Public Shadow Over [ONDERON] - Free for All

[Aziraphale]

The skies above Onderon split with the beat of colossal wings. A Drexl with a wingspan like the sails of a warship, scales glinting obsidian in the sun, soared over the jungles. Its shriek rattled the canopy, a sound that had once been a call of pride for the Beast Riders who claimed these monsters as their heritage.

But this day, its cry was answered.

From the treeline below, Aziraphale stepped into the clearing, his eyes scanning the skies with anticipation. The air seemed to recoil from him, shadows stretching too long across the ground. He had not come to tame. He had not come to respect. He had come to conquer.

The Drexl soared overhead, its talons like scythes, swooping low with murderous intent. Aziraphale raised a hand, and the Force snapped the beast mid-dive, twisting the angle of its wings. It slammed into the earth with a quake, trees toppling in its wake. The ground trembled, the jungle roared, and still the Drexl dragged itself upright, fangs dripping.

"Majestic," Aziraphale sneered, drawing his weapon. "But majesty means nothing when it kneels."

 

[Kael Varnok]

From the fringe of the treeline, half-veiled by a wall of vines and low-hanging leaves, Kael Varnok stood silent. His hood cast his face in shadow, but his amber-orange blade remained unlit at his hip. He had tracked rumors of a disturbance through Onderon's jungles, whispers of a figure who bent shadow and will into cruel shapes. Now he saw the truth of it.


The Drexl, symbol of Onderon's wild majesty, roared in protest. Its wings beat against the jungle air, battered but not broken. Yet it was not the beast that drew Kael's scrutiny — it was the man below it. Aziraphale moved with a deliberate calm, the Force folding around him like coiled smoke, bending nature's chaos into submission.


Kael's jaw tightened. The Force was never meant for this. To dominate, to break, to strip dignity from the living… it was a perversion. He had fought Sith before, but this one carried himself not as a conqueror in the midst of an empire's battlefield, but as a dark priest enacting ritual cruelty upon a creature of flesh and spirit.


He let his hand brush the hilt of his sabers but did not ignite them. Not yet. Judging eyes narrowed, Kael whispered under his breath, unheard beneath the Drexl's pained shrieks.


"What do you seek to prove, shadow-weaver? Strength? Or only fear of what you lack?"

Still he waited. The beast might rise again, or fall. But Kael would not interfere—not until Aziraphale's intent was laid bare. Judgment demanded patience, and the Jedi Knight had learned to wait even when his heart urged him to strike.
The Drexl hissed, battered wings dragging through the dirt as it clawed itself upright. Aziraphale's weapon gleamed in his hand, its presence as sharp as the sneer on his face. He raised the barrel toward the beast's eye—


And then the weapon was gone.


It slipped from his grasp in an instant, yanked by an invisible pull. The blaster spun through the air, guided by a controlled precision that spoke of years of practice, until it landed firmly in another's hand.


From the shadows, Kael Varnok emerged. He walked with the steady poise of one who knew both violence and restraint, his long cloak brushing the jungle floor. The Drexl's breath thundered, but Kael did not flinch. Instead, he lifted his free hand, palm outward. The Force flowed from him, not in chains but in currents — a soothing tide washing over the beast's mind. Its guttural growls eased, wings folding close to its body, golden eyes flicking between predator and guardian.


Only then did Kael's gaze rise to Aziraphale. His dual sabers remained at his belt, but the blaster in his hand hung low at his side, a silent reminder of what he had taken.


"You break what you do not understand," Kael said evenly, his voice carrying across the clearing with the weight of quiet judgment. "Onderon's beasts are not yours to humble. Nor is the Force a tool for conquest."


The Drexl snorted, its chest heaving, yet it lingered close to Kael as though sensing a rare mercy.


Kael tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing.


"Tell me, Aziraphale—what is it you seek in this? To prove your strength? Or to bury your weakness beneath the ashes of another's spirit?"

Aziraphale

 

[Aziraphale]

TAGS: Kael Varnok

"Such conviction… such fire in your tone. You'd fetch a fine price just for the speeches alone. But no; why should I sell what I can break in myself? Every master needs a loyal hound… and you, Jedi, look like you'd bite before you beg."

 

[Kael Varnok]

Kael's jaw clenched, and for the first time his voice rose—not in rage, but in the raw weight of memory.


"You speak of hounds and masters as if chains make you strong. But I've seen where that road ends." His hand tightened on the stolen blaster, knuckles pale against the grip. "I've seen men who thought themselves kings of the Dark Side, and all they became were hollow things. Ash and echoes. No throne. No triumph. Just ruin."


He stepped forward, the Drexl shifting behind him like a looming shadow, emboldened by Kael's conviction.


"You think to break me? To make me kneel?" Kael's tone sharpened, almost a growl, the words carrying a dangerous passion. "I've walked closer to that abyss than you could imagine. I know its hunger. I know its lies. And I tell you this, every step you take down this path is one step closer to damnation. You won't master it. It will master you."


Kael's eyes burned with a rare intensity, not the serenity of a Jedi, but the steel of one who had nearly been lost. His voice lowered, but each word carried the finality of judgment:


"You mistake my restraint for weakness. Do not. I will not kneel—and I will not let you drag another soul into the pit I escaped."

Kael's chest rose and fell with a sharp breath. Then, with deliberate motion, he flung the blaster down into the dirt at Aziraphale's feet, the gesture heavy with contempt.

"I don't need your weapon," he snapped. "And I don't need to lecture a corpse-in-waiting."

His hands hovered near his belt, fingers brushing the curved hilts of his sabers. For a moment the jungle seemed to hold its breath, the hum of insects and rustle of leaves swallowed by the weight of choice.

The Drexl's low growl reverberated through the clearing, golden eyes shifting from Kael to Aziraphale as though it too sensed the fracture in balance.

Kael leaned forward slightly, voice rougher, unrestrained:

"You think yourself the master here? Push me one step further, and I'll show you how close I've already walked to the darkness you worship. I will not fall—but I will drag you screaming into its fire before I let you break this world."


His thumb hovered over a saber's activator switch, but the blades remained dark. That restraint—fragile, trembling—was the only thing still marking him as Jedi.

Aziraphale

 

[Aziraphale]

Kael Varnok

Aziraphale didn’t wait for the silly Jedi to finish his little monologue. An electrified metal serpent hissed into being as the whip snapped to life, coiling and uncoiling with a predator’s hunger. With a flick of his wrist it lashed outward, the crackle of violet current splitting the air.

The Force bent around him, in submission, his will pressing down like a suffocating weight. The air thickened, every heartbeat dragged heavy, and those who lingered in his presence felt terror take root deep in their bones. Even the Drexl, proud beast of Onderon, shrieked and tore itself free from the fray, fleeing into the dark canopy rather than endure his shadow any longer.

The whip struck out whether flesh, cloth, or spirit it was impossible to say, only that the sound carried the promise of ruin.