Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Duel Visitation Hours



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Braze listened calmly to what Beltor had to say. “I do not doubt you in this. And if you ever need someone to talk to, I am more than happy to listen and lend you my ear. I mean truly listen, and actually hear what you are trying to get at, rather than placate you with niceties.”

He was quiet for a moment, choosing his words with care. “I think it is best not to become judge, jury, and executioner all in one. I do not think it is good for any one person to hold the full responsibility of each of those roles. Should someone fall to that path, they might become blinded by the justice they seek to deliver.”

His gaze remained steady. “The Light Sworn was one such group. They saw corruption and evil everywhere they looked. It turns out that ‘for the greater good’ is not often the greatest good.”

Braze’s voice softened. “I promise you, I will not change my view of how I feel about you based on something in your past that you cannot change. But I will do my very best to understand you, and the actions that led you to that path, should you wish to share those details with me.”

He paused lightly, “If it is not something you want to share… that is okay too. Taking the life of another is not inherently wrong... there is a difference between killing execution and murder ”
 
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Tags: Leos Leos

Sevrin watched him carefully, and an oddly pleasant tone returned to his voice.

“Moderately treated, if a little sore still… I’m reminded of you every time I move too much and feel the pain lancing through my side. You did well to stab me when you did. It takes bravery to stand up to someone larger than yourself, little guy.”

A weak smile returned to his face as he looked the youth over from beyond the screen between them.

“That is a very astute observation, youngling. In nature, not everything is as it seems when survival is on the line. Survival of the fittest means you adapt, or you die. That is all there is to it. There is no mercy, save what can be seized or altered in the moment. Adaptation is the barest necessity of evolution beyond the current status quo. Adaptation is the first law of survival. Everything else is comfort.”
 
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"Is that how you justify your actions to yourself?" Leos pressed. "It was just survival? Not to sound skeptical, but I don't remember the part of survival where you go out of your way to fight things that might be stronger than you. Animals don't actually do that, not unless they have something to lose."

And if he really wanted to get into semantics, which he fought himself not to do, he could point out how wasteful it was to light the countryside on fire. That was lots of potential resources for survival that had gone up in flames. There was no logic in that, only justification to satisfy self interest. The man praising him for being brave was... also strange. That didn't really mesh well with the intent to destroy he had displayed earlier.

The Themian's ears twitched as he thought on it for a moment before he spoke again, his brow furrowing slightly.

"Whatever," he muttered. "I'm not here for your praise. I wanna know why you're here."


 



Tags: Leos Leos
"It's always about survival... kill or be killed... there is no other way. If you risk nothing, you gain nothing," he stated simply in reply.

He found himself oddly interested in the conversation, even if it was with one of the temple's young occupants. Being left alone for so long had a tendency to wear on one's mind. People were still social creatures, and although Sevrin was well accustomed to the burning pain of starvation, social starvation seemed to affect him more. He knew he could survive a while without food, but paired with the starvation of food for thought, the two were nearly unbearable. But suffering was also nothing new to the man. His entire life was built upon profound suffering of all flavors.

He leaned closer to the screen, moving to sit on his knees and setting his hands flat against his thighs.

"I'm here... for power. I want what your precious little mentor has for myself. I have grown rather fond of your little glowing sticks, and I want more of them. The strongest take what they can... it is foolish to keep me alive. There is no benefit to this prolonged prison. You waste your own resources trying to feebly keep me from dying, only to glean information you think I have... it is a fruitless effort. The longer you keep me alive in here, the more time I have to plan."

 

"Don't you see the contradiction in your words?" Leos asked. "You said it's all for survival, but then you're only doing something because you want to. Taking lightsabers is just self-serving greed... you don't need them. And you don't even have the arms to wield more than two."

Leos sat down on the floor in front of him and let out a frustrated huff. He clearly wasn't satisfied with what he was hearing. The boy was far too logical-minded for his own good in many cases.

This was one of them.


"Don't you have any motivation that isn't steeped in excuses? You just woke up and decided to live by some creed you made up?"

 



Tags: Leos Leos
He tilted his head, going quiet for a moment... could he not understand why he would want more? Didn't he see the chain of reasoning? Sevrin didn't live beyond what he could foresee in the next few days. That sort of future-thinking was not something he could grasp, due to the conditioning of being raised in such a boxed-in environment. Hope for the future was often bleak, and only made the hurt of losing friends that much worse when it became someone's time.

How could he make the youth understand him?

"I collect them for their components... I want my bite to be nastier. If there is one thing I learned within your Order's halls, it's that certain members have nastier blades than others. I want that kind of power. Perhaps you think you're safe here... safety isn't real. Anything can happen, any moment. People tell themselves they're safe so their minds can rest from the constant stress. It's a luxury... an illusion we all buy into now and again... because it's easier than staying alert.

I don't know much about Jedi or Sith. Only stories. And stories are just chains dressed up to comfort emotions, another layer of control. In the pits, you don't get to choose who you were. You were made into what they needed... someone fast... someone brutal. Someone obedient. You made them money and impressed them, or you were punished, or you were killed.

You don't make friends in the pits... it's better that way, to save yourself the ache when they don't return. The strong take what they can from the weak. Only the strong are fit to lead; weakness undermines purpose.

I failed because I was caught up in the moment and lost track of everything else. Emotions like compassion only dilute resolve and cloud judgment. True power is rooted in self-mastery; losing control is failure. I failed by losing control in the situation... I let my emotions get the better of me and made stupid decisions.

You should kill me... That is the wisest option."

 

Leos let out an exhale, turning his head. The pits... he knew what that meant. Those unsavory sorts of places are where his father found business. He hadn't ever seen a gladiatorial match in person, but he knew enough about them that it made him sick. And now that cruel man who conceived him was actively trying to get him back. After a lifetime of hardly caring about his existence.

"This place wasn't made for comfort," the Themian observed plainly. "It's the result of people who got used up and thrown out like trash. People who know that the comfort of some stupid temple can be ripped away."

He paused and let out a huff. Leos wouldn't forget what those Jedi from the Core had done to Braze. Even after knowing that he didn't get to choose.

"You're wrong about strength," Leos stated, "You can't even think of it in a way other than soft people and hardened warriors, yeah? What about the bastards who threw you in the pits. Were they strong? I bet they were obese pigs that couldn't throw a punch to save their lives. Cowards that would snivel in the face of adversity. They still chain up millions all the same. But you aren't hunting any of those slobs here, you're just looking for anything you can desperately cling to to make yourself feel like you aren't weak. At some point all you're doing is collecting trinkets. That won't make you strong enough."

Leos knew that. He had seen the futility those who stood against his father experienced. That sickening sensation of being reduced to something below sentient.

Sevrin would never get back at the people who wronged him living like this.

"You're compassion didn't make you lose," he finally decided. "You just didn't have the skill to win. You're just making excuses."


 



Tags: Leos Leos


"Perhaps…" he mused softly.he mused softly.

Sevrin understood, at least, that the youngling outside his cell had nothing to do with him, or with the people who had imprisoned him. Leos was not one of the hands that had locked the doors. He was not one of the voices that had taught Sevrin what pain could purchase.

Spinning tales of wanton murder and vengeance for a child would serve no purpose. It would not sharpen the boy. It would not free Sevrin. It would only stain the air between them with old blood.

He saw Leos as someone uniquely outside that system, and that made him… difficult to answer.

He didn't allow his wounded pride to spill loose through the bars, offering only a long and severe silence, as if some inner mechanism had locked into place and begun measuring the boy's words for weakness.

"Skill is part of Power," he said at last. "So is ownership.... So is fear.... So is knowing which throat to close and which hand to feed."

His pale eyes look up and remained fixed on Leos.

"The men who owned the pits were not strong because they could beat me. Most of them could not dream of such in the conditions of the pit. They were strong because they owned the room, the guards, the doors, the food, the rules.... They controlled everything. "

His fingers curled tightly on his lap in to fists.

"That is Power.... it's not something concerned with fairness, nor virtue. It is Control absolute. Even the illusion of Control can be powerful.... but the tricky-thing about power is... it's fluid... It can change easily at a moments notice... right now you are all the powerful ones as I am but your prisoner. "

A faint breath left him, almost too quiet to be called a laugh...

"You think I collect trophies because I want shine and stories? I collect weapons because weapons change the weight of a room. They make men reconsider what they are allowed to do to you."

His gaze lowered briefly looking awa, then returned colder.

"Perhaps I lacked the skill to win."




 

They make men reconsider what they are allowed to do to you.

"Only if they're afraid of weapons."


Leos let out an exhale and stood up. At least the man could admit that it wasn't compassion that made him lose. In fact, there were many ways in which the compassion of Braze for Leos and Dirk allowed him to win. That wasn't something he'd argue right now. There was a... strange shift in the man's demeanor. If only for a split second, but Leos felt it. Something had stuck.

"Those 'powerful' people who held you are afraid of those who don't fear weapons," he stated. "That's why they keep so many. But you know what? I know a man just like those people. I'm gonna become stronger than his weapons... I'm gonna kill him. And I'm gonna do it in my own way, not his."

Then he simply turned and began to walk away, though he offered one more sentence before he left:


"Thanks for the chat."


Exit

 


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Braze listened calmly to what Beltor had to say. “I do not doubt you in this. And if you ever need someone to talk to, I am more than happy to listen and lend you my ear. I mean truly listen, and actually hear what you are trying to get at, rather than placate you with niceties.”

He was quiet for a moment, choosing his words with care. “I think it is best not to become judge, jury, and executioner all in one. I do not think it is good for any one person to hold the full responsibility of each of those roles. Should someone fall to that path, they might become blinded by the justice they seek to deliver.”

His gaze remained steady. “The Light Sworn was one such group. They saw corruption and evil everywhere they looked. It turns out that ‘for the greater good’ is not often the greatest good.”

Braze’s voice softened. “I promise you, I will not change my view of how I feel about you based on something in your past that you cannot change. But I will do my very best to understand you, and the actions that led you to that path, should you wish to share those details with me.”

He paused lightly, “If it is not something you want to share… that is okay too. Taking the life of another is not inherently wrong... there is a difference between killing execution and murder ”

He leaned back, casting another unknown look at him. "You sound like some old Jedi master I once read up. Little Green fellow, liked to talk like that." He remembered the lit smoke in his hand and took a drag.

"I do not think I have an answer to that, dear mentor. Not an often thing that I am left speechless." He chuckled to him self. "Stars help what ever poor women you end up marrying, she'll need the patience of a sage."
 


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“I’m not sure I follow…” he admitted softly. “And as. An aside... I would prefer if you did not threaten our captives.”

His gaze shifted towards the elder setting a serious look on the man.

“We must never sink to the level of our enemies. Torture, threats of torture, starvation… those are not tools of justice.... They are tools of fear. A prisoner is already in our power; to make them suffer because we can is cruelty.”

He folded his hands loosely in front of him, "The Jedi are meant to protect life, even when that life has done terrible things. If we use pain to force answers, we teach ourselves that mercy is optional. If we starve someone until they break, we make their helplessness into our weapon. And if we threaten them, even without carrying it out, we still plant fear where compassion should be.”

Braze’s voice softened further after letting that settle,

“Besides… fear gives poor answers. People will say anything to make the hurting stop, true or false. It stains the person doing it, too. Every time we choose cruelty because it is convenient, we step further from the Light and closer to the very darkness we claim to oppose.”

He drew in a slow breath letting out a heavy sigh,

“We can guard them, question them, and hold them accountable. But we do not torment them. Not for vengeance, or for information, and never because we are angry. That is not the Jedi way.”
 
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Beltor "Bell" Cyrus Beltor "Bell" Cyrus

“I’m not sure I follow…” he admitted softly. “ANd as. An aside... I would prefer if you did not threaten our captives.”

His gaze shifted towards the elder setting a serious look on the man.

“We must never sink to the level of our enemies. Torture, threats of torture, starvation… those are not tools of justice.... They are tools of fear. A prisoner is already in our power; to make them suffer because we can is cruelty.”

He folded his hands loosely in front of him, "The Jedi are meant to protect life, even when that life has done terrible things. If we use pain to force answers, we teach ourselves that mercy is optional. If we starve someone until they break, we make their helplessness into our weapon. And if we threaten them, even without carrying it out, we still plant fear where compassion should be.”

Braze’s voice softened further after letting that settle,

“Besides… fear gives poor answers. People will say anything to make the hurting stop, true or false. It stains the person doing it, too. Every time we choose cruelty because it is convenient, we step further from the Light and closer to the very darkness we claim to oppose.”

He drew in a slow breath letting out a heavy sigh,

“We can guard them, question them, and hold them accountable. But we do not torment them. Not for vengeance, or for information, and never because we are angry. That is not the Jedi way.”
Beltor scoffed. "Come now man, I wasn't actually going to hook up his gangly bits to a speeder battery. I may be a rat bastard but I'm not a sith."

He took the last drag of his smoke. "How I've come to know how to deal with people like this is to play on their ego. I wasn't trying to actually torture the lad, but he's captive, he can do nothing but think. If I can get him to think about what just led him here, and potentially get him to realize this path he's on is going to end in his death, unfulfilled of what ever non murderous ideals he may have, perhaps, just maybe, we can get him to walk a different path."

He sighed. "I'm trying my own take on Dun Moch, an inverse of that typical method if you will. You'll never change him with pain or force, you have to get him to see and know the change in him self." He paused, his head tilting. "I do assume you want to try to change him, correct? Because if all we're going to do is hand him over to some other authority I'll try my method the next time we have a sithling locked up in our basement."
 


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"He's a captive. He can't leave…"

Braze stated simply keeping his voice low, but there was an edge beneath it now.

"So when you threaten pain, even as theater, even as bait, you are not making him examine himself. You are proving him right. You are teaching him that power is still the only language anyone respects. That the Light lies politely, then reaches for the same tools when patience runs thin.We can not sink to the level of Sith... if we do we are no better than they are."

He drew in a slow breath, his gaze shifting briefly toward the cieling before sweeping back snowy white hair from his face. "I understand that people have to want to change. I do. But if you only ever show them the world they already believe in, you are never going to get anywhere."

His somber jade green gaze returned to Beltor. "I do want him to change. I want him to live long enough to become more than what was done to him. But he is not going to realize a different worldview if you keep using the same tools his former captors held him with."

Braze pressed his hands together flatly and brought them up light before gesturing at Bells.

"We should be building rapport with him... Rapport isn't about being nice to our prisoner ya know. It is not like we should be coddling him. Building good rapport is like giving him enough safety, fairness, and choice that he can stop defending himself long enough to think.

In a cell, every threat sounds real. Every 'joke' about pain still lands as a reminder that someone else owns the door.... and he's just going to continue down his current world view. He's already some one constantly on the edge of living in a reality where he can't seem to see beyond threats."


His expression tightened, briefly though it was a difficult expression to place. "Threats will only ever create resistance, not reflection. You cannot beat a man out of believing the world is cruel. You cannot threaten him into trusting mercy. All that does is teach him that even kindness keeps a weapon behind its back, and that he should trust no one..."
 


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"He's a captive. He can't leave…"

Braze stated simply keeping his voice low, but there was an edge beneath it now.

"So when you threaten pain, even as theater, even as bait, you are not making him examine himself. You are proving him right. You are teaching him that power is still the only language anyone respects. That the Light lies politely, then reaches for the same tools when patience runs thin.We can not sink to the level of Sith... if we do we are no better than they are."

He drew in a slow breath, his gaze shifting briefly toward the cieling before sweeping back snowy white hair from his face. "I understand that people have to want to change. I do. But if you only ever show them the world they already believe in, you are never going to get anywhere."

His somber jade green gaze returned to Beltor. "I do want him to change. I want him to live long enough to become more than what was done to him. But he is not going to realize a different worldview if you keep using the same tools his former captors held him with."

Braze pressed his hands together flatly and brought them up light before gesturing at Bells.

"We should be building rapport with him... Rapport isn't about being nice to our prisoner ya know. It is not like we should be coddling him. Building good rapport is like giving him enough safety, fairness, and choice that he can stop defending himself long enough to think.

In a cell, every threat sounds real. Every 'joke' about pain still lands as a reminder that someone else owns the door.... and he's just going to continue down his current world view. He's already some one constantly on the edge of living in a reality where he can't seem to see beyond threats."


His expression tightened, briefly though it was a difficult expression to place. "Threats will only ever create resistance, not reflection. You cannot beat a man out of believing the world is cruel. You cannot threaten him into trusting mercy. All that does is teach him that even kindness keeps a weapon behind its back, and that he should trust no one..."


Beltor held his palms up in a rare example of genuine surrender. Internally he knew his mentor was right, to a degree, but a part of him bemoaned the younger lad's youthful naiveté in such things. He was only a scant few years older then his own daughter, and even as bookish as she seemed to be she was outwardly more of a social butterfly then the white haired lad in front him.

"You are correct, dear mentor. For want of pushing the issue further, I concede the point. I won't torment the Sithling further." His voice was genuine, and he him self was genuine...though the slight upturn edges of his mouth hinted at the humor of the situation of being scolded by a man who's effectively the same age of his own child. In a lot of ways he empathized for the younger lad, so young and stary eyed and forced in to the position of some one that's meant to be far, far older. On the other hand, he had grown to deeply respect the man for the mentor he had become and was for Beltor's journey through this new and exciting part of his life.
 


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Braze was not used to people simply conceding a point, and for a moment, it left him caught off guard. More often than not, the older ones found some way to imply they knew better than he did.

"Alright… thank you." His voice softened, the edge easing out of it by degrees. "I would appreciate it if we treated our prisoners with a baseline of dignity and respect."

There was more he could have said. A whole line of reasoning still sat behind his teeth, unspoken; arguments about coercion, fear, power, and the way cruelty could hide itself beneath the excuse of necessity. Briefly, he wondered if the concession had only been offered to end the discussion. He knew that tactic well enough. Sometimes it was easier to yield a point than continue debating someone who would not bend, even when reason had already left the room.

But he chose, deliberately, to put good faith in his would-be student.

"Thank you for hearing me out," Braze added after a breath. "I appreciate your candor."

 


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Braze was not used to people simply conceding a point, and for a moment, it left him caught off guard. More often than not, the older ones found some way to imply they knew better than he did.

"Alright… thank you." His voice softened, the edge easing out of it by degrees. "I would appreciate it if we treated our prisoners with a baseline of dignity and respect."

There was more he could have said. A whole line of reasoning still sat behind his teeth, unspoken; arguments about coercion, fear, power, and the way cruelty could hide itself beneath the excuse of necessity. Briefly, he wondered if the concession had only been offered to end the discussion. He knew that tactic well enough. Sometimes it was easier to yield a point than continue debating someone who would not bend, even when reason had already left the room.

But he chose, deliberately, to put good faith in his would-be student.

"Thank you for hearing me out," Braze added after a breath. "I appreciate your candor."

He sighed, chuckling.

"You are, ultimately my dear mentor, correct." he took a moment, the smile deepening. "I am also old enough to know better then to argue with a young man who's got his head dead set on something or some one. Stars know I was your age once. I will treat them with respect from now on. Dignity generally depends on how they conduct them selves though."

"So, if I can ask, how do you want to do this? Whats your game here?"
 


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Braze offered a small sigh. "I'm not sure... For now, I'd like for him to learn to at least trust that we aren't going to hurt him, and that talking to us is okay... building rapport is what I'd like to focus on," he offered simply. "Thank you... I appreciate you listening to my concerns."

Braze added this before glancing curiously to Jonyna Si Jonyna Si as she showed up.

"I think I'm going to take a walk and try to clear my head for a bit. Excuse me," Braze offered, heading outside to get a bit of fresh air.

He wasn't used to guiding what those older than him should do... it was a strange adjustment, to say the least.

 
Beltor "Bell" Cyrus Beltor "Bell" Cyrus Jonyna Si Jonyna Si Rayia Si Rayia Si Braze Braze Sevrin Sevrin



As the day wore on, an uneasy shift rippled through the Force. At first, it was subtle—a distant tremor felt only at the edges of perception. Then it grew, spreading like ink through water, seeping into the consciousness of every being attuned to the living energy that bound the galaxy together. Something had arrived. Something powerful. Something wrong.

Far beyond the facility where the Jedi had brought Sevrin Sevrin , the roar of engines broke the silence as a lone dropship descended from the heavens. Its shadow swept across the barren landscape before it settled upon the ground with a hiss of venting steam and scorched dust. The vessel's side door slid open. A single figure emerged.

She towered over most beings, her imposing frame encased in blackened armor that seemed to absorb the very light around it. A lone lightsaber hung from her belt, its dormant hilt a silent promise of violence yet to come. One arm had long since been replaced by a cybernetic limb forged from dark steel and reinforced alloys, its mechanical fingers flexing with quiet precision as they wrapped around the weapon at her side.

Slowly, deliberately, she advanced toward the facility. Each step carried an air of grim inevitability. Her face remained hidden beneath a heavy hood and a dark, visor-like helmet, concealing every trace of identity and emotion. In the dim light she appeared less like a living being and more like a specter—a walking shadow given form, drifting toward its prey.

Then she raised her free hand. The effect was immediate. Several surveillance cameras positioned along the outer perimeter suddenly twisted inward with shrieking metal. Lenses shattered. Mounts buckled. Within seconds they were reduced to mangled heaps of circuitry and steel. The invisible force that crushed them carried no restraint, no discipline, no serenity. It was fueled by hatred. By rage. By an anger so profound that it stained the very currents of the Force around her.

The darkness radiating from her presence was impossible to ignore. Why had she come? How had she traced the converging signatures of Jedi and Sith alike to this forgotten place? What connection did she have to the prisoner locked away within the Oubliette Containment Cell? Questions lingered unanswered as the armoured figure continued her relentless march.

For now, only one truth was certain: An executioner of the Sith Empire had arrived. And with her, the shadow of something terrible had fallen across the facility.
 
For now, only one truth was certain: An executioner of the Sith Empire had arrived. And with her, the shadow of something terrible had fallen across the facility.


As the winds of fate would have it, this dark manifestation of hate would not stumble upon any of the knights or masters present, but a far, far younger being.

Katiara had taken to mediating in her own way as the day bled on to the evening and she found that she enjoyed the oranges and reds and purples as Dantoonie's sun set over the grassy plains. She found the best spot for this was in the main courtyard at the front of the temple, as it was aligned with the setting sun at this time of year

She took in a breath and let it out slowly. Much of her training to this point had been focused towards sharpening her connection to the force. She, like her only recently met biological father, had struggled with manifesting the force in ways that touched the objects around her.

Telekinesis, she struggled with it deeply and her new friends here at the temple had told her they had seen Beltor "Bell" Cyrus Beltor "Bell" Cyrus suffer with it as well. Her saber wavered and shook as she focused on levitating it over her lap. Her brow wrinkled and sweat wetted her bangs. Then she felt it.

Something sharp, something dark. Something angry.

She opened her eyes as a cold presence wafted over her, and she saw the dark form of Darth Malvora Darth Malvora stood at the edge of the court yard. She was a monolith of darkness, and as the younger padawan got to her feet her hand grasped her light saber. The hair on her arms stood and something deep down told her to run.
 

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