Forest outside the Silver Rest, Kashyyyk
Perched on a rock near a clear running stream, Tom Kovack held a blue pyramid in his lap.
The holocron was new, the metal shiny and crystal lattice unmarred. When he pressed the palm of his hand to the capstone, the pyramid glowed, pale light streaking through the circuitry, weaving intricately down the sides. The stone grew warmer. Tom set it down on the rock beside him.
A holographic figure flickered into being, projected by the little blue pyramid. At first glance it looked to be an old man, with sagging jowls and long white hair hanging limply from his skull-like countenance. But at second glance his eyes seemed too blue, his fingers too long; the veins beneath his thinned skin were dark gray, filled with black blood. Tammuz Hoole, the Shi’ido Jedi Master, had imprinted his consciousness into the holocron sometime recently, and it bore his current preferred appearance. He resembled a statue sculpted from ash and clay; in contrast, the gold robe that reached past his toes was almost garishly vibrant, the stiff metallic fabric decorated with colorful scenes from the mythology of his race.
“Master Hoole,” Tom said, rising to his feet and giving the hologram a quick bow. “I’m sorry I haven’t been training with you lately. Other matters kept me busy.”
The hologram impression of Tammuz greeted his apprentice with a well-mannered smile. “I’m sure they have. But if everything has been resolved—”
“Master, before we begin, can I talk to you?”
Tammuz raised an eyebrow at the interruption. “You may speak.”
“Not too long ago, Laertia Io and Syd Celsius came to the Silver Rest,” Tom began. “There was… It’s a complex matter and difficult to explain, but there was talk of a schism or a civil war among the Jedi. The two of them were looking for supporters among the Silvers to join them in a crusade against the Bryn’adûl. They’re still looking for more to add to their numbers.”
He waited a moment to give Tammuz a chance to ask any questions, but the old master was quiet, gazing at him attentively. Clearing his throat, Tom continued.
“I was with Starlin. We saw the two of them outside, surrounded by a crowd of students and teachers. Starlin introduced me to Syd. He told her that I didn’t have a master yet. I don’t know what came over me, but all of a sudden I blurted out that I did have a master. I told them about you. I even mentioned your name.”
“Why would you reveal this information to people who are strangers to you?” Tammuz asked, his expression carefully composed.
“I… felt it was appropriate.”
“How so?”
Tom grimaced. “Starlin made me look bad. I wanted to amend the damage he had done to my reputation.”
“You realize there’s no shame in you not having an apparent master yet? Many students have to wait years to find a master willing to train them. You at least are enrolled at their academy, able to attend classes and receive basic training…” Tammuz waved his hand dismissively. “Starlin wounded your pride, and you did something foolish because of it. Don’t do it again! The last thing you need is for people to start asking questions, poking their noses into your business out of misplaced curiosity.”
“Master, I… that isn’t all.” At the puzzled look Tammuz gave him, Tom gulped. “I told them about your master, too. I told them how he died.”
For a long time, Tammuz was silent and still. Then he leaned toward Tom, his gaze penetrating. “And just what do you know about it?”
“Only what you’ve told me,” Tom replied softly. Which wasn't much. Tom knew that Tammuz's master had been killed during the years of the Gulag Plague, slain by a Sith called Darth Phyre, but he didn't know the specifics.
Covering his face with one hand, Tammuz tried to regain his composure. “I gave you the sanitized version, scrubbed clean of horror. You don’t know what it was really like. I thought the scars would never go away. Me, a skinshifter with flesh like water.” He held up his hands, turning them over as though he expected to see marks on the pale skin of his wrists, knuckles, and palms. Wounds dealt in binding and torture, and from trying to fight back against a force far stronger than he. A woman with hair like flames.
After what seemed like an eternity of silence, with Tom staring at him worriedly, Tammuz clenched his hands into fists and met his apprentice’s gaze.
“Do you want to hear the full story?”
Cautiously, Tom nodded.
“Then I’ll tell you. Sit down and listen.”
Atrisia
The later years of the Gulag Plague…
Night had fallen over the valley. A crashed freighter lay smoldering in the brush, still blazing orange in the darkness.
The ship's passengers numbered just three in total—a female Rodian pilot and two Jedi, a Padawan and his Master, who had come to Atrisia to investigate reports of a strange Dark Side cult. The pilot had a broken leg and couldn’t walk on her own, so the Jedi carried her out of the wreck and into a nearby field. Once they were a safe enough distance away from the smoke and flames, they set her down gently on the grass.
Tammuz Hoole watched attentively as his master tended to the Rodian’s leg using a medkit he had managed to salvage from the shattered hulk of their ship. Jedi Master Tobias Murdoch worked quickly and diligently, with a grim skillfulness that comes with too much experience. He was a middle-aged man with shoulder-length hair tied back, and wore a dark green robe decorated with brown, white, and black feathers. It gave him the look of a wild man or a hermit wizard—in many ways, that was precisely what Murdoch was. He had been roped into serving as a soldier and an agent out of necessity, but it wasn't his true calling.
“Raise the light a little higher, Tammuz,” Murdoch commanded. “I’m nearly finished.”
Obediently, Tammuz adjusted the angle of his white lightsaber. He was only a few months younger than his fifty-one year old master, but for a Shi’ido like him, he was still considered a youth. He had taken an appropriate human form to reflect this, that of a gawky young man with sandy hair and blue eyes, his features carefully molded to resemble Murdoch’s in such a way that they could easily pass for father and son. Useful for when their travels took them places that were hostile towards aliens or suspicious of the Jedi.
The Rodian had fallen unconscious at some point during the ordeal. “She might have a concussion,” Murdoch said, wiping sweat from his brow. “We should wait until morning to move her, give her time to rest.”
"What about our mission?"
Murdoch rubbed his palms against his knees. “We’ll walk all the way back to civilization, carrying her between us. Once she's in proper care, we proceed with the mission.”
In the too-bright glow of the saber, Tammuz saw something like amusement gleaming in his master’s eye. “What’s so funny?”
“Well, we managed to crash in a remote area, far from any major population centers, despite having no power to maneuver with—and yet you're still concerned about being on time.” Murdoch shrugged. “I suppose I’m a bit giddy that we didn’t kill anyone, is all. The Force truly is with us.”
Rustling in the undergrowth startled Tammuz. He whipped around, raising his blade to search the trees with its pale light. The forest was filled with scraggly black silhouettes clawing at the horizon.
“Tammuz, I don't mean to disappoint you, but I'm pretty sure that was just a predator bird rustling in the branches, looking for dinner," Murdoch replied. "Don't worry, you’re much too large a meal for it.”
“No, wait..." Tammuz whispered. “Something is wrong. I can feel it, like a knot in my gut.” He turned to face his master. “We need to leave this place. Staying here is too dangerous.”
Murdoch studied his apprentice for a moment, then nodded slowly. “You were always better at prescience than I,” he muttered. “Very well. I’ll carry her, you stick close. We’ll head… east.”
Perched on a rock near a clear running stream, Tom Kovack held a blue pyramid in his lap.
The holocron was new, the metal shiny and crystal lattice unmarred. When he pressed the palm of his hand to the capstone, the pyramid glowed, pale light streaking through the circuitry, weaving intricately down the sides. The stone grew warmer. Tom set it down on the rock beside him.
A holographic figure flickered into being, projected by the little blue pyramid. At first glance it looked to be an old man, with sagging jowls and long white hair hanging limply from his skull-like countenance. But at second glance his eyes seemed too blue, his fingers too long; the veins beneath his thinned skin were dark gray, filled with black blood. Tammuz Hoole, the Shi’ido Jedi Master, had imprinted his consciousness into the holocron sometime recently, and it bore his current preferred appearance. He resembled a statue sculpted from ash and clay; in contrast, the gold robe that reached past his toes was almost garishly vibrant, the stiff metallic fabric decorated with colorful scenes from the mythology of his race.
“Master Hoole,” Tom said, rising to his feet and giving the hologram a quick bow. “I’m sorry I haven’t been training with you lately. Other matters kept me busy.”
The hologram impression of Tammuz greeted his apprentice with a well-mannered smile. “I’m sure they have. But if everything has been resolved—”
“Master, before we begin, can I talk to you?”
Tammuz raised an eyebrow at the interruption. “You may speak.”
“Not too long ago, Laertia Io and Syd Celsius came to the Silver Rest,” Tom began. “There was… It’s a complex matter and difficult to explain, but there was talk of a schism or a civil war among the Jedi. The two of them were looking for supporters among the Silvers to join them in a crusade against the Bryn’adûl. They’re still looking for more to add to their numbers.”
He waited a moment to give Tammuz a chance to ask any questions, but the old master was quiet, gazing at him attentively. Clearing his throat, Tom continued.
“I was with Starlin. We saw the two of them outside, surrounded by a crowd of students and teachers. Starlin introduced me to Syd. He told her that I didn’t have a master yet. I don’t know what came over me, but all of a sudden I blurted out that I did have a master. I told them about you. I even mentioned your name.”
“Why would you reveal this information to people who are strangers to you?” Tammuz asked, his expression carefully composed.
“I… felt it was appropriate.”
“How so?”
Tom grimaced. “Starlin made me look bad. I wanted to amend the damage he had done to my reputation.”
“You realize there’s no shame in you not having an apparent master yet? Many students have to wait years to find a master willing to train them. You at least are enrolled at their academy, able to attend classes and receive basic training…” Tammuz waved his hand dismissively. “Starlin wounded your pride, and you did something foolish because of it. Don’t do it again! The last thing you need is for people to start asking questions, poking their noses into your business out of misplaced curiosity.”
“Master, I… that isn’t all.” At the puzzled look Tammuz gave him, Tom gulped. “I told them about your master, too. I told them how he died.”
For a long time, Tammuz was silent and still. Then he leaned toward Tom, his gaze penetrating. “And just what do you know about it?”
“Only what you’ve told me,” Tom replied softly. Which wasn't much. Tom knew that Tammuz's master had been killed during the years of the Gulag Plague, slain by a Sith called Darth Phyre, but he didn't know the specifics.
Covering his face with one hand, Tammuz tried to regain his composure. “I gave you the sanitized version, scrubbed clean of horror. You don’t know what it was really like. I thought the scars would never go away. Me, a skinshifter with flesh like water.” He held up his hands, turning them over as though he expected to see marks on the pale skin of his wrists, knuckles, and palms. Wounds dealt in binding and torture, and from trying to fight back against a force far stronger than he. A woman with hair like flames.
After what seemed like an eternity of silence, with Tom staring at him worriedly, Tammuz clenched his hands into fists and met his apprentice’s gaze.
“Do you want to hear the full story?”
Cautiously, Tom nodded.
“Then I’ll tell you. Sit down and listen.”
~~~
Atrisia
The later years of the Gulag Plague…
Night had fallen over the valley. A crashed freighter lay smoldering in the brush, still blazing orange in the darkness.
The ship's passengers numbered just three in total—a female Rodian pilot and two Jedi, a Padawan and his Master, who had come to Atrisia to investigate reports of a strange Dark Side cult. The pilot had a broken leg and couldn’t walk on her own, so the Jedi carried her out of the wreck and into a nearby field. Once they were a safe enough distance away from the smoke and flames, they set her down gently on the grass.
Tammuz Hoole watched attentively as his master tended to the Rodian’s leg using a medkit he had managed to salvage from the shattered hulk of their ship. Jedi Master Tobias Murdoch worked quickly and diligently, with a grim skillfulness that comes with too much experience. He was a middle-aged man with shoulder-length hair tied back, and wore a dark green robe decorated with brown, white, and black feathers. It gave him the look of a wild man or a hermit wizard—in many ways, that was precisely what Murdoch was. He had been roped into serving as a soldier and an agent out of necessity, but it wasn't his true calling.
“Raise the light a little higher, Tammuz,” Murdoch commanded. “I’m nearly finished.”
Obediently, Tammuz adjusted the angle of his white lightsaber. He was only a few months younger than his fifty-one year old master, but for a Shi’ido like him, he was still considered a youth. He had taken an appropriate human form to reflect this, that of a gawky young man with sandy hair and blue eyes, his features carefully molded to resemble Murdoch’s in such a way that they could easily pass for father and son. Useful for when their travels took them places that were hostile towards aliens or suspicious of the Jedi.
The Rodian had fallen unconscious at some point during the ordeal. “She might have a concussion,” Murdoch said, wiping sweat from his brow. “We should wait until morning to move her, give her time to rest.”
"What about our mission?"
Murdoch rubbed his palms against his knees. “We’ll walk all the way back to civilization, carrying her between us. Once she's in proper care, we proceed with the mission.”
In the too-bright glow of the saber, Tammuz saw something like amusement gleaming in his master’s eye. “What’s so funny?”
“Well, we managed to crash in a remote area, far from any major population centers, despite having no power to maneuver with—and yet you're still concerned about being on time.” Murdoch shrugged. “I suppose I’m a bit giddy that we didn’t kill anyone, is all. The Force truly is with us.”
Rustling in the undergrowth startled Tammuz. He whipped around, raising his blade to search the trees with its pale light. The forest was filled with scraggly black silhouettes clawing at the horizon.
“Tammuz, I don't mean to disappoint you, but I'm pretty sure that was just a predator bird rustling in the branches, looking for dinner," Murdoch replied. "Don't worry, you’re much too large a meal for it.”
“No, wait..." Tammuz whispered. “Something is wrong. I can feel it, like a knot in my gut.” He turned to face his master. “We need to leave this place. Staying here is too dangerous.”
Murdoch studied his apprentice for a moment, then nodded slowly. “You were always better at prescience than I,” he muttered. “Very well. I’ll carry her, you stick close. We’ll head… east.”
This will be a thread focusing on Tammuz Hoole, his master, and their fateful encounter with Darth Phyre. Feel free to post whenever, there is no pressure or hurry to get this one going. I just happened to be struck with inspiration and started writing.
