Private Lord of the Fringe

[Corin Kaze]

Kyric

Quiberon was an old, storied system. Nestled neatly between the Moddell System and the Imperial Road. Once, rare and raw minerals were harvested in abundance to be sold to the highest bidder, developing a blossoming set of riches that were bound to propel the planet into becoming an economic powerhouse. Those that peddled the minerals were thriving, influencing all aspects of life for the Quiberonian people. Everyone was becoming richer and nearly overnight. The once modest lives were becoming filled with luxury, settling in gilded towers and hosting lavish parties to commemorate their own existences. As far as anyone was concerned, it was swiftly becoming the place to be.

For over a millennia, Quiberon thrived. Though mere centuries ago, it began to fall. The mines were starting to dry up. The people panicked, and the richest among them ensured their profits stayed with them and them alone. With a sudden, plague-like poverty brewing, the people grew restless. Protesting, demanding, then rioting. It all came to a head with outside intervention in the form of mercenaries, hired by the planetary government after their military fractured. The people of Quiberon rose up in full, seeking to depose those that sought to keep them down. For all their efforts, there was nothing. The mines were still dry, their coffers were barren. The cities, once gold and glass, began to rust. A testament to greed. The planet's forests, fields and animals had begun to act in their own manner of defiance, reclaiming what was once stolen from them.

The Quiberonian people abandoned their once-opulent lives in favour of what was left: the simple act of being. In frontier towns on the outskirts of vast cities, the people traded what was left as antiques. Scrappers were as common as off-world visitors that came seeking antiques, trinkets from a society that had fallen into ruin. Though this decline made them vulnerable, and vulnerability invited all kinds of ne'er-do-wells. Criminals were made in the slums and back alleys, pirates and marauders of all kind came after smelling that weakness.

It was not long after Coruscant that Corin returned to his backwater planets, these filth-ridden spheres drifting out of sight and mind of the broader galaxy. Of them, Quiberon was simply next on that long and endless list. Seeing he was a Jedi of sorts, the people pleaded and begged for intervention from the Galactic Alliance, the High Republic, whoever he served, though he was all that was on offer. Promises of payment followed soon after, though lodging and some meals would make do.

In the coming weeks, bands of pirates found their supplies ruined and their fleets, small as they were, scattered into fields of debris. The marauders, mostly Quiberonian people that fell deeper and darker into despair and desperation than most, fell in on themselves with the death of their so-called great leader. Though crime as a whole, well... that would never be truly banished. It would always remain.

In some dusty old down, caught in the shadow of the monuments to seemingly ancient greed, Corin was roaming the streets with his poncho draped over his form. A gust of wind blew in, sending the dust scattering in the air and small gravelly rocks rolling across the makeshift road. It was more of a wide, beaten path. Corin, dipping his head to avoid it, had his hair blown from his eyes, those runic symbols. Ugly things. Consequences.

Corin peered into a restaurant, a bar, some mix of the two. It was dark, quiet, near-empty save for the two idle chatters that sat at the bar with their drinks and broth bowls. Entering, the Ithorian behind the bar hurried out to clear a table, grasping at used glasses and a dirtied plate. It was a wordless exchange, with Corin offering a gentle nod in turn. He sunk into the booth, ordering his favourite of Quiberonian food. It would be his last, he decided. A mirky, brown bowl of broth with a hint of green, swirling a wooden spoon and revealing the cuts of various meats, even an eyeball of a mucous salamander. He sat, ate, slurped.

His life was no longer on some grand battlefield, charging in with soldiers to face off against enemies great and powerful. It was simple and above all else, rewarding. From one mudhole to the next.

 

[Kyric]

There was much to be done before Kyric could return to the galaxy at large. Visions haunted his dreams, warning of a great darkness rooted within the Core Worlds. His many clashes with the re-emerging Dark Side Elite pointed to one culprit; a great evil who ascended to power within the Core once before, as his following ravaged the galactic east on its death march to Tython. No other Sith Lord so readily threatened galactic peace as Darth Solipsis did. Raised once from death already, the Dark Lord never abandoned his quest to conquer the Core Worlds, to destroy and remake the galaxy in his own twisted image.

Rather than wait for the hammer to fall anew, those sworn to the Light have risen in preparation. Allies old and new gather together on Atrisia to strike back against the agents of disorder. But even they question if it will be enough. Forced into obscurity following a disastrous string of raids across Sith-controlled space, the Lightsworn return to a galaxy teetering on the edge.

The Galactic Alliance struggles in the face of expansion.

The High Republic, born anew and baptized in the fires of the Nether, are beset on all sides in their quest to unify the galactic south.

Imperials rise across the stars, carrying familiar and unfamiliar banners alike.

Few living Jedi could say they crossed blades with the Dark Lord on Tython and survived. Many recounted Solipsis' power in near totality in the fateful encounter that saw both Rurik Fel and Ryv Karis dead. It took a combined strike team of some of the most skilled and, perhaps, foolhardy, to weather the Sith Lord down in his final moments.

Corin Tenor stood among that number. A Jedi Master or quiet legend, a warrior who stood at the pinnacle. Though history continued onward as he wandered in search of the past. Battles raged across the stars. Empires rose and fell. Millions died. The rise and fall of the galactic heartbeat, impermeable. Constant. He chased the ghost of Dagon Kaze with certainty. Driven across the fringes of space, Corin's name was synonymous with praise, protector, and celebration. A man who faced injustice wherever he encountered it.

It wasn't a difficult trail to follow. Not for Kyric, anyway. This was the very same path the kiffar would've walked were he still looking for the missing Jedi Master. Dagon's long line of duty, buried in the duracrete and durasteel of Denon would've driven him far from such living. He was a simple man at heart, not unlike those who followed him, and very much like the man who Dagon Kaze followed himself.

Kyric watched Corin step into the the old dive from across the intersection, thumbs hitched to his belt. Quiet. Indiscreet. A regular hole in the wall for the denizens of the town. Not unlike the bar Kyric grew up. He stepped into the muted restaurant, his single eye searching the interior for the most advantageous position. Line of sight with all exits. Room to swing a sword without endangering a bystander, or destroy the establishment. But most of all—a little bit of comfort. The road was long.

The kiffar approached the booth with a smile and slid into the seat across from Corin. Kyric's sword, Resolute, hung over his shoulder. A lightsaber—recently constructed—hung at his right side.

"Afternoon, Master Corin. I was wanderin' if you had a moment to chat."

---

Tags: Corin Kaze

 

[Corin Kaze]

The doors opened with a gust of wind, swinging back into place after knocking against each other. Corin did not deign to lift his gaze as the figure approached, though there was always that gnawing feeling he could never truly set aside; a whispering voice, almost, clawing and informing when the peace and quiet was all he aspired for. It was as if he knew who it was, quickly associating memories and piecing together moments of the past, before ever laying eyes on the person. That voice though, it confirmed what the Force so desperately demanding to tell Corin.

Leaning over his broth, he lifted those marred eyes of his with their strange patterns and took in Kyric for all of a second. The both of them had changed so much since their last meeting, so long ago now, and their eyes were what told those stories. Rather, Kyric's lack of one. Turning back to his meal, Corin sipped on the spoon, placed it inside and dabbed his mouth with a cloth. The motion was slow, deliberate, as if he weighed each of them against each other in quiet contemplation. He pushed the bowl away from him, into the middle of the table and breathed deeply.

Since Dagon's disappearance and all the events between, the loud mouthed student tempered and became a master with a sour disposition.

"Kyric," he answered, absent all warmth, gesturing with an open hand to the seat across from him. Just Corin served fine but that was semantics. His features remained flat and neutral, his voice near-monotone save for the hint of tiredness that permeated throughout it. "How can I help you?"

Kyric

 

[Kyric]

"You look tired, Master. S'ppose ye've been busy out here and all," Kyric grinned at the monotonous man across from him. The scar running through what was formerly the kiffar's left eye bore the familiarity of a lightsaber wound. A certain melancholy settled over him, a psychic scar unhealed in the aftermath of the battle. It permeated the young Jedi's being and twisted his smile into a barrier between himself and the world. Time left its mark on Dagon's final student, much like his senior.

Kyric withdrew two items from beneath his cloak. A chilled canteen and the most basic of handheld holoprojectors. He twisted the top of the canteen off and took a hearty swig of water, then clicked the device and activated the projector.

It projected a top-down view an ancient dwelling on Atrisia, practically teleported from the planet's distant past. The compound bore no visible technology. Simple stone paths were lit by torches built across the yard. It shifted view to an interior spread of rooms. The floors and walls were forged from wood and decorated with sparse furniture.

"This is Hirata. Its a stretch of land maintained by the Ashina family on Atrisia. You may be familiar with its Lord Inosuke Ashina, or his sister, Ishida Ashina, from their service with the New Jedi Order." The projection shifted again. It depicted first Inosuke, then Ishida, and finally, Henna Ashina. "Lady Henna Ashina is another who served the New Jedi for many years."

The device deactivated there.

"Two years ago, the Clan Ashina and Bernard of Arca put out a call to sympathetic forces. Together, we launched a few attacks on Sith-aligned forces, but we were too hasty. Folks were forced to retreat and lick their wounds. Lesson in humility, I guess."

Kyric leaned back into the booth with a weak sigh. Compared to the current state of galactic affairs, their former circumstances were a thousand times more favorable than now. But that was why the kiffar sought out Corin in the first place. The Lightsworn needed more than blind fervor. They needed hardened Jedi familiar with the worst the galaxy had in store. Forged not only in the fires of war, but tempered by times of 'peace'. When the battles were fought in alleyways and on dusty roads, not the grand theater of the stars.

"If the Lightsworn are going to stand against this returnin' Dark Lord of the Sith, they'll need help. I'm here to ask fer you to come back to Atrisia with me, Corin. Solipsis' ain't done with us yet."

---

Tags: Corin Kaze
Honorable Mentions: Darth Solipsis | Inosuke Ashina | Ishida Ashina | Henna Ashina

 

[Corin Kaze]

"I know them. Their names, at least." He answered in that same flat, dull tone.

Master Henna, most of all. Her abilities with the Force were a common topic of envy among the younger students at the Jedi Temple. Though Corin recalled them in a different, somber light. He saw their sadness, their pain and sorrow - the funeral of Ryv Karis. He was but a boy, then. He was there to pay his respects to the Sword and support Dagon. He could not say he spoke to anyone in more than passing remarks and sympathies.

He took the moment to consider. Corin chafed against the constraints of the New Jedi Order and the bureaucracy that came with tying itself to the Galactic Alliance. It made him doubt his old order until those doubts could not stand on their own, and he left them and the Jedi Order behind. He operated out here alone. It was a quiet life, undisturbed. But, with the rise of the Empire and their Dark Side Elite... it was hard to ignore, which motivated his return to Coruscant. Even if to offer one last piece of assistance before that final farewell.

Corin grasped his chin between thumb and finger, caressing it as he pondered a moment more.

"I can help, wherever the fight is. But," he sounded uncertain, "These people out here still need someone. I won't abandon them. Is the Lightsworn another order bound to bloat up and become complacent? How far will their light spread?"

Kyric

 

[Kyric]

Kyric didn't expect convincing Corin to return to the greater struggles of the galaxy to be a simple task. But the young Jedi knew his sibling-student well enough to predict his expectations.

The Outer Rim and Wild Space were lawless. Denizens of planets like the Quiberon Sector were lucky if all they knew was tough living and the occasional bandit raid. Yet, greater dangers lingered in shadows cast from the central powers of the greater galaxy. The rise of the Galactic Empire demanded resources and the facilities to process them. And the Core Worlds were long devoid of the means of production to fund the likes of Solipsis' war machine and the Galactic Alliance Defense Force, alongside all manner of encroaching powers pressing in from the outside. Even organizations like the Black Sun Syndicate operated out in the fringes of space. They smuggled, enslaved, and killed to fill their coffers.

These innocents on the outskirts needed help. Corin's path from Koboh to Rothana further cemented that fact in Kyric's mind. The Jedi Master's presence illuminated many caught within the shadow of despair. He delivered hope where there was none and asked nothing in return.

"Many within the Lightsworn are driven to destroy the Sith first, then tend to what they deem lesser threats later," Kyric explained, conflict apparent in both his words and spirit. "It ain't in me to disagree that the Sith presence ain't a large enough threat to demand focus, but I'm in agreement with yer take on these lesser battles."

To stand again the whims of the malign and indignant; no matter the creed that drove the agents of entropy. This was the Legacy left behind by Dagon Kaze and Ryv Karis.

"In a strange twist o' fate, I've been elevated to a position of import outside the Lightsworn. The Grandmaster of a Jedi Order based out of Naboo looks to my guidance for this exact problem. Buildin' an actionable web of safehouses, communication, and support where the light's reach is at its weakest. I'm hopin' to convince the Order and the Lightsworn to work together. Yer wisdom on such matters would be of great service, sir."

---

Tags: Corin Kaze
Honorable Mentions: Briana Sal-Soren

 

[Corin Kaze]

There was no denying the conflict in the Core eclipsed all that occurred on the fringes of space. Pirates, marauders and threadbare syndicates were a far cry from the Imperial war machine and the return of Darth Solipsis; so much as a fraction of his former power was a threat to them all.

He could not allow himself, in good conscious, to sit out the fight. If the Lightsworn were the force to make change, Corin wished to be a part of it. The old order was poisoned with stagnation, complicit with corruption in defense of a government that should have been held accountable. Far from an optimist, Corin needed to see for himself, as much as he trusted Kyric's word.

Corin breathed a deep sigh and leaned forwards in the booth, fingers interlocking. "Then I want to hear from Masters Ashina themselves. And the High Republic. I cannot say what wisdom I have," left to dwell only on his past foolishness, "But I will lend what I can."

Kyric

 

[Kyric]

"S'all I could ask of ye, Corin," Kyric said with a growing smile. "We'll get movin' when yer done with the soup. I've got a ship that can get us to Atrisia soon enough. Maybe a bit more than a day."

The remainder of the meal passed in comfortable silence. Neither man keen on a forced conversation when a greater dilemma lingered on the horizon. Solipsis' return threatened the greater galaxy, but more important than that, it was a direct insult to those who braved his wrath once before. Legends rose and fell in the eleventh hour on Tython. Sacrifices were made that could never be undone, yet the demon rose from obscurity anew, poised to destroy all the Light fought to protect.

When Corin set his spoon down and rose from the table, Kyric collected his two meager items, tucked them away into his belt, and followed after the nomad.

"My ship is on the western edge of town. I scrounged up the ol' bird on Cademimu V, where I fought a member of Solipsis' elite impersonatin' Bernard." Kyric led Corin down a dusty road that cut from one side of town to the next. Those who walked the streets watched them depart. More than a few offered the Jedi Master thanks or a final farewell, but the kiffar said nothing. He found the whole ordeal inspiring.

Not that Corin needed to know.

Kyric's ship—a beat-up Y-1000 light freighter—bore its fair share of wounds. External damage to the hull had forced the kiffar to replace the ramp with one looted from an old scrapyard back on Naboo. A new set of thrusters decorated the rear, and two sheets of transparisteel constructed around the cockpit were a different shade than the rest.

The ramp descended on their approach and an equally beat up R2-Q5 unit spun in erratic circles. It chirped aggressively, turned in place, and wheeled off without waiting for an answer.

"You can mostly ignore Que. If he ain't fightin', killin', or flyin', he's bitchin'," Kyric explained with a shrug. "I've got three rooms set up already, so take yer pick and get comfy."

Kyric left Corin to his devices and joined the astromech in the cockpit. The two bickered for several minutes, much to the kiffar's dismay. When he finally got the droid to settle down and input coordinates into the navicomputer, Kyric activated the ships thrusters. The light freighter groaned. The engines sputtered thrice, then activated in full. A dull hum settled over the ship as it rose higher and higher over Rothana. The small town grew into a distant blip behind them, long vanished by the time the freighter pushed into atmosphere and made the jump to hyperspace.

---

Twenty eight hours later and the endless stream of white and blue light that made up hyperspace disappeared. In its place, Atrisia greeted the two Jedi. Ships moved rapidly from major population centers elevated by the main ruling parties supported by the Galactic Alliance. Kyric ignored those entirely and shifted course for a long stretch of mountains far to the east of the capital city.

Snow fell near-perpetually around the Hirata Estate, a side-effect of the harsh climate in the northern reaches of the planet. As the HEAVILY MODIFIED Y-1000 light freighter soared over vast forests and torrential rivers, the estate-proper loomed into view.

Unlike the projection presented to Corin back on Rothana, the estate had since grown in size. Modern facilities constructed on the outskirts of Hirata housed a flurry of activity. Soldiers and laborers worked alongside one another in preparation to face the Sith threat anew. Those not conscripted to labor trained in the harsh terrain; each and every sentient was driven to the edge, the weight of Solipsis' promised return motivated one and all to push themselves further than ever before.

The light-freighter descended into the estate proper, where Kyric knew Inosuke and Henna Ashina awaited them. Snow rose like a faint mist, kicked up by the ship's thrusters, before the ramp dropped and the kiffar killed the engine. He raced out the cockpit and waited for Corin at the top of the ramp.

"The Lord and Lady of the House are likely to be enjoyin' tea in the garden at this hour," Kyric explained, stepping out into the faint snow fall a few steps ahead of Corin. The kiffar led his companion around the entrance to a traditional Atrisian garden, where the Lord and Lady waited.

"Afternoon, Master Inosuke," Kyric bowed first to his master, then he shifted stance and lowered a second time. "My Lady," his single-eye locked on the snow beneath his feet. "It is always a pleasure to bask in yer light."

---

Tags: Corin Kaze | Inosuke Ashina | Henna Ashina

 

[Henna Ashina]

“Kyric.” The seer nodded to their knight, a glint of pride flashing in her golden eyes. “I’m glad to see your safe return.”

The young man floating behind him was a stranger in reality, but not in the force. Henna had come to know him through glances of the Lightsworn’s future; on most potential paths, he walked beside them, his blade turning the tides of battles. He was young enough to have been her student in her time with the New Jedi Order. Though not Atrisian, he fit right in amongst the garden, with its ice racked branches. Perhaps it was the wanderer’s attire and air of gentle purpose which did it. Both him and Kyric made up the future. They were hope for the generation to come; the ones to cement the future the Lightsworn sought to forge.

“Master Corin Kaze. Thank you for accepting the invitation.” Henna rose, setting aside her tea, and offered him a hand in greeting. “As Kyric has explained to me, you have some doubts regarding our cause. Please.”

She gestured to the seats across from her and Inosuke. Two extra glasses had already been laid out expectantly. Even in dire times, there were some ceremonies that did not go unobserved.

“I am sympathetic to your own. You are a Lord already in nature, if not title - protecting Quiberon as a father does his child. In my youth, I travelled the outer rim often. There was never a lack of peacekeeping missions.” A heartbeats pause allowed digestion. “Yet, I put this question to you - what shall you do when the Sith Order creeps east ward? We seek to tear them apart before they have the chance.”

 

[Corin Kaze]

He spent much of their journey asleep. Years adrift allowed for Corin to find suitable comfort anywhere, often times left to rest beneath the stars amid the elements. Many systems were suspicious of outsiders and for good reason. He would not, could not blame them for their treatment of him. Though on Kyric's ship, with the low and beating thrum of the engines in hyperspace, there was no sweeter comfort. Bar the incessant beeping from that droid.

Treading the down ramp, Corin felt a shudder of cold despite his layers as his breath formed on the air ahead. It was not quite bone-deep yet. Atrisia, even in this glimpse of a snapshot, was undeniably beautiful. The estate even more so with all the intricate architecture, steeped in ancient tradition. Standing there, Corin could not help feel out of place. Though not drowning in a darkness, he was certainly marred with the taint of it. His eyes soaking it up, changing it.

"Please, Master Henna," he started with a faint lift of his palm, as if in defense, "I'm only a knight."

He took her offered hand next, then settled into the seat.

Corin believed Kyric was offering formal pleasantries earlier. He was wrong.

"The return of Solipsis means I can no longer entrust the Sith to the New Jedi Order, but I cannot go back to them." A matter of principle now, "I will join the Lightsworn and help you defeat them, and him. For good this time."

A scar bore itself deep inside, from where Solipsis' lightning had tunneled itself into him on Tython and left a fractured wound in his connection to the Force.

"But I need to know: the Lightsworn, what separates them from the Jedi of the New Jedi Order, of the High Republic and all the enclaves?"

Henna Ashina - Inosuke Ashina - Kyric

 

[Inosuke Ashina]

"We act," Inosuke replied plainly. "We do not wait. We do not ask permission."

A long drink finished what was in his cup. The sound of its hollow clunk against the table signaled a servant who had been furtively standing by to approach with a pitcher. Inosuke raised a hand to decline. The attendant quickly and silently moved back.

"We are unconcerned with legalities and intergalactic conventions. They have their place, but they have become more of a hindrance than a benefit."

Inosuke's gaze narrowed on Corin, an otherworldly strictness in his eyes.

"Until the Sith, and all who indulge the dark, are reduced to obscurity, we will not rest. Those who profess the name Jedi but idle in complacency will know our outrage. We are the Light that rises to meet the Darkness."

_____________________________________________________

Corin Kaze | Kyric | Henna Ashina​

 

[Kyric]

When Lady Ashinia shifted her attention from Kyric to their guest, the kiffar bowed once more to excuse himself and stepped away from the discussion at hand. He served his purpose in collecting Corin. Now, it was up to Inosuke and Henna to sway the wayward Jedi Knight to their cause.

In the meantime, Kyric scanned the yard for the familiar presence he felt tucked away in the garden. He spotted her after a moment—Hera, the youngest of the Ashina children.

She wasn't much older than when Kyric lost his father, now. He smiled at her and offered the slightest wave. Though only two years had passed since he last saw her, she had begun to mature. No longer did she watch the world with childlike mischief. She wore a hardened gaze not dissimilar to her blood siblings. The likeness to Henna was astonishing given how much Ikuma and Inara took after their father.

Kyric trailed around the garden with a warm smile. "Whatcha doin' out here, Hera? You know you ain't supposed to be eavesdroppin' on yer parents durin' tea time."

She struggled to maintain her dour demeanor in the face of her adopted brother's questioning.

"I finished my studies for the afternoon," Hera explained, her eyes downcast. "When I heard you were visiting, I couldn't help myself. You were gone so long. I worried-" she caught herself. "We worried you might never return."

"Don't be silly, kid. Yer parents trainin' ain't fail me yet," Kyric patted her on the head and pulled her into a hug. "What's say you show me where yer at with yer forms? I know you were strugglin' before I left for Coruscant."

Hera nodded excitedly. "Okay!" She grabbed him by his sleeve and yanked him out into the snowfall where her parents and their guest could see.

---

Tags: Corin Kaze | Inosuke Ashina | Henna Ashina

 

[Corin Kaze]

"I see," said Corin, soaking in the weight of those words.

He could not help but find himself in agreeance. Since the beginning, even. His first constraint was the rules and their limitations, the ensuing stagnation. It turned him into a vigilante on Denon, pushing himself 'too far' in the words of his peers. The Lightsworn, it seemed, may have deemed it not far enough. The Light that rises to meet the Darkness - a cause he could not sway from now.

Seeing Kyric with that girl, it told him what they all fought for. A better, brighter future. Though for Corin, a sibling-student was as close to a brother as he would get. Part of him, buried deep for so long, felt it was a responsibility to fight for Kyric. For the memories of those that could fight no more.

"Then for that purpose, you will have all of me."

Inosuke Ashina - Henna Ashina - Kyric