Exile .9 and .10

.9 A loose circle formed around him and his combatant, Ikeeriot couldn’t help but feeling the probing eyes on him. Twenty Jedi under the new class name of Wraith were now in his Outcaste. Having been weeks since their first time back on Xolatis, Ikeeriot consistently found new loopholes in his relationship with Valecka to let him able to get out of one day of training with her a week. Valecka had opted to wait another week and take him on as an apprentice in secret but he had suggested that it might be better to tell her former master, Lord Darchind about it. "Why should I tell him now?" Valecka had said. Ikeeriot shook his head calmly, which in retrospect was not the way a Sith initiate should have been acting, but Valecka never noticed. "Honesty is better among a brotherhood. It’s the reason I left the order—they kept too many things secret," he had said. With that, Valecka had swayed just that little bit. Ikeeriot couldn’t help but think he had a little sway with her because of the circumstances they’d met under. That was then, this was, snap-hiss, Ikeeriot’s lightsaber flashed to life as his opponent rushed in. "Be careful now," he said, stepping to the side, leaving his leg out to trip the younger Wraith. This young man was only sixteen, two years younger then Ikeeriot and Anduil, however, the two leaders of the Outcaste commanded a great deal of respect from the other members, having done what no others in the Jedi Order dared: create their own sect and embrace more aggressive Force techniques. "You need to be more aware of your physical strength before you start using more aggressive Force powers. I will not condone," he flipped up his lightsaber and beckoned the Wraith with it, "not condone the usage of Force Lightning unless you exercise daily and follow a healthy meditation regimen. This isn’t the Order, but we’re not going to run wanton around Xolatis with our powers in full blast—make no mistake, there are Sith all around here and they will kill you without a moment’s hesitation." The Wraith facing him jumped into a cartwheel toward him and jabbed his lightsaber at Ikeeriot’s chest. Ikeeriot flicked his white lightsaber against the Wraith’s blue blade and the lightsaber tumbled out of the young man’s hand, hitting the ground with a rustle. Ikeeriot tripped the young man, who was still halfway into his cartwheel. "No more for now. You need to practice with those on your level," Ikeeriot said gently, helping the young man up. He patted him on the shoulder. "You’ll be fine. Follow the regimen Narsayl sets up for you," Narsayl cast Ikeeriot a surprised glower at him at this, "He’ll set you up. Anyone else?" Ikeeriot asked, turning his head to regard the rest of the circle. Anduil Siron clapped his hand once and the group began to disperse. Sha’dowa the Noghri and Toba and Barabel gave careful nods toward Ikeeriot and left with the rest, leaving Narsayl, Anduil and someone Ikeeriot didn’t recognize, alone. "Notify me next time you’re going to institute something like that, will you?" Narsayl started. Ikeeriot frowned but nodded. "What are we so busy with that we can follow a simple exercise regimen?" "We’re just starting out on Xolatis, Ikeeriot." Narsayl said, sighing. "We need to make connections here now or we might never get the connections we need to proceed with the political battles that are going to take place." Ikeeriot rolled his eyes openly. "You leave that political stuff between you and Anduil," he looked at Anduil, who was smiling. Then he looked to their apparent visitor and bowed slightly. "Who’s our visitor?" The man, a good deal older then them all with graying hair and traceable wrinkles here and there, extended a hand. "Gallar Xyan. I’m here to help with building some kind of base." Ikeeriot gave the man a thoughtful once over and smiled. Spies might be everywhere on Xolatis, but if one had discovered the Canyon Oasis that Ikeeriot had selected as their new base of operations, then they would have already reported back to Lord Darchind and the whole thing would have been over. No, this isn’t a spy, the Force told him. Ikeeriot looked around and nodded back to Gallar. "Were you a Jedi, or an architect?" "A Jedi but I had a deep interest in old Jedi ruins dating back to—." Gallar started. He cut himself off. "If you don’t need my help, then I’ll be happy to leave." He started to turn to walk away. "No, no." Ikeeriot said. "I’m sorry, we’re all a bit . .paranoid these days. Too many things to worry about in too little a space, I think." Ikeeriot felt a pang of memory in one of his old Master’s sayings. "We could use someone to construct us a base, although I’m not sure if it will be permanent." Gallar turned with to regard Ikeeriot with a wry smile. "Practice makes perfect." "That it does." Ikeeriot nodded. "Anduil, you want to take him for a look-see around our little oasis?" Anduil nodded down the slope towards the pool of water at Gallar and the aged Jedi complied by walking in the direction. Ikeeriot gave Anduil back Alec Uban’s white lightsaber and started back into the jungle. "I have to be getting back now. I know Valecka checks the holo-logs and I should already be back to my place." Narsayl nodded to the lightsaber handed to Anduil. "She keeping you on a short leash?" With a sarcastic smile Ikeeriot nodded and chuckled. "You could say that." "Be careful." Narsayl remarked. "Oh, why Narsayl, just because you said so, I will." Ikeeriot said with a roll of the eyes. His face became more serious for just a moment before turning back into the jungle. "May the Force be with you." "And you, Iker." Narsayl said. Anduil nodded to his friend, silent as he was when he was thinking about something. "Anduil?" Narsayl asked him after Ikeeriot had gone. Narsayl whistled and waved a hand in front of Siron’s face. "You there, buddy?" Anduil shook his head and the daze came off of him. "I’m fine." Short leash, he thought about the saying and filed it away in his head. Something is wrong there, he thought. "Just what I’m afraid of," he mumbled. He walked slowly down the slope to meet up with Gallar. The crimson blades crossed and the force of the swipe sent toward Ikeeriot by his Sith Master, Valecka sent him reeling backward. Ikeeriot began to bring his red training lightsaber up to guard but saw the small annoyance on Valecka, so he replied with a swift strike at her legs, making her jump over his blade and take a stab at his shoulder, which he easily ducked under and then elbowed her in her back. She grunted but lifted her hand out in the air and threw an invisible wall of the Force at Ikeeriot which sent him into the air. With a crack, Ikeeriot hit the wall of the courtyard and dropped to the ground. He felt the individual blades of grass sticking out of the cracked walkway sticking into his bearded cheek and just as Valecka thrust her lightsaber toward his neck he brought up his own and parried the move. He kicked the legs out from under her, flooring her in a blurry move of his muscular leg. Her back cracked against the ground and he smiled, kneeling over her and holding his red blade inches from her face. "Good." She breathed. There was a hint of that look of recognition in her eyes that Ikeeriot had washed from her head all those nights ago on Tatooine, but this was a shrewder, plainer version of it. She didn’t recognize him, she recognized the power inside him. A slow clapping came from behind them as Ikeeriot shut off his lightsaber and a chill went down his spine. Still kneeling over Valecka’s stomach, he clipped the lightsaber to his belt and stood up, wiping his brow free of sweat. He gave her a hand but she declined, thoroughly disheveled by their visitor’s appearance. "Lord Darchind, I meant to come to you when you wanted me, is there something—?" "Please, Valecka, if I wanted to speak with you, don’t you think I would find you?" Lord Darchind interrupted her. "I see you’ve brought us a new Initiate . ." Lord Darchind said. Ikeeriot could immediately feel the Dark Force presence climbing up his back and in between his shoulder blades, setting off his own danger sense. He tried to calm it and realized he had it under control for the most part. Ikeeriot turned and regarded Lord Darchind. The Sith Lord didn’t look any different from when they’d fought in his throne room—the same figure shrouded by the black cloak. Ikeeriot fell to one knee and bowed his head deeply, letting his presence be out-shadowed by the Lord’s. "Please, you’ve no need to bow before me," Lord Darchind snapped. "If Valecka is your Master, then bow to her." Ikeeriot stood, said no words but nodded to the Sith Lord, turned and bowed to Valecka. She flashed him a nervous smile. "Lord Darchind, I was going to tell you that I brought him from Tatooine, but the circumstances under which I found him . .were not the best." Lord Darchind stared at her, silent. "He saved my life. He used Force Lightning as though he’d been trained, and sure enough, before he’d been on Tatooine, he had left the Jedi Order." Valecka said. A slow nod this time, but no words from the Sith Lord. "I was," Valecka was looking for the right words. She couldn’t coat it nicely. "I was embarrassed and . . disgraced." She looked at the ground. Lord Darchind shook his head. "I should strike you down for lying to me." "Take a step at her and I’ll strike you down," Ikeeriot hissed, feeling his mouth speak for him, his mind flailing against the words. Clasping his white hands together slowly, Lord Darchind laughed. "You have a loyal Apprentice, Valecka. However there is a thin line between loyalty and obsession." "Jedi and Sith skirt that line alike," Ikeeriot answered. "We Sith do not need to worry about it though—we are more powerful because of our differences between us and the Jedi." "So it is us, now, hmm?" Lord Darchind growled. "A moment before you were ready to dethrone me." "Sith do what is necessary." Ikeeriot answered. "You think you are a Sith already then?" Lord Darchind wondered aloud. "Yes." Ikeeriot answered. "Good," Lord Darchind sneered from behind his hood. "We shall see. We shall see." .10 Voskar Seknem stood atop his Basilisk War-droid and felt it’s engines warm beneath the bug-like wings stretched out to the sides of the crustacean-looking war mount. Two robotic arms stretched out from beneath the small turbines on the one-manned vehicle and clicked on the hangar floor as it started to walk semi-intelligibly toward the opening leading out into the black. When he was on the war mount, Seknem felt at his peak. Here there would be no orders, no comments from Darchind, no interruptions, save for the familiar heat and noise of the lasers inset to the mount’s front. "Do not open fire until I give the command," he said, clicking on the intercom inside his Mandalorian armor helmet. A chorus of: "Yes sir!" Answered him and made his neck tingle with anticipation. Seknem and his men were taking it upon themselves to take control of the ship named: Incinerator. If everything went according to plan, a shot wouldn’t have to be fired and they could take the ship with minimal casualties, because everyone on Xolatis knew that Lord Darchind wanted as many craft whole as possible. As the vacuum invaded the hangar bay and Mandalorian soldiers started to filed out on their mounts into space, Seknem thought idly: is this who we are to be for the rest of days? Servants to the Sith? A shiver went down his spine. Hopefully not—but now is not the time. Now is conquest and death to those Jedi. Kill them all. Then, he and his Mandalorian brothers were bursting out in space, barreling straight toward the Incinerator, four hundred strong. It went, as Mandalorians sometimes said, without a Gnort in the in the cogs. An hour crawled on and afterward, Seknem was back aboard Mandalore’s Hammer, escorting Captain Erad Katoor through the bridge toward Lord Darchind. As curious as the man’s demeanor seemed to Seknem, the Mandalorian couldn’t blame the crew of the man’s ship for turning on him and giving him to he and the other shock troops Darchind had sent. "Get your hands off me you metal covered bafoon!" The man with the slicked back, jet-black hair spat at one of Seknem’s men venomously. Joran, the man who Captain Katoor had obviously just angered, was about to snap the man’s neck when Seknem raised his hand and flapped it, shaking his head. There wasn’t an audible sigh from Joran, but Seknem knew the man too long to know that he wasn’t doing it beneath the helmet. Just as long as it stays there, Voskar Seknem thought. "You!" Seknem yelled at their prisoner. "Shut up or I’ll drink my daily gallon of blue milk from your HEAD!" For a moment, it seemed as the Captain would comply. Then Captain Katoor did something Seknem would come to detest. He laughed. Not just a chuckle, but a rapturous laugh that wasn’t unlike that of Darchind’s. The realization that the man was insane came to Seknem fairly quick. He had to be. Otherwise, he was the most pompous man he’d ever met—and that was coming from a Mandalorian. Lord Darchind waited in his floating chair while his legs dangled to the floor, his hands clasped on one another and set on his lap. Seknem hated how quiet that man could be almost as much as he hated the other man’s laughing. "Stop it!" Lord Darchind snapped. Erad Katoor’s laughter died down to a murmur and Lord Darchind began to speak. "You’ve answered the call to help Xolatis in it’s war against the Republic, but now that you are here, you think differently?" Erad shrugged. "I think it was probably a decision I made out of blind passion. It runs in my family." Shaking his head and speaking so softly that Seknem could barely hear him, Darchind replied, "I do not doubt this." Still shaking his head, Darchind pointed out of the Bridge and spoke clearly: "To the brig with him. Don’t starve him, but wait until you would think starving might start. Then give it to him in portions. Small portions." "Oh you’re big and you’re bad!" Erad shouted as he was carried away by the two flanking Mandalorian warriors. "I’ll get you for this, Darchind! Mark my words! You haven’t seen the last of me!" "On the contrary, Katoor, I believe I have." Darchind breathed. He turned to Seknem and nodded. "There were no casualties and none of the Incinerator was damaged." Seknem said, clearing his throat before he spoke. "Good." Darchind said. "What of our ship building process?" "The flagship? It’s only been a few hours, how should I know—?" Seknem started. "How long? I don’t care how insufficient the information is, I just want to have a time table." Seknem shrugs. The words that came to minds were less then savory for the Sith Lord in front of him, but Voskar wasn’t going to start pushing this one’s buttons. "I’d say three months, but I’m no tech." Lord Darchind narrowed his eyes behind the black hood and inhaled sharply, exhaled slowly. "This will be well. Can you prepare your warriors in the etiquette of commanding the ships we will have by then?" Seknem adjusted his posture to a rigid form and inquired, "Why would we need to do that? I was under the impression that I and my men would be leading the attack on Coruscant’s ground when we arrive?" Lord Darchind nodded and waved his hand, calming the Mandalorian but a little. He means to demean us even more—Seknem began to think. He clenched his fist. "I assure you, Seknem, you will be in the attack. However I do not have sufficient personnel at this moment to control all the ships we will undoubtedly have in flux by said time. I need your men to learn how to crew the ships properly or the destruction of the Republic will be but an oasis beyond a mirage." For all Darchind’s flashy vocabulary, Seknem would have accepted an answer like this in lesser words. Seknem cleared his throat again. "Very well." "I need to be planet side for an open forum debate soon." Lord Darchind started slowly. "I would like to have you and two of your men handpicked by you to accompany should anything . .happen." "You think that there may be more Revolutionaries that we haven’t rooted out? Perhaps we should do another senor sweep of the jungle—." Seknem started. "No. It is something else. Just beyond the mirage . ." Lord Darchind muttered. "In any event I am thoroughly prepared but I would air on the side of caution since my scuffle with those Jedi. If the Order notices them gone for reasons other then the war, they might come slinking in the shadows like a Defel." "As you wish." Seknem said, nodding. He could get behind a man who was cautious, but not scared. From everything that Seknem had seen of Lord Darchind however, this Sith Lord had nothing to fear from anyone. "What of your intuition? Is there something more then we see afoot? Perhaps with the woman?" Lord Darchind snorted. "Hardly—young woman . ." His attention seemed to turn inward. "Had I a position to promote you to from your current one Seknem, I would." Lord Darchind said. His red eyes were glowing from behind the darkness. "Should I take this as a compliment, Darchind?" Seknem asked, confused but able. "Certainly." Lord Darchind. He laughed maniacally. Ikeeriot sniffled and thought in retrospect that Autumn on Xolatis was an insufferable time. Pollen spores were being released by many of the jungle’s native plants, which Ikeeriot was reacting horribly too. Never in his life had he been so prone to something like this—he’d gone on a few field missions with Uban, but this was nothing compared to what they’d experienced. All he could do was try and take the stuff and breath it in, in time hopefully creating an immunity to the stuff with the Force as a supplement. Nearing the jungle cliff that he and Anduil Siron remembered very well, he heard something in the underbrush snap. He whirled, thinking feverishly that all his plans might have been flushed away if he’d picked up a follower from the Sith Brotherhood. He had enough to worry about with Valecka without having to think about anyone else. These days she was growing more his friend then Master, and Ikeeriot could tell quickly where she thought the relationship was going. It bothered him. Not only because it was true, but because for some time he’d tried to stop himself from reciprocating the affection. Now—he was in a crunch. Undoubtedly he’d have to tell the other Wraith in his Outcaste, and he wasn’t necessarily looking forward to being scolded once more by the arrogant Narsayl, whose information and advice flowed out of his mouth like a waterfall. Neither would he appreciate Anduil’s softer but more but surer disagreement with Iker’s conflict of interest. If it was anyone there who had a conflict of interest, it was Anduil. No longer a Jedi, and even when he had been a formal Jedi of the Order, the young man’s character ruled his every decision. He knew nothing of how to handle a title. For Ikeeriot, this wasn’t a cold judgement, it was the truth. It was one of the things that Ikeeriot found noble about Anduil—but one thing was for sure in this Xolatis situation: Nobility above all else would pay a heavy price if left unconcealed. Ikeeriot wasn’t at all sure if he wasn’t doing this to get revenge on Darchind. Vanquishing the Sith and earning revenge were one in the same, and now that he had the Force back on his side, he could do so unfettered. Ikeeriot hopped easily from the cliff and into the settlement below, seeing a dim campfire in the distance. When he arrived, he found a Mon Calamari healer, Anduil and Narsayl. "Greetings." Ikeeriot said, then he sneezed. "Not much better here, either." Anduil said, rubbing under his nose. "This is Elackiago Gilbis, a healer from the Order. When he heard our dire need for help, he came as fast as he could—." "Nice to meet you Elack." Ikeeriot interrupted. "I’ll value your membership to the Outcaste later." The Mon Calamari spoke not a word from his reddish-brown head, only swivelling his eyes exploratively to watch the environment as he nodded once. Narsayl was already frowning at Ikeeriot. "What? No warm greeting today?" Ikeeriot asked sarcastically. "We have to be going soon." Anduil said. "Soon." Narsayl reiterated. "I have some news—." Ikeeriot started. Anduil was already shaking his head slowly and worriedly. "You didn’t." "You’re right—I didn’t." Ikeeriot said. Just as Narsayl understood what they were speaking about, his face grew red with anger. "You weren’t supposed to be in this deep! I don’t even know why in the first place you WERE infiltrating the Sith Brotherhood! Is there any purpose of this, or are you just there for the girl now?" "Hold it—." Anduil bit out. It was too late though. Ikeeriot’s eyes flashed with a warning of anger. "Don’t you start with ME pal—no one’s holding a lightsaber to your head, you can get on out of here any time you want." "Still, you dodge the question!" Narsayl exclaimed. Ikeeriot was shaking his head, annoyed. "Look, it’s not like I’m in love with her—I’m fairly sure I can still make this arrangement work." "Without endangering the Outcaste?" Anduil asked. Ikeeriot nodded. "It’ll have to go that way. I—we can’t afford otherwise. If I can just make it into Darchind’s inner circle, I might be able to make an attempt at assassinating him myself. There will be time for Valecka later." "WHAT?!" Narsayl roared. "You can’t be serious! You cannot go against Lord Darchind by yourSELF!" "That’s ENOUGH!" Anduil yelled, planting himself in between the two Jedi Wraiths. "I want you to start walking into the capitol—I’ll catch up with you soon." He said to Narsayl. The other young man began to protest but Anduil flashed him a glare that sent him shuffling off into the jungle muttering. "Elack, I’m sorry you had to see us like this. We are usually more . . cooperative with the senior members of the Outcaste." Ikeeriot said. Elackiago bobbed his head easily, smiling the fishy smile. "I understand completely. However without argument, your management of this group would inevitably be moot. There should never be a total consensus." Anduil nodded thoughtfully, a little more sober of emotion now that Narsayl had gone. Ikeeriot saw it in his friend’s eyes. It was the same sober look that he’d seen in Anduil’s sad face when Orsin Beserek had died. "Please, excuse us, Elack. I’ll have to talk with you more another time, I regret my timing." Ikeeriot said. Elack bowed and clasped his flipper hands together while he did. He headed for the Canyon Oasis. "I understand that you think you can beat Darchind. I think I could beat him too, if the roles were reversed." Anduil began. "I know you could, Anduil. We both do." Ikeeriot replied hastily. "Good." Anduil said carefully. "You said something else though—something that disturbed me a little." "Before you—." Ikeeriot began. "Iker, hear me out." Anduil interjected. "Do you really believe that Valecka might be turned from the Dark Side?" His face wrinkled in annoyance at his friend’s sudden lost of trust in him, Ikeeriot nodded fervently. "Isn’t that what we’ve always been taught? No one is past redemption, Anduil." "What about Lord Darchind?" Anduil asked. "There are times for redemption, old friend. His time for that passed long ago." Ikeeriot said. Anduil nodded. "You’re right." He paused, ruffled his own unshaven beard and then his hair. "Is it her time then, Ikeeriot? Do you know for sure if her time for redemption hasn’t passed?" Ikeeriot shook his head. "There’s only one way to find that out, Anduil." "That’s exactly what I was afraid you were going to say." Anduil said, shaking his head comically. "Oh . .I have a bad feeling about this." "Where are you going now?" Ikeeriot ignored the rest. "Open forum debate. I am to help Jon Locke with the debate." "Out in the open?" Ikeeriot cringed. "I think it’s my turn to have the bad feeling. If your cover somehow gets blown . ." "Don’t worry. It won’t." Anduil assured his friend. Ikeeriot rolled his eyes. "Just as long as you know, I’m alright." They laughed, a thing that happened seldom anymore. "May the Force be with you, Iker." "May the Force be with you too, Anduil." Anduil arrived late with Narsayl to aid Locke, as it happened. Two balconies facing each other over a great plaza flooded with local Xolatians and other assembled immigrant species was the extent of the ‘open forum’ debate. The masses were squabbling in their assorted alien languages at a tone unbearable to anyone who didn’t have access to Force calming techniques. Anduil amended the though—or politicians. They can do just fine. They feed off of it even. Narsayl stood at Locke’s left side and at the man’s right was Anduil, hunching over the back of the chair and whispering calmly into the politician’s ear: "Have we anything to go on yet?" Locke shook his head, a little annoyed by Anduil’s voice. "I’m trying to listen to this ego-maniac talk—what good it will do us. He’s raving once again about the good of the people and how he plans to cleanse this place and any other to rid the world of Anarchy. It’s quite arbitrary, but as you can see, the crowd is eating this up." "Like Piranha Beetles to an open wound." Narsayl muttered in agreement. "—and quite frankly, it is an insult to think that I would do otherwise—the accusations of me bombing my own people’s capitol are outrageous and unfounded! There is no evidence toward the fact that the holovid feed was tampered with and there should be no suspicions of my truthfulness, either! What I am doing is for the good of Xolatis!" Lord Darchind cried out. The people beneath the balconies cheered and waved happily. Anduil shook his head sorrowfully. "The Dark Side clouds everything here." Locke ignored it and started to speak. "Is it out of the utmost respect and profound gratitude that I, speaker of all your opposition, commend you for your achievements thus far, however, the fact remains that you are gathering ships above orbit—." The crowd below looked up at the three figures, confused and their faces blank. Anduil tapped Locke on the shoulder and pointed outward. Narsayl slapped his hand onto his forehead and shook his head in raw disbelief and anger. "They’re publically censoring you, Locke." With an exhausted roll of the eyes Anduil sighed and put his hand on Locke’s shoulder. "Just think of what to say. I may be able to pick up on it and make it louder through the Force." "Isn’t that dangerous?" Narsayl ventured nervously. "It’s the only option left." Anduil snapped. He took a deep breath and began to bellow with the Force behind his voice, trying as hard as he could to try and make it look like nothing more then confidence and stage presence. "Since your leader or head of state or whatever he wishes to be called does not want us to tell you there are ships orbiting the planet, I thought I might direct your attention to his alleged intentions with which he wants to use the ships for!" "According to reliable sources, he is planning to form his own armada, space-worthy by any means." Anduil said. "What could he want to do with such a force, citizens?" The people beneath on the plaza turned their attention back to Lord Darchind, who was sitting, stunned by the turn of events. "Just keep them having to draw their own answers and it doesn’t look as though we know as much as we do." Narsayl said, amazed. "Brilliant." The feeling of victory was fleeting at best. Lord Darchind returned Anduil’s confident smile and his voice boomed likewise: "We’ll now open up the floor for citizen questions." He said. "Just terrific." Anduil mused. "We’re going to try a new exercise tonight." Valecka said. "Sit down." Ikeeriot complied, sitting with his legs bent together like a pretzel. Valecka sat right up against him, her knees touching his. Their eyes met and she spoke. "This is a technique Lord Darchind taught me to use. It strengthens the senses by letting one another feel what the other is sensing." Ikeeriot nodded. They’d been sparring for hours, and the sun had gone done a good while ago. The crimson of their blades still plagued his nightmares as well as daydreams, and now the distant, familiar hum was still echoing in his mind. "It’s just like meditation—but stronger." She said. "Put your hands out." Ikeeriot narrowed his eyes. "Why?" "The Brotherhood of the Sith requires it of you," Valecka replied dryly. "Just do it. It makes sense when it happens." Ikeeriot sighed. He held his hands out flat and she immediately put her palms against his. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Now." She commanded. He did the same, letting the Force flow through him in the cheap, tawdry-angry way that he’d conceived the Dark Side to be. "No." She said. "Like you would use the Force. The Dark Side is not evil—it is power." Ikeeriot took another breath and surrendered himself completely to the Force. Suddenly he was awash in a flooded river—so many emotions, thoughts, feelings pulsing against him and then inside him and reverberating against his insides. "J-j-j-ust like thi-s-s-s." she said. He was vacantly aware that a stream of uncolored Force power was swirling around them in whirlwind, whipping their hair and cloaks about in the current. He saw memories after that—and not his. A little girl with her parents, too old to be submitted regularly for training at the Jedi Temple—younglings were usually taught from infancy, but this little girl was at least a toddler. Holding the hands of the two parents, the little girl swayed from leg to leg of her parents, toddling up the great steps of the Jedi Temple. Flash. A girl—the girl, years later, wearing a helmet and holding the Jedi training lightsaber tentatively in her grip, trying to see through the helmet rather then intuit through the Force. She was hit with another training lightsaber and she fell to the ground, holding the burnt arm and crying. Flash. A young woman, obviously Valecka now, perhaps a few years before the present day, kneeling at the dead body of a Kel Dor Jedi Master. His body fading from view behind a veil of blurry water, seeping down from the eyes . . Ikeeriot felt his own images and memories whipping around him, soaring high about them both and expanding into the same flash-separated sequences. No! He thought urgently. If she FINDS OUT! His eyes bulged and he was back ‘awake’ staring into the wide-eyed into Valecka’s eyes. Did she see Uban? He thought. By the Force what have I done? Did she see them all? "Iker?" She asked. Her voice was trembling and now her features were melting into a mixture of pain and revelation. "Are you?" "I was." Ikeeriot tried to amend. "You were them?" She sneered, not knowing what else to say. "No, no. Maybe then, but not now, Valecka. The Jedi I left with is back on Xolatis and he is in force. Believe me when I say this—you and I can destroy them and alleviate the final Jedi threat." Valecka’s eyes seemed to recognize the hope in Ikeeriot’s own eyes. "You really are with us? You’ve turned fully and completely?" Ikeeriot nodded. "I have. When I nearly killed Darchind with Force Lightning—I could never walk away from that power. Not even if that meant having to act as though I was with the other Jedi again. I am committed to the Sith." "The Sith." Valecka repeated, somehow disappointed. Clenching his teeth, Ikeeriot felt a pit in his stomach appear. A strand of Valecka’s blonde hair obscured her face, dividing it down the middle, one half shadow, one half light. He leaned forward the best he could while sitting as he was and pressed the strand away to the side of her head, revealing her face only swathed in shadows. His immediate disappointment was covered by her lips brushing against his, then she was kissing him. Clapping and laughing. Maniacal laughing. "Good!" Lord Darchind laughed from behind them. "Ahahaha! Good! What a foolish little Jedi you are, Ikeeriot!" Valecka started at the laugh and was immediately at her feet. Ikeeriot, sensing a similar need to stand did so slowly, kneeling first and then standing rigidly. "It is true, Lord Darchind. Your planet is facing a resurgence of Revolutionaries and Jedi. If you do not take what information I have seriously, you will be knee deep in a Republic sponsored insurrection." Lord Darchind kept on laughing. It died down eventually. "If I were to believe you? What evidence do you have of this?!" "I can hand you Anduil Siron and his Jedi Outcaste on a royal platter." Ikeeriot said. He narrowed his eyes and smiled. COMING SOON: Resurgence 1-5 and the conclusion in 6...

Ancient Japan Style

Exile .7 and .8

.7 Above the Swoop’s throttle-roar, Ikeeriot heard shooting, then screams. He felt the tremors through the Force—fear, agony, sudden anger and exasperation, loss of hope. It overwhelmed him at first, like being under a plugged up waterfall, receiving only a trickle, a distant memory of what had been, and then the violet sheets of the Force came cascading back over him, playing over him and spreading the conflict over him. He saw images of his Master, Alec Uban, then Anduil’s Master, Orsin Beserek . .then he saw himself, the electricity searing his fingertips with it’s raw, Dark Side power. All this in a few moments, riding the Swoop up the sand-crusted durrocrete hill. A shuttle-port rested a few feet from the hill’s top, just beyond the perimeter wall and the open gate. At the foot of the gate there was a dead man, wearing some kind of Chitin armor, blood leaking from his neck. Ikeeriot vaulted off the Swoop bike, throwing the ignition into a dead halt and landing right next to the body. He felt the man’s throat, still gushing uselessly and a gruesome wave of nausea-inducing Force clamor hit him. A metal pellet fell from the wound and slid into his reddened fingers. Ikeeriot heard a shrill cry and then the terrible cry of a warrior so changed by the desert’s vast wastelands that it was impossible to clearly make out whether it was man or animal. It was the call of a Tusken Raider. Valecka was busy fighting off four Raiders on her own when Ikeeriot came onto the other side of Anchorhead silently. Valecka, with her red lightsaber was being looked upon as a savior by the people of Anchorhead, however she hardly viewed herself as that. She continued to cut the masked, robed warriors down as they came on, each one fiercer, braver and perhaps more stupid then the last. Her heart was pumping so hard she felt like it might burst out of her chest at any moment. The wrong place at the wrong time, she grimaced. No damned Jedi here, she thought angrily, using the anger to power a Force aided beside a bewildered warrior, then halving him. "Taste the Dark Side you fools!" She rasped, flinging her lightsaber into the air, cutting a line of four warriors down in a red flashing blur. She laughed and started to call her lightsaber back to her with the Force. "Watch out!" A man cried behind her. She turned, looking past the small ditch that ran through the middle of the town, seeing a man hurry across the shabbily made durocrete bridge toward her. Looks familiar . . she thought for a moment, blank of any other thought. She was aware of his eyes connecting with his, aware of the electricity that was billowing inside the great clouds inside them, but then it became harder to think. She felt the pain of the Tusken Raider’s gaffi stick sink into and then slice off her hand at the wrist, but she didn’t know it had actually happened til her knees buckled and her legs fell out from under her, forcing her to the ground as she held her wrist, pressing it against her black cloak as hard as she could. She was going into shock, and no amount of Sith or Jedi preparedness could have ever helped her for it. Her face pale, she watched as the man hunkered down in front of her and tried to speak to her. Ikeeriot saw the young woman and all at once heard a cacophony of different Force alarms going off in his head. He felt more barbaric presences flowing into the small town from all sides, but at the same time, he was face to face with a Sith Warrior. Rushing across the poorly made bridge he could barely think whether to contain the anger and rage simmering inside him, he couldn’t wait to strike her down— No, a voice said. It calmed him, and he knew why. It was the voice of his Master, Alec Uban. The Force has not come back to you now for you to give into your basest emotions now Ikeeriot. Ikeeriot’s eyes widened as he saw recognition flash in Valecka’s eyes, but widened even more as he saw the Tusken Raider coming up, unhindered, behind the Sith warrior. "Watch out!" He screamed, Force energy already flashing in his eyes. It was too late though. Ikeeriot watched as the Tusken gracelessly severed Valecka’s hand from her wrist, blood sparkling from the wound in the violently bright moonlight. Ikeeriot rushed over, spread his fingers toward the Tusken and sent him flying through the air with the familiar aid of the Force and fell to her side. "Can you hear me? Can you use the Force to keep the wound from killing you?" Her face was pale and unknowing—she can’t hear me . .he thought hopelessly. What was he doing? Am I helping a Sith? Alec’s voice returned to him. You are helping a sentient being in need of help. It is no more then that. Require it to be something more, and I’ve failed in teaching you the ways of the Jedi. Shaking his head, numb from the sudden advice from his master and also the spurt of energy that the Force gave back to him, Ikeeriot held Valecka’s intact hand. "Hold on," he said through gritted teeth. The warriors closing in were yowling and howling in some kind of guttural language that Ikeeriot couldn’t hope to understand, but he knew it wasn’t invitations into the Cantina for drinks. Standing and turning to regard the warriors closing in, he saw their numbers in full. Fifteen of them coming from all directions, creating a circle with very little space to move in. The civilians of Anchorhead were now safely heading out of the town or hunkering down in their homes. This is the will of the Force, the voice said to him. You know what to do, and this time it is not out of anger. To fight for them, to fight for those without protection—it is our cause. Gaping, Ikeeriot felt realization flow through him. Show her your powers, and she will recruit you. Show her and you will be initiated into Darchind’s Sith Order. This is the will of the Force, Ikeeriot. Spreading his arms to his side, his body forming the letter ‘T’, Ikeeriot waited for them to close in a little more . . He bent his knees, felt the familiar surge of the Force spraying out of him in sporadic, electric bolts and lit the Anchorhead night with the glow of Force Lightning. Valecka was in literal, physical shock, but she could hardly believe her eyes when she saw the strange familiar man spit Force Lightning from his fingertips. Her mouth wide and gaping, it was the last thing she saw before succumbing to the pain. Ikeeriot piled the bodies in the small trench like formation that ran through the center of Anchorhead before he left, but he hurried while doing it. A wealthy but timid cantina owner offered him a bacta patch for his ‘fallen comrade’ as he put it and Ikeeriot nodded to the elderly human. "Make sure it’s on there tight," Ikeeriot said. "I’m not sure where I’m going next but I get the distinct feeling it will be a long trip." Distractedly the residents of the small settlements wandered out of their capsule-top durocrete homes one by one, watching the Jedi Wraith as he set to work in preparation for his voyage. Some thanked him, other cursed at him, and some just looked at him, wide eyed at the cylinder that was dangling at his side, which sparkled in the moonlight. When he finally brought the Swoop back in front of the cantina where Valecka was lying on the ground, someone asked who he was, what he was doing and where he was planning to go, and not in that specific order. Another asked him why he would leave them undefenseless after such an attack. That gave him a fresh pang in his chest but he ignored it. He threw Valecka unceremoniously over his shoulder and got onto the Swoop as cautiously as he could. Valecka groaned and craned her head toward Ikeeriot’s own face and mumbled something indecipherable. Or maybe Ikeeriot didn’t want to understand it. He swore it was jedi that she said. A moment later as he powered the throttle up she said something else but more clear, "ship . .few clicks out . .under . ." Then she passed out once more. Ikeeriot tucked her trembling body against his chest and leaned down, twisting the Swoop’s throttle as he gritted his teeth against the blast of sand it sent up in a huge wave behind him. Speeding out of town, he didn’t bother to take the streets, just pushed over a piece of the crumbling durocrete wall with the Force and used it as a ramp. "Give me some kind of sign . ." He said to her. "Come on." It didn’t take him long to come to her landing area, but he circled past it a few times, coming very close the first time to shooting what he thought was a Krayt dragon underneath a thin covering of sand. It finally dawned on him that this was her ship. He stopped the Swoop and hurrying toward the ship. It was covered with a huge curtain of synthetic cloth that used some kind of mirroring technology to give the illusion that this was just another small hill in the desert. Ikeeriot threw the sheet off with a Force shove and discovered the four-winged, silver oval shaped ship. It was already standing on it’s landing tilts although he had to immediately rethink his theory on the cloth’s properties because the four wings were jutting upwards on the sides and would likely fold downward while in flight. Ikeeriot jumped away from the ship as the loading ramp shot down onto the ground. He flicked his lightsaber instinctively up to the guard position and activated his master’s white blade and when he looked back to Valecka he could see her thumbing on some kind of loading remote, but there was a simply inexorable recgonition in her eyes—the same simply flash he’d seen in her eyes back at Anchorhead. Her eyes widened a bit and her arm fell back to the ground while she mumbled, "Jedi . .Jedi!" Frustration ebbed inside him but he ignored it. His own fault for being so jumpy. No one else here, he thought. He shut off the lightsaber and went to Valecka. He knelt beside her and lifted her to her knees, meeting her at eye level for the third time. The same recognition and anger was in her eyes but she couldn’t do anything—she was quickly fading again. "Look at me," he said calmly. Their eyes met and he found what he needed. The flash of recognition was so small this time that he only had a very thin, tense moment to utilize his special technique, but as soon as he saw the flash he squeezed his eyes shut and let the Force center on the little detail. The bright light in her eyes swelled against the black of his eyelids and he felt the Force flow into his head. With a deep breath he let the Force fling him behind the flash and see the recognition from the Sith’s point of a view. A scene flashed in his mind, lightsabers, blue, green, yellow, orange and red, the battle on Xolatis, suddenly Ikeeriot saw himself slashing and jabbing. He realized that this was Valecka’s memory of him, the recognition flash and squeezed his eyes tighter closed. He let the Force envelop the memory and dissolve it. Then—he was back in his own body, trembling slightly from exertion and lifting Valecka with the last vestiges of his physical strength. Another mumble came from the young woman and for a moment Ikeeriot thought he might have to wipe the memory again, but she mumbled, "tank in the Red Talon, bacta . ." Ikeeriot let out a thankful sigh and hauled the Sith into the ship. "Hopefully there’s two of the things . ." He muttered. Passing into the belly of the ship he noticed the stark white of everything in the place, either white or complete silver. Sure enough in the passenger compartment, between the entrance and the cockpit were four bubbling human sized bacta tanks. After checking the equipment carefully and putting the oxygen mask on Valecka, he submerged her into the tank. He had no idea that he didn’t really need to put her in the tank fully, and he’d never actually been in one. What are all these buttons? He thought, looking over another silver and white control panel. He flipped on one switch and felt a small rumbling beneath his feet and then watched as the lights in the bacta tank flickered on. Fine for now I guess, he thought. There was a small timer. Guessing it was for submersion time he set it for four hours. Sitting down in the chair beside the bacta tank he took one deep breath and felt exhaustion take him into sleep. Anduil Siron slept amazingly well for being outside on a desert planet. The dry heat never took it’s tole too hard on his body because he had the Force to supplement his physical strength and he took care of hydration before anything else. Now in sleep, no temperature touched him—only the neutral current of the Force running through him in waves, lapping up against him from the Force’s ocean. The sensation of awakening rolled over him and he stood, but he stood in the dream. It wasn’t so much a dream as it was a vision. He exited the hovel and walked for what seemed like forever before coming to a completely flat stretch of sand. Here he stood silent as the current of the Force turned into a torrent. Sand was still being whipped up in front of his eyes, obscuring almost all of his sight. Why is there sand in this place . .he wondered. He pressed his hand against his forehead and tried to shield the sand from his sight but to no avail. A gentle tug of the Force in this torrent guided his chin upwards so that he looked into the sky. There he saw thousands of ships attacking each other, a million more voices crying out in agony as their lives dissolved into horrible Force-enhanced screams. Then— Two lightsabers crossed against each other, both of them blue. Then—another two lightsabers crossed, one red, one white. Beyond all this, a single form, walking in the sky as though it was walking on physical ground. A great flash of Force energy billowed out from this form, and Anduil Siron awoke. With a heavy exhale Anduil jolted upward out of his sleep, ramming his head against the hovel’s ceiling, knocking him unconscious. He was like this for a quarter of another hour before Narsayl came into the hovel in an effort to alert the Jedi Wraith of the disturbance in the Force and Ikeeriot’s disappearance. "Anduil?" Narsayl whispered softly as he shook the young man’s shoulder. "Anduil, wake up." Anduil groaned and started to jolt back up but thought against it. With some unease Anduil raised himself up on his elbows and looked at Narsayl, blinking back the pain and dizziness in his head. "What is it?" "Anduil, are you alright?" Narsayl asked, sensing his fellow Wraith’s disorientation. "I hit my head . ." Anduil said, motioning to the ceiling. "I’m never sleeping here again . . there was something else though—I had a vision . . of the coming events." His face went pale at the thought of the thousands of ships attacking each other. Narsayl sensed the sudden anxiety. "What? What is it? Xolatis?" Anduil shook his head slowly, trying to discern all the information bombarding his senses. He could sense something amiss in the Force. "Why did you wake me, Narsayl?" Narsayl looked out through the exit of the hovel and shook his head. "Your friend took off in the middle of the night. Took the only land vehicle—if we want to conserve our fuel and keep our identities to ourselves we need to communicate better." "Ikeeriot must have left for a reason," Anduil said. He rose slowly and ducked out into the morning light. The heat was already sharp and oppressive as ever. Something else that Anduil hadn’t thought of hit him too—reassurance through the Force. Narrowing and then shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath, Anduil felt a hand on his shoulder. When he opened his eyes only Narsayl was there, in front of him with his arms at his sides. "Can you sense that?" Anduil asked. Narsayl arched his eyebrows and shook his head. "I don’t sense anything, Anduil. Are you sure you didn’t bump your head too hard on the ceiling?" Another memory from his vision hit him fleetingly. A man walking in the sky . .as though he was walking atop the sky . . Anduil shook his head slowly and smiled as he saw the coming of four distant shadows on the horizon. "Ikeeriot went ahead with his plan. I’m afraid we’re going to have to take care of the Outcaste for a while," Anduil saw the confusion and fear on Narsayl’s face and put a hand on the man’s shoulder. "Don’t worry. He’ll be back," he pointed at the sky. "I think we have some company." Narsayl looked out, perplexed. "Prospective members?" Anduil nodded. "I sent out a few messages before going to bed. Non-encrypted. It’s time we don’t try and hide our attempts at recruitment. This war is going to be worse then the conflict with the Mandalorians. If we don’t stop it on Xolatis then it could very well destroy the Republic." The sloshing of the bacta tank’s occupant awoke Ikeeriot. He jumped from his chair, startled out of the heavy sleep. When he saw Valecka swaying irritably in the blue liquid his eyes widened. He went to work punching different buttons on the tank’s control panel trying desperately to open up the top hatch. The sloshing stopped and he could see Valecka pointing up toward the top of the tank. Her eyes were full of fear but mostly desperation. How long has she been thrashing around there while I was asleep? He thought fearfully. Ikeeriot saw the hatch clamps on top of the tank and broke them off with a flick of his hand with the Force. Valecka was out of the tank and on the floor, whipping off the breathing mask immediately, coughing and hacking up bacta fluid and waving her dilapidated handless arm around useless. Ikeeriot hurried to her side, throwing her black cloak around her naked body and trying not to look at her. "I’m sorry, I was so tired . . I just passed out." She tried to utter something but he didn’t hear it. After coughing and feeling her tender throat tentatively for a few minutes she finally replied thankfully, "I never saw it coming—in the town. Thank you." "Never mind that . ." Ikeeriot mumbled. "No—no, I need to thank you because I should have seen it coming. I saw you after that though, I saw you killing them, defending us . .how did you—?" Unblinking, Ikeeriot turned to her. This was the moment of truth he’d been waiting for. It was at this point that he’d either fail or start on the road to accomplish his goal. "Please, don’t tell anyone I did that. They frown on it where I came from to use my powers like that." "Where you came from?" Valecka questioned. "Where was that?" Ikeeriot let his eyes center on the ship’s deck in between his two worn boots. "I left the Jedi Order years ago. They were too . ." "Stop right there," Valecka interjected. "I’ve heard it all before. Tell me, where do you plan to go now?" Hiding a brief smile, Ikeeriot looked to Valecka as seriously as he could. "Wherever my legs will carry me." .8 Valecka strode gently up behind Lord Darchind and his Supreme Commander, Seknem. She wasn’t trying to conceal her presence—such an attempt would be idiotic at best. Now, well, now I am biding time, she thought as she stopped and knelt before the black cloaked Sith Lord. "My master," she said quietly. "Rise, apprentices. What news have you of the outer rim expedition?" Lord Darchind asked, just a little hint of alien emotion in his voice: eagerness. Nodding slowly but unsurely, Valecka continued. "When I arrived on Tatooine I went to the settlement of Anchorhead like you advised me to," "You encountered resistance." Lord Darchind said flatly. Arching her eyebrows and lifting the hood of her own cloak off of her head, she asked, "How did you know?" "The connection between Master and Apprentice is a very strong one, Valecka. Besides—my powers are nearly limitless with the aid of the Dark Side." "As are all ours," Valecka nodded, conceding to the Sith maxim. "I was attacked by natives," she held her wrist up and showed Darchind the wound, which was capped by a metal platform, waiting to have a mechanical hand put on it. "I was taken off-guard and I barely managed to limp back to my ship alive. When I arrived I went into the Bacta tank." "As I can see." Lord Darchind said approvingly. "In your search before the attack? Nothing? No one?" Valecka allowed for a minute pause but picked it up right away. "I found nothing, my master." Lord Darchind nodded and turned swiftly to the armored Supreme Commander at his left side. "Seknem, do your people have a suitable prosthetics division to equip my former apprentice with?" The detail of former was not lost on Valecka. "Master?" Lord Darchind waved her off. "Seknem?" Seknem nodded silently and appeared to be chatting inside his helmet over a short-range transceiver system. "I can have it here within the end of the cycle." "Excellent." Lord Darchind said. He directed his attention back on Valecka, who was cringing gently at Darchind’s gaze. "You are a Sith now—not an Apprentice or an Initiate—a Sith.Lord." Valecka bowed graciously. "Thank you, Lord Darchind. I will not let down the Brotherhood of the Sith." Lord Darchind nodded, mulling something silently from the darkness of his hooded face. "I believe the Mandalorian Techs will have your replacement for you very soon." Valecka nodded intently and turned to walk from the bridge. Lord Darchind held his hand out in the air and steadied her pace from walking just to one step with the grip of the Force. "Lord Valecka, there isn’t something else that is bothering you, is there? I sense there might be something more to our situation that you’ve been apprised of." Valecka turned and looked straight into the black hood of the cloaked figure and shook her head. "If I become apprised of anything more then I know now, I will make sure that you become aware of whatever it may be." Lord Darchind nodded and loosened the Force grip on Valecka and she strode from the bridge of Mandalore’s Hammer. Lord Darchind turned surely to his second-in-command and regarded the Mandalorian. "I am fairly sure that even you could see that she was hiding something." At first, Seknem responded only with a shrug of his armor covered shoulders. A few days ago, Lord Darchind would have regarded this as a sign of the warrior’s simple nature, but now that he knew Seknem better, he knew that there was more to this cue then just complacency. For the moment, he let it pass. "Have we new information on our incoming’s?" Seknem nodded silently and turned to regard the black outside of the viewport. "There are about five more ships coming in, including that big one," The Mandalorian warrior pointed out the transparisteel into space at the biggest ship. It was loosely formed in the image of a very thin egg shape with three long cylinder engines jutting out of it’s wider tail-end. The blue glowing engines formed an isosceles triangle formation on the ship’s hind end. This wasn’t a weapon-toting ship though—at least not yet. "It’s a passenger liner." The Mandalorian said. "I used the third Mandalorian battleship we had patrolling the outer rim territories to . .persuade it into coming back to Xolatis with us." "Crafty." Lord Darchind murmurred. "You’ve impounded it then?" The Mandalorian fell silent for a moment, then Darchind could hear him once again speaking quietly into his helmet. "Our Mounts are on their way out now." "The other ships, Commander? You’ve impounded them, correct?" Lord Darchind asked with a hint of apprehension. "No need to worry of that. Only one ship is giving us a little trouble, and we’re trying to talk the captain of it down as we speak." Seknem returned calmly. "What ship is this?" Lord Darchind asked. He forfeited then, "You think I am worried?" "The ship is called Incinerator. The captain’s got a pair made out of cortosis alright—but he’s got a grudge with the Jedi." Seknem paused. "You’re either worried about the girl or the ships." Lord Darchind sighed dramatically. "She is not telling me all of what happened, I fear." "Sith don’t fear." The Mandalorian ventured boldly. "Of that you are correct." Lord Darchind returned. "However I thought Mandalorians incapable of such thought processes." "Point taken." Seknem replied icily. "She seemed more embarrassed then anything, Darchind." Nodding, Lord Darchind chuckled. "I’m sure I would be too. Such a small skirmish but a great price she paid for her inattention in battle." "The young ones make mistakes sometimes." Seknem commented. "I was not aware," Darchind said sarcastically. "Is the berthing area almost complete?" Seknem asked, raising his voice over the communicator in his helmet. "Keep me posted." "Our project goes mostly unnoticed by the Republic I think." Lord Darchind said, smiling once more beneath the darkness of the hood. "Thanks to the Mandalorian efforts." Seknem prodded. "Still worried about them? I’ve assured you that their fates are sealed no matter what." Lord Darchind said. "I would like a leave." Seknem said abruptly. "As much as I would like to think otherwise, Seknem, you are not under my command. You can come and go as you please." Lord Darchind started. "However I would like to know where you’ll be going and for how long. To make the necessary adjustments." "I’ll be boarding the passenger liner with my troops. I’ll take a Mount out immediately. I won’t be but a few hours." Seknem said. Lord Darchind nodded. "Fine. The Berthing station and the shipyards though—?" "Lord Darchind, they will be ready. I should hardly think you would need them so soon. You haven’t the materials to begin production on your flagship yet." Seknem said. He started out of the bridge and heard Lord Darchind call from behind him: "Not just my ship, Mandalorian—the Sith Order’s flagship. The destruction of the Jedi and the Republic is at hand and you and yours will bear witness to it!" "She said I had two days until she told Lord Darchind about a prospective student." Ikeeriot said hurriedly to Anduil. The outspoken leaders of the Jedi Knight Outcaste were strolling through the hotel lobby for the fourth time and some people were starting to get suspicious of them. Ikeeriot wore a gray flight suit and the beard that was growing more defiantly brown against his untanned skin. Anduil’s face was stubble laden but nothing more then that—he would work behind the scenes for as long as possible with Jon Locke until he was sure that Darchind would not recognize him if he took a formal, more public seat by Locke’s side. "You’re sure this isn’t a trap?" Anduil asked quickly. "We haven’t much time, Iker." "Neither does the Outcaste. Two days isn’t necessarily enough for me to form a rock-hard leadership role." Ikeeriot said. "I’m worried about our members right now though, Anduil." They both took a seat in the lobby, facing toward the entrance and away from the receptionist’s prying eyes and ears. "What is it?" The Jedi Wraith, Anduil Siron asked. "I’m just afraid that the Diogna’s are swimming to much in the water. There should be some kind of a ..prepping stage." Ikeeriot said louder, drawing the receptionist’s clearly confused glare. Anduil smiled at this but drew his eyes toward his feet. What are you talking about . .he let it sink in and finally understood. Those who were still joining the Outcaste were depending wholeheartedly to much on the Force. Their physical bodies were weak. If they drew on the Force too much, it would become a crutch—like Lightning was for the Sith; traditionally. Lord Darchind had demonstrated his prowess with a lightsaber and it had proved fatal for many Jedi that day so seemingly long ago. "Perhaps the Gamorreans in charge could show them how," Ikeeriot suggested. "To better work with their physical side." "Maybe if the Gamorrean wasn’t off gallivanting under the guise of a Twi’Lek," Anduil started, drawing some more confused, anti-xenophobic looks. Just great . .he thought. Ikeeriot just chuckled and held his breath for a moment, closing his eyes half-way. "They have enough time," he commented loudly. "The season’s just begun, after all. However, they might need to bring in a second or third string." Anduil’s eyes went wide. "I was just at the game and I know there’s a lot of competition, but I was unaware that you thought that a second string might be needed." Ikeeriot smirked. "I grow weary of all this," he waved his hand in the air. "Bugs everywhere," he whispered. "Must be the climate for them." "Don’t I know it?" Anduil said. "When they need a new string, I’ll be sure to contact the Gamorrean. In the meantime, I think it’s time for the team to get practicing." Ikeeriot nodded. "Time to water the garden."

City

Crazy drawing I did a little bit ago.

Exile .5 and .6

.5 Stepping slowly down the extending loading ramp Anduil Siron smiled dimly as he saw his friend Ikeeriot coming up to greet him, waiting just beyond where the ramp sunk into the sand. "Did you get anyone?" Ikeeriot asked, wiping his forehead of sweat and sand. Anduil frowned and shook his head slowly. "A few prospective Jedi, but most of them are still dedicated to the Order, Iker. What’s worse is that you won’t let me explain our position at all." Ikeeriot turned and looked back at their small hovel, which was inlaid into a small smooth but rocky depression in the sand. The sweltering blades of sunlight that cut down from the sky took away the wetness of his throat. His answer of dry and rough, "The fact that so many died there that day should be reason enough to launch a full-scale investigation without our prompting, Anduil." Anduil nodded and stepped onto the sand. He put a hand on his friend’s shoulder, which was tense as always—Ikeeriot was losing confidence faster each day now that he couldn’t find his place in the Force. Anduil had seen his friend’s shape dwindle from a fledgling Jedi Knight to a whither figure without position in a matter of only a few days—it hadn’t helped that he had scolded Ikeeriot at length for falling to the Dark Side. Now Anduil felt instantly guilty any time he used the Force around Ikeeriot: the young man had been somehow stripped of the Force, whether or not it was him in some way or the Force’s overall will exerting itself over him. "I know what you think of the Order, Iker. I think we’ve been through it enough times that I understand." Anduil said. Sweat already breaking out on his back and the roots of the hair on his head soaked. "I know that you understand," Ikeeriot cut in. "It’s that you believe in my cause or even agree with it that I’m concerned with." Anduil stared at Ikeeriot for a moment and shook his head with a wry smile. His friend was growing more paranoid then ever these days without the Force to aid him in sensing others thoughts. "No, Ikeeriot. No matter how hard you try to do so, I don’t think you’ll ever get rid of me—even if I didn’t believe in our cause. Which I do." "Good." Ikeeriot nodded. "I’ll make the next recruiting trips. I know how you absolutely love them. I’m no use here anyway." Anduil nodded with a frown. "Did you see Master Ub—?" Ikeeriot responded by turning his back and heading for the hovel. "We should get inside. Cooler in there." Anduil muttered. An hour later, over the meager remains of what they had rationed from the ship they’d commandeered from Xolatis, they turned their thoughts toward their occupation of the planet. "I think I may make a run into town tomorrow," Ikeeriot said, referring to Anchorhead. "I think we should pick up a moisture vaporator. Maybe two." Wiping his face and quietly licking the displaced food from his fingers, Anduil watched Ikeeriot respectfully. "Are you sure we have enough credits? How long do you think we’re going to have to stay here, anyway?" Ikeeriot shrugged. "However long until we get the numbers we need." Again, a reference to a plan Anduil had heard nothing of in the last three weeks. He’d told Anduil to send word to a Xolatis politician to be aware of Darchind’s situation, but Anduil had gotten no reply. In fact, Anduil had gotten a message just the opposite from the Jedi Order on the way back to Tatooine. "Ulic Quel-Droma sent me a transmission, ordering us both back to the front to fight against the Mandalorians, Ikeeriot." Ikeeriot looked blankly at Anduil for a moment, but regained his thought. "He doesn’t need us. The war will be over soon." Surprised by the sudden insight, the hope in Anduil grew visibly. "The Force? A feeling in the Force you have?" Ikeeriot paused and said dismally, "No. It’s something worse. Just intuition of a sort. I haven’t felt the Force since I tried to take revenge on Darchind." Anduil’s eyes grew downcast and took another bite of his food. "Should we even reply then?" Ikeeriot shook his head. "Quel-Droma can handle it. You haven’t heard from the politician then?" Anduil shook his head. "No message back." "In the meantime I think we should go over some kind of a plan." Ikeeriot added. "You . .didn’t already have one?" Anduil asked. Ikeeriot shook his head. "Only a few thoughts here and there. It’s too hard to think about it without thinking about . ." Ikeeriot breathed hard from his nose and glared at the food he was eating. "Without thinking about the last battle." "It surely wasn’t the last." Anduil replied. "What thoughts do you have?" Briefly, Ikeeriot smiled. "Deep infiltration. I need someone to play Wamprat with the Krayt though." He looked carefully at Anduil. "I’d like you to be the distraction. Maybe pull some political strings behind this . .Locke character?" Anduil was shaking his head fervently though. "I don’t think that’s a good idea. How are you going to go undercover as a Sith Initiate if you can’t touch the Force?" Ikeeriot sneered happily at the hovel’s hole of a door as the wind began to kick up and howl. "By the time we do this, I’ll have already gotten back to it or worst case, I’ll go into Darchind’s militia and work my way up. He’s going to have his arms tied that way. Not enough people on one planet, unless he advances his campaign while the Jedi have their heads in the—." "Which is all good and fine," Anduil cut in. "However, I think he might recognize you." Ikeeriot cleared his throat, shaking his head. "He never got a clean look at me, but in any case," he itched his scraggle-laden face. "He won’t recognize me." "Anything else?" Anduil asked. Ikeeriot shook his head again. "Only numbers. We need numbers." His head twitched a bit. "I think we may have a visitor, Anduil." Anduil started to stand but stayed with his knees bent, remembering how many times he’d crashed his head onto the low ceiling of their shabbily made hut. His hand darted down to his side, clasping his double-bladed lightsaber. A dark shadow occupied the hovel’s entrance and put his hand up in defense. "I come with good tidings," he said. Anduil let out a relieved sigh. "Narsayl. It’s good to see you." "Please, don’t let me interrupt in your feast." Narsayl smiled good-naturedly at their meal. "Hopefully you brought your own." Ikeeriot said sourly, settling back down against the wall of the hovel. "I’m afraid I’ve brought more then just food." Narsayl said evenly, hunching back out of the hovel. Anduil genuinely looked confused toward Ikeeriot and followed after Narsayl. Ikeeriot sat stubbornly for a moment but put his food down and followed. Probably brought more equipment to stuff our little thing with. Just what we need— Ikeeriot’s train of thought was stunted by two more ships landing around the hovel, and a third in the distance. "What is all this?" "Sympathy for our cause." Anduil spoke, surprised. He turned to Narsayl. "How did you get all these to come?" Narsayl snorted happily. "Don’t get too excited it’s only four people. Not too many would venture from the front for nothing more then a curiosity." A determined look was washing over Ikeeriot’s face. "It’s enough to start us off." Another hour passed, and as the twin suns set over the horizon the two ex-Jedi and the three Jedi Knights who had joined them assembled into a pentagon. "Before we get too far into the planning, I want to make it clear all of what we’ve just told you is embellished zero percent. There are Sith on Xolatis, and it is true. If you don’t believe me, well . .frankly, there’s no one else to believe." Ikeeriot said. Narsayl nodded to this, while the other two Jedi Knights, one a lizard species: Barabel and another, a Noghri took it in neutrally. The Noghri, named aptly for her stealth as a warrior: Sha’dowa finally replied with only the lightest of growls. "I think such a story couldn’t ever be dreamt up by someone anyway, Ikeeriot. Not to mention your honesty of slipping into the easy way." The Barabel, Toba nodded and sissed at that. "The Hunt is much like you described the feeling of taking revenge. This one admires that you did not leave it out of your story." "As you said though, you can no longer touch the Force?" Narsayl interjected. Ikeeriot nodded. "I’ve been making progress slowly." "What kind of progress?" Narsayl asked. Ikeeriot paused, questioning how exactly to relate his experiences. "It—the Force, I think it left me after I Forced it out with the Dark Side on Xolatis. It’s coming back little by little. I saw Uban earlier . .but only fleetingly." "Uban?" Anduil asked, eyebrow arced. "You didn’t tell me about that." Ikeeriot shook his head. "I wasn’t sure I should. It might have been a mirage." Anduil gave out a deep sigh and nodded. "In any event, I think I should say something more." Ikeeriot said, looking from each new Jedi Knight to another. "Before you go any further, I want you to know that if you choose to come with me, in all likelihood the Order will denounce you as well as our cause. So I ask all of you here to denounce them before they can do it to you." Suspicion washed over Narsayl’s face, "Hey wait a second—." "Wait." Anduil stopped him, clamping a hand down on his shoulder. He could feel the Force in Ikeeriot. It was a faint tingling, but it was there. "If you should join me and Anduil, you’re no longer Jedi Knights. We work as Jedi Wraith, of the Jedi Out-caste. We won’t work outside the Jedi Order—we work completely seperately of it. We work for our cause and we do not obey their orders. It is our job to find prospective Wraiths within the Order and ask them to join us. If we can contact what is left of the Paladins or Warriors-for-Justice, we might be able to draw numbers from them as well. Is this understood?" Narsayl finally spoke, waiting for Ikeeriot to finish. His face was flushed, not from the heat of the planet, but from his attitude toward Ikeeriot. "This is ludicrous Ikeeriot! We can’t work away from the Order! We need their help against the Sith! It is our responsibility to alert them." "As apart of the Out-caste of the Jedi Order, we needn’t involve ourselves with them, unless it is to recruit like-minded people who do not want to fight the war against the Mandalorians as soldiers. We are fighting against Evil from now on—the Sith. We are the ones guarding peace and justice—and we not the Jedi, will be the ones to vanquish their play at power." Narsayl sighed dramatically. "You’re beginning to sound like a Sith yourself, Iker." Ikeeriot sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "If being sure of my side is being a Sith, then label me what you will, but be sure of this—I am neither Jedi nor Sith. I am an Outcast. If you want to join our Outcaste then you’d better be prepared to be sure of yourself as well. Alec Uban taught me that it doesn’t always matter if you use the Force aggressively—just as long as you’re sure it’s for the right, no, the good reasons. To defend." Narsayl looked to the ground and shook his head slowly defiant. "I will join you, if not only to keep you in check." Ikeeriot smiled and turned to Anduil. "I’m afraid you’ll have to be second-in-command in that department." Anduil felt a shiver go down his spine. Ikeeriot turned to the other Jedi Knights, who were already nodding toward his invitation. The first Wraith of the Outcaste, Ikeeriot, Anduil, Narsayl, Sha’dowa and Toba watched the twin suns pass below the violet horizon. After all had adjourned to sleep, Ikeeriot remained outside, feeling the familiar cooler of the desert night whisk his hair up from his forehead into the air. He brushed it away absentmindedly. Earlier, when he’d been speaking for his self-proclaimed Outcaste, he’d felt the familiar tinge of the Force pass over him twice. When Ikeeriot looked out across the dark desert, he felt the same familiar twinge calling him—tugging him. Ikeeriot didn’t know whether it was the Dark Side, lulling him into a peaceful state to be slain by a caravan of Tuskens, or whether it was the Force, calling him back to where he’d began, far before the days he now spent on sandy Tatooine. He gathered his things slowly, feeling doubtfulness as well as the Force in himself, but set out slowly on the Swoop, careful not to push the engine loud enough til he was out of the camp. Ikeeriot joined the night in search of the Force. .6 Gazing out the transparisteel viewport of Mandalore’s Hammer, Darchind and Seknem took in the scene expectantly. Distant footfalls became closer and closer. They stopped a few feet behind the two men and Lord Darchind was the only one to turn to regard their visitor. He was greeted with a nervous smile from his Sith Apprentice, Valecka. Her long blonde hair was tied back into a tight tail and the black Sith cloak that she wore fit to her form easily. "Master," she regarded him, going down to her right knee, bowing. "Rise, young apprentice," Lord Darchind said, raising his upraised palm in the air. He smiled beneath the cloak. All is going according to my plan. "As per your instructions the second and third ground divisions are now upturning the East District of the capitol in search of the Jedi." Valecka said. Darchind nodded. "Infiltration is our first problem—this demonstration of my new army’s power is a multi-pronged attack, young apprentice. Can you tell me what it will accomplish?" Valecka’s eyes narrowed and a squeamish look came over her face as it paled. She took a deep breath and gave it her best however, and Darchind regarded that as better then he might have ventured. "I can think of a few things this will accomplish master—if there are actual Jedi still onplanet, they will be roused from their shadows and dealt with accordingly. If not, the Sith Initiate you planted on patrol will serve his purpose," she paused and grinned at this, "and will attack the troops once he figures out he has been duped. This will give the illusion to the civilians that the Jedi indeed are against us. Against them." Darchind clasped his hands and squeezed them softly, feeling the cold in the crevices between his fingers. "Had I the time, I would applaud. One thing however, you missed. How would a Sith initiate be identified as a Jedi had I not—?" "Given him the a Jedi’s lightsaber they left behind," Valecka corrected her small misstep in a interjection. "My apologies for having not seen it sooner." "None needed." Darchind answered briskly. The next thing would seem like a punishment to the learner, but a small thorn was still in his side. "Valecka, before you go, I also wanted to ask if you supervised the emplacement of the wide-range jammers." Valecka caught the nuance and nodded silently. "I did, my master. Before I go where?" Darchind tried not to sigh. Perhaps he was not as impervious to speech cues as he so thought. "I am sending you on a mission to tie up a few loose ends that my spies have told me have apprised me of. You are to go to the desert world of Tatooine and observe if there are any remnants of those who escaped the attack on Xolatis." "Master, I thought they were being put on trial as we speak?" Valecka asked, her voice turning weak. Darchind shook his hooded head. "Not all will come so easily. We are currently bringing in more members of each Jedi Brigade, but they are voluminous in their own small orders. This mission is not for them." "I was not aware that you believed any Jedi escaped?" Valecka tried. Darchind shook his head again. "I am fairly aware that none did, however given the proximity and relative seclusion of the planet Tatooine these reports could be true." Valecka turned her eyes to the floor. "I understand." She murmured. "I want you to go right away, and spend only a day to look for any that might have escaped. The reports I’ve been given indicate that the suspects frequent the settlement called Anchorhead. If you find anyone of the like, kill them." "Understood." Valecka answered flatly, turning on her heel and walking fast out of the Bridge area. Seknem cleared his throat from behind his mask, which was accentuated through the proximity to the helmet’s inner walls. "I am not so sure about that one. She seems far too timid to be apart of our new order." Darchind ignored the man’s thought. "Let me ben concerned with her Sith training, Mandalorian. I would not give you advice on how to teach your men." Seknem fell silent behind his helmeted head. A nod, and they turned back to the viewport and watched the shifting fleet of three Mandalorian ships. "Soon they will come?" Seknem asked after a long silence. The taps of fingers against keypads and keyboards were all that he could hear in reply from Darchind for a long moment then, "Yes," the Sith Lord breathed behind his hood. "Soon they will come." Sitting in his ‘command chair’ above the recently made Galaxy Destroyer class Frigate, Erad Katoor certainly felt worth more then he probably was. His slicked back, jet black hair matched his dark uniform almost as unquestionably as his crew followed him. He was returning to the battle over Ryloth, fighting the Mandalorians fiercely with all he was given by his planetary government, his home, of Eriadu. The long gray frigate shaped like a dart sprang out of hyperspace and the communications was immediately hit by a blast of static, then a holovid playing on a loop. Nearly spilling out of his own command chair Erad covered his ears and cringed, yelling for the tech specialists to get on the audio problems they were having. When the static disappeared he let out a sigh but then looked up at the holoprojector, which had flipped on all on it’s own. Great, he thought confused, just another problem this new ship is having—I think I should have gotten the warranty . .or just wait for those new Dreadnaught series ships to be created . .however long that’ll take the ship arch’s. "Someone get the blasted audio dampeners and get the volume down!" Erad yelled. Three men ran in three separate directions, one spilling over a female working at the main audio console. "Sir!" Someone yelled. Spinning, trying to find the voice, Erad slipped and fell on his back. He let out a gasp as the air left his lungs and in a dizzied state got himself back up on his feet. "What?!" Suddenly the volume on the transmission lowered. "Finally!" Erad yelled disproportionately loud. "What? What is it?!" "Over here." A technician by the holoprojector waved at him. "You should take a look at this." "I should take a look at this." Erad muttered, hurrying over to the projector. "I’ll tell you what I’ll look at and when I’ll look at it," he grumbled. "Well," he said, glaring at the man. "Turn it back up a little, I’m not that young." "Yes, sir." He could see Jedi fighting at first, with those whirring fire blades that Erad detested. Oh, but when the Republic has a problem that isn’t war, they’ll go to those crazy old-men! Those saviors who prided themselves on peace and justice . .he’d just been chewed out by one for not following the last battle plan in his old ship, The Insulator. He shook his head, remembering the whole incident with the naming of the old hunk of space junk—it was supposed to be The Incinerator, but when the damn techs had encrypted the name onto the ship’s holo-tags they’d screwed it up. Just a big joke—just a big funny joke at Erad’s expense. Meanwhile the Jedi chewed him out for not following their Force. He was beginning to distrust them more and more—they always thought they were right! He steadied his thoughts on the holoprojector and listened. " . .these Jedi attacked and slaughtered most of my peaceful order of monks, all in the name of Republic justice," a voice narrated. "When I retalitated with my secret security guards, they destroyed half of our planet’s city, fleeing back to space," a holocam footage showed an insidious grin on the face of a cloaked stranger, placing a detpack onto the base of a building’s innards and then a bird’s eye view of Xolatis’ smoldering city, half of it crumbling to the ground from a massive shockwave billowing out from a bomb’s epicenter. Immediately Erad’s jaw dropped in amazement. "Keep playing it back . ." He said. "Keep playing it back and try and see if that footage is doctored—if it ain’t then well, I’m not sure I feel like fighting with the Jedi anymore." Erad said. There was a concerned look on the tech’s face but he busied himself. Erad started to go back to his seat but turned back. "Try and see if anyone else is getting this too—open up channels to all the warships in the area." He re-thought the order. "Not the Jedi ships though. I’ll get to the bottom of this soon enough." Behind Erad half of his bridge-crew rolled their eyes, but continued in their work. It wasn’t that Captain Katoor was too stupid to run a battleship—that idea was absurdly underdeveloped—it was that Erad had been bought into his rank by his royal family. Meanwhile Erad continued to mull the Jedi being so ruthless. He’d grown up around a few, taken a liking to a girl Jedi too, but that had been stopped right in it’s tracks. The Force forbid their be any mixing of non-Jedi . .he had snapped at her. She’d left Eriadu the next day. He was hearing new information on the holoprojector as it headed over and over through it’s automated loop. A new planet, Xolatis. Of course, he thought, they thought they could just push them around ‘cause they were new to the Republic. Erad Katoor shook his head in disbelieve and distaste. "I can’t believe they’ve gone that far," he mused under his breath. "A call to arms . .please aid the Xolatis cause, we want nothing more then to defend ourselves against the encroaching armadas sent against us from the far reaches of the Republic capitol, Coruscant," a small and vague image of a vast group of battleships entering a planetary system that Erad could only figure to be Xolatis. "Will someone get me a channel?!" He cried, feeling a simmering anger gather beneath his skin. "We can’t seem to open any channels—." The tech stopped short. "Scratch that out, I think we can piggyback this signal—it turns out it’s being sent to all ships in the local system—possibly the whole system itself. "I don’t care how you do it, techie! So long as it happens!" Erad yelled back. "Yes sir." Came a grumble in return. A few moments later, "I’ve got it!" "Patch me through!" Erad answered ungratefully. No reply to this, just an order followed. "This is Captain Erad Katoor of . . The Incinerator . ." He started. "If you’ve gotten the news I’ve just been informed of, I’m sure you’ll agree with me in switching your next hyperspace coordinates for Xolatis . ." A hundred systems were bombarded with the same set of messages at first, then a hundred more. The answer to the Xolatis’ frantic call for defense would be answered in full in the following few days.

Gorrum

I drew this recently. I need to get back on that more. Video games has taken over for a bit.

Exile .3 and .4

.3 and .4 .3 Darchind was strolling through the newly made courtyard behind his castle, just outside the jungle when his Sith Apprentices,(three of many and growing in number) interrupted him. They always mistake value for fruit on the teacher’s desk, Darchind mused darkly as he saw the three young men walk the obviously older, stronger man into Darchind’s sight. The four of them ducked under a sculpted archway brought in from the middle rim, made by the tremendously gifted wooden architects from Kashyyk. "Lord Darchind we have a prisoner for you to interrogate! He’s one of those nerfherder’s slinkin around like a mynock about those Jedi! We got him on the way—." "Enough." Darchind said, sighing. "Delegate Locke, I’m sorry for the inept attempt by my learners and fellow priests to curry favor, but they have obviously forgotten a good deal of their training. Let him go." He said, flicking his fingers at the young men. They did, scurrying out of the courtyard back through the archway as they went. "Lord Darchind, I’m glad I finally had the opportunity to meet you, although I thought it might be under a little better set of circumstances . ." Locke began. "Of course." Lord Darchind said. He came to a small bench and rested, leaning rigidly with the bench’s durrocrete form. "I’m glad someone finally wants to challenge my government and it’s benchmarks in a civilized manner." "Of course," Locke said quickly. "I thought it was an inflammatory situation the so-called revolutionaries drudged up. It didn’t produce any results for our side of the argument, or yours." "Indeed." Darchind paused instinctively, waiting for more. Locke was better then that though. "What did you think of the Jedi, Locke?" Locke shrugged his big shoulders. "From what I heard, there wasn’t much to think of them. Did they not all flee after killing most of your followers?" Forcing my hand? Clever, Darchind thought. "I’m guilty of ignorance in that respect. I was knocked unconscious during their slaughtering of my people. For all I know, they could still be hiding here in the shadows." Locke nodded slowly at this, scratching his shaven chin. "It was my understanding that a curfew was instigated to keep from these sort of situations from getting out of hand. Hasn’t it just . .fueled them?" Darchind smiled from the inside of the dark hood. "You are right. I was less then intelligible in that move—without knowing it I inadvertently gave the Jedi and their allies more casualties to inflict." "Through no fault of your own, I know." Locke commented. "You were trying to increase safety on the streets at night. Until that night, it had worked. Things sometimes simply need revisions. How sure are you that the Jedi planted the bombs, however?" Darchind sneered behind his dark hood but kept it at bay from showing in his voice. "Fairly sure. I’ve given the local holonet our security recordings of them and their allies setting up the bombs—." "Which inevitably leads the question of personal privacy—how many of Xolatis’ residents knew they were being recorded in their day to day lives?" Locke asked. Darchind shrugged, not even phased by the question. "We put them in place a few days before because we heard of an after-curfew burglary. It was merely a precaution." "Who are these we you keep speaking of, Darchind? I’m just curious to who you confide in." Locke asked. Darchind sighed behind his hood. "My followers are just that and nothing more—followers. They find solace in the fact that someone still wishes to cleanse the anarchy from the air of modern day life and replace it with order." Locke rubbed his back slowly. "They must." "Again, I apologize. For all their security they feel when under my charge, they become a little . .overzealous." Darchind said. "I understand." Locke said. Darchind could sense little understanding really coming from the man, just an overall sense of stalling time. "So was it an issue of pride that made you doctor the footage? If the rumors are true that you doctored such footage on the holovid?" Locke asked. For a moment, Darchind’s heart jumped a beat. It thumped madly in his chest after that moment, speeding to catch up what it had missed. "It was a matter of security, delegate Locke. I would have thought better of you then to believe in such rumors and misleading. Perhaps my own trust was misgiven . ." Locke shook his head. "Forgive me, I’ve probably overstepped my bounds. I know you endorse a good deal of personal freedoms here, I just let the overwhelming anger I’ve gathered from the residents over the attack cloud my better judgement." Better judgement, Darchind rolled his eyes. Laughable. This one is every bit pathetic as the Jedi. "I understand. Sometimes the consensus of those who follow me is that I work too tediously slow to incur any real movement or change, but perhaps competing against you or any other candidate might speed me up." Locke nodded appreciatively. "At the very least." "You wanted to know about the Jedi who were killed however, the ones who didn’t escape or hide?" Darchind offered. Locke nodded hesitantly. "I didn’t think you were prepared to release the information without a request or subpoena." Darchind nodded. "In light of your meeting, I’m fairly sure I can trust you with the information," he paused. "Your . .strength of character seems to have assured me that you can handle the information in a . .civilized way. Correct?" Locke nodded. Like a child being told a secret he will even lie to know and keep in his head. "The full list, is admittedly bare. Only four names come up, but they all did intend to attack me: Orsin Beserek; Jedi Master, Ikeeriot and Anduil; both Jedi Knights, and their leader, Alec Uban; Jedi Master. The two masters were killed when my bodyguards managed to take them by surprise and defend me and the others. The Jedi Knights were killed when a building collapsed due to their bombs." Locke nodded silently. "Very well. I thank you for the information that you could provide. Should I see myself out?" Darchind nodded. "My guards will see you to your home, if you don’t mind." Locke nodded and to Darchind it looked clear to him as if he was turning the information he’d just been given over and over in his head. "Yes, that will be fine." Darchind nodded and watched as Locke exited the courtyard. The moon started to show through the dusky clouds. Keep the dejarik pieces coming. Let them fall into line so I can play them as they come . . As Locke stepped into his apartment overlooking downtown and flicked on the light switch, he could think of nothing more then: Something is wrong here. A lot of things didn’t make sense in Darchind’s story, but one that stuck out like a wamprat in a medical nursery was that Jedi didn’t get surprised. Least of all Alec Uban, who would have noticed if a few tawdry bodyguards were clomping up behind him. His senses were more acute and attuned then that. Locke would just have to keep his eyes and ears open. He wasn’t distraught over Uban’s death. His resolve was hardened. "I’ll draw supporters here and there. Not en masse." He said to himself. He headed through the dimly lit room for the holoprojector, watching as the blinking light on it’s side told him he had a few messages. "Trickling like water down into a drain. And when it pours, we’ll flood out. Maybe I’ll even win the election—if Darchind makes one." He mumbled. Hopefully it would all ferment sometime soon into a flexible situation. In the meantime, I’ll work as attorney for the Paladins on trial—hopefully there will be a trial. He felt exhaustion sap his knees and he went for the couch just in front of the holoprojector. The messages can wait for the morning . . Maybe not. It wasn’t the Force—certainly not in him, but he had an intuition that late night. Something was pushing him toward the holoprojector. The soft blinking began to hypnotize him. Maybe just one message, he bargain with himself. He pressed the circular button and the blue image of a hooded man popped up and spoke to him. It would change his . .two dimensional view of the situation on Xolatis. .4 Briskly evading a group of Jedi Masters passing down the Coruscant Temple still under construction, an as of yet nameless brown cloak passed into the group meditation chamber. Making sure there was no one there, the Jedi sat, and took a deep breath, sending out placid waves of welcoming through the almost liquid grasp he had of the Force. With a deep breath, this Jedi let out a calm, unassuming call for young Jedi. No Masters. He had to hide his Force signature but he made it clear he was welcoming most. Four Jedi came right away, their curiosity getting the better of them. Three left immediately as they walked into the room, frowning as though they’d been pranked. One stayed though—a male Cerean. His cone like head was sprinkled with strands of golden hair, but nothing more then that. He wore a simply brown and gray tunic and leggings and he walked hesitantly up to the Jedi who was hovering serenely above the chair. "Good afternoon," the gravelly, quickly aged voice said. "Is that you?" The Cerean asked hopefully. "Anduil Siron? We thought you were dead!" The man behind the brown hood puckered his upper lip upwards in a frown. "In some ways, Narsayl Kendi, I might as well be." "What are you talking about?" Narsayl asked, furrowing his brow in confusion. "I am here on behalf of another. I don’t usually recruit for our little cause on this sort of level, but he was . .a little preoccupied." Anduil answered. "What do you mean, recruiting?" Narsayl asked, perplexed. Another frown on Anduil’s face, but it didn’t reflect in the Force. He was calm, a center rippling outwards. "I shouldn’t say here. I would like your help, if you’d give it." The Cerean Jedi paused, smirked and shook his head slightly. "Recruit me for an unknown cause for an unknown objective? You’ll have to do more then that for me." Shaking his head, Anduil Siron stood. He was no longer a Jedi Knight. "Sometimes the information given to us has to be enough, Narsayl Kendi." He stalked out of the room, brooding beneath the brown cloak but keeping pace with a group of Younglings starting down the main corridor to the great steps that led to the plaza below the Jedi Temple. Anduil was halfway down the stairs, passing over a flat between the next flight when he heard Narsayl call out behind him desperately, "Anduil, wait up! Siron! Wait up will you?" Anduil stopped but didn’t turn to address Narsayl. Narsayl had no problem with simply catching up to his old friend. "What’s the meaning of this, Anduil? Come on. Let’s go to the Council, we can brief them on . .however your mission went, then we’ll go against the Mandalorians." Anduil shook his head and took off his hood, watching the glaring orange sky and the menagerie of different ships and air-taxies filing through the air in their acrobatic, gravity-defying lateral columns. His thoughts drifted in the Force—a horrible stain glass image of a thousand horrible sights at precise, crystal clarity. Orsin Beserek. Dead. Alec Uban. Dead. Justice. Fleeing from the battle. The worst of them all: Ikeeriot, his eyes filled with rage while tears streamed down his cheeks as he sprayed white-blue Force Lightning from his fingertips, crying out in rage and forcing the Dark Side physically out of him, using it against Darchind and his Sith. The Sith. Resurrected. Anduil shook his head, cursing that he didn’t have better timing. He’s better at recruiting them then I am, he thought. I have to get back . . "If you really want to know what I speak of, then you will follow the Force." Anduil said this, waiting no more then another second to flip the hood back over his head and drift into the calming crowds of anonymity of the Coruscant populace. Narsayl was left on the Jedi Temple stairs, peering after his old friend fearfully. The sands swirled around the gasping shadowy figure. The twin suns baked the ground that swelled beneath his footfalls and every ounce of strength this other Jedi, farthest from the brightest part of the galaxy, was now dedicated to keeping his balance in the torrential winds. Of course, there was no rain to go along with the almost hurricane strength winds—only sand and grit, piling up in every crevice it could, threatening to overwhelm the former Jedi Knight. Go on, he thought dreamily. This is it. You have to keep going. Recapture what you lost, you failure. His conscience’s far from gentle prodding kept him going these days—not the faith in the Force had been so reliant on before the Xolatis debacle. Before you fell, you weak, sorry excuse for a Jedi, the voice said. The figure shook his head, trying to clear the voice away. For a moment, it seemed to work. He sank to his knees and forced out a few hoarse coughs. The wettest of the coughs spurted out saliva mingled with blood and the former Jedi felt his throat’s tender exterior. Have to go on. Have to find him. I have to learn more . .regain what I lost— The famously brutal Tatooine sandstorm was beginning to wind down. Sithspit—I don’t have enough time. Ikeeriot waved his hands out in front of him, finally able to see them for the first time in the past few days. He’d brought four canteens full of liquid and gone through them far too fast—now he was relying far to heavily on his decrepit physical strength; without the augmentation of the Force to help him through the storm. He had lost the will to call upon the Force the night he and Anduil had landed on Tatooine, but he could still fell the inky black taste of the Dark Side on his tongue. He’d lapped it up like a Bantha at a watering hole. Suddenly there was a sharp pain in between his shoulder blades and he was open to the Force once again. His face contorted into a gasping smile, one of a man trying to savor something he hadn’t had for a lifetime. A shimmering form appeared in front of him, one of his former Master, Alec Uban. The man was leaning on a cane, speaking to him, but Ikeeriot couldn’t tell what he was saying. The sandstorm was either far too loud or there was something wrong—it’s a mirage, rasped the conscience inside him. Ikeeriot fought that thought with all his heart and reached out at the image, "Please! Speak! Tell me what I did wrong! How can I make it right? How can I find the Force again?!" He rasped. The form of Alec Uban shook his head and smiled softly, continuing to speak. "I can’t TELL WHAT YOU’RE SAYING OLD MAN!" Ikeeriot erupted. He felt a sharp urge to strike out at the mirage. Or was it a ghost? What? That didn’t matter! Ikeeriot’s hand dropped to his hand and felt Alec Uban’s lightsaber. It was up in a white flash and Ikeeriot jumped at the ghost, but it simply vanished as the wind and storm died down. This left Ikeeriot standing atop a golden sand dune, looking out over a vast sandy alley that curved into a dead end. It was littered with Bantha and Dewback skeletons. Those who ever ventured out that far into the wilds of Tatooine knew it as the Krayt Graveyard. These skeletons too, of the great Tatooine Krayt Dragons, littered the valley. Ikeeriot left his—Uban’s—he thought, lightsaber on and watched the dying storm as he turned to regard it. His sense of the Force was again, completely stricken from him. He had some other intuition he was in trouble though. A deep rumbling growl uttered from beneath him and a huge lumbering roar snapped him out of his inattention to just where he was. That was, standing atop a dying but quite alive Female Krayt Dragon. He vaulted in a springing somersault off of the Krayt Dragon, nearly being snapped in half by it’s vice-dagger mouth. He held the white lightsaber out in front of him and glared fiercely at the thing. It lunged weakly at him and he darted under it’s attack, jabbing the lightsaber upwards through the roof of it’s mouth. It wailed in sorrow and fell the to ground, quivering minutely. Beads of sweat rolled down Ikeeriot unshaven, tanned face. The stubble he’d been growing was starting to grow out and become the itchy, scraggily kind of beard, but he didn’t bother with cleaning it off. Just a distraction in the main objective, he thought tiredly. To regain my control of the Force. Ikeeriot felt to the ground and sat against the still-dying Krayt Dragon, patting it on the rough ride stomach. "Sorry girl. I had to protect myself." The Krayt Dragon gave a muffled howl as it’s dying breath left her. "I hope you don’t mind if I take some of your stomach pearls. Poor girl." He thought absentmindedly that he might be able to get a crystal out of the pearl he might salvage from the beast’s stomach and use it in a lightsaber of his own. That’s all I need—a lightsaber. I can’t even feel the Force and I’m thinking about wielding this kind of weapon, he shut off the white lightsaber and clipped it to his warped leather belt. "First things first," he mumbled. He took out a small datapad and hit the ‘call’ button. In an hour he could hear the distant engine of his Sandspeeder, clipping off the tops of dunes and racing toward the beacon’s signal that was being sent from the datapad. Ikeeriot sighed and went to work at the Krayt, waiting impatiently for the Sandspeeder to find it’s confounded way to him. Blasted machines, he thought. Never did me any good as a Jedi, don’t do me any good now either—other then feed laziness. Either way the Sandspeeder came about an hour before he was done with the Krayt. When he was done salvaging what he could from the great beast he loaded it into the back of the speeder and hopped gloomily into the front seat. Back to the Outcaste settlement, he thought angrily, punching the accelerators.