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Before - Legends The Reflections of An Exile

Discussion in 'Fan Fiction- Before, Saga, and Beyond' started by FlyingspiginaPurplejarr, Mar 27, 2017.

  1. FlyingspiginaPurplejarr

    FlyingspiginaPurplejarr Jedi Padawan

    Registered:
    Oct 20, 2016
    Name: Reflections of an Exile
    Author:Me
    Time frame: Few weeks after Kotor 2
    Characters: The Jedi Exile, OC



    Meetra stared at the world of Coruscant, through the windows of the Council Chamber.Beneath the sun, the vast landscape of the eternal city filled the horizon, giving her a sense of trepidation, only a few could understand.

    Coruscant, a world, filled with over one trillion of living beings.And on the surface of this world, a wound casts its dreadful shadow.The Exile.

    A wound that never heals, a wound with the potential to grant her power, beyond belief.A wound that could lead to a madness, only few could comprehend.When she stared into the abyss that was once Nihilus, she stared into a mirror, a reflection of what will she become if she gives into the Great Hunger.

    On the day she slew the Dark Lord Nihilus, she made an oath.She will never use this power, no matter what.Never give in.

    “You are beautiful to me, Exile.A dead spot in the Force, an emptiness in which its will might be denied.”Kreia’s words echoed in her head.

    She thought a lot about those words, and many more, in the last few weeks, but she was unable to find certainty.Was she simply lost in the maze of moral relativism, trying justify her actions of betray, use, and abuse?

    Or even more dreadful.What if she was right?What if from all the masters of the Order, she, an old women, broken in mind, heart, and body, saw the truth, alone, and on the only one who could truly understand?

    “I hate that it seems to have a will, that it would control us to achieve some measure of balance, when countless lives are lost.”Kreia’s words echoed, yet again.

    What was Sion, then?A beast, set loose, flailing in hate and pain or an instrument of the force, a helpless pawn, shackled by torment and obsession, and denial?

    One would feel hate or fear for those three, but Meetra felt pity, and a strange sense of indebtedness.Sometimes the two melt together, so well, she had difficulty to separate the two.

    She turned away from the panorama and laid her eyes on one of the seats.Each held by a Master, once.

    Vrook, the blind, Atris the vile, Zez, the coward, Kavar, the disloyal.They are dead.All of them.They failed the Jedi, and now it is her responsibility to rebuild it.Fortunately she is not alone in this task, not now.

    She felt a strong presence in the force beyond the magnetic doors.A presence she knew, very well.The wings slid open and revealed a man, behind.He was tall, black haired, wearing his signature sleeveless, brown jacket, fingerless gloves with black trousers.”Atton.”She greeted him, with warm smile.


    Dromund Kaas


    Beneath the lightning torn, purple skies of the planet Dromund Kaas, a giant tower erected towards the chaotic mess of dark clouds, like a drawn sword.
    In that tower a giant man, clad in dark armor, walked in its dimly lighted hallways.If someone could call such thing a man.Once there was a young Sith pure-blood.A giant, over seven feet tall, with strength like a terentatek.A man who made this armor with his very hands.

    But the obsidian black plates of that armor were no longer protected such man.The man who was once surrounded by harems of slave woman, the man who spent entire centuries in decadence has gone.
    That dreadful, monstrous armor was inhabited by nothing more than a spirit and ashes.He no longer suffered the weakness of flesh, he no longer distracted by pain or tire.He cast those aside willingly, so that he could achieve the great agenda.The rebirth of the Sith.

    He walked for a long time amongst the moist covered walls.Then a garnished door, made of thick wood, that grows on the planet’s jungles.It opened and he stepped in.

    Inside a large rounded table laid, with seven seats around it.Each seats belonged to a Sith lord.He looked around and examined his visitors.
    The Swordsman, talented but arrogant.The Mistress, beautiful but decadent.The Alchemist ingenious but unfocused.The Wanderer, perceptive but lonely.The Architect, ambitious but blunt.The Sage, wise but untrustable.
    And himself, The Conqueror.Strong, unshakable, unstoppable.

    The Circle of Seven.That is all that left from the once powerful Sith species.The rest were hybrids-bloods who ruled and enforced the will of the Seven on the millions of slaves they have at their disposal.Loyal but pale copies of the true Sith.A desperate attempt to keep their species alive,but a partial success at least.

    But the war is not over, not yet.
     
  2. Ewok Poet

    Ewok Poet Force Ghost star 6

    Registered:
    Jul 31, 2014
    Another wonderful one with Meetra. And the uncertain hope that lingers on and on...shivers!
     
  3. FlyingspiginaPurplejarr

    FlyingspiginaPurplejarr Jedi Padawan

    Registered:
    Oct 20, 2016
    Thanks I hope you found my version of Sith intriguing.
     
    Ewok Poet likes this.
  4. Ewok Poet

    Ewok Poet Force Ghost star 6

    Registered:
    Jul 31, 2014
    I did, definitely. :)