Star Wars Star Wars: Legends End: Dark Beginnings

IC: Cade Skywalker
Hell. 137 ABY

He didn’t want to admit the Mynock seemed fit for little else than scrap. He couldn’t, really. But kriffin Force, son of a sith, if he was forced to. First Luke, now the Mynock. What else was he bound to lose today? Luke had meant more to Cade than he ever would have admitted, even to himself. He saw a lot of his father in the Force ghost, and that reminder was both welcome and painful. Hence the death sticks. Speaking of, he had left them inside, hadn’t he. Did he have time to make it, before all of Lok became one big… well, whatever it was these white things left behind. It didn’t seem pretty, that was sure. So, no Mynock, but there was an imperial who seemed willing to see them to safety. On the one hand, safety, on the other, imperial. A conundrum, to be sure. Cade had no love lost for the imperials, that much was certain. Syn’s idea had some merit though.

“I can see the family resemblance. Yes, I'm talking to you. Potentially a hallucination, but who knows.” Cade looked over at Mara Jade Skywalker, standing right beside him looking off at… well, something. Not him, that was certain.

“Sith spit, you’re kidding me? I ditch the one, so I get the other? Well, at least you’re easier on the eyes, I guess.” She really was. Mara, in all her resplendent--though Force ghost-ish--glory was stunning. The holos didn’t do her justice, and Cade found himself wishing that she’d been hounding him all those years and not Luke. Then again, there was that bit of himself saying there was something severely disturbed about the sorts of thoughts running through his head. Yet another bit pointed out that Mara had referenced hallucinations. Could it be that Cade was still high as a mynock? Not the Mynock, of course. That was scrap.

At any rate, Cade couldn’t decided if he was high or not, and certainly didn’t have the time or mental capacity to dedicate to it at the moment, what with hell raining down about them. Syn and Blue were looking to him for leadership, and while he thought they were crazy for trusting him as thoroughly as they did, he couldn’t let them down. For now, Mara would just have to be real. He’d had worse hallucinations, after all. Of course, now those other thoughts were coming to him. Kriff it all, when did his head become so crowded?

“Alright you two, Mynock’s scrap. Even if we could salvage it, we don’t have the time.” It hurt, physically, to say. Force he loved that ship. When had that happened? He was finding out all sorts of things about the secret, sensitive Cade buried within today. He didn’t like it. “So we go with Ms. Impy there until something better comes along, got it?” Cade gathered up his gear and started after the imperials, hoping this planet would hold together long enough to see him off. It’s not that he feared death, mind. He just didn’t want to die. And, it did scare the kriffin jeepers out of him, of course.

TAG: Sinrebirth

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

IC: Doctor Quillan Herdstrom
[2:27 P.M.] 108 ABY: The Office of Administrator Algernon Chukdim, Arkanian Sanatorium, Arkania

Over one hour. The administrator had made her wait over an hour. Quillan was far from pleased, but what could she do? As she entered the office, she couldn’t help but note the opulence Administrator Chukdim worked within. The good doctor doubted such affluence was afforded on a government salary alone. Herdstrom’s wages couldn’t afford to furnish her offices anywhere near this level. Plush rugs, not of Arkanian design if Quillan had to guess. Art that she recognized from her school years, when she was forced to study such things to, “better round out her education.” She had thought the classes silly. Still, she knew that such adornments were pricey, even if just replicas. The young woman didn’t even want to consider the costs incurred in stocking the beverages in the bar in the corner of the office. Algernon Chukdim was, of course, from a wealthy family, not a small portion of his qualifications for the job he now held, but Quillan suspected this office had been bankrolled by private corporations who had a hand in some of the more… experimental treatments the Sanatorium engaged in. Quillan had had little hand in those, and technically they didn’t exist, but she certainly knew of them.

Nevermind all that, when there was pressing business at hand. Herdstrom settled into the comfortable chair opposite Algernon’s desk as the administrator pretended to be engrossed in some report or other of presumably severe importance. Quillan recognized it as a stalling tactic to reinforce her insignificance. It was the sort of thing that Algernon employed often to bolster his sense of self. The show didn’t stop him from eyeing Quillan when he thought she wasn’t watching. Clearly he placed some importance on the young woman.

When the administrator at last gave her his attention, Quillan offered a slight smile. She tried for warmth but was certain it didn’t find her eyes. “Well, Doctor Herdstrom, you bullied your way into a meeting in rather short order, I see. Impressive, really. You’ll have to tell me how you managed it.”

“It wasn’t difficult when I started waving around Galactic Alliance sanctions in your secretary’s face. She’s a pretty thing, but none too bright. Not a challenging task, getting your way with that one.” Quillan’s tone, light as it may be, had an edge to it. She didn’t like the games that the administrator played. It complicated things, and Quillan quite detested complications.

“Yes, she’d mentioned that. I think it is a good time to explain that bit?” Algernon asked, a brow raised in question. He didn’t like that Quillan had effectively rewritten his schedule without his approval, that much was clear. That explained his attempts to establish dominance in this meeting.

“One of your orderlies--Head Orderly Kendush of the maximum security wing actually--assaulted a patient in front of me, as well as my own person. His behavior is unacceptable, and I request he is dealt with in accordance with the precedents set in place by the founders of this institution.” Kendush should be canned, in essence, though Quillan wouldn’t dream of stating it in such common terminology. Just another part of the dance she and Algernon were engaged in at the moment.

The administrator eyed Quillan carefully as he considered her words. “Are such measures, in truth, called for, Doctor?” he asked at length. He was trying to wriggle out of it. Kendush was a favorite of his, always willing to do the dirty work that Algernon needed done. He’d protect him if possible. “After all, you hardly seem the worse for the wear. Are you sure you aren’t over exaggerating his misconduct?”

Ice flashed into Quillan’s eyes once more, not lengthy, but enough to cause a look of disquietude to slip onto Algernon’s features. “I took classes on Ord Mantell from before the sun rose to long after it set. Walking home in the dark nights, I learned to care for myself. The patient in question, however, was not so fortunate, being bound and jacketed.” Quillan leaned forward, locking gazes with the administrator. “To be plain, sir, I request his dismissal.” In response, Algernon was quiet for some time as he formulated his thoughts. He’d underestimated Herdstrom, and now he was realizing and rectifying his blunder.

“The subjects in question, Herdstrom, are hardly worthy of such concerns. The things they’ve done--” but Quillan was prepared for this avenue of escape and reacted accordingly.

“Are still held under the conduct codes established by the Galactic Alliance and this facility, not to mention the Arkanian governmental body. Don’t mistake me, administrator, I don’t care about those vile psychotics. They are beyond redemption. No, I have my own agenda, and they are proving vitally important. This agenda is of the sort that government inquisitions and investigations would,” she paused for effect, “hinder. Not to mention your side projects that, were I to guess, are not entirely within the bounds of proper, and legal, conduct. If it got out that our orderlies beat inmates, well, the media coverage alone would be quite problematic. Kendush was stupid, and got caught. He must be punished to avoid these entanglements. Do you disagree?” Quillan had hammered in her point, and Algernon had no option but to agree. Hanging on her words was the threat of bringing such investigations into the Sanatorium herself, her tenure at the facility so short that she would escape unscathed. Algernon, however? His hands we stained red, more literally than even Quillan possibly suspected.

“I suppose you have a point, Herdstrom. We can’t allow those unfortunates entrusted to our care to be so abused. I’ll take your consideration under advisement. Was there anything else?” Quillan smiled sweetly. She so loved winning,

“Not currently, Algernon. Thanks for being a dear.” The doctor stood and moved out, swaying a bit more than was normal. The administrator no doubt enjoyed it. As the doors closed behind her, Quillan reflected on a meeting that had gone so well. True, she had likely made herself a powerful enemy, but she’d had those before. Besides, after tomorrow, she doubted it would much matter.

TAG: Sinrebirth

 

IC: Joruus C'Baoth
Near Bpfassh, Chimaera, 9 ABY

There was a voice in C'baoth's head.
This, by itself, wasn't particularly abnormal. It could have been Skywalker, finally perparing to come to him, or it could have been his own subconscious mind. His own voice, after all, was always in his head.
But it was neither.
"What do you think you are doing?" it asked.
Perhaps addressing 'Grand Admiral Thrawn,' who was beginning to rise from his chair, or even C'baoth himself. If the latter, the voice was demonstrating a distinct lack of respect.
"I thought I would try another historical figure."
A different voice, though also tinny. Neither, then, were referring to him.
And another voice begins.
"Master C'baoth, when I give a man my word--"
Ah, that one C'baoth knew. The 'Grand Admiral Thrawn' himself, yet again demanding his time and attention. It was really far too much. After all, had he not his Jedi servants to train, Wayland to rule, and his Empire to prepare? 'Grand Admiral Thrawn's' petty complaints were tiresome and distracting, but he remained necessary, for a time. It would not do for C'Baoth to decrease his operational efficiency in dealing with the man--
"--unless his subjects can rely upon him to be fair in his rule--"
--and yet, it would hardly benefit him to return to this Thrawn the favor. The other voices would have to wait. After all, he did not wish to...alienate...the man.
He chuckled quietly at his own joke, took a breath, and opened his eyes to meet the 'Grand Admiral Thrawn's' blazing red ones.
"--when I said I would deliver the Jedi to you, I meant it."
Yes, that was what 'Grand Admiral Thrawn' was discussing. C'baoth had nearly forgotten.
"So, In the spirit of the resources I am spending to fulfill my end of the bargain, resources that could be put to better use elsewhere, perhaps you should accept my efforts as sincere, no?"
Indeed, it would be a weight off his shoulders were he not to also have to seek out the Jedi. If they were brought to him, that would be most suitable. Perhaps they did deserve another chance.
"If the Skywalkers have indeed fallen into a black hole, or headed into the void after some other threat, we have a unique opportunity in that--"
But there was that. No sign of his Jedi, after nearly three months.
'--you are, failing the return of the Sith, the most powerful Force-user in the galaxy."
He had also been so when his Jedi were there to be found. He was reminded of his irritation with this 'Grand Admiral.'
"--the Empire's ultimate success, and ultimate power for those who work with it, is sped up."
Still he did not understand power. Yet C'Baoth was not there to waste time explaining it to him.
"--I would loath to see you left behind. Are we understood?"
He thought himself in command. He knew nothing. However, C'Baoth reminded himself, he was useful. For now.
"Very well. You may continue your search, and I shall continue to enhance and coordinate the Empire's servants."
He turned, and, sweeping his cloak dramatically, left the bridge.
They would have their second chance to recover his Jedi.
However, he reminded himself, he could not trust them with the full responsibility, much as there was to divide his attention. As soon as he could get Pellaeon or one of the senior officers alone, he would have to implement his own plan for the acquisition his Jedi servants. It would take time; though the necessary materials and personnel were available to him, (and why would they not be, to the Master of the Force?), all things were not yet prepared. But soon, they would be, and he would have his Jedi.
And if Skywalker and the others had truly winked out of existence, it would be...unfortunate, but of no real consequence. The Empire would soon truly be his, and there would be no irony in the voices of those who would call him Master.

 

IC: Subject 83247
108 ABY: Maximum Security Wing, Arkanian Sanatorium, Arkania

The Chiss smirked as he saw the two guards walk back in, their eyes betraying their intent. He sat still, unbothered by their behavior as he knew the good doctor, no matter how preoccupied with her favorite she was, would keep the guards from harming her other patient. The smug grin on his face widened when she did just that, ordering them to bring him to his cell, then turning to him. Ordering, no expecting, his good behavior. He nodded meekly and stood to be escorted out. I’ll be a good boy. You’ve got my word. Because I’ve got a little toy now that I can’t afford to have taken away. The handle of said toy pressed slightly against his ribs and he loosened his posture, acting normal and keeping just enough rigidness to keep the scalpel from falling out from between his arm and side.

The beating that came when they finally got Subject 83247 to his cell was completely expected. He’d won a battle against them when he escaped in the hallway before. He’d humiliated them. There were repercussions for that, but he stayed quiet, letting them hit him where they wanted. Promises were important and he’d promised the good doctor he’d behave himself. Besides, the prize of getting to keep the little treasure from the med-center was far more valuable than proving he could send them back to where they’d come from.

The Orderlies finished their work and left, locking the cell door behind him. Subject 83247 simply laid there for awhile. It hadn’t been that bad, compared to other times, but he suspected he had a few fractured ribs and it hurt to breath. Which made it harder to manipulate the scalpel to a position where he could run the jacket’s fabric across the blade, cutting himself free. As soon as the restraints were gone, his movements became feverish, swiftly working himself out of the jacket and flinging it violently across the room before taking a long while simply to stretch and move, the muscles contracting and relaxing utterly delicious as they worked out the strain from holding that unnatural position for weeks.

Movement slowed until he was sitting in a corner, frowning, his fingers twirling the blade restlessly as he thought. I need to get out of here. It was a constant thought, emerging initially about a year ago. He’d had his fun here. It was boring now and boredom made him dangerous. He was ready to have fun again, make mayhem. But he needed a way out of here first. Admittedly it was rather more well-guarded than he’d thought when he’d surrendered those eight years ago, but he was still confident in his ability to get out himself. But now there was the good doctor and Subject 25739 to think about. If he could get them out with him, he very much wanted to. They both had their strengths and he wanted their uses. But if he couldn’t get them out easily...he shrugged mentally. It’s not worth it if I can’t get them out easy. The risk of heavier guard and near-impossible escape just isn’t worth the hassle. Oh well. I wonder if I’ll feel even remotely bad.

Standing up, he stretched luxuriously again, wincing at the painful reminder of his new injuries, and retrieved the jacket. The cuts needed to look like rips and tears, or they’d find out his secret and he couldn’t have that happening. Fray the edges. They won’t take this away from me, I refuse. There were no cameras to mark his actions. They didn’t care what happened to the inmates here, and cameras meant footage as proof of the inmates abuse. His thoughts turned biting and sarcastic. Can’t have that, can we? If they don’t see it, it didn’t happen, but Force help the inmate who so much as touches an Orderly. Force help us all. His eyes turned hard, thoughts on revenge and escape as he set to work on the jacket.

TAG: The Great No One Chukles38

 

IC: Jaina Solo
Kashyyyk, Shadowlands

When the sound finally came, that snapping hiss of pure energy combating each other of her blade meeting Kyp's. Although it was a brief moment of meeting before her use of the Force over powered Kyp's, with the flashing pulse of her blade against his, each trying to force their own rhythm to win the contest of survival, she kept seeing brief flashes. Moments when Kyp face was not his face, when she saw her brother Jacen instead.

Soon the man was tumbled back and she stalked forward even as she noted his lightsaber going to the side. With a gentle push she sent it to tumble over the side as he raised his own hands. Stopping and bracing for the impact both physically and with the Force she had a brief moment of surprise before she registered what he had done. "You jerk!" she snarled out as she turned to grab her cousin and life long friend from falling down. Even in the Shadowlands after the fire and blaze there was still death and hungry things that survived or were re-sprouting she had no doubt. Snaring them with the Force she yanked and shoved their bodies at the Falcons landing ramp. If nothing else if Kyp kept heading there it would slow him down.

No sooner was she doing so then she heard the familiar mechanical shifts from the Falcon. Turrets! She had barely flung her companions when she had to dive herself out of the way from the barrage of blaster fire. Meanwhile Kyp was getting away. The last thing the galaxy needed right now was another Caedus. Another Jacen.

Instead of trying to stop the barrage she reached into the Force to grab the turrets for herself and turn them upon the Lady Luck. If what she felt was true, then Lando and her family was not inside. Still, she did not relish having to explain to Uncle Lando why he would need a new ride, but in the heat of survival you used what you had available.

TAG: spycoder9, Sinrebirth

 

IC: Lenea Sandstrider
Unnamed System

Lenea grimaced as her fighter shook heavily. She had taken out the D-Type and one of the Predators...but that last pilot was good. He got away with no damage, but her Twin-Tail lost its shields...a pair of bolts coring through her left wing. Pulling on the stick, she spun her fighter slightly to avoid any potential fire, while her droid did its best to restore the shields. The battle continued around the young woman, as she tried to focus on it.

"Jedi Master, we can't stay here. I need you to get aboard the freighter and see what you can do to get it going. It's only a matter of time before the anomaly reaches us."

It took all the young Jedi's willpower to not tell Antillies off. These were the people who had attacked Saridona...killed her brother! What was to say they wouldn't go for her homeworld next? Sure, it was isolated but that wasn't a good enough defense! But, as a bolt of energy flew right over her cockpit, nearly blinding her...Lenea had to acknowledge that staying was suicidal. They couldn't take on this many opponents, not alone.

"Kriff it!" she shouted, her fist coming down on the side of the cockpit.

Forcing her raging emotions down, Lenea spun her fighter towards the freighter. If she could save this group...at least it was something. But even as she approached the old corvette, it was forced into a spin by three shuttles. It had the advantage of exposing the docking bay, but at the same time...the Predator saw the exact same thing. And as her Force senses recovered from the shock of losing Danny...well, Lenea could feel the dark taint coming from that fighter.

A growl left her throat, as she spun her fighter towards that Predator. That fighter was not getting near the freighter. Not if she had anything to do with it!

Don't get yourself killed sis...

The sound of that voice nearly made Lenea pull on her ejection handle.

'Danny?'

There wasn't an answer...but then, she didn't need one. The young woman forced herself to calm down, and turned away from the Predator. She fired off her remaining torps at both the fighter and the shuttles, before pushing all the power she could into her thrusters. The TwinTail angled for the docking bay on the old ship...its occupant determined to not disappoint her dead sibling.

TAG: Sinrebirth

 

IC: Mitth'raw'nuruodo

Nirauan

A clone?! That's all he was, was a clone? Mitth'raw'nurudo frowned upon his...creator's...words, the finality of his statement sinking in whether he liked it or not. A clone was less than a person. A clone was a memory come to life, or in the case of Grand Admiral Thrawn, a preservation of sorts. Did that mean, because he was a reproduction of this Thrawn, that he had no real abilities to call his own? No sound judgment that hadn't already somehow been decided for him, no true thoughts? His own mind didn't truly belong to himself, Mitth'raw'nuruodo realized. He hadn't asked to be cloned, so what gave this Thrawn the right to determine his fate for him? How exactly would he ensure that Mitth'raw'nuruodo would follow these supposed orders?

Oh. Well. The men behind him, Fel and the other members of the discovery party. They had clearly known the real Thrawn, based on their facial expressions, and this knowledge made Mitth'raw'nuruodo feel trapped. Would they be as judgmental as his maker? No real freedom given?

Enough philosophizing. Mitth'raw'nuruodo focused on Thrawn's message, nodding in agreement, briefly remembering from his implemented memories everything the admiral was saying: the Katana Fleet, a grey haired captain named Pellaeon, Mara Jade...

For some reason that name gave him pause. Something to dwell on later.

Responsibility, yes. Mitth'raw'nuruodo couldn't argue that point. Even newly released, he knew he had some sort of purpose. Innocent beings would die, his own people (rather, the people his DNA had come from- clones could not truly belong to any race, Mitth'raw'nuruodo bitterly thought) wiped out over these invaders. Had he, or Thrawn, fought them before? A long time ago...

The recording ended, and the room fell silent. Mitth'raw'nuruodo studied each man in turn, somewhat bemused to see they all had the same expression on their faces: concern, fear, and determination. An unusual combination, but one that worked well in any decent set of warriors. He knew this too.

The Chiss named Stent approached, handing him the shirt off his own back. Without a word, but a nod of thanks, Mitth'raw'nuruodo slowly put on the garment, resisting the urge to treat it the same as a uniform. But it was a start.

Baron Fel stepped forward, saying, 'We need to take you upstairs sir, Admiral Parck will need to debrief you when you are ready.'

'Are you ready, sir?'


"Yes," Mitth'raw'nuruodo said, turning to follow in the Baron's footsteps. He would retain his full name even to himself, no matter how much of an exact copy he might be of Grand Admiral Thrawn. He had to keep something of himself...if only for his own sanity. Somehow, with the mission at hand, he had a feeling he would need it.



Tag: Sinrebirth

 

IC: Mirai
“Of course, Dr. Quilley,” Mirai replied, her head bent, hiding the joy in her eyes. “We’ll have to go dancing sometime…I do know a thing or two about that.” The Twi’lek race was born to movement, and everyone knew they were the best in the galaxy at dancing. While the flames were her passion, Mirai had indeed learned the precious art of dance; for all she knew, it might bring her closer to the flames. Any asset, any skill, was useful in her hunt.

"Thank you...for everything, Doctor," Mirai said, standing. "Have a good meeting with the uppity- I mean administrator. Lovely fellow, him." Hopefully her slip-up would not cost her; more than likely, the good doctor had her own special nickname for her superior too.

One of the asylum guards entered, and with a final nod of her head and a swing of her lekku, Mirai exited the small treatment room. She was silent during the walk to her own cell, her mind flipping over itself in joy at the concept of freedom being so close. The flames, the flames tomorrow...she could see them leaping for her, rising to meet her and then fall at the last possible second, as fire does so well...

Mirai entered the tiny chamber, standing in the center of the room as her door was closed and locked, her eyes closed, basking in the fire in her mind. The chase would be hers again...she could smell the beautiful smoke, luxuriate in the heat on her body...

Wait.

Something was not right. Someone had been here. Not a janitor, not a doctor even. Her lekku twitched, as it did when she was feeling uncertain...there.

A box of a rather large size, wrapped in white with an orange lily painted on the lid. Mirai crouched and crawled over to it, as it was placed at the foot of her sleeping cot. She raised the lid, no fear in her heart, no sense of dread in her mind. If someone had wanted to kill her, they would have done it when she was still considered 'unstable.'

A lift and a placing of the lid onto the bed, and Mirai bit down on her bottom lip to keep herself from squealing aloud. Some dioxygen, a little titanium, some cyclotrimethylene trinitramine...and that was only one corner of the box's contents. Life Day had come early!

But how to get it out? And there...a message, opposite her first share of pretties:

Mirai,

Thought I'd give ya a present. Throw ya a goin' away bash. Should be a blast, yeah? Should you wish to start some festivities of your own, I would suggest the east wing, in the janitorial closets just past the cafeteria. Few people wander there, ya know, but with the right lighting, I'm sure they'll come flockin'. Enjoy, darlin'.

~ L

Aside from the puns, Mirai found herself nodding with enthusiasm, her lekku twisting and dancing. Whoever her mysterious benefactor was, they knew her well, but then, everyone knew of her antics. The asylum was ripe for gossip, so even the slightest detail about anyone got analyzed and blown out of proportion. Clearly her release was imminent as well- to reach the front gate/docking bay to the asylum, which she would use tomorrow should Dr. Quilley succeed in her talk with the administrator, one had to pass through the east wing. And the box matched one that was stashed away in her personal effects, so this person knew of her special items as well. It would not be difficult to have the box in her room, come to think of it. A little white lie about Dr. Quilley wanting to discuss her items would do the trick.

Mirai pushed the box under her bed and sat at the foot of the cot, waiting. Waiting, waiting...the flames grew higher and higher, they knew she was coming for them soon. Life to be given, life to be taken, oh the galaxy was a fair place after all!

Tag: Chukles38

 

IC: Jacen Solo/ Kavan Surface/ Hapes Cluster

It was very subtle the shift in her body that told Jacen that his attempts to talk had failed utterly. Sithspit. Knowing that back peddling was one of the worst ideas possible against a truly skilled opponent, and Mara undoubtedly was, he jumped and rolled to his right. His instincts had proven correct, as the roof of the cave ended up exactly where he’d been standing. Why Mara had decided to move towards that spot herself, Jacen couldn’t understand. Maybe it was that she wanted something at her back.

Shutting himself off from everything again, Jacen realized how futile talking was going to be at this point. This left him with a choice. Did he kill her, or try and convince her after she worked some anger out? With the knowledge she now had, that was really no decision at all. She would put Allana at risk, and Jacen could not countenance that. “So I finally trust someone with the knowledge of my daughter… and you try to kill me. And you wonder why I never even considered doing it before?” His nostrils flared, as he allowed the anger that statement brought out to flow through him. He'd been backing up the entire time, making sure that Mara wouldn't be able to just hit him. Ignoring his lightsaber for the moment, he reached out in the Force, reached out with his anger, and threw Mara’s stealthx at her. Fate had lead him here. Apparently it was fate that Mara die.

@Sinrebirth

 

OOC: Well, very long, but starts some fun things rolling. Just want to thank Sinre for making this possible. And, as always, hope you enjoy.

IC: Doctor Quillan Herdstrom
[The Next Day, 11:42 P.M.] 108 ABY: Various Locales, Arkanian Sanatorium, Arkania

Night dawned over the Sanatorium and pushed on to morning. The day, though busy, was uneventful for the good Doctor Herdstrom. A meeting with the administrator, caused by a summons in regards to the release of Mirai. It was short and to the point, and Algernon started the process of release. There was still the technicality of the board of governors, who had to officially approve any release from the Sanatorium, but once Chukdim had attached his seal of approval there was virtually never any issue. Quillan arranged for the release, as much as could be done. All things going well, Mirai would be released at midnight with a free ride to whatever locale she could desire--from an assorted list, of course. The Alliance government couldn’t have reformed inmates gallivanting about the galaxy on the taxpayers’ credits. There were some nice destinations, good places for starting anew and, of course, all close to the parole offices that handled all criminal releases from the Sanatorium. In essence, all of the releases from the facility.

Mirai might just find happiness when this was all over. Quillan certainly hoped so.

The doctor’s day was filled with hustling about the Sanatorium. Meeting, only briefly, with 83247. She checked that he had made it back safe the previous afternoon, which he seemed to have, and so Quillan moved on to other matters and left the orderlies to escort the Chiss back. 25739 was left to mend in his cell. The surgery had went well, and from what Quillan understood, he had been handled quite carefully in his return to his quarters. Word had already filtered down about Kendush’s imminent removal, and in fact the gossip mills confirmed that the deed was done as soon as he himself was released from med bay. The orderlies decided it best to tread lightly around Quillan for a time, and especially her prize patient. She doubted that stopped them from continuing on in whatever fashion they pleased with other inmates.

Now, it was time to wrap the night up. It had been a long day, even for Quillan. Between meetings with old patients, new patients, enduring the tedium of her coworkers, making arrangements of all sorts the good doctor was bushed. The day was not quite over yet though. Quiet halls surrounded her. Not dark, though they felt as though they should be. The Sanatorium was never dark, and the artificial lighting of the hall played havoc with Quillan. Her body proclaimed it must be late in the evening, but here in the facility it was unchanging, impossible to even remember there was an outside world. She wanted to be embraced by the night, as she curled in her bed, but that had to wait until she got herself home.

As she came to the security desk she saw that Olly had pulled the late shift. He must have lost a bet, for that’s the only time she saw him this late. It wasn’t an unpleasant development. Olly was a nice man, and undeniably sweet on the doctor. He’d never said anything overtly, of course, but his subtle flirtations had not gone unnoticed. Most days Quillan ignored them, but today they felt welcome.

“Leaving late are we, Doc?” He called through the intercom as Quillan moved out the secure door into the lobby. She smiled, exhaustion showing in her expression.

“Working late, Olly?” It was a common enough exchange for the two of them.

“Oh, you know, got a bad draw on some cards and ended up with Hank’s shift. I swear it was rigged though. Thought I had him.” Despite the late hour, Olly’s tone was light and jovial. A part of Quillan admired that.

“Of course. It was the Force, leading you to this moment. Or just rotten luck. Call it as it is, Olly.” The guard laughed, leaving Quillan wondering if she was, in fact, that funny or if the man just liked her.

“Well, you know. Pride and all.” Olly fiddled with something below Quillan’s view as he sought for something to say. Nothing coming, he said, “I guess that’s good night then, Doc. Walk safe.” That was the expected point, given their past interactions, for Quillan to move along. Herdstrom did the unexpected. With a sigh, she rested her forehead against the transparisteel, directly in front of Olly, eyes closed and breaths deep. “Doc?” the guard asked, concern laced through his words. “You alright?”

“Yes Olly,” Quillan replied, “Just exhausted. I’ve been running myself ragged since I came here. I need a vacation.”

Olly’s returning laughter was comforting, strange as it was to admit. “Don’t we all Doc, don’t we all.”

Many moments passed in silence as Quillan opened her eyes and examined the man from her current position. Yes, he was a nice man, and reasonably attractive. The doctor had been so consumed by her goals, maybe it was time to unwind a bit. He was certainly a safe option. “Olly, you’ve always been quite kind to me.” The statement was exploratory as she watched the man’s reactions. He was unreadable for the moment. “Can I come in?” Herdstrom asked at last, hesitant. She knew it was against several rules.

“Doc,” Olly hesitated, noticeably torn in his reaction, “it’s against the regs. I mean, I would. Force I would, but…” He trailed off as he glanced uncertainly at the controls that would allow Quillan entrance to the security office, then back at the young doctor.

“That’s fine, Olly,” Quillan sighed, “I understand. I expected as much, I’ve just been so alone since I came here. My social life is, well, it isn’t I suppose. Anyways, good night Olly.” She stood up and turned to move towards the door, her movements slow. It only took Olly several moments to shout out behind her.

“Wait, Doc, hold on. Let me open the door. I mean, I know you. I’m sure it will be okay.” Quillan smiled, relieved. Tired though she was, she didn’t want to spend another night alone. Not just yet, at any rate.

A door opened in the wall several feet from the window and Quillan entered, for the first time, the security office that monitored entrance to the Sanatorium. It was roomier than she imagined, the booth visible from the window only a small alcove of the office. Monitors and controls lined the walls, and several other chairs attested to the staff that must run this room during peak hours. All chairs were empty, save Olly’s. Quillan noticed that he had an unobstructed view of the monitors that showed most every inch of the asylum. Now his eyes were focused solely on her, though he had yet to stir. For her part, Quillan took some time to pace the room, eyeing the controls with interest. “I hadn’t imagined it was so big in here,” she stated at last.

“Heh, you wouldn’t be the first person to say that. Bigger on the inside and all. Not that we get many visitors here, Doc.” Olly joked, his nerves obvious in his voice.

“Please, Olly, we know ourselves well enough by now. My friends call me Quinn.” The doctor smiled reassuringly at the man, who swallowed and smiled back, giving the name a test run.

“Pleased to meet you, Quinn.” Quillan wandered the room another moment more, before coming over to where Olly was seated. Silently the doctor examined him, working up her nerves before she spoke.

“I want you, Olly. Let’s be direct.” Olly’s eyes bugged out as he stammered in an attempt to articulate his thoughts, the poor fool. At length he managed to find his voice.

“You mean to say… that is, you want to…” he couldn’t finish the statement, perhaps too worried if he vocalised it this fantasy would vanish in a puff of smoke.

“I mean to say.” Quillan replied softly, taking the man’s hand and gently leading him from his chair to one of the others, out of view of the window. When she deposited him, it was not so gentle. Olly didn’t seem to mind, though in all fairness he seemed a little lost at the moment. Quillan wasted no time as she took off the man’s tie. She wrapped the black fabric around the man’s wrist, securing it to the arm of the chair before pulling out a pair of surgical scissors and clipping the makeshift binding to secure his other wrist. She didn’t know why she kept the scissors on her person. Force knows she never used them, but they had come in handy just now. For his part, Olly stared wide eyed as he was secured to the chair. He gulped heavily, but made no protest. Quillan threw herself on to the desk, using a foot to turn Olly to face her as she examined her handy work. She eyed him for several long moments before a giggles escaped the doctor. It sounded out of place, and Quillan rushed to cover her mouth, one arm against her gut in an attempt to hold it in. Her eyes widened in wonder, and a broad grin creased her face as she dropped her hand. Joyful, free, she began to giggle uncontrollably. She didn’t need to hold it in any more. It was so liberating.

“Quinn?” Olly asked, his voice catching as he became mighty uncomfortable with the current situation. Quillan ignored him as she jumped off the console, spinning in a circle, arms outstretched, laughing and whooping with joy as her lab coat spun out around her. When she stopped, she eyed Olly for only a moment before springing forward and pouncing on his lap, eliciting a gasp from him. Their faces were just a breath away, noses almost touching, as Quillan gazed into Olly’s poor, confused eyes. Nice pretty hazle though. Really, very nice eyes. Hadn’t seen that before, through the glass.

“You’re too easy, Olly, ya’ know?” Quillan giggled again before leaping backwards, sending Olly’s chair rolling, with force, into the console behind him.

“Help,” he cried, frantic. But there was no one to hear. Nope, not a soul nearby. Besides… well, she best remind him of that one.

“Olly, dearest, now be quiet, k? Ya’ know as well as I that no one can hears you, so why ya’ howlin’ like a lil’ wookie or somethin’? Have fun, laugh!” Quillan twirled again, stumbling in the heels she had on. She kicked them off, her expression souring as she began to pace agitated across the office. “How does she stand these clothes, eh? They’re stifflin’ me, ya know? I just… I jus’ can’t breath in ‘em.” As she spoke, Quillan clawed at the top of her shirt, popping the top buttons off as she feverishly sought to free herself from her confines. That done, the lab coat came next, hitting Olly in the face as she chunked it away with reckless abandon. Sweater, trousers, shirt, undershirt, it was all so much for her. Who needed that much clothing, anyways? Soon she stood in the office, wearing only a tank top and her underwear, arms outstretched as she inhaled deeply, held, and exhaled. “So much better now, yeah?” she asked, raising a brow at Olly, who for his part had given up his cries and now seemed content to hyperventilate as he tried to free himself from the chair. “Not done yet though, nope, not even pumpkin’.” She yanked out the band holding her ponytail in place and began to run her fingers feverishly through her hair, violently shaking her head as she did so. Her hands moved rapidly as the blonde streaks began to fall and gather at her feet. Before long, her long blonde hair was on the ground and her natural, deep brown locks remained, cut chin length at the bangs, shorter as it moved around to the nape of her neck. “Now I’m feelin’ like myself, ya know?” She giggled again before returning her attention to Olly.

The poor man looked terrible. A large from found her face as she moved over and gently sat on his lap, wrapping her arms about his neck while her legs dangled off the arms and over his. “Now now, love, puddin’ pop. It’ll be alright, really. I’m all me again, ya know? It’s been a while. A long time, but I’m really quite alright. People like me.” He didn’t seem reassured, and this hurt her feelings a good deal. She pouted now as she locked gazes with him. He really was an attractive enough sort, in that unassuming, naive sorta way. She’d picked him for a reason, after all. Examining him closely now, though, she couldn’t help but notice he was young, maybe a touch younger than herself. 23, yes? Still, this sobbing that he was moving into was unattractive.

“D-don’t hurt me. Please,” he begged, looking pitiful. Poor kid.

“I don’t wanna, Olly, really. Runnin’ shorta time, though, so I’ma have ta get dolled up. Can’t look like a ragamuffin, ya know? He deserves better than that, mhmm.” She nodded firmly, her expression comically resolute. “Don’t worry though, lovely,” she said, a grin on her face, “I’ll let ya watch.” A quick peck on his forehead and she leapt up, moving to a console and examined it with great interest. The sobbing, though, was distracting. She didn’t like it at all. “Olly, sweetie, please. I have ta’ remember this, or else she’ll be mad. Can’t screw it up, or she might come back,” she trailed off, before looking intently at Olly. “You don’t want that, no.” The sober expression seemed to be enough to reduce Olly to sniffling as opposed to straight sobbing. This helped greatly. She remembered the proper sequence of buttons and switches and went through them, jumping in glee as the affirming lights informed her that she had, in fact, remembered it properly. A blank panel in the wall opened revealing a sealed container standing five feet or so in height. She moved forward and drew out a pack from a small alcove.

It only took a moment to have the contents strewn out in front of her. She pulled off her tank top to bare her chest. She wasn’t sure if Olly was watching, but a break in his sniffling seemed to suggest he was. This brought a smile to her face. She first produced a single piece of clothing, resembling a dancer’s leotard. First one foot, then the other, and she pulled it up, with difficult in an area or two. It fit snug to her form, and left little to imagining, though it covered her from foot to neck, save the teardrop shaped opening baring part of her midriff and her back. Sleeveless, it left her arms free to move. Plus, she thought she had pretty arms. Finally, she pulled the zipper up from between her shoulderblades, pulling the high collar tight around neck just under her jaw line. Better than that terrible shirt Quillan always wore though. She took a few moments to bounce around, making sure everything was fitting into place properly. The soles in the feet flexed as she moved, absorbed shock as she landed, and served to protect her precious feet. Now, to stretch. It’d been too long since she’d limbered up, and she felt the stiffness in her muscles that, once upon a time, she had been unaccustomed to. When finished, she ran her hands along her suit, smoothing it and giving it its final check. Her right was above a smooth black fabric, her left a red. The colors alternated at her midriff, where she would, when the time came, secure her belt. Yep, she was all in order for the moment.

She cast a playful grin at Olly, who shuddered, before heading over to the sealed compartment. This one, she knew, because she had set it. The password was entered and she collapsed as a woman fell on her. She swore as she shoved the corpse off of her. With effort, she dragged the inert body across the room and propped it up across from Olly, who couldn’t trust himself to react for the moment. The woman was dressed just as Quillan had been, and in fact looked exactly like Quillan. “Quinn,” Olly gasped, distraught. Quillan snorted.

“Don’t be silly, Olly. I’m Quinn. Well, sorta’. She’s Quinn.” At Olly’s look, she rushed to correct his assumption. “No, no, silly, not her,” she gestured towards the corpse, which had a distinctive burn mark through the chest, “someone… else.” Quillan, or Quinn, or in fact whomever she may be grabbed a make up bag from the floor and once more straddled Olly, casually pulling out items and beginning to apply them. “This is the most important part, ya know, has to be perfect. He wouldn’t like it not to be perfect.” Calmly, ignoring Olly’s increased cries and pleas, she began applying a thick, even layer of white makeup across her face, from her hairline to below her chin, right up to the high collar about her neck. All the while she chatted about idle things, commenting on the weather, which was cold, and the fun times that the two of them, under better circumstances, could have had. When she finished, she asked, “How do I look?” but Olly was little help, so she pulled out a mirror and propped it up on his face. It took some doing, and some scolding when he moved, but finally he sat still and she was able to examine her handy work. The white was good. Now, some black lipstick and some black around the eyes and she would be set.

She’d done this many, many times, and the process was quick. There were a few things more to be done about her appearance, but those could wait until after a few other things were done. Besides, she had to start listening. It was midnight, and there was something important about to happen. While she waited, she picked up her belt from the bottom of the sack and pulled it on. She gasped in shock, a blush rushing to her face, invisible beneath the white. The belt used to hang loose around her waist, resting cockeyed across her hips. Now, it was straight, and snug. She’d put on weight. It hadn’t been that long, had it? She pouted a bit, until a rumbling noise filled the halls of the Sanatorium. Even her increased weight couldn’t wash away the glee that sound brought. It was time. She grabbed several items more from the pack, slid one into the holster, clipped one to the belt, and kept the other loosely in her hand as she once more sat on Olly. The boy seemed to have accepted his fate, at last, as he sat quietly, forlorn. He certainly wasn’t happy about it as he met her bright blue gaze. His lip quivered, as if he wanted to begin sobbing again, but there was some strength there. That was good.

“I’m afraid I gots'ta be leavin’ ya now, love. Got a date, ya know?” She smiled, the white and black of her face making the expression more disturbing than anything. “That noise, well, it’s a call, a sign that my time’s up. We coulda’ had fun, ya know? You’re a sweetie pie, you are. I don’t wanna do what comes next, but I gots’ta. Don’t worry though, I’ll give ya a good send off.” She slowly pressed the cold surface of the cylinder against the man’s chest, over his heart. She felt him shiver, shudder in anticipation of the horror to come. She’d make it easy though. As Olly breathed ragged breaths, she bent close to his ear, her lips just a fraction of a millimeter away. Her breath tickled as she exhaled a single line, “I think you should know, though, that my name is Lola.” And then she kissed him square on the lips, gently, with tenderness, as a loving caress carefully depressed the activation switch of her lightsaber.

TAG: The Great No One , Thrawn1786 , Shira A'dola , Sinrebirth

 

IC: Stark (Subject 1313)
Nar Shaddaa, Corellian quarter, 5 ABY

Impotent. Weak. That was the sum of all he was. A defective copy hardly worth mentioning.

He’d raised his hands, he’d felt the power roiling inside him, thundering inside his chest, but as he poured his will into action, nothing had occurred. The Force had abandoned him, the unworthy vessel. For he was only…Stark.

The revenant hardly noticed that he’d been snatched from the jaws of danger. He fell on the ground quite unceremoniously, but he had hardly noticed. His eyes bulged wide, seeing, yet unseeing. Only the all consuming void that wrenched his soul existed…obliterating all else. He opened his mouth, but only a mournful moan escaped.

Not unlike something broken, Stark clambered to his knees and looked down to his trembling hands.

“W..Why…..?”

It was only then that he noticed the holes in his left shoulder and his side.

He’d been shot.

A wave of anguish washed over him as the battle raged on around him. Corporeal pain briefly distracted him from his anguished spirit.

He did not notice Vima or "Juno" or anyone else for that matter. How could he? He was unworthy…he was only Stark.

Above, the two TIE fighters continued to fire, undeterred. Defiant. Mocking even.

But the whiteshells. They continued to fire in his direction. They were here to finish the job they’d failed to accomplish several years ago when he managed to escape from the cloning facility on Camino. This…this looked like the end of the line.

“…Fine….” He rasped as he slowly rose to his feet.

The revenant did not fear death. Only living. He’s already experienced the cessation of his mortal coil through vicarious means. Here and now, the Empire had found him. There was nowhere to run. Maybe the ‘other’ did manage to kill the Emperor after all, so now they blamed him for the deed. It was only natural.

“You were meant to destroy me…..” the Emperor had said. Rather, he remembered seeing such a scene in his mind. It felt like he lived it. But this too was an illusion. Only pain and death were real.

“…let’s….”

His left arm was next to useless, but it didn’t matter. He still had his right. The revenant ignited his lightsaber, and moved towards the whiteshells. A shower of crimson bolts flew in his direction. Stark was now acting only on instinct as he attempted to deflect fire from the troopers. He was hit again, he grimaced as a result, baring his teeth, but kept moving forward.

The troopers responded with even more blaster fire.

“…END….THIS!!”

The ersatz clone hollered at the top of his lungs as he launched himself at the troopers, swinging his lightsaber. An easy mark to be sure. Everything that was ever made, has an expiration date by default, but sometimes fate was fickle. Sometimes usefulness was extended beyond shelf-life.

In the end, it made little difference. He was only Stark. The phantoms had never spoken to him, or about him, even though he clearly heard them. They were all fading echoes, the remnants of something that no longer was.


Tag: @Sinrebirth

 

IC: Jaina Solo
Kashyyyk, Shadowlands 41ABY

When all was said and done she hadn't killed Kyp, not yet and for that she breathed a little easier. Her exertion in the Force had merely delayed him in stopping it from killing him, and in that moment the Lady Luck, by accident or some quirk of Uncle Lando's design had left without Kyp. Which, now that she and Tenel Ka had moved about in all the confrontations and saving of others from the platform, had left them between Kyp and now the only way to quickly leave the Shadowlands. She took that moment, that breath and re-centered herself in the Force. Trying to detach from all that was before her, as the sadness and grief of this moment threatened to choke her.

Kyp spoke with out flung arms, and she called on the Force to deflect whatever he may try harmlessly away. His words were harsh and made no sense. It was madness, and her heart was breaking a little at it.

"Kyp! Don't do this. Don't make me do this. . . Not again." She was pleading, she knew it. But if he rushed them. She would end him. She didn't want to. But she was the Sword of the Jedi, and he was not sane. She would have no choice.

She was the sword. Just the Sword.

TAG: Sinrebirth, spycoder9

 

IC: Lola
[The Next Next Day, 12:01 P.M.] 108 ABY: Security Control Room, Arkanian Sanatorium, Arkania

This kiss lingered past the moment when Lola felt Olly’s lips fall slack, the boy’s breath leaving his body in a final sigh. Still, it was encouraging, perhaps inspirational, to note that Olly at last embraced life--even if it was just the last few moments of it. Still, he’d been into the kiss, desperate to take it in, savor it, carry it with him into the next life, if you believed in that sorta thing. Lola herself heaved a sigh, content, happy even as she sat still on the dead man’s lap. The girl took a moment to reflect on what had just transpired. Surely she had a moment to appreciate the fact that she still had it.

After a proper moment spent in silent, gleeful thought, Lola sprang once more into action. She knew that the plan had been laid out with great care, and if she didn’t hit things just so, she’d not like the consequences. First order of business, to finish getting herself ready. There only remained one thing, in truth. She approached the stasis chamber, still standing open in the hidden compartment, and reached behind it to grab her hood. It should be there, but she was having difficulty locating it as she groped blindly with her hands. At last they closed on the fine leather, and she pulled it to her in a childlike embrace. She loved it. The movements were practiced, so it took her no time at all to pull her hair away from her face and get everything situated as she pulled it over the back of her head, snapping the collar closed around the color of her leotard. The hood was a singular garment, resembling the head of a twi’lek. In fact, it had been harvested and prepared from the head and lekku of two twi’lek by Lola herself. She was quite proud of it. Half was a wonderful Lethan sorta red, soft and succulent. Stitched onto the other half was a black Lekku. It had been a task indeed, figuring how to treat them to allow them to keep their shape without being too weighty. Those things got kinda heavy, and Lola wondered how Twi’lek’s could stand them. She didn’t suppose they had much choice. Finally, she clasped on the white collar, which served to hide the seam between hood and suit. Dressing finished, she moved on to other, more important matters. Well, to other people. Lola felt a great deal of import belonged to one’s look.

She had already disabled the security cameras in this office. As Quillan had sat upon the consoles, she had deftly flipped a few switches and Bamo! Cameras off. Meant there would be no footage of Lola gettin all dolled up, but more importantly it meant Quillan would not be known to, in fact, be the marvelous Lola herself. That was vitally important to Her plans, though Lola never understood why. Hence the Quillan look a like. Still, she had gotten her this far, so no point in being all difficult about it. Following instructions, Lola gathered up her old clothing and the hair extensions she had so thankfully shaken out, and chunked them into the container. She untied Olly’s hands, amused as they dropped lifeless from the arm rests, and tossed those in as well. A brief survey of the room convinced her that she had gotten all the evidence that matter, so she shut the container and punched in yet another code. This one would activate incineration units within. Lola sealed the hidden compartment and went to work on the consoles.

This part she’d been forced to memorize, agonizingly. She went through a series of motions, severing the alarms from external systems, shutting down certain cameras, deactivating certain booby traps, and shutting down the alarm sirens. Satisfied with her work, she took a moment to arrange the Quillan analogue into a pose which looked as though she’d been stabbed while trying to flee--which was in fact how Lola had killed her some time ago before putting the body in stasis--and then the girl left, heading deeper into the facility.

She met with no resistance as she made her way to her destination. This late in the evening, the Sanatorium was empty, the staff trusting the automated systems to see to the security, with minimal supervision from a sentient being. Lola had effectively dealt with both these impediments by now. Thus it took her little time to skip through the halls, lightsaber in hand, and arrive at the administrator’s door. Algernon Chukdim often worked late, or more accurately stayed late into the night and drank, when he wasn’t… ehem… entertaining young secretaries.

The fine, wooden doors would be locked. Lola didn’t get this fascination with using dead trees as doors when the technology was available for far superior materials, but it made her job easier. With a twirl of her wrist she brought her saber around in an arc, igniting the blade and sending it through the middle seam of the double doors, severing all locking mechanisms. It was a simple enough task to walk right in from there.

Algernon, startled, stumbled off of his desk and fell into his chair, so surprised by Lola’s appearance. His secretary, in a rather marked state of undress, screamed and rolled off as well, scrambling for the door. She didn’t make it past Lola as she, instinctively, snapped her saber around and sliced the poor young thing in half. Lola almost felt bad about that, though she hadn’t much liked the assistant, so she’d survive.

Algernon stared at Lola, wide-eyed with fear. “Aww, c’mon Algy. Don’t be lookin’ like that at lil’ ole’ me. I’m harmless, I swear.” She grinned at him, causing the man to shudder.

“W-who are you? What do you want?” He inquired, a silent plea in his eyes. Lola pouted.

“C’mon, Algy. You don’t remember me. I know ya’ know this.” Lola turned and struck bent down, shaking herself somewhat. “She caught you, ya know, all the time.”

“Whatever you want, young lady, we can discuss it. I am a man of means.” Algernon’s voice was shrill.

“Tsk, tsk, Algy,” Lola retorted, wagging a finger at the man, “ta’ think I’d want money from ya. Negotiatin’ isn’t gonna do ya’ much good, cause I’m already takin’ what I want, ya know?”

Recognition entered into Algernon’s eyes. “Herdstrom? I didn’t see it before. What happened to you?”

“Not Quill-ey,” Lola spat, “Lola. I’m Lola, sweetcheeks.”

“Lola?” Resolve entered into Algernon’s demeanour, “you should be dead.”

“Sorry ta’ disappoint, love muffin.” Love muffin? Lola would have to never say that again. Algernon lunged forward, grabbing across his desk. Lola was in motion before she realized what was going on, sprang forward and leaping towards the desk. she planted both hands on the desktop and curled her legs up into her chest. She swung towards Algernon and flung herself out, slamming a kick into the man’s sternum and driving him--chair and all-- to the floor. Fluidly, Lola followed, landing on his chest as he lay on his back, still in the chair, dazed. She heard the satisfying noise of cracking from Algernon’s chest. Somehow during this, Lola had brought both sabers, now unlit, up to a cross over Algernon’s throat. Clearly, the administrator understood the threat he was under, for he didn’t move an inch.

“Please,” he whimpered, “don’t hurt me.”

Lola gave him a sweet look, full of tenderness. “I don’t wanna, Algy.” Her face scrunched up in thought and consideration. “That really don’t work, does it? Hows about Chuk? Chuky? Ya know, play off of your last name, right?” The man was little help in determining his new nickname, so she shrugged and continued. “Tell ya what, Chuk Chuk. If ya’ can come up with a way for me ta’ take your eyes, without hurtin’ ya, then I won’t have to touch ya.” He was unable to do so, though she did give him a minute or two to try. Fair is fair.

*_*_*_*_*_*_*

Before much longer Lola was skipping towards the maximum security wing, her prize hanging from her belt and her lightsaber in hand. When she reached the corridor she skipped towards the door at the end of the hallway, stopping and turning to the window just to the left with a grin and a wave from her free hand. The guard, a Twi’lek, had his feet propped up on the console with a cup of caf in his hands. When he saw Lola, he spilled it down his trousers as he scrambled to sit up and feverishly assaulted the console. Lola thought that wasn’t nice of him. The console hadn’t done anything.

Under normal circumstances, the Maximum Security Wing was independent from the security of the rest of the facility, in the case that someone would do just what Lola had done. There was no way to shut down the wing’s defenses from the main control room. Unless, of course, there were in place a little device that, mechanically, severed the control room from the systems it controlled. Such a device had been installed during Quillan’s tenure at the facility. Lola, of course, didn’t understand the details of it, nor the planning required to make it happen, nor the difficulty in getting it installed. She did know it was handy. She saw a few nasty words formed while the guard fought in vain to get his systems to respond.

Lola had to deal with this in a very certain manner. As everything else, it’d been detailed quit clearly for her. With a resolute expression, she clipped her hilt to her belt and drew her blaster, a sleek silver number. Taking a secure stance, both hands on the blaster while her feet were spread shoulder width apart, she prepared to shoot into the glass. Before she pulled the trigger, she remembered she’d been warned that she should activate the sound dampeners in her hood’s twi’lek ear nubs. She thought it was silly, but may as well. She dropped her stance and saw to that detail before resuming her shot. She took a breath, her tongue lolling out the right side of her mouth, just a hair, as she concentrated. She exhaled and pulled the trigger.

Nothing. Lola looked down in puzzlement as she examined the gun. The guard stared at her through the glass, his efforts aborted for the time being, dumbfounded. These were designed to stop rockets, what would a blaster do? Besides, he was locked in the control room, so there really was little else to be doing. At last, Lola pulled out the power cell and looked away, a flush coloring her cheeks below her makeup. SIlly her, she’d put it in backwards. She fixed the problem and resumed her stance, switching to three-shot burst, a new mode for her gun. She was anxious to try it out.

As she primed the trigger and three arms slid up out of the sides of the pistol. Though she couldn’t hear it through the dampeners, the gun began to hum as it collected power. Soon, a ball of concussive force shot from the pistol, followed closely by two others. Each shot pushed Lola’s aim higher and higher, as well as disrupted her stance. By the third shot, she was thrown from her feet, slammed into the wall, and slid down to the floor. Her eyes widened as she saw the first shot buckle the window, the second bend the transparisteel inwards, and the third blast the entire fixture, window and frame, into the control room.

Lola stood, rubbing her rump with a pout as she surveyed her handiwork. The console was, thankfully, unharmed, though if the smears of red were any indication, the Twi’lek could not say the same. Lola reached through the opening and hit a button, opening up a retinal scanner by the door to the Maximum Security Wing’s door. She took Algy--no, wait, it was Chuk Chuk now--of her belt and held his vacant eyes up to the scanners. There was an immediate bleep of approval, then the door opened. Lola grinned as she deactivated the sound dampeners and moved into the prison, further than she ever had before.

She found the right room in short order and giggled in anticipation. She’d worked eight long years for this moment, and she couldn’t wait another second. She took her stance and aimed the pistol. She thought about using her saber, for just a moment, but this seemed more fitting. Plus, she took it off her three round burst. One shot was plenty, and she could handle that. The gun warmed up and blasted the door off its hinges, sending it flying and embedding it in the wall on the far side of the padded cell. The report of the shot echoed through the halls, leaving Lola hearing impaired for a few minutes. Now she understood the sound dampeners. “Hiya’, Masta L. Didya…” She trailed off as she peeked into the cell and saw, instead of her beloved master, the big Chiss. She tossed him a half scowl, half pout before sayin, “Wrong room,” and making a sound much reminiscent of vomiting.

Taking no note of the chiss, she moved down a door and primed her gun. It, however, fizzled and died, smoke issuing from it’s innards. Lola gasped and pouted, near to tears as she holstered the pistol. It was brand new, and it broke. She’d have to get with the engineer, make him fix the issue. She’d have to be boring then. She ignited her saber and cut a hole in the door, large enough for her master to get through. Despite the disappointments of the last few minutes, a broad grin creased her face as she said, “Masta’ L, I’m home! Didya miss me?”

Tag: The Great No One , Shira A'dola , Thrawn1786 , Sinrebirth

 

IC: Subject 25739/ Cell/ Arkanian Sanitarium/ Arkania


Whiteness surrounded Subject 25739, as it usually did unless there happened to be some blood laying around. At the moment, it was the whiteness above him that held his gaze, but not his attention. Ever since waking up in the padded cell again, Subject 25739 had been reflecting on his failed attempt to escape. Realization that he wasn’t as coordinated as he’d once been had lowered his hopes of actually getting out of this hell hole, but he had also realized that the largest part of his problem was that he was still cut off from the sweet flow of the Force. It would have offset so many problems that had cropped up in that brief escape attempt. Not to mention keeping Kenny from having his way with him so many times over the years. While he had no proof, he suspected that he’d had some permanent damage done to him over the years through the man’s sweet ministrations of pain over the years. But we got ‘im boss. He ain’t doin’ jack to us now.

And we lost our one good chance at getting out of here Bob.

But boss, you can get us outta anythin’. Can’t you?

It was a sobering thought that crossed Subject 25739’s mind. One he was reluctant to admit to. But you can’t hide from the voices in your mind. No Bob. I can’t. The sudden silence in his mind was staggering, or would have been had he been on his feet. Instead he lay there, in utter silence for the first time in decades. It did nothing to help with the constant companion that was the pain that filled every inch of his body in most circumstances, but the meds they kept him on held it at bay enough. He’d have to see about getting some when he got ou-

But that wasn’t ever happening.

Had there been any way for him to throw himself into a wall and actually cause damage, he would have. Hopelessness was something he had never really known, and it was a feeling that he was rapidly discovering that he entirely despised. And he was also finding that the mental silence wasn’t helping anything. One of you stoopa hutt-spawn want to say something? As the silence continues, Subject 25739 started wondering if he’d been driven sane somehow. Wouldn’t that be an absolutely delicious irony for the doctors.

A voice came back, hesitant. But… we can’t handle it in here. We’ll die.

You think I don’t know that? He didn’t know the name of this one, it almost never got the chance to speak into the cacophony that was typically his mind. Still, it resulted in a sigh of relief as it meant he wasn’t alone, odd as it was for him to not want that anymore.

Having no clue what time it was, he looked and saw a bowl of something laying on the floor. The daily blob of food was there, should he want it. What I wouldn’t give for a nice wookiee steak. Sighing, he turned back to the ceiling. There wasn’t any point to eating right then. He wasn’t starving, and moving wasn’t precisely on the top of his list of things to do, and so he lay there, lost in the whiteness of the ceiling, and the darkness of his thoughts.

How long this lasted, he had no idea. But he was jarred out of the morass that had become his mind by something that sounded suspiciously like an explosion. The vibrations that made it through even the padded floor felt suspiciously like one as well, and Subject 25739 wondered if maybe, possibly she was coming for him. It had been years, and he’d given up hope that she was even alive really. Lola had been a surprisingly weak little thing, and he didn’t think there was any way she could have gotten him out of this. But surely she’d have tried.

That nothing else happened, minutes stretched out and muttered about wasting explosives if nothing was going to come of it. Seems like a lot of hullabaloo for nothing don’t it?

You could certainly say that George. In fact I believe I did, you witless buffoon!

Before his thoughts could start bickering with each other, he heard a loud boom next to his cell, followed by another thud as something collided with a wall. Well. Isn’t that interesting… Maybe more was going on than he thought, but the lack of alarms and guards running through the halls to check on things left him befuddled.

Forcing his way to his feet, Subject 25739 saw something he hadn’t expected to ever see again. A lightsaber blade was forcing it’s way through the door, and he moved to stand just outside of what he knew would be it’s maximum range. She had come after all, it would seem. He very nearly moved over to the blade and tried to cut the sleeves on the straightjacket, but knew he’d only maim himself if he tried it.

As the door flew open he saw the exact thing he was wanting to see, and heard that old familiar nickname. The man known to the rest of the world as Lolarus felt the nearly permanent smile on his face broaden. Things were about to become very fun again, and the galaxy would pay for this insufferable torment. His stint in hell was nearly over, and he walked forward calmly. He didn’t say anything to her, but turned his back so that she would unbuckle his arms and let him start moving around again.

Soon as that was done, mildly surprised that she hadn’t yet jumped him yet, he turned and really looked her over. She was wearing the same clothes as always, the face paint was perfect, and the twi’lek hood that she was so proud of trailing its twin tails down her back. Everything was right, yet there was something very different other than the few pounds she’d put on, mainly noticeable from the belt that no longer sat at a jaunty angle on her hips. But… what was on that built, oh… His lightsaber. Fingers twitching to just grab it off her belt, Lolarus decided he wouldn’t steal this moment from her.

Instead of shoving her out of the way, taking his lightsaber and dashing for freedom, he stood there leaving his arms dangling at his sides and said, “What took you so long Toots? I was afraid you’d forgotten about me.” His grin settled into the more natural lines it had most of the time, if a bit sharper because of his poor treatment over the years. Oh yes, the fun was about to begin again.

TAG: Chukles38, Shira A'dola, Thrawn1786, Sinrebirth

 

OOC: My ACTUAL second character sheet...

Character Sheet
Name: Darth Lolarus, Avatar of the Darkside

(Hair is indigo instead of green)

Age: Mid 40s
Species: Human
Homeworld: Unknown
Year of Choice: 108 ABY

Force Sensitivity – Yes or No: Oh yes.
Alignment: How should he know?
Personal Effects, including weapons: Being in an insane asylum… a straight jacket.

Bio:

Not much is known about Lolarus before he burst onto the scene, causing the destruction of hundreds of capital ships, and disrupting galactic commerce for days. He even trashed a diner down in the lower reaches of Coruscant. Oh, and he did a little thing like take over the senate chambers, when it was full of them, and broadcast a message across the galaxy that the Sith had returned. You know, little things like that.

Then he was betrayed by his good buddy Darth Avidan, and ended up in prison for the next 8 years. During that time he got to know [Shira’s character}, and as far as he was concerned they became best friends. Odds were [SC] felt slightly different about that, but if so they never made it known to Lolarus.

He’s been waiting eight years to get out and get back at the galaxy, but as far as he’s aware no one’s coming for him. Heh. If he only knew.

 

Into the Hallowed Hall of the Temple of the Joint Posts we (Sinrebirth and Zawahul) bring you this!

IC:
Rodia, Jungles ABY 100

"One has served two seasons the Yuuzhan Vong. Intendent and Priest of Paths one of these might give me leaf, and by such I speak to you. The Jedi I yet to meet beyond his breath, though tepid and stale it might be. So now it springs, subservient to these or to thee?"

Bacora Sel pulled a tight grin to his face, the Force as tightly wove around him, calmly holding his pose as the seconds passed. On the face of it, Zawahul was splitting hairs with a God. It was almost amusing, were not the smell of rotting animal corpses pressing on his senses.

Yammka fell silent, and then spoke again, that reverberating voice touching at his bones again. 'Knew I did many who professed to convert to the True Way, in the War, and all of then were Traitors, Jedi and Sith all. None shall be allowed into our True Way! Purity will be restored to our species! The purity of the Gods!'

The Force sung with the press of Yammka's will upon them, which seemed to be stronger than before, as if he was closing on them from the descending yorik-trema, one of which had indeed diverted it's path, in the twilight darkness of an eclipse.

And the Force would confirm it, as Zawahul sensed the breath upon his leaves, a throng of pressure dropping from the skies, more bated breath than he had ever felt, a flow so powerful that it was a barely controlled maelstrom, a pressure that leaned hard upon Zawahul and Bacora.

In short, he was incredibly powerful in the Force.

The vibrations. Zawahul could not help but pause in the sensation so confusing and the breath the breath was tepid, charged. It was like the pressure before the rain, the sky was holding it's breath. What rain was yet to bring? It took not even two seasons to know the answer, but yet it always begged the question.

Answer heavy yet vibrated within his stalk and his seeds did yet rattle. Only now he listened to them, to their tales of past seasons knowings. "You twist your root upon itself. Was this he withheld the gift of victory after given so many lives, Yun-Yammka? Or is it yet the Sister, Yun-Harla to make sure the fruit is rotten? For you taste of Onimi more than Yun. If that be I must, Rhysode I shall grow with."

With that he set his leaves and waited. Drinking in the scarce light as he prepared.

A hiss echoed through the sky, as if offended. It was all snake, and Bacora flinched. 'I need not debate with an infidel, need not be reminded of the treachery of Yun-Harla, or Yun-Shuno, of so many of my kin. But I can remind my Children of what we have lost, of our purpose, of our unity!'

His words seemed to slowly taking hold as the yorik-trema grew closer, and the Yuuzhan Vong grew more confident, taking half steps forward. Bacora could feel the Force charge with tension, and he glanced to his left, making note of the glint on the horizon, moving swiftly. Two of the warriors took advantage of his distraction to take another hesitant step forward, as if unsure of themselves even now.

As they did, Bacora, not taking heed of Zawahul, flung up his hand and grabbed the carcass between the two groups and flung it at the warriors, lunging forward in a pre-emptive attack.

'See,' crowed Yammka. 'The Jedi strike first, using reason as a cover with which to shackle us!'

With the reverberating hiss he found his leaves relax just a touch, the friend in the jungle would not a feast make upon the stalk or leaves of one such as he. It was not much but he resisted the lulling quality of that anger, the words that followed were more to stir the many.

Emboldened or fearful the surrounding groups moved forward, the lull of the Jungle began to descend in force. That quiet that precedes a death. The Jedi did not with his tepid breath handle the calm well and moved to strike first. His leaves drooped a moment at these actions, his stalk drooping closer to the ground. Still his breath was mingled with those about and the strands from above.

Into these he put the Force into one word. "STOP." A leaf twitched and grabbed the carcass to return to sender before pulling back on the neck of the Jedi's robes to drop him with another pull of the breath of Tyia.

"Are we the rhetoric of Yuuzhan Vong or of War? One does not make peace by guile to goad and this one will not take root whilst thou uses words and trickery to be a voice without flesh, and a Yammka without Amphistaff. Jedi are foolish and this one greatly, yet he acted more of one of war of legends. Do you kill your enemy because he acts more a Yammka then you? Or is your flesh too weak to met one death without bearing such as this?"

To be honest he had a twinge to end this Jedi for his dis-honor in this situation. Whoever this man was or thought he was, he was a poor breather. Still the moment was come, the true breath was yet to be found. "I am Priest, Thuwistan of Tyia, the Breath of the gods! I am a servant and your breath is rancid."

Bacora could hardly believe his ears as he tumbled to the grass, rolling onto his feet. He stood, blade pointed at Zawahul, as the Yuuzhan Vong hesitated even further.

They were balanced between a razor and a storm, and through every moment the yorik-trema came down, before stopping above them, a seam opening in the base as it closed.

Bacora's danger sense, part Force based, but mostly his own instincts and years of experience, screamed at him, and he bit out a retort at Zawahul. 'The breath must tell you that this madman is not going to negotiate. You're playing into his hands you fool!'

Now it was Bacora who had to stall, before the trema made it's landing. Bacora estimated it would land just after his ship arrived, which would be fine.

The Yorik trema, however, did not continue down, and stopped, nonetheless dropping low enough that it's dovin basil's whipped the grass and current of wind, lapping at the Yuuzhan Vong robes and tugging at Bacora's clothes, now more impediment than armour.

From the opening in the whole dropped a single Yuuzhan Vong, or a particularly talk man, just behind the warriors. The distance was such that one would have been injured, even a Jedi, but an almighty exertion in the Force saw the man land unharmed, telling Bacora that this was Yammka.

As he approached, his masked face revealed black armour forking from his back, the Force telling Bacora that his arm was not the original, nor one of his eyes, a collection of coloured tattoos swirling on his chin. No lightsaber hung from his belt, but he did not need one to spell out how threatening he was, as the warriors parted, silently.

'You wanted to speak to me, Priest.'

Again that reverberation, as if he spoke with a dozen voices, and Bacora found he had changed the direction of his blade tip towards the opponent, searching his memory for conflicting information, all bubbling up inside him as Yammka approached, a slow step at a time. Human, Yuuzhan Vong or deity, who knew?

The Jedi reacted as the breath of him had already shown, open hostility for stopping him from bringing more death to this field of meat. As though a moment of pause was a thing to take with disdain, if truly the Jedi had come to learn, he showed what he yet needed most greatly of all. Reason.

Being called a fool was no lament. After all who was more foolish? The one for followed the breath and light of life or one who rushed rutting and destroying the very breath that him gave breath? It was a hard thing to note and work through, and was a thing for another time when it was not needed that he focus upon the present passing breaths of air.

The Yuuzhan Vong ship dropped from above to stop as it stirred the air, the intense and contradictory vibrations and carried tastes in the air making it harder to feel where others were around himself. Still he could see the patterns of the light. Feel the breath of the living and the gaps of that breath.

So when one dropped, felt strong and clear, though dark and voided in the thinning light, he had reason well enough by the distance taken that this was the one with whom he had likely spoken. "You taste of trials met, of deeds survived. You make me hunger, you make the Children thirst, and you make the Jeedai foolish. All tasks simple for one who moves the Breath. Yet claim and position are taken, and I would be remiss if challenge to prove I did not give. You have still not answered the question." With a simple unfurling and curling of a leaf he gave note of the Yammka to the Jedi. The test was given. The breath would be tested, and the soul measured by his honor.

TAG: Faux? Deity

 

IC: Gilad Pellaeon
Location: Near Arkanis, Deep Space

The universe has a funny way of keeping itself in balance. Good and evil, light and darkness. They chase each other constantly, eternally out of reach. One never triumphs over the other.

Take this battle for instance. On one hand, Gillad was quite happy to see an Imperial Star Destroyer enter into the fray. Pellaeon was intimately familiar with that make of destroyer, and even damaged, he was well aware how much it still could give. Kuat of Kuat's pride and joy.

On the other hand, there was this... thing... that opened up behind it. This... void... was white and oddly terrifying. What was it and where did it come from? It looked as though someone just decided to peel back the darkness of space, as though tearing a paper! It defined comprehension, yet still there it was, plain as day. This... weirdness... was underlined by the fact that when Pellaeon checked, he found his targeting computer to be of no help. It didn't even register it.

The Star Destroyer had identified itself over the public channel as from Brandl. Perhaps the warlord had heard the distress call Pellaeon had ordered at the beginning of the scrape. How sweet of him, Pellaeon thought dryly.

If the battle had been going along quickly before, it shifted into lightspeed at the arrival of the..... white hole. The Star Destroyer .... understandably.... announced it was jumping to light speed ASAP, and it looked like the Vong vessel was maneuvering to do the same.

His escort asked for orders. Good Imperial, Pellaeon thought. Hasn't lost his discipline in spite of the... oddness. He would see he got a commendation for this.

Pellaeon snatched this Comm at the gunner's turret, and keyed it to the public channel.

"Get us and the escort on board immediately. I want us on board for that jump." he said.

He sat back in his chair and looked at the... hole. What the heck was that? For some reason, it filled him with dread. Its white was the color of bones and marble, cold and gloomy. A mournful and unforgiving white.

Pellaeon wanted to put as many layers of durasteel and as many armed turrets between him and that thing as possible. An Imperial Star Destroyer, even a damaged one, would be a better bet to get back to Coruscant as soon as possible.

So much for my vacation

Pellaeon reached for his comm again, and this time flipped it to private, so that only the people in the shuttle could hear them.

"Someone start a recording of this.... thing" he said. "There are a lot of people on Coruscant who will need to see this."

Tag: Sinrebirth, Skywalker_T-65

 

IC: Subject 83247
Cell, Arkanian Sanatorium, Arkania

An explosion woke Subject 83247 from a shallow sleep. The commotion sounded far enough away that it wouldn’t affect the high security wing he was in, but he felt the resulting vibrations deep in his chest. He sat up, holding back a wince as his cracked ribs protested and listened alertly for any clue that would give him an idea of what was going on. Seconds stretched to minutes and after a while, when he couldn’t hear anything else, he leaned back against the padded wall and scowled. Wasting explosives was a crime. Not only that, but it sounded fun and he wanted to do something fun. He’d been stuck in this cell for what felt like weeks now, but was likely only days at most. He was dangerously bored. He’d been tempted to do something with the scalpel he’d kept hidden, but he couldn’t afford for his little toy to be discovered and taken away. That would ruin everything. Can’t have that happening.

His head knocked absently against the wall he was leaning against. No chance of going back to sleep now and there was nothing to do. The orderlies had slipped his food below the door flap hours ago. It hadn’t been more than a few mouthfuls, but it never was, and his stomach had a pinched feeling again, like it was too tight. He imagined he was probably a scraggly being by now, though he hadn’t seen his reflection much for eight years. His hair was down past his shoulders and he was skin and bones. Nothing like the intimidating figure I used to be. A sigh escaped him, cut short by a loud pounding sound on his cell door, followed by said door slamming into the wall opposite of it. He jumped up swiftly, body falling habitually into a fighting stance as a strange-looking woman walked in. Her face was painted white, with a bizarre ensemble of red and black, tight-fitting clothing. The Chiss’ stance fell as he straightened, looking at her with a nonplussed expression. Her confident and faintly smug grin fell as she spotted him, the expression turning into a pouting scowl. She muttered about having the wrong room and left, but stopped next door to Subject 25739’s cell.

It took Subject 83247 a moment to realize that he actually had a way out of his cell now, but when that registered, he felt a grin, slowly grow on his face. This was it. He could do it now, he could get out! He tested out his grasp on the Force for a moment, just to see how much control he had over it now. The pain made him shake and he wasn’t able to use it yet, but it didn’t drop him to his knees like it had a few days ago, and that was improvement. He grabbed the scalpel and walked out slowly, glancing around the hall to make sure no orderlies were headed their way. The commotion that woman had caused was sure to bring someone soon, so this had to be fast.

He peered into the next room and saw Subject 25739 grinning with the woman standing next to him, looking terribly pleased with herself. An apprentice, probably, but she looked familiar. His keen red eyes scrutinized her features a long moment before widening. The good doctor. What was her name? Herdstrom. I was right about you. You did have more than you showed, more fury and ill-will towards the universe than you let on in your pretty little costume. Congratulations, you fooled me well. Then he scowled. He’d wanted to take the good doctor as an apprentice and here she was, already apprenticed to another man. Of course she was. Because that was just his luck with women. He sighed and shrugged, stepping through the door. “Well this is a pretty little reunion, isn’t it? For you two, I mean. And all three of us I suppose. The good doctor congratulating her two patients? Or her prize one at least, she’s made it pretty obvious she wasn’t here for me.” He winked at the doctor before turning back to Subject 25739. “Here’s the thing. There’s no way I’m staying in this kriffing cesspool any longer. From the looks of things, neither are you. Now I could get out on my own, but I’m not feeling too good and it would be a bit more difficult to pull it off. You look like you’re in pretty much the same situation. So I propose we get out of here together. If you agree, or even if you don’t, kindly refrain from using my ID number any longer. My name is Polnak’and’oraantro. But you can call me Kandor.”

TAG: The Great No One Chukles38

 

*The real Ref Sheet for Kandor (Subject 83247)

Name: Polnak’and’oraantro (Kandor)

Picture:


Age: 34

Height: 6’

Weight: 165 lbs

Gender: Male

Species: Chiss

Appearance: Black hair, glowing red eyes, dark cobalt blue skin. Tall, slim frame, lean muscling. Wears a black and grey, leather jacket over a black tunic and wears, black leather boots. His lightsaber is hidden beneath his jacket and his fighting rod is worn across his back.

Homeworld: Csilla

Year of Choice: 108 BBY

Force Sensitivity – Yes

Alignment: Himself and whatever temporary alliances he’s made

Personal Effects, including weapons: A ciridium coin made from the armer of a Mandolorian he bested, a pyronium fighting rod with a leather handle and a rarely-used lightsaber.

Bio: Polnak’and’oraantro was born in the harsh climate of Csilla in the Unknown Regions of Space. At the age of one, his parents became aware of the keen ability he had with the Force and immediately saw the militaristic value of having a son with such an ability. Not wanting him affiliated with such a pacifist affiliation as the Jedi, Kandor was sent to study at a specialized academy when he turned 10 years of age.

It was quickly noted by the instructors that Kandor had a wicked and twisted sense of fun and pranking. Other student’s belongings would catch on fire or end up at the top of an unreachable cliff. Instructors would find dangerous, exotic creatures lurking beneath their beds. These events and others could never be strictly tied back to the boy, but the slight, barely visible smirk that would appear on his face when the rumors of the latest ‘prank’ came up could hardly be mistaken. Besides these disturbances, Kandor was the top of his grade, particularly in military strategy, combat courses and his continued grasp with the Force. The instructors, for the most part, ignored the other affairs in the hopes that this brilliant student would outgrow his vicious ways. However, in his 17th year, a student and known rival of Kandor’s was found critically injured one morning in his bed, having been viciously beaten, with a stab-wound to his chest. The door, electronically locked at night as all the rooms were, had been hacked, with the trace leading back to Kandor’s personal data-pad.

Not only expelled immediately from the Academy, but also banished from Csilla, Kandor kept to the alleys and Underground of various planets, always moving. Experimenting with what he was taught and what he was continually learning and observing, Kandor’s mind grew sharper, as did his skills, particularly with combat and stratagem. Though used rarely, he maintained his skills with the Force, often employing them when a task was physically impossible, or controlling the mind of another.

At the age of 24, Kandor, having successfully created a number of underground functions across the galaxy on various planets, pulled off a massive, galaxy-wide heist of spice, over a billion credits and several rare and priceless artifacts, before blowing up the galaxy’s federation building. Becoming bored after hiding and running for 3 years, he found and attacked the authorities chasing him, armed with nothing and using only the hand-to-hand combat techniques he had honed over the years. Vastly outnumbered by the force he had run into, he was taken, grinning, to the Asylum reserved for those criminals that posed the greatest threat to the galaxy. There he has stayed for 7 years, devising a way to break out of the galaxy’s most heavily guarded fortress.

 

IC: Tenel Ka Djo, Queen Mother of Hapes
Kashyyyk, Shadowlands

“Woe to those who scorn a mother’s child,” Her grandmother had once told her. “The only emotion that holds a torch to a mother’s love, is the fury that she possesses when her children are threatened.”​

​

“But I am a Jedi, Grandmother. There is no fury.”​

​

“Ah, what a lie that is. You’ll learn one day.”​

​

​

Tenel Ka could feel her very blood boiling beneath her skin. Kyp had tried to murder her daughter twice. Once was unforgivable in its own right, but twice. . .​

​

As she sat Allana down once more, Kyp’s getaway ride sailed off without him onboard. ​

​

“You won't take me!” Kyp cried out as he tried to push them away. Tenel Ka did as Jaina, deflecting it as well she could. While she felt the anger pounding away at her skull, all she could feel inside was pity. He’s so. . .broken. He’s went mad.​

​

"Kyp! Don't do this. Don't make me do this. . . Not again." Jaina begged him.​

​

Tenel Ka held her own lightsaber in her hand. It was unignited, but she had her fingers edging around the button. She wanted to speak to him, to shake the fervor from him. . .and yet somewhere deep inside, she felt like it couldn’t be taken away from him. She could still try.​

​

“Stop this madness!” She stared into his wild eyes, seeing only nonrecognition and disbelief. “Amelia is a child, Kyp. . .she is a child!"​

​

​

​

TAG: Sinrebirth, Mitth_Fisto

 

Recommended listening

IC: Lenea Sandstrider
Corvette, Hangar

Lenea sprung out of her fighter almost as soon as it had landed, coming out with a set of tools. She was a mechanic at heart, and she was going to fix whatever was wrong with this ship before it got itself blown up. It would give her something to focus on, other than the pain. Of course...that plan was thrown out the proverbial window, the moment her feet touched the shaking deck...and promptly gave out underneath her.

The Captain of the vessel came running up, shouting about something and trying to wave a datapad in her face. She didn't notice it. She didn't notice the ship jumping into hyperspace either.

Only one thing drew her blue eyes...the equally blue fighter sitting in the docking bay.

"It...it can't be..."

She would recognize that fighter anywhere. She had built that fighter.

Memories flashed before her shocked eyes, her mind lost in them. Memories of designing the Starstreak with her brother. Of building this specific fighter for him...it was the first of its kind, and she knew every dent and scratch in its hull, almost as well as her own fighter. The fighter was damaged, but the very fact it was here was like a dagger to her already broken heart.

Because, only one person could have used that fighter. A person she had thought dead, since she had seen that Force-forsaken footage.

Danny...

She still couldn't sense her brother. Even after she had opened herself up upon seeing that fighter...there was nothing. And that, perhaps, hurt even more than thinking he was dead. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Lenea finally started to hear what the Corvette's captain was saying.

'oh yes, him. He's in the medbay, wounded in the attack on Saridona... Did you want to see him?'

It was all Lenea could do to not slam her tools into the Captains face. No matter how much pain she may have been in, her temper was as strong as ever...and if he had just insulted her brother...well, he should be thankful her mind was all out of whack. Forcing her raging emotions down, the young woman got to her feet...shakily. Turning to look fully at the captain, she nodded just as shakily.

"Yes...yes I do."

Not paying anymore attention to the man, she turned and set off out of the hangar. She was running on autopilot now...on memories of the original Redemption, a vessel of the same class as this one. It wasn't until she reached the medbay that the young woman finally regained control of her senses.

Are you in there Danny? What happened to you?

With those thoughts running through her head...she opened the door...

TAG: Sinrebirth

 

Lora Skywalker
Coruscant

As the vision faded she hissed out about the arrogance of the one. After his years of absence he returned to teach, to give insight . . . also the inability of him made it so painfully obvious he was not chosen and gained no extraordinary insight, nor did he hold any wisdom. He was simply a powerful fool.

Something of Bothawui was spoken. Lora had been made aware of the sith new super-weapon shortly before he arrival here. She ignored the news now and looked up at her . . . master.

And then suddenly the One pointed his finger at her and accused her of wishing to kill him. Lora had wished to do so . . . for a long time . . . although she had actually not come here today to do so. Another failure, another proof how unworthy he was, despite his power.[/INDENT]

And then the High Inquisitor came charging. He rushed at her and Lora realized the sign she had hoped for had come. Life or death. She would not replace the Chosen One. He was not the chosen one. She was. All she needed to do to proof it, was kill him.

No defence, no counter attack, no movement from her . . . she stood there, her lightsaber in her hand and awaited the High Inqusitor. Only in the last, the very last second she would step aside and ignite the lightsaber to block his way. Not an attack, just a barrier of burning plasma and hopefully the impossibility of the enemy to stop his own kinetic energy.

She would kill him in self-defence. She would kill the Chosen One on self-defense. It would be an end to a reign of madness.​

Perfect.

Tag: @Sinrebirth​