The Rebel Faction

[size=2]The vindictive Cathedral of Tund stood ominously over the harsh and desolate landscape that sustained its ancient foundations, casting a dark silhouette over the desiccated surface. Its solid glistening black surface seemed to reflect the parched surface of the planet much like a mirror, casting replicate images forth into the thick darkness of night. The curse of Rokur Gepta continued to haunt the planet’s once fruitful soil. Tund itself had been transformed from a vast paradise of lush evergreen forests and crystal blue lakes, destroyed by the unrelenting power of magic.

A shrill shiver trickled down her spine as she stepped forward into the dimly lit torches that surrounded the outer temple periphery. From afar, the temple stood like a monolithic mountain, towering over the vast plains of nothingness that desecrated the planet’s surface. The solid marble structure grew darker and colder as she approached it, as if a living force deep within were watching her, waiting to crush her like a small and insignificant larva. Nevertheless, it’s familiar glow offered a strange sense of comfort as she slowly ascended the thick marble staircase that lead to the main chambers.

Following her in ceremonial procession, a small entourage of what was left of the Sorcerers of Tund, an ancient brotherhood of magicians carried dimly lit torches that cast a ghostly glow against two small religious banners carried on either side of her. She walked with her head down and her shackled hands neatly folded over her midsection thumb over thumb; the procession of disgrace as it was called among the order. One man was permitted to walk ahead of her, for he was what outsiders would call a leader, the High Priest of the brotherhood.

As the congregation slowly proceeded into the Cathedral, Stephanie slowly raised her head and removed the hooded cloak that had been draped over her shortly after her arrival. On either side of her, Sorcerers and Sorceresses stood in silence, there prying eyes peering through thick black, gray and red robes. She bowed her head out of respect as the High Priest took his place several steps above the circle that now neatly surrounded her.

"The Black Sorceress...." his ominous voice started as he carefully planted his thick durasteel staff at his side "The disreputable, disgraceful, dishonorable sister of the Tund brotherhood. Her crimes against this order are of no secret or consequence to any of us. Her disrespect for the sacred scrolls that have been placed before us has not gone unnoticed, nor will it go unpunished."

His peering black eyes pierced through his thick red robes, never revealing any hint of his true attributes under his hooded cloak. No sorcerer or sorceress for that matter seemed to have any identifiable features, only the dark peering eyes that glistened against the crimson glow of the dimly lit torches.

"You have been sentenced to seventeen lashes, one for every year you have been absent from your duties to the brotherhood, and to your studies."

Stephanie nodded her head, acknowledging her acceptance of the sentence lain before her. It was less than she had expected, for far worse had been dealt to those that had committed even the most trivial transgression against the order. Upon her acceptance, a thick black leather whip was produced from a ceremonial vase in the center of the room only a few feet behind her. A single sorcerer, tall and muscular in size draped in thick black robes stepped forward cracking the whip once against the dank air; a trial run that caused her to jump.

He approached her, but only briefly speaking under his breath as he carefully passed her a thick leather cloth. "Bite down on this, it helps.... I know."

The High Priest raised his hand and carefully extended his fingers upward allowing the torches of each sorcerer of the brotherhood to flare in acceptance of her punishment, a simple voting system that rendered the force to project the fire forth briefly. Each flare ignited in a serene dance, a unanimous vote to continue with the punishment.

One.... The snap-crack of the whip sung her back, ripping through her thick robes as a single trickle of blood escaped her milky white skin. Stephanie bit her lip, but it offered no comfort as her muscles involuntarily tightened with the blow, creating a substantial sensation of pain that flowed throughout her body just as the blood coursed through her veins. The executor of the whip waited between lashes to maximize the pain of the punishment.

Two.... Stephanie winced against the crack of the whip as it snapped against her skin across the same lash that she had taken on the first stroke, ripping through her skin with the same accuracy of a razor blade. For a moment, she shuddered under the pressure of the pain that soared through her back, paralyzing her. Raising the leather cloth to her lips, she braced for the next fifteen lashes. Two sorcerers stepped, raising her hands unto two cuffs so that, should she fall her limp body could still take the beating she had accepted as punishment.

Three... four... five... She let out a muffled whimper of pain as a single tear flowed down her cheek, her knees growing weak with each snap-crack of the whip. For a moment, her vision blurred between lashes, blinding her with pain. She attempted to use what the so-called Sith and Jedi called the Force to reach out and control the pain that trickled through her body just as the blood trickled down her back, but to no avail. The magic of Tund had no doubt abandoned her for her transgressions.

Six... seven.... The clenched her teeth tighter into the leather cloth as another tear flowed down her cheek, yet she did not further dishonor her title by yelling out in pain, or begging for forgiveness. Such a transgression would likely cost her her life.

Eight.... nine.... ten.... eleven.... The lashes sliced through what remained of her back, and across the already deep slashes across her back. Her eyes grew dark as her body became accustomed to the pain, and her teeth grew sore from clenching the leather cloth so tightly. Her body trembled involuntarily, and a cold sweat had broken out in the place of tears. The high priest sat tall and proud silently observing her every flinch and listening to every muffled wince of pain. Though she couldn’t see his face, she could almost feel the sick pleasure he got out of watching her weaken body hand limply, supported only by the riggings hanging suspended from the vaulted ceiling and balcony extensions above.

Twelve.... thirteen.... Accustomed to the pain, Stephanie winced but supported herself with weak knees.
Fourteen... fifteen... She no longer felt pain as her eyes grew dark. Though open, the pain had temporarily blinded her of her senses. She could only feel. Feel the trickling blood running from the deep incisions in her back; feel the eyes of each sorcerer and sorceress dwelling on her, silently observing her harsh punishment.

She closed her eyes tightly, silently counting the lashes and waiting for the last two... but they did not come. She couldn’t get off that easily. After a moment, her knees gave out and her eyes grew fully black as she felt the heavy lids cave in on her as she fainted. Hours later, she awoke to find herself still suspended in the Cathedral. Her wounds, though no longer bleeding profusely still remained tender as they began to scab over. Raising to her feet, she dared to open her eyes, only to find that the High Priest was missing from his seat of power.

"You’ve done well, Sorceress...." the High Priests familiar voice boomed from behind her. She turned to see him, standing dominantly next to the whip executor, who was no longer holding the whip. Stephanie closed her eyes tightly as she looked around desperately for the leather cloth.

Sixteen.... seventeen! The final two blows ripped through her freshly scarred and scabbed skin as she let out a loud scream of pain, tears trickling down her face. The High Priest nodded his head and handed over the whip, allowing it to be carefully refolded and stored away for its next use.
"Remember your crimes Sorceress...." the High Priests voice penetrated through her pain as he weilded his magic against her, keeping her consious long enough to feel every last writhering sensation of pain coursing through her body.

"You are forgiven." With his final words, he released her from his grasp. Immediately, all she saw was darkness as she fainted and her body gave out.

Darkness....
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The air was stale as they crossed the ancient foyer and walked under the carved keystone archway framing the cathedral's double doors. "I'm amazed this structure has stood here for so long, especially with what the radiation has done to this planet," Admiral Vaako said as their guide pulled open the doors with a gesture of his hand, the use of the Force displayed quite publicly in front of them.

"Gepta thought he could defeat us by doing what he did," Zuinlan said over his shoulder. "The fool believed he wiped us all out, but he underestimated his conclusions. Little did he know that some of us were attending to other business, offworld. When we returned, the one named Lando Calrissian had already eliminated him at the cost of our planet." He crossed to the center of the ornate inner chamber, halfway to another set of double doors, and stopped. "And so when the radiation dissipated, we settled here-- and reformed our order," he concluded.

The Sorceror of Tund continued on to the second set of double doors. "Come," Zuinlan said, gesturing to the doors, an odd glitter in his eyes. "The High Priest awaits you."

Silently, the doors swung open, revealing the light of what looked to be hundreds of candles filling a huge chamber. The Dameun priest glanced once at the interior then the sorceror standing beside the doors, a sudden feeling of sheer awe sending a shiver up his back. Taking a breath, he followed Vaako and General Grevious inside toward the center of the round room. Upon the far end of the chamber, the High Priest awaited them patiently with Stephanie Sapphire at his side and the council of his sorcerors surrounding him.

"So these are the offworlders who come to offer their alliance?" The old man snorted gently. "Hardly, I would believe. My order has sensed your presence ever since your fleet entered our space. No fleet is needed if your intentions were truly of a formation of a pact." Zuinlan Vos walked past them to take his master's side, and pulled open his robe slightly to reveal his weapon of light again.

Admiral Vaako twisted to face him, instinctively caressing the handle of his TC-44 as he did so. General Grevious waited another few heartbeats before slowly stepping forward. "Perhaps if our priests approached you and addressed our cause, you may have a better understanding of our kind?" he asked. "After all, I see a great potential if the Sorcerors of Tund joined the Black Dragon Empire."

The old man smiled faintly. "If it will satisfy yourselves, then bring them forward." He raised his empty hand in front of him, palm upward. "But be assured that I will not be convinced so easily."

Silence fell as the Dameun priest and his retinue entered. Without fear or hesitation, he started down the chamber toward the front of the room, toward the central dais. He stopped and took the time to study his surroundings as General Grevious joined him. The interior of the cathedral was impressive-- in the usual transitory, meaningless way of the ignorant and misguided. Like everything else, that would soon be corrected. As the priest began to speak, his words were heard clearly all the way to the back of the circular auditorium. The voice of the spiritual adviser of the Black Dragon Empire had no need of amplification.

"Sorcerors of Tund! Harken unto me and learn of the true purpose. Our reason in coming among you is to reveal that our galaxy with their societies, factions, and sects are but a spontaneous outbreak, as our leader realized, an unnatural occurrence, an unguided mistake. We are here to correct this mistake. Because of the nature of the truth, we are compelled to bring forward our message of understanding and deliverance by those means that cannot be argued."

It was certainly not the speech the assembled had expected to hear: no threats of attack, paying tribute, or installing governors over the existing provinces of Tund if no alliance was established. Some of the council who had gathered in apprehension now began to relax ever so slightly. Others maintained their guard, as wary as what they did not expect as they were of that which they did not understand.

The Dameun priest continued, his voice rising, cajoling, persuading. "But let me tell you of our world and of our Imperium. A society where life is welcomed. Cherished. Appreciated for what it represents. A ravishing, wondrous, all-encompassing faction named the Black Dragon Empire under rule from its holy world, Dameo. All one needs to set foot on this holy land is to walk the path that is the Universal Dameun Church, the center of our beliefs in our grand Imperium."

"<I>Dameo</I>," the assembled servants intoned rapturously. "<I>Onward on our path to Holy Dameo.</i>" It was difficult to tell which was more unsettling to the assembled Sorcerors of Tund: the volume with which their guests thundered the request, or the massed unison with which they declaimed it. It smacked of political and religious philosophies long discarded in this part of the galaxy. As the sagest among them knew, technology had a way of granting new life to discarded dogmas. Technology, and promise.

The circle of the watching strangers from offworld notwithstanding, rumbles of discontent began to rise from the assembled Tund council. Not only from the Sorcerors, whose own deeply held faiths were being so casually disparaged, but from their secular counterparts from the Centrality as well.

Muting the rising discontent through the sheer force of his presence, General Grevious stepped forward and replied. "<I>Look around you.</I> Look-- are you afraid?" He waited while the sullen eyes of the council scrutinized their guests. "Every member of our Imperium in this hall-- all came from elsewhere, from many worlds. From other empty, meaningless lives. From sectors not conquered by us, but liberated by us. From ignorance and delusion. Because every member of our Imperium who lives today and who serves the cause is a convert. A convert from ignorance and delusion."

His speech did not have the intended effect. The roiling sounds of discontent filled the chamber even louder than before. <I>Why was it always so difficult?</I> he wondered. <I>Why were there always those who felt compelled to resist?</i> He had come to think of it as a reflex action, no more planned than it was predictable. Some worlds were worse than others. He wondered if the Admiral had already decided about the fate of Tund. It was always the leadership that was the most difficult to convince. Perhaps because they felt they had the most to lose. If only they realized that they had the most to gain.

It would not matter. The end would be the same. As it always was...

Seeing the warriors of the Order of Tund draw near towards the center of the chamber, recognizing the look in their eyes, Admiral Vaako stepped back out of the way. "We will see to this display silently," he informed the High Priest coolly.

Only armed with his lightsaber, General Grevious held his ground at the center as he disrobed himself of the pale cloak, revealing his metallic, skeletal structure. The entourage of the Imperium and the council alike, strained for a better look. Taking the measure of their opponent, the four warriors saw nothing to give them pause. They were trained to kill, nothing more, nothing less.

Grevious eyed the four of them, all of them highly trained according to the High Priest, all armed in different ways: one with a lightsaber, one with a heavy cudgel, the third with a short length of chainwhip, and the last with a double-bladed lightsaber. They had been trained with the skills of the Force, and their reflexes were just a bit faster than human optimum, thanks to their training. A mistake against one would be fatal.

Grevious made sure he did not make mistakes.

The cyborg figure stood in the middle of the council chamber as the four warriors circled him. His stance was calm, the fluids sluicing through his chassis flowed even and slow. He was aware of his body's reactions to the danger-- aware and in control.

Two of the warriors-- Saber and Chain, he silently named them-- were within his field of vision. The other two-- Cudgel and Doublesaber-- were not, being behind him. It did not matter; through his awareness of the Force he could sense their movements as plainly as if he had eyes in the back of his head.

Grevious raised his own weapon, the lightsaber, and triggered the power control. A lance of pure energy boiled forth, hissing and crackling in an amber light that began at the aperture of his hilt.

The warrior with the single-bladed lightsaber lunged at full extension, his knee bent almost to the floor. The end of the crimson energy blade flickered toward Grevious's chest, almost too fast to see.

The Force blossomed in General Grevious, the power of it resonating in him like lightning, augmenting his years of cloned training, guiding his reactions. Time seemed to slow, to stretch.

It would have been easy to counter the energy blade with his, as most duelists would begin. But there was no challenge to that. Grevious spun, twisted around the outside, and snapped his mechanical claws vertically upward. The amber blade of the lightsaber sheared through Saber's fencing arm. Both arm and weapon fell to the floor. The warrior screamed in horror.

Grevious dropped to his left knee as, from directly behind him, Cudgel's full swing whistled over his head, barely missing the metal helmet. Without looking, guided by the vibrations of the Force, he thrust backwards with the energy blade, then thrusted his arms forward-- <I>one, two!</I>-- skewering both Cudgel and Saber in their abdomens. Both warriors twisted their faces in shock.

Using the momentum of the forward thrust, Grevious dived over the collapsing warrior before him, flowing smoothly into a shoulder roll. He came up swinging his lightsaber overhead, then stepped down solidly into a martial arts wide stance. Even as he did the movement, part of his mechanics were monitoring his body's state. His servomotors were moving smooth and even, the pulse generated by the fluids sluicing inside him was elevated by no more than two or three beats per minute from its resting rate.

Two down, two to go.

The warrior with the chain shouted and charged, his weapon whirling over his head like the propeller of a gyrocraft. The heavy cortosis links lashed toward him. Grevious spun on his right foot and shot his left leg out in a powerful side kick, slamming his metal foot into the warrior's chest, stopping him cold. He dropped into a squat, spun the lightsaber blade like a scythe, and sickled the human cleanly at the knees. Lower legs gone, he collapsed as Grevious again twisted himself and his weapon in a smooth flow and brought it down, finishing his existance.

The smell of cauterized flesh washed over the last warrior. What was, seconds ago, four warriors in their prime mode of battle, was now reduced to one.

The last warrior allowed himself a twitch of his lips. He raised the double-bladed lightsaber, the humming of it playing in his ears as the energy beams seared with power. He moved to Grevious's left, whirling his crimson blades in defensive movement-- high, low, left, right, a blinding pattern of illuminating death waiting to blind the unwary and cut him down.

Grevious settled himself into a low defensive stance, angled toward the last warrior at forty-five degrees, left foot forward. He watched the flickering arabesque of death and lowered his weapon as Doublesaber edged toward him. A warrior in the Force knew no fear, but Grevious knew that to lower his weapon down and face an opponent would certainly terrify anybody brighter than a droid. Fear was as potent a weapon to a lightsaber or a blaster.

The Force raged inside him, sought to blind him with the dark side, but he held it at bay. He deactivated his lightsaber and held one open hand high, by his audioreceptor, the other by his hip, clipping the weapon quickly, then reversing the positions, watching. Waiting.

Doublesaber stole forward another half step, twirling his blades, looking for an opening.

Grevious gave the warrior what he was looking for. He moved his left robotic arm wide, away from his metal body, exposing his side to a thrust or a cut.

The warrior saw the opening and moved in, fast, very fast, snapping one of the crimson blades out to cut, then quickly twirling the other blade over for backup.

The droid General dropped, hooked his left foot around the back of the human's ankle, and pulled as he kicked hard at the warrior's thigh with the other metal foot.

The warrior fell backwards, unable to maintain his balance, and hit the floor. Grevious sprang up, did a front flip, and came down with both metal heels driving into the human's head. The skull crunched and collapsed inward. The body twitched violently from the shock of the blow.

Grevious dived again, rolled up in a half twist into another defensive stance, ready to spring in any direction.

But there was no need-- these four were dead. General Grevious rose to his full height, relaxed his stance, and nodded to the High Priest. He extended his clawed hand and the lightsabers of the dead warriors were called to him via the Force, to become his new trophies.

From above, realizing what had happened, realizing how in the blink of an eye it had all gone completely, utterly, terribly wrong, the High Priest gasped aloud and stood upright, as if he had been skewered himself.

"Noooo...."

Within the entire council of the Sorcerors of Tund, no one moved. Time itself seemed suspended. Never one to stand still for Time or anything else, General Grevious moved away from the dead bodies of the four warriors and took his stance beside the Admiral and the Dameun priests.

The cyborg General gathered his cloak and ignored the hundreds of intent eyes that were fastened on him and following his every move. Nearby, the High Priest, realizing what had happened, realizing what it <I>meant</I>, let himself slump back into his seat.

Gradually, Grevious became aware of more than eyes upon him. In seconds, the eyes behind the pale mask changed from the narrowed slits of utter disgust to widen in utter astonishment at the sight before him and his party.

Everyone in the cathedral-- every Tund Sorceror, man and woman, young and old, experienced and new-- was kneeling. Kneeling before the new successors of Tund and their order...