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A young Arkanian woman sat on the floor in a darkened meditation room. Her head was bowed, strands of white hair hanging over her face, but her pale hands fidgeted in her lap. She was far from serene.
Across from her, Nimdok spoke. “I’m not going to ask you to talk about it. The others have already painted quite the picture.”
An old prison ship was found drifting in the Coruscant system. Aboard were over fifty Jedi, most of them sourced from the New Jedi Order, with a few either from the Silvers or other enclaves. All had had their connection to the Force violently severed, just as the terrorist Darth Xiphos’ video footage claimed.
Nimdok had contacted Sir Aaran Tafo as soon as he heard about the incident, and was instructed to travel to Tython, where the Jedi were being kept at a safe location near a powerful Light Side nexus. Even now, he could sense the nexus’ fount of power… though the woman across from him could not.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Edessa Vor,” she replied. “Is it true that this is permanent?”
“No, not at all. Severing one’s connection to the Force is not an unknown ability to us, nor is it irreversible, despite what Xiphos may have told you.” He shook his head. “If you will permit me, I would like to see how the process was done in this case. Then we can see about restoring your connection.”
He held up a hand, palm facing Edessa. She hesitated, then leaned forward slightly, letting him rest his fingertips lightly against her face.
“Now then, let’s have a look…”
OOC: While this thread was prompted by this blog post, consider it a general Tython adventure thread for Jedi. Help people restore their connection, explore, chat, go on an adventure, do whatever you want so long as it doesn’t involve bombing the central location or massacring anyone.
Dair stood back a few meters, watching as Jacen Nimdok
spoke with the Arkanian woman. The Valkyri master could feel the anguish from the woman and the others in the facility that were the victims of Xiphos, his natural empathy pulling his heart for them. A younger Dair would be armored up, weapon in hand, and ready to march on the perpetrator, and he could still feel that urge deep within him. Decades of experience, countless battlefields, and a much stronger connection to the Force told him the solution wouldn't be so cut and dry. It was still imperative to bring Xiphos to justice, but just as much it was important to ensure any damage that could be undone to the victim, or any other kind of redress for the victim, be handled first.
Today that meant trying to reconnect these Jedi with the Force and getting them set up with anything they needed to help them come to terms with what happened. It would be very easy for any of these Jedi to find a kernel of fear or anger over this, and for that kernel to grow into something that pulls them towards the dark side. Surely an event someone as lost as Xiphos intended.
'Standing around and brooding isn't going to do much good, and running off to fight the former Jedi wasn't likely to accomplish much either.' Dair thought to himself, he almost felt like stroking his chin but that would have been a bit cliche. 'Let the Force guide me, it's what Master Corvus Raaf would have told me...'
He took a deep, centering breath and then sank into a seated position. He closed his eyes and focused on the Light. He felt that piece of Winter that existed eternally within him, and through it he felt the Force. For the moment he did nothing with that focus but sharpen it. He was still aware of his surroundings but felt he would do the most good by trying to amplify the light side near here.
He had seen the broadcast. Of course he had. Maybe Master Coren Starchaser had been working on a few other things. Reconnecting with ancient history of the Jedi and through that, the very fabric of what made a Jedi. But he continued to have an eye on what was going on, Silver, Alliance, freelance Jedi. He was, maybe self-proclaimed, Barsen’thor, the Warden of the Order. One of the major Jedi in the galaxy, the Corellian did what he could to be where he was needed.
The Tachyon Rising, his YT-2000, had landed on Tython, doing his best to pass clearance of the world, and broadcasting all of his Jedi credentials, but he knew that his position would grant him access to the holy world. He was meeting with several different Jedi for this, and that was fine. He was dressed for the occasion, and had known what was at stake. Jedi were being severed from the Force. And whether they be Knights or Padawans, Masters or hopefuls, they were all his people.
Just as Laertia Io was. Albeit lost.
Stepping into the facility, he stood behind Jacen Nimdok
and waited. His own aura lending an air of calm to the otherwise troubled group. As he entered the chamber, he was speaking to those who didn’t seem to recognize him, gaining an understanding, and granting them some sense of calm and purpose. They were not lost to the Force completely, and that was why he was here. Was it to perform the small miracles they were seeing, as he opened a holocron he had found, one that discussed this very process.
As he watched Nimdok, he was working to shift the feel of his aura from a general ‘hope’ to an ‘all is not lost’ hopefulness, and purpose. He knew that Omai Rhen, the late Grand Marshal of the New Jedi Order, would call for war, to hunt Xiphos down. Omai was all fire. Coren used to be, but now, he was water, and he was patient.
This could be fixed. Then the rest was a problem for another day.
It seemed that the young Nightbrother moved between one crisis to the next.
The loss of Chalacta was still a fresh wound. The evacuation of the hospital there an abrupt end to what had been, to that point, a successful effort at uniting the Jedi and the Dathomiri through joint efforts at healing those impacted by the Bryn'adul -- be it physical well-being or mental health.
The present crisis presented a challenge that was neither.
The Jedi had shared with the Mistwalkers the holo-vid, presenting the Dathomiri with the case of beings who had been severed from the waters of life -- the magical ichor which the Jedi referred to as The Force. It was not a phenomenon familiar with the Mistwalker Clan. Their writings of the days before the exodus from Dathomir was limited to only those rituals and spells that had been recorded in the grimoire that the youth consulted now. But this was not a physical malady. This was not a wound that the Nightbrother could simply channel the spirit ichor to repair.
Neither was it a mental anguish, though that was a secondary effect of the underlying condition. For that, the young shaman had mindfulness exercises and a spell that could sometimes help to alleviate the symptoms, even if not address the root cause of the anxiety.
That was the loss of the connection itself. A connection to what being the dogmatic debate -- a connection to the spirits or the Force -- whatever one chose to call magic. That loss was difficult to imagine, though working with the mental trauma helped to frame the sense of loss for the young Nightbrother.
As an apprentice healer, it was also a fascinating condition to study. What the Jedi referred to as the light side of the Force was known to the Dathomiri as the aspect of the Winged Goddess. Yet, when the boy tried to use the spirit ichor to heal the afflicted, what he came away with was the feeling that their bodies were somehow infused with a surplus of the light. So far out of balance or alignment, that it made the connection impossible.
Whatever spell or magic had caused this was strange, indeed.
There was a professor here by the name of Jacen Nimdok
, who was accompanied by a Jedi that the boy had not met ( Dair Cotarin <inactive>
). Fortunately, there was Coren Starchaser
, whom the boy knew from Kattada. That at least made for a familiar face as the Dathomiri joined the Jedi in trying to both heal the affliction and try to understand how it had come to be.
As he peered into her with the Force, Nimdok’s initial impression was that a perfectly symmetrical, tightly woven net emanating a type of energy as bright as a sun had shone its rays on Edessa Vor’s connection, effectively blinding her to the Force. The web was complex and multi-layered, the result of a powerful ritual conducted by men and women driven mad by grief, trauma, and the unnatural techniques they carelessly employed, taught to them by a woman many were convinced was a lunatic and a lost cause.
Unable to stand it for long, Nimdok was forced to retreat. Edessa’s pale eyes darted uncertainly, unable to sense what was happening, but judging that something was wrong based on Nimdok’s reaction. He had pulled his hand away slightly and was grimacing.
“Masters, I’m afraid I’m going to need all the help I can get just to pierce through this… blockage,” he said. Both Coren Starchaser and Dair Cotarin were somewhere behind him, projecting hope; he wanted them to lend their strength to the endeavor.
As he gave the masters time to prepare themselves for the endeavor, Nimdok took notice of the young Dathomirian boy observing the process. He recognized Jorah from his time spent masquerading as Padawan Tom Kovack, though the boy would not necessarily be aware of the connection.
“Jorah,” Nimdok said, catching his attention. “You may want to take a look at this.” The teacher in him couldn’t resist an opportunity to teach. “This technique was used as a punishment among the Jedi in ancient times. Imprisonment within a wall of light. Nomi Sunrider infamously did it to Ulic Qel-Droma. She regretted it. The Sith have a version of it as well, leaving their victims in darkness…” He didn't want to get into how a Jedi could be affected by a wall of light, since it seemed to be a very testy subject and he needed Edessa to remain calm, but he had his theories.
Once a Sentinel, now a Consular with a very action oriented approach to the dark side, Coren Starchaser was always willing and able to help his fellow Jedi. Running a semi-productive mining and exploration charter business gave him the funds to carry on with what he did. Not being intimately a part of any one Jedi Order, but a vocal member of nearly all of them, he had to fund his own expeditions until he was given a way to make it around the galaxy on another bill.
It didn’t prevent him from venturing out and finding the answers he was looking for. But his stipend with the ExplorCorps only granted him the funds for their missions. Sometimes he found pitstops. Today though, no, today he was on Tython, and he’d always find a way to make it here, and for Jedi business no less. He had wanted to see who he could get from the Kattada Enclave to show up, and Brooke was kicking around somewhere, showing some of her Witches the Jedi ruins, he suspected.
What he hadn’t suspected was seeing the Nightbrother here, Jorah zos Darnus . That was good. The kid was… a healer, right? Good, they were going to need all that they could muster for this. This was really Jacen Nimdok
and his lead on this. Coren was here to support and by the looks of it so was Dair Cotarin <inactive>
. No problem in that, but it may come down to Coren needing to run into the heat of battle after the Sith responsible for this.
As the scholar spoke, Coren took a nod and gazed at Edessa in the Force Shaking his head, he pulled away from that for a moment. “That… that is some tight Force work. I’ve been working with the Light Side long enough to say even I don’t even mess with this approach.” Sure, Coren Starchaser famously used Force Light, but that was to burn away the darkness, maybe to blind someone from the Force for a while, but never permanent. It was a punishment the Jedi shouldn’t use.
“This is old work. I’ve seen it pop up in holocrons on occasion, but rarely executed. We may be able to…” He stopped speaking, wiggling a hand, his fingers going from splayed to all together, bending the fingers up as if to pull away from a panel. “Crack the prison?”
Dair stepped up beside Master Starchaser, offering a nod to Jacen Nimdok
, then raising his hand towards Edessa. His eyelids half-closed as he sought vision through the force. The air around him chilled ever so slightly.
“This is old work. I’ve seen it pop up in holocrons on occasion, but rarely executed. We may be able to…” He stopped speaking, wiggling a hand, his fingers going from splayed to all together, bending the fingers up as if to pull away from a panel. “Crack the prison?”
Dair's face turned in a slight frown as the Valkyri reviewed the light-born prison. Keeping his hand facing the young Jedi, he took a measured step to the side, then another to face Master Starchaser and Master Nimdok from the other side of Edessa.
"This is a perversion of the light side of the force." Dair's voice held an icy edge to it. He opened his eyes, and the wintry orbs sought the eyes of his fellow masters. "I would agree, it looks like what must be done is to break the prison. I am no expert on this specific application of the force, but I can bolster the efforts of either of you if you have an idea how to take down this prison."
Dair sat with and accepted the emotions this brought up in him. Cutting anyone off from the force was abominable, even more so when it was a Jedi. The Valkyri had only met the person responsible once, in a crowded room full of people deciding if it was best to side with the Sith against the Bryn or continue fighting both their enemy of old and this new threat. She hadn't accepted any voice but her own, showing already that she no longer walked the path of the Jedi. That she could do this for no better a reason than she wasn't followed en masse by all of the Jedi upset Dair. In her decision to attack the Jedi, she herself took part in the very same splitting of attention she decried in others. Dair shook his head, letting his eyes fall to Edessa.
"We need to make this right, for these young Jedi...and for the galaxy at large."
Being cut off from the Force was one of the most horrific things that Josh could imagine. He had sworn to never inflict that kind of pain on anyone, friend or foe. No matter what. Most would rather die than have their connection cut. It was like an essential part of their very core, their very being, had been stripped away. They were not whole anymore. So to find out that a group had it taken from them... It was monstrous. And he would do his best to undo it, in what ways he could.
Darth Xiphos. The former Laertia Io. He knew she had been unstable, but to cut off the force connection of over fifty? She was a monster, and one that needed to be cut down. He remained silent for some time as Nimdok took the lead, doing his best to reel in his emotions over the sight.
He spent time speaking to those who had been afflicted, doing his best to soothe them. Telling stories of examples of those who had it severed but were able to regain it again. From the Exile, to many more. It was all he could do until it was clear how to end this.
And then Nimdok spoke up. His ears perked up, as he talked about some kind of blockage. He talked of Force Light, but this level... He had never even thought of it. It was inhumane, no matter who used it. Coren suggested cracking the prison, and he slowly nodded his head in turn.
"I'll do what I can. Just tell me what we need" Josh finally spoke to Nimdok. "If I can help directly to crack it, tell me how. I can bolster their spirits with Battle Meditation as well if that is something needed."
The Dathomiri boy turned his head to glance over at the mysterious Jai. He did not know this Jacen Nimdok
, but he seemed a very different from the other males that the Nightbrother had observed. Coren Starchaser
had a warrior mindset. So, too, did Caltin Vanagor
and the other two males present both had a strong presence about them that left the boy with the impression that they would be formidable in the arena.
No, this Nimdok was not a warrior. He seemed more like Caedyn Arenais or Jerek Zenduu
-- he was a teacher.
“You may want to take a look at this,” the Jai offered, as he explained. “This technique was used as a punishment among the Jedi in ancient times. Imprisonment within a wall of light. Nomi Sunrider infamously did it to Ulic Qel-Droma. She regretted it. The Sith have a version of it as well, leaving their victims in darkness…”
“This is old work. I’ve seen it pop up in holocrons on occasion, but rarely executed. We may be able to…” Coren offered, seamlessly continuing the narrative of the prison as he proposed a metaphorical prison break. “Crack the prison?”
"This is a perversion of the light side of the force."
That statement prompted the Nightbrother to do a double-take. What the Jedi called the light side of the Force was known to the Dathomiri as the aspect or spirit of the Winged Goddess.
To propose that the Winged Goddess was or could be corrupted was... profane to say the least. Were this Dathomir, or were Jorah to follow the Book of Shadows rather than the Book of Mists, he might well have been obligated to kill the man where he stood for the mere suggestion.
...fortunately, Jorah was a Mistwalker. Because, otherwise, he doubted an honor killing -- or attempted honor killing, --would go well for him. Particularly in present company. Still, the boy found himself coping with a moment where he had to reflect on the strong reaction at the Jai's words.
The Dathomiri and the Jedi did not share the same beliefs when it came to magick. Taking a breath, the youth opted to just remind himself that the Jedi spoke from their place of belief.
Meltok, the 17th Shaolma'ka, had recorded in the Book of Mists a proverb for just such occasion. Tze imitya dyne bitȃh meni naal... it translated to 'there is no offense where none is taken.'
A reflection that the boy found himself returning to a multiple points along his journey as an observer among the Jedi.
The Jai known as Master Dragovalor was speaking. In his reverie, the Nightbrother had been so caught up in his momentary crisis of the faith, that the boy felt he was catching only the tail end of what the master had said.
"My magick is at your disposal as well, should you desire it," the boy noted simply, his Basic notably accented as a second language for him.
Coren seemed to have at least some knowledge of this “wall of light” technique, even if he was far from being an expert. The others were far more uncertain, though eager to offer their assistance in breaking down the “prison” entrapping Edessa and the other Jedi.
Stroking his chin for a moment, Nimdok nodded. “I believe three of us could do it.”
To Josh he said, “I’ll take you up on that Battle Meditation offer—it would be good to have one master keep his distance in case there are any hidden surprises.”
As for Jorah: “You’re welcome to provide support as well, though I’d rather you didn’t directly involve yourself in something this complicated.” In other words, come back when you’re this height.
At last, he turned to Edessa “We can begin now or later, if you need time to prepare yourself.”
She shook her head. “I need this nightmare to be over as soon as possible.”
“Then we will not delay.”
Nimdok closed his eyes and sank into the Force, though his ears didn’t miss Edessa muttering under her breath, “The whole nightmare, including capturing this brazen Sith witch…”
As the main Silver Jedi in charge of the efforts to arrest Laertia Io
, Nimdok shouldered the burden of guilt for their failure. Aside from making him and those he sent to capture her look incompetent, the underhanded methods of his Silver Shadows, as well as his own use of psychological warfare against Xiphos, had come under fire by disapproving Jedi. And all the while Xiphos continued to pull stunts like this, committing acts of terrorism. His only hope was that now, with the Sith Empire having fallen, she would run out of steam and focus her efforts wholly on the Bryn’adul, as she claimed she had wanted to do. Then they would move in for the kill…
Nimdok immersed himself in the Force, and with the aid of the other masters he began to batter down Xiphos’ wall of light.
While Jacen Nimdok
made the final preparations, checking with a newly arrived master as well as the young Zabrak and Edessa herself, Dair focused on his connection to the Force. He delved deeply into the wintry embrace that was his gateway into the all-encompassing power that suffused the galaxy. The air around him chilled slightly, though not uncomfortably, and a visible aura of icy blue emanated from his body.
Having seen the Allyan Magick and power of the Winged Goddess at work, even on the world he was the patron of lately, he was nodding. It was good to have the Nightbrother Zabrak here. Having more Force users focusing on a number of different disciplines and paths was very important for tackling a problem like this. Skywalker had once said that the Force was a river, and the Jedi were just one cup from which to drink. He thought about that often. It was something the late Grand Marshal Omai Rhen had lived by, inviting fringe Force groups into the New Jedi Order of Sullust.
“We will solve this.” Coren nodded at Dair, speaking that this was for the better of the galaxy at large. Coren agreed on this tone. The other Master, Dragovalor, another good Jedi, was ready and able. Cracking it may not be as easy as just that, not if Laertia Io
was involved. She was… a wonder, be it for good or evil, he couldn’t take that away from a Force user. Fighting against this one would require a practiced hand.
Ccoren made a note to speak to Jacen Nimdok
following this. He had experience in the more unsavory tactics of a Jedi. He took a second to focus his breathing, centering himself in the Force. He saw what was before him, and had an inkling that the Jedi gathered would rather solve this problem now. This was step one, as long as Laertia was out there, at large, she may be able to continue this path.
“We solve this, we can help those she throws it on until we can bring her in.” He didn’t say kill, he merely would want a Jedi like this off the space ways. But this problem was in front of them right now. Following suit as he watched Nimdok and Dair, Coren began to pull on the Force. Force Light was the type of power that one threw out from them, hoping to startle the dark side, to bind it down, to harm it.
This cage, it was energy and meant to trap. But with energy meant that it could be picked. But first, he would need to keep everyone focused. Falling into his Force form, the Unrelenting Sea, he was bringing everyone into an envelope of resisting fear… A Jedi who was afraid would lose focus, a subject who was afraid could spoil the Force work being performed. The Unrelenting Sea was his champion card.
Objective: Investigate Jedi Victims, provide assistance.
Pre Gulag Era...
Zabka Bis'clavret was flung through the window of of a tower at a Kaminoan research facility. Icy rain stung the young Balosar's face as he hit the rain soaked platform, getting back to his feet more out of Instinct than will.
He didn't know what it was. What he felt from his enemy felt unnatural and yet wasn't the Dark Side. He drew twin Westar-35 pistols, waiting for it to follow as he rolled over, blinking from the constant rain.
It slithered out, obsidian scaled, lower body that of a Serpent, the upper body the torso of a humanoid female with a King Cobra like hood, golden eyes fixed on him, clutching a black spear with a Lightsaber Shoto stop it.
She used the Force to adhere to the tower surface as she coiled and slithered around it and downward to reach his area. He took the time to stand up, his second hand Barran Do Robes torn and smudged. He was about seventeen at this point, and knew he stood no chance.
It had been an assignment like any other, routine, with his Master. A Kaminoan had displayed signs of Force Sensitivity and had desired to join the Jedi Order.
Except it hadn't been routine.
They had found the prospect they had been sent to retrieve kneeling before the strange snake woman clutching a Lightsaber Spear. When his Master, a powerful Neimodian Jedi named Derrai Untoth, had demanded an explanation for who she was, she had initially claimed she was a Jedi. This was 'almost' believed. The creature exuded a Light Presence. But Derrai, taking umbrage at a prospect being essentially intercepted before they could reach him, by some no name light adept that looked creepy like a Motherfether, had demanded to know her position in the Jedi Order.
Both had barely resisted her Mind Domination attempt at making them hand over their sabers. Zabka had broken loose from it first and struck, Derrai second. He had been faster. His Master had not, impaled by the Kaminoan Prospect they had come all this way to retrieve with a Vibrosword.
Zabka had lost his blade seconds after, The Cobra Woman slicing through the emitter with her spear.
The pistols had slid out through action holsters in his loose sleeves, and he had dived backward, firing, riddling the Prospect's face with blaster fire for killing his master. He wasn't much older than he was.
This had led to his present situation.
The Serpent clutched her spear.
"You cost me a recruit." it said softly in almost a hiss.
"WHAT ARE YOU???!!!" he bellowed, leveling his pistols at her.
"If I play my cards right...the start of something wonderful..." It answered in a hiss, soft as velvet.
"Surrender!" he demanded, even as he inwardly thought 'Yeah, good luck with that.'
The Serpent giggled.
"A sense of humor."
"I was 'being' serious!" he protested fruitlessly.
"Of course you were, Little one..." the Serpent replied, conjuring a tentacle of water from the ground which snatched him up.
Zabka Bis'clavret began to struggle violently...
Zabka shot awake in his bed, inside of a newly rented, cheap apartment in the Coruscant Underworks.
His antenna extended, his hand found one of his DC Blasters, underneath his pillow and pulled it out reflexively.
He had been living here anonymously the past 007 months, didn't draw attention to himself. Worked a regular job. The apartment was spacious, but simplistic and utilitarian.
He had needed a break. Taking out everyone from the Gulag Era still hunting him was strenuous. But they had the unfortunate hitch of being simply too dangerous to risk Jen or Starlin in a fight. It was telling of how many enemies he still had that he wasn't done.
He took a shower with the pistol in his hand, putting it down only briefly to properly bathe. He ate a gigantic burrito he had bought last night with the pistol in his other hand. Then a cupcake. Then another cupcake. Then he had ice cream, only briefly putting the pistol down to properly scoop it into a bowl. It was strawberry, in case you're curious.
Zabka had not been in the dark about the war. But he didn't trust any Imperial. And experience with the Essonians had soured his perceptions on them also. There was also the shock of seeing her, the creature that had become master to Starlin Rand
, still alive.
He watched the news from his private terminal, dressed in cheap gray pajamas. He finally forced himself to put the blaster down to properly enjoy his ice cream as he watched the latest feed. There were no photos on the wall. The only ones he had were Starlin's and Jen's, and they stayed close to a box near his bed.
Someone had leaked the video of The Jedi Killer, Darth Xiphos having captured Jedi stripped of The Force. As he watched, his spoon clattered to his bowl. He stood up, replaying it. Three times.
"The teachings of Themis..." he whispered.
He left the table, walking in a daze to his bed with his pistol, sitting at the edge of it. He sat there for an hour, staring into nothing, holding the pistol.
Wearily, he stood back up, opened the box of photos, took out his favorite photo of Jen and Starlin--there were only a few, put it...hesitantly...in his wallet, and then went over to his closet go throw on some actual clothing to leave.
The door to his apartment exploded, and he was already diving, firing, Antenna retracted as he evaded Disruptor and Sonic bolts ripping through his room, destroying or setting on fire whatever was hit. But his aim was true, Max Payne-ing the White armored Mandalorian Assassins through the visor...
He stood up, breathing hard, hands trembling. He only had one blaster now. They'd damaged his equipment. He went over to them, immediately looking for anything he could use...
(Zelda Acquisition Theme Plays)
(Zabka acquired new weapons!)
Weapon: SE-14r BLASTER
Repeating Blaster Pistol once favored by the Galactic Empire.
Weapon: HEAVY SONIC BLASTER
Debilitating sonic pistol whose designs exact origins remain a mystery to this day, but remains as effective now as it was when it was first introduced
He strapped the weapon holsters to him pulled the Commando Pistol up just as he heard more foot steps, He whispered a spell, and a circle of green lightning appeared on the ceiling. Then he whispered another to eliminate all noise he made, heading to the side of the door just as the second team busted through. The trap on the ceiling went off, casting a heavy bolt of Electric Judgement that stunned the first attacker, and he used Force Light to cause a nearly blinding glare that filled the whole room from his palm, causing momentary blindness that distracted them long enough for him to dive behind them noiselessly, and slipped away as they fired blindly all around them. He ran down the hall for his life.
He knew this clan. Knew how ruthless they were.
Clan Hades. He'd used their services in the past. It had been a long time since they had done business, however.
Still in his pajamas, he barely avoided the next set of Mandalorians, flying down a laundry chute that fed into the Droid run laundry for the entire apartment complex, praying there was a full cart.
No luck. He cried out as he dislocated his left shoulder, hitting duracrete floor. His vision went red as he staggered up, fighting the pain as he staggered to the laundromat exit. Garage wasn't far.
He stopped, sensing danger, and whispered his judgement trap spell on three different places on the floor, hiding behind an industrial washer/dryer unit, the service droids mindlessly folding laundry.
Four Mandalorians, led by a beautiful bronze skinned Zabrak Woman in a white catsuit stormed the room, a red Lightsaber active. She successfully deflected the three heavy lightning blasts with her red blade.
"Ohhhh, Man in Whiiiiite..." The Witch called out playfully. "Come out to plaaaaaaayyyyyy..."
Zabka wearily reached for the dead man's switch he had installed under the particular unit he hid behind.
The Droids, mostly, redesigned protocol droids, turned, their photo-receptors turning red, arms flipping open to reveal the B2 Blaster Cannons he had secretly installed on them over Multiple late nights.
The droids began firing, brutally cutting down the surprised team.
Zabka cried out as he forcibly reset his shoulder.
He got up, going over to the bodies. Armor useless. Most weapons were too heavy. But the Lightsaber...
He took it, not having a second to spare, and ran down the passage to the garage where his Speeder Bike waited.
He stopped, and beheld a figure in stark white armored plating, but the movements were too precise to be natural, holding a double bladed Vibrosword.
He looked Mandalorian in design scheme, but he was too thin in certain areas, the hands and feet bird like claws, the head that doubled as a Mandalorian helmet with a red, T-Shaped Visor. The symbol of Clan Hades, a three headed dog, was on the forehead.
Zabka whistled. "Soooooooo...what'd I do to piss off Clan Hades so much they send one of their Permanent Captain's after me?"
"Business. Nothing personal. Someone wants you dead, and Clan Hades is being richly compensated to make certain it happens." The Cyborg replied, little more than his internal organs in a robotic shell.
"They'll want a refund." Zabka replied coldly. "Walk away."
"I know of you. One of the last real relics of the Gulag Era. A time that continues to send out wretched echoes." The Permanent Captain said in a just as cold but far more electronic tone. "I do not fear you, Man in White."
"Then they clearly didn't tell you enough about me."
"I know enough to know you are not quite as deadly as you once were. Lost a spring or two to your step. The old you would never have set up shop in a place like this. Never have let yourself get ambushed so easily..."
"And I thought that Clan Hades was smarter than to ally with the Cult of The Brain Demon."
The cyborg tilted it's head.
"Times change. The Resistors collapsed. 'You' finally broke and ran from the madness. I guess a mountain of corpses can change even someone like The Man in White. Is that why you live amongst the normal people? Thinking if you pretend hard enough you'll eventually be blue collar just like they are?"
"There are worse fates." Zabka said. "Like being a Permanent Captain in Clan Hades."
The Mandalorian Cyborg give a spin of his sword staff.
"On that..." The Permanent Captain said. "We are in agreement..."
Zabka activated his stolen Lightsaber, it's red blade flashing and lighting up the garage.
"Sure I can't persuade you to feth off?" Zabka asked.
"And deny myself the thrill of facing one of the Gulag Plague's greatest warriors? Even if he is past his prime? No self respecting Mandalorian can pass up the challenge."
"Hmmm..." Zabka grunted thoughtfully. "Never killed me a Permanent Captain before..."
The Pair rushed each other, Phrik Alloy charged with plasma and honed to a razor edge meeting the deadly red blade.
Zabka was rapidly forced on the defensive by the fierce strikes. The Cyborg's enhanced strength making it impossible to fully block, only parry, Zabka barrowing a bit from Soresu to do so. But the sheer kinetic force being generated by the Permanent Captain's strikes was slowly starting to make even this a gamble. The swiftness with which he struck made him seem fast even when Zabka was using Force Speed to stay alive. He needed to end this, quickly.
Zabka trusted the Force, and allowed himself to be driven backward in the large garage where everyone's speeders were parked.
The double bladed sword barely missed Zabka, slashing through pipes, other vehicles that Zabka weaved around as he retreated, narrowing his opponent's ability to manuever as he struck, only to have his blade skitter off the Mandalorian Cyborg's sterile white chassis.
"Pure Beskar, Jedi. You'll never cut through it in time before my blade tastes your flesh."
"In that..." Zabka echoed. "We are in agreement..."
The strikes from the Cyborg came back at a relentless pace, but curiously, Zabka made sure to constantly deflect the Cyborg's blades, upward, scratching the ceiling.
"You only delay the inevitable." The Cyborg hissed electronically. "This will be a day long remembered..."
"Yeah. But not by you..." Zabka replied.
The Cyborg's audio sensors picked up the creaking above and behind him a split second before the ceiling gave above him, realizing he had been tricked into weakening the structural integrity of the ceiling with his Vibrosword strikes. Zabka barely evaded the collapse. The structure was old, cheaply built, wanting in compliance with local building codes. Too much weight in certain places. Zabka had studied the architectural flaws for weeks before moving in, in case he needed just this sort of thing to occur.
Massive amounts of building materials, piping, and electronics crashed down directly on the cyborg and behind him in a wide strip. No Civilians on the level above. They weren't in danger. If they had been, Zabka would not have resorted to such a tactic.
"You should have learned to mind your surroundings..." Zabka growled before sprinting for his bike.
He barely cleared the exit just as the Captain's back up arrived, shooting at him as he gunned the Bike's engines.
He raced down the alleyway, not daring to look back as blaster and Sonic bolts whizzed over his head, taking multiple shortcuts through very narrow streets to lose them as fast as possible.
He barely reached the hidden hangar he had set up in an abandoned warehouse, not even bothering to shut off his bike as he raced to his old student's Light Frieghter on the old landing pad. He barely got inside and shut it before Clan Hades blasted open a wall and started firing at the vessel.
He raced to the cockpit, cursing violently, as he lifted off, crashing through the ceiling just as he set off a number of explosives in the hangar to implode the structure,not having enough time to part the ceiling mechanisms open electronically as he raced into the atmosphere, punching in the coordinates to Tython, where it was rumored Xiphos's victims had been taken.
As he cleared the atmosphere, only then did he dare a sigh of relief, entering hyperspace.
Hours later...
"What the feth are you doing, Zabka?" Zabka asked himself as he dressed in small quarters. He wore his main armor, a white Atrisian Nehru Suit, loose fitting, and his Lightsaber. The one he had stolen had been purified, it's Synth Crystal now emitting a ruddy orange blade.
"You don't wanna get involved...they work with Imps. Essonians..." he muttered to no one after landing. He was forced to remind himself Xiphos was a potentially bigger problem. Still, best to keep the SJC at arms length.
He looked at old photos of Starlin, Jen, and very faded photos of a young T'sid Surt'r having become his apprentice only a few days after the photos were taken. An anxiety attack hit him as he stared at the photos and he had to take a few moments to collect himself, and stop hyperventilating before going to the cockpit.
He then pulled the craft from Tython's orbit, and descended to a nearby landing pad close to the temple. He felt the Light Force Nexus. Yeah, this is where they would go...no question...
The Man in White stepped down the entrance ramp of his ship and began striding to the temple grounds, expression deadpan.
"I need to speak with whoever is in charge here..." the father of Starlin Rand
said to one of the temple guards as soon as he entered. "I have information pertinent to relieving the victims of Darth Xiphos. I need you to take me to them."
"I'm sorry to walk in so suddenly..." The Man in White said, trying not to focus on the sheer absence around him. "But I have information vital to properly restoring the Force connections of these people. And information about Darth Xiphos as well..."
"Speak" the Jedi Master welcomed The Man in White
as they barged in on the proceedings. His offer had been taken up. The others would go on the offensive, while he would provide support. It would be he who heard the message then, and relayed it to the others through Battle Meditation as they plunged into the Wall of Light through the Force.
The Master took a deep breath as he made some distance between he and the other Masters before sitting, cross-legged. He gave the Man the floor to speak, and he would listen. But he also had his own task to fulfill. He closed his eyes, and began to reach out...
Battle Meditation. Raising the spirits and morale, and bringing comfort to those who needed it. He reached out not only to the Jedi, but to the patients as well. Everyone needed to be in a state of calm for this. But the high stress levels of those who had their connections locked away... Their fragile psyches, and the Wall's illusion brushing against his senses at every turn would put a great deal of strain on the former Grandmaster of the Order.
But he would weather it. This was his duty. And he would see it through to the end.
The Man in White was ushered in with Josh Dragovalor
taking up a position in the circle.
He didn't join them yet. He instead went to Edessa.
"Who are you?" She asked, a great void and emptiness within.
"Who I am doesn't matter. I know about your problem." The Man in White said. "I'm sorry if what I ask next seems utterly without tact but it is essential that I know: At any point, were any of you tortured?"
"No...that was the odd part. I'd heard stories about what Sith do to Jedi Prisoners. But none of what I heard happened to any of the prisoners. Or me. We were just kept in maximum security cells, near Ysalamiri at all times. One of the Human sized Nuetralizers stood watch for each of us with an automatic shotgun. They even fed us. Didn't speak. Not to us, anyway. Not until the day they cut us off."
Another Jedi, stripped of the Force, a Nautolan meekly waved The Man in White down.
"I managed to overhear the debate they had about us. I'm not completely certain, but I got the impression Xiphos was of two minds on what to do. Overheard her talking it out in passing with one of her droids--they were discussing the merits of killing or sparing us. The Murder-Droid seemed surprisingly reluctant about it...guess the debate went in our favor."
The Man in White was silent for a few moments before asking his next question.
"At any point, did you see anyone who might have outranked Xiphos? Another Woman, perhaps?"
The Jedi grimaced, shaking his head. "No. If there is someone who outranks her, they've kept out of the limelight. Whoever supplies her is in the shadows as well. But I'm absolutely certain the ones who did this to us were survivors of The Bryn'adul. They hold us responsible for focusing on the Sith at the expense of their worlds and families. Or they are former Jedi, persuaded somehow into fighting for Xiphos. They did this to us so we would know the agony of losing something so personal, so a part of us, as their families and worlds were to them. They wanted us to suffer what they have suffered, and stripping us of the Force must have been the closest they could get to striking us at that level."
"It's also a good tactic to hold down multiple Masters and busy them with restoring your connection, leaves you alive yet hurts you immeasurably, and the risk of death from the strain of undoing the blockage is high..." The Man in White said to himself. "It's like incapacitating a soldier in a platoon with a mine...if they don't die, suddenly all the other assets are bogged down taking care of the wounded, reducing overall combat awareness and effectiveness. Ruthless. Cruel. Highly tactical. The ones who did this to you get to keep practicing, refining the craft so it's faster, and more efficiently done, a psychological attack on the Order itself occurs, and the ones who recover carry the scars with them and spread the story..."
He fidgeted a moment. Then he went to the circle of Masters.
"Needed to confirm a few things for my own sake before going ahead with my explanation..." The Man in White said. "What I say next to you may be hard to believe but I swear to you that all of it is the truth..." he said to all present.
He cleared his throat. He felt the old Death Stick craving and suppressed it.
"I believe that your foe, Xiphos, may be the product of... Special Teachings..." he began. "The source of which comes from a very dangerous Sith Heretic, an enemy I fought years ago. Her name was Darth Themis, the Dread Cobra. Whisperer of the Thirty-Fifth Heresy, which encompasses Alkahest..."
He got in the circle with them, next to Josh.
"Themis is the modern source of an extremely rare and dangerous technique that allows one to twist the Light Side of the Force itself to unnatural means, without the use of Negative Emotions, though mastering this is a severe struggle. They literally force The Light to serve them, to do their bidding. I'm not certain how Xiphos encountered her but I am certain she is Themis's student. What I'm trying to say is your opponent is a Light Side Sith. And yes, I am being absolutely serious when I say that. It is a state of existence that is completely unnatural. It threatens madness..."
He gestured to Edessa.
"The ability used here twisted the Light in such a way that trying to heal it, and undo it, is lengthy, time consuming, and lethal for the unprepared due to the strain. It needs supplementing with a magical ritual. With your permission, I have to draw some specific runes around all of you. These will...supplement your spirit, allowing you to better withstand the effort."
Nimdok initially didn’t react to the sudden sound of an unfamiliar voice as someone else entered the room, apologizing for their abruptness. Only when the mysterious man claimed to have information about Laertia Io and her methods did the professor open his eyes and turn to look, just as the Man in White began speaking to the bewildered Edessa.
The newcomer’s face appeared before Nimdok in profile, and the professor did a double take. Had he met this man before? Was he a relative of…? No, it seemed too unlikely. And yet, the resemblance was uncanny…
He shook off the shock and focused on what was being said. The Jedi spoke about their time in captivity, and the newcomer listened, nodding along as though it confirmed his suspicions. The mysterious stranger explained himself, then offered to conduct a ritual, adding his strength to theirs.
“Certainly, you may do whatever you feel is necessary to assist us,” Nimdok replied. He would keep an eye on this one, of course, but he could sense no malicious intent or treachery from the Man in White. “By the way, I don’t believe you told us your name, Master… ?”
Coren Starchaser
Aaran Tafo
Josh Dragovalor
Sakadi Marathi Sinvala
Dair Cotarin <inactive>
+ Open to all Jedi
