Retrieval

[Karmack]

Karm look a little more closely to the verbiage...it's deliberate because [REDACTED]

😈😈😈

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

[TheDutchman]

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

That's...actually an inspired idea Karm 

[TheDutchman]

Chapter 9: Memory Never Fades

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lhyli…he ordered us.”  

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

She only hoped that Rakham and Berra would forgive her.

               <<<<< >>>>>

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

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

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

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

“Why do you—”

“—Continue to fight—”

“—When you know—”

“—That you face—”

“—A superior adversary?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Now you die.”

               <<<<< >>>>>



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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why do you—”

“—Continue to fight—”

“—When you know—”

“—That you face—”

“—A superior adversary?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now you die.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

What happened next served only to prove her suspicions right.

               <<<<< >>>>>



“Now you die.”

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

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

“GO!”

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

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

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

The two daggers stopped cold in mid-air.

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

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

He knew about blackstone; he doubted that they would.

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

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

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

Jorya and himself…Berra and Rakham.

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

Alone.

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

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

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

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

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

[Lord_S_Gray]

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

[TheDutchman]

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

Thanks, LSG!  "Inception" is a great analogue, one that I hope to do justice to 

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

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

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

[Karmack]

Thanks, LSG!  "Inception" is a great analogue, one that I hope to do justice to 

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

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

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

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

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

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

[TheDutchman]

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

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

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

Thanks Karm!

AND you've GOT to write more!!

/whispers _{"something something concerning particular Singers"} 

[Lord_S_Gray]

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

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

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

Thanks, LSG!  "Inception" is a great analogue, one that I hope to do justice to  

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

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

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

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

[TheDutchman]

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

You're absolutely right, LSG; mystery within the narrative is integral often times with good writing.  Mystery without resolution?  NO.

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

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

[Karmack]

Exactly.

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

[TheDutchman]

Chapter 10: Qualified Elucidation, Part I

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All but Jorya.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

               <<<<< >>>>>



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

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

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

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

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

“—Afraid…” The said as one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then, he knew that he would.

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

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

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

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

“Now my lovelies…we have much to do.”

               <<<<< >>>>>

[TheDutchman]

Chapter 10: Qualified Elucidation, Part II

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

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

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

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

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

               <<<<< >>>>>

Centuries passed.

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

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

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

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

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

And she didn’t have to.

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

               <<<<< >>>>>



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Lord_S_Gray]

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

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

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

[TheDutchman]

Chapter 11: The Inexorable Tide

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The effect was immediate.

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

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

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

Well, almost.

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

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

        <<<<<>>>>>



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Shavat..." Zearic quietly cursed.

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

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

They were completely trapped.

[Karmack]

"We're surrounded..."

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

;-)

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

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