Loire of the World... (Isus Jarode's Written Work)

[Isus Jarode]

Considering I don't feel the need to share my already created written work with the lot of ya, I feel the need to post a written tale of the Star Wars Universe that has been in my head for a good year now. I actually posted a possible prolouge a few months ago on Xin RP1, but I didn't like how it came out. Now that I've done a bit of searching around on
Wookiepedia, I feel much more confident that I can successfully pull off my considered storyline for Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic III.

BIG NOTE: Due to the vastly open alternate options of the Knights of the Old Republic dualogy, the details of (Darth) Revan, Bastila Shan, Carth Onasi, (Kreia) Darth Traya, and the "Exile" are to be remembered as completely open in connection to the game. These events are possible, yet not solid. Yet the form of characters based on Revan are based on Canon concepts of the Star Wars universe, and the authors's preference. Those of the "Exile" will most likely to be more neutral due to the plotline, but it is not yet solid.

Either way, the following is my tale of what is to come, in a galaxy far far away...

STAR WARS: Knights of the Old Republic III: Revenants of Force


It has been seven years since the defeat of DARTH MALAK at the Battle of Rakata Prime and the disappearance of the JEDI REVAN several months later. Yet victory has not brought the peace to be expected, and even after the trials of the infamous JEDI EXILE two years before, the Jedi Order and the Galactic Republic still sway on the verge of extinction. Alliances have crumbled, worlds have continued to die out, and the dwindling strength of the Republic itself soon to reach the breaking point once more.

Even after the JEDI CIVIL WAR, those Masters that survived have now died out, and the remnants of the Force are now at only a handful. The first JEDI PURGE has seemingly succeeded, and the Jedi are seen as a dying belief. Such Jedi as BASTILA SHAN have completely abandoned their powers altogether, while others such as the Cathar warrior JUHANI continue to press the Jedi Legacy, no matter the cost.

As the LOST JEDI live out their existence as Exiles or wandering beings, no attempt at rebuilding the Jedi Order follows. Yet with the SITH TRIUMVIATE now defeated, the Sith Cults have now fallen from the Galactic scene temporarily, perhaps finally allowing the Republic to recover at last. Such Navy Admirals as CARTH ONASI continue to battle against the remnants of Darth Malak’s Empire, and even come into conflict with the Mandalorian people still stationed on the Twin Moon of Dxun.

Yet while the Republic struggles to return to its former glory, possibly without their Jedi Knights, the questions of many still remain, with one in particular still in the mind of everyone: Where is Revan? Little do they know of Revan’s journey, and some still fear the return of the DARK LORD OF THE SITH.

Yet others intend to bring back just that being….

The final Episode of KNIGHTS OF THE OLD REPUBLIC is here. Let rise the return of DARTH REVAN, and perhaps even, the SITH EMPIRE.

[Talmic Jarac]

- drolls - let me see it when you're dnoe John, I woul dkill for something liek that.

[Isus Jarode]

Prologue


"Awaken, fallen one..."

The voice resonated in an endless plain of cloud and thought, its echo never returning physically, yet booming in the quaint realm of darkness and light. The voice was not tender or youthful, but hardened from age, and yet beautiful; a woman, one that had lived out her days in constant battle and strain, and lost her powers from the days that passed, only to have the lessons she learned preserve her former grace.

And the recipient of her calling felt the opposing forms. She, Bastila Shan, opened her sullen brown eyes into the subconscious world smothered into between space and mind to find her newly arrived companion. The voice it seemed had a ‘physical’ source.

Shan knew that her meditation stance at the moment was impartial and non-existent; her true form was actually sleeping, something rarely committed by a former Jedi, yet something Bastila had been inducing for some time. It had been nearly seven years since she had ever sat in a meditative state, but of course, it was no coincidence that those years had been the length of which her life lacked its soulmate…

“Who speaks to me?” the sitting lady replies at last, her own soft voice booming suspicion and distrust in her ears, and echoing out in an even more desperate fashion.

“An excellent question perhaps, yet no agreed answer can be given. Know only that I am a spirit of the Force, and I am here to speak with you.[/color]”

Now in her early thirties, Bastila Shan was someone who had once fully grasped the greatness of the Force, had seen herself as its servant, its single piece in a never-ending flow of life around the galaxy and the universe. Yet after meeting a particular being, her ideals began to slowly change, and she soon found herself questioning everything she had known, merely to satisfy one mere emotion.

Furrowing her imagined brows, Shan’s eyes begin to focus slightly on the creature standing before her: a Human female, garbed in a robe as bleak as the unending walls of Bastila’s mind. The figure subtly held the hood of her cloak over her head, yet revealing an extremely wrinkled and leathery worn face, whose lips were deep gray of age, and hair of white.

“Hmm…. We shall see about that I suppose. What do you want?” Bastila could not sense any form of danger from the shadowy figure before her, and yet suspected some sort of treachery or deception involved in the spirit’s intentions. Either way, Bastila had no other choice than to accept her claims, yet made sure to keep simple on her words.

“I am here merely to converse with a successor of the Force…[/color]” The spirit replied with an oddly noted humor, as if the subject of such tremendous speech were a joke to her, yet it still held that voice of pride, of experience.

Bastila replied coolly, yet her voice croaked a small bit from a rapid memory crossing far in the distance, “I am no longer a Jedi spirit, so please do not shame me through such mistakes...”

“Than you are Sith?[/color]” the female being now seemed to etch the replies with continued fervor, each word seeming to strength her resolve, whatever it may be.

Bastila Shan’s eyes slit as her mouth dropped from the accusation, “I am no Sith! I fell at a time, but no true harm came from it, and in the end…”

“You were mercifully saved by the man who loved you with all his heart, speaking to you that he would defend you, and refusing to battle you even when you charged him with the force of Lightning. Oh yes Bastila Shan, I know you as Sith as much as Jedi, even if both were as naïve as the next.” the spirit now struck with no warning at all, her tongue stabbing like a spear tip, her voice focusing an entry of resounding echoes at long last, her powerful emotion in insult to Bastila and her lover more evident than the particularly interesting accent in the spirit’s phrase of “Bastila”, treating the ‘l’ like a ‘y’.

Bastila now felt the hairs of her neck raise as much as her temper. It infuriated her that a being could suddenly claim such rude attacks when they were never in sight; yet Bastila felt fear rising. How did this figure know?

“I’ll ask again, who are you?” Bastila did not raise her voice in the passionate fashion she had formerly followed, but the anger and contempt clearly filtered through. Her eyes glowed with a darkened gaze, her lips as tightly pressed as if it were a line.

“Hmm… we should see if you can discover yourself girl, but it all depends on how much you know of me. From this point you know nothing at all; but by the end of a stroll through time, perhaps your ignorance can be spared.[/color]” The reply was nothing that Shan had expected; quite the contrary, she expected either a clear answer of intimidation, or merely a denial.

‘Whoever she be, I’m sure I’ll prefer ignorance…’

The spirit turned towards her left, and leads out into the darkness of Bastila’s mind, her cloaked back now to the former Force wielder, “Come, I will allow you to discover my identity on your own…[/color]”

Cocking her eyebrows in a bit of curious consideration, Bastila at last stands, to realize her imaginary form is ill prepared for such a journey. She still wore her bathing robes from the shower she had taken before bed; closing her ‘eyes’ for the briefest instant, Bastila returns her sight to find her traditional common clothing of civilian life over her shoulders: a bright orange-brown tunic that fit tightly over her torso in an undershirt-overshirt combination, along with matching dark brown leggings and light brown footing. At last feeling prepared, Bastila ignores the habit to search for her golden bladed lightsaber, and continues after the spirit.

For a timeless spacing, Bastila and the unrecognized figure slowly treaded along a path of non-existence, the spirit leading in a harmonious stroll of an old hermit, Bastila keeping track as if she had to hold herself back from leading.

‘She reminds me of Jolee Bindo, with that accursed attitude of his…’

The spirit replied instantly, as if the rhetorical statement had been intentionally spoken out. “If it were fine with you, I’d much rather prefer not to be referenced to an old fool who only claims himself of the Gray Philosophy for his own self doubts.[/color]”

Bastila instantly jumped in surprise, and took a moment to stare at the back of the spirit, who continued to march forward, even through her small laughter, “I’m quite sure you never anticipated a spirit to invade your private thoughts, even when we are traveling through the subconscious of your mind.[/color]”

“How do you know of Jolee Bindo?” Bastila quickly asked, attempting to ignore the surprise running through her mind and body.

“While I certainly never heard him ramble about in the living realm, I am now forced to deal with such annoyances since he is one with the Force. It’s surprising really; you’d never expect a man who could not choose sides to be granted into the ‘almighty flow of all things.’[/color]”

Bastila feels herself frown immensely at the mention of Jolee's spirit; it was a painful thing for the woman to accept that he had died. It had been one of several details that had been gnawing at her sanity for the last few years.

"Does he ramble of his regret to have not died it battle?" Bastila questions for no particular reason, merely attempting to pull herself away from the memories of his scruffy grunts of happiness...and grouchiness in general.

The spirit merely chuckles to herself.

"Something of that nature.... although it is regret that he did not die alongside his Lord that made him so frustrated in the end.[/color]"

The reply instantly sent a gasp through her lips, as her eyes widened and her treading ended. "You mean..."

At last the spirit stops her motion, yet keeps her back to Bastila Shan, "Of course, who else but Revan could have the effect he has had on you all?[/color]"

Bastila, her eyes ever watchful on the spirit, finally dares the newest question to speak, not even daring to quip his name. "How do you know him?"

And the spirit answers, “Ah, but to answer that particularly deep question, another must be answered. And that question delves on who I am, and what I was.”

“Then how do I find that out from you?”

With that the spirit turns her head to the left, her eyes never glancing at Bastila, yet her head attempting to prod towards her, “You will not find it from me child, but from the galaxy. I will not give away the secrets you seek. It is the journey ahead of you that will betray me. And yet…[/color]” Turning her entire body to match with her sight, the spirit looks out towards nothing.

Or at least, it was nothing, yet rapidly blurs and floods into something.

Within seconds, the bleak and blank universe of Bastila Shan’s supposed consciousness opens into the Force once more, and the view of a stormed and ravaged world arrives. Its sky translucent, clearly allowing sight of the outward stars, nebulae, and triple suns; the atmosphere was just as clear, with no vaporized oxygen or hydrogen in sight. The stretch of land that lay below could be described as something to be expected from a neutron star: cratered, jet black, and devoid of much sign of characteristic landmark or life at all; a desolate world, to say the least.

And yet a single being, dressed in a formerly tanned robe turned brown and black from wear and lack of proper lighting, metal plated boots and gauntlets, plated chest piece and belt. The face itself, most likely to be protected from the unbearable environment, was suited in a complete mask of deep black and dark blue, the more gracious shade of which created a ‘T’ shape across the mask to resemble a line of eyes and nose.

Some would believe this creature to be something from horror holos; but Bastila Shan recognized the being to be Human without even thinking. She knew the being well, very well.

“Revan!” she uttered in a single breath, her eyes wider than she had ever thought them to be; in fact, the last time they had ever exceeded such proportions was the thought of seeing that same being again.

“Yesss Bastila, you of all people would know this figure far better than others would know. You have wondered of his condition for years now.[/color]” The spirit never looked to Bastila for her reaction, or even flinched at the name recalled. She seemingly expected it all.

“How have you found him, what do you know?” Bastila’s voice was now wavering, intensifying, as her eyes grew ever more attentative on the figure she had longed to see again, to hear of his return.

“There are certain advantages to being dead you see. To be Jedi, a being is one with the Force; to be Sith, they become acquainted as its agonizing shadow. For those of us who stand in the line of Light and Dark, the powers and punishments given to us can be complicated and easily evaded. In the end, a being can regain their influence, and return to their power; but of course, death holds you still.[/color]” the spirit seemed to be showing its interest in Revan as well. It eyed in his direction, the movement of the robe ever more interesting, ever more unnerving.

Bastila soon began to notice a change about his stance, his walk; he wasn’t marching in the proud and confident way that had been about his life seven years before, or the burdened yet enlightened step that he had uplifted as Revan. He seemed to carry a much larger burden now, and it was overpowering him. Revan carried himself in caution, as if a limp cursed his limbs. He walked as if exhausted, as if his resolve and power dwindled, and an outside weight slowly defeats him.

“What’s wrong with him…” she questions at last, concerned Revan will suddenly trip over himself.

And in reaction, the corner of Bastila’s eyes catch a faint glimpse of a grayish smile from the spirit’s lips, “Well, the burden that man carries is tremendously heavy, for he carries himself, and another; one that, in fact, has no intention to aid him…[/color]”

Bastila Shan finally turns her eyes to the spirit, a tingle in the back of her head warning of something, “Who is this someone?”

The spirit takes a step forward, as if she wished to enter the world before them; her robes motion to the side as two arms spread away from their sleeves, and a left hand opens palm to release energies of the Dark Side, while the right hand… is not even upon her body to carry a force.

“Why, this someone is none other than Revan himself.[/color]”

For a moment Bastila’s eyes look on the spirit with immense confusion, in an attempt to clear the pieces in order to understand her.

Within an instant, it all becomes clear, as Bastila’s Revan finally crashes to the rock below him, his right hand clenching tightly at his head, and his left eventually following suit.

The spirit had never referred to the man who walked his path as Revan, she referred to another by that name. And Bastila then knew the terrible price that had finally come from her actions eight years before.

Within seconds, Bastila can hear the moans and yells of pain from her consoled companion as he insufferably questions the damage being done to him. Bastila steps forward, then another step, and another. Within seconds, she is at least six meters ahead of the spirit.

“What’s happening…” Bastila attempts to question, yet is soon cut off from her voice being lost. Her eyes freeze on the image before her; in the majority of her sight, she sees her Revan struggling to regain control; in the corner of her eye in the opposite direction, she sees the spirit attempting to regain her Revan.

“Rise, my endeared Apprentice. It is time you return from your slumber.[/color]” the spirit enchants from her still silent lips, her left hand rising up higher, as its energies collect in more amazing power; in Revan’s world, more agony ensues, and odd anomalies begin to occur inside his robes.

Bastila suddenly feels the fear rise in her, and she turns to him completely, yelling out the name she had known him for so long, before that title had been forced on him from the traitorous Apprentice. The motion underneath the robe increases, as anomalies begin to form, and the lightning of the Force erupts in full swing.

“What’s happening…[/color]” Bastila hears Revan whisper at last, yet it is nearly inaudible from another voice, a darker, more sinister voice, now filling the spaces of the realm. Yet it is the same voice, the same being, only….

“Master….[/color]” the voice echoes throughout the unending universe, sending shocks and tumbles through the non-existent ground below.

“Yes my Apprentice! Rise from your ashes, rise to your return! Take back the mantle that rightly belongs to you, and set forth the true balance of the Force![/color]”

Bastila never looks back at the laughing spirit, she is too fearful of her dear Revan to suddenly fall. His form continues to writhe and choke, the form of his body suddenly growing immensely, as if, underneath that robe, two bodies began to rise from one…

At long last, the tortured hero calls the name of his love, “Bastila![/color]”

And whispering out of her lips just an instant later, her eyes tearing, her fists clenched as tightly as possible, Bastila Shan feels her own lips deliver the painful reply, “No!”

“Rise again Darth Revan, and reclaim your place as Dark Lord of the Sith!”


And… at long last, Bastila Shan awoke, to the quiet reality that was so close to home, yet so far away from the man she desired to be with most, and needed him most.

[Talmic Jarac]

I am really impressed John, I hope to see more chapters soon.

[Isus Jarode]

Chapter One: A Scoundrel’s Hand, Part I


The bright blue lips of the challenger seem to curl in an instant, the quirk in her flat yet personified black eyes so obvious even the Duro bartender could detect the sonic booms of the sudden perspiration on her opponents.

“What can I say gents? I’ve got a Flush of Commanders…” the confident competitor quips out; dropping her holo-hand onto the playing deck in knowledge of victory, the smooth-skinned Twi-lek closes her eyes for a brief instant to allow her open palmed hands of ego handle the talking. She didn’t need to see the looks of awe or shock in the eyes of the Trandoshan and Rodian beside her, or the sudden quiver of fear the Bothan’s fur had just emitted; her senses of the rising stench from the Trandoshan’s growl was just enough.

‘Looks like this’ll get ugly…’

“Looks like I win boys.” The female speaks out in basic Huttese, her hands waiting to collect the credits of the bet, her eyes glinting in the feeling of pride. The fact that her skills in her ‘natural’ language were already irritating to the fluent natives; the fact that she had now defeated the three without a sweat only seemed to add on slightly. Perhaps the largest factor of frustration with the three males was the simple fact that they could not see how a Twi-lek female who should be a Dancer now slam all of their credits in one simple game of Sabacc.

“Well, come on boys, let’s see those credits!” the female notions again, looking to each man with a bit of a scowl, but nothing terribly offensive. The idea was to coerce each of them into merely accepting defeat, perhaps even with the ‘puppy eyes’ of a female.

The Trandoshan was not swayed at all. Attempting to stand upright, the lizard-like creature snares in anger…

To find an upholstered Mandalorian Heavy Pistol aiming directly at his chest. The Twi-lek grins in pride even still, and her smooth skinned head nods downward to the figure for the nasty lizard to relax. Her lekku head tails twitch a bit in betrayal to her slight fear, but her heavy firearm deemed that she was ready to make up for that. After a few moments of growling and attempting to look to the other two aliens for support, the unrelenting black gaze of the Twi-lek female was enough to tell the Trandoshan to sit. Grumbling in a bit of anger, the lizard, bug and ape all toss over their share of the ten-thousand credit bet.

The Twi-lek grins in victory, and uses her free left hand to rake the blue, red and violet cards over to her own purse, before collecting the sides of the bag, slipping them into a slip in her red-orange vest, and slowly takes a step forward, her ankle-high boots slipping past the chair and slowly leading her towards the door; the Pistol was still aimed at the three aliens.

“A pleasure serving you gents, now if you’ll excuse me…”

With a black eyelash winking down and a blue lipped smirk showing her satisfaction, the Twi-lek holsters her Mandalorian Pistol and turns toward the door, listening intently to the murmur of angered gamblers in the background; the thought of losing to a young female bothering many of them.

As the young woman began her eased walk through the space paths, her black eyes couldn’t help but prod towards the great transparisteel glass observation deck before her, its target of interest for the station: Planet Duro, a world of violent and polluted skies of carbonic yellows and putrid oranges, its surface a dull brown, its crevasses and valleys walked upon by dangerous cannibalistic beasts. The Twi-lek couldn’t help but marvel at the homeworld of the famed race, yet felt a small bit of disgust at what centuries of industrial prowess had done to the capitalist society.

Strolling down the path and at last pulling her eyes away from the transparisteel, the exotic woman navigates herself through the glamorous station’s architecture, her jet black gaze of calm astonishment waving across each silver-gray building, her body keeping to a subconscious movement, her mind leading onward towards the hotel she was currently resting at each evening. The hotel itself resided in the farther reaches of Rrudobar Orbital City, more approximately in its eastern district, and could be considered a three star service by other Core world residents; considering Mission had been living on her own in Hutt Space, however, such a trip to the Core systems obviously brought its luxury; she had been used to living in the gritty from being trapped in Nar Kretta for a few months.

Turning a corner and passing by a pair of Duro engineers seeming awed by their own structural designs at a recent accident from a hovercraft crash, the gambler’s eyes quickly noting their large cobalt heads, her eyebrow quirking at the thought of wonder at how easy of a target they’d be for a good shell game…

Yet, the woman’s attention for possibly more profiteering came to a fault, as suddenly, and without warning, she heard her name spoken out from the darkness of a nearby alley, and her gazes darting back a second later to see a shadow slowly treading down the passage, with the silhouette of a flowing robe behind the seemingly Humanoid figure… a male Human at that…

‘Could it be…?’

Suddenly turning on the heel of her left boot, the blue skinned Twi’lek kicks her leg onto the steel world structure below her, vaulting herself towards the entrance of the alley, hoping to catch the shadow in its movement. Finding the strange figure inching further down the way, the Twi’lek begins dashing after it, her eyes wide with strange emotion, unsure what to think, how to react if her theories were true.

As she bounds closer to the figure, however, she realizes that there was no possible way it could be him; instead, the woman hoped it could have been someone else she knew, another robed figure that would have been a friendly place in a system far from home. The figure was robed to the brim, their head hooded, their arms extensively overlapped in brown cloth, their form seemingly much larger than what was obviously natural, all thanks to that single auburn robe. Finally, the figure stopped at the dead end, and it robe seemed to end its flow. Standing with its back to the Scoundrel, the woman looked on its back with anxious curiosity, tempted to reach out and nudge its shoulder to see the reaction.

Of course, she never anticipated the figure turning on its heel with a surprising speed, and pull out a Bothan Neutralizer Bat alongside it. At the sight of such a painfully electric stunner, the Twi’lek kicks back on her right heel, feeling the wind rush before her chest from the intensity of the swing, before springing her following left leg behind her and kicking off to the right as a following low cut swing swoops after her.

Leaning against the smooth wall of the nearby building, the Scoundrel allows her assailant to send a horizontal strike, before she ducks back, dives forward, lands behind her attacker in a crouching position, and prepares to send a swift palm strike to the figure’s left hip to send a painful shock through his body, when she realizes her instincts are naturally preparing her for a defensive arm-shield: the attacker had anticipated the counter and kicked forward with his left leg in response.

‘What the hell’s up with this guy?!’

When the two strikes hit, the Twi’lek winces at the blow, but ignores whatever minor pain the attack caused, and uses her left hand to hold the leg as her right leg pushes her body forward, the opponent’s stun stick now coming down from above, intent on knocking her back down. The Twi’lek feels the resulting crash grind and jolt into her left shoulder, numbing her left arm and forcing her teeth to wrench in tightening agony; but her right leg continues to press her upward, and she sends another palm strike towards the opponent’s neck, intent on knocking him cold into the wall.

Then again, it was rather difficult when the Twi’lek found an unknown force pushing her back into the wall, completely unexpectedly… or possible, for that matter. The strike meant for the man’s neck never hits, and instead, the woman looks forward to her former attacker with surprise, seeing a new figure’s arm holding onto her left shoulder, its hold a strong yet feminine touch.

Acting in reaction in hopes of escaping, the Twi’lek sends its right hand towards the grip…

Only to find the new assailant’s left arm strike up towards her chest, its fist never contacting; instead, it reveals a rather impressive Wrist Launcher, and within an instant, the victim feels the rush of a paralyzing solution course through her. Looking up to see the Human face of her attacker, the woman only winces a bit at the mention of her name.

“Sweet dreams, Mission Vao.”

[Isus Jarode]

Chapter One: A Scoundrel's Hand, Part II

Swinging around the far orbit of the planet Azurbani, the Vermillion Eye began to set its course for a set of crimson dots far off in another sector of the Azurbani system. The Eye, a truly unique vessel, was designed somewhat as a circle below a triangle structure: its rear was primarily circular, similar to that of the Ebon Hawk, with two exiting engine drives, yet the top perimeter of the rear was covered by the base of a triangle that protected the top shelf of the entire ship, resulting in minor wings just a few dozen meters from each wall; to the front of the vessel lay the point of the triangle, which covered the inner cockpit, its transparisteel a large black square, while its sides were surrounded by two semi-circles that spread from the center of the triangle beyond the triangle like two crescent moons. Its own green-blue sheen seemed to contradict to the bleakness of space, the crimson glow of the twin worlds Kiffex and Kiffu, or the red-white hulls of the oncoming Republic Capital ship Sojourn.

“Vermillion Eye, this is the Sojourn; what is your status, over?” came in a commlink from the Capital Ship, its ‘hammerhead’ deck in frontal view.

“Sojourn, this is Vermillion, we request docking authority for purpose of laying right to Bounty number 57339 oh 18, on priority red command, over.” spoke back the Vermillion’s pilot Atton Rand, his brown eyes dancing around the switch sequencer of his cockpit, his left hand levering the deceleration, his right hand tapping in security clearances.

After about fifteen seconds of silence and five seconds of data transfers, Sojourn hailed back, “Request accepted Vermillion, good to see you back safe and sound. Wait a moment while we prepare a docking bay for you. Was the trip clear – over?”

Atton smirked up through the transparisteel to the vessel only a few kilometers away from them now, watching as the object grew larger thanks in due part to its tractor beam; Atton Rand was glad: for once in their two year history, he and Mira hadn’t actually been shot at, which was a completely new thing entirely. “For once Sojourn, it was. Thanks for asking.”

A few seconds later, and the response came through, “Anytime Vermillion, glad to hear it. Your point is docking bay two; please proceed to allow our tractor beam to pass you through completely before activating landing sequences.” With that, the respondent prepared to log off.

“Will do Sojourn, thanks for the trip.” Quickly adding in the last remark with a grin, Atton side glances to his hunting partner with a curious gaze, “So, I take it the respondent was disappointed this time?”

Mira looks to him with a confused glare of emerald, “Why would you say that…” a second later, however, the boyish grin on the fool’s face was enough for Mira to want to slap him, “I told you already, he does not have a thing for me!”

Atton released a loud giggle, and then looked back to the stars that were rapidly diminishing in front of them, overwhelmed by the hull of their destination, “All right, but I remember how you two were flirting with each other from our last trip in the Teta System.”

Mira’s lips fall to her chin in shock, and she prepares to slap Atton so forcefully on the face, it would have sent him straight into the transparisteel. Thing was, he was already looking at her with that ‘don’t-even-try-it’ look, forcing Mira to look away in utmost anger, before snapping, “If you weren’t on your knees for a particular woman, you would have fallen for that Doctor back on Coruscant by now.”

While Mira could sense the sudden anger rising around Atton the moment she said that, his lips quipped out something else entirely, “You’re absolutely right; I would have taken that babe to bed for sure… if I wasn’t…”

“Already on a leash?” Mira added for him with a grin, forcing Atton to stop in his tracks and look at her with the deadliest stare a Scoundrel could possess.

“Why you… look at you, you’re not even…”

Slam! The ship was down, landed onto the deck of the Sojourn, and Mira was already prancing off toward her captured prey, a look of utmost victory spread across her cheeks; just before exiting the cockpit, however, she turns to the pivot of one hip and looks back at him, one hand on the jointed hip to increase the intimidation, “Trust me, I know if she didn’t have you twisted around her finger, you would have been after my bunk, and I’d just dart you, strip you, and shove you off the cargo ramp in the middle of Mannan. And by the way, I don’t go for old timers like you, so don’t even think about it.” And with a wink, Mira was off again, intent on taking her bounty to the client, with Atton struggling for words to lash back, his only reply audible being the typical “Listen sister…”

Tapping the cargo hold open, Mira’s emerald eyes darted into the dark and quiet space, searching for the blue skinned Twi’lek known as Mission Vao; the girl was obviously there, Mira could sense her presence, but her eyes were betraying her from seeing the gambling girl.

“Mission… where are you?” Mira whispered, her eyes darting side to side, a small smile inching across her red lips.

No response, as expected, and Mira could only sigh; she should have known the Twi’lek would have tried something like this. Slowly inching forward, Mira kept her right arm reared back, left hand far out in front of her to touch any object in her way, her eyes darting left to right, left to right, left to right… at last, she could hear, sense the breath of Mission Vao from her right, and just then, she could also hear the sudden jump forward, Vao attempting to get her stun cuffs around Mira’s neck.

‘Too slow!’

And as simple as it began, Mira punched her right arm outward, lightly colliding with Mission’s diaphragm, forcing her breathless and grabbing the woman’s shirt just as her body fell into the strike, tugging Mission towards the predator, before grabbing both arms and holding them firmly.

“Maybe next time you’ll use something more productive, like a flash grenade – oh, I’m sorry, you’re cuffed! I forgot!” and with a small laugh, Mira pulled and threw Mission through the captive out through the cargo doors, and right into Atton Rand’s arms, where he grabbed and held professionally, Mission screaming out the usual “Let me go!” for a few seconds, before realizing how stupid she looked. At last she surrendered, and the poor girl looked rather pathetic as Atton and Mira escorted her towards the hangar elevator, where two Republic guards awaited them.

Inside the elevator, the five figures were completely silent, save for Mira anxiously zipping up her green jacket, before unzipping it halfway downward, and then all the way once more, before returning the process to the beginning; such a sight was not something the guards took without notice - or interest for that matter - something Atton Rand couldn’t help but smirk at, especially the assumption most of the soldiers must have made about the two of them.

Once the elevator reached its peak, the two guards took lead positions, allowing Atton and Mira to clear Mission through the elevator doors, before the convoy continued. Vao was blinking her eyes from side to side, obviously recognizing the vessel, and most likely making her own ideas of what was going on; she was most likely right on the credits.

Quickly enough, the soldiers reach the sealed door of destination, and both take guarding posts on either end, before one taps a console signaling the arrival of the bounty hunters.

“Send them in.” replies a calm, soft, weathered male voice.

With the signal, Atton Rand and Mira pull Mission Vao through the doors at last, to arrive at a rather small room – an officer’s conference room, Mira remembers – with a deep blue and black oval table in the center, a holoprojector in its midpoint, and a large transparisteel window overlooking the planet Kiffu from afar. On the other side of the conference table, sipping Telosian Brandy and holding a single holopad, was the client.

Admiral Carth Onasi.

“So, I see you two finished what I asked of you; I’m impressed, as usual.” Onasi speaks out with some hesitation and distraction, his eyes not on Mission or his hunters, but on the holopad, his hand relaxingly bringing the mug in his hand towards his bearded lips, “So, where’d you find Mission here?”

“Duro.” Mira replied, looking to Mission for a moment, and seeing the small bit of surprise – and the larger bit of contempt – in her face, “She was gambling the fortunes of several others away, and was discovered to have blatant connections with the former band of Smugglers and Rouges that Revan…”

“Ahem!” Mission interrupted, looking to Mira as if she were some ignorantly rude person.

Mira looks to her for a second, before continuing, “Supposedly worked for prior to you meeting him.”

Carth finishes his mug at last, and places both drink and datapad down on the table, before walking himself over to where all three stood, his hands clasped behind the small of his back. His appearance was that of a handsome forty-three year old, his hair still clearly auburn, his eyes perhaps sharper than they were two years ago, his face a bit more wrinkled than Mission Vao most likely remembered him; he wore a fitting red and gold Republic uniform, and his badges clearly depicted the experience that resonated from him. On his right hip was a reverse blaster holster, and on his left hip was a miniature holopad carrying case. Reaching a standing point before Atton, Mira and Mission, Carth nods to the hunters to release the gambler, “Please, those things aren’t necessary, she isn’t a criminal – I only requested such treatment to remind Mission of her criminal activities.”

Mission’s mouth gapes wide in shock, “Criminal activities? What are you talking about Carth, most of that was ‘privateering’ for the Republic! It was completely legal; you paid me big credits for it!”

Carth only smirked, even to the gazes that suddenly came from Atton and Mira, “Well hey, I can’t just ask a famously known smuggler to politely make a visit, now can I? Even if you’re my adopted daughter, you’re the ‘rouge’, and if I just invited you back as if nothing happened, we’d both get fried.”

Mission crossed her arms in spite and looked at her ‘father’ with a look of false anger, “And what justifies that? You’re not…”

“I certainly am Mission, I certainly am.” Carth replied with a larger grin this time, before turning on his heel and walking towards the window, “Now, no more of that, we can catch up later; in the meantime, I need to discuss why I brought you back in the first place. – Oh, and before either of you go, stick around, this involves both of you.”

Obviously referring to Atton and Mira, the two bounty hunters stop cold in their tracks only a few steps away from the door. Mira looks at the back of Carth Onasi with confusion, and Atton Rand with suspicion, “What, more babysitting?”

Both Mira and Mission take offense to that.

“In a sense Mr. Rand, but I promise you, this job will pay much higher, and much more in terms of experience. I require the two of you to assist a fellow Jedi.” Carth never looks back at the two, yet quickly side glances at Mission as she finds herself

“They’re Jedi? That’s insane! They can’t be Jedi, why else would they…?” Mission retorted, looking to Carth with a look of disdain, before looking back to the two bounty hunters, and realizing from the look on their faces – and the sudden note of their stances – Mission discovers how truthful such a statement would have been.

“Hey, I thought we were clear you’d keep that a secret Onasi!” Atton quirked back, obviously a bit embarrassed by the sudden information, and a bit frustrated it would be released so easily. Mira didn’t seem to care much, but found the reasons how the Admiral discovered such information a bit interesting; it wouldn’t have been hard, considering a simple soldier could have noticed Atton or Mira’s Jedi robes on Citadel Station during the Battle of Telos IV.

“It’s not everyday you see a Bounty Hunter strolling around in Jedi robes; besides, do you really expect me to hold that kind of information from a former member of Revan’s crew? We were all together for nearly a year you know; she’s used to Jedi by now.”

Atton and Mira send side glances to each other for a moment, remembering their own times as Non-Jedi, and the feeling of being surrounded by them. In comparison to Bastila, Jolee and Juhani, Mira and Atton’s Exile, Kreia, and Visas were very different.

“So… now you need us to escort her? What’s up with this? We’re Bounty Hunters, not body guards.” Atton finally spoke out, his eyes glancing over to the Admiral with some anticipation, concern over matters rather bothersome to both he and Mira.

“No, I need the three of you – as a team – to locate Bastila Shan on Coruscant and help her however you can. I received a message from her just the other day, and she’s saying that something urgent happened, and she needs to collect the old crew together. Now, considering Canderous is Mandalore now, HK and T3 are MIA, and Jolee is dead, that leaves Mission and Juhani as the easiest people to connect to Bastila at the moment for help, considering Zaalbar and I are both busy with our own matters at the moment.”

Mission looks to Carth with the utmost attention; obviously she had caught on that only a few key things in the Galaxy upset Bastila so much she’d label them as ‘urgent’, “What’s wrong, did she say?”

Carth side glanced her with a frown and nodded a decline, “No, she didn’t, but I’ve got a bad feeling. She didn’t sound too happy about it, let me tell you.”

Atton and Mira look to each other again, Mira’s eyes glowing with fear of the situation; they had been avoiding their abilities in the Force for two years now, and Admiral Onasi was asking them to aid a famous fallen Jedi who had given up the Force for far longer than they had? What if they had to train Bastila Shan in the ways of the Force?

Mission Vao looks to both bounty hunters with a sudden gaze of desperation, “Something’s happening, and I’ve got to know what! I don’t care if you two come or not, I’m going to help Bastila!”

Carth looks to the young woman with a sad nod, his own theories obviously bothering him; Mira watches both with the utmost amazement, feeling familiarity of the situation dwell on her heart. She could feel Atton questioning the same things to himself as well. What if this were the Exile in their situation? Wouldn’t they instantly take up arms to protect or aid her? Bastila wasn’t a leader like the Exile or Revan had been, but she had been their friend, like Mical had been to them (at least to Mira); if they ignored this, they would have good reason, but what would the cost be?

For several seconds, both merely stand there, brown and green eyes staring into nothing.

At last, they reply their acceptance, and Carth Onasi merely nods in agreement.

“You wish to be paid for this?” he questions, obviously without a care of the reaction.

Mira holds her head down, obviously allowing Atton to make such a choice, but even he is unsure; for a few seconds, the Scoundrel hesitates as well, before looking back up and nodding a decline. “We’re Jedi, we were trained for this.”

Carth nods in agreement, “Good, then you leave immediately. Bastila is awaiting, and whatever is bothering her… I can only hope it is what I sincerely hope… or not what I openly fear.”

Mission looks to her adopted stepfather with a frown, and then finds her hand gripping his for a moment, before he sends back a squeeze. “Is Dustil here, or with Juhani?” Mission asks at last, her eyes to the carpeting at their feet.

“He’s here, I called for him before I ordered this bounty; Juhani didn’t come with him though, and he hasn’t said why. I’ll… talk to him, and make sure he tags along.” Carth replies.

Atton and Mira sigh with the thought of accepting such a mission… without credits, without excitement, without any sort of gain; they were truly sacrificing in this situation, something neither of them were used to.

But in the end, it was what they were trained to accept. They were Jedi now, and the way of sacrifice was part of the Jedi way.

Turning on her heel, Mira nudges Atton and looks to the door, “We’re launching in 0200 hours Vao, have your equipment ready; we confiscated your things before your capture, and I’ll make sure to have them sent up; and if this Dustil is coming, have him ready too.”

Carth and Mission both nod, and Mira leads through the door, with Atton following closely behind; when the two reach the elevator, they stand there silently, neither whispering a word to each other, before at last, just before the doors of the elevator open to reveal the Vermillion Eye, Mira smirks and finally speaks out.

“She’d be proud of us.”

Atton looks down, as if in guilt.

“I know.”