The Rebel Faction

Irtar handed the paperwork to the guard and sighed slightly, casting a sideways glance back down the hall to the cell that Andrew was in. A sigh escaped his lips as he ran over all that was discussed – well, told to him, but this man. Thoughts on good and evil and the principles of it all. Of falsities of greatness and grandeur of the truth that is hidden in the veil of reality. And it was one hard meal to digest.

“Really an odd one that one, right Mister Mal’Gro?” The guard said with a slight laugh as he worked on filing it. “But if you want to take him on, and take responsibility if he should pull anything funny like that again, whom am I to judge? But personally I would think of just leaving him to cool off! Man who just beats up guards at random must have a couple of screws loose in his head.”

“Well, I’ve got a responsibility to the Coalition to become as useful as I can become. And… well, I’ve got an odd sense that he could help me do that. And hey, isn’t it what we Jedi do best that whole feeling thing?” Irtar said with a weak smirk as he leaned against the desk, waiting for the man to finish running the files. “After all, there is a real thin line between genius and madness.”

“Huh. Well you be sure to remember that line! Makes the difference between the man who talk your ear off and who bite it off!” The Sinsangese man laughed again as he fetched a datapad and handed it to Irtar. “Here all the verification papers you need. Oh, and tell him that his friend was released because we had no evidence of him having much involvement and we were just going to have him for a witness. But now that you taking guard beater, no need to worry about that now.”

“Thanks… I guess.” Irtar said as he walked away shaking his head slightly. Was this to be his fate if he followed this road? To be considered mad by everyone else? Just another person who should be ‘locked away’? It was with a face of thought he entered the room and found Ahnk sitting in the cell, waiting.

“Well, I used my diplomatic powers to take you out under the condition that you don’t cause anymore trouble.” Irtar said as he came up and put his hand on the sensor for the force cage. “So please don’t cause any more trouble. I LIKE having the diplomatic thing for the Coalition because it helps me do some stuff the average guy can’t. Though ‘power over others is fleeting like the sand’ it’s really useful in the here and now to help stop the Empire and the Sith.”

Irtar gritted his teeth at the last part. To know how easily the Empire would allow their Sith friends to just simply kill one of their citizens… a citizen whom had done nothing more than give birth to a forcer that made his way to the side of the Jedi instead of the Sith.

With a click the cell doors swung open and Ahnk was free to exit. Irtar turned towards the cell and looked him over. “So. Your friend was set loose to and… where to?”

Irtar the Mad had a ring to it.

There is no emotion; there is peace.

“Again.”

Taja’s breath caught sharply in her throat as she struggled to regain her foothold, her unsheathed toes curling through the loose topsoil of the forest floor in a frantic effort to uncover some form of miracle support buried within the earth. A deep gash extended along the full length of her right leg, beginning at her knee and etching itself through her skin until it reached her ankle, and a similarly proportioned smear of blood was imprinted across the jagged surface of a sizeable rock that rested near her feet. She watched as the fluid seeped into the land, creating frenzied patterns as it spiraled over the stone’s minute serrations in its descent towards gravity’s call, and it was only once she had diverted her eyes to the darkening moist patch on the ground below it that she realized the true severity of her injury. A dull, throbbing pain clawed its way into her tiny limbs, and it was solely through a strength derived from sheer will and the terrible fear of disappointing her Master that she finally managed to stand upright, using the very same medium that had wounded her to raise her body from where it lay prostrate upon the gravel.

Biting down into her lower lip to distract her thoughts away from both the slowly intensifying pain and the burning sensation in her eyes, heavy with tears, the girl nodded hesitantly, still swaying from one side to the other as she vied to steady herself. Her blonde hair was matted against her forehead and cheeks, both of which were red and moist from the heat of perspiration, and each of her inhalations sounded as ragged, arduous gasps. All around her were strewn rocks of varying mass, ranging from miniature yet hefty boulders similar to the one she had scraped her leg against during her fall to diminutive pebbles which, despite their slight weight, could cause quite the significant lesion upon impact with human flesh if hurled at great speeds – which was precisely what her Master had been doing. Readying her expression to mimic one of firm resolve, Taja stared fixatedly at the dark outline of a man standing some way ahead in the distance, his figure seemingly entrapped amidst a sea of floating rocks and debris which all hovered around him ominously, revolving as though he were the focal point of their orbits.

And then, in an instant that was over before she could recover from a single ill-timed blink, the rubble tore free of their airborne suspension, moving with startling speed and aimed directly at her as they rapidly gained momentum. Their motions were not in straight lines, however; no, that would have been far too convenient. Instead, they were propelled through space by some unseen force that was as precise as it was fond of chaos, as the rocks intertwined their trails and weaved through and past one another, never once colliding and yet traveling with such accuracy and unpredictability that it would have been impossible for any regular being to follow their progress even if their vision remained unhindered by the instinctive need to flicker their eyelids closed every now and then. Taja was no such ordinary individual; whereas most entities were able to glean insight into their surrounding worlds by openly observing its finer minutiae, she could see more by analyzing the countless crevasses they were forever incapable of accessing. She could visualize things they could seldom ever fathom, could envisage a reality they would never want to infringe upon in trepidation of all its impending horrors.

Taking in a last shuddering breath, she sealed her eyes shut.

There is no ignorance; there is knowledge.

All at once, the universe reared to a sudden halt, although Taja chose to view it from a much slower perspective; to her, the transition was akin to striking yet macabre poetry, as the world’s limitless colours and hues melted and swirled together into a spectrum of altogether new, indefinable, yet notably lesser shades; all blending under, into and over one another, lacing through and in between the unconfined cracks and crevices to form a fluid amalgamation that was both anarchic and serene in its indefinite simplicity. During that single second, Taja felt as though she were in absolute control – not of herself, her situation, or even her surroundings, but of the entire cosmos in all its massive totality; as if she could pause at any moment and thus compel the universe to freeze in accordance with her will, forcing the colours to remain as they were in a state of bewilderment and confusion until she resolved to allow them to once again traverse the path towards their beautiful and final downgrade, towards the end, towards darkness. Because everything, everything existed through colour; it was the means by which the world operated through the eyes of all sentient life, the barrier preventing the blind man from ever transcending his comatose state into the land of the living, and the division separating the physical plane from the realms of the ethereal.

But the subconscious … the subconscious was monochrome.

She remembered, from a time that seemed to belong to an era entirely dissimilar from the reality she existed in presently, overhearing numerous tales in which her old townsmen would recount the dreams they experienced nightly. The citizens of Desauloris were a superstitious people and thus allotted great significance to the voyages their sleeping minds embarked on, adorning every one of these jaunts with flamboyant narrative and brilliantly romantic diction. No detail was too trivial, no single feature left without vivid illustration; it was almost as though they regarded these ventures as a gateway leading to perfection, to a utopian truth they could frequently attain in spite of its wholly fictional nature. They never failed to lavish all manners of sensation, smell and sound to their dreams, along with vibrant colour. Especially colour.

Taja had never understood this custom, for she alone could see the subconscious for what it was in actuality: a vast continuum of gray that was altogether boundless, limitless, formless, shapeless, and perpetually, miserably endless. It was a black hole of amorphous nothing, a separate reality in its own right in which thick tendrils of liquid, sinuous grayness extended throughout the non-space, reaching from naught to infinity and back again in a never-ending cycle of oblivion. What made it truly frightening was the fact that it was not only timeless, but also outstandingly real; the human psyche, with its innate tendency to reconstruct ambiguities into rationalizations that were easier to process, seemed to gather so-called information from the surface of this vacuum and reform them into images and sentiments that the brain could absorb somewhat more readily. It was a far less terrifying prospect when compared to the alternative, and appeared to be the mind’s secret technique for protecting its bearer from its hidden nature – a defense mechanism of sorts. Taja thought that maybe if people could look into the abyssal depths of their mentalities and view its subliminal innards for what they truly were, they would be too afraid to fall asleep ever again.

The waking world, however, was far more orderly in the arrangement and structure of its hues. Anyone could affirm the notion that the impression of everything they see remains embossed in their mind’s eye for a brief moment before succumbing to darkness; Taja, on the other hand, had learned to augment this phenomenon, by forcing the indentations to not only linger, but also increase in terms of clarity – much as a predator’s field of sight became focused and honed during nighttime. She could see the world in a neutral channel, midway between the randomness of the subconscious and the strict rigidity of vision, in which everything was swathed in various shades of grey. Living creatures had a considerably more refined and brighter aura than inanimate objects, the silhouettes of which were a much duller shade and far less distinct from the air around it. Her Master, with all the near-tangible power he exuded, emanated the most vivid glow of them all.

It was through a steady and continual scrutiny of these tones and their relative differences that Taja had learned to manipulate them over time; with her eyes still closed, she concentrated on the debris, all of which possessed roughly the same tint, until their outlines grew brighter and brighter, as if draining the colour from the atmosphere and foliage around them. Detracting their courses of flight would prove fruitless; she had attempted that during the previous assault, but they had abruptly reverted back into their initial, arbitrary arcs and pummeled her with twice the might as originally intended. This time, she would need to employ a different tactic; once the glow had intensified to a degree that it distinguished the rocks starkly from their surroundings, the brilliance of their outlines began to spread over their complete surfaces, contracting inwards with a force that seemed tantamount to pressure in the real world. The compression continued to weigh in on the debris, escalating rapidly and with outlandish strain until, finally, they reached their breaking point, shattering into thousands of millions of microscopic fragments as the stones imploded – all within just a mere few seconds from the time they had first launched into their trajectory.

There is no passion; there is serenity.

The shards of stone vanished into the atmosphere, disintegrating once more into the fine particles of dust from whence they had been formed, countless eons past. A ghost of a smile flitted across her Master’s mouth as he strode over to where she stood, hunched over in exhaustion, but dissipated within a fraction of a second and with equal covertness as Taja raised her gaze towards him. The apprentice’s jaded irises bored through into his beseechingly, as though in search of approval, but the only answer she received manifested itself in the form of a curt nod – a gesture which served to jointly express his satisfaction at her performance as well as to announce that their training session for the day had concluded, in concurrence with the swiftly diffusing glows of the sky as it heralded twilight. Hurriedly dusting her oversized and tattered beige robes, she stooped down to offer her master a bow, but at that exact same instant her knees appeared to decide that enough was enough. Taja’s eyes rolled back against her skull and her legs gave away beneath her weight, preparing to succumb to the welcoming pull of the ground ...

“You’re with me now, Taja.”

... But instead found themselves being lifted upwards, hoisted into her Master’s strong arms with a tenderness and affection that few mothers could possibly hope to rival whilst nursing their very first newborns. Taja wrapped her small hands around his neck for support, pushing her face into his chest as her senses became feverish and delirious from the pain in her leg, the earliest indications of infection already having begun to seep in through the open lesion. She whispered a muffled cry for help, not expecting anyone to hear, but even before she could voice the plea of desperation her Master had diligently set to work on subduing the damage before it could spread any further. As he turned on his heel and began walking towards their cottage home, her body rising and falling rhythmically with each of his quick paces, an inexplicable wave of calm washed over her, deadening the ache in her leg until she could no longer feel it and sedating her mind until all she her thoughts spun around her Master, and the serenity that paralleled his sheer existence. He brought tranquility and solace to her troubled mind, and numbed the permanent unease accompanying the voices that eternally plagued it.

She burrowed herself deeper into his robes, reveling in the kind sanctuary he provided; with him, she was safe, and far removed from the reality as a mock-worthy outsider she had faced previously. He had made sense and reassured Taja where not even her own parents could support her … perhaps because they themselves had believed it to be a farce, convinced that their daughter’s condition was a demonstration of their failure as parents and thus resigning to a life of self-pity and dejection instead. He told her that she was special, that she possessed a gift like no other; that the reason she could hear the cries of all that surrounded her was because she was one of the chosen few who had been preordained to fulfill the prayers of the meek, and that was why she was being trained, to enlighten them with the stanch face of salvation. To the child, however, most significant of all was the promise that he would look after her, the unyielding vow that he would take care of her come what may and spare her the humiliation and abandonment she had hitherto experienced throughout the entirety of her short life. He told her that she was special, that he loved her. And to Taja, no other truth could harbor as great a warmth and meaning as those simple words did, as he laid her onto her bed and pulled the covers over her thin shoulders. To Taja, nothing in the world could be more important than that mutual, unwavering trust. Forever and always, he had sworn. And so it would remain.

Later that night, as Taja rested on her side with her knees folded to press again the underside of her chin, she began to feel the initial tugs of a recurring anxiety graze against her psyche as an overwhelming blanket of foreboding slowly crawled over her, smothering her from every possible direction. It was a familiar apprehension, and one that served as a warning sign hours before its physical counterpart revealed itself as the sounds of her bedspread rustled softly in order to hail its newest guest. Taja’s small frame trembled beneath the weight of the adult as he lowered himself on top of her, her every muscle tightening indignantly in motionless protest against the customary heaviness. She lay unmoving, her arms straightened along her sides and her fingertips curled over the sheets almost as though in preparation for the nightly ritual, and as she felt the first telltale signs of intense pressure inside her lower abdomen, she closed her eyes and pushed her nails sharply into the mattress with as forceful a clench as her young childlike limbs could muster. The acuteness of the strain seemed to be amplified in accordance with her body’s involuntary dissent, and so she focused her mental faculties elsewhere, vying instead to number each and every single one of her Master’s quick breaths as they gradually became more and more rapid and painfully fervent.

After a short while, her mind began wandering closer to his, in a tentative and submissive attempt to seek out shelter by cautiously prying against the walls of its vast empty caverns and embracing the resonating nothingness that thrived within the vacuum of his psyche. As if in response, the fissures abruptly expanded in every direction around her spirit, enshrouding it within the creases of their palpable darkness and allowing her to nestle fearfully amidst the layers upon layers of silence they contained. It was her secret place to escape to during the more intense moments of her master’s visit; it was fitting, in a strange way, that she found solace within the hollows of his mind all the while he explored the very boundaries of her physical being. It was the most agonizingly beautiful of all sequences, and Taja did not understand why she always felt the most acute sense of dread during this routine; after all, did genuine intimacy not come at the cost of the most vicious and soul-shattering of pains ? It was the noblest and most supreme of all sacrifices, especially if it meant she could linger even a second longer in the void of his mind. And so it continued, minute after excruciating minute, until he had thoroughly finished proving his love to her with each cherished stroke, until her ribs were sore from having supported the added burden atop her chest for so long, until the rinds of her consciousness had peeled apart and disappeared into the core of his, melding together harmoniously amidst the throes of the night.

There is no death; there is only the Force.

Hours later, alone and enshrouded within the suffocating folds of the night once more, Taja reached out across the mattress and, clasping her fingers through an invisible hand that awaited her in the barren darkness, fell into a deep slumber.

“Mommy, where are you … ?”





The red mists of the ethereal desert Adhee traversed through swirled around her form and carried with them a thick trail of dust and sand, the displacements of which seemed to carve transient directions through the crumbling soil, guiding the apprentice closer and closer towards a specific location within the ill-conceived carnival. There was a wind quite ostensibly present, and a fairly strong one at that, but what made the phenomenon eerier still was the fact that there was no noise whatsoever to complement it; while it was wholly natural to overlook such sounds under ordinary circumstances, their total absence was gravely apparent in the setting she found herself in now. Her environment was completely, perfectly silent; visibly mobile, and yet utterly voiceless. This feature in itself made the situation all the more unnerving, but nevertheless the young Sith continued along the path sketched out before her, unseen though it was. For a second, Adhee was overcome by the distinct impression that, were she to voluntarily will herself to cease her step, her feet would refuse to abide by her command; she was here for a reason, and it appeared as though nothing would be allowed to distract her from that undeclared purpose.

Sound was not the only aspect lacking in this alien world; the concept of time seemed to have suffered the same fate. She had no means by which to glean how many minutes had passed before the fog enveloping her subsided, granting her in the wake of their collapse a more lucid view into her surroundings. The destination that the strange, living vapors had selected for her did not appear remarkable in any manner, however; as Adhee glanced around, she could discern no differences between the highlights of this amusement park in contrast with any other – except for, of course, the outlandish red glows that stained everything in sight, along with one other striking facet.

There, in the distance, hovered the silhouette of another woman.

As the girl’s field of vision gradually became adjusted to the bizarre hues of her new atmosphere, she squinted, attempting to garner a clearer image of the figure ahead of her. She had the marked impression that the presence belonged to none other than Taja, which also accounted for the familiarity she had sensed earlier, but all physical attributes hinted at a different truth. The woman, whoever she was, possessed a much greater height and stature than the Sith Master did, and her eyes were of the most peculiar shade of speckled yellow Adhee had ever come across. Fiery red waves of hair framed her long face, which had an almost scaly sheen to it, and by all definitions she conveyed an odd … serpentine quality. At that same moment, as though she had picked up on the apprentice’s thoughts, a thin forked tongue darted out from between her crimson-tinted lips, confirming Adhee’s suspicions. The red-haired woman began approaching, taking long, fluid strides that in a way seemed to resemble a biped’s answer to slithering. Once she was within earshot, she started speaking, her words slicing through the stillness of their shared, mute reality. “The world is your playground, Adhee,” she hissed, her tongue again flickering out. “And I am your reigning monarch.”

Just as her last word trailed off, the scarlet fog that had cloaked Adhee previously returned once more to enclose her, veiling her away from the anything and everything that surrounded her. As she struggled to regain her focus in spite of the haze, a familiar voice called out inside her mind, and along with it she could hear the funfair’s formerly dormant attractions coming to life all at once and altogether, their nauseatingly cheerful and repetitive melodies trilling deafeningly throughout the vast expanses of the wasteland and penetrating even the dense smoky barrier that stifled the Sith apprentice. Although she was incapable of observing what was happening, there was one very distinguishable noise that soared several decibels louder than all the other reverberations …

“Catch me if you can !”

... The unmistakable crunch of shattering wood, as the foundations of the park’s giant rollercoaster splintered and fell apart, sending the gargantuan structure plummeting down right towards Adhee.

Ooc: Pardon the quality. I am just now tackling my writer's block and my writing is only slowly reacquiring the emotion I had once poured into it.

IC:
It was a bitter and lifeless laugh that slipped forth from Adhee's parted lips, the final traces of what may have once been something connected to humanity. But in its wake it left an unutterable thing, a creature that resembled a human being and no more. It was but a hollow and empty shell, the withering remains of womanhood and its tantalizing secrets, the hissed and horrible secrets of a dark and ever-darkening past....

What life and vibrancy left in her eyes danced away with that final, deathly sound. Eyes so cold and dull, so lost... they found their way to the pale and shaking hands that she hardly recognized as her own. A shadowy remnant of something horrible remained there, stained forevermore on her once innocent, youthful skin. Her limbs shook, as though she were struck with an endless chill, and she lingered there. She was nothing more than a broken and hopeless figure, unable to comprehend the significance of the blood she had wished upon the world, and yet left slipping into an unfamiliar darkness for it all the same.

There were so many promises, so many empty promises that had given her secrets long left unsurfaced, had put knowledge in her lost and lonely heart. Oh, how those secrets had filled her empty soul! How they had been her every waking moment, her every tantalizing dream.... She had dared to dream those forbidden things, for they had been too grand and glorious to lay truly appreciated in the hearts of normal man. But she had wanted them, had understood and comprehended them, and that man... that man had promised them to her, and their fulfillment, and oh she had believed!

But there was no more of that. There would never be any more of that; no more hushed promises, no more softened secrets, no more words of an empty love that were meant only to decieve. In him she had sought a comfort, a belonging that may have once stirred the dormant hope that laid ever-lingering in the depths of her heart. But there was nothing now, for she was numb now to the workings of the normal soul, and in her there was something incomplete... something pained and dying. No, it was dead now, dead and gone. It had died with him. It had gone with him.

---

The woman was left traversing the dark and reddened desert of a land, her eyes almost empty as they remained locked on the scene before her. She hardly noticed the dust and dirt that swirled about her like a surreal and clinging fog, the arms of something intangible and unidentifiable reaching always for signs of life and movement. The earth crumbled at Adhee's slightest touch, her feet shuffling against the dirt and rocks as she still moved, and a merciless wind tore at her slender body perhaps in hopes that it would dislodge her from her path.

And yet despite all this she heard nothing. Not a rock, not a whistle, not a ragged breath. Around her the world was always shifting and moving, taunting her in every shape and form, and yet refusing to reach her waiting ears. It occurred to her that perhaps she should stop, turn around, and will herself to go another way; even though she could comprehend no form of exit from this place, it was apparent now that what was waiting for her would surely bring her no peace. And so, she tried to halt her progress and turn away, to fight this unnerving dream that surely struggled to break her as did everything and everyone else - but her legs would not respond, and in fact were not her own, for they continued to take her forward, and would have it no other way.

The place was a red that reminded Adhee of death. Of blood. She saw no sun, no light, nor any sense of life in this world, and though she was often unnerved by the presence of others, and other life, she found that there was nothing to bring her comfort in the lack of it here. Something in the hellish glow of this world reminded her of the blood that forever stained her hands, of the things in her past that enveloped her and would never leave, and of the emptiness that had remained when something precious had been ripped from the child she may have once been.

But no, she had been wrong. There was something there, in the distance, separated from the scene it stood amidst as though it were not meant to make contact with such an unworthy world. Adhee could hardly see this thing at first, but it was distinctly a woman, whether it lived or not. Yet the woman felt that her sense of loneliness did not fade, and alone as she was she continued her path toward this surreal and somehow familiar creature. She knew even now who it could have been, or who indeed it was, and yet she was brought no comfort, as she might have expected.

But it was not like Taja in some sense. It was taller, greater somehow, and possessed a different color of eyes and hair than her master truly did. Something about the figure conveyed some type of inhuman quality, as well, as though in some sense it were related to a lizard, or a snake. It approached Adhee amidst her thoughts and ripped through her mind with her painful speech, words that tore brutishly at the air that had until now been nothing but silence.

For a moment her words had been unclear, but as the last was left to trail through the air, Adhee could form them within her mind. The fog was returning as the words had to her, and she attempted to retain her stability, her sight of the world around her. But as she did there was a sudden uproar of sound and life, as though the world itself had been muted and then returned to its former quality. Her hands shot up to her ears in shocked response to this unexpected outcome, and yet through her need to push it all from her mind she could still hear the shrill and painful cry.

“Catch me if you can !”

As though these words had been a warning to her as clear and unmistakeable as could possibly be, Adhee's initial reaction was to look upward as though from surprise or fright. Through the fog and airy, swirling sand she could see something massive and ominous taking shape; she could hear, now, the cracking and creaking of the wood as the huge object came crashing toward her.

There was nothing she could do. She grit her teeth and went rigid, and without thought, without coherency in her mind at all, she waited for what would seem to be her sudden and unfavorable end.

Marriage.

It's a vicious thing, really. Born out of the strongest emotion of goodness and peace, the mutual sensation of love, marriage changes things in an irrevocable fashion. At first, it is an enhancement; every sensation shared, every memory created, every gesture of fondness duplicated a hundred fold by the visions we share of a lover, head to the nines, white lace and black tuxedo. Everything comes back to the that day; all the fights forgotten, the dishonesty and lies, the broken bonds and dalliances all forgiven. It's like watercoloring over a photo of war, with flowers blooming pink and purple and the radiant waves of sunshine streaming in. There are no more corpses.

Not at first.

But of marriage the expression that all good things must come to an end has never been more aptly applied. As new memories are created old memories are forgotten and the day that which you sealed yourself to your new life no longer defines the life through which you lead, as new experiences taint it the white lace a dirty shade of brown. You begin to remember all that you had forgotten, in what it was that kept you apart. You begin to forget the bonds that hold you and instead merely remember every time they were broken.

This is not a definitive process that appears all at once. Rather it is a slow manifestation of the very nature of survival instinct inside every man. Marriages, like people, rarely die violently and instantly. More often, they decay. A little at a time, but more with each interval. The tendrils around our hearts withering into seared black flesh, becoming a putrid liquid of necrotized flesh and then finally only into dust. Finally, we surrender to the nature of existence.

Love... conquers all.

A quaint expression, isn't it?

When Andrew Rashanagok rose from his sleep, he pondered the meaning. Love was seen to be a positive emotion; something shared between two, born of intimacy and mutually experienced joy. And yet, why was it necessary to conquer anything then? If it were to occur naturally, and in conjunction between two, would not it merely need to be accepted?

But it was never really accepted, was it? It couldn't be. It stood in contrast to the very nature of man itself. The urge and desire to survive, no matter the cost. No matter the cost. Man will succumb to depths from which there can be no redemption, no salvation or moral reclamation in order to ensure his survival. It was the base human instinct, and the overriding factor in all the decisions of man. To make one so opposed to that nature was very rare and in only a special breed of human.

And that was what love was. Surrender. Putting aside our predatory nature to rely on another. It was something diametrically opposed to the natural operation of our brains. It was that reliance on another for survival, the dependence upon them for emotional stability that so many found so... unacceptable. It was not something that we, as humans, did with disregard.

Trust.

It was, in most cases, too much to ask.

"Where are you going?"

Andrew finished pulling up his sock before he turned. Montague lay against the headboard of his bed, looking about as awake as he was. "I have to go," he said, beginning to put on his second sock. "I have to go back to the real world."

She sat up, pressing her back against the headboard and her shoulders against the burnt wall. "Was I not real enough for you last night?"

He smiled, not stopping what he was doing this time. "It is a shame that you are so limited as you are now. There was a time when I could have loved you."

She scoffed, rolling her eyes in a gesture he couldn't see. "You are incapable of love. You find the very idea of it to be repulsive." When he turned to her, she touched a claw to the side of her head. "Don't lie to me, Ahnk. I am inside your head, after all."

He turned back again, still smiling. Raising his shirt up above his head, pulling it down over his chest. "My name is Andrew."

"Oh, don't bother, Clark. You're not that pathetic little monk that you pretend to be and both of us know it," she said, growing frustrated... if a fiction of someone's imagination can, indeed, grow frustrated. "You are the Dark Lord of the Sith. The killer of Jedi and conquerer of worlds. You take what you want, damned be the consequences."

He shook his head, which made it hard to button up his shirt. "No. I am a different person now."

"You wear a different mask now, that's all," she said, bemusedly. He turned to witness her sick smile. "The tattoos that bore your hatred have been removed by time, replaced by lines of sorrow and regret. Instead of dark green lines of rage you bear the soft white stains of your tears." He turned, and she leapt for him, strong grip taking him by the shoulder. "Stop trying to hide what you really are. Your guise is as thin as my modesty, and as unconvincing."

He shook himself free, standing up. "I don't have to listen to this."

"It's her, isn't it?" she said, vitriolic. It was enough to stop him. "You're leaving me because of that heiress girl?"

Andrew turned to her, smiling in amusement. "I never took you for the jealous type."

Montague laughed, which was an experience all it's own. "She doesn't deserve what you're going to do to her."

Andrew took his turn to laugh. "What, exactly am I going to do to her?"

Montague laid back on the bed, relaxing in her impetulance. "Your hand is cursed, Andrew Micheal Rashanagok. You cannot save her, or the boy, or any of them. How could you, though? You can't even save yourself."

Andrew turned, looking down on her with divine amusement. "I am alive, with 8 organs, 3 limbs, and 2 students to train. You, meanwhile, are an anonymous corpse in space and disembodied lust. Which of us needs saving?"

She offered something between a grin and a snarl as her reply. "You can spend your day with billionaire bitches, but you know that you belong to me. Nothing can change that."

Andrew just softly shook his head, throwing his robe over his shoulder and turned for the door. "I can wake up. In fact, I think I'll do just that."

"Until you stop entertaining the ghosts of your guilt," she shouted after him, "you will never escape what you were and it will always be what you are! Always!"

"I'll take that," he said, as he closed the door behind him, "as goodbye."






"What are you smiling about?"

As Andrew Rashanagok woke himself, properly this time, he was unaware that his amusement had come with him. He looked across the way to the unmoving form of Irtar Mal'Gro, and then up to the very awake and alive and moving Bill, manning the ships controls and reading the displays in front of him.

"How long?" Ahnk asked, nodding his head in the direction of the sleeping Jedi.

"About an hour," Bill replied, turning in his chair. "He got tired of waiting for you, and passed out rather then have to listen the ship anymore... ow!" Bill said as his chair suddenly jerked on it's adjustments. That was enough to make Ahnk smile again. "Shall we...?"

"No, let him rest," Ahnk said, looking down at him. "He dreams the malformed dreams of trouble and transcendence, lost in a wash of color and shape emotional cries of the tortures of his past." When Bill looked at him like he was talking Azguard, Ahnk sighed. "He didn't sleep well."

"Right," Bill said, and then shot the man a smirk. "You were spying on his dreams?"

"I wasn't spying," Ahnk said sternly. "I think most people assume that looking into someone's thoughts is like picking the lock of a house and then opening the door and looking around. Most people don't bother to lock their doors and sometimes you don't even have to go in; their thoughts are like loud music, and you can hear them from half a block away. By the way; your wife is quite the looker. Do you think she could date a Jedi?"

Bill was no longer smirking. "Stay out of my head, Rashanagok."

Ahnk was smirking now, though. "Strong emotions are hard to ignore when your senses are attuned to understand such fluctuations. The winding branches of hurt inside Irtar extend far beyond his own head now. It is hard for me to ignore the bleeding of the leaves. Likewise, though, is love a strong emotion, painted as pictures of people and places across notes of music and empty spaces. When you have spent your entire life with sight, to close your eyes is... disconcerting."

"Well, don't look at me, then," Bill said, turning his shoulder and head away from the former Sith.

"How long until we drop out of hyperspace?" Ahnk asked Sihoyguwa, and then watched the starlines disappear as his vessel entered normal space. "Well, okay, disregard that question. Sihoyguwa, where is Bonadon?"

"I wasn't sure how you wanted to make your approach, so we're outside scanning range of the civilian traffic, waiting for your order to drop the cloak," the ship responded,and Ahnk put his hand to his chin.

"Sihoyguwa, what's the status of the planet's shield?"

"It's a day cycle on the business capital of the galaxy, what do you think?" the ship responded as sarcastically as it could manage.

Bill turned back to face Ahnk again. "I just want it on the record that this is a bad idea, and I don't think it will end well." To that, Ahnk grinned. "I'm serious. This is someone else's capital world. You really can't just stroll in as if you owned the place."

"Watch me," Ahnk said, kicking his feet up on the table. "Sihoyguwa, do not disengage the cloak. Take us in, and put the ship down at Docking Pad 47."

"Very well," the ship told him, stopping to add, "but I feel obligated to remind you that the use of cloaking devices while inside the planetary orbit of a non-aligned system has been priorly construed as an act of war."

But Ahnk was already asleep.







Ahnk was struggling with his words. Not sure why. Something something something familiar but foreign had attacked him, something something something had confused him. He felt wounded, somehow. Uncertain.

He turned. As he did he felt the strain as if he turned through hardening carbonite, to her.

It was her.

To her, he offered a short nod. “I believe that it would be best, if we did not ever see each other again.”





That was what he'd said. And at the time, he had meant it.

Even now, he couldn't help but admit that it was perfectly sound advice.





The ship landed with a soft thud. Irtar shot awake, eyes finding Ahnk and expressing some measure of surprise.

"We're here. I didn't bother to wake you, I figured you could use the rest," Ahnk said. He began to undo the cuff links in his robe. "There are a few rules you need to know on this planet. First, money is key. You can do whatever you want as long as you hurt only yourself and you reward the right people. Second, you don't talk. While we're here I've got the passwords and I'm basically your Ambassador to Bonadon. Thirdly, they don't like concealed weapons and a place like this can afford to scan for anything you may have, and, perhaps more importantly, they can afford to make sure you are accidentally lost and no one ever finds you. Take your lightsaber, leave all communicators and weapons here on the table."

Once he had removed the cuff links, it was clear to see why. Inside the hem of his robe had been hidden an air tank feeding into the cuff ink, and behind the link was a row of small, sharp darts. The cuff links were placed on the table that separated the two, joining two lightsabers, six daggers, 3 blasters, two dozen throwing knives, an ice pick, four grenades, a fold-out quarterstaff, an electric prod, and a flamethrower that was designed to fit inside Ahnk's prosthetic arm.

When Ahnk saw Irtar looking at his arms he made sure to roll down his sleeves well past his gloves. "Once you're ready to go, meet me outside, I'll be dealing with the welcoming committee."

Ahnk made a final mental count of his weapons checklist, making sure he had removed them all. When he was sure he had, he checked to make sure he had left his lightsaber affixed to his belt... not that he felt he needed a weapon, he just wanted others to know it was there. That done, he pulled his robe up and over his head before reaching up and opening the rear hatch, sliding the door open in that familiar spiral disappearance and then lowering the rear ramp.

"Sihoyguwa," Ahnk said as he took his first breath of that old familiar air, "drop the cloak."

The Sihoyguwa shimmered into visibility in violent waves, the field that refracted the light around it fading to be replaced by a metal hull that reflected it. It would be jarring to say the least and anyone looking directly at the docking pad may well have been blinded. Irregardless, it was certainly a transition that did not go unnoticed. By the time Ahnk had reached the bottom of the ramp, there was already a dozen security guards forming a rough semi-circle between him and the entrance to the city proper, an administrator stepping past them and regarding the dark robed man with a look of severe frustration.

It was very likely Ahnk had ruined the man's day.

"Operating a cloaking field generator within the planetary orbit of a Commonwealth controlled system is a violation of all Commonwealth policy and treaties as duly accorded by the League of Nations, Galactic Coalition, and the New Order. Any violent action you make will be considered an act of war," the man said, surprisingly quickly, all things considered. One would think cloaked ships popped up outside this man's door all the time.

"Were war my intention, you would already be dead," Ahnk told them in all sincerity.

The man shook that off... maybe regarding it as a boast or maybe shaking his head so that his security wouldn't open fire. "I demand to know why you have committed this most flagrant of violations."

"I'm here on urgent business... I came directly from Zanzabar," Ahnk told him.

The man couldn't hide his surprise. "How are the beaches on Zanzabar at this time of year?"

"There are no beaches on Zanzabar," Ahnk said, smiling. "The planetary orbit of Zanzabar prevents unfreezing of surface water up to a depth of a hundred meters, and so there are no large water bodies of any kind."

The man nodded, slowly. "And hows goes the narayan hunt? I've been told they are a lithe prey. Are you much of a hunter?"

"Not on Zanzabar, no. Narayans have been extinct for over 23 years."

The man nodded, and gave a hand signal to his guards. They allowed their rifles to lower. "Ahnk Rashanagok. It has been many years since you have seen fit to come to this planet. Your tattoos are gone."

"It's amazing what they can do with a laser these days," Ahnk replied, half kidding. By now, he heard Irtar stepping behind. "I require a meeting with Ms. Vinda. You'll take me to her. You can lose the guards; we have no intention of causing any harm."

"One cannot be too careful when dealing with the Sith," he said, and Ahnk stepped in towards him, closing the distance between the two considerably.

"I am not a Sith, and if I were, I would have more important people to kill then you," Ahnk said. His eyes were locked with the administrator's, who shrugged.

"I'll inform Ms. Vinda of your intent," he said, turning to leave.

"Something tells me she's already well aware of our presence," Ahnk told him, and the man turned around and he then cut the distance between the two with several large steps.

"Passwords or not and Ahnk Rahanagok or not, protocol has changed. Maybe you haven't noticed, but it's been a while since you've been here, and you can't exactly wander in ten years later and expect to get your way," the man said. Ahnk hoped he felt important. "You wait, and if she wants you brought to her, then I'll take you."

Ahnk frowned, turning to Irtar. Irtar did not seem impressed with Ahnk's password delivering skills. "Do not trouble yourself, young Jedi. Everything that has transpired has done so according to my design," he said, trying to put as much confidence in his voice as he could manage.

Something told him that Irtar didn't buy it.

“Quoting old Sith Lords. That puts me at ease about this whole thing," Mal'Gro told him, gruffly. Ahnk didn't respond... he'd meant it as a joke, of course, a small barbarism meant to break the tension, but Irtar did not seem amused. He seemed like a very serious guy, Irtar Mal'Gro. Ahnk wasn't exactly the life of the party himself, but this guy seemed to wear a frown as a permanent accessory.

“You just appeared at Vinda Corp’s headquarters trying to meet one of THE Vindas and you just mouthed off the welcoming committee. The fact they didn’t just ventilate you surprises me," Irtar said, looking beyond Ahnk to where the Vinda Corporation's administrator was using one of the wall mounted terminals to, presumably, speak to his superior. said as he looked over at where the administrator went. He quickly looked back over at Ahnk. “But I’m curious about why we’re here. You were short with me before. Why Bonandon? What’s your story with the Vindas?”

"Well, back when I..."

But Irtar didn't give him any time to reply, cutting in with a fairly heated monologue born of his frustration.. “Actually, I don’t really know much about you beyond that you’re Andrew Rashanagok. If we’re going to be doing this master and apprentice thing, we should try to know something about each other." Ahnk found it difficult to disagree with his logic, but had no oppurtunity to interrupt the flow of his discourse. "Like, how you can do something like this on one of the most powerful planets in the galaxy and still live. I couldn’t have even gotten away with that on Naboo! Well, y’know, before the Order was disbanded and everything.”

Ahnk found himself nodding. For one thing, he wasn't sure he had gotten away with the stunt he'd pulled; for all he knew the aide was calling in an orbital strike on his ship. Secondly, he wasn't aware that the Jedi Order had disbanded... it had been quite some time since he'd been on Naboo. Well, really been on Naboo.

“I’m sorry it’s just… well, I’m a bit edgy with this whole thing," Irtar said after a short pause. Ahnk nodded in understanding. “I don’t mean to question you but I just would like to know what’s going on. It’s been a while since I haven’t had control of myself and I guess I’ve just gotten used to having some command and control with things," Irtar said. He turned to Ahnk and smiled, in what the former Sith took to be a gesture of affectation. “Been too long since I’ve had a ‘Master’ in my life. I’d like to thank-you and hope you can put up with me as I get back into the boots of a padawan instead of an ambassador.”

Ahnk certainly understood his position. He was frustrated with Ahnk's cloak and dagger ways, not truly understanding anything about the Rogue Jedi Master and how he had developed any of his outlooks on the worlds at large. Part of Ahnk certainly sympathised with him, and he considered, strongly considered, removing the darkness from the way in which he acted and enlightening Irtar as to his history and current disposition.

But there was another part of him, ultimately serving as a larger or more commanding portion of his conscious consideration, that knew that that would be a mistake. Ahnk knew that he could not be Irtar's friend; in fact, it would more then likely be better that he be Irtar's enemy, as that would almost naturally happen through the course of what was to come. To open doors it was required that Ahnk first hit Irtar with them. That was how he had trained Kahn, how he had trained Bane Nothos and Janus, how he had learned to train people the way to be warriors. Was there a better way? A way to talk to Irtar about his feelings and drink herbal tea and burn candles? That was the Jedi way, but it was not the way of the warrior. And since Irtar was here, he had made the decision to become a warrior. The road to Ahnk's friendship was a different path.

Perhaps, in time, Ahnk would come to accept him as a warrior, and as a friend. But not today.

"First," Ahnk said, tightening the black glove on his artificial hand, "understand that you are not a Padawan. Padawans are children who learn how to use their mind to read maps and how to talk through tears. We are not learning how to be better people and get in touch with the living force. I am going to train you how to defend yourself and I am going to train you how to hurt other people. If you want to learn how to be a diplomat, the Coalition is a great spot for you. If you want to learn how to be a pacifist, reform the Jedi Order. I am going to train you how to be a warrior. We are at war, regardless of whether we see our enemies or whether they kill us in our sleep. We must prepare ourselves for the battles to come. If you do not want to be a warrior, then you are wasting both of our time."

Ahnk closed the distance between the two, looking Irtar directly in the eyes. "As you are not here to be my Padawan, I am not here to be your friend. You will be my apprentice. I will teach you everything that you will learn. Through this process you may come to hate me. You may come to view me as an enemy. That is fine. I intend to destroy everything about you that provides an avenue of attack for others, and this is a complicated, grueling, and painful process. You will suffer for it, and surfer hard. Know that in the end you will emerge a better warrior then ever you could be before. But once I have remolded your combat abilities, you will be able to get what you have been searching for."

Ahnk relaxed his stance somewhat, leaning back on his feet. "This commitment that I ask of you is not easy. If you so desire, you may stay here. The Lady Vinda has many interesting tales of commerce and intersystem diplomacy to help you pass the time. I will continue on my missions regardless, but in truth, I have brought you here not just for your benefit, but for mine. I am undertaking a difficult crusade that will begin when I leave this world. It will be an opportunity for you to learn from me but also an opportunity for me to learn from you, and better gauge what your current abilities are. I do not get the impression that you are useless; you may not be a manufactured combat technician, but you have a desire and will to live, and that could prove useful as a measure to my madness."

Ahnk looked beyond Irtar to the world behind. For the most part, Bonadon was asleep; the sun hadn't raised to the point where most would begin their day. He was sure, however, as he was always sure, that the evil here did not sleep. He could feel it's touch, faint though it may be, like tendrils in the clouds, waiting to descend upon the world as darkness. It gave him a foreboding feeling; if it had followed him here, it knew where he would go. And it would be waiting.

"Understand," Ahnk said, laying his gloved hand on Irtar's shoulder, "understand that this is not a fight that one can wage alone. For all that you require my training understand that I need you. I need what is inside you, Irtar, your heart, your will, your strength inside. You have a fire within that has long since left my old bones. I need you, Irtar, despite how unnatural it may seem, despite how it contrasts against all of your inner defenses, despite how everything about you screams that it is wrong, I need you to show me faith, Irtar. I need you to trust me, Irtar."

Deciding to show him some faith, Ahnk reached to the edge of his glove and pulled it from his hand. Below, the five mechanical struts which substituted themselves for his fingers. Each one curled and bent, flexing muscles that were not there, moved by mechanisms inside the flat, metal palm-like control box at the bottom of his wrist. He held the hand between them, offering it to Irtar Mal'Gro.

"Shall we stand together?" Andrew asked him, hand waiting for Irtar's answer. "Or is this the end of the beginning of our relationship?"