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Tatooine


RaveN
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The starship emerged from hyperspace over the lonely sandy planet of Tatooine, and with little effort from its pilot or crew, succeeded in acquiring docking clearance at Mos Eisley spaceport. Perhaps the ease came from the loud declaration that this was a ship belonging to one of the illusive Sith Lords, or perhaps it was because of the promise of such a ship bringing some much needed credits to the lonely casinos and bars of a mostly deserted planet. 

 

Either way, the once apprentice to the Dark Lord, Telperien Ar-Pharazon in all her stature came most willingly to the barren world. 

 

The force had willed such a thing, and so Telperien would answer. Some of the local spies had told of a sith apprentice left abandoned, and the Dark Lord in all his grace, had dispatched the nightsisters. Nightsisters, who through no fault of their own but blood, could not access the force but through talismans and chalk summoning circles. The people of the weak blood, the Myrkengodi, the priestesses of the Sith Lords. And Telperien was their leader. And on the desert world of Tatooine, the Nightsisters of Coven Myrkengodi stood out like a Corusca gem in a coal pit. 

 

Their heavily tattooed skin, dark leather, and pale skin set them willingly apart, and in their company came the tall Telperien. She carried little save her yew bow and a quiver of arrows that was slung at her belt. The yew boy remained in its soft leather cover on a strap that crossed her muscled shoulders. 

 

She ducked to enter the Cantina and as her eyes adjusted they narrowed against the smoke of deathsticks. 

 

“I am looking for the one called Camik Rhonik.” 

 

Her voice was soft but it carried throughout the entire cantina, carried by the will of the force, which cut through the music of the band like a knife. 

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As the soft voice carried through the cantina, causing a moment of silence from the patrons. The silence a clear indication that they did know this name though this was not the kind of place that tongues wagged, at least not without the proper incentive. 

 

As if by the will of the force a figure appeared in the door, He wore a worn cloak with the cowl deep enough that it covered his facial features. The cloak while worn was one well cared for, the holes and tears were sewn together and did a good job of covering his body hiding any distinguishing marks. . 

 

”Who are you to be asking for him?”  The voice was rough and raspy like the sands had blasted his vocal cords. Despite not being able to see his face and eyes, the intensity of his stare would be easily felt. There was an intensity to it that most would not be able to maintain.

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A grin pecked at the side of Telperien’s face until she finally let it spread across her pale face. She reached back and let bot the Bow and bag of arrows at her belt fall to the sand encrusted floor. One of the pale girls behind her faithfully catching the leather wrapped bow before it could fall completely. Telperien took a pace towards the cloaked and cowled man and flicked her hand towards the band which had faithfully kept their tune. 

 

The electronic harpist cartwheeled into the wall behind his instrument and the drummer followed suit. Hurled as if lifted by an invisible hand. The charm at her wrist glowed a faint turquoise, the yellowed diamond emitting off a scant green light that disappeared as quickly as the music did. Her voice now carried like a silver wind, booming thorugh the establishment like a thunder stroke.  

 

“The King of the Stars, he who sits on a throne of blood and bone. The Dark Lord in his high hall. The unnamed bane of the Jedi Order and Galactic Alliance. Fret not for the Sith Lords of Korriban bid Camik to return to their service.” 

 

She maintained the grin as a few of the bar patrons reached for hidden weapons.

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As the two band members flew into the wall there was a shuffle of noise as nearly every hand in the cantina now had a blaster of some kind in it and was pointed at the new commer, and at Camik in turn. The feeling in the bar was that of waiting, but was it to wait for some unknown signal or was it waiting for the newcomer to move again no one could be sure. 

 

The hooded figure did not seem perturbed by this turn of events though. As the newcomer stepped closer to him, giving her short speech, his stance did not change. 

 

”I have been left on this sorry excuse of a planet for all this time and they have deemed me worth enough to return to their fold? Has their numbers thinned so much that they are forced to remember what they have forgotten”


He paused for a moment without looking around then spoke again. ”You have come with your proclamation but what makes you think the music lovers in this cantina will let you leave?”

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“You have been called. So you will come.” 

 

Telperien let her eyes travel from one patron to the next assessing the room full of muscled men and women like a predator would a flock of nerfs. They were strong, full bodied, men and women of the dirt. And it would be so easy. She licked her lips. Letting saliva fill the broken cracks on her lips from the lack of humidity. She did not answer the man’s question, instead she reached out her left hand the talisman on her wrist glowing a bright red.

 

One of the patrons jumped at her with a fist flying for her high boned face. 

 

She shouted a dark word of command and the force fell to her will. Billowing in its triumph through her talisman where it began its terrible work. Her hand twitched up, catching the man under the jaw, and as her hand grasped his throat his blood began to boil. 

 

Viens opened with an explosion of red steam and the man collapsed in a welter of gore. 

 

And so the fight was on.

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”I have been call, so I will go.”  

 

As more patrons jumped into the fight, others started to open fire on the newcomer, Camik simply turned and walked out of the cantina without a second glance. 

 

”The only question is will I be taking your ship and leaving you with my broken one or will you be on it as well?”  Truth be told Camik couldn’t care less and his voice indicated it. Only the newer patrons of the cantina would be trying to attack her with fists. The smarter older patrons would simply attack her with lots of blaster fire. It wasn’t that Camik had trained these people but he had been in the cantina enough times that smarter ones, that is to say the ones that survived, had learned messing with a Sith was not good for one's life expectancy. 

 

If that rabble managed to take her down she wouldn’t have been worth much as a Sith anyway.

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Telperien shrugged as the man turned and left the Cantina at a slow even pace. She reached to her waist and pulled the ancient lightsaber that was hanging from a loose corde of bound leather from her waist. Its red hue overpowering the soft lights of the dim cantina. A few patrons were knocked out of their bloodlust from the very sight of a lightsabre, but not many, and in a cacophony of ‘snap-hisses’ the hue of the bar turned a bright, stunning, red. 

 

This was too short a range for the bows of the sisters, so they would make due with the weapons of the Sith Lords in their stead. Her first blow, carried by the quick struck fury in her heart dashed a rodian across the bartop, and her sisters made the work of the rest of them as quick, and as bloody. In the space of just several seconds over a dozen deaths occurred, satiating the bloodlust of the Dathomir Witches, and bringing a fierce grin to the face of their leader. 

 

She strode through the still twitching bodies and walked easily to catch up with the erstwhile apprentice. 

 

“Camik, your ship awaits you. Though if you would prefer another demonstration of useless killing, I am sure we would be more than happy to oblige.” 

 

She indicated the Sith warship with a sweep of her arm, and smirked as she walked towards the starship at a brisk pace.

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Camik’s stride never wavered as she caught up to him.  ”You misunderstand me. I did not require such a demonstration. I simply commented on the situation. I have known them long enough that they don’t take offense lightly, and flinging the band around is something they would take offense to.”

 

As the ship came into sight, Camik reached into his robe and pulled out a data tablet and imputed something.  Shortly thereafter a loader droid came up to the ship bearing a smallish crate. 

 

”Is this my ship now or simply my transport off this Force forsaken dustball?  Either way now that my things have arrived I am ready to go. ”

Edited by Camik Rhonik
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Telperien scowled as the rest of the nightsisters came aboard after her. 

 

“This is neither of our starship, it belongs to the Sith Empire. Perhaps if you live out the next couple months you can have one just like it.”

 

The decking rocked underfoot as the ship began to journey from the atmosphere of the sand planet. She gestured to the dining table as one of the very young Dathomiri laid a small plate of hors d’oeuvres on the table. It was some meat and cheese faire, not overly delicious, but it wet the appetite. 

 

“Tell me of your journeys since we last met Camik.”

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Camik sat down at the table, taking a bite of the offered food. It was better than the junk he had been eating for far to long, but then anything with any kind of flavoring was. 

 

He took a moment to compose himself before he responded. ”I was sent here by my Master to search for one of his contacts. It seemed that that contact did not want to be found by me and the fight that ensued left my ship a worthless husk, leaving me stranded on that planet.” 

 

He did not go into many details past that. This woman look familiar, he knew that she was Sith but there were still things that he would not trust her with. He had given her an answer to get one back in return. 

 

”A far more important question though is what is the state of the Galaxy at large, and specifically our organization.”

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Telperien shrugged as she took a bite of food.

 

“The Sith Lords rule an empire that has yet to reach its final expanse. Our master has begun an assault on the planet of Corellia and Mon calamari, in an effort to shut down the pitiful rebel alliance once and for all.” She took another bite. “Cut them off from their centres of industry, of production, and the resistance will fall apart.” 

 

She pondered another bite, but placed the food back onto the plate in front of her. 

 

“There is plenty of opportunity for glory should you desire it.” She glanced up. “Do you desire it Camik?”

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Camik took another bite as he was asked the question. ”I am glad to hear the Sith lords are cutting the rebels off from their industry. I am sure they will try and put a strong fight which just makes it all the more sweet when we take it from them.” 

 

He paused for a moment taking in her obvious question. ”Of course I want glory, is there a Sith out there that doesn’t? Though I am not one that feels the need to flaunt my power racing head first into battle.  I do not need my glory to be acknowledged by the galaxy.”   Perhaps it was a character flaw from him but he viewed himself as a bit more subdued than that.  Being well known in the galaxy had its advantages as well as its advantages. 

 

”So I suppose my question is where are we headed to first?”

 

Edited by Camik Rhonik
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“We go to the planet of my ancestors, and from there we can finish your journey into Lordship.”

 

Telperien clapped her hands and one of the sisters jumped to attention, making a firm bow and then ran to the cockpit. Telperien’s eyes flashed as she looked back to the Apprentice. 

 

“Of course, the gaudy representation we see in the holos of the Sith Lords, like Ar-Pharazon the Golden, or even the majesty of the Old Sith, hurt the eyes. They do not carry with them the Gravity of our struggle, they only carry with them pride. And a pride for what? What did they accomplish?”

 

She took a long drink from her cup. Letting the wine flow across her tastebuds. “They accomplished nothing. They were a failure that only brought an untold suffering to the galaxy for no gain.” She shook her head so that her plait of hair bounced from should to shoulder. “We must move beyond that infantile approach.” She caught hold of her seat with one strong hand as the sudden acceleration pushed against her as they disappeared into hyperspace. 

 

“Now we go to the jungle.”

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  • 4 months later...

Standing upon a cliff side, Tros looked out at the rising twin suns. Without his buy’ce, the rays of light made him squint ever so slightly as he attempted to focus upon the region that the small Mandalorian camp overlooked. There was small movement behind him as Avao worked on some gear at a special request from Tros. To his left stood Vulios who kept his buy’ce as they looked out at the cursed sand planet before them. The silence between the two was something of an unspoken thing. Words were being processed by both, but nothing was being said. The long silence would have been beyond awkward for anyone else who would be near them, but for the two, it held no such negativities. As sounds began to die off from behind where Avao was working on gear, Vulios spoke to break the silence. 

 

“If she’s correct, we’re going to have massive run-ins with the Bando Gora. Last I checked, death sticks were their primary focus of late, which was helping feed slave trades. Minor workings here and there, although recently had a small war with Black Sun on both Irdonia and Dubrillion. Both attempts had them flee to Bogden. Black Sun still controls Yarrock from what I understand.” Tros slowly nodded his head. “Minor dealings at best. The Bando Gora are deadly when in larger numbers. But since they’ve outsourced some stuff here on Tatooine, they won’t be a problem for us. Get everyone ready to move. We’re going to hit the ridge pretty hard. Send Larkin.” 

 

Vulios nodded and turned to walk away. As he did, Avao walked up and handed him the gear that he had requested to be made. Without much of any words spoken, just simply handed them over and then walked away. He was beginning to appreciate the small group of Mandalorians that Vulios had collected and made into a small family of sorts. Is it this that I have been missing in my life for a while? That sense of aliit? The thought lingered on his mind before he turned to see Larkin approach. He looked her over for a moment and wondered if he was doing the right thing, but as he looked past her, he could see Vulios give him a slight head nod of his own approval. 

 

“You’ve handled yourself fairly well these past few days. Impressed my fellow vod.” Larkin raised her eyebrows. “That’s an unusual compliment to give a rival of yours. But if I’m honest… I’ve enjoyed having a purpose again. Life during these wars have made it difficult for anyone within the guild to find work, let alone to stay active. Too many regional leaders and not enough bounties.” Tros nodded himself. It was very true. He happened to get lucky with the uprising of Mandalorian clans going to war and fighting here and there, which gave him something to do. Whether or not it was purposefully filled or not wasn’t really a strong arguing point. But they needed to move, and he had something to do before then. He turned towards Larkin and extended his arms towards her, which held a chest piece, two pauldrons and helmet made of Alum and Duraplast.

 

“If you want it, we would like to extend an opportunity to join our family. Under one banner, we are looking to establish a new house with many clans. A new Mandalorian way of life. There are some codes you’d have to follow, but for now I’m more curious to see if you even want in…” Tros felt slightly silly asking her. He had never taken any foundling in before, nor offered up an outsider to join his clan. This was a first for him. He wondered as he looked directly into Larkin’s eyes if she was even willing to take on a new identity. Fighting alongside, yes. But to fully join a Mandlaorian clan?... After a very long pause, she spoke. 

 

“... I accept…”

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Mishuk gotal'u meshuroke, pako kyore.

 

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  • 1 month later...

A quick look through the scope showed exactly what Vulios wanted, a Bando Gora captain walking alongside a few Ronto’s attempting to keep them safe. Slowly and surely, Vulios kept scouting the entire area to see what sort of mess they may be fully getting into. “Scope shows at least 6 plus the captain. But from this range, it’s becoming impossible to get a good reading.” Still, Vulios attempted to see more and tried to lock down an official number. There was a click and a message that came across his HUD from Tro’solus. It was simple. :Don’t waste your efforts. Return.: It was enough for him to acknowledge and look away from the scope. Slowly, he crawled himself backwards away from the ledge that he was on, as they were still attempting to not be seen. 

 

The movements of the group were quiet and well hidden for the most part. Tros kept his own eyes focused more upon his HUD and where the entire group moved. Larkin was with Atin as the two moved in from the west side of the Rontos, while Avao and Sarpo moved in from the east side. Kot’dral was about seven feet from Tros as Vulios came slowly next to them. As he watched his HUD, he felt what could only be described as a shiver run down his spine for a quick moment before Vulios spoke. “I can remain here and provide sniper support. I’d say watch your back, but I believe that Kot’dral is already doing that.”

 

Tros began to move forward, but then paused at the words. They were only spoken between the two, so he took a quick glance over at Kot’dral to see that the man was indeed hanging behind to keep a watch on him. Kot’dral Duvul made no point of hiding his admiration for Tros since he aligned himself with the small Clan that Vulios had put together. He didn’t put much weight on the thought and instead pushed forward towards the target. He moved quietly with Kot’dral until the two came upon their desired position and began to scope out the next move. He waited until he received clicks from every team member that they were in position before he double checked on his HUD that they had the right vantage moving forward. 

 

As he looked around, he took a moment to check out Kot’dral. His body in greyish green armor with outlines of gold and red and the lone mythosaur art on his vambrace. A quick look into his buy’ce told him that the man was ready. Looking back at the field, he looked through his scope before activating his comlink to everyone else. “Look sharp. Take your shots and leave no room for recovery. Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur. On three…3!” On cue, 6 shots went off, knocking 6 bodies to the ground almost instantly. The shots rang off in the canyon causing a slight stir of the Rontos, followed by what sounded like maybe 12-14 more shots that went off, dropping all of the Rontos to the ground. The lone Bando Gora captain drew his weapon and began to look around. 

 

Ke nu'jurkadir sha Mando'ade! “Cut the chatter Sarpo. Everyone move in. Vulios, give us the proper entry.” As he spoke, Tros stood up, slinging his weapon over his back and began to walk down towards the now messy canyon that was just created by the group of Mandalorians. As they walked down, a shot or two was fired off from Vulios, who kept the captain on the ground and unable to stop the group moving in around him. As they all arrived, Tros stood over him and officially disarmed the captain. “Greetings from Chal Bum, although he is unaware of what we know and our compensation as such.”

 

About three hours later, Vulios, Kot’dral were with Tros as they burned the bodies in the desert as the rest finished collecting everything from the Rontos, which included a small amount of pure beskar. As the group gathered around the fire, Avao held up the beskar for everyone to see. “The damn Jawa knew it was there the entire time. What shall we do with it?” Tros looked at the fire where the bodies of those who worked for the Bando Gora burned and wondered if such a small amount was even worth holding onto when Vulios spoke. His voice was strong and loud, almost making a declaration.

 

“Forge two vambraces for Tro’solus. Today marks the day, Clan Vuuku chooses to stand behind him, for he has earned our trust and respect. No longer shall the lone wolf roam the galaxy and hunt alone. He now holds the trust, faith and respect from all Clans here. Under one banner shall Mandalore and Mandalorians arise again. We choose to stand under a new house. House Solus, with Clan Ardell as our head and leader. All hail Tro’solus!” With that, the company all held up their blasters and fired them into the air. Tros pondered such a declaration to himself for a moment before he responded. “Together we’ll rise. Haat, Ijaa, Haa'it.” Almost immediately, everyone present also repeated the words spoken.

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Mishuk gotal'u meshuroke, pako kyore.

 

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  • 1 month later...

There was something stirring in the air, and Tros could feel it. He sat at the table of the booth and stared out at the movements of the newly formed squad. He watched as every member moved and interacted with each other, including Larkin. Atin and Avao sat with her, discussing different skills needed to forge a new path to greatness. Sarpo and Vulios sat with a newcomer, Grurt Zelbaur, a young man with dark hair and sharp eyes. They all seemed merry and happy, even more so now that the group had settled back in Bestine after getting their pay Chal Bum. The capital city made quite a nice home for the small group of Mandalorians, but even in their short time being here, Tros and Vulios knew they couldn’t remain here for long. They needed a better location and sturdier home. 

 

Kot’dral Duvul walked up after getting a few drinks and set one down before Tros and then sat down next to him. Placing his own buy’ce down on the table next to Tros’ own, he picked up his drink and took a swig before looking at Tros. He had near jet black hair and long sideburns. Narrowed eyes locked directly with his own. “I’ve never been one to feel such a strange affinity to another before. No alor has ever shown such a strong resilience before, a desire to keep going forward. I’ve fought with many under Clan Vuuko. The houses we’ve served have always been many things. You’re something new I haven’t seen in anyone before…”

 

The words he spoke held a deep conviction to them, such a conviction that Tros knew what was about to come from the man before him. The man looked away for a moment to finish his own thought without looking into Tros’ eyes. “... You are the very definition of shereshoy. I have talked with Vulios already about this, but I want to change my Clan... “ The man turned now to fully face Tros. “But not simply to pledge myself arms and strength to you. Maybe not now, maybe when I have fully earned your trust as well. But I want to fully change to Clan Ardell through riduurok. “

 

Tros now took a drink from the glass given to him by Kot’dral. He looked again at the group before him and wondered what sort of condition the Mandalorian culture was in that he was such a worthy follow. Taking a huge sigh, he leaned back further and held onto the mug with both hands. “I would say that I’m at a loss for words, but that just simply isn’t the truth. I know exactly what to say. You have a long way to prove yourself. Through both battle in changing of Clans and through the shoes you’d have to live up to in order for me to accept a potential riduurok again. I am sure Vulios has told you of everything I have gone through under both recent manda'lors.” 

 

Tros then took a huge drink, Kot’dral slightly lowered his shoulders, trying to not show his disappointment. As the other man took a drink himself, Tros finally continued. “But I welcome your heart and company. I’ll give you two months to change my mind Kot’dral.” Tros now turned to fully face the man. Both eyes locked, a small spark of hope filled Kot’dral. “Continue to prove yourself, adapt your signet and share battle with me.” Tros held up his glass to Kot’dral. The man returned the gesture and let his own glass clang upon Tros’. He then shouted rather loudly. Vor entye.

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Mishuk gotal'u meshuroke, pako kyore.

 

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  • 4 weeks later...

The movement seemed calm for the most part, as the group was packing and loading cargo into the two main ships the small House was starting off with. Swift Justice and the Trident were being loaded and cleaned up for their voyage, a destination that Tros had yet to reveal to the rest of the House. At least not yet. Vulios came up and stood next to him, without saying a word, looked at Tros, gave a nod and placed his hand upon his shoulder. He let out a sigh and looked at the ground for a second before lifting his head. “Rumor of the Sith Empire raging war on the Outer Rim territories has increased. The Rebels are fighting back, but they may need an extra push to win. If we play our cards right, we could easily side with the Empire and give them a few victories here and there. The battlefield would swing heavily towards the Sith Empire.”

 

Vulios scanned the crew working hard to get the two ships ready. “And in turn you hope that such a move would allow for us to find a new forged home and way of life amidst the conquest?” A slight head nod to his left and right, a sign of showing his own lack of confidence. “That’s a small part of it I guess. Word will spread of the Mandalorian’s aiding within the Sith Empire’s victories. Our numbers will grow from that of traveling vod and those seeking a home. The Sith are not stupid, they will know how dangerous a growing House of Mandlore can get. They won’t risk opposition as we aid, so long as we prove we are worth the stories they’ve heard.” Tros now turned and did what the equivalent of locking eyes would be for two Mandalorian’s wearing a buy’ce. “And within that is the key. We’ve both served under many different leaders. This is our best chance to establish exactly what we long for.”

 

Vulios nodded his head. “So be it.” He now turned and looked at the crew. Sarpo and Kot’dral now stood looking at the two. “So where is our heading, Mand’alor?” Tros kept his eyes narrowed, even behind his own buy’ce, for few should ever share what his own feelings and thoughts are. He learned that lesson from watching others lead before him. After Vulios finished speaking, it seemed like the number of those watching doubled. He looked at everyone before him, slowly taking in what he could read from them. “Qat Chrystac is our heading. There, we will create a home and build a base of operations. From there, we will seek out the Sith Empire and see what sort of alliance we can potentially form.”

 

Tros then turned directly towards Vulios and gave a head nod. Without much of another word, he quickly moved himself down to help everyone load the final stuff on the two ships. Within thirty minutes, both ships were lifted off the sand covered planet and headed towards potentially a new home. 

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Mishuk gotal'u meshuroke, pako kyore.

 

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  • 1 year later...

The derelict speeder choked and sputtered as Leena slowed the antiquated vehicle amongst the dunes. Out here, there was nothing. Nothing but sand. She had left Mos Eisley beyond the horizon.
 

The twin suns beat down hard. The wind blowed like a heater sucking the moisture from the Mon Cal’s skin. This was true desolation.

 

The speeder coasted to a stop. Its grating idle echoing off the surrounding dunes until Leena turned the key killing the engine. Deep in her mind she hoped it would start again later.

 

Hopping out of the open cockpit, Leena’s booted feet kicked up the coarse sand. Reaching to her belt, the Jedi carefully removed the bag of healing crystals and booby trapped lightsabers. Hiking up the dune, the suns reflected off her white healer’s robes. They shone like beacons across the sand.

 

Atop the dune, Leena paused and stared out across the vast desert. It was truly endless, an ancient world devastated by greed, corruption, and the dark side. This was what was left in the wake of unchecked selfish ambition. She exhaled heavily. It was a stark realization and one that weighed heavily on her soul. Their foray into the dark world of Byss had given the Jedi pause.

 

The girl was a healer, sworn to protect life. She had lost her lightsaber on Lehon and was in no hurry to replace it. She had not even been sure she would replace it, for what was a saber but a weapon of destruction? And yet on Byss, Leena had only survived but for the actions of those willing to engage in violence. The tree had been a manifestation of evil, poisoned before conception and brought up in the soils of sin and corruption, an irredeemable choking vine that would kill anything it overtook. She was a Jedi Healer and a Jedi Master. It was her responsibility to defend life as well, not to leave such a task to others. She had failed her oath on Byss and had it not been for the others, she would have paid for it with her life.

 

Slowly, Leena lowered herself to a meditative seat atop the dune. Closing her eyes, she reached out on the hot midday air, letting the force flow over her, refreshing her spirit as the hot wind licked at her moist skin. 
 

Without opening her eyes, Leena reached into her satchel and carefully removed each glowing healing crystal. She nestled each into the sand in a circle that spread out from her sides and in front of her. The force seemed to glow with life-giving positive energy within the circle. Next, Leena gingerly removed each of the ten saber hilts and set them side by side in the circle. They seemed to radiate with grim warning, each containing a nefarious and deadly trap, explosive, poisonous, and other yet unknown lethal snares.

 

With the scene set, Leena settled her wrists atop her criss-crossed knees, palms up. She inhaled and exhaled deeply allowing the force to sustain her against the barren life-sucking landscape. She opened her mind to the force, the deepest recesses of hidden secrets and pains and allowed it to wash over them, soothing her pains and cleansing her sins.

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The force flowed like a cool stream cutting through the hot desert. The hot winds beneath the desert suns ceased as the temperatures about the focal point dropped to a temperate coolness invigorating the Jedi as she was filled to the brim with life-giving energies. The Mon Cal’s bulbous eyes flickered open as she stared beyond the physical world before her. The first hilt that she had claimed from the Sith lair rose upwards in the midst of the circle. It’s inner core vibrated as it shook the darkness that clung to it’s core free. Black inky darkness, the dark side solidified into a corporeal toxic spore designed to quickly drive any who activated the weapon to madness, hung in the air. It was only for a moment though. Like flecks of algae broken free in the rush of purifying floodwaters, the darkness was washed away, overwhelmed and diluted by the overpowering natural light side of the force. In moments, the dark snare that clung within the barreled hilt was gone, replaced by an energized purity of purpose.

 

Reaching up, Leena slowly grasped the purified weapon as it was released from the grasp of the force. Gently she placed it in the sands of the circle; yet another focal point for the light.

 

Inmediately a pair of shotos rose upwards into the air, higher than the last. Electric energy crackled between the weapons, purple sparks of darkness lashing out against the embrace of truth. Leena furrowed her elongated brow as she turned her focus onto the pair of weapons as they resisted the purifying flow of the force. Drawing on the invisible life that was all about them, Leena renewed her cleansing assault of the shadowy grasp on the blades. Healing life force exponentially grew as it was channeled through the woman’s suckered hands flowing through the charged air to probe the evil within the shimmering weapons. Within the blades a dark presence lurked, a soul shorn in two and bound unnaturally half in the left and half in the right. To activate either would be to release half a tormented soul that would seek to overpower and destroy it’s would be savior. To activate both, a force-bound tortured beast of long ago, a wraith of myth and legend.

 

Within the sabers the soul’s defenses were seamless. As much as she prod them in the force, Leena could not find a weakness. The soul shards desired a release, to seek an end to their torture. They were the spirit of a tortured and failed Sith prince, destroyed and desiccated beyond recognition. Fortunately, Leena knew she was not alone. Here in the vast wastelands of this desert world, she and her ally would face off against whatever monstrosity was born within with little worry for the devastation of livelihoods and lives beyond their own.


Calling upon the force, Leena extended her hands outward. A surge of force energy rippled the sands as it took the encircling the focus of the healing crystals and sent them flying outwards to the edges of the flowing dunes.

 

The hilts tumbled to the sands as Leena stood. She turned to Ruin. “Are you prepared to do battle with the Sith friend? A terrible beast has accompanied us from the bowels of Byss only to be purged here, in the sands of Tatooine.” Stooping, Leena grasped the hilts and lifted them. She could feel the faint tickles of the dark tortured souls as they bounced within in their agitated state. Her fingers moved to the activator switches, all she awaited was a sign that the Jedi-reborn guardian of steel was ready to do battle.

 

@TerrorBot

 

 

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During the time when the Mon Cal was doing her ritual or ceremony, Ruin was sitting on his speeder bike, watching. While he was silent, Fera on the other hand was busy working, crawling over Ruin’s left arm. 

 

“I do not fully understand the point of this endeavor…” Fera beeped as her drill head and torch worked on the Terror Droid’s chassis. “It seems that Jedi can acquire lightsabers anywhere. Why come into the middle of the desert to do something so easy to do someplace more metropolitan.”  

 

Ruin didn’t give any sign that he heard. He glanced down as Fera moved off the arm and onto the shoulders. Her work was not very extravagant or noticeable, but it was there. Like a master engraver, she had carved into Ruin’s arm an image of a circle orbiting a large dot, with what looked like a smaller orb hitting the orbiting one.

“True those places are filled with their own dangers, but isn’t that where help is needed? Aren’t Jedi suppose to go to those places?”

 

Ruin looked at Leena again, seeming to contemplate the Buzz droid’s words. Without the pilot here, only the Terrordroid could understand the buzzdroid’s beepings.

 

As the scene unfolded, Ruin jumped to action and rushed to Leena’s side. Gun out and cocked, Ruin growled slightly, his vocabulator easily communicating Ruin’s eagerness to have some action. 

 

“Kill Sith. Blastings and bashings”  

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There it was. In those five words, Leena knew the hulking brute of a machine was ready. It seemed to have a preoccupation with killing the Sith, no doubt a side effect of his programming. Simple and to the point. She had seen on Byss what he was capable of and was counting on that now with whatever they might be about to face.

 

With a nod she whispered, “Blasting and bashing is right. At least I hope so. whatever’s in here is long past it’s expiration date.”  With a focused sigh, Leena attuned herself to the still strong buzz of the force and flicked the activators on both weapons. A pair of crimson beams erupted with an evil hiss from each hilt. As the blades materialized though, the hiss it did not stop, it grew louder. Plumes of red gasses billowed out around the pulsating arcing blades covering the area in dense red shadows. Within moments the twin subs were all but blotted out as the dunes were engulfed by a pair of twisted evil-half lived presences. Deep wicked stereophonic laughter seemed to echo from the smokey air and dunes themselves.

 

Instantly, Leena winced, her hands tightening instinctively to the weapons as her aura was assaulted by the overwhelming ambiguous clouds, wraiths of the netherworld bound unnaturally to this world, to the weapons in the Jedi Master’s hands.

 

From within the smoke two pairs of glowing orange-red eyes seemed to materialize and vanish only to appear elsewhere before diving with screams of pain and anger towards the Jedi and droids. Even if they lacked a corporeal form, they could touch the physical world; their touch incapable of anything but destruction, suffering and death.

 

Leena doubled over wrapping her left arm about her stomach as she clasped at her elongated forehead with the other as the spirit drove through her and vanishing into the smoke upon impact. The Jedi master cried out in pain.

 

The cleft soul, hewn in two attacked relentlessly. Anyone or thing within the smoke they would seek to reduce to burning ash.

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Inflamed and gasping

 

Bared and grasping

 

Hollowed and collapsing

 

collapsing…

 

The deceitful caress of transient existence brought searing agony to a weary shell. 

Anger - a hand - dragged the spirit from its rest.

Failure - a reminder - tore wontanly, reveling in every savory torment; 

Pain - a needle - wove her to the coil that had shuffled her; 

The Force - a shackle - condemned her to persist…

 

The spark of reconstruction was mysterious. Though ceaseless speculation drew allusions to the shame and regret that she’d left behind, the tethers of life were never so predictable. Whether they wilted impulsively before the fateful bloom, or grappled desperately, clinging to the dying roots to spite a natural end. No one could afford an answer. Wisdom was bankrupt and logic a fragile lie. The twi’lek’s life was gone. It was snuffed by a merciless fighter that claimed her mortality with sensual abandon. How then? And why? 

 

Why? 

 

Why did she live? 

 

A choked cry was her only response. 

 

     Her strangled breaths were shameful. Her existence was shameful. What was she? Who was she? Was she Lallu? The woman doomed to chase a ghost forever with heartache as her only reward? Was she Keenava? A woman who traded a slave master for a Sith master? Could she truly persist on her own, and what cruel fate would bind her to existence when every step was pain?

 

     The sharp thwack of something hard hitting a wall, the pounding throb singing at her temple, and the brush of cold steel against her wrists shook her from her reverie. The air was stale, clinging to her dry tongue. Her muscles were seizing, contracting without cue, and sweat beaded her obsidian brow. Foreign yet familiar scars stung upon her back and upon her bound wrists.

 

     Her vision was blurry, clouded by an eyelid that refused to open. Something was dry there. Blood? The distinct metallic smell was everywhere, but gone was the pool she’d drowned in. The red dust of Korriban was gone, and in its place was sand. Where there wasn’t blood, there was sand. She could breathe, though each inhalation stabbed knives into the deep tissue of her lungs, and each exhalation was followed by wracking coughs, which sent more knives deep into her chest.

 

     Living was no blessing. Then again, when was it? Everything she’d done was for someone else. And everything ended with pain. Whether it was Exodus, Furion, her father, or slavers. She hadn’t done anything for herself. Was there even a self left? Or had Ailbasi taken that too? 

 

     The thought of Ailbasi drew a hiss from Keenava’s clenched teeth. She didn’t want to remember what happened. She was content to let everything lie. Anger meant thoughts of revenge. Anger meant pain, it meant rage, and it meant that she was tearing herself up from the inside out. And yet, the irony of it all, was that it was all her fault; the fight, the failure, the death, the shame. Everything was her fault. She could try to blame. But she knew better, and blame did nothing. It was empty; worse than empty. Blame meant negligence and ignorance. It would get her nowhere. If she had anything in all of this, it was time; whatever good that was. She also possessed an uncommon clarity, which was odd, given her history with insanity. Though, due to her current state, clarity did little to suffuse the dense murk that sat like a rock on her memories.

 

     Visions of slinky garments, metal clinging to her hips, and a thousand eyes groping at her from the darkness tore through her head as she tried to fill in gaps. Suddenly, the cold steel made sense. The outline of her cell was both immediately familiar and uncomfortably clear as she was pulled roughly from the floor and pushed, slamming her knees to the ground. Her face contorted briefly, instinctively. The lack of pain, the scrapes and bruises on her knees, the indentations on the stone, and her ease of motion suggested this was a common routine, though she couldn’t remember it.

 

“Up” 

 

It was the only word she heard before white hot blinded her. The thin flesh of her back threatened to break as a single strip of fire raced across it. 

 

“Ten lashes for you. That’s what you get for falling on stage and screaming. Our clients don’t need skittish dancing girls.” 

 

His voice - though Keenava couldn’t understand why she knew his gender - was garbly and rough. It sounded as if he was gurgling small rocks, which made it hard to understand and very unpleasant.

 

When she didn’t cry out, he continued. In fact, he didn’t pay her much attention other than to send a lance of pain to bite her back every few seconds. 

 

What then would she do? What then should she do? Did it matter?

 

Of course it matters! You’re Keenava Ootunavi! You’re a Sith! You don’t bow to spittle or bend to slavers. Show him!

 

Oh-

 

     Before she could counter, her legs flexed, rotated, and she was behind the man with the cold metal chains of her bindings pressed tightly against the walls of his larynx. Blood rushed to her head as her legs reached full extension. And, despite the signs of abuse that littered her body, and the weariness that bit at her mind, the muscles of her arm were tight and controlled. He answered her surprising maneuver with gasps. His arms flailed - whip discarded - trying in vain to wrench the small twi’lek’s form off of her feet, but her form did not budge. His hands occasionally found purchase, scraping at the flesh of her face, but she continued to remain adamant. 

 

Oh great, the head voices are back.

 

But instead of the cruel voice that bid her to attack, the next voice she heard was soft, even-handed, and if possible… sweet? 

 

Don’t kill him. We need to escape, but we don’t need to kill.

 

We? 

 

Trust me. 

 

     The voice was simple. It carried something akin to concern. Though she couldn’t remember the cadence or weight of her mother’s voice, it reminded her of the feeling.

 

Who are you?

 

We don’t have time for that. Escape now, explain later. 

 

Fair enough.

 

     With one closed eye, Keenava’s vision was a dream-like blur as she took in her surroundings for what seemed like the first time. 

 

     Her victim was a human. He was a few inches taller than her and he smelled like the ass-end of a northbound Gammorean. His hair was mussed and he was grunting with continued exertion as his life began to dim. Keenava eased up slightly and allowed the man to renew his struggle. 

 

“Before I drop you, I want you to answer some questions. If you call out, I will crush your windpipe and leave you here for your superiors to find. Got it?”

 

The man tried to nod, but Keenava’s arm was impeding his neck motion. 

 

“Good”

 

     Keenava eased up a little more and let a little air into the man’s lungs. He responded by renewing his struggle, grabbing at the chain and trying to pull downward in an attempt to throw Keenava over his shoulder. The twi’lek simply smiled and sat with both of her thumbs poised directly above the pressure points located at the base of the man’s skull. When he pulled downward, he pulled her thumbs into the grooves and applied pressure with each added bit of force. He attempted to cry out, but Keenava closed his cry to a gasp with her chains once more. This time she didn’t ease up. She waited approximately ten seconds until his eyes closed and his struggling stopped. Then she eased him to the floor of her cell. 

 

Well, I tried. 

 

     She leaned down amid the protesting of her joints, and removed the ‘key ring’ from the guard’s belt. It was a small ring of cards that were held together by a small titanium latch. Keenava smiled a little to herself. I’ve got an idea. 

 

~~ Thirty minutes later ~~

 

     Keenava was at the head of a surge of slaves scrambling in a mass to escape from who knows where. She was still in a bad way. She was pretty sure some of her ribs were broken and she had nothing to her name anymore, but some part of her felt like this was the start of something new.

Edited by Keenava Ootunavi
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     Keenava’s muscles were on the edge of riot. She could feel her skin begin to flake and peel despite its dark obsidian color. And, though the rags she wore were soaked – with what she hoped was sweat – they did nothing to mask the burning heat that clamored for what was left of her vitality. But that was nothing compared to the sand. She’d been lucky when she scored a canteen during her escape. It was an advantage. However, every gulp of water was greeted with a mouthful of sand. It permeated every crevice it could find. The creases between her bare toes and fingers were caked with the little obnoxious rock crumbs, scraping against her dry skin, threatening to tear and slash with every movement.

 

*Grumble*

 

“Ah, yeah. There’s that too,” Keenava quietly intoned as her stomach rumbled like a vicious predator.

 

     There was nothing but sand as far as the eye could see. The slaves that made it out with her had scattered in different directions. Some of them tried to wrestle the canteen from her to save themselves. But when she proved too difficult to gamble what little strength they had, they ran.

 

Is this it? Am I going to die on this rock?

 

A little morbid don’t you think?

 

Ah, if it isn’t the new voice in my head. Do you care to talk now?

 

Do we have time?

 

     Keenava feigned looking back and forth, reminding herself that there was nothing but sand for kilometers in either direction.

 

I think we have nothing BUT time now.

 

Well, I guess time isn’t really the problem then. The problem is that I don’t really know how to explain it.

 

That’s helpful.

 

I know, right? You see… I’m you.

 

No shit. The other voices were me too.

 

Well… yes and no. The other voices were defense mechanisms that you conjured to help mend your broken psyche. They took on the personalities and characteristics of defining figures in your life. But instead of fixing your mind, those voices only added to the corruption and continued to tear the fabric of your mind apart. Because many of your role models have been sadistic people bent on extreme shows of violence and destruction.

 

Wow. That explains a lot! But, if you’re me, and I had no idea what those voices were, does that make you the smart me? Or my conscience?

 

     Keenava shuddered. There were many things in her past that she regretted. If she had a conscience back then, she might have avoided a lot of pain. But it was no use fixating on that now. Some pain was unavoidable.

 

No, I’m you. And you do know what those voices are, but your trauma blocked your ability to understand, and handle those voices that clamored for supremacy in your brain.

 

Well then, what makes you different? And why do you sound like you own a galactic dictionary?

 

Because you have an extensive understanding of the Common tongue. You just don’t use it.

 

Fair

 

As to what makes me different - I suppose the best way to say it is - I’m you if you never became a slave.

 

     Keenava paused as her stomach and heart sank to her feet. A Keenava, who wasn’t a slave, was a Keenava who had a chance at a regular life. A Keenava, who wasn’t a slave, would have never met Jzora, Furion, and Exodus; they would have felt neither the bite, nor the sting of pain, misery, and regret that came from years of physical, mental, and emotional abuse. That explained why this voice felt so soothing; it didn’t come from anguish. This voice came from a place that Keenava never thought she’d ever see again.

 

But how? I still… I still have my memories!

 

     Keenava casually lifted a ball of sand with her mind, though the exertion pounded against her head like a drum.

 

I still have access to the force. How are you me if I never became a slave?

 

That is what I can’t really explain. As far as I can tell, your corruption was erased by… something. What it was, where it was, when it was, and why? Are still questions that have no answers. But what I do know is that you aren’t the same you anymore. You don’t even have the same eye color.

 

     Keenava’s brow furrowed at that. As long back as she could remember, she’d had ruby eyes. What color were they now? 

 

Well… what now?

 

I suppose that depends on you. Do you continue down your previous path, and chase after freedom you’ll never have, or do you use this as an opportunity to take a second chance?

 

     Keenava had a lump in her throat she couldn’t swallow. Who would clean her stained hands? Why would someone care enough to wash years of blood away from her callused fingers? And what difference could she make with the understanding that she could do all of it again?

 

I suppose this is what freedom is.

 

How do you figure?

 

     Keenava looked out to the horizon. She could see the fiery halo of the twin suns, painting the sky red as they tore through air; she could see oceans of sand sprawling around her, promising nothing but emptiness and despair; and she could see – though small and standing like tan-colored beads against the darkening sky – the outline of a city as it came into view.

 

     Without another thought, word, or hesitation, Keenava pushed her aching muscles into a run, away from the deep blood of the evening sky. 

Edited by Keenava Ootunavi

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“Burnings and blastings!” Ruin exclaimed. Once, twice, Ruin began to open fire on the smoky entity, flechettes flying with deadly intent. However, what would be useful against hordes of clones, monsters, or other things, the launcher had no visible effect on the entity. Its ammo that went into it simply turned to ash. 

 

Still, Ruin was a droid, and like his programming, fired one more shot before jumping to the side. The spirit that chose the droid as its target sank into the ground before exploding upwards again, formless claws reaching to cause destruction. 

 

Ruin aimed again, but stopped short. On the opposite side of the enemy, the Jedi was down. A shot from the launcher risked hitting her more than the ghost. 

Ruin jumped the side again and broke into a dash, trying to get closer to the Jedi without letting the spirit touch him. Simultaneously, he holstered the rifle. It was doing no good here. 

 

“Sir, I believe I have an idea” Fera began to buzz, barely hanging onto Ruin’s side. The small thing had crawled to his holster and grabbed the small handle half of the disruptor Ruin had acquired back on Outer Heaven

 

“Blastings and bombings! Haha!” Ruin laughed. Ruin pulled his chest apart slightly and pulled the other half out and tossed it to the side. Fera leapt off and scuttered to the piece, no longer a focus for the spirits. 

 

Ruin rushed to the Jedi’s side and attempted to pick her up on her feet, doing his best to void the spirits all the while.  “Uppings and fightings! Fightings and fleeings!” 

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Leena was doubled over as pain wracked her body. The spirit screamed through her core, the billowing swirls of darkness erupting as they passed before vanishing into the growing plumes of purple smoke. Ruin’s gun thundered nearby, it’s retort echoing the  very sands. Yet the spirit surged unaffected, enraged and drunk on the mere taste of freedom. 
 

As the spirit whirled about for another pass, Ruin wrenched Leena to her feet, both sabers tumbling to the ground. Even as they lay deactivated in the sand. The spirit raged, it’s two cleft souls pluming together in a whirlwind deep within the desert.

 

As her small form was hauled unceremoniously upwards by the steeled muscle of the assault droid, his words pierced the fog of the spirit that even now ravaged within the Jedi’s mind as it did about them. Opening her eyes, Leena called forth the deepest reserves of the force, a blast of light that erupted from hidden reserves to burn away the dark clouds that clawed at her heart and mind, blasting forth in righteous white light from her eyes and palms. It reflected off the billows of smoke as it cleft a hole in the hurricane that stormed about them. In the sky and the sand, on all sides, they were surrounded. 

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Chuf chuf chuf chuf…

 

Sand kicked back into the air as Keenava sprinted toward the far off town, ignoring the screams of her body. Sand bit at the soles of her feet and the harsh dry winds tried to keep her at a crawl. But, if there was one good thing she’d gotten from her Sith training, it was how to ignore pain. Hunger was her first priority and water was an immediate second considering her canteen was getting low.  

 

A small itch bloomed to life at supratip break of her nose. A static buzzed at the base of her skull. Keenava tried to brush it off and ignore her body's signals like everything else, but they wouldn’t go away. Too her surprise, the sensations she was trying to ignore culminated in a big formless cloud of evil - for lack of any other descriptor. The glowing orange-red eyes were kind of a giveaway for evil intent. Keenava knew these things from being an evil person in a past life. 

 

This isn’t a time for joking! 

 

You kidding? A sense of humor is invaluable in tense situations and smarminess is part of my charm! 

 

Every instinct in her body fought to stop her momentum, potentially preventing her from careening into the murderous death cloud. But instead, her rapid decline in momentum caused her to - rather comically - faceplant into the nearest dune. It was the first time Keenava had been thankful that this planet was covered in sand, followed by growing discomfort as previously untouched crevices were now completely buried in delightfully chafing little crystals. The cushion of raw earth helped her avoid major injury, but the impact rattled her body, slashed her skin, and left her shuffling her rags and coughing up sand for a few moments. 

 

Well that was… something.

 

Keenava wearily wrenched herself to her feet, sand still falling from… places. She looked upon the mysterious gas with perplexion; it had grown since she saw it last, and she could feel the presence inside it. The presence resonated with a powerful energy, and though she knew something of it, she wasn’t in a good way to fight whatever it was. Though, the temptation to blow the giant billowing fatal flatulent was clinging to the edge of her mind. 

 

Like… maybe if I blew really hard? 

 

Shush!

 

Okay, Okay!

Edited by Keenava Ootunavi
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Ruin didn’t appear to flinch at the flash of light, but he did noticeably pause. Whether it was because it was surprising or not wasn’t visible, but he didn’t seem to complain. 

 

“More light, more bright!” Ruin boomed. The flechette launcher did nothing to these spirits. The disruptor pistol that Fera was fixing was out of reach. The options were limiting. As a battle droid, the idea of talking was impossible. Violence was the only option. 

 

“Grah, kill sith!” Ruin grumbled as he reached to the other weapon on his back. The sith hammer, the Soulbreaker, the old artifact. A twist at the handle, and it began to crackle with energy. Perhaps, just perhaps, the alchamized weapon would have some form of effect on the ghastly things. 

 

“Smash and bash? Crash and thrash?” Ruin asked. For the first time in his life, he acted unsure of himself. 

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Leena’s face wilted even as she strained under the flow of the force that surged through her and against the billows of rage and suppressed destructive power. Beneath the heated surge of blackened clouds the blown sand began to crystalize into glass. 
 

The Jedi had never seen a droid hesitate. Ruin might be singular in focus, but on Byss she never saw him falter. The mere fact that the droid did not charge into the melee woth his hammer would have given Leena hope, had she not been counting on his steeled singular focus to carry the day.
 

The light continued to erupt from the Jedi. She buckled to her knees under the onslaught. “The sabers.” She cried out, exhaustion obvious in her strained voice. “Ruin. Smash!”

 

 

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Ruin glanced around at the Jedi’s command. There, exposed in the sand, the hilts lay. The dark clouds desperately wanted to kill the beings before they could do damage to the artifacts. 

 

Ruin laughed. He would do more then damage. 

 

Amongst the roaring and the blinding light of the Jedi’s use of the Force, Ruin jumped at the hilts and raised the hammer over his head, and then brought down hard. The crackling of red energy from the kybar crystal in the hammers head moved like the lines from a blaster.

 

The moment the hammer’s head connected with the sabers was obvious. The shockwave generated echoed for miles in the desert. Sand erupted upwards and outwards around the sabers. If it weren’t for Ruin’s weight, he may have been thrown back by the force the hammer generated as well. 

 

The spirits screeched. Their aura began to fade as their hold to the material plane loosed. Ruin raised the hammer again. The sabers, broken into a few pieces, were not fully destroyed. Again, the terror droid smashed the things, his gears overclocking themselves to bring the maximum amount of destruction. This time, the shockwave was less focused, but the weapon did the trick. Nothing remained but small pieces and chippings. 

 

The spirits screeched one last time and exploded in a cloud of darkness and ash. The sand around where the Jedi’s light was a thin layer of melted glass. Peace entered the now quiet area like a graceful sand-bat at night. 

 

Ruin looked back at the Jedi. “Living and kicking? Or dying and bleeding?”

 

>Excuse me…< Fera’s beepings sounded out, a stark contrast to the desert ambiance. The small buzz droid had crawled over after the spirits had dissipated. Her small form climbed the towering Terror droid’s leg and rested on his shoulder. >it seems we have company<

 

Ruin looked at where the Buzz droid indicated. A twist of the hammer’s hilt, and it powered down. A sign of peace. 

 

“Greeting and meeting? Identify!” 

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Watching the mass of rolling hateful ash pop from existence, was odd. 

 

On the one hand, her history as Furion's estranged right hand and Exodus' prodigal apprentice would beg retribution for the waylaid Sith spirit that sought power and freedom. But Keenava's newfound clarity brought a cold cynicism to the burning embers of passion that used to sear away any cogent thought. And any step she made back to that desperate and broken past was foolish and idiotic.

 

But in her current mindset, knowing that she was given a new path to walk - a new destiny, as it were - she could only feel detached. A part of her was relieved, but she had no context for this. And still another part of her - a darker part - was wondering why she didn't just wander off into the desert; if persisting was really the best choice. 

 

“Greeting and meeting? Identify!” 

 

The words were abrupt and briefly disturbed her reverie. Keenava allowed herself too look up from the ground she didn't realize she'd been staring at, to view the scene that the cloud revealed when it flew away. And she was slightly surprised. 

 

There, in the center of it all, was a Jedi that had knelt to the ground; a circle of glass orbiting her fish-like form. And there was an imposing droid-like figure - the likely source of the blunt request - standing not three feet away; an old droid from the looks of it. She couldn't really tell make or model because she hadn't had a lot of experience with droids, but Keenava had seen some modern combat droids and this was not that. Its seemingly dim black photoreceptors were trained on her, and the hammer it clenched in its fists was still shedding metal pieces from what it'd just done. It had powered the hammer down but, though it was metal, Keenava could feel the implied threat of action if Keenava said anything that this droid didn't want to hear. She could only hope she knew what that was. No pressure right?

 

"That's kind of a loaded question, if I'm honest." Keenava rasped, not realizing how much the sand in the air had ravaged her vocal chords. She coughed a little before continuing. "I am Keenava Ootunavi; former slave; former dancer Lallunia Kallemi; and former Sith Assassin that served directly under both Dark Lord Exodus and Darth Furion." 

 

She said her last words with absolutely no emotion. Defeated. Here was a Jedi that could likely tell if she was lying. Here was a droid that just 'erased' a force of evil from the dusty ball of rock they all stood on. And here she was: no crazy mask to hide behind, no clothes, no weapons, barely containing severe wounds on her back, and contending with sand in all sorts of uncomfortable places. She stood with her hands up, showing no sign of resistance. 

 

"That's what I was at least. As to who I am now... That's a much deeper question that I'm not sure I really know anymore."

Edited by Keenava Ootunavi
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