Retrieval

[Lord_S_Gray]

Like Karm said it does have a detective vibe...and they just got  a major break in the case - if a sour one for the manipulation Kadmaur inflicted on Rackham.

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

[TheDutchman]

Special thanks to For Tyeth for his awesome rendering of Zearic!
This chapter is dedicated to him 
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Chapter 5: Preparations, Part I

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now…let’s go get your Mother back.”

               <<<<< >>>>>

[TheDutchman]

Chapter 5: Preparations, Part II

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…D’Aylanna needed her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

               <<<<< >>>>>



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Family is more than blood."

[Lord_S_Gray]

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

[Karmack]

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

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

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

[TheDutchman]

Special thanks to For Tyeth for his awesome rendering of Zearic!  This chapter is dedicated to him  
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Chapter 6: “Once More Unto the Breach…”

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

And that’s what scared Rakham the most.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not long as it happened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

               <<<<< >>>>>



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Lord_S_Gray]

Much better prepared, the auto turrets should help...a bit...though with any luck the Rakghouls are elsewhere, not much to eat in an abandoned (?) Ziggurat....but getting cut off like that...at an intersection...seems a little...deliberate...

[Karmack]

LOL   I was thinking the same thing.   "We shouldn't split up..."

BAM

They're split up....

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

[TheDutchman]

Once again I have to give a shout-out to FT: his renderings of Zearic's daggers are nothing short of incredible!
Another chapter gladly dedicate to For Tyeth  
***************************************

Chapter 7: In the Mouth of Madness, Part I

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

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

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

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

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

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

               <<<<< >>>>>



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

She was totally and completely blind.

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

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

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

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

…Nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

               <<<<< >>>>>



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Someone—or something—was coming up from below.

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

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

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

It was far, far worse.

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

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

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

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

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

…He who they had left behind.

               <<<<< >>>>>

[TheDutchman]

Chapter 7: In the Mouth of Madness, Part II

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—She’s lying—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

More specifically, his memories.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

               <<<<< >>>>>



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

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

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

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

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

…Where Mellichae had almost murdered her.

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

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

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

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

—NO!—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Lord_S_Gray]

Madness indeed. Wow. Each faced with some very hideous hallucinations...albeit for Rackham there is a worse reality he has just been faced with or is it? Kadmaur might exists as a sliver in him or is that part of the madness? I can't tell which makes it all the more intriguing.

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

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

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

[TheDutchman]

Chapter 8: Four Is Death

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

…they left you for a reason…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

               <<<<< >>>>>



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“—Able to overcome—” Again the left.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It no longer—”

“—Matters; it seems—”

“—That the others—”

“—Somehow have broken—”

“—Free as well.”

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

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

“My sisters and—”

“—I will be—”

“—The last thing—”

“—That you see!”

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

Screaming, they attacked.

               <<<<< >>>>>



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“—Able to overcome—” Again the left.

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

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

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

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

“It no longer—”

“—Matters; it seems—”

“—That the others—”

“—Somehow have broken—”

“—Free as well.”

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

“My sisters and—”

“—I will be—”

“—The last thing—”

“—That you see!”

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

Screaming, they attacked.

[Karmack]

interesting....

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

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

[TheDutchman]

interesting....

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

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

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

😈😈😈

[Lord_S_Gray]

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