What You Leave Behind

[Karmack]

Orfa

He was finally here again, Old Elax Cliff. 

She was 20 pirates down after the last riot, a further 15 down from just the regular fights that broke out from being caged together.

But she could still make an impression with the hundreds she still had.

As Cliff and his retinue of officers headed along the electro fence she had her thralls line up and bang covered hands causing the stun energies to ripple.


Already the Military Police began to signal for support, assembling on the catwalk to fire down on them.  All of them now wore bulky power armour and moved in groups of three, and they had tripled the number of auto turrets.

The expense must be growing astronomically. Orfa smiled as she stalked behind the line of pirates following Cliff's progress, the Sword of Light guards around him keeping a nervous eye on her.

Across the fence she could see Nordas watching her as well, his troopers pacing beside him.

The curious parallel march continued to the corner of the fence, Pirates, Military Police and Imperials all in lock step. 

None of the three groups wanted to be there, but none could determine a solution to get out.

“What are they doing now…” Cliff asked Colonel Ya’Rn who was in charge of the internment camps beside him.

“Most likely another riot is on the way…we should get you out before.”

“Another problem to deal with” he muttered looking over the disturbingly calm ranks of the pirates.

It was almost time Orfa smiled…almost time.

<<<<>>>>

Cliff

“Well this is unexpected,”

Cliff said standing as the Aertemis Industries Representative came through.  Instead of the Usual Nimmin Cha, whom even Cliff at times struggled to stomach, it was the President herself in a smart black and white business suit that accentuated her dark hair and alabaster features even more.

“Please have a seat,” he offered.

Sophi glanced at the hand-carved wooden chair but quickly assessed it could not take her super-human weight  - one of the many irritations of off world travel, frail humans simply didn’t make their utensils and furniture suitable for the physical strength and dense organs and bones of real People.

“I won’t be long,” she countered.  “I wished to personally check to see you are satisfied with the upgrades to the Mark IV’s friend-foe designators,”

“Oh...I must admit I haven’t had time to read the latest updates, but colonel Ta’Re hasn’t raised any issues, specialist Ry’lack seems capable for the job,”

“I imagine there is much on your mind with the reconstruction...and the aftermath of the attack...the prisoners specifically.”

It was common knowledge, and indeed a growing media pressure regarding their presence and treatment, many commentators wondering why they were being housed on M’tzigon at all after being involved in the recent attack - some wanted them exiled on the next ship out, others a more forceful solution.

“We are still in a crisis situation, the battles over, but the peace is far from won,”

“Indeed which is why I would like to offer Aertemis assistance,” she leaned forward ever so slightly, yet it felt as if an enormous weight were towering over him more than able to crush him at a whim.

“We can arrange for the pirates to be gone in a day, and have the means to convince the Imperials to join you as auxiliaries and help with the refitting of the Requiem,”

How does she know about... he kept his lips tight, the depth of Aertemis claws through the military that he had allowed - in many respects to spite Karmack and Silman - was now coming back to bite him. 

Hard.

“500 Imperials with extensive experience on the vessel you wish to turn into your systems defensive linchpin, it would save you considerable time and expense training your own as well as bolstering your forces instantly.”

Maker, he wanted to say yes, two problems solved with a simple word, so quickly, so easy and....

And at so very high a price.

“Your offer is appreciated, but these are matters the M’tzigon Government will see to ourselves,” he refused politely.  He had made a mistake he now realised in letting Aertemis get in so deep. 

He wouldn’t let them get in any further.

“As you wish General, the offer stands should you change your mind,”

He stood but by the time he was up she was already out of the office and halfway down the corridor eyes indifferently staring ahad, except to briefly glance at a janitor with a sonic-cleaner humming along.

“Anything?” Er’lav asked into Jaims ear-bud comm after the Aertemis girl had left.

“Nothing I could sense, in fact Cliff refused her offer of help,”

He paused at an especially stubborn patch on the hard floor where it seemed someone had spilled caf over night and left it to dry. of all the disguises…

“There is something not right about her in the Force, next time I’ll know what to look for better,”

<<<<>>>>

[Karmack]

Er’Lav

The formal robes of the Kage’s office, Er’lav had to admit, were not flattering to her figure.  Handed down for a few too many generations they had been loosened and tightened to accommodate a dozen different bodies.  Worse,  their previous occupant had been a muscular male Zabrack.

Taking them in to suit her more feminine and svelte figure had succeeded only in making her look like a walking curtain.

Mercifully during their trip from the Mountain Jaim had made no mention of it whatsoever.

He could hardly talk, his own formal robes were anachronistic at best, fashioned for Galtean high society 500 years ago.

The Hovercar pulled up in front of the Presidential Palace where the reception was being held, the President himself awarding a number of medals and Star’s of M’Tzigon for Bravery and Valour to Men-At-Arm’s during Mendax attack.  It was also to be when the PResident was to meet and thank Sophi Neiraisdottir President of Artemis Industries.

A meeting Er’lav sincerely hoped did not end with The President wrapped around the business woman’s finger.

“Ready for this?” she asked the tall Vhal’dan who was smoothing back his hair.

“As I’ll ever be,”

With a tight breath she stepped out as the valet opened the vertical door, following the gentle yellow glow of the floor lights through the cream and white halls of the palace to the Ballroom.  Palace was a misnomer, while it was the President's official residence most of the building was given over to offices of senior civilian officials, one wing was a dedicated museum on M’tzigon’s founding a Republican history, and various spaces for state functions.

The Ball room was large and airy, filled with Men-At-Arms in their formal dress with their wives, husbands or other family, General Cliff already there speaking with a handful of award recipients, others nibbled at the buffet tables along the walls, a number of wait staff circling taking empty glasses or refilling others.

“They’re not here yet…” Er’lav whispered, seeing no sign of the Aertemis girls...until she heard them.

Talia Cam had spent the last half an hour trying to calm her friends...exuberance.  Of the Artemis girls she had befriended she knew that Sophi and Yara were the serious ones, Lysi and Vesi reasonable, and Mari and Kari, currently bickering over whose dress was prettier,  were the ‘naughty’ ones.  Added to them were their ‘cousin’ Alina who seemed far worse than the two troublemakers combined, intent on insulting every object she saw.

The jabbering and jousting drew all eyes and drowned out their official announcement, before the sight of the free food drew them in.

“Well to work,” Jaim said with a nod, moving out to try and get a read on what if any mental manipulations they intended.

“Lose your date so soon?” an oily voice nearly startled her at her side.

“Mister Cha,” she replied tightly

“Kage Racc,” he extended a hand as if to kiss hers, she didn’t move an inch.  “My utter pleasure to meet you at last, may I congratulate you on you elevation, well deserved,”
 
“What a polite introduction,” she said, looking anywhere but at him, well aware of how he played people.
 
“I do my best to respect your august station.”
 
“No doubt…” relenting, she looked him up and down, sending out a gentle brush in the force.  What she sensed from it caused her eyebrow to elevate.  “Why Mister Cha!  Is that a dagger in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

He raised an echoing eyebrow in response. 

“How did you get that past security?” she pressed
 
Cha smiled wickedly “Why the same way your little friend got his sabres and stun blaster through,” he gestured discreetly to Jaim.

“Tell me mister Cha,” she decided to make the most of this.   “How does a failed inquisitor - so incompetent he could never even get off the mercenary lists let alone become a ‘Numbered Brother’ - end up the Vice President of a multi trillion credit corporation?”

“How does a woman traumatized by one interaction with an unusual being during a deep cover assignment become Kage of the illustrious Mak’Tor Knights?” he replied with his own question.  Before she could call him out on the obfuscation he continued.   “Determination, self belief, and making the most of our opportunities when they arrive perhaps?,”

His voice lowered as he leaned in,  “Or more honestly, looking into the mirror and pitying what we saw, resolving never - ever - to present that face to the galaxy again.”

Having not yet mastered the ‘Kage’s Face’, Er’lav felt her mouth sag at the all too truthful words, memories of a time shortly after her disastrous cover operation and ‘rescue’ by the Sons of Kessel in their more ‘unrefined’ form recurring, locked back down only with the oaths she had made to herself to never be that person again.

“We’ve both climbed high Kage...so far as the galaxy sees us...but in our souls…”

He left the thought hanging.

A breath to steady her emotions she glanced at him, seeing, or perhaps imagining, something other than the slick haughty smile that was his mask. It was a face almost handsome on a man she could almost respect.

A gentle chime signalled the start of the awards ceremony, breaking her train of thought.  It was replaced by something that had come up recently in a conversation she’d had with Tel’Owna.  “I thought you were in the desert, training with Zearic Vih’Torr…”
 
Cha checked his watch, his mask back on, leaving Er’Lav wondering how many layers were beneath it.   “Oh…I suppose I am, I’d best head off then before he realises I’m cheating on him,” he bowed gently then paused.   “No kiss goodbye?”

She rolled her eyes  “Get over yourself,”

“Perhaps next time,” he finished sliding into the crowd

Apart from the chattering and sniggering of Sophi’s entourage, the ceremony went off perfectly fine, Jaim across the room shrugging shoulders at the utter lack of action when Er’lav glanced at him.

The formal ceremony over the President with his attendants went to meet the Artemis representatives, oddly she couldn’t see Cha...anywhere...he seemed to have completely vanished.

Er’lav walked, as best as her robes allowed, discreetly nearby to overhear what she could of the conversation and hopefully dissuade any attempt to manipulate the President. 

One of his security detail was a member of the Sword of Light, but given Arnor and her father had been inexplicably freed from one of their detention facilities she had some doubts about the special military branches true readiness - another symptom of the gap that had developed between the Knights and the Men-at-Arms.

Talia with her friends waited nervously as the President approached.

She had done her best to contain the rambunctious girls but their constant chittering and off humour was beginning to wear.

“Miss President and Vice President,” Jason Alvarez President of the M’Tzigon Confederation nodded to Sophi and Vesi.   He was an average height human male with a mid-sized moustache, bowing appreciatively to the women.  “Welcome to M’tzigon ladies, may I express on behalf of…”

“Mister Moustache!” Mari burst out

Unfazed Alvarez went on “…the People of M’Tzigon…”

“The moustaches of M’tzigon thank you Alina,” Kari chirped, Alina curtsied

“I’m honoured by the moustaches of M’tzigon!”

“…for your generous contributions to our recovery…”

“We should’ve donated some electric shavers…” Mari poked
“Didn’t he used to be in the Daring and the Devious and wear a monocle?” Kari inquired

“No…he’s much too ugly…” Alina explained

“…efforts and the defence of the planet…”

“We must protect OUR RIGHT to wear stupid moustaches!”

“You should let yours grow Mari!”

“I’ll transplant it straight off your legs!”

“oooh! Now you’ve done it you little woolmander,”

“Bring it on Bantha locks!”
 
President Alvarez stood mouth half open as the three girls started screaming insults at each other, then poking each other…then tugging each other’s hair.
 
Sophi simply ignored them
 
“Thank you Mr. President, we look forward to continuing a mutually profitable relationship with your system,”
 
“Bitch!” “furry as a wampa” “we’ll need an extra grav drive to get you home after all those pies you ate!” “At least I can fill out a bra!”
 
Talia could no longer tell who was saying what as all eyes turned on the scene, and the Force churned about them as their battle took on a bizarre metaphysical dimension.

Er’lav’s head tightened painfully as the Song was disrupted very deliberately.  Jaim, less attuned to the Song, kepf his attention focused closely on Sophi as she spoke soothing and  meaningless words of support to the President.

He could feel a web of sorts between the Artemis women, they were strongly connected mentally in the force, almost like a hive mind … but it wasn’t reaching out in any way he could sense.

“There is one thing we might ask in return,” Sophi went on gently, taking the President's arm.  “An ancient piece of jewelry was uncovered during the excavation for the new Temple, a gem to be exact.  As a symbol of our partnership we would very much like it if you could loan it us, the centerpiece of a display of M’Tzigon culture for our offices on Fresia, to show to our other clients.”

Jewelery? Er’lav wondered before it clicked - the crystal had to be the “Moonshadow” Karmack had spoken about so vociferously about keeping Artemis away from.

“I’m certain I can arrange that, we would greatly appreciate any promotion of our system as a business and tourism destination, especially in the current climate,” Alvarez replied.  It was a perfectly reasonable response, especially for a President trying to keep a system going in the midst of civil war.  It would be simple common sense to seek new trade partners by leveraging existing ones, but the crystal....

Damn it Karmack….

Er’lav gritted her teeth to intervene, but before she could reach the pair a figure swept in front of her.  “Oh!  You’re the new Kayee-gee!  How wonderful!  Such a shame about what happened to the last one, wrong place at the wrong time, but electing a woman!  Perhaps there is some hope for this planet after all.”  the brown-haired Artemis girl’s words streamed out of her with careless ease as she very consciously and deliberately blocked Er’Lav’s path.

Across the room Jaim could feel something building, elusive but distinct, whether it was a form of mind trick he wasn’t sure but the turmoil in the force caused by the girl's endless argument  - which reached a new threshold as a glass of champagne was hurled, shattering on the ground - was keeping him from fixing on anything.  Still, there was a thread there…

“You really shouldn’t snoop,” a sickly sweet feminine voice crooned in his ear from nowhere, Jaim almost jumping in surprise.

The Artemis girl, he couldn’t pick which one, smiled mischievously,   “Oh look you dropped this, is it a bedroom toy?”

She held out his lightsaber to him, catching the eye of one of the many undercover Presidential bodyguards.

Jaim swallowed and suppressed the urge to snatch the saber back with the force.  Even as he turned, fully to face her and the approaching bodyguard a part of him had to marvel: Just as he thought he had the scent it was whisked away, and a more immediate issue presented itself as he stood exposed staring at his own saber in an alabaster hand,  about to be seriously questioned by security…

Er’lav’s gaze snapped between the President being drawn ever closer to Sophi, and Jaim being quietly asked to ‘step outside’ on the other...and then there was the girl blocking her.

“You know Kay-gee Rac, we really don’t need to be suspicious of each other,” Vesi said keeping her just entrapped in the conversation as the tumult between the other girls died down, Talia pushing them apart and apologising profusely, trying to explain their ‘cultural norms’ were substantively different.

“Perhaps it would help if we understood each others real motives,” Er’lav suggested growing slightly frustrated with the obfuscation - or perhaps more so that they’d so smoothly avoided her minor shadow op.

“The same as its always been Kay-Gee...but the difference now is You are in command, and Karmack is not here,”

Vesi glanced around, satisfied now that the President would deliver on their tiny demand and the Vhal’Dan’s attempt at analysing them frustrated by his foolish smuggling in of his saber.

“We always get our way in the end Kay-Gee, you know that from your time with the Sons” Vesi went on finally stepping aside now it was too late,

Er’lav nodded, she was well aware how they were the true masterminds behind that organisation.  “And you know I won’t let that happen here without a fight,”

“Then let us hope we can bend in the same direction,” Vesi finished with a half smile.  “Before one of us breaks,”

<<<<>>>>

[Lord_S_Gray]

One senses both Cliff and Er'lav are attempting damage control here. Er'lav in particular seeking Jaims help one suspects because she is not sure who else to trust, and quickly finding Artemis claws are deeper than she thought making the task she inherited that much harder, she knows how they operate but unfortunately she got there too late to help. Cliff however has no such excuse only belatedly trying to claw his way out, or at least not dig himself deeper. Still Artemis childish distraction is maybe an indication Jaim and Er'lav were onto something, and they can't exploit Cliff and Silmans self inflicted antipathy before. The way politics and the personal combine is always interesting

[Karmack]

I always wonder, when I read through that interaction around the President, just how childish the childish children really are.   Was it really just girls being girls?  Or was it calculated?

Either way, I think the older Aethan women used the distraction to their advantage as a calculated tactic.   And they dealt with Jaim very well.   :-)   

Orfa, though...   She's a real wild card.  The contrast between her actions and motivations and those of Nordas is interesting.   Nordas is honorable and respectable.  You may not like him, but at least you can appreciate him.   Orfa?  Not so much.

Just makes me wonder what its going to cost Cliff to finally get her and her rabble off-planet.

[TheDutchman]

Alright, glad to see WYLB is back!  Now, on to business...

Several things for certain, the first being that Er'Lav is NOT Silman.  Whether or not her decisions are motivated (partially or completely) by her experiences at the hands of the Sons remains to be seen.  Regardless, she is DEFINITELY not a fan of Karm's at the moment, although it seems that her concerns aren't at least with some merit.
 Speaking of which...

With his own secrets and trepidations, Zearic's worries are echoed by Er'Lav's own concerning his friend.  He's in a precarious position and obligated by his own loyalty to his family and friends--including Karm--encumbered by both yet keeping a scrutinizing eye.  Ironic given that he cannot even trust himself, made especially poignant since his own empowerment could arguably mirror Karm's own: in pursuit to protect them, they endanger the very people that they wish to safeguard.  Wonderful juxtaposition^^

And this is a central theme in WYLB: from Er'Lav to Cliff, Karm to Zearic, the intentions of each character is both laudable...and destructive.  Add into the mix the volatility of Cha, Artemis, Orfa, and Nordas (to say nothing of the Black Armors)...

Poor Jaim: drawn into multiple conflicts on Zearic's ask, set against Artemis by Er'Lav, it's no wonder that he wanted to stay home amongst his spouse, students, and garden.

But worst of all is Morrigan.  Centuries of imprisonment, a burning need for vengeance which she seems to have transferred onto Karm wholesale, she's another wildcard.  Will she be another Mendax?  Perhaps something worse?

Next chapter, please 

[Karmack]

Chapter 33 Demands of the Singer

Karmack

Yes, my soul, find rest in the Maker! My hope comes from Him, truly my rock, my salvation!     He is my fortress, I will not be shaken…

The old chant echoed in his mind for the third time to no avail.  shaking head he tried another

The Maker is my light and my salvation - whom shall I fear? The Maker is the stronghold of my life - of whom shall I be afraid?....

Morrigan...Artemis...he answered ruefully.

Wait for the Maker; be strong and take heart….

No...no he could wait no longer.

Karmack shifted on the mat, unable to find a comfortable posture, his body reflecting the turbulent energy of his restless thoughts. He felt the intensity of it within himself, almost like a vibration, as he fixed his gaze on the ancient one sitting removed from his saber on the mat just in front of him. 

He’d come here seeking solace, after wandering half aimlessly and issuing demands of Tel’Owna and Chillum to dig up what they could of the Starfire.  The Chapel within the Mountain was obscure, the stone here quiet, the song little more than a peaceful bed of chords: few knew it was even here, and Karm had often come here to try and find some clarity and rest.  Only after he arrived had he belatedly realized he hadn’t slept or eaten since his impromptu Force enhanced dash to the former Temple site. He’d almost left again to at least find food, but had instead used a variation on a healing motif to wash away the fatigue and instill new energy into his body.   There is no time…[/]

The Book of the Way lay open beside him, old hymns and mantras of consolation and calm on the page he had just read from offering little comfort in the face of the desperate events that surrounded him.  There is no time…[/]

He could wait no more.  The Maker was silent.  Even now the enemies of the Mak’Tor were moving with all the speed of darkness.  Every day Artemis’ claws sunk deeper into M’Tzigon’s military and government, and Maker alone knew where Morrigan was - crafting hordes of Dark Crystals no doubt - and given the precedence of Mendax ably supported by a coterie of fanatics supplied by Artemis!  He HAD to do something!   

There is no time![/]

Mendax...damn  Despite the accelerated healing afforded by the Ancient One he was still not fully recovered.  His arms were still sore and weak, his side covered with tender pink patches where saber burns had healed over, a few bacta patches remained on his face.

He would have to speed that along too, he couldn’t afford to show any weakness.

Reaching out with the Force, his mind still far from calm, he lifted the Ancient One from the floor, pushing his mind's rhythms to align with those humming in the crystal seeking out the knowledge of the entities that live within it.

While never an ‘easy’ task it seemed harder for his unbalanced state of mind - but Maker, he did not have the time to calm himself!  He pressed hard, fighting his way in, the shimmering lights and distant image of the Gazebo appearing hazy before him.

A little more… Karmack felt the bite of painful resistance as he pushed through the misalignment of song patterns with sheer force of will, finally bringing the crystal and his mind into tune.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the hazy image of Dorian said forcefully at the intrusive entry, voice staticy rather than clear.

The Ghosts of the Crystal had already suffered immeasurably saving Karmack from the Thought Bomb on Vyth: This clumsy entry wasn't helping them - for want of a better word to describe the complex processes of disembodied recorded essences - ‘reassemble’ their partially fragmented selves.

“I’m sorry, but there was no other option, I have urgent news,”

“There’s always another option,” Dorian replied with unconcealed censure.  Kamrack winced at his acid tone, finally noticing he was the only one present.  There is no time…  

He steeled himself and pressed on.  “Apologies, but you of all people will understand - Morrigan had escaped,”

That did give Dorian pause

“Escaped?”

“Yes.  From the cavern on the high mountains you placed her in, by what means I don’t know, but I’m certain Artemis and their foul power is behind it.”

“She was still there...after all this time she never repented…” Dorian mused sadly, resting on one of the ‘benches’   “...I never imagined she would be so intransigent.  Maker!  All that time…perhaps I was wrong to do that…”

Karmack could barely contain  his incredulity, but tried to speak respectfully.
“Master, regardless of the time, she is a danger to the Mak’tor, I need to know where she might go.  I also need to know everything you and the others know of the last location of the Starfire. Where is Slo’ma?”

Dorian came more to himself feeling the anxiety leach off Karmack.  “He’s still ...recuperating...from the thought bomb, as are the others.  I’m not certain we’ll all fully recover in all honestly.”

“That’s unfortunate, but I need to know everything you can tell me right now,”

“You need it do you,” Dorain replied evenly, assessing him more thoroughly

“If I’m to destroy Morrigan and the Black Armoured parasites that have put a puppet in the Kages chair I’ll need to find the Starfire - and know how to use it!  Can I speak with Klu?  I’ve found the Moonshadow; if I can combine all three crystals, I’m sure none of my enemies will be able to stand against me.”

“Klu is the oldest of us and not easy to reach at the best of times, let alone after the bomb.  With your...strained...connection…  You need to take some time, gather information and calm yourself, re-tune yourself with the Song.”

Karm’s mouth twitched in the physical realm with irritation

“At any other time I would agree, but time is the one thing that we do not have.” he tried to be reasonable.  No doubt these crystal entities in their centuries long existence had lost the sense of urgency that real life was replete with.  “Every moment we delay the Nameless one and her Oblivion allies grow stronger,”

The image in his mind began to falter, the Song seeming to twist ever further out of tune. Gathering himself, Karmack used the raw energy of the Force to bend it back into alignment.

Dorian instantly sensed the coercive nature of the connection, and the once Master singer stared into the discordant mess of Karmacks soul: riven with fear, impatience, and anger - the seeds of hatred. 

And Darkness.

“You do need help Karmack,” Dorian replied, Karmack at last feeling some relief, but that relief was instantly shattered as Dorian continued.  “But I won’t offer you any.  You need to return to and lean on the Maker, your Family, the Order … the Light itself in such times. Your fear and rage is smouldering,”  Dorian’s luminous face was empathetic as his image laid his hand on Karmack’s chest to emphasize his point.  “Pursuing the Starfire or Morrigan, or these Black Armours now will only add fuel to the fire and move you further into the dark,”

The words all washed passed Karmack except for the first handful: I won’t offer you any…     

“You won’t help me?” Karmack snapped.   “You can, but you won’t?!”

Dorian shook his head, and his voice was sad when he spoke. “Karmack, your emotions and  your Song, are both unsettled.  You’re forcing your connection to the Song, dictating its melody and harmony, but this isn’t your fight alone!  Being a Singer means connecting with and joining your song to the greater Song and the sentients who contribute to it!  Step back, share the burden!” Dorian implored.

“There just isn't time!” Karmack’s aura in the ethereal plane shook as he again tightened his grip on the connection that constantly felt as though it were slipping through his fingers. His only recourse was to grip tighter and push harder.  “Tell me what you know!” he demanded as the image of the Gazebo began to fracture

Dorian just shook his head   “I’ve told you what you need,”  He released the tenuous bonds keeping Karmack connected from his end.  Until Karm had steadied his song once more he would not be able to connect to them again.  “Return to the Light,” he said as he faded from view.

Covered in sweat, aching all over from forcing the connection, candles around him long since burnt out Karmack fell back into the Chapel's darkness.

<<<<>>>>

[Karmack]

<<<<>>>>

His mood was already sour when he reached the small meeting room.  He suspected it was not going to get any better as Tel’Owna and Chillum’s voices hushed as he entered.

“Any luck with the Crystal son?” the old man asked as Kamrack sat and replied with a stare that was all the answer needed.

“Well…” Tel’Owna spoke into the tension as she dimmed the lights so a holo unit in the table could project, showing the planets as she discussed them.

“From what we’ve pulled together on the Starfire there are two likely locations.  As you know it was last recorded as being in Mak’Tor hands during the final Battle of Ruusan, just over a thousand years ago.  After the Thought Bomb that ended the battle, and wiped out a large portion of the knights, the Mak’Tor survivors gathered what remains they could and took them to be buried in the Catacombs of the Mount on Coruscant.  At that time, 400 years before the exile and break with the Temple Jedi, the Mak’tor could come and go as they pleased and still had access to the ancient burial caves.”

She clicked on a holo slide showing an old Mak’Tora Manuscript illuminated with several attendants fussing over a prone warrior laying down.

“According to the customs of the time, Knights were buried in full armour with their weapons, tools and other valued possessions.  Our best hope is that the Starfire was simply taken to Coursant and buried with its owner and is still in the tomb…”

“Two problems with that,” Kamrack said quickly.  “First, getting to Coruscant with the Empire clinging to it is nigh impossible.  Second, a thousand years is a long time in which it could have been looted.”

Tel’Owna shrugged against Karmacks negativity.  “True.  Unfortunately, the second option isn’t much better.  After the war on Ruusan a Jedi who fought there,  Johun Othone, built the famous ‘Valley of the Jedi’ to honour the fallen.  According to a few fragments Chillum dug up, during the construction of the Mausoleum they searched for any remaining bodies and found several hundred more. Again they buried them according to custom, so it’s equally possible that the Starfire was interred on Ruusan.”

Karmack’s jaw clenched, that was even worse - the location of Ruusan had been lost for - if he recalled - the better part of five hundred years.

“A thousand years is a long time to be lost.” Chillum said, “It could be anywhere in the galaxy if looters got to it,”

“I’ll find it.” Karmack said forcefully - not so much optimistic as arrogant to Chillum’s ears.
“The Maker guided me to the Ancient One, now the Moonshadow, He will guide me to the Starfire, and with all three I’ll have the power to destroy Morrigan and those Oblivion Monsters,”

Tel’Owna subtly leaned back from the Master Singer, the very air around him seemed to radiate a conviction that she found less inspirational than troubling.

Karmack closed his eyes trying to feel out the Rhythms of the Song, the flow of its verses to see where he should go.  The Song however remained choppy, jagged and unstable.  Directionless, he relied on his own best guess.

“Coruscant. Back to Corsucant, Maker knows how we’ll get through the Imperial blockades…”

“I may have someone who can help with that,” Tel’own smiled for the first time in hours.

<<<<>>>>

“Why can’t we take the Wayfarer?”

Tel’Owna shared a sheepish look with Arnor as they waited for the Head of intelligence's guest to arrive.

Arnor fielded the question.  “I may have forgotten to mention it’s still impounded on Canto Bite…along with Mutt and Vegan…Talia said Vesi would try and buy it back from the seizure auction.”

Karmack didn’t bother to try and hide his annoyance at being even further embroiled with Vesi and her ilk….their manipulations were truly reaching pathological proportions.

“Moving right along…” Tel’Owna said as the door chimed.  “…we’ve found an alternate courier to get you into and out of Coruscant with a proven track record of getting through Remnant blockades.  They also have proven combat ability and were commended by Koawan Do'Na'Vann and Ja'Mason'Crin after a recent action."

Karmack regarded the young handsome couple that had entered the room.  They were a human male and female in well worn but practical utility outfits, with nothing that met the eye to suggest they were anything but a typical pair of blockade runners.  But Karmack instantly knew better.

“May I introduce Alex and Joanna Krin,”

He looked the man up and down, noting his paltry attempt to conceal his presence in the force – perhaps a lesser user would be fooled but with the Ancient One’s refining lens he could see through the attempt easily. 

“Nice to meet you,” Alex said, taking a seat out for Joanna.  Arnor couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy at the gesture, her own husband had barely spoken to her since his second race to the Temple.  He’d then been all over the place in meetings and meditations without a single moment to even comm her where he was. 

If Chillum hadn’t told her he was planning to leave M’Tzigon she doubted she would even know.

Alex reached out to shake hands.  As soon as his hand touched Karmack’s he felt a static tingle up his back.  The Force energies on this planet and the number of knights moving about so freely had been enough of a shock.  The force presence of the more senior masters he had passed seemed invariably strong, on par with the strongest he had ever sensed.. 

But this Karmack guy...he just felt a whole other level of - intense.

“So what actual training have you had?” Karmack dispensed with any pleasantries, he needed to be sure whoever got him onto Coruscant could get him off.

“My master was J’Hadya Cunn, a Sentinel watchman,” Alex replied evenly despite the bluntness of the question.

“And what combat experience?  Pirates and  smugglers I’m guessing?  How many Sith have you faced, real darksiders?”

Alex felt a slight flush on his face, realising for the first time just how ‘out of the storm’ he had been – sure he’d faced former inquisitors and darker force users here and there, yet something about the tone and hardness of Karmack’s voice made him feel he really hadn’t seen much at all.

“Well...I…”

“Just as I sensed…” Karm rounded on Tel’Owna before Alex could mutter another word.  “I need real knights to serve me, not half trained smugglers.”

Arnor flinched slightly at the implications of the word serve me but assumed it was merely stress resulting in a poor choice of words.

“Hang on.  Alex is more than capable.  Have you read the reports from Do’Na and Ja’Mason on the whole Shard adventure with Opal?”

“The enemies we face are far more deadly than two-bit inquisitor drop outs,” Karm shook his head.  “Dark singers, Senior Inquisitors, brought back to life by nefarious powers...and as for the BA’s, I’ve seen seasoned Knights, men and women I thought unbreakable simply wilt by standing near them” Karm could only sigh, he didn’t want to offend the young man, but Alex seemed to him still too boyish to face the kind of threats this quest would involve.

Maker knew only with the Ancient One was Karm himself able to keep up!  He didn’t want to see this poor young couple on the receiving end of an Oblivion dagger.

“Unfortunately the Kage was clear this was your mission alone Karm,” Tel’Owna again tried to steer him back to something resembling neutral.  “At the least Alex and Joanna can get you where you need to go, he has my full confidence,” she smiled at the young pair.

Begrudgingly Karm nodded, feeling once more the burden was his alone, but encouraged by the memory of Master Odjina’s ghost.  He was a Master Singer now, there was no one else who could carry it.

“Alright...how soon before we can leave?”
 

<<<<>>>>

[Karmack]

<<<<>>>>

“What do you think?” Joanna leaned against the side of the Hope II as Alex tinkered with Zuzu.  The short squat droid was perfectly functional, but some light tinkering always relaxed him.
“About what…” he said, half-heartedly looking around the Mak’Tor hangar.  It was relatively quiet in the late evening, operations were apparently at an ebb with most of the Knights still recovering from the recent attack by this “Darth Mendax” person.

Joanna shrugged.  “…This job…these Mak’Tor…this Karmack”

Alex sat back and wiped his brow, meeting his wife’s eyes.  “I think…  Jo, I think there’s a lot more going on than we know…and…” he flipped the access panel closed as Zuzu rebooted.  “…I think the less we know right now the better.  This Karmack guy…” he paused as Joanna handed him her flask to drink from.   “He’s strong in the force…stronger than anyone I’ve ever felt…but something feels wrong about him like…a…”

Red flashed before his eyes as his stomach suddenly sunk, his legs trembling as something grew strange and twisted nearby.

“Alex…Alex what’s wrong?” Joanna quickly grasped him as he raised a finger toward one of the doors into the main Mak’Tor facility. 

Across the hanger in the direction Alex indicated Joanna saw was a small group of people: A middle aged, firm looking woman; an older Mak’tor in robes, a Togruta and a Besalisk.  The latter two were dressed in well worn but very functional light armour, the kind her uncle would point out as belonging to a ‘man who knows how to handle himself’.

Alex saw what she couldn’t. Behind them was a towering figure made consipcuous by its…absence in the force…dark and horrific to behold in his mind’s eye – not strong in the same way he had sensed from Karmack, rather a kind of force that seemed the opposite of everything he understood the Force to be – the effect of which was so strong it made him feel physically ill.

As they approached they overheard the conversation

“…the facilities are good but might benefit from a facelift, while your construction crews are on planet there seems no better time,” Er’Lav noted to Scrubber who nodded.

“We can always use more work, experience on military facilities is especially useful.”

“Indeed.” Er’Lav had developed a good working relationship with Scrubber and knew him well enough to know when he was being circumspect about something.  “Are you planning further upgrades to Eurydice Base?”

A darting glance to his bodyguard told Er’Lav she had struck on what she had termed a ‘Dark point’ - something to do with Scrubbers deal with the BA’s he did not share with, well anyone

“Amongst other things,” he smiled

Er’Lav noted the unusual ship and the two humans beside it, vaguely recalling Tel’Owna speaking of a smuggler who had assisted two Knights on Nar’Shadda.  The young man she faced however looked absolutely pallid, a woman comforting him.

Er’lav didn’t even need to ask why, the ‘Blank’ Presence of Black Armour behind Scrubber was something she, even after nearly a year with the Sons, was not used to, and likely never would be.

Alex simply stared at the thing as it walked past, Joanna less stunned noted the Togruta and woman pointing out various loading railings on the ceiling that could use replacement, and discussing defensive improvements, notably concerning vicious sounding traps, similar to some other base the Togruta had worked on or perhaps owned.

The unnervingly silent vast Abyssal black boots paused for a moment and the head turned to regard Alex. Instantly he felt a sudden urge to divest himself of his breakfast.

Something dark, something sharp Cut through him in less than a second, Alex’ knees wavered; his chest felt as if it were being opened on some sick dissection table, everything being analysed….

Then it was gone. Relief the likes of which he had never felt flooded through him and the figure was…inexplicably on the other side of the hangar….

Swallowing down half digested pancakes Alex turned to Joanna, “The sooner we get out of here, the better,”

<<<<>>>>>

The contrast could not be more clear.

There was Joanna and Alex, laughing, touching as they went about preflight checks, the bond between them palpable.

And then there was his Daughter, sitting on a crate to the side, her legs crossed, arms squeezed round her as if to keep warm from the cold indifference of her absent husband.

Du’an Chillum knew there were a lot of things on Karmacks mind, threats to be faced -real and possibly imagined...but still. 

There was an agitation, and impatience in his son in law he hadn’t felt before, understandable given recent events, but that was a cause to pull people closer, not push them away.

“You all right love?” he asked of his daughter

“He’s getting worse dad, and…I don’t know how to help him, and this trip…” she looked warily toward the Hope   “I have a bad feeling about this.”

Du’An rested a comforting hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Can’t disagree lass, things have been getting darker for a while now…just have to hold onto the Light at the end,”

Shaking off her own troubles briefly, Arnor smiled up at her father, laying her own hand over his.  “Are you leaving with Ken soon?”

“He’s just off to grab Julwyyn and Balnard, not exactly sure what this Mission after Morrigan is meant to accomplish…apart from getting every Mack the Kage can off M’Tzigon.”

“Hopefully nothing comes of it at all,” Arnor replied ruefully as Karmack entered the far door, weapons slung over his shoulder, pushing a hoversled loaded with armour and explosive.  Even from across the hanger she could make out the uncharacteristic gaunt look on his face and deepening eyes.  Was it exhaustion from so much fighting and travelling?  Or something far darker in his very soul manifesting physically?

“You’ll take care of him, won’t you,” Arnor asked Chillum referring to Ken, her eyes never leaving her husband.  “IIf anything happens to us?”

Du’an breathed deeply, there was always a risk, every time they left.  Even here at home they weren’t truly safe..  There was always that chance they wouldn’t come home … and he had never felt it more keenly than now.

Any other time he might have countered with something optimistic, ‘you’ll be back home before you know it’...it felt too asinine in the current climate.

“I will,” he promised.

<<<<>>>>

“How long until we reach Coruscant,” Karmack asked arms crossed tightly as his withering gaze inspected every corner of the Hope,

They hadn’t even left M’Tzigon yet.

“Avoiding known conflict zones and hyperlane blockades by the Alliance and Imperials, just over two days.”

That meant it would  likely be a week or more.  Kamarck seethed with impatience.  Maker knew what Artemis could get up to in that time!   Still the enforced period of inactivity gave him time to fully heal the remaining scratches and tears on his body..

“I will be in the hold,” Karmack replied, turning and beginning his healing meditations without delay … or informing anyone that was in fact his intention at all.

To Alex and Joanna it simply felt like an ungracious dismissal.

“I’m sorry,” Arnor, forgotten in the corner of the cockpit, apologised preemptively.  “My husband has been…been suffering a lot recently, he feels like the galaxy is closing in against him sometimes…and recently it actually has been,”

Alex pursed his lips as he idly flicked some switches powering up the reuplsors to the ‘sweet spot’ of 80% charge before flipping the gravity inversion drives on for lift off.  As they whined to life he shared a glance with his wife before turning to face Arnor.  “We understand.  We’ve seen the news and heard plenty of dock-side chatter about what happened to your planet and Temple during this Mendax’s invasion.  You’ve all been through a lot.”

The couple returned to their work, bringing their ship fully online and getting her underway, while Arnor’s cheeks flamed at the unspoken implication: Yes, Karmack was under a lot of stress … but so was everyone else.   So why was HE going off the deep end?   

Arnor had no answer. 

<<<<>>>>

[Karmack]

Chapter 34 Training with a Daemon

Day 1

M’Tzigon was generally an alpine world but even it had a few desert-like depressions of moisture sucking white sands where by force of geology rain didn’t reach in abundance.
 
As temperate winds blew across the high plateau, particles of gypsum pelted everything in its path: from the wind-blown dunes, to the sand-blasted rock strata jutting out sporadically from the desert floor, and finally the industrial machinery of mostly forgotten automated mining complexes.  Mingling with the sound of the wind was the low droning of the mining equipment (at least, those that had not seized up as a result of the sand).  Taken as a whole, it produced an eerie backdrop displaying the harsh beauty of the Osa Dormeondo Dunes. 
 
Zearic would soon become intimately acquainted with the region.
 
Millions of years ago during a particularly geologically active time in M’Tzigon’s past, a large stretch of the Siccum Haranae Mountains had collapsed along perpendicular faults, the largest of which became the Solitudenum Rift, a high-altitude white sands desert nestled atop a tall plateau overlooking the western boundary of the S’can’Dere Ocean in M’Tzigon’s southern hemisphere.  And with the lone exception of the before-mentioned automated machinery, the nearest habitation was hundreds of kilometers inland.
 
In other words: ideal for isolated training.
 
Cha had given him the location far from any of the cantons and off any transit route to train in private.  Borrowing one of the Mak’Tor hovercars he’d made good time and was only 15 minutes from the destination when he was shot down in the middle of the Dunes.
 
Smashing into a white wall of searing sand he’d earned a gash to his head as the transpairsteel cracked from the sonic weapon that had downed him. 

Covered in the Force he’d pushed out only to find a figure in light tan robes suited to the desert blasting the hovercar’s trunk, turning the food, water, and comms inside to molten chunks before vanishing into a less than natural storm of dust.
 
“I asked for training from an Inquisitor…and I got it…” Zearic seethed against the dry grainy winds.
 
First lesson was one Zearic knew well: never fight fair, hit your enemy when they don’t expect you, if they are stronger than you isolate them, attack, retreat, attack and retreat.
 
And that was exactly what Cha—or at least Zearic hoped it was him—was doing.
 
Heading toward the way marker using his hand-held comm’s GPS, he’d been attacked by the robed figure wielding a double bladed red sabre three times over the first day: once from behind some rocks, then buried beneath a dune, and finally appearing as if from nowhere right in front of his face.
 
There was no danger sense, no trickle of the Force…just empty silence of the desert plain before the blades struck at him, the hum of the sabre somehow suppressed.
 
The most disconcerting part of it was the way the Force “snapped” when Cha used it; while most knights tended to have a steady level of build-up—a pool as it were to draw from—Cha switched it on and off like a light switch, utterly cut off in between. 

It was a method Zearic now tried to replicate, to keep his power depressed until the last possible moment.
 
Grimly, he understood the lesson: Karmack would rely on the Ancient One, and by extension a well spring of the Force…Zearic couldn’t beat him on those terms.  And whatever minor physical advantages his ancestry gave him he did not have the Force strength to waste.  And keeping himself open for longer than necessary would offer Karm too many opportunities to use his Song abilities to disrupt him…and overwhelm him.
 
Over the shimmering horizon he saw the brown outline of an old sand-ruined mining station, based on the tracker it was the waypoint he had been headed toward.  Kneeling in the setting sun he wondered how he should proceed.  Cha was no fool, he wanted Zearic to go there, to have his enemy come to him, the place likely riddled with traps…but he had nowhere else to go and there was nothing else in sight but endless seas of blinding white sands.
 
Perfect for an ambush.
 
Like a mirage Cha suddenly appeared, a savage cut from his lightsaber stopped only in the nick of time, Zearic’s face contorting in effort.  And anger.  …Bastard… He fumed.  Zearic pushed hard against his opponent’s saber, bringing his shoto to bear as well.  Back and forth the two men flowed, the dusk-time sands reflecting the light of their sabers.  And after several more passes, Zearic knew that he was at a grave disadvantage.  As if reading his mind, Cha smiled.
 
“You wanted to know how an Inquisitor fights?  Well they don’t; a good Inquisitor is a murderer who gets someone else to do the dirty work then knifes them when they are asleep.”  Cha casually offered during a bladelock.  Zearic said nothing, working through his Water Forms.
 
Seeing an opening, Zearic scissored his two blades causing Cha to block high.  With a flick of his wrist, he was able to disarm Cha of one of his sabers, the hilt flying away and seemingly lost in the darkening white sands.  Grinning, Zearic thought he’d gained advantage.  Until he saw the look on Cha’s face.
 
“You still fight like a knight! Unimaginative, restrained…Kazic should’ve taught you better!”  The name struck harder than Cha’s blows, words immediately falling from the big man’s mouth.
 
“What do you know ab—” A palm to his throat choked the word back, an instant later Cha had him on the ground from a lightning-fast leg sweep, causing Zearic to land with a heavy thud.  Summoning his sabre back to his hand, Cha’s face looked almost…disappointed(?)…but changed a split-second later looking bored, a ghost of contempt apparent on his lips.
 
“I know nothing of ‘Kazic’ other than you will be distracted by his mention.”  He intoned, walking away, a shadow among shadows in the ever-darkening landscape.
 
Coughing as he rose, Zearic labored to get air past his wounded throat, all the while berating himself. 

Cha’s words stuck doggedly with him, the hard truth of his admonishments echoing through the Gray Jedi’s skull.  Once again, the whispered litany that had haunted him for as long as he could remember drifted across his mind.
 
…You will kill them, all of them…
 
The utter blackness of night fell around him, cold, dark, and lonely.  But even as he shivered, all thoughts of food and drink forgotten, Zearic’s body felt nothing but numbness.  As sleep took ahold, his mind raced with the events of the day and the lessons that he’d learned.
 
And Zearic avowed that he would not need to learn the same thing twice…
 

<<<<< >>>>>

[Karmack]

Day 2

Zearic awoke before M’Tzigon’s sun peeked above the horizon, the pre-dawn gray washing out any and all geographical disparities amongst the sands.  Which of course meant that Cha would use this to his advantage.  He may have been hiding but the day’s training had begun.
 
Zearic knew that he’d have to keep up his strength.  And without basic supplies like food and water, he would be at a further disadvantage.  He chanced drawing upon the Force, searching out anything living in order to both hopefully draw Cha out as well as look for anything he could eat.
 
Unsurprisingly, he found neither.  Shifting his focus, Zearic instead searched for one of the natural spring wells that dotted the Osa Dormeondo Dunes.  It only took him about an hour and by that time the sun was already scorching, the sands of the desert an oven.
 
Coming upon the well, Zearic bent over the water, cupping his hands to drink meanwhile raptly paying attention from the corners of his eyes.  There wasn’t enough water to satiate his thirst but it was at least something.
 
So it was then that Cha attacked.  As with the day before, Cha’s presence in the Force wasn’t there until it suddenly was.  With a split-second warning, Zearic ducked under a savage cut, rolling into a defensive position, both of his sabers ignited and ready…
 
…Only to face nothing but sand.  But he wasn’t able to ponder on it for too long; a brutal kick from behind him sent the big maenowan crashing into the sand, Cha’s twin red blades burning holes in the desert as Zearic desperately fought to roll away.  Knowing he needed to regain the initiative, he projected a powerful yet unfocused Force Push at Cha.  Either the former Inquisitor had expected it or Zearic’s aim was off but it was enough to distract.  Using the precious time that he’d won, Zearic performed a kip-up, which immediately brought his sabers to the ready.  Only Cha was no longer in front of him…
 
And so it went throughout the day.
 
Had there been any witnesses, they would have seen two figures fighting opposite one another.  Just as their sabers cast red, blue&silver hues across the desert, their boots and clothes were a stark contrast against the harsh white gypsum sand, both men as hard as the rock strata that stabbed through the desert sands.  And while they were of a height, that was where the similarities ended.  One had a slender yet muscled build, handsome tanned-skin face clean-shaven showing an easy, oily smile, clad in off-white robes, his tan boots seeming to hover just above the sand before disappearing like a mirage.  The other was much wider, heavy shoulders and barrel chest beneath a bearded face sporadically peppered with white, his dark brown boots sinking into the desert floor as if the man weighed as much as the surrounding rock, intensely odd hazel eyes which bespoke of hardship…
 
And resolve.
 
But Zearic was on edge, careful to use his other senses—sight, smell, and hearing—to seek out his enemy…Cha was out there somewhere but he couldn’t discern where…and thirst was beginning to take hold.  The noontime sun glared straight above, the unforgiving rays beating down upon him causing him to momentarily hallucinate.  For…for a moment he thought he saw…D’Aylanna…?  No, no that couldn’t be right… The big man castigated himself—Focus!—recalling his previous conversations with the former Inquisitor.
 
He needed to stop thinking like a knight.
 
It had been almost an hour since he’d last seen Cha but Zearic knew that the interim wouldn’t last.  And it was then and there that he decided that he would no longer be the hunted but rather become the hunter…
 
Using only an iota of the Force, he wrapped himself in a Buried Presence technique…but not like how the Vhal’Dan had taught him. 

No, like he’d seen Cha do, the former Inquisitor all but disappearing regardless of having been right in front of Zearic at the time.  One moment there, then like that: Cha was gone, leaving no trace whatsoever.  And he’d left no footprints in the sand either.  Neat trick, that.
 
Zearic looked behind himself, more than a little pleased when he noticed that he too was no longer leaving any tracks.  And just as he was about to mentally congratulate himself, he heard the quiet hum of an activated lightsaber blade swinging towards him…
 
Reacting by instinct, Zearic caught Cha’s invisible blade upon his silver shoto, meanwhile raising his icy-blue mainhand saber in a midguard…only to have Cha’s other saber hilt clobber him across his jaw.
 
Ignoring the pain, he spit blood from his mouth all the while wondering how in the hell Cha had seen him…
 
Squinting, Zearic shook his head to clear it.  The entire desert floor seemed to…undulate and flow, the heat radiating from the sand creating multiple mirages…yet…
 
Yet one was remarkably like the shape and size of a body…
 
…A body that attacked!  Once again, Zearic was able to block the incoming blades with his own sabers.  More importantly, he thought that he could actually see the red of Cha’s lightsabers, although it appeared as if he were staring through clouded transparisteel.  Parrying another quick succession of strikes, he knew that he could now make out minor details, even though it seemed as if he was engaged in combat against nothing but a mirage.  But he didn’t stop…
 
…Yet another lesson learned.  Dropping his Force Obfuscation, Cha’s face was affixed with the oily mask that he normally wore.  But…but for at least a second or two, Zearic could swear that he saw…approval(?).  Before the big maenowan could focus more, Cha laughed, running backwards towards a small island of rock strata erupting from the white sands.  With a deft flip, he disappeared behind the rock, yet his voice could still be heard.
 
“Good.  But you are still thinking like a Jedi.”  His tone changed, no longer condescending.  “The Jedi that got away were the ones willing to sacrifice others to save themselves, the ones who tried to still be knights died, cut down by Vader or mopped up by us.”
 
Zearic ran after him, only partly listening.  Jumping up onto the rock face, he realized his mistake only after he’d committed: unable to see the full vantage from the bottom of the rock island, Zearic now saw that Cha was waiting for him, the trap closing fast upon him.  Cha’s sabers were meant to bisect Zearic at the arc of his Jump, the Gray Jedi’s momentum his own downfall…
 
Frantic, Zearic drew fully upon the Force, Pushing down with all of his intent, allowing him to seemingly double-Jump in the air and narrowly avoiding Cha’s blades.  When Zearic landed, it was all that he could do to keep the former Inquisitor’s blades from him.  But the day’s lessons weren’t over.
 
Even as Zearic parried, Cha suddenly disengaged, teleported sand slamming into the larger man’s face, temporarily blinding him.  Even before Zearic could clear his vision, Cha projected a Force Thorn at him.  And while the maenowan thought he was prepared for the metaphysical assault, he did not expect Cha to suddenly be right in front of him.  Before he could react, he felt Cha’s knee crash into his solar plexus, driving the wind from him.  Simultaneously, a small rock hit him squarely on the crown of his head, causing him to see stars.  But even before his body could register the pain, Zearic was thrown bodily up into the air.  The Force Thorn hit home at the same time as his body hit the oncoming ground.
 
Around him, the growing shadows of dusk began to give way to the night.
 
Head spinning, waves of nausea threatening to overwhelm him, and the Force as far out of reach as the distant stars, it was all Zearic could do to try to regain his feet.  Again, the look on Cha’s face seemed to be…expectant(?)…but almost immediately was replaced by his usual disinterest.  As was his voice.
 
“Mack will fight with rhythm and pace, throw Chaos in his face.”  Cha disappeared into the heat-mirage of the darkened desert.
 
As Zearic fought to stave off the effects of the Thorn, he collapsed in a heap upon the desert floor, exhaustion and blackness settling upon him.
 
And for a second night, Zearic’s body succumbed to the numbness of the day’s injuries…as well as his need for food and water.  As he finally lost consciousness, he heard once again the whisper that continued to haunt him:
 
…You will kill them, all of them…
 

<<<<< >>>>>

[Karmack]

Day 3

The following morning was even worse: Zearic was violently awakened by one of Cha’s metaphysical attacks, this time a potent Memory Walk.  As thoughts of Gaetana were dredged up and replayed, Zearic instead desperately focused upon something tangible, anchoring him to the here-and-now.
 
The gnawing hunger within his stomach did the trick.
 
And none too soon: the Memory Walk was merely a feint.  Suddenly the red glow of Cha’s twin blades dispelled what remained of dawn’s shadows.  Working his sabers furiously, Zearic’s defenses were at least adequate through the morning…
 
Cha’s attacks were consistent in one regard: they were always inconsistent from one encounter to the next.  From his dawn ambush to Force Illusions during noon to an unrelenting twin-pronged saber/Force-power offensive, Zearic continued to be beaten down, chipped away at, broken…and remolded.  At least as far as his tactics and strategies were concerned.
 
But, he absorbed all of those hard taught lessons, never once falling for the same trick twice.  Yet, if Zearic continued to learn, Cha had much to teach, his repertoire of seemingly unending attacks, tricks, and powers an endless repertory from which to choose from. 
Where Cha had learned so much from, Zearic could at least guess…
 
Early in the afternoon, Zearic had reached another one of the many automated mining sites within the Osa Dormeondo Dunes.  Even alert he was still surprised by Cha’s ambush.  All along one of the metal walls Zearic suddenly felt as if gravity was shifting polarity.  Rushing towards the wall as if he were falling towards the ground, the big maenowan attempted to slash directly at Cha’s Force weaves.  Only partly successful, Zearic crashed into the metal, the wall exploding as a result of his momentum and the rusted, weakened state of the construct.
 
Covered in small lacerations, his left eye swelling from taking the brunt of the impact, Zearic was able to spy Cha with his Force-enhanced senses.  Even now Cha chuckled, thinking the Gray Jedi unconscious.  But he was wrong.  Ignoring the pain, Zearic didn’t try anything fancy but instead Pulled.
 
With a suddenness that Cha had not expected, the former Inquisitor’s eyes widened comically as the stanchion beneath his feet gave way causing him to fall.  His saberstaff was ripped from his grasp as it hit the metal railings reshaping itself, creating a crude if formidable cage.  And within its center, when all of the commotion had ceased, lay Cha’s unmoving body…
 
Zearic rose to his feet unsteadily, half-limping over to where the cage now stood.  A small grin played upon his lips…until he noticed that Cha was no longer breathing.  Grimly, Zearic ran up to the metal’s perimeter, using the Force to pull the cage apart.  Just as he reached his arm in intent on helping Cha, he suddenly heard a familiar chuckle.  Turning his head, Zearic’s eyes widened in shock just as a thick metal beam plowed into him lengthwise.  The air knocked out of him, Zearic struggled to regain his footing.  Instead, the big man staggered before collapsing upon the ground.
 
Looking around, he saw Cha’s “body” disappear, the Force Projection having distracted Zearic completely. 

Looking slowly about he saw the former Inquisitor appear from behind his Concealment, Cha stretching out his arm as he recalled the fallen saberstaff to him. 

“You may have the blood of the Gods, but not enough compared to their blessings.”  Holding his hand palm up Cha closed down his weapon, calling a halt.  Exhaling, Zearic nodded.
 
The big maenowan dragged himself to a sitting position, putting both of his lightsabers back upon his belt.  Zearic had gotten used to Cha’s attendant assertions.  “They’re…not Gods.” He bit back through the moisture-eating sand in his throat.
 
“Are they not…would you say that to one of them while you kneel before them, unable to move a muscle?” Zearic couldn’t tell if Cha was being rhetorical or was genuinely asking.
 
But as worn as he was now, as heavy as his limbs were from the exertion, it was nothing compared to the effect they had had on him, Zearic had to concede.  Yet…that did not make them divine.
 
Only powerful.
 
Cha continued.  “There are no Gods Zearic, only very real monstrosities that play fast and bloody across the galaxy.”  The former Inquisitor strode over toward a small pack tensing his unnaturally taught back muscles before taking a swig from his canteen. 

“Pawns like us must merely choose which of the Titans we wish to serve, to sit under their shadow rather than be crushed by their feet…I chose the ones that offered what I desired most…”
 
Cha wiped the sweat from his brow, the tanned skin of his face flushed red and sprinkled by flecks of the profuse white sands. 

“I once thought I desired power, strength, glory…respect, even honor…a young man’s foolishness that lead him to follow his brother into the Emperor’s service…”
 
Zearic slowly rose back up brushing off the rust, sweat stinging into small cuts on his arms and back.  Listening intently, he was certain that Cha had dropped the façade he wore.
 
“But in the end I realized it was pleasure, youth, beauty I wanted most, and there was none of that in the Inquisition unless you were a sadist delighting in torturing the Jedi captives and beating down your inferiors…or an opportunist knifing your superiors…” An almost wistful expression hung to his face.
 
“And your new Gods gave you what you wanted.”  There was no scorn in Zearic’s voice, no accusation…just a statement of fact.
 
“For a price…we have no say in who is greater than us, on who can rain down their patronage…and rarely can we even choose to whom we are indentured…”  There was a fatalism to his thoughts, one similar to something Scrubber had said to Zearic:“We don’t get to choose who helps us when we need it Vih’Torr…keep that in mind…”
 
It was a pragmatism that Zearic could respect, if still begrudge the implications.
 
Cha peered into the now empty canteen, his tone shifting back to its foppish sharp highs that served as such an effective mask. 
“No one keeps score, no one rewards the Just nor punishes the Wicked; take what you want and avoid paying for it if you can, and hopefully…”  Sabrestaff igniting, he lit the shadowed ruins blood-red.  “…Get some pleasure out of this wretched hive we call a galaxy.”
 
As the third night fell upon the desert, Zearic and Cha having fought almost continuously until the silver crescent of M’Tzigon’s largest moon was high upon the horizon, the former Inquisitor once again disappeared into the blackness of the sands.
 
Abruptly, Zearic crumpled upon the ground falling into sleep precisely where he fell.  But as he did so the familiar, haunting whisper was the last thing that he heard…
 
…You will kill them, all of them…
 

<<<<< >>>>>

[Karmack]

Day 4

By the fourth day, dehydrated, hungry, and sleep-deprived, Zearic struggled to maintain any cohesive defense; he could no longer attack with any facility.  Cha’s relentless “instructions” had more than taken their own toll, and not just physically.
 
But…given what he’d learned…it was a price well worth paying.
 
Zearic’s silver-bladed shoto intercepted one of Cha’s red, only to fall through empty air as the former Inquisitor briefly deactivated the plasma blade, surging past Zearic’s shoto and reactivating a second later.  The big maenowan was in danger of being bisected as Cha followed through with his saberstaff, only air and blowing sand between the red blade and Zearic’s thorax.
 
Using a momentary surge with the Force, Zearic’s reflexes became superhumanly fast, the icy-blue blade of his main lightsaber barely able to stop Cha’s attack.
 
But that was only physically.  On the metaphysical level, Cha’s invasive Memory Walk once again threatened to overwhelm Zearic.  Unlike yesterday’s effort at Memory Walking (or “Torture by chagrin” as Cha noted, his foppish tone a mnemonic that Zearic had come to despise…but heed at his own detriment) Cha attempted to recall ALL of his worst fears, embarrassments, and disappointments.  But Cha still took it one further…
 
His Memory Walking attempted to recall it all simultaneously. 
 
Dedicating a brief flash of Force Suppression, Zearic fought off the Memory Walking while also parrying a brutal assault from Cha’s saberstaff.
 
But the crux of Cha’s attacks were neither his blades nor the Memory Walking.  As Zearic raised his blue lightsaber to parry, he felt a sudden inrush of air and a small sonic boom…and found himself empty-handed, bereft of his main weapon.  Quickly bringing his shoto to bear, he stopped Cha’s saberstaff by mere centimeters.
 
Mentally castigating himself, Zearic knew that he’d been so focused on resisting the Memory Walking that he hadn’t thought to secure his defenses against Cha’s teleportation.  Not that Cha could teleport anything of substantial mass nor very far, but clearly he felt that the great expenditure of Force energies would be worth the advantage, even if momentarily.
 
…Well, two can lay that sabacc hand down… Zearic thought even as he fought with renewed focus.
 
Cha’s attacks against his shoto had Zearic retreating, losing ground where his boots suddenly felt solid rock instead of soft sand.  The anticline was precisely what he needed.  Zearic made certain that Cha continued to press his attack, advancing as he did so, and when his right boot stood upon the solid rock anticline, the big maenowan readied himself.
 
Just as Cha advanced again, he took a step.  Just as he brought his other boot down upon what he expected to be rock, Zearic acted.  Again, opening himself to the Force, he drew on as much as he could; Zearic knew that he’d need it.
 
Even with his augmented Force Ability, what Zearic did took much from him.  But it was a calculated risk…and he was close to utter exhaustion; the Gray Jedi could not hold out much longer.
 
When Cha planted his foot, he swung his saberstaff in a tight arc, intending on reversing the orbiting second red blade around Zearic’s shorter shoto.  But before he could do so, he suddenly and unexpectedly slipped.
 
It was a minute stumble and one that Cha would normally recover from.  But Zearic had anticipated—no, planned—on him doing such.  So, dropping all pretense of defending Zearic focused entirely on his attack leaving himself entirely exposed.
 
Zearic felt his shoto hit home, Cha’s eyes widening with both surprise and as a result of the hit.  The former Inquisitor’s face played between surprise, pain, and confusion.
 
But then, he broke out in a grin.  “And now: I am dead.”  His laugh had none of the foppish flippancy nor high tonality of before; it was genuine…or as sincere as Zearic had heard from Cha.
 
“For a change…” The big maenowan’s tired voice croaked, unconsciously spitting sand from dried, broken lips.  Unceremoniously he collapsed in a heap, sitting hunched over on the desert sands, the sun at his back sinking towards the horizon.
 
With the lengthening sunlight of M’Tzigon’s sun marking the beginning of dusk, Cha walked over to where he’d stowed his supplies.  Drinking deeply from his canteen he never once looked away from his opponent.  And, with a move that surprised Zearic, he tossed his still-full canteen at him. 

Hitting Zearic squarely in the chest, the big man greedily, clumsily uncapped the canteen and drank deeply from the water within.  It was warm and metallic; it was refreshing and delicious.
 
Neither man spoke, dusk turning into night.  While Zearic recovered his lightsaber hilt from the white sands, Cha made a small fire, sharing one of his rations.  The former Inquisitor was surprisingly quiet and subdued.  Which suited Zearic fine; he held no illusions about this man.  He was neither an ally and certainly not a friend.
 
The thought inadvertently turned Zearic introspective, especially thinking of his friend Karmack.  Of the time that they first met in the Mak’Tor Hall of Balance, inaugurating an evening of shared camaraderie.  Of the time that they’d fought together at Geonosis, taking down Jennira’s Dark Singers.  Of the time that Ken had saved Jorya from Mellichae.  The big man gave a small, wistful smile.  Karm certainly had raised the boy—man, Zearic had to admit—right.
 
True friends.
 
Zearic suddenly saw Cha looking at him, an intense look upon his face.  And reality came crashing back upon him…and his reasons for being here…
 
“That was well done, teleporting that sand underfoot where I’d expected solid rock.”  Cha’s face almost looked impressed.  Almost.
 
Schooling his own, Zearic adopted an impassive tone.  “I can’t teleport as much mass as you…and I was desperate.”  …Like now… He thought.  What else would you call a situation where one was actively seeking out training from an enemy…so as to ensure that a friend would not become likewise…
 
When next Zearic focused upon Cha, his mask was firmly affixed, the small almost-smile evident. 

“Well then, lucky for me that we were using the low-power ‘practice’ settings.”  He balled his robe up, laying down in the shallow depression he’d made in the sand as his bed.  “Rest up, Vih’Torr.  Tomorrow training resumes.”  Zearic saw him smile toothily.  “And I’ll no longer be holding back!”
 
Zearic had no idea if he was jesting.  Nor did he care; he was here to learn absolutely everything that Cha could teach.  Saying nothing, he followed Cha’s example knowing full well that as exhausted as he was, he’d be asleep in moments.
 
Yet surprisingly, he lay awake, restless.  One thing kept sleep at bay, the very worry that saw him—even now—in the current predicament he found himself in.
 
Karm.
 
He was a true friend, proven time and again.  But he was also stubborn and willfully obdurate to what the Ancient One represented.  He remembered Kazic telling him once that “Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely.”  And there was the rub of it all.
 
How could he possibly reconcile the two facts that Karm—his friend—was undeniably a person of mass destruction?  Zearic smiled sardonically, keenly aware of the irony of his own recent experiences.  Arguably with his own augmentation, he’d become a powerful Jedi, closer to D’Aylanna, Kazic, and even Karm himself.
 
But with the Ancient One…
 
Zearic had already lived through the reign of one powerful tyrant, and Palpatine had subjugated the galaxy in short order after declaring himself…
 
What if…what if something happened and Karm did likewise?  As far as Zearic knew, Karm was the only Jedi—the only person—that could use the artifact.  And he was reminded, Karm had left Zearic behind to go after the Ancient One himself…
 
Now after Vyth…he’d only gotten stronger.
 
Zearic shut his eyes, doubt, duty, and determination roiling in his mind.  But as usual, it came back to one thing for him: his family, D’Aylanna and Jorya.  Opening his eyes, he reminded himself again about his motives for being here.
 
He—and he alone Zearic was convinced—could act as the stopgap measure…should it come to that.  Feeling somewhat mollified, the big man closed his eyes, sleep finally claiming him.  And for once he heard nothing of the whispered curse admonishing him of his future failure…
 
So it was that he failed to see Cha staring, eyes clear and alert, as if having read Zearic’s mind.  And upon his lips was a broad smile, knowing and cruel.

<<<<>>>>

[Lord_S_Gray]

The tensions here are really interesting. Karmack is right ‘There is no time’, enemies are circling, heck just last chapter Artemis was drawing the President himself into their web, and Morrigan is loose. But Dorian is right too, in his current mindset, still probably shaken by Mendax attacks on Vyth and M’Tzigon against him, Karm is becoming very single minded…but again he is very justified in doing so – he just saw the Kage get killed by an unknown Black Armour assailant, you don’t get much more open antagonism than that.  And yet Chillum and Arnor’s concerns are equally valid regarding Karms growing ‘detachment’.  Just a really fascinating conundrum where both ‘sides’ are correct yet a middle ground seems hard to find.

In the same way Karm/Alex introduction was hardly auspicious, but both had good points, Alex/Joanna can handle themselves…but Karm is right too they are facing a class of enemy Karm+Ancient One can barely keep up with…

Dutch’s sections in Chapter 34 are really interesting, amidst the astoundingly painted landscape of the dunes, we get to see for the first time Cha fighting with something other than words, and as expected he is devious, unpredictable and utterly merciless – he has come far from being a washed up inquisitor. Ironically stronger now than ever. And the nature of his training seemingly keyed to get Zearic skilled enough to take down Karm is anything further validates Karm’s worries.

A labyrinth of interpersonal and political tensions all primed…

[Karmack]

I loved Dutch's training section.   It is epic, and the weave of interpersonal with physical is just amazing.   :-)

Karm is ... painful to write.   As anyone might guess I identify with this character a little too much.   :-)   But this idea, that he is turning inward and losing his focus on the true source of his strength and balance is very personal and also very much something that can happen to all of us.  Seeing someone with his level of ability and power go down that path, though, would be scary.

I think the way he shuts out Arnor is the most painful aspect of this.   Yes, he's justified in being urgent, but he's turning his back on his faith.  Those scriptures calling on him to "wait" aren't just mantras.   They are Truth.  The Maker is the one calling the tune, not Karmack, no matter how talented or powerful he becomes.   Until he remembers that, he will spiral further and further into the dark.   And there is a very real chance he won't recover.   There is also a very real chance he WILL drag others down with him.

I was thinking about Karmack's reaction to Alex as compared to how he reacted to Ilian when they met.  He was meditating and focused on a very dangerous pursuit then as well, but he had time to talk and listen to the padawan.   Alex is treated more like a hindrance.   He is doing this ALONE.

Where might it end?   Read on....

[TheDutchman]

Now we see just how badly affected Karmack has been courtesy of Mendax's attack on M'Tzigon.  It's not enough that his home has been violated (to say nothing of the destruction of one of the Mak'Tor's holiest places), but coupled with the deaths of Silman and the distinct possibility that Karm is still worried over Ken's near-death, and one can see the very real possibility that our Master Singer has developed PTS as a result.  Not helping is his further isolation--both from his comrades and self-imposed--which only makes things worse.

The worst of the irony is that in trying to keep his family safe--a motive that I think that we can all agree is perfectly laudable, understandable, and relatable--he's alienating those around him, Arnor being hurt the most.  Unfortunately, Karmack isn't necessarily wrong; his motives at least began as pure.  But, as Karm astutely pointed out, without finding his center, Karmack will spin out of control.

Apropos sentiments: it seems that many of our characters fall victim to this.  Zearic is merely the obverse side of the coin; to protect his family, he's not only willing to make the proverbial deal with a devil in order to gain more power.  And in another case of irony, he actually HAS become more powerful...but now at the cost of questioning his own self.  How much more will Cha's training push him towards the metaphorical gray area(s) while attempting to safeguard those he loves and cares for?  Also: regardless of said training, I imagine that doing so as a means to stop a friend has its own PTS.  One can't help but think that these particular roads will not lead our heroes to where they think, despite the best of intentions...

...And it will be those around them that suffer, and not just family&friends.  To wit: look at Alex and Joanna.  They too have become entangled in the mess, a fact that Alex feels most poignantly given he's spent much of his life hiding, keeping a low profile, and ultimately surviving.  Let's hope that they don't become collateral damage merely by association.

Meta-note: Thanks for the kind words guys!  This was admittedly a fun chapter to write but also deliberate: I wanted to make certain that the days spent training did not come off as tedious or repetitive. 
As for Karmack: his arc has become truly tragic.  His family, friends, and now his homeworld attacked, it's no wonder that he's on the trajectory that he is.  The fact that he actually DOES have the power to enact that change is key towards overcoming adversity...as well as creating it.

Looking forward to the next chapter!