The Shepherd
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Post by The Shepherd on Jan 10, 2016 17:57:05 GMT -8
The man was poetic, Rutil would give him that. Poetic and verbose to boot; he answered the question with his life story and the purpose of his title and the introduction of his nickname, but he at least answered the question. Whether it was personal preference or a trait of the species, Rutil couldn't say. Had he been asked the same question, he would have done so in ten words or less. In any case, Taralorn's sterling reputation with the Zabrak had been tarnished some with the response. Not due to his wordiness. Not due to his ardent belief in his purpose - so much so that he seemed to have the response memorized like a prayer - or his claim to be sociable. Taralorn felt that the Force had led him there. Decades ago, the broken-horned Zabrak would have agreed. Hell, even a few months ago he would have been amenable to the proposition.
Rutil had since seen what the "will of the Force" meant to the Jedi Order.
"You've a way with words. Tell me," Rutil began, turning his eyes - worn and green, as jaded as the man who owned them - to his new acquaintance, "with your vigilance, what have you seen? What do you see now?"
Rutil had to choke down the bile. Taralorn had proclaimed to be "The Watcher", almost like a Republic serial hero. And yet, as the galaxy slowly grew ever more infested with evil, he had been nowhere to be found. Rutil had put the word out, and none had come to his side, least of all the one who claimed his entire purpose in life was to stop the darkness in others. The Zabrak had to remember that while he had been out and about in the galaxy, he had only ever been in one place at a time. For all he knew, Taralorn had been doing the exact same thing and simply refused to communicate. Possible. Unlikely, but possible. More to the point, Rutil desperately needed the help, and he wasn't about to alienate a potential ally for the sake of gratifying his own sense of self-righteousness.
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Post by The Shepherd on Jan 10, 2016 16:33:43 GMT -8
A Sentinel? Rutil couldn't remember the last time he had heard one of his fellow Jedi use any of the old titles. While largely symbolic, speaking more to the nature of their bearer than denoting any kind of specialty, the titles had largely been phased out of the common vernacular among their kind. It meant that the man to his side was either far older than he appeared or that he was far more knowledgeable of the way the old Order did things before the rise of the Empire, and either way, it made the old Zabrak take notice.
"Rutil Iorek."
Despite being impressed by the younger man's introduction, the Zabrak didn't match it. His actions would speak for him. And if Taralorn had seen anything of his hooded alter-ego in the viral holovids, or heard anything about the sacking of Korriban or the liberation of Kashyyyk, then the man standing beside him wouldn't need much of an introduction at all.
"And what brings you here? You don't seem especially social."
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The Shepherd
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Post by The Shepherd on Jan 10, 2016 16:05:17 GMT -8
Rutil marched through the halls with purpose as he always did, though he went nowhere in particular. The Archives were full of people that were making ready to crucify him. The Council chamber had proven ill-fitting for his needs. The hangar bay held his crew, who had earned a respite after the ringer the Zabrak Jedi Master had put them through. The dungeon held a Sith that forced Rutil to fight like a dog to stay his own hand in killing the beast. And somewhere in the temple, a Sith that turned on his former masters walked free with little thought as to the sordid deeds of his past. There were few places on the base's grounds that Rutil wanted to be. There were even fewer people he wanted to speak to. The relief that taking the Shan boy's weapon for a test drive had quickly abated, and the growing frustrations the gargoyle of a man had with his order once again began to bubble to the surface of his stony exterior.
Taking a hard right turn, the Zabrak Jedi found himself on a balcony overlooking the lush and alien planet. He stood next to a man he didn't recognize; dark hair atop pale skin, wearing a dark coat - a brave choice, considering the planet's climate - with a symbol Rutil had never seen before emblazoned on his back. Ordinarily Rutil would have ignored him and left him to the thoughts that obviously dominated his mind. But the last stranger he'd ignored was gunning for him. And with the way the Jedi Order had been run, Rutil feared he would be finding himself short on allies in the crusades still to be fought.
There was no better time to be preparing.
"It's a sight," Rutil said in his gravelly voice, half-growling his words, "isn't it?"
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The Shepherd
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Post by The Shepherd on Jan 9, 2016 20:31:40 GMT -8
The training grounds were empty by the time Rutil had made his way there, which suited him just fine. The Zabrak wasn't in any mood to be spoken to, commanded to do something, or deal with curious upstarts or would-be-Sith. He had no patience to plan for the next strike against the forces of darkness. He didn't even care to catch up with his former pupil. From his perspective, everything was going right to hell, and he was the only one seeing it.
The old man never thought he would see the Shan boy again. Their parting, while not hostile, hadn't been on the friendliest of terms, which was par for the course with the broken-horned Zabrak. And now here he was, once again in a Jedi stronghold, every bit as dark as he was when Rutil had last met him, and had taken on the task of attempting to rehabilitate him. Rutil didn't know exactly what the boy had done this time. He didn't know why he was now on Felucia. But he did know that Vidalu Na'an had brought him in - forcibly, at that - and that she had mentioned a trial. The Jedi Master had been around long enough to know there were only so many possibilities that could have prompted such circumstances to arise. And when he gave it a bit more thought, his old student could be found in the heating flames of his ire as well; bringing him in for trial would prove to be fruitless at best. After all, it had been Shan that was the most recent attempt at bringing a darksider to the light, and he had apparently done something heinous enough for his friend to bring him in to be judged for it.
Judge, of course, being something of a misnomer. The bile in Rutil's stomach rose to his throat as he pulled off his cloak and tossed it into a nearby corner. The Jedi Order wouldn't judge the Shan boy. The Council would find some excuse, they'd take his word that he'd changed, and he would pretend to try and redeem himself (if he wasn't pardoned outright) before reneging on the terms of his release and resuming his worship of evil once more. To make things even worse, the dark presence he had sensed on Kashyyyk was now on Felucia as well, and he was under less guard than the Sith Lord on his way to the brig. Had it not been for the circumstances surrounding them Rutil would have made a move on the boy back in the forest, and now here he was, claiming he wanted to renew himself and the masters would happily grant it to him, the innocent blood on his hands be damned. They were Sith. They were the enemy. But they would get a free pass. Rutil himself? The Zabrak knew - deep down, somehow, he knew - that there would be an inquiry into his actions, likely spearheaded by that Saurian who'd had it out for him ever since they met. All because the broken-horned Master had decided to get off of his ass and act rather than sit back and let the galaxy continue its decay.
The more Rutil thought about the state of affairs, the more frustrated he grew, and the more that new sensation he discovered on Naboo began to take hold. Such thoughts were what drove him to this place; meditation had never come easy to the gargoyle, and he had only ever found peace when he was moving. And move he would.
A loud snap-hiss echoed in the empty training hall. Rutil's own lightsaber, however, remained on his hip.
Lashing out straight at first, the purple blade of the Shan boy's lightwhip fell to the ground, crackling against the floor as it did so. Lazily, Rutil swept it left and right, keeping it off the floor and the walls, not wanting to damage anything unwittingly. The whip's blade sizzled through the air, hissing and cracking as it passed in a discordant contrast to the strong, steady hum of Rutil's lightsaber. After a few more passes, Rutil let the whip fall to the ground, where it once again resumed burning into the floor. It was a weakness he had found; the same properties that allowed the blade to be fluid greatly damaged its ability to cut through things in a resting state. Had he placed his own weapon tip down and pushed, Rutil would have eventually buried the blue blade. But the whip was different. While it was definitely leaving a mark where it made contact, it was going to take considerably more strength to do any damage to anything. Unless...
Rutil's focus shot across the hall like a laser, and two training remotes - inert as they were, having not been activated - floated towards him. They stopped a few meters away from the Jedi, hovering perfectly still in the air. With a gentle motion, a purple arc swung vertically through the air and the whip embedded itself into the first training remote. A flicker in his mind ripped the probe from Shan's weapon, letting it fall to the ground in a mostly intact heap. A similar swing with his own weapon would have easily halved the thing.
The Jedi yanked the whip back. As the tip of the amethyst blade soared behind him, the Force screamed for Rutil to step to the right. He moved quickly, his jade eyes darting to the spot where he had been just a moment ago, where a spark of purple lightning left a nasty scorch mark and was followed by an almost deafening, electronic crack.
There was a pause. There was a realization. A moment later, there was a grim smile.
The Zabrak began to swipe the whip across the air once more, his eyes focused purely on the deactivated training remote as he built up speed and power in the fluid weapon. He had known that he would need a different approach to using a lightwhip. But he hadn't expected to understand its use so quickly. And he hadn't expected to enjoy it so thoroughly. In contrast to the immediate force granted by a lightsaber, a lightwhip would require a bit more thought, a bit more knowledge, and a bit more patience. It would require the user to go around an obstacle rather than through. It would require a good understand of where the blade was, what its arc would be, and where it's trajectory would place it a split second later. But with time and practice - both of which Rutil resolved he would get - the results were spectacular, and unlike anything the Jedi had seen before.
With a jolt backward and a flick of his wrist, the purple blade shot forward, the tip of it letting out another loud crack as the training remote in the air was obliterated, and the shrapnel sent flying across the sparring floor.
Satisfied, Rutil switched off the weapon, the purple light slithering back into the hilt. He wasn't going to be an instant expert with the weapon. But the Sith would never see it coming. And for that advantage, the gargoyle of a Jedi was prepared to train with it until he was every bit as familiar with it as he was with the durasteel companion of decades still resting unused on his belt. Reaching out with the Force, his cloak raced through the air and up his arm, the energy of its flight wrapping it around Rutil's body as he left the training hall.
His annoyance had been quelled for the time being.
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The Shepherd
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Post by The Shepherd on Jan 6, 2016 13:45:12 GMT -8
Greetings, all,
I'm a returning member who used to RP here on the old server some six or seven years ago, mainly on Felucia. I was looking to make a spy and a security contractor. I hoped to serve a light-oriented faction and infiltrate other organizations on that faction's behalf, operating in deep cover and providing them with intel. The two characters would work closely together, the spy collecting data while the contractor watches his six. If needed, I might could build a small team of analyst characters to process the information sent from these two characters and could deliver reports to a designated Jedi official. Stevan Stormro recommended that I check here in the RP Planning board boards.jedivsith.com/thread/2890/galactic-espionage?page=1&scrollTo=86153#ixzz3wV1o9Q5I . Is there any interest in the Jedi Order for recruiting intelligence operatives? Thanks!
I have been meaning to write this character again. He's a Jedi Shadow, which is like the Jedi Black Ops/Wetworks/Intelligence "class." It's possible that we might be able to come up with some sort of story, Cap. Ohhhhhhh, yesssssssss...
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Post by The Shepherd on Jan 3, 2016 15:49:47 GMT -8
In a smooth, sweeping motion, Rutil's left arm shot out to catch the lightwhip in mid air, his steely jade glare falling on his former apprentice. She knew the Shan boy. She knew what he had done to land himself in the position he was in. And this wasn't the first time that she had taken him into custody on a Jedi world after he had committed an act that would have landed anybody else a death sentence, either. Na'an was kriffing insane to think that the dark acolyte was ever going to see the inside of a courtroom, let alone actually be tried for his crimes in a manner that actually befit them. Had Rutil been there himself, Shan would have never seen the inside of a ship; that had already proven somewhat inefficient, if dramatic.
Nevertheless, it was her prisoner. Her prey. Her rules.
And her responsibility should the worst come to pass.
With another dark stare at Shan, Rutil's mental hold on his throat released. The Zabrak watched the pair exit the ship, and with two chirps of his comlink, the soldiers that had surrounded the ship lowered their weapons and returned to their well-deserved downtime. Rutil himself kept an eye on the pair only as far as their first turn, and then left in another direction altogether.
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Post by The Shepherd on Dec 31, 2015 7:28:02 GMT -8
Caoimhin was looking past Na'an to Rutil when the door opened, but it was Na'an who spoke first. She stepped into the breach the open hatch left, her face set in hard, careful lines. The only sign of distress she displayed was the mildest of twitches, pulling at the scar that cut across her eyebrow. "I wish we could believe that." Her right hand rose into the space between them, palm upwards. Her left hovered at her hip, her thumb pushing up the fabric of her shirt to reach her shoto's activation stud. "Your other weapons. Then your hands." The girl wasn't giving him an inch, which warmed the old man's heart. He'd heard the story of his old pupil in bits and pieces, and through it all he had found a common thread that linked the rumors, stories, and hushed whispers; her kindness had always gotten the better of her. Given half a chance, she'd drop everything - her weapon, her guard, and her emotional defenses - and forgive her transgressors with nary a second thought. It's what forced her to kill that maniac on Nal Hutta. It's what caused her to befriend a droid that by all rights should have been dismantled. And it's what caused her to bring Caoimhin Shan - a tried-and-true fanatic of the dark side, who had rejected the light as often as it had been offered to him - back to a Jedi stronghold instead of putting him in the ground. Vidalu Na'an had certainly made progress. But she had yet to really put her foot down when it was required of her.
Perhaps a brief reminder was in order.Rutil didn't so much as lift a hand as he called the Force to surround the young man. And as it did so, he put it to work, and the lad would have felt the source of the Jedi's power slamming his airway shut. This game, borne of Na'an's indecision and Shan's coy attitude, had gone on long enough. Shan could either willingly comply with her, or the boy would be forced to deal with him. If history was any indication, the choice should have been obvious." Now, boy," the Zabrak growled in an unheard, menacing tone.
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Post by The Shepherd on Dec 16, 2015 14:40:27 GMT -8
Elly waking up hit Na'an like a punch to the face. If her back had not been to the door, she might have staggered, buckled against the second onslaught in so few days; as it was, the durasteel braced her posture as she made space for Master Calmcacil to flow past her and into the medbay. She didn't relieve her stance; Rutil Iorek had forced his way onto the ship in the Master's absence, and there was no time or point in which to show him her weakness. There was a Sith behind her that needed containing--there was a job that needed to be finished. Instead, Na'an forced herself to breathe deep through her nose, focusing on the feel of the air in her lungs, the pulse of oxygen as it flowed out of them and into her veins. Inhale; the body, not the mind. Exhale; the breath feeding her muscles, bolstering her bones, threading through the pores of her skin. The Force was there, in the flesh and in the blood, and she did not need to be among the thoughts of others to touch it. She did not need to use her mind to know. The exercise was a work in progress, as it always was when she couldn't put it to proper use. It was better when she could--but there was no time. As imperfect as it was, it was a distraction while the red flare Eliana Shan had sent up inside her skull dulled, then died as she slipped back into unconsciousness. When the Master and Adelle wheeled her off the ship, past a crying Kent and far from Leigh, Na'an was calm. Her eye hurt like a chakaar, but she was calm. "I'll follow your lead, sir," she said to Rutil, "But I think it's best we let him know where he stands before we open this door. If he knows his sister's intact he'll cooperate." It wasn't a bad call. If his old pupil was right about his sister being the key to the Sith's otherwise unconditional surrender, then giving him that bit of information could end the fight before it ever began. It would have been the perfect opportunity; lower the enemy's guard, get them to comply, and then take the shot while it was open. And had they not been on Felucia, the Zabrak would have happily done so. Fortunately, Rutil sensed no malicious intent in the room beyond, nor a building of the Force in preparation for an attack. Even if the boy had intended to attack the pair, he would have barely been able to manage a half-hearted push at best before being cut down."Boy," Rutil said, his voice as gnarled and rough as his face, "we have the ship surrounded, we have a base full of Jedi, and we have your sister getting the best care available to her. If you open the door, come out with your hands up, and do so right now, you might actually see her again." It wasn't the silver tongue he had used to ply the Hapans, but it would have to do. Rutil knew, Na'an knew, and the Sith beyond knew that anything less than total compliance with the Zabrak Jedi Master's orders would only end one way.
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Post by The Shepherd on Dec 14, 2015 16:12:45 GMT -8
In an instant, Rutil's eyes darted up the ramp, his awareness shooting into the ship and reaching through every corridor and room to find the source of what could best be described as a psychic bomb going off in his mind. The Zabrak initially winced before he grit his teeth and braced himself. The mental explosion hadn't been from the prisoner on board, oddly enough, but from one of the two people closer to the ramp; all too likely the "Eliana Shan" that Na'an had told them about. That had taken the first two seconds.
On the third, Rutil acted.
Striding up the ramp, Rutil's thumb had taken all the slack out of the activation stud on his lightsaber. Forcing his way through the psychic assault, the Jedi Master followed the trail the Force had outlined for him, and before long he had a visual on the door that the Sith had been held in. He stayed in the hallway, giving himself ample distance between himself and his quarry as he wrapped the Force around himself like a shield, dulling the woman's mental screams to a nagging whisper as well as preparing himself for anything the boy would do to aid his sister. Shan herself could be handled. She was already with a healer, and practically every other master on site would be more qualified to identify the cause of her distress and quell it. But her dark-sided brother remained a wild card. If their bond was as close and tight as his old pupil had implied, then it was a damned miracle that he hadn't tried to rush to her aid already.
Fortunately, there was a good bit of distance between brother and sister. And the most direct route was blocked by an ornery Jedi Guardian who was silently begging the Sith on the far end of the hall to give him a reason to flick his thumb.
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Post by The Shepherd on Dec 13, 2015 6:26:09 GMT -8
*When suddenly, children. Or more of them, rather. The first was a shriek of "Mom?!" preceded by Lana rushing through the crowds toward the Hawk, with little Gracie in tow. Aerandir wanted to step forward and pull them aside, keeping them out of harm's way, but the hatch was already opened, and he doubted they would have done so if they didn't at least have some sort of control over the "prisoners" and weren't certain they had their welcoming party waiting at the ramp.
And then Morgan arrived too, bounding into the hangar on the back of Rush, no doubt having sensed Adelle's presence and quite literally "rushing" in to see her mama. And around her torso was some strange, glowing object... Curious, but he could look into that later, instead sparing a glance at Mina, who seemed entranced by the presence of these other children closer to her age. Strangely, it almost seemed to put her at some sort of ease, although hearing both of them seeking out their mothers seemed to wound her a little. Aerandir looked on her with sympathy and squeezed her hand once more, noting the appearance of Leigh, who spoke to Lana.
... right... Aerandir knew of their connection, but it had fallen out of his mind until this moment. This was their reunion... or perhaps first meeting? And, judging by Lana's comments to her, it wasn't exactly the happiest of meetings. Understandable, but something about it seemed to upset Lana, and that concerned Aerandir; the girl had taken to him in a way, and he'd gladly been a father figure to her. But he needed to focus on the mission at hand, which involved helping "offload" a Sith known as "Vilus," a name he wasn't quite familiar with.
Wait. Did she say something about her mom? As in, her creator? Was she here? That was interesting. Why did Leigh want to be away first? Something had to have happened... Details he could discern later. Looked like they needed to get aboard, and that meant leaving Mina out here. Fortunate that Morgan was here, then. He looked to one side and nodded to Tom and the Quarren, then to the other to nod to Michelle and Keith. The group then approached the ship, Aerandir stalling behind long enough to bring Mina towards where Morgan stood.
First thing, he knelt down and gave his daughter a hug, grateful to see her again.* "I missed you," *he told her, then broke the embrace and looked between her and Mina.* "Morgan, this is Mina. I brought her home from Kashyyyk after rescuing her. Mina, this is my daughter Morgan." *Now focusing on Mina, he explained,* "I need to go on the ship to help make sure the Sith on board is contained. Will you wait here with Morgan for me?" *The young, fearful girl looked between him and the other girl for a moment, seeming to debate this, but, recognizing the urgency, she nodded. Smiling at her, he patted her on the shoulder and stood.* "You'll be safe here. Morgan's a nice girl, she'll be your friend. Just wait off to the side for a bit, okay?" *When she agreed, he turned and headed toward the ship. As he passed Gracie, he gently tapped her on the shoulder, saying,* "You might wanna get out of the way, Gracie, there could be trouble, and I don't want you to get hurt." *He then headed into the ship, walking past Leigh on the way in.* "I'm not sure what's up, but feel free to take your leave," *he spoke as he passed her.
The rest of the group had already met with Na'an, Tom Klanzo temporarily taking lead. He introduced himself professionally and stated that Aerandir was right behind them, and when Aerandir appeared, unlit lightsaber still in hand, he nodded toward the door she sat in front of.* "I'm assuming he's in there." *He nodded again to the group, who spread out on either end of the door while he stood to face it.* "How much resistance should we expect?" "Clearly not much, if we're allowing children up close." Rutil strode over towards the assembled gathering, his voice carrying across the short distance like it had a presence all its own. The Zabrak Jedi Master hadn't heard the broadcasts, but he had seen the ship make its way to the hangar from his place in the council chamber. He had felt the presence of his former youngling pupil. But it was the other presence on board - the one that stank of the dark side - that had actually motivated the old man to the hangar, his durasteel lightsaber hanging gingerly in his right hand. Of course, Rutil might have been wrong; the younglings had all too eagerly raced towards the ship, bypassing what had to have been several dozen security clearance issues in the process. The other Jedi didn't seem especially concerned. Paranoia? Senility? While Rutil was indeed older than most anybody there, it was only upper middle-age when compared to, say, a Human. And when it came right down to it, the broken-horned Master would rather be paranoid than complacent any day.
It was a philosophy he might have to share with his peers.
Affording only a small nod to Na'an as he reached for his comlink, he clicked it on and focused his jade eyes on the boarding ramp of the ship ahead.Captain, Rutil said to the commanding officer of the CR90 just outside the hangar, send commando squads Alpha and Charlie to my location immediately, we need a perimeter set up.
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Post by The Shepherd on Dec 7, 2015 4:54:38 GMT -8
The transport set itself down near the Government Tree, before Titus and the Praetorians disembarked from the ship, which took off again and headed up for orbit. It wasn't the only ship making for orbit either, all of the Chistori forces were already in full extraction mode, which didn't overly surprise him, since nearly everyone else had also taken their leave of the planet as soon as they could. Titus dismissed the Praetorians and sent them to check in on The Saurian Deliverance and prepare it for take off, whilst Titus himself headed to the command table where Legate Africanus was over seeing the evac. As the Legate looked up at him, Titus could already tell that something was not rightI didn't expect you and your men to hang around long Legate, so no hard feelings...I wish that was all that was wrong... But suffice it to say, Master Jedi, I fear things are far worse than you believe. By the time I learned of what had happened and confronted Centurion Drowned Wesand, the HNN had gotten a hold of the files and aired the story...Africanus then turned a holo projector on, before the HNN story was played, reporting on the murder of the prisoners and using a copy of the files that Titus had asked to be backed up. Footage was also shown of the bodies that were strewn throughout the tree tops that had been captured by the small recon team. He'd been a fool to think he could keep this matter under wraps until he had confronted Master Calmcacil regarding this matter, but the word was already out, and the HNN appeared to be having a field day. Africanus then paused the recording and turned the holoprojector offWell, it was bound to come out eventually, especially with all the media attention following this crusade...I'm afraid that isn't all. This aired just after you left for the Fortress, and public backlash on Chistoria was all the opposition to your Jedi Order needed... I'm sorry Titus, but it's over. The Council voted, and if you and your people attempt to return, you will be captured and imprisoned as accessories to a war crime in violation of the Galactic Conventions. If there is anything you need from the Temple, I'll organize it's extraction...Titus slammed his fist down upon the table, putting a small dent in the surface and causing the few loose objects sitting atop it to go flying. It had taken him years to build that alliance, to ensure the safety of force users amongst the Chistori people, and all of that had been shattered in a matter of hours by the actions of one arrogant zealot Zabrak Jedi Knight. He then leant forward, using both of his fists to support himself against the table as he collected himself, knowing that it would do him no good to lose his temper at the LegateI apologise Legate, that was uncalled for on my part... I do hope this matter has not reflected badly upon you and your men...Alas, no. By throwing your order under the bus, the Council managed to keep the Legion out of this...I'm glad. As to the Temple, there is nothing that cannot be reacquired elsewhere. But do me a favour, ensure it is destroyed, I don't want anything in it falling into the wrong hands...Very well, I shall see it done. Take care Master Jedi.You as well Legate... Also, I return to you the AT-TE you gifted us, since I have nothing to transport it off world.Africanus gave a nod, before organizing the walker's transportation. Titus then headed through the city to The Saurian Deliverance, not stopping once as he headed for the cockpit, before setting a course for Felucia as the YZ-900 Freighter took off and headed for orbit, making the jump to hyperspace once free of the world's gravity well. The last of the Legio IV soon followed suite, with the C.S. Argento and C.S. Scarto retrieving their fight compliments, before making the jump out of system ... oops.
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Post by The Shepherd on Dec 4, 2015 14:54:29 GMT -8
Felucia's as good a spot as any. Teeming with life, even if all of that life wants to murderize your poor, squishy body. Already established, which is kind of nice after the clusterkriff that took out the big base of operations. A new location, giving us a good bit of leeway to do with as we see fit. Not sure what's going against it, apart from the flesh-eating microorganisms, the acklays, the sarlacc pit, the angry natives, the temperature, the angrier natives, the rancors, the smell, the fungal spores...hell of a place to raise a kid, Aer. And so far as the council goes, PC players are the way to go, if only because at the end of the day, someone is going to have to write the council. Making it a PC group instead of an NPC writer lording over all things Jedi should help circumvent the issues that will inevitably arise, even if it doesn't stop them outright.
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Post by The Shepherd on Dec 4, 2015 2:08:48 GMT -8
"Indeed he shall."
Rutil nodded in affirmation, making a point to ensure that Bix knew that the Zabrak Jedi would have no part in the negotiations. Not that anybody would have wanted him there; by now, everyone knew that Rutil was no diplomat, despite his success at rallying the Hapans to Kashyyyk. Further, while his question was meant with the best of intentions, anybody that had spent an hour with the Jedi Master would know that he would just as soon snap the rebel leader's neck and put an end to the rebellion, just as the man petitioning them for help should have done. Besides, Rutil was already enlisted in a different battle, with a far more powerful foe. For all he knew, saving a few thousand on the rain-soaked world would mean being unable to save a few million on the other side of the galaxy. And between the two, the choice was obvious.
"Excuse me."
With a small nod to both parties, the gruff Jedi Master turned and strode out of the council chambers, crossing the chamber and vanishing around the first corner.
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Post by The Shepherd on Dec 2, 2015 16:13:34 GMT -8
"And the convictions of their own leaders as well, it would seem."
Rutil barely acknowledged Master Bix, either to condone his actions or condemn his intrusion; while he had been meditating (as best as he had ever been able to, anyway), the Zabrak knew he was little more than a guest on Felucia, and an increasingly unwelcome one at that. Bix had far more right to be there than Rutil did, and the Jabiimite was probably far more personable than the horned Jedi Master. As such, the interruption wasn't something he would do much to complain about. If anything, it had given Rutil an opportunity to practice his new skills; Rutil had always been a combatant, and until very recently the idea of sneaking around the enemy's defenses seemed almost cowardly. But the crusade was in full swing. The war was far from over. And the Zabrak was not about to discout what had quickly proven to be a very effective weapon in his arsenal.
"I've no doubt," Rutil began, "that the Jedi will assist you however they can. I know Master Calmcacil leads a strong military force. I know he has strong connections to excellent mercenaries as well. I can personally vouch for them both.
"But I have to ask," the Zabrak continued, approaching the long-haired Jedi Master, "you have the man surrounded in his compound after...what was it? Four years of war? You truly believe diplomacy is still on the table?"
As blunt as Rutil was, the questions weren't meant to cut his fellow Jedi to ribbons. They were questions not of morality or of ethics, but of simple realism and practicality; going solely on what the newcomer was telling them, the broken-horned Jedi simply couldn't see how there was a peaceful resolution that didn't involve signing a treaty at the point of a lightsaber. The sentiment could be appreciated. Hell, there was a peculiar beauty in the notion. But to suggest such a thing, the Jabiimite was either horrifically naive or knew something he wasn't sharing with Bix.
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The Shepherd
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Post by The Shepherd on Nov 29, 2015 20:40:35 GMT -8
"Like your father's own?"
Standing in the shadows in the far corner of the council chamber, Rutil Iorek stepped into the light. He was a tall man, easily a head taller than the Jedi Lord, and strode forward with an unmatched power in his steps. He, more than the Jedi Lord, looked ready for war; rather than the light and functional saffron robes he had worn most of his life, the Zabrak's tunic was now a much darker brown color, covered in areas by durasteel plate armor. Yet for all the metal he wore, only now did the Jedi Master's footfalls become audible.
Inwardly, he was ecstatic that his practice in various stealth arts had progressed so far in so short a time. But only contempt was expressed in the Jedi's scarred, wrinkled, gargoyle-like face.
"Forgive me, sir," the Zabrak said, his voice as rough as his skin, "I couldn't help but overhear."
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The Shepherd
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Post by The Shepherd on Nov 29, 2015 11:41:07 GMT -8
We need an HQ at the very least. How we manage communication after that is easy enough, be it holograms as Stevan suggested or great big conventions or maybe a Jedi Weekly magazine, but there's gotta be some kind of palpable, solid base of operations here. The location doesn't matter too terribly much; Coruscant's dead, Yavin might actually serve better as something of a ruin post-Mando War (but that's me tooting my 'let player actions affect worlds and build history' horn), yadda yadda, so Felucia's really as good a place as any if you don't mind the glowing fungus everywhere.
Besides, we don't have the numbers we used to, basic fact. Getting us all in together would go a ways towards an actual unified order.
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Post by The Shepherd on Nov 23, 2015 20:21:51 GMT -8
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Post by The Shepherd on Nov 15, 2015 21:28:57 GMT -8
There was no follow-up communication. The Spearhead simply received docking instructions from her crew's counterparts on the Contrador and followed them to the letter. Once the seal had been made, the airlock doors opened, and the prisoners walked single-file into the custody of their new wardens. The Sith - the proper Force-wielding masters of the Kashyyyk branch - led the way, their iconic weapons stripped from them. Following behind were their foot soldiers, their pistols and rifles locked away. One by one, they boarded the Battle Dragon. One by one, the relief washed over them as they left the accursed corvette.
And one by one, surely, they would realize that their Zabrak captor was merely ensuring someone else got their hands dirty.
When the last prisoner was on the Hapan warship, the Spearhead undocked and raced for the edge of Kashyyyk's gravity well, jumping to hyperspace not long afterwards.
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Post by The Shepherd on Nov 15, 2015 19:10:30 GMT -8
It was quiet in the council chamber. Still. Empty. Rutil liked it that way; on Felucia, a planet teeming with life in seemingly every nook and cranny, peace and quiet was hard to come by. Even the base's archives were far too loud for his liking. But there was a council chamber here. There was not, however, a council with which to fill it. As such, chairs remained unused, and the stillness of this near-total lack of use provided a peace that finally allowed the Zabrak Jedi Master to collect his thoughts in relative peace.
Rutil sat, leaned back, his gnarled chin resting between his index finger and his thumb as his mind tore through his thoughts, themselves a jungle that could rival the planet beneath his feet. Thule had been empty, according to Marris's report. Korriban had been empty. Kashyyyk had fallen, true, but that had been the only true stronghold left. The Sith were not gone from the galaxy; even now, Rutil could feel their presence staining the immaculate fabric of the galaxy, darkening every star in the sky. But they had gone to ground, and buried themselves so deep as to once again be seemingly extinct. Some would have given up the hunt. Some others would have even claimed victory. But Rutil knew, more than most, that in order to stop a weed, it had to be pulled out at the root. He had no doubt that they were still out there. And he knew, deep in his bones, that they were preparing for something truly malicious. If nothing else, the monstrosity with the phrik arm and the adamant refusal to die was still out there, and he still had to answer for the forty-odd villagers and countless Gungans on Naboo.
The Zabrak shifted in his seat, still uncomfortable. His tunic and pants remained, but his outer robe had been replaced by a durasteel breastplate and pauldrons, with the sleeves and legs rolled into respective gauntlets and greaves. But as he managed to find something relatively comfortable once more, he noticed that he felt a mild tiredness in addition to the discomfort. He had felt so powerful during the Kashyyyk campaign. Like nothing could have stood in his way. He had felt that ever since he faced off with the Sith on Naboo. But since the battle had been won, the strength that had coursed through his veins was little more than a memory. A powerful memory, but an echo nonetheless. In quiet moments, few and far between as they were, Rutil could still feel its tantalizing touch on his skin, brushing against him as he slept. Its taste lingered on his tongue like a fine wine. Its vapors could still be caught on the wind, teasing the Jedi Master. And try as he might, days after the battle had ended, it refused to return to him. When he trained as he always did, Rutil could feel a spark in his aging body, and for a fleeting moment the memory became something more than a wish on a shooting star. But before long, the Jedi Guardian could once again feel the weight of his new durasteel armor, and even the lightsaber in his hand began to feel heavy.
So, with little recourse and nowhere else that was quiet enough, Rutil remained in the council chamber of the Felucia conclave, ruminating on the galaxy's seemingly complete lack of Sith in something as close to meditation as he had ever been able to manage.
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The Shepherd
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Post by The Shepherd on Nov 15, 2015 18:06:14 GMT -8
I.
AM.
READY.
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