The Rebel Faction

Muunilinst Planetarium Gardens


"If your daughter wanted a good screw, Sir, there are much more discreet.."


"Somehow, I do not think that the novelty of the anonymous screw would be appreciated much by my daughter, Vicktor." the Patriarch of Arliss Industries interrupted as he watched his daughter's entrance, being led by a rather tall and older man. "It's the Groom-to-be that I am curious about. If she's being stupid over this affair, which women do tend to allow at times, his person stands to come into control over quite a business concern."


"Seamus, the impending wedding is raising stock. If you want me to arrange for an accident I can. But let's dump the stock first and make a killing." The CFO, Vicktor Conrad, snapped his fingers. "Actually, if an accident happened to both, ownership of the towers would fall to you! The company would no longer be split.."

Seamus shook his head. "Arliss had outgrown and outpaced our wildest imaginations. We could merge the companies but we stand to gain more with them separate than together."

Mr. Conrad exhaled and reached out grabbing a drink off a passing waiter holding a tray.


"Gash Jiren is dead." he mentioned between sips.


"Who?" Seamus turned from viewing his daughter's entrance as she was greeting those patrons nearby and cast an irritated look to Vicktor.


"Gash Jiren. Rebel Jedi.. no! Rogue Jedi."


"So?" Seamus continued looking for some significance that affected him. "Jedi die every day."


"Ossus, Sir. As in Textiles. There is a funeral scheduled later this week."


Seamus' eyebrows rose. "Then the ban may be lifted? That IS interesting news. Have the Greed's Hammer plot a course to Ossus as soon as we are done here. It might do us good to be on hand."


Seamus turned his attention back to his daughter and wondered for the 100th time if she were making a critical mistake that would end up costing her her life.

Her emerald eyes moved from the forest before her to the never-ending starry celestial body above. The expanse of the heavens reached farther then her eyes could see….and of course beyond. A thousand thoughts poured from her subconscious as she spotted Gaarak just beyond the tree line. The vornskr had been by her side for only a few years, but he had become a very important part of her life, especially in the evenings.

Her reverie was broken as a murder of crow-like birds took flight. A frightening shriek filled the air as the birds took to the air. A cruel smile drew across Dehoir’s face as she realized that Gaarak had finally caught his dinner. The smile faded quickly as her mind wandered to a time years before.

Drawing in a deep breath…. the sweet smell of the forest upon the waft of air…Dehoir sighed; a soft exhale as her beautiful jade orbs closed. The wanderings in her mind brought forth a near sacred memory to her....



….. “My name is Markef Thrakin. But you, Dehoir, may call me Master.” He stood before her in her doorway. He was old. A mane of silver hair topped his head, and he wore the robes of a Force user. His eyes rested upon her form with understanding, but she saw them as dull blue pools, listless and ancient. His hands were withered and wrinkled, but they were strangely strong, still full of life. Her eyes roamed the elderly gentleman’s form; they came to a stop as she made eye contact. She felt drawn to him…but…how?

Her lips parted as she studied his face. “How…..how do you know my name?” Her eyebrows furrowed as she heard his response,

“I shall answer all of your questions as soon as you let me in, child. The sun is setting and, as you know, the less than exemplary usually stalk the night.”

Dehoir beckoned him entrance. Closing the door and locking it behind Markef, she moved past him and into the small kitchen area. “I’m sorry I’ve nothing to offer but water. I’m low on credits and…well, frankly, I haven’t had time to go out and get anything substantial.” Glass in hand she gestured to the old man. He smiled warmly and nodded in turn.

She carefully made her way to a seat opposite his and handed him his drink. Lips pursed, Dehoir couldn’t shake the feeling that, somehow…in some way…she knew him.

“You told me you’d answer my question….so? How do you know my name?”

He let loose a slight chuckle as he settled back in his chair. Markef sipped the drink as his chuckle subsided. Once calmed he drew a much more serious feature, and began to speak.

“I know your name because I have already met you, child.”

Dehoir’s eyes grew wide, her mouth agape; she nearly became incensed as she spoke.

“I’ve never seen you before in my life, old man! How could we have ever met?!”

“We have met, Dehoir, on another plane of existence.” He placed his drink on the table that stood to the right of his chair before he continued. “In fact, you’re the one who called me here.”

“WHAT?! Called you? And how the hell did I do that?!” Dehoir shot up from her chair and gestured to her menial surroundings as she proceeded, “In case you haven’t noticed I’m not rolling in credits…hell, I can’t even afford to feed myself, let alone call some old man for help!”

“Calm yourself, Dehoir. I said I’d explain myself and I shall.”

“Good” Sitting back down in her chair, Dehoir began listening to Markef weave a tale of woe and glee….one that included him finally finding his calling: her.

A look of true astonishment played over Dehoir’s features as she sat back heavily into her chair. The story that was laid out before her seemed plausible giving her the impression that the man before her was, in fact, a Sith Knight.

“A Sith. Heh, I always thought the stories I heard about them were all just ways of scaring children. And this?….” She picked up the lightsaber, that Markef had lay on the table in the course of his story, and ignited it. The glowing crimson blade caused darkened shadows in the room to come to life. “….This is the weapon of a Sith?”

A satisfied grin drew over Markef’s visage as he watched her move the saber back and forth. “Yes. Elegant, and deadly. In fact, it reminds me of you.”

Dehoir stopped in mid swing and looked back at him; the corners of her lips curling as she made eye contact. “How so?”

“My dear, you are very….very strong in the Force. That’s how I found you….your Force aura could be felt from across the planet. It’s what drew me to you.” Placing his chin in the palm of his resting right hand, Markef continued on. “You might even rival the Skywalkers.” His far-away look melted as he came back to the here and now, “But I digress. Have you any more questions, child?”

Deactivating the lightsaber, Dehoir placed the weapon back on the table and took her seat once again. Moments went by, but her gaze never faltered. She concentrated long and hard on Markef Thrakin’s form and finally answered his question, yet her lips never moved.

Not right now…..Master.

The dull blue hue of his eyes seemed to brighten as he received her answer. He relaxed; his fingers steepled, a smile broadly plastered on his face as he responded to her telepathic answer.

“Perfect, my dear…perfect.”

Silus spun around, cigarette between his smirking lips and ignited lightsaber in hand. The red blade hummed, like a swarm of bees only far more deadly.

"Right," he spoke to the apprentices in front of him, "let's try that again."

The more headstrong of the group charged forward, blue blade aiming a slash at his chest. Silus pivoted, red blade moving gracefully through the air and parrying the apprentices lightsaber. In another fluid movement the lightsaber was halved and the blue blade sputtered out uselessly.

"Get another sabre! Quickly!"

The remaining trio charged, rushing him all at once. The Jedi Knight spun on his heel and struck a nearby apprentice with a hard elbow to the back of the head. The boy grunted and stumbled forward, the remaining two charging forward again. Red blade met with blue and green, creating a thunderstorm of noise. Silus's smirk grew a little, his foot lashing out and striking an apprentice in the heel. The boy gave a cry and stumbled, giving Silus enough time to knock the lightsaber from his hand. The spinning sabre was caught in the air, both red and blue blades quickly deactivating. Two empty hilts struck the two apprentices in the chest with a loud thud.

Silus's smile faded. "You're both dead. Practice."

The Jedi Knight spun once more, red blade reactivating. The remaining apprentice and teacher circled each other, both waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Silus privately beemed; the other apprentices were going to need much more practice if they wanted to stay alive against even some of the weaker Sith. This one, however, had grasped the mechanics of the lightsaber quickly. It wasn't long before Mikail's abilities matched Vodo's. Or, Silus was almost proud to admit, that long before the apprentice matched his own.

The apprentice leapt forward, both combatant's blades spinning through the air. They slid into defensive and offensive positions almost fluidly. And while Silus's were quick and precise, made with relative ease, he noticed the added flourish in Mikail's.

"Ataru, eh? I wonder how you react when I do... this," Silus's attack quickened, moving in a blur. The apprentice's eyes widened as he tried to block the attacks.

Red blade flew through the air, spun back. Blue blade moved quickly, slashing through air...

... And then dropped. Mikail stumbled backward.

"Master Silus, your- oof!" Silus's booted foot caught Mikail in the middle, forcing the wind and end of the sentence out f him. A quick strike with the hilt of the lightsaber to the face sent the apprentice to the ground.

"And what do you call that?" The question was calm, but there was the hint of an edge to it. Silus stared coldly down at the apprentice before him.

"Master Silus..." Mikail began.

"If this were a real battle, you'd be dead by now. Is that what you want? Another Jedi to add to the list of dead?"

"Master Silus," Mikail tried again.

"Believe me, we have plenty of dead. So practice. The last thing we need is damn fool apprentices going out into the world and adding to the list. I've seen enough funerals already."

"Master Silus, your hand!" Mikail shouted. Silus, confused, glanced at the other apprentices and followed their gaze to the burnt remains of his mechanical left hand.

"Ah... oh. I see. Well, we all know the danger of practicing with live sabres." A pinky, the only figer that survived mostly intact, spun pathetically.

"Master Silus, perhaps if you went to the medical ward..."

Silus glanced up, "Hmm?"

"They could repair it," Mikail ventured.

Silus shook his head, "No, it's far too damaged for that," he added, with a sigh. "There's nothing else for it then."

There was snap-hiss as the red blade activated. Silus grited his teeth and winced. There was a metallic clang on the ground.




"And you don't think that was perhaps going a bit too far?" J'nei chided him. Silus shrugged. A droid was busy working on his replacement hand.

"It was too damaged. Saves me touble if I just get a new one."

"Well, certainly," the ancient bird-like alien glared, "but there were better ways to go about it."

"Really?"

"You could have waited until a proper medical doctor-"

"You mean the droid here?" Silus gestured to the one rebuilding the hand.

"I'm certain there are plenty of doctors out in the city who would be willing to help the Jedi."

"Ah, but you see, they're busy doing whatever it is those doctors do. So really I just saved everyone the trouble."

The droid beeped and hovered away. Silus flexed his new hand.

"See? Good as new. And not a single bit of trouble. No bothered doctors hovering around, either."

J'Nei grunted. "The least you could have done is slash it off away from the apprentices."

"Why? They'll see worse things."

J'Nei sighed. "I really wish you would stop that."

"Stop what?" Silus asked.

"You know... that. The apprentices aren't in any danger yet; there's no need for them to suddenly start thinking about death. They're far too young for that."

"They're also Jedi. We're all going to die some day, and chances are it will be a horrible, gruesome death. But if we're lucky, we'll be quick. It's better they learn this now and prepare than learn it later."

"You're making people needlessly worried, Silus, and not just your apprentices. You've been putting my staff on edge."

Silus shrugged again, "The Jedi are not invincible, no matter how powerful they are. Gash Jiren's death only proves that."

The silence in the room echoed. Both sweeper and Jedi stared at nothing until finally Silus stood to leave.

"You'll be at his funeral?"

"No. He's dead already. There's nothing I can do for him now."

"Oh? Most are going, even if just to pay their respects."

"He's dead. Saying 'I'm sorry' and 'I wish this hadn't happened' won't change that. He's dead. It happens," Silus said coldly.

He paused in the doorway. Finally, he added, "Someone needs to watch the galaxy." And then he left.

A slight smile and her slim hand made its way over to her left side. There on her hip was the lightsaber her former master had left her when he passed on. An older design, but one that was lightweight and well balanced....Markef Thrakin often told her that the weapon was the very first weapon he had made himself. The thought of her long dead Master brought another wave of memories to her mind.

Upon another waft of fresh night air, the thick perfume of death rode in. Upon a fiery steed with hooves aflame and nostrils smoking, came the distinct smell of blood. Dehoir’s attention turned to the direction she had last spotted Gaarak. On the next wave of air current rode the sound of the vornskr’s kill cry….a sound Dehoir was familiar with.

As the night drove forward, Dehoir remembered…..she remembered one night the smell of death had covered her own aura….a time her anger and fear pushed her to the Darkside of the Force….a time Master Thrakin had saved her life by showing her how to kill……

~ * ~

[SIZE=2]Years before: Six Months after the Arrival of Markef Thrakin[/SIZE]

……She was late. The hours before had been full…full of practice and mastery. She rushed to bathe and dry herself as her Master rested. The last thing she needed was to be berated by Antrott Bredo, her boss at the local cantina, for her tardiness. Tossing the wet towel to the floor, Dehoir swooped up her clothes and dressed. In moments she was out the door and jogging off to her degrading place of employment.

~ * ~

The night seemed to drag on, and the constant swarm of smugglers into the cantina left a less than desirable taste in Dehoir’s mouth. She glided in and out of tables in an attempt to get the drinks to the thirsty patrons as expediently as possible…for the better the service, the better the tips.

Her shift ended when Aldra showed up. The slim female that was Aldra had a mane of blond locks that cascaded down past her shoulders, and a set of downwards spiraling horns from the side of her head. In fact the young girl before Dehoir was of a race she had never seen before.

The redhead nodded a hello, handed over the final drink orders to the new arrival and moved to the locker room. From the very end of the bar Tyrlis Berik rose and made his way to the cantina’s exit….he would lie in wait for the fiery redhead to leave for home. A sadistically cruel grin played over his sickening features as he leaned against the wall.

Minutes later Dehoir had exited the front of the establishment and began moving to her own home. As she passed him, Tyrlis pushed off the wall and began following her. Her mind was wandering to her earlier teachings as her stalker closed the distance. As one last couple moved by Tyrlis made his move. He advanced on her from behind placing his right hand over her mouth and wrapping his right hand around her waist….making it easier to lift the smaller woman off her feet and moving her into a nearby alleyway.

“Heya puppet. Now I know I got somethin’ here you’ll enjoy. Hahahahahaha!”

Struggling to free herself, Dehoir was thrust against a wall thoroughly knocking the wind from her. Once she was preoccupied with catching her breath, Tyrlis threw her bodily to the ground and began tearing at her clothes. As she came back to the here and now, Dehoir began trying to scream and claw her way free. Her attacker quickly covered her mouth in an attempt to muffle her cries.

The move came swift and quietly, leaving Dehoir surprised and open. Struggling as best she could, she began to call to her Master through the Force. Seconds into the ordeal seemed like an eternity as her cries went unheard by the passersby. Then as quickly as it started, the attack suddenly stopped. Eyes moist form crying, neck red from Tyrlis’ tight grip, Dehoir sat up; before her floated the body of the cantina patron. From behind the floating attacker the cloaked figure of Master Thrakin stood; he had heard her plea for help and made his way to her.

Dehoir tried to stand, her clothes torn and hanging form her body, her skin slashed and bleeding.

“Child, are you alright?”

She crossed her arms across her exposed chest and moved next to her Master. Anger and hatred flowed from her like a wave. Holding the attacker in place with his Force powers, Markef removed his heavy cloak and placed it gently over her shoulders.

“I’m alright, Master, now.”

“I sense much anger in you, child. I suggest you act on it.” A cruel smile danced onto his features as he moved behind her. His voice was low and sadistic as he continued to entice her to journey further to the Darkside of the Force. “You can avenge yourself, Dehoir. Take your anger and hatred and destroy that which sought to destroy you.”

She began to grind her teeth as the thought of what the creature before her tried to do.

“There is no way that this being….this animal….could be considered….a man. Destroy him, child.”
Dehoir moved in closer to the floating muffled form of Tyrlis, her anger growing with each step.

“What you did….what you were about to do….does not warrant that I spare your life.” The stare from her emerald eyes bore into the very soul of the creature before her. Her breath became heavy as she lifted her right hand out in Tyrlis’ direction. Using her Force powers Dehoir took hold of the smuggler.

“You bitch! Let me the fuck down! You just wait….once I’m down I’m gonna fuck your brains out then slice ya up for the world ta see! NOW LET ME THE FUCK DOOOWN!”

“QUIET!” Dehoir’s fist began to clench silencing Tyrlis’ rant. “You….you tried to rape me you sick bastard!” A cold-blooded smile began to curl at the corner at her lips as she harnessed her anger. “Now for that….I’m going to kill you.”

With a silent scream Tyrlis began shaking in place as an unseen force began to work its way throughout his entire body. His head shot back as his form went rigid. The entire ordeal only lasted a few moments before Tyrlis’ body fell to the ground. Dehoir moved in closer to make sure her job was complete.

Upon a close inspection, Dehoir found that the man’s eye sockets were burnt out….smoke wafted from each dead orb, as did it from his nose and his mouth. She turned to her Master and collapsed into his arms. “How did I do Master Thrakin?”

A comforting smile met her exhausted visage.

“You did wonderfully, child….simply wonderful.”

This was the second time Markef Thrakin had saved her life….the first was when he showed up at her door. Her life, from now on, would never be the same.

Trachta sat rather calmly, all four black clad men around the table with him eyeing the Grand Admiral and those with him a little coldly. All four were ISB, Trachta was always surrounded by them, no matter when or where, no other division of COMPNOR drew Trachta's attention more than his own. Trachta's glowing red photoreceptors held Grand Admiral Telan Desaria with a piercing gaze, Trachta loathed few people more than aristocrats, only force users were above them in Trachta's mental hate list. He also wasn't fond of what the Grand Admiral had been up to in the Guard, expelling ISB agents placed there to monitor it, to ensure loyalty... The simple audacity made Trachta simmer with anger, that someone would dare interfere with his work and that of the Bureau.

"Please have a seat, Admiral," Trachta said, his voice as always metallic due to it coming from a vocabulator in his respirator.

As the Grand Admiral and those with him sat down, Trachta picked up a datapad in from of him and slid it across the table to the Grand Admiral, on it were a list of names and ranks. All of them ISB agents as well as COMPNOR officials that had been attached to the Imperial Guard.

"Would you care to explain this?"

Trachta sat back in his chair, clasping his hands together to keep them from shaking in rage at what was on their. It was a full report denoting the removal of everyone on that list from the Guard. It was obviously something that was upsetting Trachta very greatly.

"What, precisely, do you think you are doing, Admiral Desaria? The Imperial Security Bureau put those men there to monitor your units, it is standard protocol now and you know it. You also removed several COMPNOR morale officers, equally disturbing and I might add irritating."

Trachta stared across the table, letting that sink in quietly as he watched Desaria read what was on the datapad. When he looked up again, Trachta spoke.

"We are all servants of the Empire, Admiral Desaria, but you are not helping the system if you remove men from their needed positions. Would mind explaining to me exactly why you feel the need to undermine my ability to defend our Empire from traitors?