,” Alex added with out of character spite that he paid dearly for as Karmack pressed on his mind.

“What is the Override,” he pushed hard, Alex felt his skull tighten a pressure he desperately wanted to relive by answering

“There isn’t one….”

“Stop, you’re going to kill him!” Joanna shrieked reaching again for her pistol only to be pinned in place

“...Safeguard against mind control!” Alex spat “It's all Zuzu,”

Karmack released his grip, frustration boiling as he stared at the tiny droid that beeped angrily at him.

“You’ve delayed me for the last time, I’ll find another ship planet side,”

“No you won’t you bastard,” Joanna snapped impotent to do anything but speak
“Zuzu’s last order before was to land on the far side of the Moon then keep the ship locked down until it's just the two of us on board. Even you can’t walk 10,000 kilometers.”

Karm shook his head
“You’ve tried and tried again to stop me Artemis, you won’t succeed this time either,”

<<<<>>>>

Karmack had to appreciate the twisted skill of his enemies.

There across the dusty empty Red Plain of Binos was the Wayfarer, last he had heard impounded on Canto Bite.

In front of the vessel was possibly the largest human Alex had ever seen, while Karmack was certainly not small and half a head taller, this ‘Zearic’ was far wider. 

The Vhal’Dan wore a thick hardy cloak over his armour concealing the array of weapons from sight - two sabers, two sheaths holding blades that churned the Force about them unnaturally, various pistols, grenades and stun weapons.

“Zearic,” Arnor gasped out almost as a prayer of salvation. 

Zearic and the Wayfarer had been waiting for them for just over two hours.

“Karm, it's time to come home,” Zearic called as the spiced winds gusted between them.

“Cowards,” was the snide remake Karmack directed not to Zearic, but through him

“First Mendax, now Zearic, afraid to meet me face to face,”

All looked quizzically for a moment, it was Joanna who realized first, whispering to Alex
“He’s talking to those Black Soldiers…”

Eyes narrowing Zearic’s straightened slightly

“Er’Lav sent me, not the BA’s.  Karm that crystal, its destroying your thinking, making you paranoid,”

He pointed fixedly at the saber on Karms' belt.

“Give me the Ancient One, you need some time apart from it to get your head straight,”

Karm shook his head

“Now the truth comes out.  The same demand you made on Commenor,” he could only sigh at their persistence and obvious desperation.

Karmack could see so clearly the Black tendrils in the Song that slithered around Zearic, the sickly taint of Cha especially strong, the looming Shadow behind that.

“If you think using Zearic’s face will somehow stay my hand you are wrong,”

Zearic swallowed hard.

“If you don’t want to trust me, fine, give the Crystal to Arnor and let her take it back to M’tzigon on the Wayfarer alone,” the water warrior replied, realising just how deeply Karmack had fallen in so few weeks.

Karmack didn’t see Zearic as a person, only a puppet, and was addressing himself to - whom he considered - the puppeteers.

“You know I’ll never relinquish the one weapon that you’re afraid of,” Karm replied, eyes narrowing as he too felt out his opponent. Zearic had taken yet another leap forward in his strength. 

The ‘Revival’ in the deep Core had granted him raw power, but in the intervening weeks Zearic had clearly been sharpened and refined by his new overlords.

Yet all that was still insignificant compared to the power of the Ancient One that flowed like luminous blood through his body. 

What did give the Mak’tor pause were the two daggers the Vhal’Dan thrall wielded. 

“I see you’ve finished remaking him,” Karm went on

“We’ve both changed Karm...not for the better.” Zearic conceded
“More than ever we need all our strength to hold onto who we are, what we love…” he looked behind Karmack.

“Maker, look at Arnor, she’s terrified, Karm I know you don’t want to make your wife feel unsafe, just remove the crystal, clear your head,”

“And D’Alyanna would be so safe with you? The husk of a good man turned to a slave,”

Karm shook his head sadly
“Zearic was a good man...I will miss him...I know his family will,”

That stung Zearic deeply.  The Truth always did.

“I’m sorry I have to do this Arnor,” Zearic apologized

“Don’t be,” she replied.

<<<<>>>>
Logged

Lord_S_Gray

Surik: "Kreia, what are you—are you a Jedi, a Sith?"
Kreia: "Does it matter? Of course it does, such titles allow you to break the galaxy into light and dark, categorize it. Perhaps I am neither, and I hold both as what they are, pieces of a whole."

Lord_S_Gray
Knight Commander
*

Force Alignment: 428
Posts: 1903



« Reply #252 on: June 15, 2023, 05:01:49 AM »

Chapter 42 - Knight and Knave - Part 2
Karmack drew his saber,strong deep battle rhythms pulsing through the Ancient One into his body, the blade hissing active with a deep yellow that somehow lit his face darkly.

Karmack’s feet flew from the ground as Zearic keyed his gauntlet. 

Harsh sprays of gas jetted from buried spider mines that leapt from beneath the red dirt, Karmack pulsed the Force to batter the cheap tricks aside, but it bought Zearic time to light his own Icy Blue and Frosted Silver Sabers, his Oblivion Daggers darting from their sheaths to spin round his shoulders in a defensive orbit.

With a dismissive open palm Karmack hurled an intense blast of kinetite at the Vhal’Dan, more than double what he had floored Alex and the droids so effortlessly with.

Responding to pure defensive instinct the two Oblivion dagger crossed paths in the heart of the blast ahead of Zearic, the energy soaked up

”Translating Force energy to Kinetic is known by all,” Cha had instructed in between vicious spins of his saber staff in the deep desert heat, sun so bright the yellow sands were white. 
“Your daggers turn the kinetic back into Force energy, that is why they appear immune from telekinesis, they switch enemy kinetic power back to the Force and only allow their owners power to move them,”


This was in full effect now as each of Karmacks blasts was hungrily eaten up by the daggers, the power they absorbed reducing the effort Zearic needed to keep them flying. 

In a match of Force Power to Force Power Zearic knew he would be thrashed, he had to work nastier not harder.

Frustrated at the nefarious daggers Karmack strode forward saber swinging as Zearic keyed another button - a hidden laser cannon on the Wayfarer popping from under the hull to fire at its own, the Master Singers Yellow blades beat back the shots till Karmack twisted the weapon into curls of metal with his mind.

It gave Zearic time to charge forward, zigging and zagging, falling into and out of a Buried Presence with every three, then four, then two steps to keep his tactics befuddling, avoiding any pattern to upset the harmonics Mak’Tor so often sought to scry.

Before he could reach him Karmack formed his stance and glared into Zearics Mind, the Ancient One flaring hot with the power of the Metaphysical attack.

The Mental Thorn crashed against a wall but not of Zearic’s making.

Cross legged in the Wayfarer Jaim, one of the Vhal’Dan’s pre-eminent experts in mind control and metaphysical warfare erected a barrier around Zearics and his own mind, pure indomitable cliffs of Fortitude.

Karmack grunted somewhat impressed at the foresight the brute Vhal’Dan had shown.

He was even surprised when he suddenly lost his footing.  A vast effort Zearic repeated a trick he’d used on Cha in the instant before he reached Karmack, teleporting just a half a handful of sand from under the Mak’Tors feet, causing him to stumble for the briefest second as the Water Warriors twin sabers came crashing down.

Silver and Ice Blue crashed into the Sentinel Yellow blade, the Oblivion daggers racing to find joints, Karmack twisting uncomfortably to ensure they only grazed his armor before coming round again.

Zearic had to work nasty and fast, pushing his strength and speed to the full he rained down blows on the Master Singer, trusting in his greater physical strength to batter the Mak’Tor down.

Karmacks saber work guided by the Force was like poetry, deftly countering the rapid heavy strikes of Zearics Death Metal rhythm.

The Mak’Tor hurled balls of kinetic power, sent out micro tugs at ligaments, the Oblivion daggers diverted from attack to defence to soak up the energy and protect their current master - Karmack wondering just how much energy the eldritch things could possibly absorb before they ‘cracked’ but unable to test it to the full.

Zearics saber work was intense, sweat pooling at the small of his back, the moisture less air rough with every deep breath taken in time with his swings.

“You’re failing, Karm!” Zearic grunted more than spoke
“Your son’s been captured by Morrigan, the droids are running loose on M’tzigon,”
Everything he said had enough partial truth to prevent Karmack sensing a lie.

Zearic had to work Nastier, Faster and most importantly of all crueller, even he didn’t know how long the daggers, Jaims mental wall, and his own revitalized strength could keep up with the Singers vastly superior Force strength, only that a weakness in any one of the three pillars would see the whole crash down. 

Karmack ignored the irrelevant words as his hands moved his blade in a flurry of motion making his saber a wall of light pressing the darkness back further and further, Zearic taking every chance he could to counter the perfection of Karms battlesong with random discordant blows.

“I’ll bring your skull to my masters,” Zearic grinned like a maniac, talking to keep himself from crying as pain in his muscles began to bite, his sabers doubled down to lock then push out of a barrage of blows gaining him a moment's reprieve.

“You were right Karm, their Song is in me…I wanted it, I begged for it, if I deliver you and the Ancient One the True Gods will ascend me even further!”

Zearic fed Karm’s Paranoia and the suspicions he already had regarding Zearics healing by the BA’s so perfectly the Mak’Tor would want to believe it.

“I knew it, you couldn’t hide the Song from a Master Singer!” Karmack seethed through gritted teeth. 

“I told them where to find Mendax, told them you were looking into the Ancient One,” Zearic continued his efforts to destabilise his friend further.
“I have served the Goddesses for Years!” he ended with a triumphant thrust forward, once more connecting white hot with Karm’s blade.

The last statement rankled Karmack, he could believe Zearic had switched allegiance for power and healing, but for years? Could he have been so blind? 

But of course…

“You’ve always been jealous of me!” Karm realized, and Zearic didn’t hide that itching honest emotion any - he drew on it for strength as their sabers sputtered and shook against each other, muscles starting to tremble as they locked in strained extensions.

Hard pressed as Zearic was, the clash was no easier for Karmack. 

The Oblivion blades were constant threats, he couldn’t hurl them away, he was forced to use telekinetic attacks to ensure they remained in a ‘defensive’ posture as their extreme density would cut into his armour easily, worse with two for them he couldn’t concentrate his power to shatter them as he had the blasphemous idol on Coruscant.   

Jaims Mental Wall could turn into a lance at his own mind at any moment, and Karm could feel the hot eyes of Alex on his back, the young so-called Jedi might try something stupid, or more likely his trigger-happy wife Joanna would.

Karmack was not fighting Zearic alone, and the Vhal’Dan knew it and had planned on the very fact, pouring distraction upon distraction to divide the Singer's attention and prevent him concentrating his focus on a single point.

To Karmack’s frustration it was working, his energy intense as it was was divided, Zearic revitalized admittedly possessed greater mechanical power than his own unsupplemented strength forcing Karmack to use an Infusion Hymn to bring his physical capacity up to par, Zearics annoying use of Buried Presence at random intervals ensured Karm also had to keep his senses tighter than usual.

It was still unsustainable, with every crackling saber lock, with every blunted elbow, and shin stinging kick Zearic was wearing down his Force stamina much faster.

Alex could only just keep pace with the fight, his hand itching to light his own saber and throw it into Kamracks leg to give the large stranger an advantage, but worried the Master Singer would turn it to his own benefit, let alone the repercussions he and Joanna might suffer if Karmack then won.

Arnor felt the ebbing of Zearics Force stamina, the increasing reliance on his greater brute strength, but for all that she was still amazed Zearic was keeping pace with the fury cloaked in golden self righteous energy her husband had become.

They spun.

They Crashed,

They rammed each other.

Zearic dropped one saber to quickly spring a shiv from his gauntlet stabbing Karm in the side, poison on the blade burnt away by the Chords of Purification on the Singers lips, the low tactic ill befitting a knight - just what Zearic had hoped.

He followed the stab by unclasping a stun grenade from his belt and kicking it up with a clump of dirt into Karmacks face.

The Mak’Tor brushed it aside but the aftershocks of the electrical blast numbed the skin on his face and hand, the Vhal’Dan took the break to slash down on his arm, Songsteel screeching as the ice blue blade cut it before Karmack could push off.

The Singer quickly followed with a brutal overhand strike forcing Zearic to a knee, then kicking with his own leg straight into the Water Warriors face.

Zearic sniffed the blood of a broken nose down his throat, tasting the iron as he pushed the daggers forward, each one overloaded with energy and unable to absorb more, he thought a single word to the tainted weapons gifted to him by ambiguous daemons.
 
Release

The Tenebris Pugione unloaded the charge it had stored with an Emotional shockwave of Paranoia and Blood lust, the Nocte with self doubt and self destructive ideation. 

The hideous wave buffeted Karmack mentally and physically, a discordant cord ripping through the Song, he pulsed his Will strongly through the Ancient One to counter the wave as the daggers dropped to the ground.

Zearic pushed from his crouch into a flurry of blades, Karmacks Force power temporarily fully occupied he would never have a better chance.

The Permafrost ice blue came down, the silver shorter blade up, Karmack was ‘reduced’ to his native skill with a saber struggling against intense Jar-Kai backed by Zearic true physical potential, the dilute legacy of one ancestor's DemiGod blood pulsing through him.

Pivoting his stance mid slash the Vhal’Dan took the Mak’Tor by surprise once more, the Silver blade locking and pushing the Yellow saber wide, the Permafrost blue crashing down the center cutting down into Karmack’s chin then through a deep molten groove in the Song steel breastplate. 

Zearic pulled up and back twirling into a crouch to slash at the legs to diminish Karmacks Height advantage, then rise up with both blades at the arms.

Each blow connected on Songsteel, cutting in and through, cold-burning the skin, muscle then bone beneath on Karmacks right shin and left forearm, Zearic head butted forward as the Mak’Tor staggered, hunched and open, Karmack turning just in time to save his nose, but the impact cracking his left cheek, his eye feeling wobbly and losing vision for precious seconds.

Arnor’s teeth were clenched, breath held tight as Zearic hammered down onto her husbands shoulders, aiming to cripple his limbs, the pauldrons hissing as the sabers cut through, Karmacks head still swimming till the Song realigned and his eyes refocused.

The Daggers nefarious powers at last exhausted Kamrack struck back just as Zearic thought he had the edge, slashing straight into the big man’s chest, then weaving the full force of a BattleSong into a tapestry of saber work that dissected he Vhal’Dans guard.

His silver saber was lost first to a twirling riposte, the blue blown out of his hand by a kinetic wave that nearly shattered the bones in Zearic hand.

He’d fought well with his Oblivion Weapons, Kamrack had to concede, but all said Zearic was a scrappy ganger from Dalos facing the might of a Master Singer.

Drawing a Tremor-Dagger Zearic tried to fight on, Karmack using the tip of his blade to cut into gaps between armour plates, flash boiling skin, and at last tumbling the Vhal’Dan to the ground. 

Defiance in his eyes Zearic flicked a micro-hold out pistol out firing a single overcharged blast from his prone position. 

Karmack deflected with ease, the yellow blade slicing through the tiny weapon, then on the back swing the pommel of the saber - whose song steel was near melting front the intensity of the energy pouring through it - slammed into the side of Zearics head, a concussion ringing in his head, eyes rolling up.

Without pause, doubt or concern Karmack swept his blade toward his former friend's neck…

Then stopped as a body flung itself around Zearic’s head and torso pushing him down.

“NO!” Arnor screamed, staring up at her husband, his saber barrely a millimeter from her forehead, the slightest motion and he would cut her.

Her eyes were wet stinging in the dry air misted by the red dust they had kicked up that swirled like a bloody storm around them.




In the glassy mirror of her eyes he saw himself at last. 

A muscle jarring snarl of hatred on a gaunt face holding a saber blazing with pounding Battlesong rhythms at his own wife and friend.

He didn’t recognize it, the dissonance between the twisted creature he was and the noble knight believed himself to be too great to reconcile. 

He staggered back feeling the Force slip away, the parabolic fluctuations of the energy blade no longer balanced his saber became unwieldy. 

He stared at the hilt, the Song Steel Corroded by extreme use of the Force to the point he could see the Ancient One within plusing yellow.

Rocking back and forth with the turmoil of his own actions Karm stared into the bright heart of Crystal, he felt the ceaseless purity of how it could amplify and enhance the Song that flowed from him, and he heard the Song it was voluminously enhancing and felt the sickness seep into his stomach.

He hurled the saber as far as he could before crashing to his knees.   

<<<<>>>>
Logged

Lord_S_Gray

Surik: "Kreia, what are you—are you a Jedi, a Sith?"
Kreia: "Does it matter? Of course it does, such titles allow you to break the galaxy into light and dark, categorize it. Perhaps I am neither, and I hold both as what they are, pieces of a whole."

Lord_S_Gray
Knight Commander
*

Force Alignment: 428
Posts: 1903



« Reply #253 on: June 15, 2023, 05:02:37 AM »

Chapter 42 - Knight and Knave - Part 3

A thermal blanket wrapped around him Zearic drank what he could from the canteen, dribbling most of it, head still rolling, bacta patches applied by Arnor on the injuries she could see under the shade of the Wayfarer

Jaim and Alex stood on the upturned patch of sand they had fought on, neither game to lift either the Oblivion daggers, or Karmacks Saber.  A few hundred meters away Karmack knelt staring into the hot sky.

No one knew what to do.

Karmack didn’t feel the blistering heat of the gas giant as it consumed the sky, the choking sand as the winds picked up.

His lips simply moved in half formed sentences of  mournful thoughts that tried to articulate and express his regret.

His mind felt heavy, slow, spread out…it had been so focused, confined to a singular goal for so long, channelled through the Ancient One…



The Crystal wasn’t the problem…no it was an amplifier and mirror, reflecting back Karmacks own paranoia, fear and frustration over and over, an echo chamber in which his own Song was all he could hear, everything outside a discordant abomination to be corrected.

So engrossed in his own righteousness he couldn't see the saber at his own wife's throat..

The How, the Why, the When of his fall, none of this mattered, the Fact of it, the itching reality of turning into that which he despised was all that meant anything.

“Maker forgive me…Maker forgive me…Maker Forgive me…” he repeated the mantra over and over and over until his mouth ran dry stuffed with sand, still his lips moved in penance, dehydration sapped the last fluid from his body leaving him unable to even sweat in the heat of the Moons Light cycle.

“Should someone go out to him?” Alex asked “He’ll die of dehydration out there,”
Jaim didn’t reply.  During the fight he had felt the intensity of Karmacks zealous thoughts behind the mental attacks, if even a speck of that dogmatic insanity remained it might be better if he stayed out here.

“Come on,” Joanna called to Alex
“Let’s get out of here,”

As the couple began to turn back to the Hope Arnor walked past them.

Fearlessly she picked up Karms discarded saber as everyone watched.

She could feel the echoes of his BattleSong still in the Ancient One, the overprotective self assured madness, her husband had not fallen because of some temptation or in response to grief, but because he had locked himself in his own echo chamber of Righteous belief, convinced himself he was the only one who could see the threats and the only one who could stop them, interpreting every event in that light.

It wasn’t Mendax, Morrigan, Artemis, or Cha that had driven him to the point of violence against his own friends and family, it was his zealous belief that being the last Master Singer made him, by virtue of his powers, more knowledgeable, better and holier than them.

Only now did Karmack understand that, only now did he see just how far the depths of his self aggrandizement plunged, Hubris, Spite, Superiority, things he assumed that as a Maenowan he had long since ‘outgrown’ - a blind spot? No. Simple arrogance.

Pleading forgiveness rasping from his lips the shadow of Arnor fell across Karmack, he blinked up as she looked down.

After all the years, all the losses, injuries and trials she had never seen him so weak and lost.

Kneeling before him she felt the despairing horror he felt at what he had done, how far and how easily he had fallen, the cringe inducing depths of his contrition.

This wretched thing was no more her husband than the self important fiend that had barely an hour before held a saber to her.

But at least this person she felt was sincere, humbled - broken but capable of repair.

Maker help me help him she prayed silently pushing against her instinct to abandon him to his self pity.

With empathy and forgiveness, more for herself than anyone else she held his saber out to him.

He stared at the inert object as though it were the source of all his misery, for a brief moment she feared she had made an error. 

But no…the crystal was not the source of any of his fall, it was all him.

“I’m Sorry,” he whispered throat wretched from the dust.

“I know,” she replied.

<<<<<>>>>>

“Zearic I…,” Karmack bowed his head near to the deck kneeling before the large man who sat propped on the main bed in the Wayfarer.

“Thank You…I’m Sorry…You were right to try and stop me…”

Jaim kept a guarded stance nearby.  Zearic had agreed to speak with Karm only on condition the Ancient One be placed by Alex in a sealed box with the two Oblivion Daggers - a task Alex had certainly not relished, but feeling the nefarious power of the Tenebirs and Nocte realised if anything could keep Karmacks crystal subdued it was certainly them.

“I became…I am…everything you feared I would be…”

There was little Zearic could say, feeling the unnatural itch of his muscles and wounds restitching at a moderately faster pace than they should.

Zearic was all too aware of what it was to be the object of your own fears. 

He’d suffered too many nightmare visions of harming his own family and friends not to empathize in some way.  Yet - so far - he had at least never acted on it, though given the BA’s ability to control him….

“Nothing that has happened to either of us recently has been for the better,” was his gruff pragmatic reply, delivered with no sympathy and less forgiveness.

The undercurrent of tension between the pair, obvious since their meeting mere hours before Mendax attack seemed if anything sharpened by the fight, Karmacks apology providing no balm.

Sitting up straighter Zearic got straight to the point.

“What will you do now?”

“I…need to…prove myself worthy of forgiveness…rebalance, retune myself to the True Song, not my willful distortion of it,”

“You’ve little time for introspection,” Jaim cautioned sternly
“You haven’t heard but things have not gone well on M’Tzigon, the Pirate prisoners from the Battle of S’Kar’Yom took General Cliff prisoner, they sent in the Mark IV droids…”

With each word Karmacks stomach sank further

“412 dead.  Your son has a lead on this Morrikan(?) but was briefly captured by her, and the Artemis executives are cosying up closer to the civilian politicians of your world,”

Mere hours before such information would’ve sent Karmack into a flying rage, now…now he knew he was not the center of these events, or the only protagonist capable of acting to oppose them, if indeed that was even the right thing to do.

For long moments the room remained silent except for the occasional beep of the heart monitors on Zearic’s board chest.

“Going back now would only make things worse,” Arnor finally spoke
No one could disagree, Karmack's mere presence was divisive at this point.

“Then where,” Karmack croaked, dust still stuck in his throat.

“Finish what you started, we find Ruusan and the Starfire, that plan was never the problem - none of us wants to see more power in Artemis hands - it was how you were going about it,”

“Rediscovering the location of Ruusan would be of great value to the Vhal’Dan, it was the bloody birthplace of the modern Order,” Jaim offered

Karmack opened his mouth, started to say something, but then stopped. 

He simply nodded.  “Then Ruusan it is.”

<<<<>>>>
Logged

Lord_S_Gray

Surik: "Kreia, what are you—are you a Jedi, a Sith?"
Kreia: "Does it matter? Of course it does, such titles allow you to break the galaxy into light and dark, categorize it. Perhaps I am neither, and I hold both as what they are, pieces of a whole."

For Tyeth
Knight Commander
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Force Alignment: 1557
Posts: 3046


I Survive through the Force.


« Reply #254 on: June 15, 2023, 02:23:48 PM »

Hello LSG,

More engrossing reading here! And I saw mention of something that reminded me of a request I received WAY back in 2021. A good friend of ours asked me to 3D model a set of weapons that sound spookily like the Ancient One and Oblivion Daggers. I had a quick search of some old Holocrons (zip-drives Grin) and I found I still have the files for them. I won't post all of them but one looked like this...


Anyhoo back to your great talent, thanks for a fantastic read.
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