Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Private In Transit, Destination Unclear

The ship’s hull was creaking against the strain of hyperspace, but her captain knew she could take it. The nameless hunk had been through worse, as had her captain. In fact, he might’ve been going through worse now. Alone in his cabin, Cale Gunderson sat in the dark, not with his legs folded and his mind in some meditative state like he’d have been trained to, but instead simply atop his bed with a wicked thing in his hands. The lightsaber was too familiar.

Though the lack of frills on the Inquisitor’s blade was likely a result of his station being more tool than person, with all that he had being issued rather than made, it struck a chord. After all how couldn’t it? He’d always kept his sabers simple, and when the One Sith had given him one to mark his new station, it’d been the same as the one in his palm now. Standard issue, if a weapon such as a lightsaber could ever be such a thing. It mortified him to think of, industrialized lightsaber creation by the Sith meant the industrialized bleeding of kyber crystals, industrialized torture of a living thing.

Were they alive in the same he, or any of the strange assortment of people onboard his ship? Perhaps not, but they were alive nonetheless. And to make them the red of darksiders, one had to make them bleed. Channeling hate, pain, anger, and suffering into them through the force until the very weight of it broke them into something cruel, rather than beautiful.

Empires of darkness had risen and fallen within a decade at best on a loop in recent history, but their methods of securing blades never changed. So much in their galaxy was constantly changing, rulers, orders, nations, allies, enemies, the damned existence of certian planets or the presence of tears in the fabric or reality itself. But so much stayed the same too, the cruelty of those lusting for power one of them.

Cale couldn’t believe he’d thought he could stop them, that he could’ve made some difference. It was laughable, even those in the light stained their hands so deeply with blood that the stains would color their hands for eternity. He’d been the street rat’s age when he’d been a full Jedi Knight, years too early in a war years too long, and he’d been the padawan’s age if not a tad older when his whole life became a lie and he became a prisoner within his own minds.

He’d only lived with his adoptive parents on Naboo until he was four, but he’d only ever remembered their kindness and love, but he supposed if he’d remembered them converting him into a sleeper agent and the planting of control phrases into his psyche through what could only be called psychological torture, then their plan wouldn’t have worked as well. It’d been so long, yet the pain was still fresh.

Even with her consolation, he still saw the way she looked at him that day on Coruscant in his nightmares. The horror, the betrayal, and his own deafening mental scream as he begged his body to comply with his commands whilst some other presence commanded his form. He’d been trapped in that hell for a decade.

Ten damned years.

The worst part was that he’d never been stronger then that, especially near the end. Cale had been a capable Jedi, but nothing special, there was a reason his brother had been raised to Master despite half the amount of time in the order, and the fact he’d been Sith once. But as Darth Venatorum, the Dark Lord’s puppet on a string, he’d been frighteningly dangerous. Pain, fear, and hesitation were gone in the sense that whatever was controlling him had no regard for if he felt them, and perhaps the control of the ominous overlord of the One Sith had empowered him further.

But in the end, he’d been the fuel that fed his prison’s fire.

After a decade as a solitary prisoner in his own body, all semblance of Jedi discipline abandoned him. Cale had become angry, furious even, and every waking moment he was conscious his mind was drowning in a sea of rage. And it became stronger for it, whatever it was.

Unconsciously he flicked the ignition, and with a snap-hiss the blade came to life, its steady hum the only sound in the room, the crimson glow the only light. It washed over him, bathing him in a haze of red which reflected off blue-green eyes. Cale stared into it, watching, wondering if it might’ve been easier to just throw his head onto it and be done with it. Tup Tup could keep the ship, he didn’t care.

But he saw her eyes again, looking up at him, somehow begging him to let go of that weight. He couldn’t, he’d failed her there, but he at least had to continue on, he had to see this through. Cale thumbed the ignition, and the saber collapsed into itself. He tossed the thing back onto his bed and rose to his feet, stepping out of his quarters to see what his passengers were busying themselves with.

And to figure out what to do with them.

Hector Vale Hector Vale Aleksandr Stirsea Aleksandr Stirsea Ronan Calore Ronan Calore
 
The hard steel underbelly of Cale Gunderson's light freighter wasn't a strange sensation to the orphan from Atrisia. He'd spent many a night on floors harder than these, often with less heat and far fewer companions. Things weren't that bad, Aleksandr had decided, but he still wished he was anywhere else. The majority of his paints, cans, and tools had been abandoned on Cadomai, leaving very little for Aleks to pass the time with. All he was left with was a singular spray can of deep, dark blue, the shade he always kept on his person.

It'll have to do. Aleksandr thought to himself.

The ship was quiet, beyond the groans and soft tumbling of a vessel traversing hyperspace. Aleks held up his RSKF-44, one of his few mementos of his late father. Ruined. The heavy blaster had been sliced from barrel to speedloader, split by the crimson red blade of an 'inquisitor', as Hector had called him. Aleksandr would need a replacement, a prospect he lamented. The Risk had served him well, but its time to retire had come.

The artist wasn't entirely without weapons though, now he wielded the Force- and whatever power came with such a development. Hector knew how to use it, at least somewhat, and he had been trained by a real master of the Jedi. Aleksandr had saved the boys life back in the Five Quid on Cadomai, maybe he would give the street rat some insight on his new abilities. Aleks lifted himself from the floor of the freighter and made his way to Hector's place on the ship, making sure to tread lightly as to not disturb any of the others.

"Psst. Hector," He whispered, checking if the other boy was awake. "You know how to use the Force, right?" He checked his surroundings to ensure Cale wasn't around to stop him. "Teach me." Aleksandr pointed to the empty cargo hold of the freighter.
 
“Right now?” Hector asked groggily, sitting up to look at the boy. He had just been having a dream, but it was one he was happy to have been pulled out of.

In the dream, he had been with Daven again at their farewell. He ran as quickly as he could, but he was running in circles around the shipyard. He took minutes to realize this, and when he did, he looked back at his master, who was circling the Inquisitor. Daven had never been the most skilled fighter in the order, but he used form III well, his defense was formidable. He was waiting for the Inquisitor to make the first move. Hector took a deep breath as he watched.

The Inquisitor’s offense was relentless. Immediately he directed a strike at Daven’s head, but as the Jedi raised his blade, Hector awoke to a strong presence in the force. It was Aleksandr Stirsea Aleksandr Stirsea .

He debated going back to sleep, he wanted to know how this dream ended. Hector did owe the kid, though. He nodded. “Gotta pass the time somehow. Let’s go.” He got up, beckoning for Aleks to follow. Heading to the middle of the ship, the most open space Hector could find.

Hector drew Daven’s lightsaber, igniting it and setting it to stun, just in case. He did his best to emulate Daven’s tone when he had been an apprentice. He cleared his throat. “This, um, this is the weapon of a Jedi, the lightsaber. But you probably knew that already. Now, this weapon is your life.” No, that wasn’t right. He was terrible at this. It was not meant to be a go to, but a last resort.

“You know what? Here.” He deactivated the blade and tossed the lightsaber to Aleks. “Feel it in your hands, test the grip. Have you used a vibroblade or anything before? Similar concept. Need to get a feel for the weapon before you can really wield it. I’m not an expert teacher. I wish my master were here, he would be better at this.”
 
Aleksandr's eyes lit up when Hector Vale Hector Vale agreed to teach him. He listened intently to what his pseudo-teacher had to say, trying to internalize the words as if they were lessons from back at the Academy.

Now, this weapon is your life. Hector's words resonated inside his head. Could he truly ever be so in tune with a weapon that it could become a part of him? No, that it would become one with him. Only time would tell. When Hector tossed the saber Aleks scooped it up gingerly, holding it with one hand and trying to get a feel for the grip. It was surprisingly light, he found, at least in comparison to the heavy blaster pistols he was accustomed to firing. The transition from a trigger to a hilt was an awkward one, but like Hector had suggested he had the experience of using vibroblades previously.

"I've used a vibroblade before," He affirmed, turning the metal object over in his hand. "And, for what its worth, I think you're doing great." He said with a smile.

Aleksandr's fingers drifted towards the ignition, and with the pressing of his thumb erupted the blue plasma of the lightsaber. He stared in amazement at the ancient tool of the Jedi order, an object he never thought he might one day hold. "So what does this have to do with the Force?" He asked, gripping the metallic hilt with both hands for control.
 
Hector smiled back. He still doubted himself, but the boy’s words were appreciated. “I’m glad you think so. As for your question, this has everything to do with the force. A lightsaber is more than just a weapon, you see. It can teach us patience, discipline, and focus, all of which are needed to connect with the Force.”

Hector paused for a moment. That had felt easier to explain. He decided to delve a little deeper. He took the lightsaber back without asking. “Eventually, all users of a lightsaber need to decide what form to use.” He took a basic, rather drawn out swing. “That is form I, Shii-Cho. Basic, but it can be unpredictable. It is the easiest of the forms to master, and as such all Padawans learn it.”

Hector gripped the saber with one hand, gracefully slashing the air. “That is form II, Makashi. A useful form, developed for use primarily against saber wielding opponents. Effective one against one, but it can be less than stellar against groups, unless you have truly mastered it.”

Hector took a defensive stance, showing off multiple angles from which to deflect strikes. “Form III, Soresu, is the most defensively focused form.” He thought of his master’s duel against the Inquisitor for a moment. “In duels, it is less focused on defeating your opponent than it is outlasting them. It is also quite useful for deflecting blaster bolts.”

A smile appeared on Hector’s face as he reached his favorite form. He displayed the acrobatic strikes he was so fond of. “Form IV, Ataru, is my personal form of choice. It has a focus on athleticism and evasion. You saw how well it worked against the Inquisitor.”

Hector took a deep breath, then summoned all of his might into his final strike, stopping his blade just before it collided with the ground. “That, Aleks, is form V, Djem So. I don’t think I need to tell you what it’s focused on. There are two more forms that Jedi use, and another that Sith use, but I’ll explain those another time. Any idea what form is right for you?”
 
There was so much to take in, with the forms, names, and attack patterns swirling in Aleksandr's head. Some focused primarily on defense, others on all out offense, and others yet specialized for duels against singular opponents. The one that most interested him, however, was the total strength and control of the last form, Djem So. Aleks could only imagine being the master of a lightsaber variant based in both speed and skill. He could hardly imagine being the master of any lightsaber form at all.

"I like the look of form V," Aleksandr admitted. "And you're telling me that mastering one of these lightsaber forms will make me stronger in the Force?" It was an interesting prospect, Aleks had to admit. How would his life change if he could reach into the Force at will?

Would I have to become a Jedi? Or a... The novice shook away the unpleasant thought process.

"Was your master also a form IV specialist?" Aleks asked, wondering where the boy had gotten his affinity for the particular stance. "He must have taught you all of this, how to properly wield a lightsaber and all." A stray thought entered the mind of the Force sensitive, one he decided to voice aloud.

"I wonder if Cale knows anything about all this. He seemed to know a lot about the Force. A whole lot more than me at least." The boy shrugged off the proposal, eager to learn more about Hector Vale Hector Vale 's Jedi teachings.
 
Aleksandr Stirsea Aleksandr Stirsea was right, Cale knew more than him and Hector Vale Hector Vale combined. The year Hector had been born, Cale had long since become a Jedi Knight, and was half way through his hellish sentence within his own mind. Even trapped, he learned. There was much to know, and for so long he'd wanted as much of it as he could possibly handle. And now he wanted none of it.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" He demanded as he came upon the two, the saber having only just been extinguished. Bewilderment was wrought in his voice, and scorn leaked through every syllable. "Turn that thing the fuck off, you'll cut a hole in my force damned ship, bunch of amateurs like you. That's not a toy, in case neither of you remember what just happened, and what we're doing now isn't some game." None of his masters in the order had ever spoken to him like this. They'd been gentle, understanding, eager to teach.

But he was no master, and they weren't his students.


"You," His gaze settled firmly on Hector, and accusatory finger jutting out towards him. "I don't know what you think you are, but you're not. Alliance, Silvers, even the thrice-damned enclaves don't have people out this far, as deep in Sith space as one can possibly be, especially people as untrained as you. So cut the shit, you're no Jedi master and he sure as hell isn't your padawan learner."

What was he supposed to do with them? Where was he supposed to take them? Coruscant? No the alliance would arrest him. Kashyyyk? The Silvers would arrest him, and put him back in the significantly nicer jail.

Tallia might still be there though.


That thought lingered for a moment as he pulled a stimstick out and pressed it between his lips, igniting it and letting the smoke roll in and then exhaling it out with an exasperated sigh. All it took was that moment to realize that a chance that she might see him, what he'd become, more than enough reason to still well clear of the Silver Jedi Order.

The street rat was fond of Djem So, from what he'd overheard. A small part of Cale felt some twinge of nostalgia, he remembered being younger than both of them, and being enthralled by the Djem So demonstrations on Tython. It was the warrior's way, and a warrior was all he'd longed to be. A soldier in the war on darkness. A fools game, he knew now. Before the thought to save them from that could process, more words slipped from him.


"You didn't even tell him them all, if you can't teach the whole lesson then maybe you shouldn't be teaching it. Aratu, Vaapad, Juyo, they're important to know even if you don't use them. And I don't know what kind of 'Jedi' your 'master' was, but surely they didn't start your instruction with lightsaber combat. Why would you do that to him, hm? Look at him, he's grown up hard, violence is a way of life for him, and the first thing you try to teach him about the force is how it can be used for violence." The spacer was seething, the errant padawan no doubt had good intentions, but he was blinded by his eagerness to get to the 'fun' stuff. He remembered that urge, but it couldn't be fostered, not here, not with Aleksandr, not now. Cale lifted his hand as he took another drag, and the unlit saber pulled itself away from Hector's grasp and into his outstretched hand.

Cale looked onto both of them with tired eyes, but the stare was as hard as any.

"I'm keeping this until further notice. You can accidentally turn your new friend into a Dark Jedi in someone else's damn ship." He told Hector forcefully before he set upon Aleksandr.

"These gifts you've got kid? You're better off trying to forget them, there's nothing good down that road, no matter which path you take." Spoken as someone who knew. He stood there, staring down on boys young enough to be his sons, in a simple jumpsuit with a crimson sash falling over the right side of his torso, hiding the small, atrophied stump that had once been his true sword arm, and felt nothing more than a slight twinge of guilt. Not for what he'd said, but that either of them had ever known they had been gifted by the force.
 
Aleksandr jumped at the interrupting call of Cale Gunderson Cale Gunderson , his eyes growing fearful as Hector Vale Hector Vale quickly retracted the plasma blade of his master's lightsaber. A scolding came from the grizzled spacer, spoken in a tone Aleks hadn't heard in years. It was like he was back on Atrisia learning how to fire a blaster pistol again. It was like his father was alive.

"This isn't Hector's fault!" Aleksandr exclaimed, putting himself between the padawan and the freighter captain. He was used to taking falls for those he considered friends, but this time he meant every word. "I made him teach me. He would be sleeping right now if it weren't for me. I just wanted to know more." Still, that wasn't enough. Cale wanted him to pretend like he'd never learned about the Force, like he hadn't seen what he had seen.

"I can't just forget this stuff!" He called after Cale, raising his gaze defiantly. "I felt the Force on Cadomai, I felt its pull and I felt its power. For just a moment it was like I was totally aware," He said, looking down at his hands like he had at the laser cannon. "It was like I could do things that were totally impossible." Aleks scanned the face and posture of the man before him. A man that bore the scars and consequences of his past where any and all could see.

"You know what I'm talking about, don't you." It was not a question. It was an accusation. "You're a Jedi..." He finally settled on, the realization hitting him harder than any of the blows he had received the day before.

"You're one of those heroes."
 
Hector hung his head a bit. It was true, lightsaber combat was not meant to be the first thing a Padawan learned, but it had seemed the most immediately useful skill when on the run. “I take full responsibility, sir.“ Anger flashed through the Padawan’s eyes as his master’s saber was pulled from him. That anger quickly turned to shock as he realized what Cale had just done.

“You, you’re force sensitive? Were you trained?” There was an unsaid question there. Light or Dark? He doubted the latter, considering their fight with the Inquisitor, but the former seemed equally unlikely. “What do you have against the Force, then?” This man was very, very strange.
 
"You know a soul who can do that without training?" He snapped back at the Hector Vale Hector Vale , taking his gaze first from the errant padawan to the blade, and then back again.

"Against it? Everything, this 'all living force' is a weapon sentient beings have used to butcher one another for millennium. You think because you can move things with your mind, and swing some laser sword, that you're special." Cale snarled.

"You're not. You're just a more dangerous person, and one bad day away from being a rage consumed butcher. The Dark Side feeds off what makes us alive, the light asks of you nothing short of perfection. No emotion, no anger, love, or fear. It's a fools game, a hopeless gambit. You know how many Jedi have slipped into the dark at one point or another? Near enough to all of them, whatever they once were, they aren't anymore, and you're no different." Cale didn't answer the real question, the one Hector was prying for. He wanted to know if he'd been Jedi or Sith, or something else. There was so much else in the galaxy, Templars, Je'daii, whatever else. Even still, they remained what they were, all the same. Killers.

He pivoted towards Aleksandr.

"You can forget it. What do you think people do when they leave the order, huh? They're supposed to forget, to lead normal lives. That awareness is a double edged sword kid. People can turn it on you, make you more aware of all the worst things, of pain, yours to be certian, their's cause its so much harder to kill a man whose agony you feel, or of the people you love. It isn't a gift, it's a prison." And thus he'd answered Hector's unspoken question by mistake, 'the Order' was an unmistakable bit of shorthand.

But Aleksandr Stirsea Aleksandr Stirsea 's words, they'd cut far deeper with what followed. The question turned Cale's gaze into a harsh, empty stare. Ignited sabers amidst the duststorms of Korriban whilst the system was practically glassed swirled in his mind. Orcus' turn, himself buried in rubble, friends turned, friends lost, her. "I am nothing, an no one. Do you understand? I'm just a spacer trying to make my way, got it? What the hell do you think heroes look like anyway, do all your heroes look like this? Maimed, old, and bitter?"

Those that might've been called heroes that weren't gone might've looked like him, but in truth they'd likely never looked at the galaxy for what it was. Like the boys before him, they still thought it mattered.

"There are no heroes kid. They're all dead, and they died for nothing." Friends and enemies butchered, left for dead, and what was there to show for it but bones and ashes? Cale made to leave.

"Taking you both to Alliance space, what you do with your lives after that is your own issue. But I'd recommend doing something that won't wash away with the changing of the tide." He turned, and made for his quarters once more. "And no more training on my ship." He was sure to add.
 
The massive gungan was strutting around the ship shirtless as usual, Tup Tup only ever wore brown breeches. Otherwise he would constrict his bulky muscles rendering his unable to fight as well. As well as they would cover up his tribal tattoos, which he liked to believe made his more imposing or something of the sort.

Hearing some kind of ruckus in another corridor of the ship he started making his way there. He had been itching for a fight for some time and would be remiss if he were to miss anything fun. Entering the room he saw Cale and his new followers, who's names he could not remember for the him. Often that was the case for the gungan born of Naboo. Forgetting things and failing to learn were the only things he may be as good at as fighting and building muscle.

"Meesa heard a fight! lf there is a fight yousa better be letting me in." Loudly the creature called out as he entered the room and cracked his knuckles. "Whosa gonna stand up!"

The gungan bounced between his two feet, taking the stance of illegal street fighting of Nar Shaddaa. Years of experience in his fighting the man was a master at his craft, but those would not notice him if they were a novice, they would only see the massive gungan and his unusual muscles.
 
"Maybe the heroes are on their way out," Aleksandr agreed at first, calling after Cale Gunderson Cale Gunderson as he turned to leave. "Maybe they were never commonplace in the first place." He clenched his fist. It couldn't be true, it just couldn't. His father had been a hero, fighting for the freedom of the Galactic Alliance, fighting to feed his family. This man was one too, even if he couldn't see it.

"But here you are, standing right in front of me. It would've been so easy to let two runts die at the hands of an inquisitor. And yet." He let the here I am hang in the silence, its implication enough to make the point.

"Deny it, run from it, bury it under cheap drinks and cheaper stimsticks, it won't change the truth. You did what no one else in that cantina would dare do. You are a hero." He screamed out, ensuring Cale would hear the words even if he didn't intend to. The prospect of Alliance space was less than ideal to Aleks, with the memories and the dangers attached to it. Still, what other option did he have? What other option did any of them have?

"No fight here, Tup Tup, at least not from me." He grumbled softly, turning away from the cargo hold.

"I'm sorry for the trouble." He said to Hector Vale Hector Vale in a downcast tone. "I was stupid for thinking this Force stuff could change anything for me. Some of us just aren't born to be Jedi, right?" He smiled sadly. "You should get some sleep, I did wake you up earlier."
 
Hector opened his mouth to deny that Cale Gunderson Cale Gunderson was a hero, but the words died in his throat as he thought about it. Deny it as he might, the man had no other reason to risk himself for two boys he didn’t even know. This man was in turmoil, clearly.

Hector gave his best attempt at a reassuring look. “Cale, whatever happened to you, you can talk to us about it. You can trust me. I owe you my life. Heroes are not all dead, you proved that yourself. But...” Hector paused for a moment, sighing deeply as he accepted the truth. “My master is. I need a new teacher. If you can get me to the Order, I’ll be in your debt twice over.”

Hector turned to Aleksandr Stirsea Aleksandr Stirsea . “I’m wide awake now. My dreams weren’t great anyways. I’m gonna grab something to eat and then meditate. I need to clear my mind.” It was true. Hector needed to know if the Jedi Order was the correct way forward. “Feel free to join me, if you’d like. I don’t think Cale will yell at us for this.” In truth, Hector hardly cared.
 
Cale didn't look back at them. They didn't know what they were saying, one was an orphan who only knew the stories, the other was too blind from his indoctrination. A single good deed didn't make a man a hero, it didn't was out a lifetime of inadequacy and guilt, it didn't wash out blood that stained so deeply one could never rinse it out. They had no idea what they were saying.

"It's nothing Tup, go back to work." He waved away the gungan, giving Tup Tup Bimbam Tup Tup Bimbam a shake of his head. The gungan was always eager for a fight, and it his size it was hard to miss why. As sick as it sounded given all he'd been taught, there was a manner of fun to being in combat, especially in winning. And Tup Tup did a good deal of winning.

He wasn't sure which barb cut deeper, Aleksandr Stirsea Aleksandr Stirsea 's quite words to Hector once he thought Cale was out of earshot, or Hector Vale Hector Vale 's bold assurance that they'd understand. The street urchin had thought the force was something other than what it was. To him it was a ticket out of squalor and hunger, not the promise of eventual damnation Cale knew it to be. He didn't know any better, he didn't realize Cale was trying to save him from a lifetime of violence and suffering. Why couldn't either of them see that?

How could they look at him, and understand where he'd begun, and where he was now. Did what happened between truly matter when this was the end result?

As for the padawan, his insistence that Cale could 'talk about it' was built on nothing. He was trying to be kind, empathetic, a good Jedi, but he was still just a boy. A man by most laws, sure, but a boy by any other measure. His demeanor would've changed he heard the word 'Sith'. The why of what Cale had done meant nothing. Only the results. And that was butchery, barbarity, evil. Nothing less than that. He found his way to the cockpit, and locked out the world.
 

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