#HOPING FOR A KALEESH IN THE ACOLYTE

[pastel-kaleesh]

concept of a kaleesh padawan during the acolyte era

sadly, she doesn't have a name yet...

based her off of the Andean people and tried balancing out cute and alien with her design. this experiment was interesting, but at the end, I was satisfied with her design.

And well, why not do a kaleesh from the mountains?

[thedrown]

GOTS Lore- The Start

  Another lore piece! This one isn’t lore lore more so a rough overview of the first arc of the story since you and I both know I’m not actually going to start the comic anytime soon ehhe... Anywho! I’ll probably do more of these since while not terribly cohesive since GOTS is meant to be more anthology than single throughline, I do have several arcs/story ideas so might as well share em!

 The beginning of Ghosts of The Separatists actually takes place from the point of view of Noma as opposed to Sikha and Amato and starts with Noma’s master Sidnis Eltair seeing her off as he departs to fight on Saleucami as the war begins to ramp up. While concerned as this is her first solo command and their separation is not a matter of choice, his clone commander Nix assures master Eltair that the mission will be accomplished without issue and the three of them say their goodbyes as Noma, Nix, and a small contingent of clones depart to Balmorra. 

 With only an Acclamator and two Arquitens, Noma and Nix are deployed for what should be a small incursion to simply subdue a minor pro-Separatist insurrection on the foundry world of Balmorra and while en route through hyperspace we’d see cutaways of both Noma happily chatting with clones on one end and Sikha suiting up in her Mando armour and CIS uniform adn embrace with Amato with hints of anxiousness as both sides convene. Now inside the CIS fleet we meet Sikha (and Amato in the background) as she instructs her bridge crew to prepare weapons as the Republic ships emerge from hyperspace and talks to herself under her breath whispering movements eyes darting about as if trying to figure out her new, and first, major opponent despite the battle not having begun. From Noma’s perspective they are met with sudden shock as to the CIS presence as they had no indication of the insurrectionists having direct Separatist support yet decide to engage having their comms jammed preventing reporting their finding whilst vying to bypass the CIS fleet and concentrate on taking the planet from insurrectionists hoping to take the capital of Sobrik and use it’s defences against the CIS ships overhead. Overconfident from expecting the small fleet to use the usual overwhelming droid strategy, Noma and Nix send the Arquitens forward with starfighter and bomber complement to rush down Sikha’s small fleet hoping to knock out one of her Munificents to make an opening and free up comms yet they instead face screens of turbolasers upon the light cruisers not from Sikha’s Providence, but from a Munificent frigate taking point itself. The realization the Providence is not the capital ship severely damages one of the Arquitens as they attempted to fall back while Separatist missiles shred Republic bombers and droid Tri fighters prevented the clones from escorting and as deployed Amato cuts straight through their confused and scattered squadrons in his Fang Fighter. Allowing a sigh, Sikha returns to her command chair having gained composure from her trick of using a meager frigate as her flagship over the more common carrier and no longer whispering but clearly speaking, she orders her Providence forward deploying small strike units of Hyena bombers and Vultures with two Tri droids tailing behind. The Tris breaking off and speeding forward to intercept any incoming Republic fighters while the Vultures stay close to defend the bombers from any stragglers or simply to take fire in place of them with the turbolaser support from the CIS ships in the rear overwhelming reinforcing Republic fighters and cutting their retreat short as Hyenas obliterate one of the Arquitens while the other’s engines are disabled and the vessel left to be boarded as Sikha brings up the Munificents intent on eradicating the Acclamator before it can escape.

 Onboard said Acclamator, Noma begins to panic as Nix orders immediate landings to the planet's surface as troopers hastily pile into gunships abandoning the cruiser to be torn apart by the bombers while Sikha’s frigates took aim at the transports attempting to escape to the surface. Crashing just outside Sobrik, Noma struggles to come to inside a pit with sporadic glimpses of Nix and other clones under heavy fire with her passing out once more to Nix picking her up and running as mortars erupt across their small trench. We then cut to a hologram of Sikha communicating with the insurrection leader as he reports that his fighters paired with her droid backup decimated the Republic troops who made it to the surface with the few who escaped the shelling fleeing into the city. Affirming importance of finding them, Sikha states her intent to land shortly with heavier droid reinforcements to hunt the Republic survivors as we shift to a title card and similar narrated opening to the 501st Journal albeit from Nix who explains his exhausted survivor force having been staging guerilla strikes against the droids though their numbers have been significantly depleted since they began their stealth war 3 weeks since the catastrophic battle and Noma being largely the sole beacon of morale. Noma having been initially dejected from the lack of any Republic response continued to push forward and lead the charge intent on insuring the survival of the remaining clones as they sabotage a supply depot and have to make a quick escape as droidekas swiftly roll in. Rushing into Sobrik's alleyways leaving detonators to cover their escape from the pursuing droids and insurgents, the small cadre of Republic soldiers find themselves at the city’s outer wall and despite Noma’s efforts to cut down as many pursuers as possible she is ultimately winged in the arm and leg and forced to huddle in with her clones as droidekas rapidly enclose every possible escape route and insurrectionists flood in. 

 Taken to their HQ and brought before Sikha and Amato (again hanging back leaning upon a wall) Sikha begins to not so much interrogate but rather insult and jab at Noma for being a Jedi and getting a rise out playing up her failure to even begin the assault on Balmorra, Noma in her emotional state and fear can do nothing but look down. Grabbing and squishing her face, Sikha begins to go on a tangent as to the “injustices” that Noma was fighting for and forcing her face to survey the courtyard of insurrectionists, she expands upon the eon long plight of Balmorra being a world of great resources that the Republic military heavily depended on yet were more than content to the leave Balmorra’s people in squalor and portions of it’s surface polluted beyond recovery. The insurgent leader highlights this referencing the Old Republic’s proxy war on their planet where they abandoned them to the Sith Empire during the Cold War as he details how the GAR military refineries poisoned the land of his province killing hundreds and pushing him into organizing his underground movement to undermine the Republic military efforts exploiting the planet at the detriment of the people. Following up with a passing comment on the famine of Kalee, Sikha eagerly elaborates her intention to quickly dispose of her but mid rambling Noma quickly appeals to Sikha’s blatant grudge towards the Jedi by commenting she’s likely never fought one and suggesting an execution by combat to Amato’s noticeable surprise. Initially insulted by the suggestion that a Jedi could possess or understand honour akin to a Kaleesh or Mandalorian she was unable to comment before Noma continues on stating that in exchange for their duel and her life, Sikha would return all the surviving clone troopers to neutral space for Republic pickup. Grabbing her face again Sikha asserts her less than favourable opinion of the Jedi girl but accepts her terms and unbinds and rearms her. The two circle one another exchanging words as a now serious Noma asserts her resolve in the Jedi code as Sikha continues to disparage them for their actions in the past and perceived hypocrisy. However before they can actually engage one another they are interrupted by a transmission from Count Dooku to the insurrection leader as he congratulates their liberation but more to the point, gives Sikha a direct assignment to bring Noma to Serenno and moreover, in one piece.

 And that’s the basic idea of the start, the following “episodes” (despite not knowing how to animate I think of everything as an animated series) would be the trip to Serenno where Noma would contemplate Sikha’s words, her current position, and also would meet and talk to more laid back Amato as he gets a proper introduction to the series and we get insight into both his and Noma’s deeper character. Upon reaching Serenno,  Amato and Sikha would talk with one another and we’d see more on their relationship and what Sikha is normally like when not possessed by her hatred of the Republic as Noma speaks with Dooku and is slowly convinced more towards the Separatist cause and the Count gives a small test of her abilities before deciding whether or not to bring her into his Acolytes.

[veiled-legacy]

When I Woke Up

A SWTOR story set during the early chapters of KOTFE. 

She was asleep for five years and he flooded her thoughts the moment she woke up. After seeing his name on that message, she doesn’t know how to react. What does it mean to dream about someone?

(A romance/friendship story with my Inquisitor/Theron and Koth is becoming a good friend on the Zakuul surface)

***

When I Woke Up

It did all feel like a crazy dream. Once again having a sadistic madman in my head mumbling promises of power and seemingly unattainable freedom. Currently residing in a legendary space ship that’s framed into the earth of this strange planet. Watching Marr die. Watching as I stabbed my lightsaber straight through the emperor, no, Valkorion’s chest. Waking up to find, not my ship and my crew… my family, but Lana. Five years. Force, did I wish this was all a crazy dream.

Once everything settled down on the gravestone I decided to check my messages to see if anyone in my crew had tried to contact me over the years. Nothing. Not one message from my crew, but there was a letter from someone I did not suspect.

Theron Shan.

From: Theron Shan Subject: For when you wake up

I’ve written this message twice now. Okay, more than twice. Kinda weird writing something that may never be read. Lana says you’re locked in carbonite, but alive. (Yeah, we’re in touch. Long story.) I like to think you’re having one crazy dream. And maybe I’m in it. But I don’t want to presume. We never really declared what this—you and me—is… was…. Have I mentioned I’m bad at relationships? Another reason I’m a workaholic.

I’m rambling. The point I’m trying to make is—whatever’s between us, I want you to know that I care about you. A lot. The whole galaxy’s lost its mind. The thing that keeps me going is the knowledge that you’re out there, and we’re putting together a plan to rescue you. I might not be there—we’ve all got our parts to play—but I haven’t forgotten about you or our time together. I never will.

A crazy dream… and he’s in it? What we are? We all have our parts to play… our time together…

“Hey, you all set to go?” a voice and hand on my shoulder bolted me out of my thoughts as I quickly turned to see Koth with one hand on the large bag hung over his shoulder and his other hand gently resting on his blaster. His demeanor was easier going and more humorous than I was used to. This coming from a member of the dark council who has a pirate, a very confused Jedi, a blood thirsty Kaleesh, a century old shadow killer and an artifact obsessed historian as her crew. After five years, I could only hope they were all doing well. “Hey, are you okay?”

Koth displayed a certain level of concern on his face which puzzled me. I was a master in many things regarding the force: persuasion techniques, lightning storms, corruption. However, I was a mere acolyte when it came to understanding people.

I was sold into slavery at 9-years-old by my parents. They sold me for money to buy spice, which I discovered years later, ended up killing them. After being sold into slavery, I started working the streets by stealing as much as I could to make money for my master. If I came back without enough, I was beaten. If I was caught, I was beaten. If I came back with too much and upstaged the other kids, I was beaten. Another slave, Kelin, was the only other person who I could remotely resemble as a friend. We shared our small portions of food with each other, tried to double on our blankets at night to keep each other warm and tried to come up with excuses to keep the other from trouble. When our master got Kelin killed, I tore him apart. The Sith who discovered the bloody aftermath explained that I couldn’t have stopped it even if I wanted to. The anger inside of me called upon the force that I hadn’t used since birth and caused the lightning that shot from my fingers to mangle him in two.

I was 17 when that Sith took me in to be his slave instead. He trained me enough to keep my power at bay so there was no chance I could split him in two as well. That lasted until I was 21. Someone on the council, who was never identified, had him killed. That’s when they sent me to Korriban to start my real training. That seems a millennium ago now. Receiving any form of genuine emotion leaves me with nothing but confusion. Even with my crew. I talked to Ashara often about many things. She’s the reason I started questioning the Sith and their code. Though I would never consider myself a Jedi, I’m not sure I could consider myself a Sith now either. Andronikos is probably the one person who could get me to actually smile, and that’s because there was no bullshit in our relationship. We drank, we talked about the past and played pazaak. That was it. He was never a touchy-feely person either which is why it worked. Then of course you have the other three in my company. Talos is a good man, but not much for personal conversations. Xalek and Khem, well… Koth is one of the only people I’ve spent time with who actually seems… normal? Other than…

“Of course. Where are we headed to?” I knew we needed parts for the ship, but I left the planning to Koth since he knows the Gravestone better than Lana or I.

“Right… well, I’m reading a lot of different signatures on the surface. Once we leave this beauty, I’ll have a better idea of what I’m looking at here.”

“Then the surface is where we shall go.” Koth gave a quick nod before following my lead off the Gravestone. Our boots echoed across the metal floor of the ship. Static and sporadic electrical trills sounded from the other rooms. She had a long way to go before she was ready to fly again. Once on the surface, Koth lead the way to where he thought the different parts would be. We ran into a few of the creatures lingering around the swampy area, but they were easily disposed of.

A crazy dream… what exactly did his message mean? Yes, Theron and I had a relationship of sort. I flirted, he flirted back. I kissed him, he kissed back. We fought and planned well together, but what did that all mean?

In the past I had slept with many men, but not with the notion that I would ever see them again after the deed was done. Theron was different. Of course, we hadn’t slept together, when would we have had time? While drowning in pirates on Rishi? While fighting off Revan on Yavin? During the destruction of Ziost? No. He was right. There was never a time to talk about what we were. I can’t say I never thought of it. I usually never gave a second thought for the men who frequently walked in and out of my life, but Theron kept coming back. Why did he keep coming back? Why would he be in my dreams?

“Hello… philosopher? Are you still alive in there? The carbonite didn’t fully damage your brain did it?” Koth’s voice brought me back to the task at hand again. As I looked at him I was once again faced with the same look of concern he gave on the Gravestone. Similar to the look Theron gave me before the fight on Yavin. The look he gave me when he found me on Ziost.

“Philosopher?” I questioned.  

“Ah! So, you are still alive! Good. Yeah, philosopher. I don’t know, you’ve had the same look stuck on your face since I picked you up on Zakuul. It’s like you’re constantly thinking about something. Philosophers constantly think about stuff don’t they?”

“In the simplest of definitions yes. They seek wisdom or enlightenment.”

“Well that definitely rules you out then,” I thought Koth’s cheeks would split open from the smirk that appeared on his face.

“Excuse me. Are you implying I am neither wise nor enlightened?”

“I’m just saying you’re currently running around, knee deep in force knows what, searching for ship parts to repair a century old ship that’s stuck in the ground with a guy you hardly know so we can go force knows where to save the galaxy from certain evil. Wise and enlightened are not words I would use in this situation.”

The laughter came out before I could stop it. Koth’s eyes widened as he stumbled back into a mud pile, quickly causing him to fall straight into a pond of murky jade water. His mouth dropped open as his arms held his blaster and half of the large bag over his head above the foot of water he was currently soaking in. My mouth shut as I tried to contain the laughter bouncing around in my chest. I efficiently called upon the force to lift him out of the water and place him on his two feet on dry land. I wrapped one arm across my chest and the other arm covered my mouth.

“I do apologize. I understand I am a grave force to be reckoned with, but I did not think a simple laugh could knock a man off his feet.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t expect a philosopher to laugh so we’re both a little shocked here.” Koth grabbed pinches of his pants as he shook as much of the water off as he could.

“Have you ever been in love, Koth?” I asked simply.

Koth stopped in his tracks and glanced at me in his bent over position. “Come again?”

“Have you ever been in love?”

Straightening up, he cleared his throat a bit before placing the bag at his feet and crossing his arms across his chest in a manner that stated he was more uncomfortable than defensive. He picked at his jacket a bit as he swayed slightly back and forth. Turning his head to the side and scrunching his eyebrows he responded, “Huh, I don’t think so. Looking back, I’ve always been too busy to ever think about it. Flying has kind of been my life for so many years, no one has ever been able to compare.” Nodding, I looked slightly to the ground, my thoughts back to the letter. Back to the idea of dreaming about Theron. “Uh, why do you ask? Is this some philosophical question?”

Looking back at him, I smirked before thinking about how I wanted to pose this predicament I was in. Explaining battle plans or possible tactical advantages was second nature to me now. I sometimes dream about different battle scenarios, but I’ve never given a thought about what it would mean to dream about a man. To dream about Theron. To want to.

“No. Just curiosity.”

“Curiosity… right.” Koth picked up the bag and dropped it across his shoulder again before looking at the scanner on his wrist to see if he could pick up any other parts nearby. “Well, out of curiosity, have you ever been in love?”

“That is what I am curious about.” I wasn’t quite sure why I was saying these things to Koth or why I even thought this should be a conversation to have now. I do know I lost five years in that prison. Five years of teaching Ashara and Xalek. Five years of drinks I could have had with Andronikos while playing Pazaak in the cockpit of our ship. Five years of stories from Talos. Five years of glorious victories with Khem. Five years… five years of figuring out what this is with Theron. I missed five years.

Kelin once told me I should smile more and open up to others. He said keeping everything to myself and never confiding in those around me would end up killing me. He said it would cause my deepest scars. Of course, he said this after he received his third beating that day, while I hand fed him his dinner in our cold pathetic excuse for living quarters. But more than his wounds, it worried him that I was too closed off. That I was going to live the rest of my life with words unsaid. Maybe that’s why I was opening up to Koth. Maybe I was finally too tired to carry these scars around alone.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Once Koth spoke again, he was right in front of me. His hand was gently touching the armor on my shoulder as he looked right at me, no more concern on his face. It was replaced with genuine interest and… friendship.

“Later.” I patted his arm twice before walking ahead of him to return to our original mission. He didn’t question nor pester. His steps fell right behind me as we walked quietly across the swamp floor once more. Right now, that was enough.  There would be time to talk about Theron. With luck, I would be able to talk to Theron again. For now, we need to find parts for this ship, get it in the sky, get an army and take Arcann off that throne.

“Koth?”

“Yeah philosopher?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For making me laugh.”

The footsteps stopped behind me.

“Anytime, Kyehna.”

From: Kyehna Subject: For when I see you again

I will be honest from the start and tell you I have written this message a thousand times. When Lana told me five years had passed, I panicked for the first time since I was a child. I did not know how to feel or what to think. Strangely, my first thoughts were of you. Logically, it should have been of my crew or the council. It should have been of the empire. No, instead, I had thoughts of you. They vanished quickly as I was then being chased by Arcann and his entire army, but that story has already been told. If it is not one tyrannical emperor, it is another.

Theron. I do hope you are well. I care for you more than I would dare admit, but you are right. We all have a role to play in this. Lana got me out and has been a vital adviser every step of the way. Koth is a brilliant pilot and strong voice for this cause. Senya has had information that could turn this war in our favor. Even HK has been shooting as many of our enemies down as possible. What I am trying to say is, whatever your role is in all of this, I understand. I can only hope that you come to me in one piece when you are done. Until then, I will wait for you.

I always will.

[keldae]

Drastic Measures (Chapter Nine)

Yep. This planet was miserably cold and wet, and Xaja still hated it. She hunched her shoulders under the borrowed black robes and followed her father out of the hangar to the speeder station. She was thankful for the double dosage of stims given her by both Doc and Dr. Lokin before leaving the ship, keeping the poisoning symptoms at bay. Behind her, she could hear Doc and Theron as they walked in something vaguely approaching unison, their armoured footsteps enough to drown out Dr. Lokin’s footfalls behind them. Somehow, the knowledge that she couldn’t speak to her father or friends, or that her father wouldn’t risk their lives by breaking character to give her any sort of reassurance, made her feel even more small and afraid. Reanden’s last direction had been to not say or do anything without his lead until they were safe within the Citadel and in her brother’s company — there were eyes and ears everywhere, not all of which reported to him. “Acina and Vowrawn have their own spies in the city, not to mention people taking credits from Zakuul or… certain individuals in the Republic. Assume everyone’s directly reporting to either Saresh or Arcann.”

“Even the droids?”

“Especially the droids.”

Xaja kept that in mind as she boarded the speeder taxi to the Citadel. The pilot droid gave all of its passengers a cursory look, but didn’t voice any questions, merely accepted her father’s orders. This wasn’t her dad talking though: this was the Sith Intelligence Commander, his voice cold and emotionless as any Imperial spy might have been expected to sound. If she hadn’t known her dad to be caring and gentle and protective behind closed doors, she would have been intimidated by him. She still felt a shudder down her back, as it was. Little wonder Cipher Nine is still feared in the Republic — and across a good bit of the Empire. Even Acina’s still letting him do whatever he wants. Does she fear him, too?

The taxi wound through Kaas City, landing on the pad before the Sith Sanctum. Glancing to the right, Xaja could see the entrance pad for what her father had informed her was Intelligence’s headquarters; to the left, the nearly-deserted Mandalorian Enclave. Most of the bounty hunters in the service of the Empire had been recalled by Mand’alor the Avenger, the newest leader of their people. The few remaining were either token representatives, or not Mandalorians at all. Either way, it certainly was not somewhere that Xaja wanted to visit.

Of course, the kriffing Sith Sanctum wasn’t somewhere she wanted to be either. But it really was their best option right now, between the element of surprise and the hope that her brother could protect her, Theron, and Doc. She didn’t need to be a spy like her father to know that if she showed fear now, all five of them were probably going to die as their covers were blown. The arrogant Sith Lord walk isn’t too different from a Jedi’s stride. Just act like you own the place. You’ve spent enough time around Scourge. Just mimic how he stood and walked… but, y’know, shorter. She fell into step behind her father as he started walking in, sensing Theron, Doc, and Lokin retaking their positions behind her. To anyone observing, they hopefully would look like an escort for a Sith visitor for Darth Imperius — and if the Commander of Sith Intelligence was walking with them, who was going to question it?

“Ahhh, Commander.” Okay, apparently someone was going to question it. “Finally had your fill of gallivanting around the galaxy, hmm?”

“Are you now trying to keep track of my schedule, Lorman?” Her father sounded like he was trying to sound polite, while keeping himself from strangling this newcomer. “I’m flattered that you’re following me, really.”

“It’s Minister Lorman!” Xaja raised an eyebrow under her hood at the furious sputter from this Lorman. “Is that really so difficult to remember, Commander?”

“My pardon. My mind gets so consumed with things of importance like the security of the Empire and doing my job… oh, and remembering what groceries I need to pick up on my way home.”

More angry sputtering. “Why I -- the nerve -- Empress Acina will hear of this!”

“Yes, I’m sure she will. Doesn’t the Empress have a pair of boots for you to lick, Lorman? If you’ll excuse me…”

“It’s Minister Lorman! Minister!”

“Yes, you’ve said. Move. I need to speak with Darth Imperius immediately.”

“Darth Imperius is otherwise occupied at the moment,” Lorman said through gritted teeth. “If you’ll pass along your message to me I’ll make sure it gets to him—”

“The only message I have for you, Lorman, is one that isn’t repeatable in polite company. The important message is for Imperius’ ears only. Unless you’ve been hired on as his new secretary? If I’d known he was looking for one, I’d have offered him a protocol droid.”

Lorman sounded too angry to speak for a moment, and Xaja almost grinned under the hood. Only the reminder that her lips were still visible kept her expression still. “Your position does not make you invincible, Commander! I am the Minister of Logistics! I still outrank you!”

“And I know your HoloNet passwords, the names of your pets, and where you sleep. By the way, your taste in music is terrible.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“You’re asking that of the man escorting Imperius’ newest apprentice?” Reanden’s feet shifted in front of Xaja’s vision as he seemed to move closer to Lorman. “… How did your brain learn human speech, Lorman? I’m just so curious.” Xaja felt a tug in her mind from the little knot that felt like Theron, warm and bright and comforting — it felt like he was desperately trying to not laugh.

“It’s Minister!”

“I would have named my childhood neighbour’s cousin’s pet gizka as a minister instead of you. Acina really must be desperate.”

“You -- ! You would compare me to a gizka?!”

“… No, you’re right. The poor gizka deserved better.” Xaja wanted to laugh at how much her father was taunting this so-called minister. She could feel Theron’s grin under his helmet through their bond.

“You insolent -- ! You would insult me like this in front of a Sith?!”

“Acolyte Xalia seems quite amused by this. If she wasn’t, you would probably already be dead or wishing you were.” Xaja could almost hear the smug smile in her father’s voice. “Bit of a psychopath, this one. Doesn’t talk a lot, although she doesn’t really need to, as far as I’ve seen. I think she comes from a group of cannibals.”

Dammit, Dad, you’re having far too much fun with this.

“… So, he picks ex-Jedi and aliens for his apprentices, and now… cannibals?” Lorman sounded a little bit squeamish. The tug that was Theron fairly vibrated with his amusement.

“I value my life enough to know not to question his choices in apprentices. I’d be careful though, Lorman. This one’s also got the patience of a Jawa on stimcaf and…” Reanden turned, and Xaja wasn’t sure if the sudden shift to his voice was supposed to be nervousness or suppressed laughter. “… Doctor Lokin, do you remember the last time she ate anything?…”

“About four hours ago, sir. She, uhh… might be getting hungry again --”

Xaja couldn’t resist. She turned her hooded head in the direction of Lorman’s voice and gave him what could be best described as a maniacal grin, knowing her mouth was still visible, and was rewarded with a stifled yelp of terror. Even her father shuddered. “Oh, bloody hell, not right now, Acolyte, please don’t make me have to file more paperwork…” he muttered under his breath, just loudly enough to be audible.

“She’s mad, Commander! And Imperius must be insane if he’s picked this one as his newest apprentice!”

“Like I said, I don’t question Darth-kriffing-Imperius. I’m just grateful he gave me the warning to keep her under armed guard. Any more questions before she completely runs out of patience and I have to pay to have you cleaned out of my uniform?”

“… As you were, Commander.” Xaja heard what sounded like boots scrambling for purchase on the smooth floor as Lorman beat a hasty retreat.

“Thank you, Lorman. Come along, Acolyte, and please remember your master said to not eat these guards, or me…”

“It’s Minis --!” Xaja turned her head in the direction of Lorman’s voice and emitted a tiny hiss around her grin, and heard him yelp as he ran. She heard something that sounded like Doc trying not to choke on his own laughter behind his helmet and felt Theron’s amusement through their bond — if he hadn’t been undercover, he probably would have been on the ground laughing.

Reanden led the group to one of the turbolifts down a corridor and, once everyone was on board, entered the command for the lift to rise a few storeys. A few moments later, the turbolift opened on the destination floor, and Xaja could never figure out how her father mastered the stride of someone acting like he was hustling out of a confined space with a questionably-sane Sith without looking like he was trying to escape. She followed with an almost lazy stride, and Theron, Doc, and Lokin all exited after her. This area of the Citadel had been decorated with a much more luxurious hand: Red banners adorned the walls, proudly displaying the Sith Empire’s crest; echoes bounced around the corridor as their footsteps sounded on the black marble floor. She shouldn’t have been surprised her father knew his way; he lead them down the hallway, around a corner, and through a door without bothering to knock.

The Kaleesh standing in the atrium turned and inclined his head minutely. “Commander,” he said in a deep voice, his words clipped and sort. “You have returned sooner than expected.”

“There were… developments that required an in-person report sooner than later,” Reanden answered. “Is your master in, Xalek?”

The alien Sith glanced toward the closed door leading deeper into the chambers. “He, and the ambassador from Zakuul. They have been speaking for some time.” He paused. “My master’s patience is growing thin.”

“Yes, well I don’t blame him,” Reanden growled quietly. “That moron has got the worst timing.”

“Yes. Any timing.”

“Ha! I knew you had a sense of humour in there.”

“My master is training me well—” Xalek looked sharply at the door as Xaja raised her head slightly, sensing a burst of frustration. “And another lesson.”

“And what lesson is that today?” Reanden asked. “How to diplomatically tell someone where to go and how to get there, and what they can do with a rusty hydrospanner and an angry kath hound on the way?” Xaja could feel Theron and Doc both wincing behind her.

“That was last week.” Xalek looked back at the spy, then at the door again. “Today it may be how to verbally skin someone alive.”

“… I’ve never wished for Minister Beniko to be around as I do right now.”

Xalek didn’t get a chance to respond, as the door slid open with perhaps a bit more emphasis than was strictly necessary. A golden-armoured figure stormed out of the inner chamber, radiating fury. Xaja sensed Theron tensing behind her as he recognized the Zakuulan armour. “You will reconsider this, Imperius!”

“They are Republic assets, not Imperial. What interest should I have in this?” Xaja nearly cried when she heard her baby brother’s voice. He’d definitely embraced the Sith persona, his voice low and arrogant and all but dripping in anger. Darth Imperius had come into his own. “This is Zakuul’s mess, Exarch. Surely you can sort out your own problems with the Republic. Three people can’t be that difficult to find.”

“The terrorist and the assassin, and their accomplice on Rishi, have vanished. You must deploy your agents to find them!”

“It’s hardly my fault if your agents are so inept as to lose three people, one of them a bloody Jedi. You still can’t have any of mine.”

“Your insolence is noted!”

“As is your idiocy. Do you honestly think that I am going to divert Imperial resources to hunting three of your problems?” Imperius rolled his eyes as the Exarch opened her mouth. “If my agents happen to come across anything, I will inform you with all due haste. But I am not retasking my people to fix your damn problem.”

The Exarch stayed quiet, breathing through clenched teeth. “Izax damn you,” she finally hissed. “Fine. We will be waiting for your intelligence reports. If your agents are half as good as you claim, they will find something useful soon.”

“Of course,” Imperius said through gritted teeth. His molten eyes glanced over at Reanden, then at his escorting company. Xaja didn’t feel any sudden jolt of recognition from her brother, even when his brief mental probe touched her mind with a soft brush. “If the Jedi and her accomplices are foolish enough to show up in Imperial space, on my bloody doorstep even, I’ll deliver the news to you myself. But might I add they are Republic assets, all of whom seem to have enough survival instincts to avoid my people’s territory.”

“I am aware they are not Imperial,” growled the Exarch as she turned to stalk out of the room. “Consider this, Imperius: if they can attack my people like this, what’s to stop them from going after yours? Are they still not your problem?”

“If your Emperor wants them that badly, he’ll find them before they’re a threat to my people.” Imperius smirked coldly. “And my people can defend themselves against a mere terrorist. Are yours so weak?”

“You play a dangerous game, Sith. I will be waiting.” The Exarch finally stormed out and shut the door emphatically behind her. For a few seconds, nobody moved or spoke.

Reanden finally shook his head and sighed. “I’m so glad she was too mad to remember what my job is. Good job not actually frying her, kid.” Xaja glanced sharply at Xalek as the Kaleesh relaxed against the wall. Right, her brother’s apprentice had already known about her after Ziost -- it was only reasonable that he would know about his master’s father by now.

“Mum’s influence is still lurking, all those years later,” Imperius said as he seemed to deflate with relief. The voice changed — this was Sorand Taerich talking now. “This isn’t… it can’t actually be… Xaja?”

It was clearly safe now. And Sorand had recognized her Force-signature after all. Xaja pushed her hood back and watched her brother’s eyes bulge, amber fading to dark brown like their father’s… then his mouth turned upward in a delighted smile, and a second later she was being hugged tightly enough to be lifted off her feet by her much-taller sibling. “Oh, kriffing hell, you Jedi pain in the ass, I thought you were dead! And you come back by pissing off Zakuul?!”

“You should know I don’t do anything without causing a commotion! I wasn’t about to leave you alone in the galaxy without me to pester you, little brother.” Xaja laughed as she clung to her brother’s shoulders, so grateful to have at least one of her siblings alive and well. She glanced over when she heard the sounds of Theron and Doc removing their helmets and felt Sorand’s Force-presence stutter in surprise. “Uhh… this isn’t going to be a problem, is it…?”

Sorand looked back and forth between the fugitives for a second, then grinned and shook his head. “Not in the least. Oh, the Exarch is going to be livid if she realizes you’re under her nose like this and I conveniently forget to tell her… Xalek?”

“I have seen nothing, Master. The Intelligence Commander merely had a new report for you. The fugitives were never in Imperial Space.” The Kaleesh almost sounded innocent.

“Excellent, apprentice.” Sorand looked back over at his father. “Uhh, what is their cover story here, Dad? I figure Theron and… Doctor Kimble, wasn’t it?… are nameless soldiers in here…”

“Oh, yes. This is your new apprentice, son. She’s a psychopath that may or may not have been affiliated with the Red Hulls — y’know, cannibal and all. Probably crazy enough to scare even your uncle if he’d ever met her.”

“A cannibal? Really?” Sorand sighed, then looked at Xaja. “Did Dad actually call you a cannibal psychopath to give you a cover here?”

Xaja just gave her little brother the same grin she’d shot at Lorman. “Rawr. I ate the competition on Korriban. Or something. Fear me.”

“… I’m having flashbacks to Rishi.” Sorand groaned and looked up at the ceiling. “Dad’s created a monster.”

“My finest work yet.” Reanden leaned against the wall for a moment and smirked. “Lorman’s scared shitless of her.”

Sorand burst out laughing, the sound lighter and easier than one might have expected of one of the Dark Council. “Please tell me you got holos, Dad. I want details!”

“I’ll tell you the full story. But you might want to sit down — we’re going to be here a while, son.” Reanden started walking back into the inner sanctum, sobering. “And for obvious reasons, this is top security.”

“Of course. Shall I summon Talos so we don’t have to explain this multiple times? I believe Mako’s around while Shara’s in a meeting in the Enclave.”

“Mako’s here? Excellent, get her in here — we could use a genius little slicer like her. If you trust Talos to stay silent, we’ll brief him too. Shara obviously will need to know about this — any idea when she’ll be out of that meeting?”

“She’s busy kicking the collective asses of one of the hunters’ guilds, so Force only knows how long that will take…”

Xaja did try to focus on the conversation between her dad and her brother, right up until the point that the headache resurged in her head, painfully enough to make her wince. She didn’t even have to be moving for her balance to suddenly give out, and if Sorand hadn’t still been hugging her, she likely would have wound up in a heap on the floor. As it was, the young Sith squawked in alarm as she sagged with a strangled moan. “The hell?!” he exclaimed. “What’s wrong? Just being on Dromund Kaas shouldn’t be hurting you like this, no matter how much of a Jedi you are!”

Xaja wanted to answer, but couldn’t seem to focus enough on coordinating her mouth and lungs and vocal cords all at once to speak — it was enough effort to not completely collapse, even with Sorand practically holding her up until Theron had lunged forward to grab her by the waist and her father came running back. She could only count herself very, very fortunate that the stims hadn’t worn off sooner.

“And that’s a big part of why we’re here and not hiding on Tatooine or Hoth,” Theron finally said as Sorand looked up at him while Lokin hurried around them to get to Xaja’s side, syringes of drugs already coming out of his satchel. “She’s been carbonite poisoned by the Zaks, and it’s bad.”

Sorand’s eyes widened in shock — Xaja felt dismay and fear pulse off of him for a second. He apparently already knew what that meant. “... Shit.”

[patiusstories]

The Ascension of Darth Nox: The Final Step

The first story of the blog!

In tribute to our fallen Space Mom, Carrie Fisher, and my long desire, I give you a piece to my long unfinished story of the Sith Inquisitor, Lord Kallig II from Star Wars: The Old Republic with some personal touches.

I love that somehow my fanfic is somehow still one of the top in the google too.

Kallig stepped through the hall into the Dark Council’s very chambers. He could fill the oozing presence of the Dark Side here, whilst Korriban remind as the ancient heart of known Sith power, this place was a place of sickeningly sweet nexus. The Sith Lord, prepared under his spell-dipped wraps and armored robes, strout in projecting pride. The chase was coming to its climax, he could feel the Dark Side rippling at this revelation. His prey was cornered and now begged to his greaters in hopes of survival.

Lord Kallig had no intention of breaking ‘tradition’.

Of course, one last obstacle stood in his way. Two humanoids took the corner, a Kiffar and two shrouded fool.

“Stop right there. Surrender your weapons.”

The very notion was amusing that the Sith Lord almost laughed if he wasn’t intent and the demand almost seemed genuine on the others’ end. “Very well, Xalek give them your weapon.”

The two blinked, but the third moved in a sudden knowledge. More than enough for Kallig to suddenly yank them both on invisible nooses of telekinetic power. The distraction of pain and death licking their jugular brought a pleasure to his psyche, while Xalek whirled his saberstaff and bisect them both in one clean swoop before engaging the third as he drawn his twin blades.

The two traded swift blows, the narrow space seemed to limited the Kaleesh Sith’s mobility but he was trained right. The Rancor’s Tusk didn’t have the perfect training space and Kallig made sure he taught his assassin in such situations. The marauder whipped his blades in deliberate movements familiar of typical Sith Juyo, Xalek countered with using the attacks’ momentum to keep his own staff’s blades whirling until his Force-augmented perception for the open window. The second they looked into stalemate, the Kaleesh turned off his primary blade and let the human fall on the other in a reverse-grip. A gasp of shock gaped from the man’s face, eyes meeting the cold reptilian’s before expiring and Xalek tossed the body aside.

“Very good, my apprentice.” The Inquisitor hummed, letting their parts fall without even a glance of consideration.  “Yes, Master.” His Kaleesh clicked with his reptilian lack of emotion, the two making their round and a wave opened the door to their triumph.

“My Lords, his master was corrupt. He is corrupt. Without Sith tradition, we are nothing.” That insufferable voice pleaded, the opening threshold showing a grand room with an open floor where the pacing elder paced before a circle of tall thrones. Many noticeably vacant but few, eyes traced to the newcomer. Kallig felt his repressed slave indoctrination trying to surface, but as always, the wise words of Spindall strived him through. Appearing without word nor threat to their power, but his quiet rage pointed to Thanaton as he stepped through.

And one of the Councilor, the one that Kallig immediately recognized as the feared Darth Marr, answered with drained annoyance as if this wasn’t the first time that someone begged at their feet. “And what are you suggesting we do about it?” His voice oozed impatience through his legendary mask.

“You know what the situation requires. Order must be preserved.” Thanaton says, folding his arms back and keeping confident that his favor would win out. “Punishment meted out. If we are to conquer our enemies, Zash’s former apprentice must die.”

Enough.

“He abandoned the arena for the Kaggath when he abandoned Corellia.” Kallig said with his dried voice, stepping into their final battlefield. “He is mine to kill.”

“We are well aware of  the rules of Kaggath.” A genuinely-aged Prime Judge of the Sith Empire,  Darth Mortis, said matter-of-factly, only to be undermined by the brass voice of Darth Ravage, the cybernetic-augmented Sith Juggernaut that led the Expansion and Diplomatic Sphere, spoke immediately, “The Kaggath is a playground game. Murder has no rules.”

The two rivals met eye-to-eye, their intention of the other’s downfall fed like an eye of a built tempest until Darth Ravage’s afront brought Thanaton to confront without pause. “The Kaggath is an honored tradition of the Sith. Tulak Hord competed. Marka Sadow! Ludo Kress!”

Finally, Marr asked the question that all were interested to hear, “The question still stands: why has the apprentice, this child, proved impossible for you to kill?” To that Kallig had the honored timing to answer, “Because Thanaton is weak. He has grown complacent in his power and hide behind ancient tradition to serve himself.”

“Y-you dare…!” The elder sorcerer hissed in venom, as he turned with a glowing glare of his sulfuric eyes. Behind, Ravage wiggled in his seat with murderous impatience ill-fitting of one in his ironic sphere of power, “If you do not silence Thanaton, then I will!”

Peace is a lie, There is only Passion.

Thanaton had tasted the last of his patience, approaching Kallig with his halved lightsaber drawn and his rival doing similar. This time without a salute of respect. “I will not be betrayed and I will not die. When I’m done with this slave, you will all answer for it.”

Their lightsabers blazed their bloodthirsty red and met a second time.

This time, the battling Sith knew each other’s tactics to a degree. Their footwork bound them into a fatal dance and two breeds of rage boiled into their attacks. Thanaton unleashed it with a controlled wave of aggression, frustration made into form and his connection to the Dark Side seething at the skin. His work to the Sith combat arts unquestionable, enough to push Kallig back while the former slave worked into the battle.

His mind wrapped into a constant tempest between control of the less subtle spirits and the battle itself while his body almost seemed to move on it's own. Using the Jedi forms recognized as Shien and Soresu to redirect and defend himself in a passive hurricane of crimson that met each of Thanaton’s strikes without thought. Almost as if someone was handling his body for him.

A crest of burning scarlet flashed between the two in a deadlock. The Dark Councilman was baring his teeth in strain to push the younger man back, but there was an unknown strength returning back. Their Force energies quake the air around them. “How...how are you this strong, child?” He growled, eyes glaring into the dark sockets of the ancient mask. Just the barest light of the younger duelist’s violet irises gleamed back.

“I am a slave, remember. We...always find a way.” Kallig growls quietly before a monstrous strength thrown Thanaton back enough to make the man stumble in surprised shock. “You will know my venom.”

Lifting a hand as electricity of bejeweled amethyst crackled between his armored fingers, Kallig the Second blasted a concentrated barrage that Thanaton barely caught in time with his own. The rivaling blasts condensed and forged a rippling ball of dueling energies between the arcs, pushing to outdo the other. However, the power of his senior was telling. Even at its previous disadvantage, Darth Thanaton urged himself forward.  

The Dark Side fueled them both here, it is difficult to know who had more power with the surrounding Darths adding to it.

Through Passion, I gain Strength.

This is a thrill that Kallig could actually feed on and he marked with his outlet. Their centering sphere grew more and more unstable until their hands were just barely pushing against it with containment of telekinesis and raw power. The council looked on amazement and expectation until it finally ruptured into a devastating explosion that threw both combatants back. The waves of dark energies flew but kept back by the collective force of the Council.

Slamming on the ground with a low grunt, the younger Sith Lord slid before catching himself with a continued momentum that had him on his knee and clawed fingers of his free hand. Thanaton was slower, shaking off the experience with a shuddered form. Feeling his rival’s eyes on him already, the Dark Councilor lunged himself in a rush of augmented speed and Kallig met him in full for a second bout of blades.

Each tried to destroy the other with crackles of electricity and use of a force shield when their mark was almost met. Forms were interchangeable, the passion of Juyo danced their bodies until the naked eyes made them appear like a savage blur of black and crimson. The air rippled in the exploited Darkness until a yelp of pain sounded everyone’s ears.

Staggering back, Thanaton whipped his lightsaber while Kallig withdrew and hurled his senior with a use of contained power. Thrown off his feet, the Dark Lord rolled once before stopping himself by his fingertips. “No. I won’t be defeated…” He huffed in a ragged voice, disbelief evident in his eyes as the younger man prowled. He could feel the impatient glee burning under that calm, hiding attire. The sheer impudence of it all. “I-I can’t be!”

Wounded along his ribs, feeling the familiar sting of a lightsaber’s wound cooling from seared flesh. The battle winded him more than their battle on Corellia, how can this be?! However, this child didn’t show a sign of fatigue nor restraint. Even drew his lightsaber in a believed victory!

Rage boiled through the Dark Lord, hurling bolt after bolt at the upstart. Only to watch them being swatted aside like an acolyte’s poor attempt and unconsciously, Thanaton stepped back in dawning panic. Did he get bigger? The shadow this slave possess almost seemed to swallow over him. Those empty sockets in that accursed mask stare from Oblivion.

No. Thanaton found himself staring at himself through this slave. He has been doing this for so long, he almost forgot what it was like. To overpower a greater opponent. To take all of his triumphs and celebration for your own. He couldn’t allow this. Gathering all of his fury, desperation, and dark knowledge, the Dark Lord heaved his hands into the air. Malicious crackles of intense energies boiled between his palms and fingers. Even then, Kallig showed no fear in his enclosing.  Blasting the delinquent with one savage bolt, it put the younger human into a jolted halt. An instinctive reaction to deflect it was denied this time as the coursing energy boiled over his clothes.

The stench of it filling in the room. Smiling at this, the renewed pride urged Thanaton to slam all of his power down upon this upstart’s head as if Korriban itself was going to put this lesser in his place. The Dark Side rained bolt after bolt down upon Kallig, rolling a whirlwind of telekinesis and pulled debris of a not-so-recent battle that still scarred the floors. The roaring magic drowned out his groans and hisses of pain. Nearby, Xalek stiffened up from his constant prowling. Eyes wide in shock at this power, no one could survive the onslaught placed upon his Master and Father.

No one of lesser merit.

When the last of Thanaton’s power launched into Kallig’s fluttering form, he finally withdrew with absolute victory burning in his bewitched eyes. The Council watched in suspense and grand intrigue, especially when the would-be Sith Lord stepped from the wreckage with scorched attire and melted armor, oozing with unnatural power. What they could not see, Thanaton saw; the burning of those eyes, the eldritch smoke of otherworldly gain. The figures of four peering through, dressed in ancient robes and lordly presence. All gleamed in sadistic satisfaction to the horror upon Kallig’s cornered prey’s face.

Quickly, the Dark Lord drew upon his drained reserves but this time, the rivaling Sorcerer thrusted his hand out with a nearly visible whirling fist slamming Thanaton clear off his feet into a rattling crash to the far wall. Limbs were unable to pry from the wall in the sheer force until it all coiled around his throat like a python. The last rasp of his pounded lungs barely gasped out, eyes bulged at his inability to push it off. No one could imagine the sheer joy and grandeur that Kallig felt in defeating and humiliating his once-superior and respected enemy like this, infront of his peers.

Releasing Thanaton, the Sith Lord allowed him to catch his breath and instantly saw that the Councilor pulled a boil of his Dark Rage to lunge with a redrawn saber. Kallig seemed almost caught by it until a ruperous wall of telekinesis halted the maddened Lord of Ancient Knowledge. Their eyes meeting and one completely indulging in the sweet nectar, a wavering hand tightened its curled claws as it forced Thanaton to release his weapon with a merciless twist of the wrist, pulling off balance in a still shuddering contest of strength - both will and physical. With another hand, Kallig made sure to make the final act to this great theater of climaxing combat.

He made Thanaton kneel before him.

Through Power, I gain victory.

Kallig let the bitter taste of utter defeat and humiliation etch into Thanaton’s soul before finishing their battle with one savage bolt of dark energy. Purged back in the force, the defeated Dark Lord crawled in agony and scorched flesh. Eyes blinded in the attack, sight was hazy to the point he almost didn’t sense his former comrades around him.

Former betters. Former equals. Now once, stood over him in continued power.

“I am sorry, Thanaton.” The genuine sympathy of Darth Mortis sighed. Then in an act of mercy, the Grand Judge of the Sith Empire snapped the fallen man’s neck with a jerk of the Force. A passing moment of respect was quickly soured by Ravage growling dismissively, “Good riddance to him…”

“He was a better Sith than you gave him credit for.” Marr says in a somewhat breath of passing memory, as if seeing Thanaton again. Young and vibrant, an assassin turned lord. “We can only hope his successor is as worthy.” Mortis noted, approaching Kallig while he took a moment to enjoy the pure ecstasy of victory.  The much older man took one glancing look over before presenting Thanaton’s former seat, “My lord, your seat.”

What was pleasured lull became a shock of revelation that made the slavish reaction come out before he could halt it. “M-my lords...I’m truly honored. I did not expect this.” He whispered in awe and slight bow to his seniors, with Marr retorting in a ghost of amusement. “You just killed a Dark Council member in fair combat. What did you expect?” Only to have his moment interrupted by the quickly familiarizing foolery that is Ravage. “But he’s only  a Lord!” He interjected, quickly stepping in between the two and making an unseen error to have his caped back to Kallig. The temptation was great to put his saber through it. However, his possible fate was saved by a bark from Darth Marr.

“Quiet, Ravage!” He commanded in the absolution of senior authority, stepping in and calmed his tone to a warning growl that put Darth Ravage to a defeated silence, “He have earned his place.” With that matter, the council gathered in full - excluding the holographic representations to those sitting across the galaxy in their war between the many fronts and affairs - before Marr approaching their newest addition.

“By order of the Dark Council and in light of your reputation as a master of the dark side, you are now Darth Nox.”

The overwhelming sensations that beaten in Kallig were truly one to feel upon. It boiled at his flesh and threaten to rupture whatever sickly sweet dream that he has unwittingly found himself. From a lowsome slave, he has clawed and fought and died - multiple times - to this greatest of honours in the Sith Empire. To stand among the greatest of their indomitable Empire as a Dark Lord of the Sith.  This was beyond anything of his expectations, but it has been his Destiny.

Taking his seat, the renewed Darth Nox sat upon his throne with a natural elegance that shed away his lesser life. He almost didn’t hear Marr continuing as they assembled in their rightful thrones.

“You are head of the pyramid of ancient knowledge. You are charged with keeping the mystical knowledge of the Sith and guarding the secrets of our order. With us, you are ruler of all the Sith, answerable only to the Emperor himself.”

“I will do my best to live up to my new position.” Nox said, a vow that he intended to keep. No one will elevate over him. His deadliness was verbally, and rightfully, noted by Ravage with his words seeping suspicion. “Never trust the humble ones.”

Good, he knows.

“Our business here is complete.” Darth Mortis interjected, his corrupted eyes falling on Darth Nox, “You would do well to meet with your followers on Dromund Kaas and ensure their loyalty.” The thought almost had Kallig glance at Xalek standing at his left side. Silent and obedient, almost seemed unaffected by the great powers sitting in their very presence. He lived only to kill and elevate. A true servant of a Dark Lord, even if he may surpass one day. If not, the Sith Lord actually be very disappointed.

“We will summon you the next time the Dark Council congregates.” “Very well, Darth Mortis.” Nox says with a respectful bow of his head, looking to Xalek openly. “Come, my apprentice.  We have much work to do…”

“Yes, Father.”

My Chains are broken, The Force shall free me.

[pastel-kaleesh]

Hope we'll get kaleesh in the Acolyte