Rembrant Vorte

[Kella]

Name: Rembrant Vorte (Vor-tay) [{[Formerly Aiken Acharai (EYE-kehn uh-CAR-eye)]}]

Race: Arkanian
Age: 43
Height: 6'3
Weight: 185 lbs
Appearance:
Aiken exudes a harsh aura of formidability. His eyes, like those of most of his race, are pure and creamy white; as if two Krayt dragon pearls had found their way into his visage. His hair is thick and also white, and he keeps it trimmed in a military flat-top; not a strand out of place. He has yet to suffer the receding hair-line of middle-age, though he does have a subtle widow's peak. In fact, he is devoid of many of the signs of middle-age, though he still bears every one of his forty-one years.

Aiken is tall, with broad shoulders and a wide stance; heavy frame carrying a muscular, yet lean build. On each of his hand, he has only four fingers, tipped by claws. A trade-mark of his race. Aiken's skin carries a wide multitude of scars, criss-crossing and inter-mingling, some fresh, some decades old, all tell-tale signs of nasty injuries.

He can usually be found in olive-green combat-style boots, heavy canvas cargo-pants, deep brown in color, and a simple tan or olive-green shirt. He carries two visible weapons; a heavy-blaster on a bandoleer-type holster, and his saber, which he keeps fastened to his left thigh. When he is traveling, he almost always keeps the heavy blaster with him, however, when he is not, he often leaves it behind in favor of mobility.

Aiken's mannerisms are closed and rough; implying that he does not appreciate outside influence or opinion. The only expressions to cross his face are ones of focus, or varying shades of grimace.

Between that disconcerting stare of his, his solid physique, and gruff mannerisms, Aiken can appear an intimidating fellow. In his case, looks are not deceiving.


Traits: Rembrant's temperament is deadly serious. He has little tolerance for jokes and humor, and looks upon ignorance and arrogance with disgust.

With an easy mind for strategy, Rembrant's intelligence makes itself apparent, though his way of doing things may seem unfounded initially. If he knows he is right, he simply ignores those who tell him otherwise.

Rembrant's temper is more icy than an Arkanian wind. To provoke it is foolish indeed. In those times where he becomes quiet and very, very still... Well, it suffices to say that I hope you've written your Will.


Birth place: Arkania

Faction: Dark Jedi
Rank: Master (Prophet)

Bio: ((See Below))

Lightsaber: Single-blade, Durindfire and Ruusan crystals.
Color:
"The core was distinctly blue, but dark, inky, almost black. Like an Arkanian sky just before sunrise. The Durindfire set his saber ablaze, and it shone at its fringes with a silver, trickling light; a swirl of stars set across a night-time canopy.

The hilt Rembrant was also quite proud of. Its architecture was smooth and flowing, a worthy Arkanian masterpiece. When off, the metal gleamed a crisp, brushed nickel. However, when ignited, a silver-blue fire illuminated the hilt, making visible an intricate swirl of runes and symbols. Memories. Rembrant had made the saber part of him, for he had leeched into it the essence of what made him who he was."

Practiced Lightsaber forms:

Shii-Cho - 5
Makashi - 5
Soresu - 5
Ataru - N/A
Shien / Djem So - N/A
>>Sub-form Backhanded
Niman - N/A
>>Sub-form Jar-kai, or Dual Wield
Juyo - N/A
Double Bladed Combat - N/A

Force-Sensitive Abilities or practices:

Telekinetic: 9
Telepathic: 5
Body: 4
Sense: 8
Protection: 2
Healing: 4
Destruction: 5

Specialized Skills:
Force Wave
Force-Levitation

Attributes:

Physical Strength: 7
Intelligence: 8
Speed: 4
Leadership: 5

Unarmed: 7
Melee Weapons: 4
Ranged Weapons: 6

Force Attunement: -4

RP Sample: ((See Below))

[Kella]

Act I: Revelations of a Jedi


The Root of All

Dark Jedi Master Rembrant Vorte was born Aiken Acharai on the planet of Arkania. Madrid and Perre, a young, middle-class couple welcomed their eldest into the world with open minds and open hearts. They were loving, doting on their son, for they had waited quite a while to be gifted with such a blessing as a child. Aiken’s first year passed without much event, though it seemed that he hit every milestone just a bit earlier than his peers.

It was on his second birthday that it first became clear that Aiken was no ordinary child. His first words were immortalized by the elegant hand of his mother, inscribed in his baby-album; “Ma, why do you love me?”
Though elated at his speech, Aiken’s mother took this simple curiosity as sign of a lack of inner-confidence. She began to compensate by doting upon him even more, focusing on his achievements, taking every chance she could to tell him she was proud of him. Three years passed, in which Aiken was tutored by his mother whilst his father ran a supplies and goods shop.

By the time he was five, Aiken had developed into a very confident individual. He was frustrated deeply by concepts he did not understand, and relished those he did, showing a level of maturity markedly above his peers. As a result, the young Arkanian got along quite well with other adults, especially his teachers, but hardly got along with said peers. Aiken developed an arrogant streak, much to the displeasure of the other children. While he always treated adults with the utmost of respect, a distinct sense of entitlement began to take root in the young Arkanian’s mind, especially with his mother’s encouragement.


Discovery

A day off. Of all the reasons for a Jedi to be wandering the streets, this was the reason for Ki’sek, a young Kiffar knight. And it was simple snackish-ness which sent him into the Supplies and Goods shop of one Perre Acharai. Ki’sek almost didn’t notice the young boy who sat behind the counter, leafing through a book on interplanetary travel.

However, notice him he did. Ki’sek struck up conversation with the little boy, impressed by his grasp of concepts, and intrigued by his confidence. It was not long before Ki’sek spoke with Aiken’s parents about his potential. He told them of all the great things he could be trained to do through the Force.

Despite the Jedi’s flowering description, Aiken’s parents were not keen to part with their only child, a child which filled them with a distinct sense of pride. Neither knew if they’d be able to have another child, or if this second-eldest would show any where close the prodigy of Aiken. However, at long-last, they relented; for both loathed the wasting of potential, and both knew they could never teach Aiken near what the Jedi could.
And so, they handed over their only child, after a raining down of kisses and hugs. They sent with Aiken a unique gift, a book of Arkanian wisdom, the cover engraved with his name, the inner flap a picture of his parents, accented by his mother’s flowery script; ‘Never forget from whence you came.’

During the trip through hyperspace, Aiken, who was just beginning to get a handle on reading, poured over the pages, frustrated by some, enlightened by others.
However, as soon as he arrived at the enclave at Dantooine, a gruff Cathar Jedi took the book away, saying simply ‘such things are not allowed here.’

To most younglings, the words would have made so little sense that they were quickly forgotten. To Aiken, however, they made more than sense; they planted an idea. The loosing of his beloved book served to stick out to that entitled youngling. For it placed within his mind a shadow; a sliver of a doubt. The notion that despite all the Jedi gave… perhaps they were taking more away.


To be a Youngling

It took Aiken a good deal of time to become accustomed to his new surroundings; a first-sign that Aiken did not adapt well to change. However, once he had grown accustomed to Enclave life, Aiken’s relationship to his peers and teachers ended up much the same as it had been back home. To his teachers and elders, he was respectful and mature, though not in a manipulative fashion. His peers bore the brunt of the arrogant edge of his personality, and he once again became isolated. However, this did not bother the young Arkanian, for he devoted most of his time to studies anyway.
It took neither Aiken nor his instructors very long to figure out that lightsaber combat was not his strong point. He could keep up with the rest of the younglings, but he had to practice twice as long and twice as hard. But practice he did, for it frustrated him to no end that there were others far better than he.

What affinity he lacked in saber combat, Aiken made up for in force-related studies. He was the first to lift his pebble when studying telekinesis, even going so far as to simply play around with such things in class while the others struggled to accomplish simple tasks. At one point, not far into his ninth year, Aiken even became so mischievous as to lift the pebbles of other students, especially one who he’d become rivals with. She excelled at lightsaber combat. Aiken was jealous. He would let her think she was accomplishing the task, and then zip the pebble along in some erratic direction, leaving the girl entirely confused.

This went on for about fifteen minutes before Aiken was subsequently caught, and given a long, detailed discussion concerning the Jedi way and kindness. Knowing the young Arkanian could keep up, the Master went so far as to turn it into a lesson on humility as well.

Aiken slipped into a silent, brooding mood for the next three days, but when he came out of it, he found the Master’s words had seeped quite deep. He was markedly more personable toward his peers, and a bit less frustrated by not being the best; however, he still sought to drive himself to his very limits.

Aiken’s youngling years passed in similar kind, with a few occurrences here and there, but little to really distinguish the years. He continued to show his affinity for telekinesis, and academic studies. Since he required little study-time in those areas, unlike many younglings, he was able to focus on pushing himself in lightsaber combat, edging a smidge above the average through sheer determination. It still proved to frustrate him, however.


A Master’s Debut

Late in his tenth year, the Arkanian caught the eye of Jedi Knight Neno Mavi, an Omwati. The Jedi had been a Knight for three years, and was quite ready to accept a Padawan. Due to his slight build, he had devoted his studies to the force, and focused less on lightsaber combat. The two seemed drawn to one another, for they each had similar interests.

Their first mission, as many were, was of diplomatic nature. The two Jedi would be settling a dispute over the ownership of a particular strip of land which lay between the farmland of two business-owners on Dantooine, close to home. Neno, preparing to explain the finer points of formulas and surveying to Aiken, asked him to calculate the location of each man’s borders based upon the measurements listed on record, expecting the Padawan to be at a loss. Aiken, however, took the challenge very seriously and immediately set to work. He picked up the surveying tools with no instruction from Neno, and quickly began measuring the distances. There was indeed a great deal of trial and error involved, but the mechanisms behind the tools seemed to make sense to the young Arkanian. Neno was quite shocked, and resolved to sit back and observe. Aiken calculated the property line, doing a fine job; though he was a few meters off because of an error in equating units. Neno was quite pleased and showered praises upon his Padawan, the land-issue quickly resolved.

~

Over the next three years, Aiken proved himself to be an intellectual Padawan. He began to develop the idea that he was much smarter than nearly all the other Padawans. Neno would have quickly proven him wrong, but, well, it was the truth. Neno worked on stunting the Padawan’s slowly growing ego, but perhaps he did not try as hard as he should have.

Diplomatic missions gave way to Search-and-Retrieve; Search-and-Retrieve gave way to hunting down Dark Jedi. Aiken continued to fiercely train in lightsaber combat. He had learned the stony, unemotive face of a Jedi, and none knew just how much it bothered him to not be the best. After a bit of experimentation, both Aiken and Neno decided the smooth grace of Makashi suited the young Jedi best. In addition, his preference for things intellectual lent him to an eventual rank as a Consular, so he would be most likely to encounter single force-wielding foes. To supplement his one-on-one combat education, Aiken also studied a general overview of Soresu.

However, the one study that brought a smile to Aiken’s face, the one that filled him with the most pleasure was telekinesis. His earlier prowess had been more than just a passing phase, and he took quickly to the skill. By the time he was fourteen, Aiken could lift several things at once.

Negatory Negotiations

Aiken’s fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth years passed with average predictability. He progressed in his study of Makashi. He pushed himself to get a better grasp of Sense abilities, so he would not be snuck up on whilst meditating.

During his seventeenth year, Aiken and Neno were sent on a mission to Naboo, rooting out a Dark Jedi who was allegedly hiding on its surface. They intended to negotiate, and appeal to his business-side. He was indeed there, and when they arrived, a lengthy duel ensued, for the Dark Jedi would have nothing of ‘that negotiation dirt’. The face-off took place at the upper basin of a massive waterfall, angry water tumbling over the edge not so very far away. The Dark Jedi was skilled in lightsaber combat, a weak-spot for both Neno and Aiken. As a result, he managed to fend off both Jedi for quite some time. At one point, Aiken stepped forward to match blades alone, just long enough for Neno to meditate and do something more productive. He found the challenge greater than he’d expected, and quickly received a graze across the leg. In his pain, he was distracted, and the Dark Jedi turned on Neno. The Master was barely able to get his saber up in time to parry a death-blow, and ended up loosing three fingers from his right hand instead.

Aiken, suddenly sensing what it was he had to do, used the force to fling a nearby fallen log at the Dark Jedi. This was enough of a distraction for the now-aware Neno to disarm the Dark Jedi. However, the Dark Jedi refused to be captured. He broke through Neno’s attempts to stall him, and leapt into the river, quickly tumbling over the edge of the waterfall.

Aiken was ready to admit defeat, secretly yearning to return to the ship and tend to his injuries. Neno, however, while not one for combat, was quite skilled at healing. He mended Aiken’s leg, and managed to reattach all but the most damaged of his fingers. As a result, they were able to spend the next two hours searching for, and at long last finding, the body of the Dark Jedi, five miles downriver.

It was at this point that Aiken realized just how useful healing could be, especially if one was likely to become injured. Upon return to the Enclave, he added Healing to his list of studies, his original motivation for learning Sense somewhat diminished.


Skills of Life

In his eighteenth and nineteenth years, Neno began to work on Aiken’s leadership skills, for he felt the Padawan had potential. In any event, good leadership was a life-skill. Aiken was very fortunate to have a Master who thought as such, though he somewhat took it for granted. Aiken learned the subtle techniques of the trade; taking responsibility, listening to everyone, mediating, being someone others want to follow. However, Aiken had a bit of a problem sorting out confidence vs. cockiness, and so it confused him somewhat that Neno would try to weed out one, whilst preserving the other.

As he turned twenty, Aiken found a tendency blooming which had been present since his youth. He was good at giving the right answer. He didn’t necessarily understand the concept, or agree with it, but he knew how to tell his mentors what they wanted to hear. As a result, Aiken didn’t know/understand as many things as he ought to have, though not even he knew it. Some words were hollow, some expressions feigned, but at these times, not even Aiken could see through his own façade, so natural had it become.

Tried and Trialed

At Twenty-one, Aiken was ready to face his trials.

At this point in time, he and Neno were sent to one of Yavin’s moons to collect a bit of Jedi history. Unfortunately, they weren’t the first to arrive. There, just as surprised as the Jedi, was a pair of Dark Jedi, a Master and her Acolyte. Despite the determination of both Neno and Aiken to leave their sabers sheathed, combat, of course, ensued.

Neno would have taken the Master, but Aiken insisted on doing so himself. He reasoned that Neno could quickly disarm the Acolyte, much faster than Aiken, and so make the odds two-on-one. He also reasoned that if one of them was to die, it might as well be himself, for Neno held a great deal of wisdom, and was an asset to the Jedi Order. Aiken was almost as surprised by his actions as Neno, but Neno consented.

Aiken, who had advanced in his understanding of Makashi, started the duel confident, almost cocky. However, a graze along his right wrist did wonders to sober him, and he sharpened his concentration. He attempted to reason with the Master, but the stony Zabrak refused to acknowledge his words. Aiken flung rocks, metal, whatever else he could move, at the Dark Jedi, buying himself just enough time to dodge several potentially fatal attacks. A life-time and three grazes later, Aiken was joined by Neno, who had indeed dispatched the Acolyte, but not after a bit of trouble; his power had been great, but unrefined. They converged upon the Dark Jedi. She used their lack of saber skills against them, keeping them distracted so that they would not be able to use the Force as easily. However, Neno and Aiken were quick to come up with a plan. Neno forced her into an oddly-angled Parry, while Aiken brought a mangled piece of metal from behind, striking the Zabrak on the back of the head. She fell unconscious.

Aiken, now glad at his improved healing skills, was able to help Neno patch the both of them up. Tired, weary, and in need of a hot bath, the two Jedi returned to the Temple, artifact in hand. And hey, they’d arrested a Dark Jedi to boot. Not a bad day.

Reflections of a Jedi

Though he did not know it at the time, the Incident would prove sufficient for Aiken’s Trial of Courage, and Trial of Skill. His trial of Skill was, of course, supplemented by an obstacle course within the Enclave. Aiken demonstrated his skills with telekinesis, even managing a quick, unsteady burst of self-levitation.

Aiken’s trial of Spirit would come soon after. He was met with a vision.

Aiken walked forward, watching his reflection in a looking-glass. As he watched, a creature of stunning beauty drifted toward his reflection. He could not see what it was, for the image was hazy, phantom-like, but he remembered the distinct impression that something was the best thing there was in the all the Universe. And Aiken wanted it. His self in the mirror reached out to touch the creature. As he did, Aiken watched his reflection’s face light up, smile dancing. But then, the wonderful thing turned dark… it slipped ghost-like fingers around his reflection’s neck, while Aiken watched on in horror. His reflection finally cast off the dark shadows, and slowly stood, gasping for breath. As his face came back into view, Aiken saw a much different expression. The face was old, not youthful as it had been, though it was still definitely himself. It was creased with a million lines, freckled with countless scars. Aiken was tempted to take a slow step back, but refrained. He watched as his reflection’s expression twisted to one of anger, then of hate. His reflection suddenly leapt forward, lightsaber igniting. But it was not a simple blue saber, like Aiken’s. It was red. Now Aiken took as step back, uncertainty looming in his eyes. The Dark Jedi lunged forward toward him, and just as he was about to strike—

Aiken awoke. It took him several hours to process the content of his vision. He made a vow to himself, a vow that no matter how beautiful a something seemed, whatever it was that was in his vision… he would not fall to it. No, he would remain strong, and deny himself, whatever it was. But it was a ‘right answer’ sort of vow. An empty vow. A vow that one day, would be broken.


An Explosive Coronation

The council saw the Vision as an adequate trial of the Spirit.

Which left simply one remaining; the trial of Flesh. This would be fulfilled by a most unfortunate accident, earning Aiken many scars.

Aiken, ever one to keep learning, was wandering a Civilian library, taking advantage of a ‘day off’ of sorts on Coruscant. He managed to work his way into the very bowels of the Library, down by the room which housed the generator and climate control systems. He arrived just as one of the main reactors overheated, exploding and sending shrapnel like missiles arrowing through the hall. Aiken was struck from behind, much of his body burned or shredded by the shrapnel. Still, he managed to find the willpower to send one surprisingly calm order over the comm-link; nobody come after him, it was not safe.

He was not heeded, of course, and a crew came to stabilize the reactor and whisk Aiken away. And so, in a quite unusual and unexpected manner, Aiken passed his trial of flesh.

Neno watched on as his Padawan proceeded through the ceremony. Aiken had done well. He was proud of the boy.

Aiken’s chest swelled as his braid fell to the floor. He was Padawan no more.

He was a Knight.

It was his best day yet.


Knighthood and Nighttime

Aiken and Neno maintained their close friendship, for they were still linked by their similar interests. Aiken would often help Neno on some of his more intellectual projects, such as analyzing records or examining various artifacts stored in the library. Aiken spent most of his time traveling between the Enclave on Dantooine and the Academy on Coruscant. This year in his life was heavily laden with studying, and researching, and Aiken came to a more whole understanding of Jedi history.

Even in his new rank, Aiken was still caught up in his habit of somewhat-arrogance. Every time he was right and another was wrong, every time he had the ability to do something someone else could not do, Aiken stacked himself a little higher. These things happened quite often.

~

During his twenty-second year, Aiken began to put his intellect to work, going on many investigative missions for the Jedi. One mission brought him to investigate a fugitive rumored to be on Geonosis. There, Aiken had a nasty run-in with an escaped Acklay ‘pet’. He escaped, but only just, landing a nasty slash deep across his left thigh, which cut through several layers of muscle, right down to the bone. He was able to heal himself just enough to make it back to his ship and call for help.

Infection after infection insisted on cropping up, and Aiken’s leg would not fully heal for a year. During this time, he put greater focus on his control of the finer points of the force. He studied Healing and Sense again, knowing both would have decreased the severity of his recent injuries. But again he returned to his old niche, telekinesis, attempting to use it to increase his mobility whilst his leg healed.


“There are no coincidences.”

During his somewhat frequent trips to the med-bay, Aiken befriended a twelve-year-old youngling, an Ongree by the name of Mau-Mi. She had slipped and fallen down a flight of stairs. The poor Ongree was quite embarrassed by her lack of balance. Aiken took an instant liking to the youngling, and decided to take her as his Padawan. The youngling was elated, and Aiken smiled upon her happy-go-lucky personality.

Having now acquired a Padawan, Aiken’s missions returned to those of diplomatic nature. He overcame his initial frustration with Mau-Mi’s lack of academic skill, and klutzy nature, when he realized she was quite understanding and empathetic. She was always able to bring a new angle to any conflict, in her innocent, matter-of-fact way.

As far as her force-training went, Aiken focused mostly on abilities of the Telekinetic nature; his own skills were adequate to teach the basics to his Padawan.

Aiken and Mau-Mi were together only a year. Disaster struck, as it so often pleases itself to do. They were on a mission, a mission of ‘Diplomatic’ nature. That is what the Jedi thought, anyway. Mau-Mi came along, of course, eager and willing as always.

Like a rabbit, smiling before the snare tightens around its ankle.


Noose

A trap, the mission was. A Dark Jedi, seeking revenge on Aiken, for the Knight had killed the Dark Jedi’s lover a few years back. The two were overpowered. Aiken was forced to watch as the Dark Jedi tortured Mau-Mi, all the while telling him that he was next. However, whatever physical pain came his way… there was nothing, nothing in the universe that Aiken could fathom, which would pain more deeply than watching his little friend scream in agony, scream for mercy, wondering, pleading, begging why, why wasn’t Aiken saving her.

However, the Dark Jedi played cat-and-mouse too long. Neno became suspicious of the lack of communication, and pushed for back-up to be sent immediately. It was. Aiken and Mau-Mi were saved.

Partially. For Mau-Mi’s wounds ran deep; she had only minutes left when the Jedi found her. Weeks in the Kolto tank saved her life, but she would never regain her health enough to become a Jedi. Cyberkinetics could only do so much.

And it was all Aiken’s fault. Not really, of course; he could not have foreseen the trap. He had simply been following orders. But for months, his every dream was haunted, plagued by Mau-Mi and those pleading eyes, watching him as he could do nothing to save her.

To the other Jedi, it seemed Aiken was handling the failure surprisingly well. There was no cloud in his white, creamy eyes, he smiled just when he had before. He trained harder than he had, but that was a usual response to failure from Aiken. None could guess the guilt, the pain that lurked behind those two eyes, opaque as Krayt Dragon pearls. Not even Neno, his long time friend, knew the extent of Aiken’s agony; he could only guess at it.

Aiken was alone.


Time Inevitable

Six months and the pain was a dull throb, another three barely perceptible, three more and Aiken’s mind was as it had been; if only because a thick callous had formed around his heart. He didn’t smile quite as often, he didn’t laugh quite as long. But nobody noticed much of anything. Except Neno, of course. Insightful, wise Neno.

He pushed for the two, once Master and Padawan, to be sent on a mission together. He hoped he could clear up the cloud which lingered, almost invisible, over Aiken’s head. The mission was granted, and it was a one of most peculiar nature…

Experimental Oddities

Undercover. Neno was a wealthy noble, living out the days of his retirement in Arkania’s capital city. Aiken was his bodyguard. There was little suspicion about the arrangement; except, perhaps, for the fact that an Omwati like Neno surprisingly loved the cold. However, Minkare, Neno’s Alias, was an eccentric old bat, so few spared him a second thought.

Their objective was to gain as much information as possible on the Vinidrean Cooperation, the VC, a network of scientists supposedly formulating some menacing biological weapon, for sale to the highest bidder; which would probably not be the Republic.

For the first six months, everything went as planned. An imported Kath hound, the family pet of a local, high-ranking noble, went missing, but neither Aiken nor Neno thought much of it. They made regular transmissions back to the temple, always on a different frequency. If the transmissions were to stop, a party of Jedi would be sent to investigate. Undercover, of course.

~

Aiken would often run Errands for Neno. He began to patronize a local market-shop, run by a kind old widow.

The widow was Aiken’s mother.

She did not recognize him. He did not recognize her.

She chatted just like any other shopkeeper, He chatted just like any other patron. Aiken, however, had not forgotten from whence he came. He just didn’t know that yet.

Captured…

Without the slightest shadow of warning, Aiken was arrested one day, while on his way back from running errands. Well… ‘arrested’ wasn’t the right term; his captors were not men of the law. More like, ‘kidnapped’. Aiken’s cover was blown, they knew he was a Jedi. He almost denied the fact, but he decided giving them any words would be satisfaction for them. He was silent. But the still knew he was a Jedi.

Or did they? For as Aiken was brought before Permian Yzari, one of the ringleaders of the Vinidrean Corporation, he realized they did not know as much as they thought they did. They accused him of spying, and said they had confirmed evidence he had stolen the Kath hound.

The Kath Hound? This is what that was all about? Ah, but not just a Kath hound. A test subject. A mule. The scientists had apparently experimented heavily upon the beast, and the animal represented years of labor, either come to fruit or lost.

So, more than a pet, but still just an animal. They did not know his origins, they knew nothing, simple nothing; only that they couldn’t even tend to their own experiments. Still, Aiken was silent. Yzari threw him into the prison of his expansive estate, waiting for him to talk. However, the real thief was caught soon, and Aiken was quickly forgotten. He knew none of this, however. All he knew was the dank, damp dungeons. And the single star that shone within them.


When Visions Come to Light

Her name was Aren Mahbem. She was tall, but still six inches shorter than Aiken. Her frame was not petite; she might even have been shapely, if not for the hunger that ate through her bones. Not even the dreary light in the dungeon could take out the spark of her soft brown eyes, the color of polished river-stones. She was a Kiffar; tribal tattoos swirled across the edges of her face, beautiful, deep-violet patterns like the newborn tendrils of a vine. Her hair was dull brown, like flax; nothing special in the throes of malnutrition. Her fingers were long and gentle, her movements supple. However, none of these were most striking. What became most apparent when one saw Aren was the set of three parallel scars which ran along her right cheek. The first cut just under her eye, a reminder of how close she’d come to blindness, angled up across her temple. The last crossed the corner of her mouth, marring a gentle smile. The same claw which had made that scar had also crossed her right ear, slicing a half-inch from the lobe.

She and Aiken shared a cell, for they were the only two humanoid prisoners. The growls, guttural and pitiful, of the others could be heard, a cacophonous symphony every feeding-time. More ‘experiments’, most likely, which was especially evidenced by the fact that Aiken regularly saw mutated rats, some with three eyes, some with five tails, each nastier in temperament than the last.

However, it was not these things that filled Aiken’s mind whilst he was in prison. No, it was the surprisingly clear, but rough sound of Aren’s voice. Especially her first words, the one’s she’d spoken when he was first tossed in. “What’d you do, Tick off the Big Guy? You look too good to have been through his lab.”

Such had been the start of their friendship.


Tales Exchanged

Over the next three months, Aiken would learn much about Aren. About how she was born on Kiffu. About how her parents were merchants, how they had landed some bad luck and borrowed money from a Hutt. “They were good parents, horrible business-people,” Aren had said. They did not have the money to pay back the loan, and so the Hutt demanded the only thing the couple had; their daughter, beautiful, happy, and twelve. “Me, beautiful, hard to believe, I know. What with this,” she gestured at her scars with a look of exasperation. Aiken could not help but agree.

And so her father sold her. Aren’s voice trembled as she retold this particular bit of her tale; it was obvious she still felt some bitterness toward her father. Aiken, not wanting to give too much away, assured her that he had grown up without parents as well, though from a much younger age. This simply caused Aren to feel guilty about her own complaining, and Aiken bit his tongue. For the first time in years, he felt… uncertain. There wasn’t exactly a whole lot of emotion to deal with at the temple.

Despite the almost-slip, Aiken still learned the rest of Aren’s tale. She was made to become a dancer for the Hutt, and befriended a feisty Twi’lek. She was forced to grow up too quickly. Her life held nothing but monotony until Aren grew fed-up with being a slave. She was tired of the hut groping at her long, beautiful hair. Pawing at her face. Pawing elsewhere… She openly defied him in front of guests. The Hutt was unfazed. She became the after-dinner entertainment.

Aren was thrown into a pit. To her complete and utter horror, it was already occupied. By a Vornskr. Aren refused to go into great detail about the fight, but made it very clear that she had lost. It was the Vornskr which had given her the scar upon her face. “And many, many others; but I’m not keen on showing you those.”

Her tone was one Aiken didn’t recognize, and it bothered him. Coy? Cocky? Mischievous? Like there was something he should be understanding that he wasn’t. When Aren found the tone fell flat on his ears, she simply continued.

Aren, desperate, bleeding, had somehow managed to get her hand on a vibroblade, still on the corpse of the Vorknskr’s last victim. She had never handled a blade before, and had no idea what to do. Desperate, she threw it; just like she’d seen the Hutt’s friends do in competitions. She missed terribly. However, by chance (or perhaps by fate), the Blade spun and caught the Vornskr at the base of the tail. It was an entirely lucky shot. Aren had no idea that it would have any effect. However, once the Vornskr’s cries of pain subsided, it was quite docile. The Hutt now had not an executioner, but a pet. He was infuriated, but one of his guests, an Arkanian, had stayed his hand. He said he wanted to attempt to heal the young Kiffar; he was rising in the medical world. Or at least, that’s what he said.

~

Seventeen year old Aren was whisked away from the Hutt’s lair on a planet for which she had no name, and was brought to Arkania. However, her ‘savior’ destroyed all her hope of a better life when he proved to be just as mean as the Hutt. He healed her, all right, but sloppily. Her scars were worse than they might have been. She was angrier at him than she had been at the Hutt. And so she’d tried to run away. That had failed. So the Arkanian, who was fed up with her antics, tossed her out on the street, hoping she’d die.

She didn’t. By the time they reached this point in her narrative, Aiken was very glad she hadn’t. For he had been in prison two weeks, and she was the only bit of light she had.

Aren scrounged around on the streets, keeping to the city, for it was the only warm place for miles around. She stuck out like a Wookiee in a Kushiban convention, tall, tattooed, as worst of all, scarred. She found a job working in the storeroom of a tavern, and so she spent her next three years, reading and learning all she could in her spare time, making up for her lack of education at the Hutt’s hands.

Then, one day, she’d been nabbed by a bunch of Yzari’s cronies. Apparently, they were sick of testing Arkanian bums, and so picked the closest off-worlder who wouldn’t be missed. Aren spent a year as a guinea pig for the scientist. She would fall sick of illness after illness, just to be healed again, then experimented on again. This had a great deal to do with the state of disrepair her body was currently in. Finally, she managed to offend Yzari. She knew too much to be released, and yet, the scientist had developed an odd sort of attachment to the feisty Kiffar. So he dumped her in the dungeon, and forgot about her. Just like he’d done to Aiken. It seemed to be a habit of his.


Unfamiliar Familiarity

Aiken was amazed by Aren’s story. She told all of it so matter-of-factly, like speaking of the way her life was ruined was like commenting upon the weather, or the taste of a drink. She had survived so much. Aiken wondered if he possessed that sort of strength. Sure, he was a Jedi. But you got used to not showing emotion after a while. He remembered only the smallest pictures of his parents, so how badly was that bond broken? Besides, he’d at least had Neno. Aren 'd had that Twi’lek friend, but Aren had lost her too. Aiken had been responsible for Mau’Mi’s death… but that was his own fault; it wasn’t the same as all the misfortune that had befallen Aren. He could not believe the way she still mustered a smile, or offered a sarcastic comment, as if her life was not led in the bowels of a dungeon.

And that was another thing; she was certainly feisty. Her tongue was quick, her mind quicker, and her voice harsh from the Vornskr’s scars. But she always apologized. If she snapped at Aiken, she said sorry later, if she gave him a hard time and watched his mood fall, she was quick to repent. Aiken even watched this in the way she dealt with the guards who brought them food (even though they often forgot), though her apologies usually fell on deaf ears.

And so, Aiken had been in captivity three standard months. And then, slowly… he began to tell Aren his own story. Now, Aiken should have been able to keep a rein on his tongue. After all, he was a Jedi. Hiding things was his specialty, especially emotions. So why was he so keen to put his life at stake? But, surely, there would be no one to hear him down in the dungeons. There was only Aren, and himself. And… dare he say it, he trusted her. For the strangest reason, Aiken felt like he could have put his whole life in Aren’s hands, and she would have done the right thing with it. Maybe it was the frank way she’d shared her own story. Maybe it was the spark in her eye. He didn’t know. But what he did know, was that there was no way he couldn’t tell her.

Aiken accounted his past, all the way up to the incident with Mau’Mi. And then he surprised himself even more. He told Aren everything. Every bitter thought, every moment of guilt. The way it had tore through his heart, the way he was so sick and tired of hiding his emotions.

She was silent a long moment. Then she told him he was right. It was his fault. Aiken’s spirit crashed to the ground. He had not a friend in the world, now she had betrayed him too. Suddenly, he felt something rear up inside of him; anger. It was not his fault, he said, there was nothing he could have done, he had done everything in his power, how could she say it was his fault?!

And that’s when he noticed the coy smile, playing at her scarred face. Suddenly, Aiken realized what he’d been screaming was true. It wasn’t his fault. His burden cracked and crumbled around, and he felt free. And it was all Aren’s doing to boot. For the first time since Mau’Mi’s fall, Aiken could really smile.


Freedom

Outward freedom was soon to follow the internal. Six months after Aiken was captured, visitors arrived. In all form and appearance, they seemed to be slave traders. Aiken was silent as they informed him that he’d been bought. However, he refused to leave without Aren. The two had developed a bond, a deep friendship in those dark months, and he was not about to leave her behind. The traders exchanged glances, but surprisingly agreed to let Aren come along.

As soon as they were far enough from Yzari’s residence, the Slave traders revealed themselves. They were Jedi, ones Aiken did not recognize. They’d been visiting the Praxeum founded by Arca Jeth, when they got a message from the council alerting them to Aiken and Neno’s peril. They had managed to track Aiken down, but Neno had disappeared shortly after Aiken was kidnapped. They’d heard nothing from him for the past six months. Greatly troubled, but encouraged by Aren, Aiken insisted upon remaining in Arkania and searching for Neno. However, the Council had called an ‘abort’ on the mission, and had directly ordered all involved parties to return to Coruscant for a de-brief. Aiken could not refuse a direct order. However, Aren offered to tag along on the trip to Coruscant, which made the journey considerably more bearable in Aiken’s mind.

Explosive

However, Aiken soon found out that his identity had already been compromised. He, Aren, and the other Jedi were planning on returning to Coruscant via Neno’s ship, the one he’d purchased to complete his façade as a noble-man. It was Arkanian, and so would be inconspicuous leaving the planet. Aiken stepped to open the hatch, when he noticed a note tacked to the window.
I know who you are. Goodbye, Jedi.
All was silent.
Then the ship exploded.


Aiken regained consciousness. He was on the ground. There was ceiling above him. There was shrapnel below him. And there was Pain. But pain didn’t matter. Aiken slowly stood. He looked down. He wondered why there was blood all around him. Why the body he saw had so many scars, was embedded with so many pieces of shrapnel.

His body.

His blood.

Aiken’s vision was blurred; there was something red clouding his eyes. But he could still see the infrared in the darkness, still make out the shapes around him. There, on the other side of the room. Aren. She had fewer cuts than he, and her face bore no new injury, but huge, warped scrap of metal had fallen across her body, pinning her down. She was unconscious.

Aiken swore. Why was he so damn worried whether she lived or died? But he was, and the adrenaline rushing through his veins, bleeding from him, didn’t particularly care about the ‘why’ of anything.

And so, with single-minded determination, Aiken sunk into hasty meditation and lifted the metal from Aren’s body, freeing her. He used the last of his strength to search her ribs with the force, mend what he could, make sure nothing was life-threatening…

Nothingness. But there was no peace in the nothingness. Only pain.

Something treacherous happened to Aiken, Jedi knight, while he was on Arkania. More threatening than the gnawing hunger of the dungeons, more dangerous than the hidden explosion.

Aiken fell in love.


To See the Light

Aiken awoke two weeks later, the sterile, cold walls of the Jedi temple’s med-bay surrounding him. The two Arkanian Jedi had only been mildly injured and disoriented in the blast, and they’d been quick to get Aiken and Aren to medical aid. Aiken had been transported back to Coruscant to heal, as had Aren, since her status was technically refugee.

When Aiken’s senses returned, his mind quickly flashed back to Aren. Casually, for that was the way of the Jedi; detached, indifferent, he asked of Aren’s well-being. She had yet to awaken, still she bathed in the Kolto tanks. Aiken’s injuries had certainly been the worst, yet Aren’s body was frail. Malnutrition had ground away at her bones, countless sicknesses pushed her healing mechanisms to the limits. She would survive. But only just.

Aiken felt with fresh ache the absence of his Master, Neno. The Arkanian had never taken well to change. Neno had been his only constant, for the longest time. And now, Neno was gone. Simply gone. Oh, how Aiken wished for someone to confide it! How could he explain these confounded emotions? Who would be there to listen, simply to listen, not to judge, as he told of the attachment he had for Aren? Deeper, he knew, than it ought to have been, for a Jedi in a dungeon.

But there was no one, none he could turn to. Aren, he would have told… but not only did that defeat the purpose, it was also impossible; she still had not recovered. Perhaps, then, if he found out what this ‘attachment’ was that the Jedi so discouraged… maybe then he would have a clue.

Education of a Different Sort

And so Aiken turned to the only one he trusted outside the temple. Mongree Grimblethwap, an Ithorian librarian. Incidentally, the very librarian who ran the center where Aiken had been badly wounded years before. Mongree was a wise one, possessing of even wider knowledge than Neno, though a marked deal more placid.

Mongree was hesitant, at first, to tell Aiken of that other world. That other world that catches the heart and snares it like a spider’s web, never to let it go again. However, Mongree held strong and fast to that old saying, “Better to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all.” And so he was persuaded. He told Aiken of courting, marriage, romance, and most treacherous of all; love. All his stories were tempered with warning, tales of the great who had fallen to love. Heroes tempted. Plans thwarted. A tool for manipulation, warned Mongree. Not to be trusted. But how could Aiken heed those warnings? Now, when he had a word for the emotions Aren stirred within him. He hated those emotions, and he adored them. He was strong, and he was weak. He had bent, and yet he was firm. Love. How could four letters encapsulate so big a concept? It was almost too big, too new for Aiken to wrap his mind around. But he did. For how could he not?

But with knowledge, came conflict.

So who was he? The stony, cold Jedi, whose every breath whispered, ‘For the greater good.” ? Or was he Aiken, Arkanian, lover of Aren?


Courting Unawares

The answer would eventually make itself apparent. Aren made her recovery, though there was a problem; what was a slave-turned-refugee to do, new upon the streets of Coruscant? The Jedi Council was busied with much greater matters than providing for her future. And so Aiken took up the slack, though keeping ever-so-careful to make appearances average.

Several long talks with Aren later, she decided she’d like to set up a market-shop. Selling odds and ends and bits of this and that, gadgets, what-nots. She had a way with people, monopolizing on her tenacious personality, and soon enough they forgot the scars upon her face or the rough undercurrent to her voice.

Six months passed, in which Aiken visited Aren as much as was inconspicuous. His patrols brought him along her street more than they ought to, and he took the long way to the library now. But he had no confidants in the temple, and of course the masters were little concerned with the odd habits of a knight.

Over those six months, he and Aren came to a silent understanding. Neither said it aloud, but neither had to; Aiken came to know that Aren returned his love, and Aren came to know that Aiken had loved her all along.

This, of course, led to another problem. Aiken was weary and tired of having to hide his love for Aren. So why did he do it? Fear of rejection? No, not fear. Rejection would have been an… annoyance. He felt no longer felt any strong bond with the Jedi… especially not now that Neno was gone. Was there a point to keeping up the façade? Did he want to be a Jedi anymore?

Something long-buried flared up in Aiken, like a creature that hibernates, but only for the winter. A sense of entitlement. Who were the Jedi to deny him love? Who were they to keep him away from the most beautiful thing in all of the universe? Didn’t Aren deserve better than a secret love? Didn’t he deserve better? So many questions. And one answer.


Forsaken

Aiken walked down the hall of the Jedi temple that day, a purposeful look on his face. To the council, he went, for the time of his arranged audience. Aiken handed over his lightsaber, his life-line. But he had another, gentler life-line, this one of flesh and blood. Though the Council attempted to persuade him against his decision, it was all in vain. Neno was the only one who could have brought him back, and Neno was gone. They could not physically trap him and force him to take back his saber. Aiken knew the decision was most likely permanent. He would not be invited back. But as long as he had Aren… none of that mattered. Aiken turned a stony heart on the Council, on his fellow Jedi, cold and impassable on the one side, yet soft and fragile on the other. That day, he walked into the Temple, Aiken, Jedi Knight. He walked out Aiken Acharai, lover of Aren.

[Kella]

Act II: Doomed to Fall


A New Beginning, or The Beginning of the End

Three months later they were wed. Pale green silk swirled about Aren’s form, like the soft casing on a Rose’s bud. Her hair, once dull with hunger, shone deep and vibrant black, a truer shade than the star-flecked skies above. The ring upon her finger was simple, unembellished white gold, a slender match to Aiken’s own. Black robes he wore, the garb of a shop-keeper, for he had no belongings, having been a Jedi.

It was a simple affair, for there was not much money to be found, but neither minded. Neither was a stranger to frugality. They were content to simply be free, free of fetter, free of spirit. And they were together. What more could be asked for?

~

Together, they tended the shop, fondly entitled, A&A’s Odds&Ends. Business was decent, the pair of friendly faces pulling in many patrons. Aiken and Aren thrived, more in spirit than in wealth.

Free of the strict Jedi code, Aiken took to entertaining Aren with his skills in telekinesis. He had given up his saber, the weapon of a Jedi, but he did not become lazy. Every day he exercised, training himself in all manner of melee. And, of course, he meditated; the restful state coming back to him as willfully as a puppy. The high shelves were much easier to stock when barrels could lift themselves, seemingly of their own accord. And stolen merchandise always seemed to make its way back to the shelf, as if it itself had sprouted arms and legs and scurried back to the shelf.

~

As such, time passed. A year later, and Aiken was seven-and-twenty. Then surpassed an event which had been heralded by eager anticipation, and had sent an undercurrent of excitement through every foot-fall back at the shop. Aren became a mother, and Aiken a father. Little Ennabella Acharai came into the world in the usual way, which is to say; kicking and screaming and generally cross with the world. Her hair was white, and soft as dove-down, her eyes a milky shade of gold-flecked brown. She was a beautiful child, with her mother’s smile and her father’s affinity for learning. From the days when she would cling to her mother, wrapped in swaddling, Ennabella could watch the world around her. Her tiny eyes followed the many species who came and went, her little brain trying to process the symbols that were letters, the sounds that meant numbers.

By the time she was two, Ennabella could carry on a simple conversation, and often spent many late nights asking her father her two favorite questions; ‘Why?’ and ‘How?’.

Now, at this point in time, when Aiken was 29, business was not exactly booming. A new shop had opened up nearby, one with connections. The prices were cheaper, the selection more broad. However, there were a few odds and ends that could only be found at A&A’s. Perhaps the patrons returned for Aiken’s witty talk, or for Aren’s warm smile, but they came all the same. Times were hard, funding short, but at least they had each other. Neither Aiken nor Aren spoke of the financial problems aloud, as if not saying the words was enough to make them untrue. It wasn’t.


Bedrock Broken

One morning, Aiken awoke, and Aren was not at his side. Perhaps she was with Ennabella? But it had been months since the little girl had awoken during the night. Aiken padded over to her crib, but there she was, sleeping safe and sound, the first rays of morning light just beginning to kiss her curling hair. Aiken looked around in the darkness, but Aren was not in their humble abode, nor in the store that lay below. And that is when he noticed the note.

Goodbye, Aiken. I can no longer handle the stress of the failing store. Take good care of Ennabella for me. I doubt we will see each other again.

~Aren

No, it simply couldn’t be. Aren loved Aiken, he knew that like he knew his reflection in the mirror. So why in the blazes had she left?! Aiken refused to believe the note was real. It was indeed her handwriting… but she wouldn’t have. No, she had been kidnapped, and it was his task to find her.

~

Aiken would have dropped everything in search for his lost wife, had that been possible. But he had Ennabella to feed, and while Aiken might have been able to withstand a few nights hungry, her growing body could not. And so he continued his work at the store, but his heart was not in it. By night, he would go out in search of her, asking who he could, showing her picture. Once, he thought he found a lead, but it turned out that Aren simply reminded a man of his grand-daughter. Her scars were so distinct, how could they be missed? Yet none had seen her, not since the night she had disappeared.

Ennabella too, wondered why Mommy was gone. She could feel her father’s anxiety in the air as thick as almond-butter, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. Daddy was good at looking like he felt something else. But Ennabella always knew. She cried herself to sleep some nights. But she knew Daddy did it too. Where was Mommy? Was she coming back? Why? How?

With his days and his nights occupied, Aiken had little time for sleep. Though, that was a blessing more than a curse. For when he slept, he dreamt. And when he dreamt, his dreams dwelled only on Aren.


Time Fading

A year passed, swift and hazy, yet impossibly fast, like an adder of fog. With every passing day, Aiken’s hope faded a shade, that hope that Aren was simply kidnapped. With each morning, Aiken believed that the letter was a little more true, because by each night, it was easier to believe that than the nightmarish prospect that Aren was dead. He saw her face in the face of Ennabella. Ennabella, whose sweet smiles were always a bit sad, whose milky-chocolate eyes were so like those of her mother, whose little mind could count, and read, and whose little hands so lovingly held those of her father.

But Ennabella could not remember anymore why she was sad. She just knew that Daddy was sad, but she knew he tried to hide it. Why? Was being sad bad? No, he said when she asked. But he hadn’t said more than that. But she knew that some of the other boys and girls had mommies, and she didn’t. Why? Is what she asked. Daddy wouldn’t tell her. But he would some-day. He had promised. Daddies always kept their promises… didn’t they?

When all the customers were gone, and there was no one to see, Aiken would attempt to cheer Ennabella up by making her toys come to life with his telekinesis. After a bit of practice, Aiken could make her stuffed Kushiban walk and snuffle about as if it had a mind of its own. Her blocks would build themselves into towers, then swirl about in the air, while candies and sweets floated over to her from the deep bins by the counters. The bond between Aiken and Ennabella was especially strong, for they had only each other.

Good things never last long.


Gambling Odds and Means to Ends

In the year that Aren was gone, it became tougher and tougher to engage Aiken in his witty conversation. As such, the patronage of the store petered off, and Aiken found himself in debt. However, there was something he could to do fix all that… it was risky, but he had run all the numbers. If you put it in the right light, there really wasn’t much risk at all. Playing the stock-market. There was a company opening, and by all indications, it would be doing wonderfully…

And so, Aiken borrowed from the only creditor who would give a loan to a less-than-rich shop-owner; a Hutt by the name of Beetle. However, the stocks fell through, (despite his perfect calculations! Ugh!) and Aiken was at a loss. How would he pay now? The due date had come and gone. Aiken was remaining indoors, not answering comms, for fear that it was the Hutt’s thugs come to get him… For fear? For fear?! Oh, how Aiken disgusted himself! He had once been a Jedi! The just of the galaxy! Where was his courage now? Where was his tenacity, his refusal to back down? It seemed that Aren had taken them with her, but Aiken would find them again. Yes, he would. He was no coward. And so he simply began to file business as usual. He would earn what he could. Offer his assets to the Hutt. Then come what may, Aiken could weather it. … but could Ennabella?

And then they came. Two Wookiees, and a Draethos. Aiken could sense them coming, could tell their intent was not to browse the shelves. He shut Ennabella away in a storage compartment, to protect her. He ordered her to stay silent, and to stay hidden. She nodded, but he did not know if she would obey. She’d always been a tenacious child.

Like Father, like Daughter.

In came the three thugs. Kath, did the Hutt have to have such imposing cronies? For the first time since he’d left the order, Aiken felt himself wishing he had his saber again. He could have slaughtered the thugs, used his last money to buy a ship, and then gotten the heck off Coruscant. In fact, he should have done that ages ago, when he actually had money. But now he didn’t, and Aiken had no idea what would come next.

Aiken offered his assets; the store and his last merchandise. It would cover the debt, but only just. And then the Draethos informed him that Beetle did not want his money. The Beetle wanted Aiken. One of Beetle’s informants had spied Aiken’s ‘magic’; the times when he’d bring Ennabella’s toys to life. The Hutt did not want the money; it was overdue, and so the Hutt charged interest. He wanted servitude. Ten years. How could Aiken agree? The slave quarters of a Hutt’s lair were no place for a toddler. Had he been thinking, he might have given himself up and left Ennabella at an orphanage. But even if that plan had crossed his mind, he would not have acted upon it. He deserved better. Ennabella deserved better. And so he refused. But how can one refuse a Hutt? The Wookiees grabbed him and began to haul him away. To them, Beetle’s anger was far more threatening than an unarmed shop-keeper. Even if said shopkeeper knew ‘magic’.

~

Ennabella heard the thuds. And the scuffles. Breaking glass. A falling shelf. Suddenly, a barrel flew from its position in front of her hideaway, and she could see through a sliver of light. Daddy. The bad men. Daddy had said ‘no’. And now they were taking him away! No! She needed Daddy!

Ennabella shoved the door away from her hiding space. She raced forward, the grave look on her face almost forgetting she was only three. Forward she dashed! Before the thugs had even registered her presence, she was beating her little fists against the Draethos. As if that would make any difference. A good girl would have stayed hidden. But Ennabella wasn’t scared! She wasn’t going to let them take Daddy away!

But the Draethos swatted her away. That wouldn’t work. She thought she heard Daddy screaming at her to run away, but that wasn’t right. No, running away was bad! She’d heard him say so, but he hadn’t been talking to her.

Aiken watched with horror as Ennabella began to scream at the top of her lungs. Of course; that’s what he’d told her to do if she was ever in danger. Scream for help. Aiken felt dread settle in his stomach like a Vornskr; he wanted to wretch. The Draethos shot a glare at Aiken before turning back to his daughter. She was making too much noise. It made the Draethos nervous. And so he grabbed a sack; Aiken in his frantic struggles couldn’t tell what; and bore down upon Ennabella, muffling her screams. She struggled beneath his hands, tried to push away the suffocating cloth, but to no avail. She continued to scream.

Objects began to fly around the room, converging on the Draethos, coming at the Wookiees. But the Wookiees were smart. They began to drag Aiken away, shoving him and yanking him. His focus faltered again and again, and though jars and heavy books still flew throughout the room, none hit their mark.

And then the muffled screaming stopped.

So did Aiken’s heart. For that could mean only one thing. He managed to distract the Wookiees with a flying jar of pickled slugs, then yanked forward. He had eyes for nothing but the motionless form on the ground. Aiken threw the sack from where it lay across her face, discarded just as she was.

Her white ringlets were tangled and mussed from the struggle. There was hemp under her fingernails, where she had scratched and scratched at the bag. Her eyelids were shut, hiding the milky-sweet eyes below. Around her mouth and under her nose, her skin was blue, the color blossoming beneath her pale skin, as delicate as if it had been painted by an artist’s steady hand. Aiken pressed his hand against her chest. Her heart beat no more.


Desperation

Ennabella was dead. There was no denying that fact. And Aiken did not hide from the realization. Despair crept through his limbs, as sick and cold as death itself. He could feel the tears begin to blur his vision. But tears were weak. Aiken had so recently felt like a trapped Jimvu, though denying his fright. But his despair he turned to anger, his anger to rage. No longer was he a Jimvu, but a Narglatch, as viscous and angry as a Rancor.

Aiken dove away as the Draethos suddenly appeared next to him, intent on recapturing the prize. Aiken grabbed a shard of glass from the ground, and though it cut his own hand, he flew forward with surprising quickness, stabbing the Draethos in the gut. Then he turned his attention to the Wookiees. Though the rage near blinded him, Aiken had always been analytical by nature. More glass shards, sharp as daggers, rose from the ground, and began to circle the pair of Wookiees. The two swatted them away, the glass whirring like angry wasps, but there was simply too much. All at once, the shards converged, leaving the Wookiees riddled like porcupines, lying on the ground.

Aiken was knocked back as the Draethos came back at him, still not dead, despite the thick blood that oozed between the fingers he had clutched against his gut. Aiken fell back into a shelving unit, which came crashing down upon him.

The black that crept across his vision, was as dark as the black that began to creep across his soul…

Darken

When Aiken awoke, all was silent in his shop. A few ghostly onlookers peered in from the street outside, but no authorities arrived. Perhaps, just like so many other crimes, each thought someone else would do the calling. But no one did. Aiken found the two Wookiees quite dead, and the Draethos as well. It seemed to have bled out soon after shoving Aiken into the shelf.

Aiken could feel the bruises swelling stiff on his arms where the Wookiees had grabbed him, felt the stinging on his palms where he’d been cut by his glass knife, grimaced as blood curled a warm river down his face from the cut on his head. It was beginning to clot; he had not been out long. Immediately, his mind raced to Ennabella’s body. He slowly walked up to where it lay, trembling. Her small fingers were still warm. How could she be dead, when she seemed so alive? Aiken tried to heal her, (which he should have tried earlier, how stupid he was!) but it was to no avail. His old Jedi skills were of no use against oxygen deprivation. It was a death that seeped into the very core of one’s being, like a poison; but once it had worked its course, it could never be cured.

Despair threatened to overcome him again, but he drove it away. The shell he had so carefully constructed at Ongree’s maiming returned to his heart much too quickly. Ennabella was dead. Weeping would not change that. So what was the point?

And more importantly… now what?

The answer was elusive. There was no way he could keep running the store… he simply couldn’t stand to look at it. And he couldn’t stay at the store. No, that would be too risky… he’d just killed three of the Hutt’s prize thugs; the Hutt would be out for revenge, no doubt. The money wouldn’t matter anymore. One thing settled in his mind. Aiken Acharai needed to die.


Figurative Extinguish

The plan was simple. He would cut a gas line, set a timed spark using an old toy, then get the Heck out. Aiken worked quickly. The more his hands moved, the more he focused on his escape, the less he felt the darkness now closing icy fingers around his heart. Two vibroblades and a blaster, one’s he’d never had the chance to use. If only he’d been thinking properly! But they probably wouldn’t have helped anyway, not with a pair of Wookiees. Food, supplies… and finally, a picture of Aren and Ennabella, the latter in her mother’s arms, the two smiling and laughing… he gave it only a fleeting glance before he stuffed it in his bag.

The explosion worked as planned. Aiken watched the blossom of flame curl outward from his storefront, listened as sirens began to sound. The store began to burn. He was suddenly struck with how permanent his action was. His home was gone, forever, like Ennabella. Like Aren. But he didn’t think about them; he couldn’t. He ran. For he was no longer Aiken. His name was Rembrant. Rembrant Vorte.

~

Aiken spent the night at an Inn. Sure enough, the next morning, his likeness stared back at him from the obituaries. He might have read the caption that accompanied it, if not for the next thing that caught his eye. There was Ennabella’s name, next to his own. She was really gone. Gone forever. Not like Aren; hope could be mustered for that cause… no, he would never see Ennabella’s soft eyes again, never stroke her milky hair, never feel her small fingers about his hands again… the realization finally hit him, and the darkness tightened its icy fingers, gentle as a Vornskr. Ennabella was dead. Aiken wept.


Instinct

A dark week passed, in which Aiken concerned himself only with survival. So deep was his despair, Suicide crossed his mind several times. But that would have been cowardly, foolish, and he dismissed the notion as soon as it appeared. Ennabella might be gone forever… but Aren was not, and though the hope was foolish, it was better than nothing. With each passing day, Aiken found it easier and easier to keep his mind off the painful subject, and he slowly began to form a plan.

Aiken might have taken revenge against the Hutt, but reason found a way to abate his fiery anger. To engage and further anger a Hutt Lord would have been just plain stupid. His problem was with the three thugs; and upon them he’d already taken revenge. Besides, Aren would have frowned upon senseless killing.

After a good bit of asking around, Aiken managed to find a crew that was hiring. They needed some muscle. While Aiken was no body-builder, he wasn’t somebody to be trifled with either. They didn’t ask many questions, he didn’t give many answers, and Aiken found himself employed under his Alias.

~

For three months, Aiken traveled with the crew, which revealed itself to be something between a smuggling band and a Pirate Crew. There were twelve of them; A Ferrerreo in charge, a set of Chiss twins, a Gammorean, a silent Miraluka, a Weequay, three Humans, a Wookiee, a Zeltron, and a Rattataki. Aiken knew them all by name, but none of them shared any of their past. Which was fine by Aiken; he didn’t want to be obliged to return the favor.

However, this employment would not last for long. Here came that blasted change again. While en route to Omwat, a hasty Hyperspace calculation resulted in the ship being caught in the Gravity Well of the planet Arbra. The ship fell into a quickly deteriorating orbit. It had not prepped for the atmospheric heat of entry, and so began to deteriorate. Aiken took advantage of one of two escape pods. He watched as the remains of the ship crashed into a nearby mountain side, followed by the second escape pod, which had deployed too late. Aiken could sense no survivors. He used the force to subtly guide the air currents, just enough to land him in a body of water, a small sea. However, it would seem his guidance was in vain. As the escape pod hit the water, it collapsed upon itself. Aiken felt fire, then ice… then nothing…


The End of the Beginning

Aiken knew not how much time had passed when he finally regained consciousness. The darkness fell away like chipping slate as a harsh voice hammered into his consciousness. It was female, almost pleasant if not for the sharp tone. She was chastising someone, apparently a silent master, for housing a prisoner. No, a refugee. Something about crashing in an escape pod. He was dangerous? Unconscious for three days… Suddenly, Aiken’s mental capacity kicked back in enough that he realized the subject of the conversation was himself. Aiken shook himself awake, much to the surprise of the owner of the voice. She herself appeared to be a Firrerreo; he’d encountered them several times before. Her golden skin was covered in angular geometric tattoos, a shade of black like onyx. Her hair was the color of smoldering charcoal, its two tones blending from deep red, to black, to red again.

Standing next to her was the silent master. He was a Wookiee, but quite unlike any Aiken had seen before. His fur was black, save for stripes and streaks of red that ran vertically down his body. The stripes were thinner and more numerous around his face, where the shorter fur gave more definition to the markings. It was a curious sight to see, especially when coupled with eyes the color of blood. Something became starkly apparent to Aiken as he stood and faced the two.

His rescuers were Dark Jedi.


Another Different Sort of Learning

More than ever, Aiken was wishing to have his lightsaber again. But his years away from the Jedi order had numbed his aversion to Dark Jedi. He wasn’t about to trust them… but they didn’t seem to be attacking him. Yet. Well, the Firrerreo looked like she wanted to… but the Wookiee held her back.

Three hours of conversation later, with the woman grudgingly translating for her Wookiee master, Aiken learned a great deal. Zaar, the Wookiee, was obviously in charge. Albino by birth, Zaar was a bad omen from the start. He felt singled-out and excluded, which fueled an inner anger. Zaar snapped and attacked a would-be-mocker with his claws, a horror among Wookiee crimes. Labeled a ‘Madclaw’, Zaar was exiled. He wandered the Shadowlands where he found a former Sith-Master hiding from his disgruntled apprentice. Surprisingly, the former-Sith found Zaar to be force sensitive, and trained him in the Dark Side within the wilds of Kashyyyk. Zaar developed a unique perspective concerning his abilities, for as a Wookiee, he could never quite believe the force was bending to his will, and not the other way around. Eventually, the Wookiee’s skills surpassed those of his master, and he killed the elder Jedi, becoming Master himself. Zaar had grown tired of Kashyyyk, and so he began to roam nearby planets, gaining passage through deceit and extortion. Amazingly, he managed to draw little attention to himself. It was during these travels that he ran into Xenna Neq, the Firrerreo who had so wanted to kill Aiken. Xenna was reluctant to translate the bits about her past, but Aiken gathered that she’d been an orphan, and Zaar took her in. Under Zaar, the Firrerreo learned to harness the Dark Side of the force. Zaar did not go into detail about these exploits, but eventually, the Master and Apprentice crash-landed on Arbra, under conditions similar to Aiken’s. They carved a niche for themselves, and Zaar continued to instruct Xenna, though the woman was still far too impulsive to make full use of her abilities.

What struck Aiken the most about Zaar was his view of the force. The Wookiee seemed more gray than dark, but the way he harnessed those shadowy bits of the force… The way Zaar saw it, neither light nor dark was right or wrong. Just like each sentient has a bit of both; no matter how they try to deny it; so is the force. What’s important is to find the path that gives one the greatest control. Zaar’s power was fueled by his anger at being rejected, and Xenna’s by her overwhelming desire to eradicate her helplessness. Zaar and Xenna were the only force-users on the planet, which had allowed Zaar to make his own set of rules, so to speak. He was a curious Wookiee, beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Zaar asked no questions about Aiken’s past, and Aiken gave no answers. The Wookiee was right in guessing Aiken had been trained in the force, but he implored no further. Xenna would have had it otherwise, but Aiken wasn’t going to willingly hand over his secrets. He yearned to leave the past behind, and so when asked his name, gave his alias. Rembrant Vorte. And over time, that’s who Aiken would become.


The Figurative Becomes Literal

Rembrant trained vigorously. Zaar had much to teach him about the force, and over time, Xenna warmed up to him. At least, as much was possible for one of her nature. Zaar encouraged Rembrant to focus on his force-training, for the Wookiee had little trust in lightsabers. Rembrant surpassed Zaar in the way of telekinesis, but there was still much the Wookiee could teach him. Rembrant learned how to direct the force with his emotions, learned to guide it in ways he never had before. He learned how to crush things with only his mind, learned how to use his anger without letting it control him.

For that is what it became about, to Rembrant. Control. As long as he felt in-control, the guilt and pain of the past could not catch up to him. But he was not fully rid of it, for at night, he was Aiken again. In his dreams, he saw Aren again, held Ennabella. The ghosts of memories past tortured him. And so Rembrant took to avoiding his dreams. He would sleep for only a few hours at a time, and devote the rest of his waking to learning from Zaar, sparring with Xenna. He still could not fully escape his dreams, but at least they were no longer consistent.

~

Having no lightsaber of his own, Rembrant was able to borrow a spare of Zaar’s. The single-blade had been salvaged from a wreck, but Rembrant managed to get it back in working order, despite one of the crystals being cracked, compromising its cutting power. It made a suitable training saber, however, and Rembrant took to working on his Makashi against Zaar and Xenna, who both favored that style. Rembrant was surprised to find that he could pick up his lightsaber training almost where he left off. It was like riding a speeder; no matter how long you go without practice, it always comes back to you. However, he was still a bit rusty, and several close-calls during sparring earned Rembrant more scars.

This gave Rembrant a unique opportunity to improve upon his Makashi rapidly, for he was working with two masters. This also brought to light a hole in his fighting style; Rembrant was ill-equipped to deal with multiple-opponents. Through working with Zaar, and also hunting some of the local wildlife, Rembrant began to establish skill in Soresu. It was especially useful when fighting some of the larger Bulls of the grazing herds; they would tire themselves out with charges, at which point Rembrant had a simple kill. He was surprised by how quickly he took to enjoying the form, though applying was still a struggle.

During this time, Rembrant also put a good deal of effort into improving his Force-wave; another useful tactic against multiple opponents. Being a division of Telekinetic combat, and a technique he’d studied previously, mastery came quickly.


Familial Firsts

Two years passed in this manner, with Xenna gradually learning to trust Rembrant. They developed a sort of sibling rivalry. At least, that’s how Rembrant would have described it. Encounters with the Hoojibs; the only native sentient species; were few and far between, for they’d learned to avoid the Dark Jedi.

Together, the three formed a family. A dysfunctional family, at times, but a family all the same. Rembrant continued in his quest for control, focusing for the first time on a few telepathic abilities; persuading minds, planting thoughts. He learned to grab hold of the very air around him, and use that for his purposes too. Greif and desperation gave him strength, and the darkness curled fingers around his mind.

~

Rembrant’s 33rd year marked his 3rd year upon the planet Arbra. There was little more Zaar could teach him. Once, the Jedi had loathed change. He had found adaptation difficult and clung to the consistent. But now, change was a distraction. Any constants paled in comparison to the ones he’d once had, and so Rembrant forced his thinking to avoid them all together. And so, in need of a change of scenery, he set off to do some exploring of Arbra. The ice-caps caught his interest especially, seeing as his species was ideally adapted for life upon a frozen planet.

The journey was long, the landscape a formidable opponent. There were cliffs to be scaled, snow-melt torrents to be waded. Near-death experiences became common occurrences, and Rembrant became accustomed to fighting for his life. But distract him it did, and by the end of his tour, he was that much stronger for it. And he’d gained a few new scars, of course.

Rembrant returned from this year of exploring to find a nearly-completed ship at Zaar and Xenna’s campsite, much to his complete and utter surprise. According to Zaar, (Rembrant had finally gotten around to learning the Wookiee language,) Xenna had grown impatient with Arbran life, just as Rembrant had. Apparently, she had some hidden mechanical skill, and so decided to piece together a ship from several crash-sites, both new and ancient, on the planet surface. Zaar had resolved to stay behind, content with his lonely retirement. Rembrant, however, was presented with a choice. Itching to finally test his skills, Rembrant eagerly made ready to leave the planet.

Rembrant could not allow himself attachment. At least, that’s what he told himself when he denied the grief that curled at the pit of his stomach. Rembrant imagined that Zaar was to him what a father might be. But Rembrant could hardly remember his father, and so was at a bit of a loss for metaphor. But such emotions made one vulnerable, made one… weak. And so Rembrant shoved them aside; mounting a façade of apathy as he and Xenna departed the planet.


Escape From Nothing Binding

The take-off was neither easy nor simple, but Xenna proved her hidden talent to be sufficient. She offered no reason as to why she had it, but Rembrant could guess. Though, she said nothing, so neither did he. That was the way of things.

Xenna made the mistake of suggestion their destination be Omwat, a nearby civilized planet. She could not anticipate the way the simple mention would bring memories roaring up around Rembrant’s ears, like insistent animals, loathing to be caged behind Rembrant’s walls. Neno. His master. The Jedi. Aren. The guilt, the pain, the rage! Rembrant lashed out at Xenna, but immediately regretted his actions. The woman had become like a sister to him, though Rembrant strived to deny himself attachments. There was only one result to those; pain.

Eventually, it was decided that they would head in the opposite direction, to Naboo. Xenna guided the ship toward the surface, at which point an unforeseen difficulty reared its ugly head, in the form of a Port Official. Apparently, they didn’t take kindly to strange ships landing in their hangar. Go figure. Rembrant hesitated, but Xenna insisted on ignoring the Port Official. It wasn’t like they had guns.

~
Suddenly, the ship lurched like a bucking Rancor, throwing Rembrant across its length. He smelled the acrid scent of fried metal, could feel the tugging at his navel that meant only one thing; he was falling.

They had guns.

Xenna spoke one immortal word just before the cabin exploded into flames. “Oops.”


Subliminal Paramount

Maybe it was dumb luck, maybe it was fate, but Rembrant seemed to have a knack for surviving life-threatening situations. Granted, he was sure half his skin had been seared off, not to mention several of his bones were in pieces, but hey, he was alive. Yet, was that really a good thing? There was so much… so much pain so much loss, both inside and out. Wouldn’t it be better to just… die? To just… be free…

In that moment, when Rembrant walked the border between Force and physical, he was no longer Rembrant. He was Aiken Acharai, Jedi, Lover of Aren. Apprentice of Neno. Father of Ennabella. In those memories he found his identity. But he also found something else. An inexplicable, unavoidable, deep-rooted will to survive. Whatever happened, whatever came his way… Aiken wasn’t going to give into death easily. That would be relinquishing control, that would be showing cowardice. Rembrant hated those things. Aiken hated the idea of failing his family, just giving up on the future. And so, Aiken drug himself back to the surface, willingly bore the mantle of pain which had almost disappeared. He once more took on the mask, became Rembrant. Simply for the sake of survival.

Rembrant couldn’t tell whether he was screaming before or after he regained consciousness, but he knew why. He was on fire. Literally. Maybe shields on the ship would have been a good idea… At any rate, Rembrant’s combat training kicked in, and he launched himself down a shallow embankment, putting out the flames that groped at him, his garments mostly intact. He pulled at his knowledge of the Force, a few of his wounds knitting themselves back together, the pain abating as he set a few broken bones and fixed the worst of his burns. He could still walk, but only just.

Fifteen minutes of explicatives later, Rembrant managed to find Xenna. She’d been thrown from the wreckage before it hit the planet, and seemed to be regaining consciousness. Despite the fact that her arm really should not have been able to bend that far. Was that a problem? Rembrant himself had survived with all extremities intact…

Suddenly, Rembrant heard a loud growl behind him; he’d been understandably distracted up until that point. He turned as quickly as his broken body could bear, and found himself staring down the throat of a hideous ape-creature. The one thing he wanted to do was the thing he could not; run.

~

The smell of ozone, blaster fire, a bright flash of red light; a holler of delight; all these things managed to bore their way through Rembrant’s pain-blazed consciousness. He attempted to stand, but the attempt was a mistake. He’d underestimated his own injury. As he stood, the blood rushed from his head, and Rembrant blacked out. However, it was not before he saw the silhouette of a Human with a heavy-blaster walking slowly toward him…


A Way In

Rembrant awoke once more; but this time, the pain was more like a dull-after image. His right arm was coated in bandages; no doubt for his burns, while the rest of his body bore small bacta-patches. Next to him lay Xenna; though instead of bandages, she bore several splints. Rembrant was inside a low tent, a temperate breeze tugging at the flap. He weighed the pros and cons, then making his decision, healed what he could of Xenna’s injuries. If he had to fight for his life later, so be it. She stirred and silently awoke, Rembrant quickly hushing her. He could see the questions burning at her eyes, but Rembrant motioned her to be silent. He slipped out of the tent, wincing as his skin shifted, and noticed a huge ape-like creature lying on the ground, not twenty feet away. Every muscle in his body tensed; though they screamed with agony, as Rembrant prepared to defend himself… but the creature didn’t move. It was… dead. Rembrant looked around, and for the first time, noticed a man butchering the beast. He was tall and muscular, but looked young; 25, perhaps. His blond hair flew in every direction, and he spoke with an odd, warm accent.

Rembrant learned the man’s name was Darwan Stev, and he was a hunter. Veermoks, those hideous ape-beasts, were his specialty. He’d followed his quarry right over to the crash site, and after downing the beast, couldn’t help but do his best to rescue the survivors. The man was stunned by the healing speed of the Dark Jedi, though he had no inkling of their hidden identities. Blessed are the oblivious. Through fireside chat, Rembrant learned that Veermok hunting was a lucrative business. If you were good at it, that is. It was a hazardous occupation, which explained Darwan’s extra supply of Bacta patches.

Rembrant considered his options. He could easily kill the man, steal his butchered Veermok, sell it at the nearby town, and use the credits to get off the planet. A quick glance at Xenna revealed that she was thinking along similar lines. But suddenly, Rembrant stopped himself, as a feeling twisted his gut. What was he thinking? He had no reason to kill this man. But… it would be so easy… Why not just let the darkness reign? It would probably be better in the long-run. Then again…

~

Three hours of conversation and inner turmoil later, Rembrant decided that Darwan would live. Much to his surprise, he enjoyed the feeling that somebody’s life—or death—lay in his hands. He felt…. In control. It was a feeling he’d never felt as a Jedi. Is this what they’d been denying him? Power? But something nagged at the back of his mind. Maybe it was his conscience; who knows, they’d been a bit out of touch lately. Something not quite… right, about using power that way. Bah. Rembrant would think on that later. For now, he decided he liked Darwan. The man could carry on an amusing conversation, and Xenna seemed to have relaxed considerably. Rembrant would simply leave Darwan behind, and continue on to the settlement. He’d been slowly healing himself and Xenna for the past hours, and their remaining injuries would heal without much prodding, though Rembrant had another plethora of new scars to add to the old ones.

Rembrant did as he had planned, and the next morning, he left Darwan with the Veermok, Xenna in tow. He was still surprised by his own ability to, if only for a moment, so disregard a sentient life. But he had done it. And he wasn’t sure if he liked that.

Regardless of his moral troubles, Rembrant still managed to get himself and Xenna into the settlement, with a minimum of mind-manipulation. They had licenses. They were hunters looking for Veermok. “But you have light—“ They didn’t have any lightsabers. Their minds broke with little resistance. They were surprisingly weak. Then again, Rembrant was used to training his skills on Xenna and Zaar; and they were much more strong-willed. With them, he could manage only suggestion, but with these non-force-users… so much more could be accomplished. Slowly, his aversion to the whole business of manipulation melted as he realized how much he could gain with little effort. These darknesses distracted him, they made his mask easier to hold onto. A shallower plane of thought. That was welcome.

Within the week, Rembrant and Xenna had a room at the Inn for half the usual fare, a whole round of new garments, a good deal of supplies, and several thousand extra credits lying around, all products of Rembrant’s… persuasiveness, and Xenna’s knack for thievery. Something about the whole exploiting others bothered Rembrant, but he didn’t give into those emotions.

Unfortunately, the pair was beginning to attract attention. Some of the settlers refused to be persuaded, and so rumors were starting. Some said they were assassins. Others claimed the pair were shape-shifters, thieves and spirits. Personally, Rembrant preferred the latter. It became clear, however, that they would need to leave Naboo soon. Xenna made reservations onboard the next trade-ship to Coruscant, which would be leaving in another two weeks. However, their departure would come much sooner than both Rembrant and Xenna realized…


Slave to Subterfuge

Xenna, ever the one with fidgety-feet, was itching to get out of the settlement. Knowing Rembrant would disapprove; what with the Veermoks around, she slipped out alone. He could be so over-protective. Xenna kind of liked that. Though, she got the feeling he loved her as a sister. Xenna didn’t like that. She saw him as so much more… But she cast away the feelings of rejection that tugged at her chest. She was out to explore, and that she did. However, A lone woman walking along a dusty trade-route; especially one with golden-skin, was a prime target for those with less-than-noble intentions.

Lost in her thoughts, Xenna did not feel the many presences until it was too late. A flash of red, the sight of claws, the bite of ropes; it was all over before she could even think to scream. Like an adder lurking in the shadows, the slavers had snatched their prey.

~

Rembrant looked up from the datapad he was examining; a map of the Galaxy. Something wasn’t right. He felt a disturbance in the force; Xenna, no doubt. She was in trouble. Somebody must have caught her on the roof—but Xenna wasn’t on the roof. Rembrant cursed his own stupidity; the fool of a woman had gone outside the settlement… He’d told her not to, he’d warned her. He should just leave her to die. … Where did these thoughts come from? No, he had to go find her. She was his only companion, the only thing keeping him away from the memories of the past. And so Rembrant mounted a rescue mission. But there was a catch. He had absolutely no idea where he was going.

~

Until, of course, he caught the trail. Rembrant was in his element; his mind sped ahead. He felt like he was thinking on a different plane; hunting down the slavers. For that’s what they were; no others would have left behind the clues they did, the tracks where they did, the marks of chains. If Rembrant were to have a vice, this would be it. He’d never felt a thrill like this before, never really been on the hunt. Sure, there had been entertainment in hunting animals. But there was something markedly different about hunting an sentient; something as intelligent as he was. Almost as intelligent. Rembrant smiled as he tracked; perhaps he’d finally found his niche…

Five hours later, Rembrant arrived at the slavers’ landing pad. They were quick; but Rembrant had just managed to close the gap as they arrived at the ships. There was Xenna, bound, gagged, and silent. Rage boiled beneath Rembrant’s skin. They would not treat Xenna that way. Without thinking, without regard for the stupidity of the act, Rembrant charged.

His lightsaber took on a life of its own, weaving back and forth, graceful arcs mowing through his opponents. Soresu was serving him well. Rembrant was able to hold his ground against the whole group of slavers.

Yeah right.

In reality, the plan crumbled before it had even been formed. There were too many of them, simply too many, and blaster bolts kept making their way past his saber, striking him, grazing him, biting gashes deep into his arms. Damn them, Damn them all! He hated them like he had never hated before. Rembrant was overpowered quickly. Or so they thought. The rage within him screamed, feral as a Vornskr, seeking some way out; any way out. And that’s when the lightning began to lace at his fingertips, began to arc from his hands. It had no direction, no guidance, it simply sought to escape!

The acrid reek of burnt flesh raked the air. The slavers who had been touching Rembrant were dead, beyond doubt. Most were simply unconscious, and others had fled in terror. Rembrant stood, though his knees were weak and shaky, and his head throbbed with icy fingers of pain. Xenna. Rembrant frantically looked around, where was she? The answer came with a gut-twisting horror that made Rembrant want to wretch. Purple bruises arced across her fear-silvered skin like lightning strikes, burns accompanying them. Her breath came in shallow gasps, pushing through the cloth that bound her mouth. Rembrant’s rage had hit more than the slavers. He rushed to her side, guilt already rising like bile in his throat, and gently removed the gag from her mouth. She somehow managed to open her eyes, and what Rembrant saw there tore him apart. Fear. Confusion. Then recognition. It was as if… as if Xenna couldn’t think Rembrant was the source of her pain. Her dying words would prove to haunt Rembrant for the rest of his life; another scar that no one could see. For Xenna was in love. And the object of her affection, was Rembrant.

~

Rage. Guilt. Rage. Despair. Rage. But mostly Rage. It was the only one that could cover up the guilt. The slavers had driven him to it. If they hadn’t taken Xenna in the first place, she would have been fine! They’d probably beat her within an inch of her life, too. Rembrant had barely touched her. If they hadn’t beaten her, she would have been fine. … but Rembrant knew. He knew the slavers had been gentle; knew they hadn’t wanted to damage the merchandise. He knew. But he couldn’t believe it. No, to accept that guilt… that would have broken him, mind and body. The only thing left to do with it was to turn it on someone else. Anyone else. The slavers then. Some of them had escaped. He knew they had a boss. That was it. He would go after their boss, he would find out where they came from, who they were, and he would kill them, every last one of them. And so began the hunt.

[Kella]

Act III: Paved With Good Intentions


Time Unconquerable

No matter how slowly the planets turn, no matter how they seem to creep in their orbits, one thing is inevitable. Neither the Greatest Jedi, nor the Darkest Sith have ever unlocked its secrets. Time. Though it might tick, painful as the throb of blood beneath a bruise, harsh as the beat of a timber-drum, it passes. And so passed what would make good contention for the Darkest year of Rembrant’s life. The guilt and pain screamed with such a rage that near all else was drowned out. He killed as he pleased. He preyed on the weak. Bounties were placed on his head, but they were never collected on. Rembrant formed few memories of this time, save the indistinct darkness that permeated it. Slowly, he gathered together the identity of his prey, piece by piece, his shadow sliding inky black across many worlds. His every breath was filled with a lust for revenge. Time stops for no man.

~

The chains cut into Rembrant’s wrists, the gag pulled at his mouth. His lightsaber was gone. That’s the thing about burrowing into a wasp’s nest; they’re kind of in their element. Rembrant had been captured. Or, more accurately, he had let himself be captured. What better way to see the ringleader? Much to his surprise, the plan was actually working. Rembrant would have loved much more to slit all their throats, but then the leader would run away. The leader knew who Rembrant was. He knew that Rembrant had been causing his cronies innumerable grief. And Rembrant liked it that way.

Rembrant was brought into the ‘throne room’, a place which reeked of narcissism. The leader was a burly Falleen. He launched into a monologue, described his practices, complained about the nuisance Rembrant had been. But Rembrant noticed none of this. All his attention was focused on one thing, and it swept across his mind like a magnet, dragging everything blank. For standing next to the Falleen was a woman. A woman with sparking brown eyes like polished river-stones, hair the color of flax. Her fingers were long and graceful. Tribal tattoos midnight-violet twirled across her face, crossed by three unforgettable scars. Aren.

Aren was alive.

~

She looked down at the new prisoner, the one who’d been causing so much trouble to her master. She could hardly bear to look at him. He was an Arkanian. They reminded her too much of Aiken… oh Aiken… But something about him drew her eyes back. Perhaps it was the set of his stance, perhaps the exact proportion of his shoulders. Perhaps it was the way his hands appeared both gentle and strong, the way his eyes were unfathomable as always. But it couldn’t be. It couldn’t be him. The kindness was gone from his face, as was the faint smile that played ever at his lips. His aura was no longer of quiet confidence. Darkness, anger… but mostly despair. An utter lack of hope. Such was the state of Aiken, her Aiken. It was enough to make Aren burst into tears then and there. Six years… she had not seen him in six years… Aren’s heart stopped. In all her searching, all her digging, and she had not found him, he had found her! But one thing twisted at her navel, digging itself in like an unwanted virus. The question throbbed at her mind. Had she really found Aiken? Or was he gone forever after all?

~

She… she was whispering something into the Falleen’s ear. Whatever it was, Rembrant was roughly pushed into a dark side-room, Aren close behind. Maybe she had a favor to collect on. Rembrant didn’t know. He was still in a daze. And then she called Rembrant by his name. Aiken.

Every memory, every feeling, every bit of him connected to that name came flooding back, breaking through the mask. Even as Aren hurriedly explained all that had passed, Aiken struggled to process it all.

Aren hadn’t been kidnapped, she’d left of her own free will. Disappointment. But she’d gone to save him and Ennabella. Guilt. The slaver said he’d wire all the credits right to Aiken, but he’d lied. Rage. He’d taken a liking to Aren, though, and she was well taken-care of. Relief. She hadn’t been sold off. Relief. She’d been trying to track him down for the past five years; she’d just barely missed him as he fled Coruscant. Happiness, almost, then regret, then guilt. So close, yet so far. Ennabella. She was asking about Ennabella. Aiken’s chest felt like it was forcibly being ripped in two. It was unbearable. Ennabella, oh Ennabella. He’d failed her! He’d failed Aren! … but no… no, Aren had failed him. If only she’d told him she was trying to get credits… if only she hadn’t lied to him about just how in debt they were. If only, if only she’d hadn’t lied to Aiken… then Ennabella might still be alive.

Yes… it was Aren’s fault. Aren had failed him. She had abandoned him. It was her fault. She should have let him take control, she should have let him be in charge… then everything would have been okay… Anger raised Aiken’s gaze to lock with Aren’s. But his resolve melted at those river-stone eyes. How he longed to simply hold her, kiss her just once more…

Rembrant, however, was not vulnerable to such weaknesses. The darkness was inescapable. As much as Aiken wished to simply shed his mask, be rid of that darkness… it was part of him now. Aiken had become Rembrant. The two would never be separate again. Aiken could not overcome the darkness, but Rembrant could overcome the love. And so it was with Rembrant’s eyes that Aiken turned upon Aren.

~

Aiken died that day. The darkness wrapped its fingers around him and tugged him deep inside, burying him. The man had become the mask. Aiken, as he watched fingers curl around Aren’s neck, heard her silent screams for mercy, lost his will to live. He longed only to die. But Rembrant, that manifestation of the will to survive, would never allow it. And so, the fittest survived. Or so Rembrant thought.


End Hatred

Rembrant awoke the next morning, in a slaver’s hall full of bodies. All killed by his hand. Yet he did not feel victorious. He felt… numb. It had been easy, much too easy. As if that really mattered to him anymore. He was entirely without purpose, now. If he wasn’t careful, the screaming vacuum of despair which settled in the pit of his stomach would swallow him whole.

At least he found his light saber.

Rembrant wandered onto the streets, and for the first time, actually registered where he was. Tatooine. The awful brightness raked at his eyes; a pain his purpose had allowed him to avoid before. Even so, Rembrant could stay at the Slaver’s lair no longer; there were to many bodies. Too much evidence. He needed to flee. And so he did. Two hours later, at the bid of nightfall, Rembrant disappeared into the Tatooine wilderness, leaving some very confused Authorities behind.

With no particular place in mind, Rembrant wandered. He felt, rather than saw, the first approachings of the next sunrise. By this time, he had spotted a rocky crag in the distance. Pulling on his strength in the force, Rembrant reached the crag just as fiery knives of heat began to blaze at his eyes. The cave was refreshingly cool, still clinging to the chill of night-air. Here Rembrant spent the day. And the next. Rembrant denied the nameless grief which pawed at his heels, and focused on the material. Survival. Water, a spring trickled up from underground. Food, he could go without for at least another week. That was a physical fact, despite how his stomach complained. With nothing better—nor anything worse—to do, Rembrant began to explore the cave. It had appeared small at first, but upon further inspection, Rembrant realized it trailed off into a dense network of over-lapping tunnels and pathways, no doubt tunneled out by the erratic trickling of millennia’s-worth of water.

It was here that Rembrant found a most curious object. Deep within the caverns was a crystal formation. Rembrant, who hardly ever forgot anything learned, recognized the crystal as Durindfire, for it cast a dancing flame of silver light upon the cave’s dark roof. Having not the means of adapting it for his lightsaber, Rembrant tucked the crystal away for another time, after reveling in the rarity of such a find.

Rembrant proceeded to explore the rest of the cave, but found little more of interest. For a week, his routine was the same. Remain in the cave by day, hunt and eat the desert Wraid by night. The beasts put up a fight, and Aiken was quite nearly killed by one when it grabbed him across the chest, teeth sinking in like daggers but missing everything vital.

Almost everything vital. A patch-job on a lung, a night of rest, and a new set of scars later, Rembrant was on his feet again. By the end of the week, he’d gathered over a dozen Wraid skulls. They were quite valuable… And by the end of the week, Rembrant had certainly had his fill of Tatooine. His race was ill-equipped for the desert wilds.


Encounters Not of Chance

However, once again, his departure came in a way most unexpected. It seemed Rembrant’s history was becoming full of patterns. For, one cannot spend a year in senseless massacre and not attract the attention of the enemy of all dark-side followers. The Jedi.

The Jedi were coming for Rembrant.

~

But not just any Jedi. No, Rembrant recognized the presence as soon as it was close enough to touch. There was no mistaking to whom it belonged. Neno. His Master. But Neno was master no longer. No, the only master Rembrant had, was himself. Such thoughts tumbled in his maelstrom-mind as Neno drew ever closer. Rembrant did not run. Nor did he charge. He simply waited. Because despite all his anger, misguided as it was, he was… curious. The perspective with which he saw the return of his master was warped. Somehow, he now viewed Neno as a… test. To conquer he who was once master… All semblance of friendship was gone from Rembrant’s mind, devoured by the beast he had become.

And then Neno arrived. Words were exchanged. Neno persuaded. Rembrant yelled.

Neno’s cover had not been blown, all those years ago upon Arkania. In fact, his guise had become too good. He’d been invited as an investor to the Vinidrean Corporation. It was an offer he could not refuse, for the good of the Republic. Sacrificing personal comfort, he’d severed all ties with the Jedi, resolving to return once he’d completed his investigation. Neno had attempted to discover Aiken’s whereabouts, and was successful. However, he could make no contact as Aiken was rescued. Neno was comforted, and knew his former Padawan could carry on fine without him. That’s what he’d thought, anyway.

Rembrant hated the guilt that began to creep into his mind, and he shoved it away. Foolish thoughts.

Neno then became tangled in a deep and never-ending web, and by the time he escaped from Arkania with only his life, Rembrant had already left the order. Neno tried to make contact, even going so far as to hunt down Aren. However, at this time, Rembrant was on Arbra, and even determined Neno could find neither hide nor tail of him.

Then, years later, the reports began coming in. A rogue Arkanian Jedi. Rage-driven, single-minded, merciless. It could not be Aiken. And it was not. It was Rembrant, and it was with a feeling of great sadness that Neno realized this fact. He petitioned to be given the mission. There was no protest, for none but Neno had made the connection to Aiken.

And so, for the past six months, Neno had been trying to track Aiken down. And he had finally succeeded, following the trail of blood.

All along, the hunter had been the hunted.

Rembrant was furious. He hated the idea of being tracked, of being prey. It made him feel… not-in-control. Insults, accusations, taunting remarks. None seemed to have any effect on the Master. He seemed simply… sad.

Rembrant lashed out moving to strike the master down, ready for the saber to come up in defense.

But it did not. Inches from decapitating the Master, Rembrant froze. Surely there was some kind of trick, some kind of deception at work… but still, Neno made no move.
“I will not fight you,” He said, and the words dug like fire, writing themselves upon Rembrant’s skull. “I will not lift my saber against you. Aiken, there is still light within you. I am sure of it. I did not come to fight you. I came to see for myself if you were truly lost. And I know that you are not. But I also see that I will not be the one to redeem you. Strike me down, if you will. I may have died, but I will not have wondered.”

Rembrant’s hands trembled. Every fiber of muscle was screaming at him to strike Neno down, to defeat his master. However, something stopped him. Despite all the hatred that clouded his thoughts, he was caught by the fact that killing a defenseless man was… cowardly. The revelation was enough to stay his blade. Denying the fact that any hesitation or reservation was due to lingering traces of light, Rembrant growled a low, “I have no time for this,” and struck Neno with the hilt of his blade, knocking him out cold.

Rembrant struck out into the desert night with a purposeful step, though he had no direction at all.


Phantoms

The next morning, Rembrant was on his way out of Tatooine. The Wraid Skulls became money, the money a bribe, the bribe a smuggler, and the smuggler a way off Tatooine. Where was he going? Back to the beginning. Arkania. If anything, his features would be less distinguishable. Oh, to be able to blend into a crowd…

And blend he did.

But not enough.

At least, that’s what Rembrant thought when on the first day of his second month staying at the FrostDragon Inn of Downtown Adascapolis, a strange woman knocked on his door. Rembrant quickly stuffed a bounty-card under his mattress, (he’d been killing to pay the rent,) and answered the door, clean-shaven and commanding respect. (Even he had some time for hygiene.) The woman pushed right into Rembrant’s room, acting as if she owned the place, much to Rembrant’s aggravation. She was an Arkanian, just as he was. And a scientist, but that was no surprise. Apparently, she was an underling for the head of a massive research agency, one which had a less-than savory reputation for treatment of… subjects. The Vinidrean Corporation. The VC. The very same Corporation Aiken and Neno had been sent to investigate so long ago. Neno. Hah, the weakling. But that was a different time. The memories meant nothing to Rembrant.

The VC had been observing Rembrant, which brought a scowl to his face. Apparently, he hadn’t been as subtle as he thought. But she gave him an offer he couldn’t refuse. Lodging, food, spending-credits… She made it appear as if they wanted to hire him. But Rembrant could see the truth. She wasn’t exactly trying hard to hide it. He was to become an object of study. An off-handed comment made Rembrant suspect it was for his connection to the force.

Rembrant spoke only two words that afternoon, words that rendered his hotel room completely sterile and clear in under three hours, his clothes replaced and stomach filled, and any city record of him completely eradicated.

“I accept.”


Scientific Anomaly

Rembrant was quickly made to feel ‘at home’. Due to his extended time away from his home world, the Scientists felt it prudent to explain their motivations. They were probably just bragging.

You see, the Arkanian race is a vain one. They view themselves superior in almost every way to the ‘lesser races’, which include just about every other species. They are a race of scientists, a race of pioneers. They also see it as their mission to better the races about them. To make the lesser-races not-so-less. The shining example of this achievement was the creation of the Quermians from the Xexto many Millennia past. The Arkanians are ever seeking, ever looking for ways to better their own race, to make themselves that much higher than the lesser species. The scientists of the Vinidrean Corporation were fascinated by the concept of force-sensitivity. They longed to know what made such features appear in those of their race. And so, they had been waiting, searching for the next force-sensitive Arkanian. Several, they had found, but all had been ones rejected by the Jedi. They needed true power. True ability. And they found it in Rembrant.

The compensation for him turning himself over as a test-subject was more than alluring. Many of the experiments were… uncomfortable, but they had their rewards. The Arkanians excelled at the development of Cyberkinetic enhancements. So he could better endure tests of the Physical nature, Rembrant was fitted with a regeneration implant, which constantly encouraged the production of healing-chemicals within the body, but in small enough quantities that the effect was not damaging. It was quite the incentive.

However, not all permanent effects were positive. An unfortunate incident with a bit of machinery led to the cartilage of Rembrant’s right knee being shredded to bits. This led to his right knee being replaced by a synthetic. Though it never caused him any discomfort, and despite the scientist’s reassurances, Rembrant found that knee was always a bit stiffer than it had been.

The scientists were most fascinated by Rembrant’s great skill with Telekinesis. Not only could the Jedi levitate other objects, but with a great deal of concentration, he could animate them for short periods as well. However, the concentration proved to be the largest obstacle. For every time Rembrant’s mind was quiet, every time he went to simply reach out with the force, he was required to come into contact with the dragon of grief and turmoil which roared inside him. He would flinch back, and his concentration was broken. The scientists were disappointed, but quickly moved on, not wanting to stir up an unwanted subject. Especially not, considering Rembrant’s temper.

For a while, his down-time was spent wandering the streets, but Rembrant quickly grew tired of this. He requested only two things during his stay; The first, an ever-steady flow of battle droids to practice his skills upon. The scientists were more than willing to oblige, for they found quite a bit of entertainment in watching Rembrant’s fighting-style. And so, Rembrant took to continuing his work on Soresu, turning theory into skill through experience. The droids did not tire like organics, however, and so Rembrant’s endurance was tested greatly, but eventually broadened.

Secondly, he requested a manufacted lightsaber crystal. Rembrant had grown tired of red which conformed to an annoying stereotype. He wanted something different, and handed over his specifications. It would take a long time, they said. But Rembrant could wait.

His heart still ached with guilt, grief and rage, and to appease these emotions Rembrant sought destruction. He used the force, used his telekinesis in horrible ways. Anything to make others share his suffering. Anything to feel a little less desperate.

Anything to deny the fact that he was weak.


Chains Apparent

A year, Rembrant spent under the whims of the scientists. A year he was poked and prodded, a year he was a test-subject. He was thirty-five now. In the last few months, only one thing stopped him from deserting; the promise of that custom crystal. Surely they’d be able to figure it out eventually…

And figure it out they did. Rembrant was finally given his crystal. Finally, he had the means and the items to fashion a new saber. However, what he lacked was the motivation. Something didn’t seem quite… right. And so the manufacted crystal took its position next to his Durindfire, tucked safely away, and Rembrant began to form his plan for escape…

~

It was simple really. Rembrant would sneak into the hanger bay, steal a ship, use it to get to the other side of the planet and outrun the minions of the Vinidrean Corporation, and then hitch a ride on the next trade shuttle.

Rembrant’s plan would have worked flawlessly. Except, of course, for the fact that it seemed he had outlived his usefulness to the Vinidrean Corporation. And they couldn’t have him spilling their secrets, giving rival companies information. They’d rather have him dead. Rembrant wasn’t quitting.

He was being fired.

~

Fear. It drove his actions. Coursed thicker than blood. Fear. It was fear that spurred his frightened escape. Fear that laced out like lightning and strangled the guards around him. Fear that brought the hallways of the VC’s prize research facility crashing down around his heels. Fear that made him run until his lungs screamed and his knee threatened to simply shatter. Fear that caused him to keep running, even when he’d escaped the building. Fear that drove him down the streets. It was fear that compelled him to just keep running even as he hit the border of the city and plunged into incredible cold. Fear for his life. Fear for his survival. Fear.

Rembrant was a coward.

~

With every step, he cursed his own name, cursed his own weakness. He had let his rage fly unchecked, let his anger boil over. It was supposed to have made him stronger! It was supposed to protect him! And yet it hadn’t. These thoughts only made the rage scream louder, vie harder for control of his mind. And as Rembrant sunk to his knees in the small hovel, a niche barely big enough to be called a cave, he was swallowed by the Arkanian wilderness.

A Wilderness in which he would stay for a very, very long time.


Time Incessant


Time. Once more, it played its roll. Arkania spun about its axis, as day became night and night became day. One year blurred into the next as it made its revolutions about the sun.

Various creatures braved the Tundra, and they became Rembrant’s prey. During his first few months alone, he hunted them with spite and anger. He could crush them from the inside out, their screams of agony cutting deep into his mind. Once, such screams would have filled him with satisfaction. They would have made him grin. But now… now they only filled him with nothingness. They were merely screams. Rembrant’s Rage deepened in a never-ending spiral, as he sought those feelings of control and domination which he craved to his core. But they eluded him. And the black expanse curled around Rembrant, breaking his walls down, swallowing him whole…

~

Nothingness was all that remained. The rage was gone. It had failed him. The anger had fallen away. What remained was simply… acceptance. Aiken had been strong enough to survive, after all. Aiken… the word meant something to him now. The thing denying him acceptance had been his own fear of release. But in the end, he just managed to let go before the darkness drug him to his death.

For the first time, Aiken found the strength to recognize his own guilt. Aren had only been trying to do what was best. His killing her had been unfounded. Ennabella’s death had been the result of his own foolish confidence. Thinking he could play the gambling market. Bah. Xenna’s death. It was a result of his own lack of control; even as he thought the world bent to his will. The realization would have shattered Rembrant.

But not Aiken. Aiken had always held an inner strength. He embraced the memories of the past, let them come together into who he really was. Neither Aiken nor Rembrant, for the first had been forever changed, and the second was, in the end, only a mask.

Several things became slowly apparent to Aiken as he dwelled within the wilds of Arkania. Firstly, he would never be able to return to the light. The darkness had made its root too deep, he had tasted its sweet nectar too long. No matter what the Jedi said, there would be no redemption for Aiken. No matter what Neno had said… those remembered words only filled him with guilt now. He had failed Neno as well.

Secondly, Aiken would only ever find true peace in death. Yes, he had conquered a few of his inner demons, but the horrors of the past he would never truly escape. His dreams were filled with love and loss, his waking hours with longing. No longer did he find satisfaction in the suffering of others. That was a cowardly profession, in any event.

Thirdly, Aiken was in dire need of a new lightsaber.


Return from Exile

Aiken wandered onto the streets of Novania. He learned that four standard years had passed since his self-induced exile. By a stroke of luck—or did he not believe in luck?—Aiken had found his way into one of Arkania’s trade-hubs. It wouldn’t be hard to get off the planet. Aiken didn’t know why he wanted to be off the planet… but he did. Maybe it symbolized a certain part of his life he was ready to leave behind. Yes, that was probably it. Once more, he called himself Rembrant. But this time, it was simply that; a name. And this time, that’s all it would ever be.

Rembrant found himself avoiding legal routes of travel. He had no way of telling if there was a bounty on his head, and on the off-chance he might be recognized… Rembrant returned to the method by which he had escaped Coruscant so long ago. He put himself up for hire.

In the mean time, Aiken set about finding another weapon to supplement the saber which had fallen into disrepair. Remembering his subtle knack for the weapons so long ago, Rembrant selected a heavy blaster, bought by barter from a man who had little use for it. A bit of tinkering, and Rembrant had it working properly again.

A few days of asking around later, Rembrant fell in with the crew of the Badlands, a battered but reliable old freighter. Rembrant needed a ride. They needed somebody with a head for numbers. Brilliant.

~

First stop: Nar Shadaa. Arkania was a center of high technology, and a particular Hutt centered there, Scarat, wanted to get into the cyber-implant trade. What they were doing wasn’t official illegal, but it was definitely frowned upon. As if the crew of the Badlands cared. Headed by the sharp Duro ‘Meet’, a former bounty hunter, the motley crew got along well, if only because the credit distribution was fair. Said crew comprised Jennen, Bortley, Krill and Slash; Human, Squib, Duro and Cathar, respectively.

It was to be another short employment. While in hyperspace, the hyperdrive suffered a fatal malfunction. By a stroke of fate—or was it the force?—The ship managed to limp out of hyperspace in an empty area of the Kastolar Sector. Nearby was a planet Rembrant identified as Ruusan, much to Meet’s surprise. Rembrant didn’t feel it necessary to justify the knowledge with a study at the Jedi Academy, and the Duro didn’t ask any questions. However, Rembrant could say the place was habitable, and a fine place to make repairs on the ship.

Acting on Rembrant’s advice, Meet managed to guide the ship onto Ruusan’s surface. Rembrant remembered the Planet was home to a few scattered mining-towns, and Meet was able to take it from there, finding the nearest one.

Three days the crew was stranded upon the surface of Ruusan. Three days the rest of the crew remained in the settlement, with enough caution and sense to not venture out-of-gates.

The same three days that Rembrant spent exploring the new planet. Somehow, he’d always been one who wanted to learn, and Ruusan re-awakened this fascination.

The second day marked Rembrant’s first encounter with the Bouncers; he’d heard whispers of the odd critters from the humans within the city. Rembrant was climbing a tree, seeking a better view, when he noticed the strange critters upwind. They drifted along in the wind-currents, their round, balloon shaped bodies keeping them afloat, as small fins protruded from their green-furred sides, steering. Long tendrils trailed out behind, and Rembrant observed one using a tendril to anchor itself to the ground. Then it released itself and began to follow the grouping, which was approaching Rembrant steadily. He was intrigued by the way the creatures directed themselves toward obstacles, bouncing themselves higher into the air.

Thirty minutes later, Rembrant was surrounded by the critters. He could feel their minds skirt around the edges of his. They were telepathic. The critters took to him, for they seemed quite curious about Rembrant. They had seen the heavy-mouth-speakers before, but never one like Rembrant, with his four clawed fingers and white eyes. After a few hours, they drifted away again. Rembrant was left with an odd feeling of almost-happiness that faded as soon as the Bouncers were no longer in sight. Such a curious species…

~

At the end of those three days, the crew of the Badlands departed Ruusan. Rembrant was not with them. He had taken to the humble planet, with its lush forests and rolling plains. There was even a range of mountains where a cold-loving Arkanian could seek solitude. And it was to there Rembrant travelled.


Ruusan Remedies

Life in the mountains of Ruusan fit Rembrant perfectly. At least, as well as could be for a broken man tormented and ashamed of his own darkness. He found that he could easily loose himself in the routine of the day-to-day, yet his memories still haunted him through dreams.

Rembrant hunted the local fauna for sustenance. Some kills were harder than others, and in this fashion, he retained his physical fitness. Many days he spent meditating, finally able to come to terms with the ever-present grief and guilt. They were simply there. They weren’t going to change. Rembrant lived with it. He focused some on his telepathy, but in many ways, he felt his ability in that area had increased as far as it was going to. Surely there were other things to learn… but those things would have required someone with a different viewpoint. It was odd, because Rembrant had been driving himself so long in that area. Now, he began to focus on other things, things that would help him to varying degrees in his mountain solitude. Sense, for one. Each day, he practiced pushing his awareness out a little farther, keeping a little sharper even while he wasn’t meditating.

Rembrant was feeling strongly the absence of a decent saber, though he was reluctant to begin construction on his new one. It still didn’t feel quite… right. And Rembrant decided crossing the Force in this instance wouldn’t be a smart idea… its whims could be advantageous.

And so, this led to another occupier of Rembrant’s time; Exploring. There were deep caves which wove through the bowels of the Mountains, and Rembrant found keeping himself occupied in this way was an efficient mode of spending time. He found many strange things buried in the caves; from the body of an ancient explorer, to a strange glowing fungus which smelled like Bantha feet.

Oh the joys of exploring.

And so, as such, Rembrant spent his 4oth year.

One discovery, however, filled Rembrant with a wonder he had not appreciated all those years ago on Tatooine. A crystal cave. He could feel the way the crystals caught the force-aura that flowed around him, and magnified it. Certainly, such crystals would fit for lightsaber construction.

Finally, the time was right.


Time Unending

The next six months, a task occupied Rembrant’s time like none ever had before. Always, the construction of his lightsabers had been rushed, hasty, out of need. But this time, such was not the case. He could spend long days and nights meditating upon his crystals, imbuing them with his essence, breaking only to foray for food. And so he did.

Finally, his saber was complete. For the first time, it did not feel like a tool. It felt like an extension of himself. Perhaps that is how it was meant to be all along. Rembrant could not judge. As he ignited the saber, a deep-rooted sense of satisfaction took hold. The core was distinctly blue, but dark, inky, almost black. Like an Arkanian sky just before sunrise. The Durindfire set his saber ablaze, and it shone at its fringes with a silver, trickling light; a swirl of stars set across a night-time canopy.

The hilt Rembrant was also quite proud of. Its architecture was smooth and flowing, a worthy Arkanian masterpiece. When the blade was retracted, the metal gleamed a crisp, brushed nickel. However, when ignited, a silver-blue fire eliminated the hilt, making visible an intricate swirl of runes and symbols. Memories. Rembrant had made the saber part of him, for he had leeched into it the essence of what made him who he was.

All the darkness. All the guilt. All the grief. All the hate. Mostly hate toward himself. Perhaps… perhaps even a bit of the light, but Rembrant would never allow himself that hope. Redemption. He would never see it.

Or would he?

[Kella]

RP Sample:

Laughter. The sound met Aiken's ears like ringing bells, and he smiled. Soon, his own laughter joined the melody as little Ennabella made another face.

Aren's smile was sweetest of all. Aiken watched her chocolate-eyes twinkle for a moment before he swooped down and tossed Ennabella up into the air. Her giggling trilled, and Aiken caught her again, tucking her perfect white ringlets back behind her ears. Ennabella giggled again and kissed him on the nose, before scrambling back down to the ground. She ran over to Aren, and leapt up into her mother's arms.

"Bye Daddy!" she trilled, waving, tiny fingers twinkling in the air. Aren's smile was bittersweet as she stepped over and kissed Aiken on the forehead, Ennabella on her hip.
"Good bye for now, my Aiken."

The happiness melted into bitter grief as Aiken watched Aren and Ennabella slowly turn away. And as the grief returned, so did awareness of another world...

~

Rembrant awoke. Fur below. Cool fingers of air across his face. The high, crystalline ceiling above. His cave, the same as it always was. Slowly, he stood and willed his muscles to awaken to the degree which his mind already had.

Every night was like this. Happiness only in dreams. But it was a curse more than a blessing. For that taste always made Rembrant thrist for more, a thirst that would never be quenced. Many days, the nightmares were more easily borne than the dreams.

However, Rembrant did what he always did and pushed these thoughts from his mind, pesky parasites that they were. There were much more important things to dwell on, such as the present winter. Rembrant donned a dark hide-cloak, the dense fur turned toward his skin. The hood he drew up over his head, rim of ebony fur casting shadows on his features.

Rembrant stepped from the shelter of the cave into biting wind, the wolf-like wave tearing at his cloak. However, the cold gave him no bother. He was an Arkanian, after all. He never really felt at home unless the temperature was frigid. It was a poor analogy, however, for Rembrant never really felt at home much of anywhere.

Dark thunderheads gathered overhead; a storm was approaching. It was unusual for the clouds to span at such a height; usually, they passed below Rembrant's position in the mountains. The storm promised to be an intense one. The Kau would certainly be distressed, and so Rembrant changed course for a different pseudo valley, knowing the mountain-dwelling bovine would be beginning to cluster.

This brought him to a steep jog in the rock, a vertical cliff whose smooth face made climbing nigh on impossible. Jagged rocks lined the base like hungry wolves; any fall would be fatal.

It was an insignificant obstacle.

Rembrant allowed his eyes to close as he pulled upon the Force around him. He could feel it whisper from the hardy tundra plants, pulse deep within the mountain. But mostly, he could feel it pervade the air around him, eagerly awaiting his call. Rembrant gathered it to himself, secure in its familiar touch. He drew it like a faithful dog to his feet, feeling, rather than seeing, the disk that formed there. Nothing else occupied his mind, so intent was his concentration.

And then he began to rise. Rembrant could feel nothing and everything at the same time, for his mind was intent and closed, but the Force opened him to all things.

~

No more than twenty-three minutes later, Rembrant was crouched on top of a low crag. Below him stretched a small basin within the mountain's irregular form. At its center pooled a circular lake, disturbed by the swirling of the wind. Rugged grasses swayed, then fell, falling prey to the appetites of nervous Kau. Rembrant was unsure of how long he'd be required to remain indoors during the approaching storm, and so his aim was slightly larger than usual.

A young bull became his target, lean and inexperienced. Rembrant carefully gauged his movements to remain down-wind, but the mountain threw air currents, and every so often, his scent would wash toward the Kau. No matter. The herd was much to skittered by the storm approaching to notice a familiar presence.

Rembrant padded across the crag, silently leaping across a wide crevice. He was right on top of his quarry.

Suddenly, like a diving hawk, Rembrant fell from the sky. His cloak trailed out behind as he fell, descent guided to perfect precision as Rembrant concentrated. At the last possible moment, he ignited the lightsaber. The Kau was alerted to his presence, but it was much to late.

By the time the Kau thought to turn and look, Rembrant's saber was already deep in its spine. The kill had been quick and painless. This pleased Rembrant, for he prized efficiency. Every Kau in the herd turned to look at him, fear in their eyes. Rembrant revelled in their respect. However, they did not run. For though the Kau were not the most intelligent, they had learned that Rembrant only killed once. As soon as one herd-member was dead, they were safe.

The Kau stared at Rembrant dully a moment longer, before turning away and continuing to chew their cud. Such was the power of a gentle bit of Force persuasion.

Rembrant retracted his saber and tucked it away, he would need it no longer. He pulled his mind in, then pushed it out again, grasping the Bull's body with the Force. Up, he willed it, and Up, it rose, gliding several feet off the ground. In this manner, Rembrant would carry the body back to his cave, prepare the meat, butcher and preserve it. It would feed him for a good long while.

These thoughts occupied the fore-front of Rembrant's mind as he mounted the journey back to his abode. A distant roll of thunder caught his attention, sand Rembrant glared at the gathering clouds.

Little did he know, the storm was not the only thing approaching.

[Jace]

ARCA JETH FTW!

Now go forth my cowardly once grief stricken Arkanian!

<Approved>

Jul 7, 2009 14:57:03 GMT -5 Kella said:

Practiced Lightsaber forms:

[/color]

Shii-Cho - 5
Makashi - 5
Soresu - 5
Ataru - N/A
Shien / Djem So - N/A
>>Sub-form Backhanded
Niman - N/A
>>Sub-form Jar-kai, or Dual Wield
Juyo - N/A
Double Bladed Combat - N/A

Force-Sensitive Abilities or practices:

Telekinetic: 9
Telepathic: 5
Body: 4
Sense: 8
Protection: 2
Healing: 4
Destruction: 5

Specialized Skills:
Force Wave
Force-Levitation

Attributes:

Physical Strength: 7
Intelligence: 8
Speed: 4
Leadership: 5

Unarmed: 7
Melee Weapons: 4
Ranged Weapons: 6

Force Attunement: -4[/quote]

[Squee]

Approved stats: (Yes, I see it, this is for hoping to keep everything in line)

Practiced Lightsaber forms:

Shii-Cho - 5
Makashi - 5
Soresu - 5
Ataru - N/A
Shien / Djem So - N/A
>>Sub-form Backhanded
Niman - N/A
>>Sub-form Jar-kai, or Dual Wield
Juyo - N/A
Double Bladed Combat - N/A

Force-Sensitive Abilities or practices:

Telekinetic: 9
Telepathic: 5
Body: 4
Sense: 8
Protection: 2
Healing: 4
Destruction: 5

Specialized Skills:
Force Wave
Force-Levitation

Attributes:

Physical Strength: 7
Intelligence: 8
Speed: 4
Leadership: 5

Unarmed: 7
Melee Weapons: 4
Ranged Weapons: 6

Force Attunement: -4

[Neology]

Moved to inactive.