The Rebel Faction

A moments thought was needed. Were words he was about to say merely lip-service or empowering fact?

“From what I have gathered from your words, my stature is equal to that of your Alm'Pu'ti.”

A leader, he thought, yes. Not a sovereign or a monarch, but a shepherd, ensuring the flock did not wander too far from the beaten track. A notion such as this filled him with arrogant pride and, for some reason, he found his four-fingered grip on his staff tightening, as if in a petty silent show of his strength. Arkania was his domain, of that he was certain.

The soft hum of the engines could be heard, as the transport clipped over the grass. The terrain was full of contours in this area, and verged up and down almost in a wave. For this reason, the driver of the speeder could not go as fast as he would have liked to – a lucky coincidence for the pair.

“Stop.”

Vega lifted his staff, so that his grip was now in the lower quarter. The driver showed no intention of halting.

“Take us to the city. You will be paid.”

The roar of the engine slowly became a purr. The drive, who wore a helmet, turned his head to look at the two. The deceptively old appearance of Van-Derveld most likely warranted pity and secured them a place on the speeder.

Apparently, however, he was not content with such an arrangement and as quickly as he had climbed into the vehicle with Lahout, Vega cracked the staff against the back of the helmet, forcing the courier out onto the ground.

The roar built up again, as the speeder veered out to the side and away, leaving the incensed man behind…

“We will remain free of such entanglements; I assure you. If we are caught, by some twist of chance, lay the blame fully at my feet.”

They would dump the speeder, and walk into the city. By the time the courier reached civilization they would be winging out of the atmosphere, Vega was convinced of that much. Soon enough the edge of the town could be seen. The Arkanian pulled the craft to a stop and exited it, with his acquaintance following suit.

From the looks of the settlement ahead, the people were not a very advanced lot. It reminded him of the farms on the outer-rim worlds, desolate and backwards, with barely a gadget in sight. A sigh of relief was breathed as Van-Derveld spotted what looked like a planet-side dock. Despite being behind the times, it was in possession of a good number of hangers, suggesting that it must have been a stop-off point of some kind for travelers. Wonderful.

They continued walking in silence, both picking up a few glances from the locals. Neither looked as though they were from around these parts, although Vega’s abnormality was thankfully hidden for the most part by his cloak and hood.

“I expect they will have some sort of cantina for the pilots? How cliché.”

The two approached the pilot, he swigged lazily on his gin and juice, languished half-across the bar counter. Unlike many others in the establishment, he was quite sober, yet still smiled with a vague air of mirth as the pair caught his eyes. They were an odd sight – almost polar opposites of one another. Each party took a moment to size the other up in silence. The look on the pilots face was that of amusement.

"Let me guess," he said, swirling the dregs of his drink.

"You want to go to the Jedi temple. Am I right? No mind tricks, boys!"

Van-Derveld simply smiled, without an ounce of mirth or warmth. Somehow, he imagined their trip would be a long one. Surprisingly enough, the man (whom they found out through his mindless nattering had once been a squad leader in some rebel squadron) was easily ignored and asked only for a fairly modest fee for his services. Hyperspace and the trip within were, for Vega, spent sleeping with the Unspoken watching over him and finally rousing him when they were about to arrive.

The ship trembled as it passed through the rough atmosphere of the planet, the calls of the pilot up ahead barely audible as the ships hull was battered by snow and hail. The Arkanian Dark Jedi rose, sighed, and looked out of the portcullis into the frozen world below. Home.

With the exit ramp lowered upon landing, Vega gathered his robes around him as the wind caught their tales, "Thank you for your help. God speed."

There was a hum, and the blue of the roaring engines merged in with the sky above as the craft darted away from the barren cold landscape. The prophet looked back to Lahout for but a moment to ensure that he had not been carried away by the strong winds then began to walk forwards, the snow curling and warping around them as though they were surrounded by some invisible sphere. They reach a set of great gaping doors which were already open and waiting, and stepped into a deadly silent antechamber…

"Something like that."

The doors slammed shut with a resonate clang. All around Van-Derveld a shim of snow had fallen to the ground, and spread across the stone floor as the closing of the doors whipped up a squall. Ahead, some other figures akin to Vega in appearance had appeared. They were tall and wore deep hued robes, in browns and blues. One, a young male, approached.

"Welcome back, sir," he bowed, with a cursory side-glance at Lahout.

"I see you have brought us a visitor," he continued, taking the prophets cloak as he removed it to reveal decidedly less regal trappings than his peers. No doubt these were traveling garments, whilst those worn by the Arkanian's were meant for ceremonial duties.

"Will you be attending the sermon tonight? Brother Warrax has-"

"I shouldn't think so, Brother Jien. Not unless our guest wishes to."

"Oh."

"Run along now, Jien. I am sure you have duties to tend to."

For a moment, he fixed the younger male with a gaze that seemed to shift the young acolyte's attitude and mood substantially. He went from jovial warmth to almost anxious silence and ducked away.