Fandom Star Wars: Jedi Enclave

[genevys]

Thu-thump. Thu-thump. Thu-thump.

Something throbbed, pulsed with the rhythm of a beating heart. It was warm, enveloping, something one couldn't resist, like the hug of a mother or the comfort of a familiar bed. It was warmth in body and soul.

A pair of small, wrinkled eyes pried themselves open. They found themselves waiting, wanting — in the absence of the warmth, four robed arms instinctively encircled the body they were attached to.

But it was futile. The warmth did not return. The pulsing did not continue. Paymorra was left alone once again.

Around him, his chambers aboard the Star Piercer came into focus. Initially the insectoid couldn't comprehend what he was seeing, but it soon became clear that he was upside down, suspended from the ceiling by his feet. A long, long time ago, his ancestors had done the same thing, when children were born from eggs and his species still had wings. He had no wings now, but the instincts were still there. He was more tempted to push off and fly than he was comfortable with. Paymorra's feet instead left the ceiling slowly, and he glided through the air, reorienting himself with the Force. The floor came to him gently.

As if on cue, a trill came from across the room — the familiar sound of his holocommunicator. Receiving a call this early was never a good thing. Not for someone in his position.

It did not take Paymorra long to adapt to the sudden change in gravity, pushing forward and moving toward the source of the sound. The small and circular device buzzed and flashed with a blue light until a three-fingered hand picked it up and activated it. In the very center of the communicator appeared a projection, from which a long cloak hung and deep, mechanized breaths bellowed. He almost didn't have the time to register who it was.

"My Lord. I didn't expect to hear from you today."

The image flickered. The projection's cloak moved from side to side. "I am not here for pleasantries."

A pang of fear dove through Paymorra's chest. "Very well. Then, how may I be of service?"

"The Emperor is dissatisfied with the Court's lack of Jedi eliminations. As am I, Magistrate." It suddenly pointed, supposedly at Paymorra. "You have become complacent and lazy. I would prefer not to correct this in person."

Paymorra held his breath for a few seconds. His face was unreadable, but he felt his blood running cold. How were they supposed to operate any faster? The Emperor has granted us free rein to use any means necessary, and the Court has carried out this task with efficiency."

He retreated his arm, folding it across his chest with the other one. An impending conflict has been sensed by the Emperor. It is not enough to allow them to flourish under our rule. They must be found and eradicated before they become a threat to us." Another cold, echoed breath.

Paymorra took a few moments to ponder the meaning of his words. "But my Lord, how do we work faster? The Court is already on the hunt for Jedi — what more do you suggest?"

"That is of no concern to me." The projection made a swift motion, as if to swat a fly. "I suggest you correct your tone."

Within a few seconds, the blue figure of Vader disappeared into the holocommunicator and Paymorra was left alone again. His hands moved up to his head, scratching at the leather skin on his head. Had they really been performing poorly? It felt like just the other day, one of the Counts had dragged a Padawan into the headquarters by their feet. But Vader and the Emperor saw things differently. If that's how they felt, there was no arguing against it. He slowly moved his hands down the length of his head before dropping them to his sides. It was a difficult situation. The Magistrate could not personally supervise every Jedi hunted down and destroyed with such efficiency. He was only one insectoid — and a very busy one at that. They must have been able to do something to gain an advantage. Some breadcrumb of information.

Paymorra didn't think for long. A plan had formed by the time he'd grabbed his saber and left the chambers. He made a beeline for his office. Once in the presence of his data terminal, the Magistrate turned on its holocomm system and hailed his admiral.

 

[genevys]

"Connect me with Admiral Raskin."

The data terminal received Paymorra's request, its small screen flashing green for a brief moment. There was a whirl of activation behind him. The Magistrate spun around in his chair to face it. From a cone-shaped projector embedded within the black durasteel floor came Admiral Raskin's image. An aged woman, her features were lined with wrinkles. She held her hands together over a folded leg.

"Good morning, Magistrate," she spoke. If there was any ounce of fear in her being, she did not show it. "How may I be of assistance?"

Paymorra's mandibles clicked together, two pairs of fingers drumming against the arms of his seat. "I need... a bounty hunter," he hissed. "One capable of hunting Jedi. Send an agent to the nearby systems and bring one to my office. Price is not an issue."

He immediately sensed the admiral's curiosity — though she wouldn't dare to question the Magistrate or his authority. A bounty hunter? Whatever for? he could almost hear her thinking.

Admiral Raskin's voice was a bit more reserved this time. "Yes, Magistrate. I shall make arrangements immediately."

"Very good."

The transmission cut, leaving Paymorra alone once more. He relaxed backwards into his seat, thoughts racing, processing Vader's orders. As a hunting force, the Counts were particularly effective, especially when combined with the Viscounts. Their limits had been explored thoroughly — both by the Magistrate and themselves — and yet, it was still not enough. What they needed was outside assistance. A set of fresh eyes. New data to cross-reference against the existing. This was where bounty hunter came in.

Of course, working with bounty hunters always involved risk. A Magistrate had to consider all factors before taking action. But the risk was worth it. Especially if it meant ensuring his Masters' trust and confidence in the Court.

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Aboard the Akalenedat, in the pursuit ship's central hub, occupied only by a lone individual. He sat cross-legged on a flat, worn mat. His T-shaped visor stared at him, between it and him, rested a weapon. An extraordinary weapon in today's galaxy. The Mandalorian sat with his eyes closed. His breathing became that of a smooth, gently flowing river. One that was encased in a bottle.

But soon, the Mandalorian reached deep within, deeper than the bowels of Sarlacc pit's stomach, his hand gripped that bottle and twisted the corkscrew. That contained river, that vein now burst forth flooding the room. He opened himself to the universe, and he allowed it in. He took it in like a parched man drinks water. The Force, this thing which surrounds all life, which he devoted his adolescence to. It sheathed him, carried the mind far, far away from the metal walls that separated him from space-the universe. A tranquility that stilled the hardened warrior's heart. Softening it like a warm hand pressed against snow.

In the living hub of Akalenedat, his articles shifted, twisted in their place. Spurred from their proximity to Kharn. From their connection. The helm inches closer like an inspecting cat. But the saber, this weapon of his, flew. It circled the physical body like a moon orbits a planet. It's been awhile since Kharn has done this. Not the meditation, he's done that plenty of times, but this... release. The freeing of the self-imposed shackles, it's been years.

Alas this did not continue. The door to the hub slid down with mechanical hum. Kharn hears the words of his compatriot and dear battle-brother, Chuka Struk. His mind slithers back into his body, then hooks the freed flow from his body like a thousand fish hooks pierce a single, ginormous body and drag it back into its bottle. His eyes snap open in time to reflexively catch his lightsaber. He looks to Chuka, when he remembers the words that he heard. "Aye, I'll be there in a moment." replied Kharn in their shared Mandalorian tongue.

He sighed as he looked to the lightsaber in front of him. Lost as to what propelled him to meditate like that. "Could it mean something?" He questioned. A foreboding omen of things to come? He depressed the activation button. A blue, shimmering blade shot forth with a sibilant swoosh. The blade thrummed like a heartbeat, before Kharn silenced the blade a second later. He replaced the helmet on his head before noting that it had moved almost to his knees.

"So, what's the message or are we getting a call?" He asked inquisitively.

Grim Wraithe Stjerna

 

[Ashwalker]

As claws tore through the space she had just been occupying, gouging easily into the stone behind, Ker couldn’t help but feel a detached annoyance. Those claws had clearly had more than a full growing season, the creature’s imposing size no doubt forestalling the displays and predators that might otherwise wear them down. Every bit of damage dropped the price, the claws worth at least as much as the meat and hide together.

With a light huff she landed back on her feet, ducking under the backhand followup. Darting back up as it passed she let the force flow deep into her muscles, grabbing onto the creature's limb. Using the creature’s momentum and a truly spectacular amount of effort she threw it off its haunches. She took a moment to breathe as its back slammed into the rockface of the canyon, but then a moment later she was leaping back as it rolled to its feet and tried to bite her in half.

Despite being in hiding and the difficulties that added to her further training and study, she knew she was stronger than she had ever been. Her body sang with the effort of the hunt and the run, and so too her ability to fight had only grown. The first time she had hunted one of these creatures she had been all but disemboweled, and had rendered it useless for sale via too many obvious lightsaber marks to carve away. Too used to sparring with other sabers and battling blaster users, too adapted to preying on their weaknesses.

Yet her style could adapt, because where she had mistaken it for simply preying on the expectations of more conventional fighting styles, the true way she fought at the heart of things was through understanding an opponent and picking them apart. She watched the beast rear onto its haunches and swipe at her again, flipping away and letting it sweep through the clean canyon air. This opponent wasn’t anywhere near sapient, but she still knew what it expected, how it would move, and there it was, the decisive moment. Frustrated by her evasion it lunged forwards as she landed, intent on snapping its teeth closed in her flesh. She moved as if stumbling back, delaying the fall to the last moment as the fur on the creature's jaw nearly brushed against her face. The moment her at last, her saber ignited, the blade sinking in through the soft palate of its skull and directly into its brain.

She landed lightly on the things back as it dropped like a puppet with its strings cut, letting the trance of battle drip away. As she returned to calm she hopped down, moving to prepare the meat with the practice of long habit. She would leave most of it to her buyer, but she took the brain out, forcing herself to make cutting it out a little messy. It was foul, flash-fried and soupy, but it was best that nobody questioned why the creature had what looked like lightsaber marks on it. The brain wasn’t worth much anyway, and she had long ago placated the butcher with mention of another buyer.

As she loaded the carcass onto a borrowed hover-sled she couldn’t help the amused reminiscence as to why. The man had long wanted the skull as well, apparently the same rich fools willing to spend exorbitant sums on the meat wanted trophies. In the beginning though she wasn’t yet good enough to leave the skull largely undamaged. When later she had gone to him and made up some explanation about a mystery buyer now only wanting the brain, he was too happy to ask many questions. She smiled to herself as she pulled the sled along, keeping aware, but letting the hunt’s satisfaction creep in.

—​

She arrived back in town with dusk soon to encroach, heading directly over to the butcher’s shop. The man’s eyes lit up when he saw her, or more accurately her cargo, with credit symbols all but flashing in his pupils. He called out, voice boisterous, “Ah, the mighty hunter returns! With another intact skull no less. You didn’t even dent the sled!”

That last almost sounded disappointed, and there was a smile in her voice when she responded, “I learn from my mistakes old man, I’ve finally paid off the repair costs you kept docking my pay for, and I have no intention of taking that kind of hit to my budget again. Now come on, you know the deal.”

With an only mildly reluctant sigh, which she viewed as an improvement, the man drew a credit chit from his shirt, tossing it her way. She caught it without issue, used to his ways. These days she didn’t even bother to check it, the man was cheap, but he was honest. When he spoke his voice was full of performative angst, “Oh how you wound me, clawing the lifeblood from me.”

Her voice grew if anything more amused when she responded, “Wound your wallet maybe. You’ll get over it when you break the beast down and start selling it off. Besides, what would your wallet do without me?”

The man gained a smile of his own, sardonic as it may have been, as he took the sled and began to move it into the back. His voice was friendly when he spoke, “Wallow in obscurity and hunger no doubt. At the very least be forced to pay out to far less competent hunters. No indeed, you don’t need to worry about our working relationship. You know the deal, that was up-front pay for the hide, the meat, and the viscera. Standard pay included for the skeleton, and since you brought it intact again I’ll cut you in on the skull if I get a buyer. You have a good night now Era.”

Waving him off with a faint smile, she set off on her own errands. She wasn’t quite used to the false name still, but it was necessary. At least this place was backwater enough that she didn’t need to worry about having official accounts or registering with anything. Barter and hard credits still held sway here. Still, she had a few places to stop, and not much daylight left. She visited a grocer, picking up a good amount of cheap ingredients, and exchanging some herbs she had brought back for even more. Next she stopped by a general store, picking up a new light, and last she stopped by a food stall, picking up a few boxes of miscellaneous fried meats and grains en masse as a treat.

It was a risk to bring so much back, but she leaned on her sense of the force and the creeping shadows of dusk to duck into an alley and lose any wandering eyes. She arrived at the warehouse they used as a shelter for those not living independently and meeting place, stowing away the groceries, and setting out the fresh food in the communal space. Uncertain who all was around she called out, “I brought back food!”

Turning to her last purchase she looked up at the rafters above, specifically at the defective light bay above the place people ate. Flickering and dim, replacing it had been part of why she set out today. It was off now, but they would need light to eat soon. With a moment’s concentration and no longer needing to fear using the force now that she was no longer in public, she leapt up, grabbing onto a rafter next to the lights with her right hand.

Not even needing the force to augment her strength for the moment she simply held herself steady as she reached out with her left hand. She removed the light fixture and threw it aside, using the force to ease its landing. In turn she pulled the new lights to her, replacing them with a careful hand. Hopefully somebody down below would turn them on, in the meantime she pulled herself even further up, perching atop the rafters. When she called out down below, not bothering to check if anyone had arrived her voice was distracted, “I’m going to check the wiring up here, don’t mind me, I’ll be down shortly.”

Spoiler: Details

Open to any of the jedi associated folks to show up.

 

[Grim Wraithe Stjerna]

In the cargo/loading bay of his ship; The Akalenedat, which translated into basic as Hard Contact, the armored warrior shook his head. Letting out a long slow breath as he put his helmet on, giving it a slight twist to lock it in place, a small high pitched whine/hiss announced a positive air seal and then grabbed his Vibro Double-blade along with a blaster training droid. This was of the type used to teach Jedi and Sith to deflect blaster bolts.

Programming it to circle him and fire at random altitudes and intervals with a half power setting. Enough to sting, but not cause lethal damage. The cortosis-weave in the blade would allow him to deflect blaster bolts as well as parry lightsaber blades, with the added benefit of a greater then even chances of shorting out the lightsaber as well.

When he was ready he tossed the droid into the air, it hissed and darted about changing height and speed. Chuka thumbed the activation stud on his chosen weapon. The double-blade springing to life in his hand with a metallic schickt and twang. It twirled between the armored gauntlets as he got the feeling for it's balance, just as the droid fired the first bolt. He quickly brought the blades swinging down to deflect the bolt away.

Low and to his left.

The droid hissed and spat changing directions, firing two bolts in rapid succession. Reacting as fast as he could he got a good deflection on the first, which went high to right. But barely got the second blade into position and only just made it miss his leg.

After half of a standard hour, Chuka was into his rhythm, dodging and deflecting blaster bolts. He was so engrossed in training that when a priority incoming message notice beeps in and flashes across his visor, he stumbles and misses a bolt he was trying to dodge and deflect. The warrior stands straight and tall as he feels the sting in his ass as the energy burns and dissipates. "Druk Blasted Shab Right in the Kriffing Shebs!" His words echoing through the cargobay, and no doubt the ship. Almost dropping his blade he hopped about for a moment before calming down and shutting the droid off.

Truth be told the injury wasn't serious at all, it was more of a very annoying burn rather then a true wound, but it effected his left hip and entire upper left portion of his shebs. So he would be able to hunt and fight just fine once he was able to treat it, but since it had only happened moments ago the opportunity hadn't come about yet.

Half stomping, half trudging he moved to the lounge area where is Vod, or brother was... Sound whatever it was that he did, sitting quietly and breathing slowly and communing with the universe. Pounding on the hatch frame he called out, trying to hide the irritating pain he felt is his left hip. "Vi ganar a be'sol Jor'chaajir." (We have a priority call.)

"Aye, I'll be there in a moment."

Chuka stumped to the cockpit and settled into the secondary chair and activated the comm unit. Just as Kharn asked.

"So, what's the message or are we getting a call?"

"Let's find out." Wether it was a live transmission or a holomessage it would flicker into being before both Mandalorians.

Worthlessplebian genevys

 

[Remembrance]

The mild sun beat down on the arid lands of Bekara, casting a soft and warm glow on the droid's chassis. It highlighted the burns and dents it has suffered through. Although once sleek and pristine, the cold gray armor plating bore marks of struggle and battle. Adorning its surface, burns and pockmarks served as medals of honor or badges of service. It had fought and lived. It survived what many other droids did not. Despite the wear and tear on its systems, the droid was nonetheless as efficient as it could be in its current situation. No doubt weathered, the bright red photoreceptors still gleamed with a higher intelligence.

A companion to the arid wasteland, sand had found its detestable way into the IG's joints and under its thick plating. It clung like barnacles to an oversized aquatic mammal or fungi to a rotting carcass of a tree. In spite of lacking tactile function, a capacity not yet invented for droids, the tiny molecules of dirt piling up seemed to send distressed signals throughout its vast circuitry. The wind whistled as it passed the peaks and creaks of the vast expanse. The droid trudged forward, each step accompanied by a slight jerk in its motors. Lacking its original grace, the IG resembles a more decrepit droid than a combat machine. A result of its own neglect and the general lack of maintenance performed on its interior mechanisms.

Time is an irrelevant part of a droid's life. Unless given an objective that is time-sensitive, it needn't care about where the sun resides in the sky or how many times it passes by. Keeping its energy usage low, its keen transceivers picked up the faintest of sounds in the distance. The droid approached the town from a heat haze, its undetermined population seemingly scarce of passerbys. Wires shot echoes of power throughout its interior, the droid could almost hear how its processors churned as it took in the information available. It observed the deserted streets; the closed down storefronts; the utter lack of its own kind.

It entered the town with no hesitation, whatever would come, it could handle. The IG's imposing presence cast an indifferent shadow over the abandoned streets. The silence was deafening. Only broken by the distant howl and kick of wind. An unspoken questioned arose and lingered inbetween the dense circuitry - what had happened? A general question, mostly rhetorical, coming from the droid. Photoreceptors scanned the stained ferrocrete buildings, looking for any sign of activity. It saw no blaster marks, no blood, no bodies. No sign of any violence at all. It confused the intelligent matrices. The same way it could stump a biological mind, the droid's computer could not calculate an answer.

The wind whispered tales of lost stories, and as the droid tended to its own maintenance, it attempted to relive the battles it thought it fought. Though, no matter how far it reached into the depths of its mechanisms, it could not relive anything before the factory's untimely destruction. With each rivet tightened and every scratch polished, the combat droid honed its exterior, reinforcing its aura of resilience and lethal intent. It could not reach its former prime, nor be any more efficient than it already was, but it could at least reach a peak in this expansive and dull planet. Keeping a photoreceptor and transceiver open, it listened to the wind to hear if it brought any news.