[FIC] Star Wars KOTOR: Vendetta

[Salzella]

A new one i've started while trying to think of ideas for Covenant. It's a different style of story, and it messes with the canonized storyline of KOTOR, so don't expect everything to go as it does in the games...

[Salzella]

Star Wars Knights of the Old Republic:

Vendetta

 

Prologue

 

He stood at the back of the crowd of young Jedi, drinking in every word as they were, but not getting drawn into the passion and excitement of the occasion. Most of the onlookers were Padawans, many were apprentices and a few were even Knights. He was one of the apprentices. He was approaching the age at which he would be released from his apprenticeship, and if a Knight or Master took him as their Padawan Learner, he would finally be on the path of a Jedi. And yet, they were always preaching at him to keep his mind on the present, though he found that difficult at the best of times. He was strong in the Force, but not unusually so. In his training he had shown a cold, detached incisiveness uncommon in a raw apprentice. He was not so arrogant as most of his peers, but he was, in his own way, more confident in his ability than any of them. He was quiet, diligent, and mostly apparently un-noticed. But he was strong, in the mind and body, and the Masters had taken notes, marked him as someone with a future. What that future was exactly, it was impossible to say, and it was at a crossroads at this moment, in this building.

 

Revan talked sense, any fool could see that. Any fool could see that if the savage Mandalorians were not stopped then there would be very little left of the Outer Rim for the Republic. The Jedi Masters were stalling, she was saying, stalling because they are scared and indecisive. But they could not afford to stall. Already Cathar, Onderon and numerous other planets had fallen beneath the fleets of Mandalorian battleships and Basilisk war droids. The Republic was losing, and losing badly. Two Jedi were now proposing that they split from the Council, knowingly defying them, to save the Republic. After all, Revan argued, that was the original purpose of the Jedi was it not?

 

Their offer was tempting. Many of the Jedi had already joined them, and Revan and Malak were among the most respected of them all. If they went, many would surely follow.

 

Their speech finished to thunderous applause, many of the crowd flocking up to the stage. They would be leaving for the front within the week, they announced.

 

Rolan Averi had made up his mind. He would follow them to war. He had a lot to lose, but so much to gain. If there wasn’t a Republic to be a Jedi Knight in then why would he stay?

 

He jumped down from his ledge, and stalked off to his room, his mind miles away, in the mud of the battlefronts in the Outer Rim. Already he was picturing the scene: the Jedi, returning triumphant to a glorious welcome from the Coruscant populace. He smiled to himself as he looked out over the gleaming metropolis that was Coruscant.

 

 

Packing his things (these consisted of no more than a few small personal items), Rolan was assuaged by sudden doubt. He doubted the Jedi would be accepted readily back in even if they did win the war, and that could mean the end of his Jedi dream. And yet… Revan had been so right in what she was saying. She obviously did not fear the wrath of the council. She probably had her reasons, he thought.

 

Still… there was something not right about it all.

 

Prologue II

 

Two months later…

 

Dxun.

What a grave of a world it was, now made even worse by the stink of death in the air. The Republic had charged the Mandalorian lines, under orders from the General. He had little choice, Rolan understood that, but it was an unnecessary loss of life nonetheless.

 

He ignited his yellow lightsabre, and joined the other Jedi in the assault on the Mandalorian lines. They had dug themselves in like bugs in a hole. But they would smoke them out.

 

Eventually.

 

Prologue III

 

One year later…

 

He watched as Malachor imploded on itself, under the influence of that thing the Zabrak had constructed. It drew in all the Mandalorian ships, and a significant proportion of their own, and crushed them against the planet’s surface, destroying both in one swift, brutal stroke. The explosions rocked them, and the light flashed through his eyes and seemingly out through the back of his head. He watched as the purple and blue dots faded out of his vision, and stared out at the remains of the planet. He just stood, shocked that it had come to this. The Jedi were meant to be noble and pacifist… but then there was this. He felt sickened and conflicted.

 

It was then he decided he wanted to leave. He had to leave, for the sake of his sanity and his life.

 

* * * *

[The_Catto]

Very good so far. I might be wrong, but is this about The Exile? And again, i might be wrong (iin different spelling for different country wise) but it's saber, not sabre. But as i said, it may be because of the different country stuff.

 

But other than that, i thought it to be a great job and i a eagerly awaiting for more.

[Salzella]

Ideas were taken from the story of the Exile, but notice in prologue II there is a reference to the 'General' vis a vis the Exile. Thanks for commenting, much appreciated

[Salzella]

Chapter I

 

The bright, luminous neon signs and adverts were shining through the rain, and throwing strange patterns against the walls; blue, red green, yellow and pink crystals shattered against the semi-corroded metal of the buildings. Occasionally steam spat and hissed when the rain fell on a heater vent, further enhancing the ethereal effect. Now there were strange creatures crawling through the fog, perhaps hunting invisible prey, stalking sightless beasts through the mists.

 

Through this, a man was walking. He was alone, as everyone else was either at home, or more likely, in one of the thousands of cantinas, gambling centers or drinking dens that littered the Coruscant entertainment sectors. The man was walking to get away from the crowds, the smoke and the noise that smothered him whenever he ventured into one of these places. The strange patterns and the muffled noises from the neighboring buildings were strangely comforting, as if telling him what he had escaped from. Here was a man who could not now face loud noises and smoke, and light for any long time without reverting back to the near-delirium which had held him… back when. He didn’t even like to think about those times, much less talk to anyone about them.

 

However, these being some of the darker and deeper areas of the endless cityscape, he could not stay deep in thought for long, or those who were experts at preying on people alone on dark nights would come up behind him…

 

Sure enough, he heard silence, and smelt nothing. He saw deep shadows, deeper than they should be. Someone was trying so hard not to make noise that it was quieter than it should be. A small splash, a splash that sounded like a foot landing in a puddle and being hastily withdraw.

 

Got you…

 

The man carried on walking, staying as casual as he would if he knew not that he was being snuck up on. He was not even thinking about it, and this was his secret. The person sneaking up on him would see no more than a man having a quiet think to himself, unaware of his surroundings or his situation.

 

In a puddle, the man saw a glint coming from one of the shadows.

 

A dagger? Surely not so crude.

 

The man turned right into a damp and musty back alley.

The other followed him.

The other drew his dagger behind him as prepared to slit the stupid one’s throat.

 

He sliced only thin air.

The man had ducked under the slice of the knife, whirled sideways, grabbed the would-be thief’s arm, and slammed him against a wall, hard. He bounced back, straight onto the waiting forehead of the walking man. The thief collapsed, blood trickling from behind one ear. The man crouched over the body, trying to identify him, but it was only out of force of habit. The chances of him recognizing this man were next to nothing.

 

Satisfying himself that the thief was no more important or dangerous than a common thug, he got up again and walked on.

 

He was not attacked again.

 

* * * *

 

When finally the wandering man stopped, it had passed beyond night, and into early morning. He went back to his small apartment in one of thousands of near identical blocks where the less rich of Coruscant’s inhabitants had made their dwellings. It was quiet, but peacefully so. Of course, a city planet as large as Coruscant was never asleep; it was in a state of doze even in the deepest depths of early morning.

 

The man opened the door to his apartment, and looked around at the now-familiar surroundings. He had stayed for a comparatively long time; about two months and counting. It was unspectacular, amenities and comfort-wise, but he was a man of few needs, and it suited him just fine.

 

He took out a roll of thin paper, a handful of some pungent herb from a pouch at his belt, and constructed a rudimentary roll-up. The ‘herb’ was actually an altered spice, straight from Kessel and very hard to get hold of. It had no massive effect on the mind, but as with most drugs of it’s type, it was calming, and the man needed a lot of that nowadays. The roll-up, when lit, released clouds of rolling blue smoke, with a strong smell of something like strong spice mixed with a natural smell, like spring grass or the smell of rain. It was strangely beguiling.

 

This ceremony done, he loosened his gun belts, and draped them over the back of a chair, and removed his cloak and did the same with that. The sky outside was turning a pale blue, and dawn would not be long in coming. When it did come, he would be leaving this place, as he had done so many times with so many different places in the past years.

 

He had heard the rumours of course. He had heard how the third of the Republic fleet under Revan and Malak’s command had disappeared into the unknown. The galaxy presumed them lost in some tragic accident. But somehow, it didn’t really matter to him now. It was all so far away, and he was leading a different life now. A life of solitude, and it had not been an easy one so far, but it had been rewarding, because this man had special skills.

 

He killed Jedi. He was the bounty hunter people went to when they wanted a Jedi captured or killed. Jobs were not very frequent, but when they did appear, they paid well. Very well. Not many people were available for something that demanded such will and dedication.

 

And such hate.

The Jedi had scarred the man. He had once held the common misconceptions about the Jedi. Noble? They hid behind small kindnesses and cryptic words, afraid to look at them for what they were. Pacifists, except when the galaxy was at war. It was this hypocrisy and contradiction that now angered him so, yet he had not seen it when he had been in training.

 

Rolan sat back in his chair and waited for the sunrise that would mark his departure from this place.

 

* * * *

 

The transport was one of those increasingly seen throughout the galaxy in times of war: refugee transports. They were cramped, hot and musty, but they were cheap, and they got you to their destination. Rolan had no other choice anyway, as he was very low on credits.

 

He watched as the cityscape fell away beneath him, and he was overcome by a sense of calm and content, glad to be travelling once again. He was never at peace if he stayed in any one place for too long. He had got a seat at one of the wide, low windows that skirted the edges of the spacecraft, and he could clearly see the bustle of Coruscant, with the swarms of bright speeders, and the sun glinting off the tall buildings and casting long shadows on those beneath. It was an impressive scene, almost intimidating in its liveliness.

 

Of course, where he was going now, it was a stark contrast. The Outer Rim worlds were still ravaged by the war, and rebuilding was slow. They were dead or dying worlds for the most part, but they were still useful in their own way.

 

As for the why he was going… rumours. Rumours that Revan and Malak had been sighted on various worlds spread throughout the Republic. He was trying to find out why. Maybe he would even find Revan and Malak themselves, though it was a long shot. In the end, it may just lead him to the end of his credits and his livelihood, but it was a risk he was willing to take, because it may give him a way to end the Jedi. This was the goal that had been gnawing at him for a long time, to try and find some way to destroy the Jedi Order. Not the Jedi themselves, but the Order, with its deluded teachings and hypocritical masters. It was a lot for one man to accomplish, which was why he was on this hunt in the first place.

 

He had created a small dent in the numbers of the Jedi already. In the five years of his self-imposed exile, he had killed about half a dozen Jedi. This number seemed small to him, but he had gained no limit of respect from fellow scum. They had been clever killings, making the Jedi human. That was, of course, the plan.

 

He noticed he had been joined at the window, by a thin, almost to the point of emaciated young man with curly brown hair, and a small thin moustache, topped off by childish blue eyes. He wore a seemingly permanent faint grin, giving the impression he was more intelligent than he actually was. He noticed Rolan looking across at him.

 

“A strange place, Coruscant, but a rewarding one, if you know where to look,” he said with an impish grin.

 

“Truly, though I admit I’m glad to get away. I didn’t know where to look.”

The man grinned.

 

“Let me guess… you were looking to escape something, I don’t know, a war let’s say. You went to Coruscant, because everyone does basically. You found yourself in the midst of a massive metal jungle, unlike what you had experienced before. You wound up in the slums.”

 

“Close. But I have, in fact, lived in Coruscant before, but that was in the higher up areas, and I didn’t have the credits for it this time. But how did you know all that anyway?”

 

“You have to be perceptive in my line of work.”

 

“And that is?”

 

“Musician,” he said with a glint of the eye, and he tapped one of the two cases on his back. “I find that if I can empathize with my customers, I’m due an extra few credits. I could lay you a tune now, if you like?”

 

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Rolan replied with a grimace.

 

“You’re not a music fan?”

 

“Safe to say, yeah.”

 

“Suit yourself.” He proceeded to strum quietly to himself on the strange instrument, which resembled five pipes, laced all round with holes, and with strings showing near the bottom. It looked immensely complex to play.

 

“What’s your name?” Rolan asked the musician.

 

“Iacen.”

 

He continued playing. Rolan nodded to himself, and sat back in his chair, trying against all the odds to make himself comfortable. They expected to be on Dantooine within the day.

 

“Why are you going to Dantooine, if I may ask?”

 

Rolan looked over at the musician.

 

“It’s just, you don’t look like a nerf-herder to me, and nobody except farmers and down-on-their-luck travelling musicians ever bother with Dantooine.”

 

Rolan pondered what it would be safe to tell this man. He decided not much.

 

“I’m investigating Jedi artefacts. I’m a historian, of a sort.”

 

“Ah I see. I know a bit about the Jedi myself actually, and I’ll admit I’m finding the travelling musician act somewhat tiresome these days. I wonder if I might accompany you?”

 

“Can you handle a blaster?”

 

“Ah. I see… well I suppose I can, after a fashion. I prefer these myself though, each to their own,” he said, pulling out a pair of Echani vibro-daggers. Rolan’s eyes widened.

 

“You any good with those?”

 

“After a fashion, yes,” responded Iacen with a wink.

 

“Well in that case, glad to have you. What do you now about the Jedi Order?”

 

“Quite a lot. I know they’ve lost numerous Padawans to the dark side, and many more have left due to conflicting philosophies.” Rolan’s eyes narrowed at that. Continuing, Iacen said “I know that Revan and Malak were two of the most promising students in years, Revan especially, but they betrayed the Jedi and disappeared, taking many younger Jedi with them. I also know the Jedi order has been slowly splintering over the years, and I know that half a dozen or so Jedi have disappeared in the last half a decade. This is also how I know you’ve been lying to me.”

 

Rolan’s eyes narrowed further, now giving a warning look.

 

“How did you know?”

 

“I saw the lightsabre in your pack when you opened it. You’re no Jedi, at least not any more, so I put two and two together, if you like.”

 

“OK, very clever. So you know I’m a Jedi killer. So why are you accompanying me knowingly?”

 

“Because I dislike the Jedi. I doubt I dislike them as much as you, or for the same reasons, but nonetheless, I harbour bad feeling towards them. I can see you’re a man hell-bent on doing damage to them, I like that, and to be honest, I have nothing better to do with my life.”

 

“Very well. I can see you’re serious, and I could do with all the help I can get. OK, you’re in. When we get to Dantooine, I’m going to investigate some ruins near the Jedi Enclave, where Revan and Malak were rumoured to be sighted. It’s a tenuous lead, but it’s the best I’ve got.”

 

Iacen nodded, and fell silent as they drew nearer Dantooine.

[Salzella]

Dantooine, by its inhabitant’s own admission, was boring. It was a sparsely populated world, mostly farmers and small-time artisans and merchants. It was, however, steeped in history, and was also extremely secluded and these two factors made it an ideal, and idyllic, location for the Jedi Enclave. Rolan himself had trained here briefly in the early years of his apprenticeship before being transferred to Coruscant, but he was confident of not being recognized, as Jedi looked for the robes and lightsabre, and he had changed so much from the naïve youngster who had trained here.

 

They stepped out of the dusty innards of the refugee ship, and walked down to the settlement. It was large, by Dantooine standards in that it had a small spaceport and a dozen small merchant shops and the like, but Rolan and Iacen could not afford to stop and look around, as they had to catch a shuttle leaving for the enclave within five minutes.

 

That done, it was another stifling hour sitting with very little to do but look at the view and listen to the strangely soothing sound of Iacen strumming away at his strange little instrument. The view on Dantooine was not a spectacular one. It was fields, and blue sky with glaring sun, and the occasional river or cluster of trees or short hills. Looking out though, Rolan knew there was something immensely important buried somewhere in these forsaken fields. Somewhere…

 

He felt himself drifting off the sleep, and did not resist.

 

 

When he awoke, he looked blearily around at his surroundings. They were exactly the same as they had been when they had fallen asleep, with the subtlest of changes. This gave him a turn, but he decided he had better get used to it, because this was Dantooine.

 

He also noticed they were slowing down, approaching a low slung building positioned atop one of the small hillocks the like of which he had seen many times on the way over here. There was something different though, the colours seemed fuller and more vibrant, and there was a sense of freshness around the place. He felt sure that if he were outside the shuttle, he would hear the choruses of birdsong and the running of water over rocks. It was a better awakening than any drug, drink of shower.

 

“We should go and see the Jedi for information. Otherwise we will be flying blind.”

 

“Very well,” replied Iacen with a look of distaste.

 

“Look, I don’t like it any more than you do, but it’s necessary.”

 

”That’s not all of it. You’re enjoying being somewhere strong in the Force again.”

 

Rolan looked sharply at his companion.

 

“You can feel it?”

 

“Anyone can. Anyone, even a non-force sensitive can feel there is a difference in the air around here.”

 

Rolan looked suspiciously at him again, but saw nothing but high-minded innocence. This just deepened his suspicions further, but he said nothing of it.

 

“Let’s go.”

 

Talking to the Jedi and wandering the passageways of the Enclave evinced in him a certain amount of nostalgia, despite his hatred for the Jedi. He had enjoyed his time here, there was no denying it.

 

They talked to Master Dorak (who had always been one of Rolan’s favourite masters) about the ruins, and under the guise of historians and archaeologists, he gave them directions and even a map of the area, and also warnings about the vicious behaviour of the Kath hounds recently.

 

This done, they head out towards a small wooded hillock Dorak had directed them to in their rented speeder. The air was fresh, and the speeder was open-air so the journey was as pleasant as could have been expected.

 

The found the location they had been shown, and disembarked, as the terrain was becoming too rough for the speeder, and it would not help them when they were in the ruins. They were at the base of a small wooded hill, as they had expected, but they could see no sign of the ruins. However, cresting a hill, they could both feel a dark presence, like something sharp and oily against their skin, and they also saw its source, a door made out of a heavy, gun-metal coloured rock, inlaid with strange, archaic symbols. Its design was such that it had closed like the jaw of some gigantic rock beast, its teeth interlocking. It was; however, already open, like it had been forced. Looking through, they could see very little, except shadows overlaid with deeper shadows.

 

“Into the mouth of the beast,” Rolan muttered before squeezing himself through the small gap in the jaw of the beast. Iacen followed somewhat reluctantly.

 

Inside, no longer blinded by the sun outdoors, they could make out a long, low chamber with pillars inscribed with the same strange symbols they had seen on the door lining the walls, and mist was crawling around their feet. At the other end of the hallway was another door, and they cold already see it lead to a squared chamber, again lined with pillars, but the runes were larger and more ornate, suggesting some sort of central chamber. They could faintly make out two pinpricks of red light, but could not make out what they were.

 

Rolan padded forward into what he was now thinking of as the ‘stomach’ of the beast. He could feel the dark energies of this place tangibly now, and it made him extremely uncomfortable. Entering the chamber, he could now clearly see the red lights were to eyes of an ancient droid, bulbous in shape with what he presumed were sensors on top of it’s ‘head’, and three spindly looking legs impossibly holding it up. Rolan could only imagine how long this droid had been here. Probably centuries, if not millennia.

 

Either side, there were two open doors, and the wreckage of two more droids similar to the one in the central chamber. It was then he noticed that the first droid was not even active; it was a ghost of its programming. He tried tapping it with a rock and speaking to it but it made no movement at all. It was as if this place was dead.

 

Perhaps the beast is sleeping…

 

He made himself stop that thought before it started. Yet he could see the truth in this. Maybe the ruins, like the droid, were just dormant, waiting for some provocation to activate. He shuddered violently, and turned to the last door, directly opposite the one they had originally went through. It was larger than the others, and led to another long chamber, again larger and more ornate than the first. It had no apparent exit on the other side, only a small bulbous object implanted in the floor. Rolan’s heart started beating faster. Maybe this was the answer he seeked, at last.

 

The two of them walked slowly down the hallway towards to object on the floor. Drawing nearer, Rolan saw no sign of movement, and his heart sank. He knelt down and brushed some of the dust away, but still it yielded no clue of its function or purpose. Suddenly, when he brushed a panel obscured by dust and muck, it gave a hissing crack, and unfolded, its spikes expanding outwards, creating a web of stone. Reaching it’s zenith, light sprung from all of the tendrils, weaving into what looked like a map of the galaxy.

 

Rolan’s breath came in snatched gasps as he examined the intricate web of light. It appeared to show a series of planets, but other than that it was mysterious. He did, however, recognize it for what it was.

 

“A Star Map,” he whispered reverentially.

 

“A what?” Iacen looked puzzled.

 

“It’s a map, and when complete it shows the location of an ancient weapon, built by the Rakata many millennia ago.”

 

”Weapon?”

 

“Well, not exactly a weapon. More of a… a factory. An immense factory, capable of producing ships and weapons far faster than any normal station. It is fuelled by the dark side of the Force. I’m surprised Revan and Malak knew about it, the Jedi have no knowledge of it.”

 

“Well, two questions spring to the front of my mind. One: Why are you so sure it was Revan and Malak that opened this place, and two: How do you know about it?”

 

“One: I can feel their presence in this place. They are the only people to have set foot in here for thousands of years before us and two: I have travelled to many places a Jedi would not, seen many things a Jedi would have no knowledge of. I gained this particular knowledge from a tome on Korriban, the Sith world.”

 

Iacen nodded. “Have you got what you came for?”

 

“Yes. Now we go to Lehon.”