Cathair Breslin

The silence that filled his quarters was very welcome after the visions and dreams that had plagued him for nights. Dozens of times he had woken in a cold sweat, his hair matted to his head, and his eyes wide with terror. Each time he awoke, he wondered when what he saw would not be a vision, but would in fact be reality. As he recalled the visions, he saw himself making choices that even among his wildest ambitions, he would never make. He saw himself sending thousands of his fellow soldiers to their deaths in battles that had no hope of being won. He watched as countless bodies fell in pursuit of a victory that would only come through the focusing of his will. He witnessed himself using powers that only a god could wield. He saw himself gliding across the battlefield, striking down his enemies with a sword of crimson energy, lighting pouring from his fingertips. His eyes had become yellow, ringed with crimson as the Dark side of the Force coursed through his body, pouring power through him, bringing him to new heights, corrupting his soul, and his body with each moment. Rising to a sitting position, Major Breslin felt the sweat pouring down his body, his arms shaking as they supported him. His eyes darted around the room, taking in every shadow, watching for any movement. His breath came in gasps, and for some strange reason, he could see his breath escaping him. He watched as the steam left his mouth and rose to the ceiling. Rising shakily to his feet, Cathair slowly paced the confines of his quarters aboard his new Star Destroyer. Reaching deep within himself, Breslin felt the heat of the Force giving him more strength. Burying his fear of the future deep within the river of molten lead, the Imperial Major began to don the armor given to him by Admiral Nokrt. Just like the first time he had put the armor on, each piece fit his body perfectly. It allowed for maximum protection without hindering his movement during combat. Since it had been given to him, he had never felt vulnerable. Since buckling each piece of armor to his body, his power had only increased with his instruction in the Force under the Admiral. As the young Force-user turned his thoughts to his Force mentor, his wondered why he had not heard from Nokrt. Since finding the crystals on Ilum, he had seen his master once, and spoken with him even less. Since departing from Ilum, his progress with the Force had stunted. The only new ability has been the visions that have plagued him for weeks now. And they only seemed to be getting worse. Each vision seemed to bring a new unexpected horror into his life. He needed to figure out how to keep these visions from happening. He needed to keep these visions from coming true. Standing at a military rest, Breslin opened himself to the Force. He could feel the heat from within coursing through his veins. Reaching out with the Force, Cathair searched for his master.

OOC: Will make a better post later, this is just to hurry things along. IC: Cathair watched as Doran and Dominic finished off the rest of the Gorgodons before he began to follow them to the crystal caves. Within moments, Doran emerged and boarded his own ship, returning to the SSD that awaited them. Taking several steps into the cave, Breslin could feel the pull of the Force, urging him inside, beckoning him with the promise of more power. As he ran his hands along the walls of the cave, he felt the smooth surfaces of the crystals, each feeling quite unique in its own way. He knew when he found his own crystal, it would bond with him through the Force, and they would be one entity. The moment his hand touched a cluster of crystals, he dropped to his knees and vision overtook him.(The vision will be expanded upon when he builds his saber). when he awoke, he held the cluster of crystals in his hand. Each gleamed brightly and he knew, within this cluster was the crystal that would power his lightsaber. Exiting the cave, Cathair summoned the shuttle that awaited him. As his feet stepped upon the landing ramp, the ship made its way toward the flagship of Grand Admiral Nokrt. As the shuttle docked, Lt. Breslin tucked the crystal cluster into his belt and made his way to the Admirals quarters. As he stepped inside, he stood at parade rest, hands clasped at the small of his back as he waited his orders. ------------------------ After several days of waiting, Cathair decides to make his way to Coruscant himself. Walking to the hangar, and entering a TIE Predator. As he exited the hangar, Breslin blasted off into hyperspace.

Lt. Breslin pulled his cloak tight around himself as the three Imperial Knights made their way across the frozen plains. Turning his eyes skywards, Cathair watched as the sun began to descended toward the horizon. Within a couple hours, darkness would overtake the planet, and the temperature would drop even more, and god only knows how the weather would change once nightfall occurred. Whether the simple yet brutal snowstorms would turn into frozen hurricanes, or would it simply become too cold to drop anything. The young Knight was not sure, but he also had no desire to discover the answer. Throughout the journey, the Force had been keeping his body comfortable, but after nearly dying at the ledge, Cathair was beginning to doubt his strength in that mystical energy field. Could he really become as powerful as he was told? Back at the ledge, he had seen the Force fail him at a time when he desperately needed it to succeed. Would it fail him again, in another dire moment when his life would be on the line? What if all that he had already achieved was the limit of his power? How could he expect to become what Admiral Nokrt and Emperor Deton wanted him to be, if the Force was so weak in him? As those thoughts clouded his mind, he turned his attention towards the foot of the mountain they had just reached. It was the mountain that had called out to him as soon as the three had stepped foot on the planet. At that time, Cathair had looked forward to reaching their destination, looked forward to entering the Crystal Caves, and finding the crystals that would ignite the lightsabers they were to build aboard the Amaunator. But now it only represented one more mission he would fail. It meant he was one objective closer to reporting failure to Nokrt. He could only imagine the punishment he would receive upon failing the Empire yet again. Breslin closed his eyes and wondered what would become of him once the mission was over. In that instant, the Gorgodons leapt upon Doran. Cursing himself for allowing his attention to focus on despair, Lt. Breslin drew the blaster pistols at his side and took aim at the furry beasts charging toward his fellow Knight. As he charged toward the monsters, he activated his helmets targeting systems and began tracking the movements of all 8 animals circling the three of them. Still firing crimson lances from his pistols, he watched as the blasts slammed almost harmlessly into the thick fur of their backsides. Cursing silently beneath his helmet, Cathair thought back to the documents he read pertaining to these beasts. As the information rushed through his mind, he noticed a lone Gorgadon rushing towards him. They prefer to bind their prey using their unique saliva. Once bound, the Gorgadon uses its enhanced skeleton and muscles to wrap itself around the prey and crush it to death. ”œDefinitely not the most pleasant way to go.”

Turning his attention back to the Imperial Knights behind him, Lt. Breslins eyes narrowed as they spoke to him. One seemed intent only on making jokes. That did not bother the former Stormtrooper much. During his basic training, he had known men like that. They often made jokes to disguise their own fear or uncertainty. While Cathair did not yet know Dominic well enough to discern if he was afraid or not, he still spoke his own response. ”œOur task is not the commanding of a Star Destroyer. We were chosen to be trained as Imperial Knights. Our tools, our task, our mission is to be trained in the use of the Force. I don't know if you noticed, but our connection to the Force has deepened each time we were hard pressed to find a solution to our problems. Using a remote to locate a crystal would make things too easy. Open yourself to the Force. Use that to find what we are looking for.”

Allowing a small nod as the Admiral finished his statement, Cathair made his way to the barracks to equip himself for this mission. The only weapon he currently carried was the Serive Pistol given to him by the now Emperor. He knew this weapon would pack a powerful punch when called for, but a nagging feeling at the back of his mind made him uncomfortable only carrying one pistol. As he entered the armory, he silently placed his Knight helmet on a small table and began to inspect the weapons before him. Blaster pistols, rifles, and carbines were organized in a fashion that Lt. Breslin could not recognize and was glad he only had to use these weapons instead of store them. Removing his belt holsters, the young Imperial Knight strapped two thigh holsters to the dark grey under armor and slid a pair of DL-44 blaster pistols in their place. Deciding to place his Service pistol at the small of his back, the former Stormtrooper slid a small vibro-knife into his boot before placing his dark helmet once more over his head. As the systems came online once more, Cathair discovered the name of the shuttle meant to take him to the planet's surface and quickly made his way there. Within moments of boarding, he felt the ship rise and begin its descent to the planet. As he made his way down the landing ramp of the shuttle, Cathair could already see a storm had been brewing for some time. He could see snow whipping by the lower half of the ramp, and he knew they were in for a chilly welcome to this coveted planet. As he continued making his way down the ramp, he closed his eyes and allowed the chilled wind to overtake him. He felt his cloak being pulled to his side, threatening to rip from its clasp at his neck. Pulling the hood over his helmet for added protection, Cathair took his first step onto the planet and felt his feet sink into the snow. Opening himself up to the Force, Breslin felt the Force slowing strongly around this planet. It almost seemed like it was beckoning to those who could feel the Force. To the inexperienced Force-user, it seemed to bolster his power, make him stronger and asked for nothing in return. Looking toward the horizon, the Imperial Knight noticed a mountain that seemed to stand out above all others. Yet it was not higher or more pronounced in its features. To a normal man it may have seemed like yet another peak to be explored or climbed. But to the former Stormtrooper, it was his destiny. Although he could not explain how he knew this was where he needed to go, he knew it on a primal and instinctual level. He could just feel it. Taking several steps toward Doran, he noticed a small machine hovering in the air. Beneath his hood, Cathair shook his head slightly and drew the Service pistol from his back. Without pausing to aim, Breslin fired a single shot, which smashed through the remote and kept going, only to burn its way through a small amount of snow before being extinguished. Turning towards his fellow Knight, he spoke harshly, the filter in his helmet distorting his voice to an almost mechanical sound. ”œWe are here to use the Force. If you can't do this without remotes, then leave. I don't want a weak Knight on my team.”

As Doran made his way into the Admirals quarters, a small flash of resentment sparked within Lt. Breslins mind. Immediately he could feel the Force begin to flow through him once more. As he felt the heat within him begin to rise, he flashed back to the moment during the Gauntlet where he felt the Force trying to consume him. In that moment he had almost given himself over to what he had heard the Jedi call The Dark Side. In that split second he had nearly forsaken everything he held dear. He would surely have slaughtered Doran, his new partner. He would have used his new powers to destroy any of his former comrades who stood against him. And he knew he would have delighted in it. And then, had he given in, he would have desecrated the flesh of his Emperor before claiming the throne of the Empire as his own. As the memory flashed behind his hidden eyes, his feelings toward Doran changed. They changed from anger, to pity, and perhaps suspicion. Maybe the Imperial Knight had felt the same temptation he had and it delayed his response. That was the answer Cathair hoped for, because if Doran had fallen to temptation, things were only going to get much worse. As he heard the Naval Captain address Nokrt, beneath his visored helm, a look of shock and anger passed over his face. If a cargo shuttle had indeed been captured, the SOP Stormtrooper compliment would have died before allowing it to surrender. As his mind flashed to the families of those men who had died, a feeling of vengeance overcame him. More of his brothers had died because there were those in the galaxy dedicated to rebellion and upheaval. If only he could silence those voices, his brothers would be safe, and could live their lives in peace. As the Grand Admiral turned his attention once again to the Knights, Cathair began to visualize in his mind, his own lightsaber. As moments fled by, the image in his mind kept changing. Never the exact same twice. Blade colors and hilt designs fluttered through his mind. Of course, he first saw the famous hilts of known Jedi and Sith. Then the slight variants made by their apprentices. And then he began to change small things in each weapon. None pleasing him, none feeling quite right. As he rose from his seat and made his way towards his assigned quarters, he wondered how his lightsaber would turn out in the end. Taking a seat in front of his personal terminal, the Imperial Knight called up the plansand information on lightsabers that Admiral Nokrt had sent him. Removing his helmet, the soldier breathed in the cool fresh air and ran his hands through his now shiny black hair. He knew before he went to the Ilum, that he would need to make a trip to the refresher and clean his armor. Concentrating on the information in front of him, Cathair noticed the similarities and differences between a lightsaber and a blaster. Many times during his basic training, he had been called upon to disassemble his E-11, clean it, and reassemble the weapon to pristine working order. Since graduating from the Academy, he had begun using the technique to calm himself. And now he felt it would pay off in the end. Each of the components in the lightsaber were very common except the crystal. But what surprised him was the way the parts fit together, becoming very efficient in its power usage, loosing almost no power no matter how long the blade stayed active. As he scrolled through the information, he noticed a side note that told him the Force was often used to the fuse the pieces together at the microscopic level, to make small alignments and adjustments that could only be made using the Force. It seemed he would need to draw on the well of power the Force offered him once more. He only hoped that his feelings of temptation by The Dark Side would not impact the construction of his blade.

Even as crimson lances of energy filled his viewport, the young Imperial Knight was seeing red within his own mind. When he and Doran had embarked upon this first test of their Force abilities, they had been told it was a team effort. But now, when Lt. Breslin needed the ex-bounty hunter the most; he was nowhere to be seen. He had been abandoned. Something that never happened to those who truly understood the concept of brotherhood. Although Doran was now capable of things that most Stormtroopers could never dream of, he lacked one thing that made them superior to him in the grand scheme; the feeling of brotherhood. Where Cathair had felt like a brother to each Stormtrooper he worked with, Doran was simply a stranger. He was a man who Cathair knew simply because of ability. The new Imperial Knight would have to work hard indeed if he was to impress Cathair and form a bond of brotherhood with the Imperial Lieutenant. Once again slamming on the brakes, Cathair watched as the grey metal of aZ-95 Headhunter flew over his own craft. Focusing his thoughts and anger toward that single enemy, he unloaded a barrage of his own energy and watched as it exploded in a shower of sparks and flame. As he recoiled from the attack, Breslin could feel the sweat rolling down his body. Even with the Interceptors cooling systems and the light breathing material of his armor, he could feel the heat from his workout in the Force. As he flew through more waves of fighters, he began to feel the draining effects the Force was having on him. Each breath seemed to splash his face with a fresh wave of heat. Drops of sweat fell from his lashes and ran down his neck. Each fighter became more difficult to focus on, and each laser attacked seemed harder to dodge. He watched as blast after blast inched closer to him. Although he knew it was impossible, he could have sworn he was feeling the heat from each near miss. How do the Jedi and Sith do this? How do they keep up with the strain of the Force? Surely there is a way to refresh oneself through the Force!! Easing back on the throttle, Cathair closed his eyes and focused deep on the stream of molten lead within him. He could feel the heat radiating from the flow and he cringed at it. It seemed to be growing stronger the more he learned of the Force. Each time he learned something new, he felt the Force that much stronger. He wondered how it must feel to someone such as the Grand Admiral. Did it feel like a volcano about to erupt inside and destroy everything in its path? Or did it feel like a stormy ocean, ready to quickly overtake him and drown him in its power? Bringing his attention back to himself, he focused all his energy on that single stream of energy. He could feel his fatigue and exhaustion and began to pull them from his body and push them into the stream. He could feel it welcome his weariness and urge him to use its strength more. Pulling all his aches and pains from his body, Cathair once more pushed them into the steady stream of energy. Yet still it called for more. Grasping at the heat that burned his skin and tired his muscles, he forced it deep within the Force and he immediately began to feel its effects. The heat that once burned his body was gone; he was now cool, as if a gentle breeze now flowed through the cockpit of his fighter. Although still sticky from his sweat, he felt clean as if he had just stepped from a fresher. Each breath was calm and collected. His muscles no longer ached for the rest they could not receive, and his mind was now sharper than before he entered the Gauntlet. But the flow of the Force still yearned for more. He could feel it grasping for more to take. More to feed its fire. He could almost feel it begging to be allowed control. Begging him to give himself over to its power. To become the most powerful individual in the galaxy. And the temptation was strong. He could see himself leading vast armies of his brother Stormtroopers across the galaxy, ruling each planet as its Warlord. Nothing could stand in his way. All he would need to do is to betray the oath he took to the Empire. Kill those who stood in his way: Doran, Grand Admiral Nokrt, and lastly, now Emperor Rustic. And with that image placed firmly in his mind, the spell of temptation was broken. Quickly pulling back from the Force, Cathair breathed heavily. He could still see the image in his head of himself standing over the broken body of the Emperor, and it repulsed him. It seemed while the Force had given him nearly unlimited power, it had not realized the strength of his loyalty to those around him, and in its single fault, it had lost him. The young Imperial Knight now realized why a fierce conflict burned within the Grand Admiral. If he, a young initiate into the Force felt such temptation after experiencing only a slight fraction of power, what raged behind the determined crimson eyes of his Chiss superior. With his strength and focus returned at peak efficiency, Cathair had no trouble making his way through the remainder of the Gauntlet. He made it past all remaining waves with only minimal damage to his Interceptor and only feeling a slight drain on his body. As he finished off the last of his fighters, he angled his fighter back towards his new home and opened the engines to their maximum burn. As the Interceptor sped towards the vessel, Cathair realized the true speed of the fighter and allowed a smile to grace his face. He once again understood why the fighter jockeys now loved their job. The former Stormtrooper still believed own men were superior fighters, but from now on, he would allow the pilots of the Empire a bit more slack in their remarks. After docking his TIE, Breslin made his way once again towards the Admirals quarters. As he marched through the halls, he felt different. Instead of simply knowing that people were walking around him, he could feel them. He could feel each individual Imperial as they moved around him. No two felt exactly the same. Some seemed to have stronger presences than others. At this point, Cathair was unsure why this was, but he was determined to find out. As he reached the Admirals door, he could feel someone using the Force within. Sliding his hand along the access panel, he opened the door and took a single step inside. Deciding it best to wait for Nokrts attention, Cathair took a seat in one of the guest chairs and awaited his new Masters orders.

As the TIE Interceptor shot forward through space, its pilot was reveling at his discovery. Lt. Cathair Breslin could feel the Force flowing through him. He had read reports from several Force users and recalled that each Jedi/Sith felt the Force in a different way. Most Jedi reported feeling the Force as a cool calming river running through them, soothing them and making it easier to focus upon the Force. While most Sith referred to the Force as a intense fire burning deep within them, bringing their anger, pain, and hatred forth, allowing them wield the Force as a weapon. But what the newly appointed Imperial Knight felt was somewhere in the middle. It felt almost like a stream of molten lead was coursing through his veins. While it did burn, it was not a burn designed to cause pain or fear, more to focus him on the Force, to feel its power and allow him to embrace its strength. And embrace it he did. The speed of the Interceptor was unmatched as Cathair began to accelerate and push the fighter to its limits. Even from within his helmet he could hear the whine of the engines as more and more stress was put to them. In the distance he could see two more Z-95s making their towards himself and Doran. Assuming they were in range, Cathair opened fire with all six laser cannons. He watched as crimson lances of energy pulsed towards the Headhunter he had deemed his. After 13 misses, two lances slammed into the cockpit and fuselage of the enemy fighter and it erupted into flames. Deciding to show a little fancy flying, LT. Breslin performed a wide barrel roll around the flaming wreckage. As his TIE passed over the last remnants of steel parts, he felt a shudder on left side, and quickly reined in his fighter. Looking out the viewport, he noticed that his left upper laser cannon had been sheared off by a piece of wreckage. Shab! That's what he got for fancy flying. Cursing himself for allowing his pride to get in the way of his training and survival, Cathair vowed to keep things simple from here on out. The sudden burst in confidence and strength brought about by feeling the Force had almost cost him his life, and still might. Allowing this information to settle in, Lt. Breslin realized that just because he could access the wealth of strength, powers, and confidence the Force could bring him, did not make him invincible. All it would take to bring down even the most powerful of Jedi/Sith would be a little run of bad luck, and someone smart enough to capitalize on their own fortunes. He would need to use his own natural strengths and knowledge to augment those brought on by the Force. A splash of crimson energy against his hull brought him back to the moment at hand. Peering out his viewport, he could see two Z-95 Headhunters speeding their way towards him. Pushing his TIE to accelerate he watched as the enemy ships quickly grew in his view. He had expected to see Doran speed forward and take on the first Hunter, but a quick glance to his side saw that Doran was not there. The former bounty hunter was hung up nearly 1000KM behind as he dealt with the twin of the fight that had even in death weakened the former Stormtroopers own ship. Panic almost overtook the Imperial Knight but he quickly buried the feelings of fear and focused on the burning stream within him. Allowing his eyes to fall half closed, he could almost feel where the blasts would strike and he managed to avoid each lance of energy thrown his way. As this fight continued he began to realize that he could dodge these fighters forever, but unless he could gain an edge, he would never destroy them either. As twin lances of energy streaked from his right, he felt that he should decelerate quickly and angle his fighter to the right. Pulling back on the throttle, and pulling the yoke hard to the right, he watched as the fighters split around his Interceptor. As the fighter to his left went wide to circle around and come behind him, the Knight zeroed in on the fighter that was now in front of him. A small grin was allowed to cross his face as he began to let loose trails of energy. Within seconds, he could feel that the second fighter was now behind him, and once again firing. He knew it would be several more moments before he was within range to be truly targeted by the Hunter so he put all his focus on the fighter he was tailing. Each blast of energy he fired seemed to simply slide by the targeted Z-95 and Cathair began to feel frustrated that he could not destroy a simple computer. Anger began to boil inside of him and the stream of molten lead began to heat up. It began to course through his veins faster; sweat began to bead on his brow beneath the black helmet as the Force was called to his aid. Even though his body was heating up, calm overtook him. The anger inside of him began to bleed out. The heat from the Force began to dissipate as Lt. Breslin, without realizing it, allowed the Force to act through him. As his firing continued, he noticed that the Headhunter began to move less and less. His shots became closer and closer to the fighter. It seemed almost as if the enemy fighter had given up, that the computer had run out of maneuvers to dodge his fire. At some points, Cathair even swore he saw the fighter move to the exact spot he needed before it slowly moved away again. Shock crossed his face as he thought he realized what he was doing. I can't be moving that fighter. Only someone who is truly powerful and trained in the Force could move a star fighter during a battle. As the thought crossed his mind, he looked down at his hands and truly realized what was going on. He was controlling the enemy star fighter, through the Force; he was anticipating what the ship would do. Without conscious effort, he was only able to predict what the fighter would do, nanoseconds before it happened. But now that he realized what he was doing unconsciously, he could focus on that feeling and use it better to his advantage. The things he would be able to do with that kind of power. Even on the ground that kind of tactic would be useful. IT if he could anticipate what the enemy on the ground was going to do before it happened, he could place his commandos in a perfect position to thwart that effort. And for a millisecond, he wondered how far into the future he would be able to see. A glancing blow from the fighter on his tail brought him back to the present, and he realized he would only have a few seconds to use this new talent and once again begin to dodge. Focusing his thoughts entirely on the fighter before him, and allowing a calm to encompass his entire being, Cathair allowed the stream of molten lead that was the Force to course through him. In his mind he watched as the fighter maneuvered itself away from him. He could see each movement in slow motion. He could see the burning trails of gas being output from the exhaust of the ship. Focusing deeper, he began to saw a ghostly image of the Headhunter move to the left, followed swiftly by the real life version, quickly assuming its position. And Cathair knew when he needed to strike. Keeping his focus on the ship, his finger slid over the trigger for his chin laser cannons. As the faint ghostly image slid away from the material Z-95; his finger pulled back and twin bursts of energy lanced forward, and both bolts struck the fusion engine at the rear of the fighter. Breslin watched as the fighter erupted into a ball of flame. Diving his fighter beneath the wreckage, the Imperial Knight once again felt the fighter behind him begin firing. All around him he could feel the hotspots that would destroy his fighter if he maneuvered into them. ”œDamn it Doran. Where the haran are you?”

As the Admirals words echoed in his head, he knew they were not coming through the com system. After spending 6 years inside of a mobile box, where the most often used mode of communication is a com, he knew the way a voice sounded when filtered through the system. These words were coming from within his mind. Where could they possibly be coming from? He couldn't be going crazy. The psychological evaluations given to him by Imperial psychiatrists said he could go through damn near anything the galaxy could put him through and emerge mentally unscarred. But who knew how reliable such an abstract science could be. As the Admiral explained the technique in the Force, Cathair desired to know this skill. To be able to communicate across great distances with no use of technology would be a very useful skill to utilize among his commandos. But that was for another time. Focusing his attention once more, Lt. Breslinbegan to maneuver his craft in the direction of the ”œGauntlet.”

As the Grand Admiral returned the salute, Breslin relaxed his body and took several steps into the room. As he found a comfortable position, not too deep in the room to appear invasive but not close enough to the door to seem afraid, he clasped both his wrists behind his back and allowed the Grand Admiral to speak. As the Chiss spoke of the important task given by the Emperor, he wondered what it could be. He knew his commando unit would be important to the Empire. Only an elite trained unit would be able to operate behind enemy lines, to assassinate targets chosen by the Emperor himself, to sabotage key military installations before the insertion of the main army. What could be more important than that? Force-Sensitivity...How could I... For a split second, Cathair allowed his head to move, cocking to the side, pondering this new revelation. Until this moment, he had never even considered that he would be able to touch the Force. And until this moment it had never bothered him that he would not be able to use this mystical energy that many seemed to covet. It was just a tool that was beyond him. But now, in his head, he could already see himself wielding a lightsaber, moving things with his mind, doing things with his body that most men never thought possible. But the thought was quickly squashed and he returned his attention to the Grand Admiral who was now staring him down. Although the Chiss Grand Admiral could not see beneath the Stormtrooper helmet, the Imperial Lieutenant stared into his blood red eyes. He had never seen such eyes, and they burned with a passion that reflected a past filled with rage and chaos, but had been conquered and tamed in order to bring order and serenity to the man's soul. And the new attitude could be seen in the man's dress and quarters. His uniform was straight and each medal and rank bar was perfectly aligned. As the Admiral finished explaining his mission and tasks, Breslin turned his attention to what would apparently be his new uniform. Before removing it from the case, he removed his helmet and began to inspect the armor. He slowly ran his fingertips across the black metallic armor section. It seemed to be durable enough to take a beating yet light enough to not impede his movement. Allowing a grin to appear on his face, he quickly glanced at the Imperial Admiral before returning his attention to the armor. Slowly removing each piece of armor with the respect he would give the most priceless of antiques, the Stormtrooper saluted once more before briskly exiting the Admirals quarters and making his way into the on-board barracks. As he removed each piece of his Stormtrooper armor, he reflected back on when he was first required to remove his armor. He remembered regretting having to remove the white shell that time. His first armor set had seen him through many tough scrapes, and he was being forced to remove his armor and don a simple uniform. He would be donning a uniform simply to fit in with the brass of the Empire. While they did deserve his respect, he hated having to remove his true uniform simply just to blend in. But this time was different. He was simply removing a white shell to embrace his new uniform. As he pulled on the dark grey underarmor, he felt a warmth overcome him, something his body glove had never done. It almost seemed to mold to his skin, while still providing warmth. And it was not the warmth that simple layers provided, yet the under armor was layered, but it was the warmth that came from knowing it would protect you from nearly anything, yet not sure exactly why. Then he slid the armor pieces onto his body. As he slid the gauntlets along his forearms, he knew they would protect his arms from the roughest terrain, and probably from the worst attacks that could be thrown at him. As he allowed his torso armor to settle in place, he knew this new armor fitted him perfectly. As it srt him, he could almost feel it moving to adjust to his body by itself. The white Imperial emblem on the shoulder pad shone brightly, contrasting perfectly with the midnight armor. Picking up the dark grey cloak, he held it before himself and realized that this armor had to have been designed by the Grand Admiral himself. He was a walking contrast between the white and black. Only the Admiral, who paid such attention to detail and to order, could have designed something of this caliber. And then he noticed the design of the helmet. It appeared similar to that of the Mandalorians. The T-visor seemed to stare back at him with a life of its own. Grasping the helmet between both hands, the Stormtrooper dipped his head slightly and pulled the black helmet onto his head. As the headpiece settled into place, Cathair felt the pressure increase as a vacuum was created, and heard the hiss as air was forced out. He was now clad in the armor of the Imperial Knights. The only piece from his past he allowed himself was the Service pistol given to him former Captain-now Emperor Deton. Strapping the pistol to the belt of his new armor, Lieutenant Cathair Breslin made his way to the hangar. Climbing into the cockpit of a TIE Interceptor, Cathair was awed by the difference between this helmet and that of the Stormtrooper Corps. The HUD was far more advanced; the targeting system allowed for more target acquisition, more detailed analysis of vehicles and weapons, and quicker connection to the Holonet. And those were just the ones he noticed immediately. As he activated the systems for the TIE Interceptor, he felt the craft shudder to life and the repulsorlifts began to move the craft towards the hangar bay doors. As the Interceptor made its way into space, Lt. Breslin activated the sub light drives and made his way toward what his sensors indicated would be fellow Knight Doran Krote. As he came closer he did what Admiral Nokrt asked, he shut down the HUD and the navigation systems. The former Stormtrooper was now flying blind.

A small shuttle burst from hyperspace above the Imperial planet of Cardia. Since before anyone could remember, Cardia had been a planet renowned for its Imperial Academy being the best. This is where the best of the best Stormtroopers came from. The soldiers sent here were even thrown into the wild to defend themselves against the wild Rancors who had been transported from Dathomir. Only the best would be allowed to survive and become true Imperial Stormtroopers. If any died during their training, well, they did not deserve to wear the uniform in service to the Empire. The small shuttle sped towards the Imperial Star Destroyer on a final approach course. It had received instructions to land in a private hangar where only important personnel were permitted. One of the individuals onboard did not believe he was any more important than the thousands of Stormtroopers and crew on board the vessel. Each of them was worthy of importance in the Empire. The other was a new recruit. In the Empires eyes he was unproven, raw, unworthy of the armor that Lt. Breslin wore. But he would prove himself. After awhile, he would be worthy of the shimmering white armor, the soulless black eyes, and the resources of the Empire. As the boarding ramp lowered, both men made their way down into the hangar. A lone officer was waiting with instructions to report to the Grand Admirals quarters. Nodding to the officer and saluting, Cathair turned to Kento and spoke softly through the electronic system in his helmet. "I am going to report to the Grand Admiral. If I know anything of Imperial brass, you will need to change clothes. There is a barracks in the lower levels. You should find a spare flight officers uniform. Put it on and report to the Grand Admiral." Turning away from Kento, the Imperial Stormtrooper made his way through the Star Destroyers decks. As he walked, he wondered what his new training would be. What could be a more important use of his service to the Empire than training a new commando unit to be deployed behind enemy lines. Within moments, he arrived at the door to the Grand Admirals quarters. Accessing the door, he watched it slide open with a hiss. As the Grand Admiral came into view, shock passed over Cathairs face. Never in his life had he seen a Chiss up close. He had seen their likeness on the Holonet, and had even heard of Grand Admiral Thrawn, one of the most prestigious men in Imperial history. But now here stood one. A Chiss once again wearing the uniform of a Grand Admiral in the Imperial Navy. Standing at attention still outside the Admirals door, Cathair spoke a single word. "Sir."

For a brief moment Cathair felt the battle could be won. He could see the spirals of energy pulse from his soldiers. He watched as the rings of blue energy sped toward him and he closed his eyes and braced for the calming effects of the stun blast. But it did not come. He still felt Stevenson jerking around and then he felt the heat along his legs. Opening his eyes he could see the ground falling away from him. He watched as the flames from the jet pack licked at his legs, scorching the white armor, turning it black. And then he felt it. He felt an invisibile hand pushing against his chest. He tried to resist, tried to cling to the plates of armor that the Jedi Master wore, but it was no use. The strength behind this hand was enormous. The more he fought, the stronger it became. He felt his grip loosening, his fingers sliding against smooth armor. And he began to fall. He could feel the wind racing past his face, flattening his hair against to his skull. Had death not been imminent, it would have been very calming. For a split second, horror crossed his face, his eyes widened before it realized fear was not helpful. And it turned to rage. In both his mind and his body, rage would be apparent to the ex-Jedi. The same thought crossed from his mind to his lungs with-in a microsecond. BASTARD!! Then he felt nothing. The Imperial Stormtroopers body crashed into the roof of the cantina. He felt his limbs go limp. His mind went blank as his eyes closed and he slipped into darkness. In his unconscious mind, he replayed the fight over and over. What could he have done different? How could he have captured the Jedi and saved his men? How could he have won? But he could only see how he had failed. His mind could not think of anything but his failure. ---------------------------------------------- The three Imperial Stormtroopers gave chase after the Jedi. Without thinking, they set their weapons to kill and took aim. They each began to fire at the fleeing suspect. As they rounded corners and sprinted down alleys, they each fired several blasts, but each was batted away, some carelessly into the roofs of buildings, but some were aimed back with precision, landing within millimeters of of the trooper who had fired them. "Stun him. Stun him." Each flipped their weapons to stun and once again began firing arcs of blue energy towards the Jedi. Just as he reached the hangar, a single stun blast him him. The troopers watched as the Jedi fell to the streets, crashing hard and sending up a flurry of dust. As they reached the Jedi Master, each smiled beneath their helmets. Sending a communication to their shuttle, they requested it meet them at the hangar. The highest ranking of the three turned to the others. "I am going to get the commander. Stay here with the prisoner until we return." Turning away from the scene, he made his way back to the cantina.

The fight was going much better than Cathair had expected. He had landed the first blow, though that surprise compared to the one that was the result of him actually striking the Jedi Master. In his mind, Cathairs hopes grew. He might be able to win this fight. In his minds eye he could see himself presenting the Jedi Master before the Emperor himself. For a split-second he allowed himself to wonder what reward he would be given for bringing this known terrorist to justice. Shutting down that line of though quickly, the Imperial Stormtrooper turned his thoughts away from the fight once more. The Jedis spin kick was almost a blur to the Imperial Lieutenant. Knowing that no matter what the Jedi would land a blow within seconds, the Stormtrooper made a painful decision. He knew this would hurt. As the armored foot made contact with the side of his head, he wrapped his arm around the leg, holding the Jedi Master to him. Deciding to turn this to his advantage, the Stormtrooper spun around and brought his elbow down on the knee of the Jedi. Hearing a grunt from beneath the armored helm, he allowed a smile to grace his lips. Continuing his spin he slammed a second elbow into the side of the Jedis head. Allowing himself to spin a little more, he came to a stop and prepared for a counter attack from the Jedi Master. As he finished his attack, he heard the armored boots of his three remaining troopers about to make their way into the bar. Unknowingly they would walk straight into the EMP. "SHUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS BEFORE YOU COME IN. EMP!!!" Turning his focus onto the Jedi Master, Cathair knew what he needed to do. In his mind he could see how it would play out. Leaping at Stevenson, he wrapped his arms around the warriors neck. He could feel the Jedis strength as he tried to throw the Stormtrooper off. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the pure white armor emerge from the door of the cantina. The three Imperial soldiers raised their weapons and took aim at the struggling Imperial Lieutenant and the Jedi terrorist. Switching their E-19s to the stun setting, they curled their fingers around the trigger and pulled softly.

A grimace slipped through Cathairs hardened expression as the cold snap of a spine echoed through the silent courtyard. Allowing his sapphire eyes to slide across the ground, he took in the brutal sight. Blood flowed freely from several soldiers heads and pooled in the sand. He watched as eyes flickered as life drained from his troopers bodies. He heard the thud as the last body fell to the ground, finished, killed by the ex-Jedi. Curling his fingers into a fist, he could feel each of his muscles ablaze with anger. The cracking of his knuckles sounded like thunder in his ears. Raising his eyes to meet the armored visor of his enemy, he felt a blood lust rising within him. Anyone watching would see the anger filled electricity crackling between the two combatants. The backyard had become a powder keg. The first inch of movement would ignite a fight so vicious that would probably destroy both men. As he began to think of his attack plan, the Imperial Stormtrooper remembered what Captain Rustic had told them upon his arrival on Foy. Don't focus on your attack, keep your mind on something else. Focus on anything. Don't allow the Jedi to know your plan, to feel your intentions. So he allowed his mind to drift while still keeping his attention on the moment. His mind drifted to his past. To before he began his life of Imperial service. Back to when he cared only for the freedom he enjoyed. Without thinking, Cathair gripped the pistol at his side and flung the weapon at Stevenson. Knowing the weapon would cause no damage even if it struck the Jedi, the Imperial Lieutenant flung himself at the Jedi. His balled fist thrust forward and anger in his eyes, he struck.

Each man in Cathairs squad had known they would be at a disadvantage going into this fight. But they all expected to have their weapons to even things out a bit. But now they were left weaponless. The electronic chips inside their weapons were fried, making them about as effective as a large rock. As well, the micro circuits that gave their armor and uniforms their advantage over the Rebels in battle were gone as well. Knowing the helmets would only get in the way of hand to hand combat, Cathair motioned for the men to remove them. He knew this made them far more vulnerable to any enemy fire, he hoped that the former Jedi Master still retained some of his honor and would not introduce fire-arms. Wiping away a small bead of sweat from his brow, Cathair turned to his men and with a nod, all nine men made their way out the back door into the yard. Hopefully by putting them all closer, the numerical advantage would work stronger in their favor. Sliding his combat pistol back into its holster, Cathair was the last man out of the door. He could feel the heat from the twin suns bearing down on him. He remembered it was much cooler with his helmet on, but he needed all the range of movement he could get. His sapphire eyes darted to the far wall where he noticed a white helmet on the ground. Blood slowly oozed from beneath the helmet, slightly staining the edges. A snarl curled the corner of his lips and anger began to creep through his veins. In a split second, his men pounced. To any onlooker, a cloud of white had descended upon the Jedi Master. At first, Cathair thought things might be going the Imperials way, then he saw the truth. He watched as several of his men were thrown backwards, their bodies crashing into the wall of the Cantina. He watched as two rose back to their feet and made their way back into the brawl, but the third did not rise. Blood trickled slowly down his face, almost cutting him in two. Blood also flowed freely from his ears. He was dead. Another Imperial killed by Sly Stevenson. He heard grunts and screams emerge from the brawl, as some of his men fell to their knees only to rise again and keep fighting. He watched as they threw punches, rose their knees to attack Stevenson. They tried to grab the edges of his armor only to receive a strike to face for their efforts. It still appeared that the Imperials were winning, but Cathair knew other wise. His soldiers were beginning to tire, but the Jedi Master was just warming up. ((Did not wish to God-Mod, so I leave it to you to decide how you fight my men before you and I engage in battle.))