Dawn of Defiance: Buffalo NY

A Tale Called Tull (Part 2)

“Tull, what is strength?”

“This grandmother!” the young Barabel exclaimed, flexing his large frame.

“And nothing else?”

“What other strength is there grandmother?”

The matron Barabel slowly shook her head with a small smile. “You young ones focus so much on how hard you can hit something that you never stop to think there can be strength in more than a closed fist.”

“What do you mean grandmother?”

“When a great hunter slays a Durgolosk in the great jungles does he use only his fists?”

“No, he uses weapons, and traps, and skill. You must lure a Durg to where you wish to fight. You must get it where it is weak and strike. Only this way can the small kill the large.”

“Exactly. A mind has as much strength as a fist my dear Tull.”

“Tull is not the best with plans and traps. Tull is good at crushing things grandmother.”

“And perhaps you will never have the skills others will dear Tull, but this one says this not to show you a weakness in you, but the strength in others. True strength comes from many places Tull. A fist is just one.”

“Tull thinks he understands grandmother.” said Tull, not truly understanding.

In fact Tull would go many years without understanding what his grandmother meant to show him that day. His grandmother would die. His freedom would be stolen. He would crush numberless opponents beneath his fists. Still, Tull knew nothing more of strength than his own fists.

Hundreds would fall before Tull in the ring. Most would die. Tull became a monster, a demon people used to scare their children. Back then Tull was every bit the monster he looked. Tull wished to be the strongest, and he knew the only way to gain strength was through battle.

But one day Tull’s life changed. He was freed from his bonds by a group of people that had more strength than anything Tull had ever seen before: A man in complete control of his own destiny, a Jedi Wizard who was both killer and saint. A Duros who was more alive in a ship than on land. A machinist who could give life to the lifeless. These people had strength that was more than just hitting something harder than it could hit you.

A few hours with these people started to make Tull think of his grandmother and what she had taught him. Tull valued strength above all else, but did he truly know what strength was? Tull wished to be the strongest man alive, but could anyone ever truly be the strongest? Tull would never fly ships, or repair machines, or use magic, or a lot of things, and Tull would always be weak in these things. All Tull could do was hit things. Maybe that didn’t matter though. Maybe true strength is to know when you aren’t strong. And if one is weak, maybe it takes others to find true strength.

With friends like this

Pirates. The group seemed to be attracting them like some kind of massive magnet of death. Carson tried his best to aid the fight, but Bariss seemed to need no help taking out the capital ship that moments ago had been the biggest threat to their survival. It was rather impressive, he thought, as the ship exploded in an awe inspiring fireball. Amidst the lashes of fire and molten durasteel, a handful of escape pods appeared. “ Someone survived that?” Carson asked himself in amazement. Kelyn quickly hopped on the comms to talk with the survivors. Carson swore he heard Kelyn joke about blowing the escape pods out of the sky but figured it was another figment of his imagination. He couldn’t help but wonder if he had inhaled some strange fungus in the Fungus Brothers shop. Mere seconds later, the ships point defense turret opened fire, ripping through one of the escape pods. “Guys! I got him!” Fenn yelled over the intercom. Carson pushed back a wave of disgust and began trying to disable the ships lasers. At least he could delay more wanton death. Kelyn began to curse intermittently, staring at an escape pod on his screen. “Carson, what the hell are you doing over there?” Kelyn yelled. Carson didn’t bother to acknowledge it. Hopefully it would at least keep more of the escape pods from becoming space junk. Kelyn swiftly disabled his terminal. Suddenly, the door to the bridge glided open. Tor stormed onto the bridge. “What did you DO?” he snarled at Kelyn. A weight hung about the air and Carson began to wonder if the empire was really the greatest threat to them. The pair continued to argue. Tor standing in defense of the sanctity of life, while Kelyn insisted he hadn’t ordered any killing. In a blaze of emotion that Carson had hoped not to see again, Tor stormed off the bridge for the reactor core of the ship. His parting words struck Kelyn like an arrow to the heart. Carson moved quickly to try and stop the Caamasi Jedi from letting his baser instincts. They had all fought and bled together through countless battles, but this blind rage may lead them all to their doom. Carson hurried through the airlock, hoping to talk the Jedi out of it. The doors slammed shut behind them. “You’re going to kill all of them Tor!” Kelyn warned. Carson hurried after Tor, partly in self preservation of himself, partly to uphold the ideals that he had been trying to keep alive since Castell’s rebellion. He thought of Kelyn, Bariss and the rest of the party and all they had suffered through. It couldn’t end this way, could it?

Reflections from Tor part 32
This post is going to lead directly into a reflection regarding the side session, but I won't post it until after the next session

Tor sat in front of a console in the cockpit of the Spelljammer, Carson at another console and Kelyn in the captain’s chair as the ship drifted closer to the massive mandalorian cruiser ahead of them, the pirate captain’s voice demanding surrender over the com.

The voice turned to static and from the corner of his eye Tor saw a fireball blossom in the void of space. Turning, his eyes widening, Tor watched as the flames grew to engulf the entire ship, the durasteel cracking apart as the ship was destroyed, tiny bits of shrapnel pinging off the Spelljammer’s shields.

Tor blinked in amazement as Kelyn answered a call from some escape pods that had made it out of the blast, instructing them that he would pick them up. Tor swiveled his chair and stood up, moving towards the back of the ship to meet their new passengers.

He walked into the cargo hold as two escape pods came to a screeching rest on the deck. One of them burst open and a towering barabel clambered out, his tail slithering out and thumping loudly onto the floor. The other pod opened and a female cathar walked out lithely.

The barabel bared his teeth as soon as the feline got out of the pod and thumped his chest. “Tull!” he exclaimed. The giant reptile pointed to the cathar. “Pirate!” he yelled.

Tor turned and extended a hand towards the cathar, stunning her. She stumbled and shook her head to clear her mind as she tried to stagger towards the cockpit. Tull roared as both he and Tor chased after her. The barabel threw out a fist and the cathar dropped just as Tor felt a wave of darkness wash over him.

He clutched his head and gritted his teeth as he felt several lives blink out of existence nearby. Tor could hear Kelyn’s laugh echo through the ship. His eyes narrowed and he stood, glaring through the bulkheads as if they were transparisteel.

He turned to Tull who stood over the downed cathar. “Can I trust you to take care of her?” Tor said, already moving towards the cockpit.

“You want Tull kill her?” the large reptile asked.

“NO!” Tor exclaimed. “Don’t kill her! Just make sure that she doesn’t go anywhere.” Tull nodded but Tor barely saw it as he rushed to the cockpit. He spun Kelyn’s chair to face him.

“What did you DO?!” Tor bellowed. He could feel the dark cloud lingering in the ship, feel its influence worming its way into his actions.

Kelyn laughed off Tor’s scolding, turning back to his console. Tor spun the chair around again. “You killed them! You! You gave the order and killed innocent people!”

“I was joking,” the scoundrel said, shrugging. “I wasn’t serious. Fenn doesn’t have any obligation to obey me.”

“You’ve brought more darkness upon us,” Tor shot back. “Don’t you realize what this is doing to us?”

Kelyn snorted. “They don’t mean anything to me,” he said, spreading his arms.

Tor shook his head and looked into Kelyn’s eyes.

The eyes of his friend.

Tor searched, trying desperately to find something in them.

A calm settled over him and he slowly nodded. “Fine, Kelyn,” he said, turning away. “You threaten something that I care about?” Tor made towards the door to the cockpit, Carson starting up from his chair as well. “Then I’ll threaten something you care about.”

“Tor! Don’t do it! TOR!”

It’s gone too far, Tor thought as he approached the door.

He’s gone too far. It has to stop. They have to see.

He has to see.

Tor passed through the cockpit door, Carson hot on his heels. As soon as they were through, the door slammed shut, followed by all of the blast doors ringing the central area of the ship. Ahead of him, Tor glimpsed the odd power core of the ship before the blast door sealed off the room. Off to the side, Tull stood, clearly puzzled, the cathar slung over his bulky shoulder.

“TOR!” Kelyn’s voice called over the comm. “Stay away from my father’s engine! Don’t do it!”

Tor’s stride didn’t falter as he moved in front of the engine room door. He could hear panic, true panic and uncertainty beginning to enter Kelyn’s voice.

He reached for his lightsaber and slowly pulled it from the holster he’d bought on Ryloth. He held it in his hand for a moment and then turned his head to face one of the Spelljammer’s security cameras. He knew Kelyn was watching.

“I’m sorry Kelyn. You’ve forced my hand.” The lightsaber ignited in Tor’s hand and plunged into the heavy blast door, the snap-hiss of the blade and sizzle of its contact with the door partially drowned out by Kelyn’s yell, almost as if Tor had plunged the blade into Kelyn’s own flesh.

“NO! Tor, stop! I’ll open the hatch, blow you all out into space! You’ll be killing innocents!”

Kelyn’s voice faded as Tor continued to slowly move the blade through the thick durasteel.

Tor’s comlink buzzed and he clicked it on. Khalic’s young voice sounded startled as he asked what Tor was doing.

“Proving a point,” he said clicking off the comlink, his mouth set in a hard line.

Rama was next, the conversation lasting just as long, Kelyn’s voice still muffled in the background. Tor clicked off the comlink again.

From near the couch by the cockpit, a voice broke through Tor’s reverie.

“You! Sith wizard!” Tull called. “You are powerful. Tull help you.”

“What?” Tor said. His blade faltered, his grip loosening.

Sith wizard? The words shot through Tor’s mind like a blaster bolt.

“I’m not a Sith,” Tor said, returning his attention to the door. “I am not a Sith. This…this has to be done.” Tor’s blade met the door again and Tull moved back to the couch and grabbed hold as Kelyn continued to threaten to open the airlock.

Sith wizard?

Tor continued to cut.

“It’s going to happen, Tor!” Kelyn’s voice, muffled despite that he was clearly shouting.

Tor continued to cut.

He could hear alarms now, warnings that the airlock was going to be opened.

Tor continued to cut.

Kelyn’s voice, softer than it had ever been called out, quietly, like a feather falling, and yet it rang loud and clear in Tor’s head, every other noise seeming to stop. “Don’t make me do this, Tor.”

Sith wizard?

Tor continued to cut.

The airlock hissed and clicked. And stopped. Something had broken. A small hiss of air trailed into space, but the airlock remained otherwise sealed.

All the noises faded into nothing. The alarms, the air, the sizzling and popping of the lightsaber…Kelyn’s pained voice over the intercom. All that existed was the icy blue light of Tor’s lightsaber mixed with the orange glow of the melting door.

Tor continued to cut.

Sith wizard?

The words echoed again.

Sith wizard.

Tor continued to cut.

Sith wizard…

Bariss Piloting Mezerel and Happiness

Exiting hyperspace to Hosk in ten minutes, I make sure Happiness is connected with Mezerel, get into my flight suit, and head to Spelljammer’s bridge while N3MO remains in the hangar and readies his own way. Simple preparations for every time we exit hyperspace ever since the first time we practically flew right into a Star Destroyer. The brilliant lines of passing stars turn to dots of hope as the Spelljammer slows to sub light speed a safe distance from Hosk, the planet where Inquisitor Draco is vacationing, or so out jokes go. Before we even see the planet red cannon bolts flashed by Spelljammer’s eyes and the same went for the Defiant. They were warning shots that came from a Mandalorian cruiser about fifteen sectors of space away, it was aged but still more powerful than the Spelljammer and Defiant combined. We were hailed over the open comm channels by a Captain Redjack, leader of the Red Fury Pirates, “Power down your cannons, cut your engines, and prepare to be boarded!”

“Boarded? Heh, they don’t want to all out destroy us…yet,” I thought as I ran to Mezerel and opened the private party comlink, “Kelyn, get me closer I have a plan. N3MO get in Mezerel.”

I quickly go from the bridge, down the corridor, and into Mezerel’s berth where I see N3MO in the gunner’s position waiting for me. Apparently I wasn’t the only one with a plan, before I could get off of the Spelljammer’s flight deck I heard Rama preparing to be tractor beamed over to the Mandalorian cruiser’s hangar bay.

“Rama, what are you doing?”

“I’m parleying, going to party!”

That was worth a solid moment of confusion after which I looked behind me to see N3MO’s reaction, he actually shrugged.

“Okay,” I thought as I turned on Ena Inrull and let her music flow through me, soothing. “I’ll use deception to get me exactly where I need to be.”

Mezerel smoothly flew out into the void, the stars greeted us. We began to glide over to in front of the Spelljammer, half a dozen seconds and we’ll be in position. All four of us are calm as we move towards possible doom, it’s good to be in control and Inrull will help me keep it. Kelyn doesn’t sound at ease when he comms me about the pirate captain wanting him to cut Spelljammer’s engines.

“Bariss, do whatever you’re doing now.”

“I need a few more seconds, talk them out of him. You’re persuasive.”

“Well Captain thing is we’ve…”

Kelyn continues his deception, keeping the pirate captain’s attention to him as I get to Spelljammer’s face and power down Mezerel’s forward cannons.

“Okay N3MO, power down your cannons for three seconds.”

“Roger. Roger.”


Mezerel is perfectly aligned with the top of the old Mandalorian cruiser, I see where his shield generator is.


The pirates tractor beam hooks onto the Spelljammer, pulling her closer.


“Aim for the bridge N3MO.”

Mezerel, I’m sorry that I stomped on your accelerator and pulled on your controls to fire the linked proton torpedoes. I’m sorry that your shields were abused by the Mandalorian’s. I’m sorry that the series of explosions that rocked the Mandalorian’s hull created shrapnel and shockwaves that shredded part of your engines. The death throes followed by the immense explosion was glorious, but costly.

We stopped a safe distance from the wreck but Mezerel was still aflame and the gluttonous fire not only continued to consume her but it spread after N3MO, Happiness and I. I tried to save her, galaxy knows I tried. The cockpit opened and I fell upward without gravity and when I used the fire extinguisher to put out some of the burning flame I was pushed away. As I tumbled into space I saw Happiness barely keeping the flames at bay from himself as N3MO walked to the engines slowly smothering the source of the outbreak. N3MO had things under control, I fired my grappling hook and it latched onto Mezerel.

“Time to get back into the fight,” I thought. I did not know how true I was. One Dunelizard streaked by with a scoring hit that damaged Mezerel and N3MO.

“She’s dead in space! No shields, not even piloted! Leave her alone!”

The response was in the form of another Dunelizard with yet another successful attack run. Mezerel lay dying, N3MO switched to his chainsaw and leaped to the first Dunelizard on its second attack. His jetpack made up the distance between the two and his chainsaw forced its way through the cockpit and the coward pilot within, but not before the pirate pilot fired at Mezerel. He killed her. Her death’s explosion sent me tumbling back again except this time the top piece of an R2 unit came with me, Happiness had also perished. I watched as Happiness’ head passed, feeling…hollow. What was left of him was heading to Hosk and would burn up in its atmosphere before long. I had failed twice.

“If I cannot save Mezerel and Happiness then what good am I? How can I protect my family when the day comes?”

Doubts like the darkness that filled the void wash over me, my joints twitching with the light of the galaxy’s stars. N3MO pilots his Dunelizard close to me expecting me to do my damn job, the second Dunelizard is almost back around and I see a third headed our direction. After dragging myself in the two Dunelizards attack, trying to do so as one but they are poorly coordinated and I evade both attacks easily. Adrenaline pushes back into my whole body and mixes in with a rage that originates from my entire being, Ena Inrull is silent. No kid gloves with these scum.

“You’re fighting against an Ace Pilot you pirate fucks! I’m not a wounded and defenseless woman!”

They come for a second round, they’re better this time. After I dodged the first the second was right up on the cockpit, but N3MO saw it coming and pulled energy from the damaged shields to the engine, the subsequent boost had us escape what would have been a devastating hit. The third Dunelizard came under a volley of blue fire as Khalik piloted the Defiant directly into the fight.

“When did you get here,” I wondered as I glanced over to see a familiar Z-95 sprint over from beyond the Mandalorian wreckage and take a pop-shot and destroy the third and then barely flying Dunelizard. “And where the hell were you!”

I quickly looked around to see where everyone else was, but I did not see the Spelljammer.

“…Where’s Kelyn?! The Spelljammer is the biggest ship we’ve got and she’s not even in the fight!”

The music of Ena Inrull, Cyran Foll, and Izzed Nootka were long forgotten by me but I was able to zero my hatred to the right person. The second and now final Dunelizard was close, his mistake. I fired a feint laser blast to get him off balance, and it worked. I shifted lower and accelerated closer to the pirate’s engine scoring

Bariss Thoughts Prisoners

On the two day journey to Hosk I kept busy doing what I could for the Spelljammer. Since Khalik was piloting the Defiant, Kelyn was flying the Spelljammer, Rama was in his stolen Z-95, N3MO was playing with his toys of death and doom, and we were all in hyperspace so I couldn’t exactly get Khalik over to repair the Spelljammer as she should have been. The slavers didn’t do any maintenance on her and their mandatory repairs I swear threatened the skeletal integrity of the “repaired” part of the ship. Then again I’m not a specialized ship engineer, Khalik is. The original hyperdrive being ancient and yet technologically advanced centuries beyond what I’ve seen Khalik messing with aside, everything else I was able to repair and do maintenance on. All this activity mostly kept my mind away from the two prisoners in the Spelljammer’s cells. I knew why we picked them up, that we couldn’t afford Ko’shak to tell Draco that we were coming, that his daughter could figure out where we were going or at least put our faces up on the bounty hunter feed with a location ping on Ryloth. That said neither of them holds information pertinent to our mission aside from the information we’ve already gotten from Ko’shak. What I was worried about was whether or not Tor could prevent their being tortured by Kelyn and/or Rama when we got planet side. Right then Rama was in his Z-95, Kelyn was busy piloting the Spelljammer, and Tor was on guard outside the prisoner’s cells, but that would change soon enough. My only issues with Kelyn and Rama are their treatments to prisoners, I am okay with killing pirates, slavers, Imperials (actual guilty Imperials, not their innocent families and friends), and other low levels of villainy. I don’t agree with torture, especially when Kelyn and Tor can talk an answer out of people.

It was also that ability which Ko’shak had that got me thinking about how to keep him a prisoner versus a threat. I can see us letting his daughter go, she’s a Jacky of several trades and mistress of none, not really dangerous (once this mission is over and we don’t need to worry about our tracks on Ryloth or wherever we dump her), and only cared about her clan and I can respect that. Since her clan has lost its patriarch, and two of its members she’ll be busy keeping the clan where it is. Of course we should check to see if her clan has been destroyed before we let her go, otherwise we could be letting a threat go instead of a businesswoman. Ko’shak, however, knows too much about Tor, has an ability to persuade even Carson to surrender, and is well connected with the Empire as one of their informants (especially with the Inquisitors). That’s three strikes in my datapad, Ko’shak’s staying a prisoner and he’s only leaving in either a body bag or through the rear exit while we’re in space, or re-entry into atmosphere. I don’t think we can even send him to the Resurgence’s prison we’ve sent so many. Soon enough there’ll be enough prisoners to stage a coup onboard. While it may sound paranoid, the Resurgence isn’t a prison ship and the leaders use who they have to work on the ship, like with Kevin. If our team was captured and put to work on a Star Destroyer we could stage a coup and probably succeed to at least damaging the capital ship and escaping.

Inevitably pulling.

Bariss slipped loose from the underbelly of the Spelljammer, spiraling his beloved Z-95 with practiced precision beneath the invisible halo of energy shielding the massive, ancient Mandalorian frigate that served as the home to the Red Fury pirates. From the bridge, they seemed only pinpricks, only tiny quanta of light from his wing-tips, but not a moment later, the great vessel lurched, turned, then exploded in a bright, brief plane of debris.

Rama dodged broken bits of mechanical viscera, jetting his fighter into the aftermath of the explosion to join Bariss, shots blinking between their ships and a handful of Dunelizard fighters that the former Captain Redjack had unleashed to deliver the terms of our surrender, before the abrupt and spectacular shift of fate orchestrated by Bariss with the aid of some subtle but equally impressive engineering genius from Khalik.

Moments ago, we hung in space, options reduced to surrender or suicide. A rightfully arrogant “Cap’n Redjack” appeared on the primary view-screens of the Defiant and the Spelljammer, calmly demanding our surrender. I had begun to glide the Spelljammer forward, in what I hoped would be a stalling maneuver for the scheme to which Bariss had only eluded.

Now, we orbit together and alone over Hosk, victorious before a dispersing field of rubble, naught but a few fighters buzzing about their collapsed host like flies over carrion.

We always win.

Four escape pods blipped upon the face of the Spelljammer sensors. Perhaps it was that thrill of victory, that hubris, that god-feel of dramatic triumph over insurmountable odds. Maybe it was just the usual sociopathic whimsy that had become an integral facet of my character. In any case, I hailed them. One answered.

“Might you be pirates, or poor innocents escaping their tyranny?”

“We’ve no affiliation with those villains! We’re prisoners loosed by fate and your mercy, great sir. We beg you allow us refuge aboard your ship.”

“Uh, we’re a little busy now, but we’ll spin back around later and pick you up, m’kay?”

I kept the comm open. On purpose? I honestly don’t know.

“Fenn, blast them. — Whoops, I mean, so long, guys! We’ll pick you up soon!”

Fenn gleefully clenched his fists around the sticks in the starboard blaster turret, and the tiny pod puffed into a flash of shards and glittering light. I couldn’t help myself. I bellowed a deep, growling laugh that echoed through the confines of the command deck and reverberated through the midship where Tor was accepting the passengers of two other pods that had somehow been graced with our hospitality. I flicked the main controls to swoop down toward the remains of the annihilated pod and its sibling.

Nothing happened.

I turned to my left. “Carson?”

Carson stared at his panel, not bothering to acknowledge me. I’d almost forgotten he was on board, let alone a member of my crew. Now, absent anyone else with any technical skill at any of the ship’s consoles, he’d shut me down.

I silently shook my head as I pulled up the command interface and quickly, deftly disabled his access. I turned slightly, watching him throw up his hands in exasperated surrender as a message popped onto his screen: “Your account has been disabled. Please contact an administrator.”

Chuckling, I began to steer the ship toward my intended destination. Then, he came.

Tor stormed onto the bridge, grabbing the back of my chair and swinging me around to face him.

I grinned. “Hey there, buddy! What’s up?”

“What’s up? What’s UP? What did you DO?” His face burned red with rage. For a Jedi, he wasn’t very good at controlling his feelings, even with that furry masque of his species.

I swirled the chair back around and tapped idly at the controls, purely to seem as if I were busy ignoring him. “Don’t know what you mean, brother. I’m just piloting us through the aftermath of that spectacle of a kersplosion, courtesy of comrade Bariss.”

My chair spun about again to meet Tor’s glare. I rose, close before him, his snorting visage redolent with the whiskey musk of his race.

“Look. I was joking. I told Fenn to blast them. I wasn’t serious.”

YOU gave the order! You ORDERED Fenn to kill them! Do you know what this means to me, to you — to all of us? You’ve brought darkness upon us!”

I snorted dismissively. “This isn’t a military vessel, Tor. Fenn wouldn’t be under any obligation unless by honor, IF he were a pilot — and he’s not. He’s just sitting in the turret like a monkey, eager to blow things out of the blackwater of the void.”

YOU. YOU did it.” He paused a moment, a relative calm coming over him — but only relative, like a conflagration briefly wavering its flames in choreographed, deceptive repose. Then he turned, speaking as he exited toward the rear of the ship.

“You don’t care about taking lives? About taking the precious…” His intended speech drifted off slightly. “Well, I’ll just have to destroy something you care about.”

Sour, burning rage fired up through my gut and out my throat. “NO! Don’t do it, Tor!”

I knew where he was headed. Quickly, I dropped onto my chair and swung to the controls, tapping my commands, muscle memory linked to the ship. I saw Carson out of the corner of my eye, rushing to meet with Tor. As they passed through the arch, the door whooshed shut. Then the others, down through the midship corridor until the final heavy blast door blocked the aft engine chamber that housed the ancient core. My father’s core. To me? His heart. All that remained.

And Tor was going to kill it. Kill him.

I flicked on the view-screens, the security panel flashing to life: phasing, flickering eyeballs into every corner of the ship. With the shift of a stick I brought the midship to the foreground, temporarily blocking the others. Another tap, and the intercom was on.

TOR! Stay away from there! I swear against all you hold dear, I’ll blast you into space!” A spark crossed my eyes. “…and not just you. Carson is with you. And our new lizard friend, and that cat-lady thing he seems to have a hankerin’ to destroy.”

I had the upper hand now, and my cool wit started to show.

Tor marched back resolutely. Then, suddenly, his image blurred and he was at the aft of the ship, lightsabre drawn, and plunging it into the thick barrier between him and the core.

TOR! You’re dooming these people — these innocents!”

Tor continued to cut.

“I swear, Tor! I’ll do it! I don’t want to, but I’ll open the locks and all your bodies will be sucked through and splattered into the void!”

Tor continued to cut.

“You!” I addressed the lizard-looking fellow we’d brought aboard. He stood over the unconscious feline female. “Yes, you! He’s going to kill you! I don’t want to do it, but he’s threatening to destroy the ship.”

Tor continued to cut.

The creature turned back down the corridor, close enough to speak to Tor.

“You powerful sith-wizard. You strong.”

My taught, angry visage eased into temporary delight and I laughed into the comm, the sound echoing through the ship.

Tor paused.

“Sith-wizard! You hear that, Tor? You hear that? Everyone — do you hear that? There’s a darkness on this ship, alright, and it’s not ME. It’s HIM. He’s the one surrendering to his base emotions. HE is the one indulging his sick, petty, cruel desire for misguided retribution.”

Tor resumed cutting.

TOR! Disengage that blade!” I was sweating. My heart raced. He was going to do it. He was going to kill my father.

I didn’t do it! It was a JOKE!”

I saw a flash of disgust over Tor’s face as his resolve quickened and he tore into the hull.

“Carson! Stop him! He’s killing you — not just you, but everyone else, the innocents with you there. Reason with him! Whatever your grudge, your complaints with my … my eccentric behavior, you know what he’s doing is wrong.”

I saw Carson approach, huddling near his old friend.

My old friend.

I couldn’t hear what he said. I knew only that it did not sway Tor.

“This is it, people! TOR, you’re dooming everyone here! Not just this, not just my jettisoning you as invaders, malicious germs upon my vessel. No — the core itself! You don’t know what would happen! You’d be risking everyone’s life!”

Tor continued to cut.

I quickly punched in the sequence of commands to open the locks. A flashing dialog appeared.

“Passengers are in the midship area. Severe trauma will result. Are you sure?”

Figures scrolled by in a holo-child of the main prompt. Chances of survival — rather, certainty of death — to those in the midship corridor if I were to open the bay doors. Four living, pulsing, breathing, thinking beings reduced to kilobytes of registers and equations.

Calmly now. Quietly.

“Don’t make me do this, Tor.”

Tor continued cutting.

My hand rose, then fell back to the chair. I sat, silent.

Rising again, I punched the air where an “OK?” lingered. It disappeared, and a deafening wind roared behind me.

I slumped back in the chair and closed my eyes.

A Tale Called Tull (Part 1)
Tull escapes some pirates.

Tull awoke. He was a slave again, as he had been most of his life. But this time there were no fans screaming for blood, no foe to test his strength against, only a metal box. Tull hated boxes. A true warrior deserves more than a box. Tull wanted out, so he did what came natural to him. Tull bashed the door and walls. He tore the bedding apart. He roared and cursed and bellowed.

“Tull will tear your heads off little men! Come fight me like a warrior!” he raged.

“We like you just where you are slave.” was the response.

Tull would have to wait. The men would die when his box opened next. Or so Tull thought. Before he could say another word explosions rippled through the ship. Noise and light blared everywhere, and Tull’s box opened. The guards were fleeing and Tull’s shock gloves were lying near the exit of the box area. Perhaps the guards were wearing the gloves to see what it was like to be a true warrior.

Gloves in hand Tull dashed from the box area as quickly as he could, following the pirates to what he hoped was escape. Not far from the box area Tull found the escape boxes. Seconds after escaping from the small escape box Tull saw the final death throw of the pirate vessel. Never in his life had Tull seen such an amazing concentration of death and fire. Tull smiled. The pirates had found true warriors, and so had Tull.

Tull fumbled with the communication buttons, “Who killed pirates? Pirates capture Tull. Pirates stronger than Tull. You kill pirates. You stronger than Tull. Tull like strong people!”

“Uh…what?” came an obvious human voice. “Who are? Where are you?”

“Tull. Escape box.”

“Okay, we’ll uh, pick you up?”


Before long a large object came into view. The human voice spoke again, “That ship is ours.”

“Tull thought so. Tull steer to you now.”

“Fine.” the voice said as Tull did his best to steer the escape box into the ship. Tull made it through the hole in the ship fine, but the landing left quite a bit to be desired even by Barabel standards. The ship would need some flooring work.

With the flip of a button the escape box door opened and Tull was faced by a strange alien in very familiar robes. This man was a Jedi Wizard, like those Tull’s grandmother told him about when Tull was a boy. Long ago the Jedi Wizards brought the Barabel out of civil war with their strength. The Jedi Wizard’s could do magic and had powers that even the greatest Barabel warrior could not match. Tull knew this man deserved his respect.

Behind the Wizard was a woman. She was a cat woman. The same cat woman who cackled as her master tortured Tull for hours on the pirate ship. She deserved no respect. She deserved blood. Tull pounded his chest at the Wizard, “Tull!” and he pointed a shock glove at the woman, “Pirate!” With that Tull charged with all his might at the woman. The cat woman was fast, which was lucky for her as she barely missed a gloved fist that dented several inches of metal on the second escape box she had just exited. Tull prepared for a lengthy battle with this cat beast.

Suddenly the Cat Woman started to convulse and shake. The Jedi Wizard was using his magic. Tull thought he would never see magic in person, but here it was. Being able to control another with just a few hand movements was an incredible idea to Tull.

The woman screamed and ran. Tull and the Wizard followed. Blaster shots echoed back at the Wizard, but he went through them untouched. A few strikes with his light sword caught the cat woman off guard. Enough so that she found Tull’s fist at her temple, followed quickly by the metal floor of the ship.

“Tull and Wizard make good team.” Tull said with a smile.

“Can I trust you to take care of her?” the Wizard asked looking frantic.

“Kill her?” Tull asked.

“NO! Just make sure she doesn’t go anywhere.”

“Fine.” said Tull with a grunt.

Then as quick as that the wizard was gone and the door to the docking room sealed shut. Tull was not a man of patience, so after several seconds he hoisted the cat woman on his shoulder and hurried after his new Wizard friend. Tull did not get very far before the Wizard flashed past him towards the back of the ship. Another man stepped into the room in front of Tull following the Wizard and then every door to that area sealed shut as well.

“Tor, you do this and I blow the doors and everyone in there dies. You will not destroy my father’s ship!” came the same voice Tull had first spoken to.

Apparently the Wizard and this man were enemies, or at least rivals. Much bickering occurred between them. Kelyn the man overhead. Carson, the man near Tull. Tor, the Wizard. Other names all spoke and tried to stop what was happening. The Wizard wanted to hurt the ship so badly he would kill Tull, the Carson Man, and the Cat Woman to do it. Tull knew he was wrong about the Wizard. He was no Jedi Wizard, he was a Sith Wizard. The Sith Wizards killed all the Jedi Wizards, so they had to be stronger. Of course this Wizard was a Sith Wizard. He would kill all in his way. Tull would help him, and learn strength from him. Tull dropped the cat woman on a nearby seat.

“Sith Wizard, how can Tull help you?” The Sith Wizard paused at this. For a few seconds he looked not quite sad, not quite scared, but somewhere between the two. Then the Wizard set his face in an unreadable stare.

“I am no Sith. I am a Jedi, and this has to be done.” said the Wizard.

“You are Sith Wizard. Sith Wizards will kill all in their path to get what they want. You will kill Tull, Carson Man, and Cat Woman. You are Sith Wizard.” Tull said calmly.

“I am not. If you wish to help me open that door!” said the wizard.

“You’ll kill them all!” said the Kelyn Man.

Tull knew he could not help the Sith Wizard, he knew nothing of doors on ships. He would hold on, and see who was stronger. Tull climbed onto the seat next to the Cat Woman and held tightly to the table bolted to the ship’s floor. Suddenly a loud noise popped and air began to flush from the room. The doors had opened into the blackness, but something was wrong, something had broken and they had only opened a few feet. As the air slowly drained from the room Tull held his breath as the Wizard cut the door in the back with his Light Sword and the Carson Man held on next to Tull. Tull had made interesting new friends.

Some backstory I finally wrote to show how he got some of his ideas, why he feels so strongly about some things, and where he came from. I was going to post it in 3 or 4 parts, but figured I'd just do the whole thing to make it complete. Hope you like it!

Tor walked through the halls of the Jedi temple, breathing deeply and smiling, the scent of wood mixed with earth filling his trunk, dust motes floating serenely in the long aisles of warm light from high windows.

He had just returned from Caamas where he had mediated a trade dispute between two factions who had chosen the planet as a neutral site. Tor reflected fondly on the few extra days he had spent on the planet, staying with a family he knew there and revisiting old friends that he had not seen for years. The memnii of his last night stuck with him pleasantly, the sight of a long table packed with happy caamasi faces, the smell of warm food and cold drink wafting in the air, the din of chatter filling the room, fires crackling warmly.

His footsteps echoed in the halls as he walked. I wonder where everyone is, Tor thought, looking around. It seems like there aren’t many people around.

A few minutes later, Tor stepped onto the turbolift that led up to the Council chambers. He looked out over Coruscant as the lift rose, the orange light of sunset forming a halo over the horizon and casting long shadows across the city.

The door opened and revealed the antechamber. Tor moved across the empty room and keyed the request for the main doors, which quickly slid open. He walked into the Council chamber and was surprised to see the majority of the chairs empty. To one side of the room, he saw Masters Yoda and Windu sitting in their chairs with Master Kenobi looking solemnly at the burnt sunset through the window.

Tor moved to the center of the room and bowed as the elder Jedi looked at him. “Masters?” Tor said inquisitively.

“Master Kir’tem,” Yoda spoke with drooped ears. “Returned from Caamas, have you?”

“Yes, Master,” Tor said, his sense of unease growing with each moment. He spoke slowly. “The dispute between the two planets was quickly settled and a fair compromise was reached by all.” He paused, trying to use the Force to penetrate the dim mood that permeated the space.

“Masters…what’s happened? Where is the rest of the Council? The rest of the Jedi?”

“At war,” Master Kenobi turned from the window, meeting Tor’s eyes with his own, deep in thought.

“War?” Tor exclaimed. “How? With who?” He trailed off, losing the thread of his words as his fur stood on end in shock.

“Separatists,” Master Windu said, his deep voice resonating in the near empty room. “Forces trying to end the Republic and what it stands for. We sent a force of Jedi to Geonosis to rescue Master Kenobi and his apprentice,” his eyes lowered. “But we lost many of them.”

Tor’s mouth worked wordlessly as he thought of the Jedi who had fallen on Geonosis, memnii flashing before his eyes of friends he would never see again, friends he would never get the chance to say goodbye to.

“Need everyone, we do,” Yoda spoke significantly. “To help preserve the Republic.”

“The Jedi aren’t soldiers,” Tor said. “We don’t have armies. We aren’t supposed to. We are peacekeepers, here to help mediate disputes and settle conflicts peacefully.”

“There is little choice now,” Master Kenobi said, pacing slightly. “The Jedi serve the Republic, and the Republic is now in danger of falling. Everything we’ve strived to protect is in danger. We must help the effort to keep this from happening.”

Tor paused for a long while, thoughts racing from one thing to another. After several minutes he raised his head to meet the eyes of the three Jedi in front of him.

“I will obey the will of the Council,” Tor said, his voice steadying with each word. “I will help save the Republic.”

The rain pounded heavily down on Tor and his troops, colored a brilliant blue from the large moon orbiting the planet, occasionally shot through with brilliant white from the sizzling lightning that threatened the landscape.

Tor’s fur was slick and his robes were heavy with water and hesitation about the mission ahead. His force of clones moved around him, their feet sinking deep into the sucking mud. Tor moved closer to the town that lay ahead, taking cover behind a small building. Captain Helix approached and knelt next to him.

“Everyone’s in position, sir,” Helix said, voice stale through his helmet’s filters. “Should be a blue milk run, just like we planned.” Tor nodded in return, mind going over the battle plan. He was prepared for a fight but intelligence had reported that his forces would face little resistance. “Blue milk run,” Tor repeated.

They moved closer to the edge of the town, buildings surrounding them. The rain intensified and it’s noise drowned out everything except the splashing of water and the sucking of mud.

Tor looked to the next building and saw Helix looking at him, waiting. Tor nodded and took a breath.


Tor ignited his lightsaber and spun around the corner, sprinting up the alley and out into the main street, his clone forces also springing into action.

He turned the corner and was met with the sight of a battalion of battle droids, blasters at the ready, spider droids towering over them scattered about.

The town exploded in blaster fire.

Tor used the Force and began absorbing shots, alternating between defense and offense. He could hear his clones shouting to each other, their blue blasters punching through the rain but grossly outnumbered by the amount of red bolts that returned.

The spider droids opened up, and the buildings around the street began to blow up, splinters of wood flying through the air, stinging Tor as they embedded themselves in his fur.

“Back! Back now!” Tor yelled, backpedaling down the street. He could hear the clones screaming as they were hit by blaster fire and debris, the gurgling sound of blood audible through their helmet speakers.

Tor ran as the droids pressed closer, dodging and weaving through alleys and deserted streets, all while the droids pursued, buildings exploding and collapsing behind him.

After a minute Tor realized he had circled close to where he had begun the assault. He crouched in the smoldering hulk of a building, back pressed against what was left of a wall, breathing hard, rain still cascading down on him. He looked across the street to another ruined building, eyes passing the limp bodies of clones strewn about the street.

His eyes found a group of four locals, huddling in the corner. They were all young, and the similarity of their features led Tor to believe they were siblings. The oldest, a girl barely into her teens, wrapped her arms protectively around the others, trying to keep them quiet and comforted, but struggling as her own face trembled in the flashes of lightning.

Her eyes locked onto Tor and she froze, terrified. Tor raised his hands slowly, palms out, then slowly lifted his lightsaber into view. The girl let out a heavy sigh of relief. Tor held a finger to his mouth, motioning to stay quiet. He peered around the corner, checking the street for droids. Seeing none, he motioned the children to make their way over to him.

The oldest gathered the others and began shepherding them across the street. They had just passed the threshold of the building when it shuddered and the walls behind them crumbled. A searing white light flashed on from a towering spider droid, locking onto the children first and then moving to Tor’s location.

The droid stepped forward, taking what was left of the building with it, its massive feet crushing wood and duracrete. It rushed towards Tor who jumped out trying to draw its attention away as the children stood petrified and crying in the street, where the droids massive foot fell as if in slow motion on top of them.

Tor fell to his knees, his arms outstretched and his scream of anguish drowned out by the roar of Republic gunships overhead. An explosion eradicated any trace of the massive droid, the shockwave throwing Tor backwards through the air into a wall, a sickening crack echoing with the thunder as his head struck the surface, countless clone bodies before him, their blood mixing with the rain being the last thing he saw before everything went black.

Tor stood before the Jedi Council on Coruscant, almost a year had passed since the last time he’d been there. The bacta bandage on his arm was cold and alien to him, and the synthflesh patch on his leg burned.

He looked around the room at the Council members, many of which were present only in the form of static holograms filling their chairs.

“Master Kir’tem,” Yoda said. “Asked for an audience, you have. Speak, you may.”

“Yes, Master.” Tor stepped to the middle of the room and took a deep breath, his eyes meeting each of the Masters in front of him.

“Masters,” he said. “The Jedi’s role in these Clone Wars cannot continue.” A murmur broke out in the room and many of the Council stirred in their seats. Master Windu’s features hardened, his gaze steely fixated on Tor.

“What are you talking about, Tor,” Master Windu said, one of the few members present, his voice filling the room.

“I realize now that I was correct in my statements a year ago. The Jedi are not meant to lead armies or take sides in conflicts such as these.”

Tor could feel the stares of the Council drilling holes into him, their minds probing his with the Force, trying to gauge his motives and emotions.

“A year ago, to follow the Council you vowed,” Yoda said. “Why now, your mind has changed?”

Tor’s thoughts strayed to the battle. His memnii made it as real as if it were happening again in front of his eyes, each sight and smell and sound as potent as if they were being paraded around the room.

“My experiences…” Tor began. “Have shown me that the Jedi are not intended to be the warriors the Republic is demanding us to be. We have been…misguided.”

“Your thoughts dwell on your failure,” Master Mundi said through his hologram. “You focus too deeply on it. There is always compromised intelligence or unforeseen circumstances. These unfortunate happenings are part of war.”

“That is my point!” Tor said emphatically. “Jedi should not know of war! We are peacekeepers! Not warriors! Our role is to stop conflicts like this with peace, not with violence!”

Tor’s thoughts flashed to the children and their faces appeared in front of him, their rainsoaked bodies huddled between him and the Council.

Master Windu’s brow furled. “We have sworn to protect the Republic,” he said ominously. “And that Republic needs the Jedi to fight for it.”

“No!” Tor retorted quickly, his voice rising steadily. “We don’t need to fight! Not with lightsabers and conflict! We should combat these Separatists with mediation and negotiation!”

Tor began to gesture with his hands, emphasizing each word. “Those have been the tools of the Jedi for a thousand years! Perhaps you haven’t spent enough time in the archives lately, but there hasn’t been a widespread galactic conflict since the Jedi adopted those methods!”

“Enough!” Master Windu shouted. Tor could feel the Council members shifting uncomfortably and could hear them talking, any pretense at subtle whispers erased like the many lives lost each day in the war. The feeling in the room was tense and even the members who appeared through hologram seemed to be closer to the edge of their seats.

“I urge you to change this course of action,” Tor said, his voice calm again. “If the Order persists this way, it will lead to a future darker than you want to experience.” The caamasi fell silent, waiting as the members of the Council exchanged words and looks.

“We will discuss your concerns, Master Kir’tem,” Master Windu said, his voice and gaze still steely. “Wait outside until we reach our decision.”

Tor bowed and left the room, waiting silently in the corridor outside, his thoughts racing. After some time, the door finally signaled and Tor reentered the Council chambers. The holograms were gone, leaving only a few Council members in the room.

“Master Kir’tem,” Master Windu began. “We have a new assignment for you.”

Tor opened his mouth to speak, but Master Windu cut him off.

“You are tasked with creating a holocron,” the Jedi Master said.

“What about the rest of the Order?” Tor asked, eyes wide with surprise. “Will the Jedi stop participating in the war?”

“The Jedi will continue along the path they are on. We will support the Republic and lead its troops in battle.”

The older master fixed Tor with a deep stare, staggering in its intensity and significance. “You will travel to the outer rim, Tor. Perhaps even farther. You will go where the Force takes you, and use the knowledge you find to create the holocron. When you have completed your task, you will return here and present it to us.”

“The outer rim…” Tor’s voice was soft, trying to make sense of what he was being told. The realization struck him with the force of a supernova.


Tor’s eyes stared blindly through the room in front of him. His mouth opened and closed several times. “I…I understand, Master,” he said. “I will complete the holocron for the Order.”

Master Yoda’s face looked troubled. “Agree with this choice, I do not,” the small master spoke. “But follow the decision of the Council, I will.” He took a deep breath and Tor could see Yoda’s centuries old age in his face.

“Preserve your ideas in the holocron you must,” Yoda continued, ignoring a long glance from Master Windu. “Important, it is, for Jedi to remember different ideas.” Yoda closed his large eyes, concentrating and for a long moment, the chamber was quiet, the air still as if it was aware of the situation.

Master Yoda opened his eyes. “Return to us you will, Master Kir’tem. And bring with you great knowledge, you will. Important it will be.”

“Yes, Master Yoda,” Tor said in a quiet tone, still in shock.

“Proceed with your mission, Tor,” Master Windu said, the hard look still adorned on his face.

“May the Force be with you,” the few Council members chanted.

Tor took a deep breath and stood straight, meeting the eyes of each of the few Council members. He bowed deeply. “May the Force be with you, Masters,” he said, voice strong and steady.

Tor sat and meditated, high atop a cliff face overlooking a barren landscape, the bright morning sun cascading warmth down in front of him.

He had wandered the outer rim for two years, searching for clues and information on how to construct the holocron and what to put in it, but he had found barely any scraps. Barely there ruins, partial symbols, and lost echoes were all that Tor had found.

Tor breathed deeply, calming himself and preparing for a new day of searching.

A shockwave of energy in the Force rocked Tor backwards. He screamed as an incredible searing pain like none he had ever felt coursed through his mind. Tor’s body contorted and he clawed at his temples as wave after wave of blinding pain washed over him.

Images blasted into Tor’s brain, each worse than the last. Master Windu falling through the skies of Coruscant, Aayla Secura falling under a rain of blasters in the jungle, Master Plo’s starfighter blown apart, the look of heartbreaking betrayal as Master Mundi turned to find his allies turn against him, countless younglings falling before Skywalker, his eyes red and lightsaber flying, clones advancing on Master Yoda, blasters leveled, countless others following. Each vision brought a new crash of pain and horror.

Tears flowed into Tor’s fur, aftershocks continuing to flood over him. Tor scrambled to his feet and reached out to the Force, focusing harder than he ever had before, trying to find anyone in the Force. Tor gritted his teeth and pushed even further, scanning the galaxy for a trace of the people he knew.

He opened his eyes.


No hint of anything. Of anyone. Tor sank to his knees, the sun in front of him now seemed cold and stale and Tor felt no warmth from it. He sat in the spot, motionless, until the sun had passed from the sky.

Tor adjusted the jumpsuit he had bought from a local mechanic, not used to the feel of it. He nervously fiddled with his small pack, thinking of his Jedi robes tucked away inside, his other hand clutching the hilt of his lightsaber which he had spent days painstakingly adjusting it to make it appear to be a hydrospanner.

He shuffled down the ramp of the Freebird, the ship being detained on a remote space station known as Sel Zahn. Tor saw a young zabrak boy tinkering with a large droid at the bottom of the ramp, wiping sweat from his brow as he worked. A doctor sat on a crate nearby, sorting through his medical kit and muttering to himself. Tor stood nearby, listening as a station officer told the passengers they would be detained for two days, the Freebird captain being dragged away towards the brig.

He turned back at the sound of a young woman clearing her throat. The boy and the doctor both perked up.

“My name is Maya,” the girl said. “I have a proposition for you.”


Reflections from Tor part 31
From our previous session. Would have posted sooner but got sick last week!

Tor stepped into the conference room with Carson, Kochak turning to greet them. The others remained outside, having already blown any chance at diplomacy with the twi’lek, although Tor wasn’t completely confident that they could be left alone without finding some sort of trouble.

The three sat down at the large table and began negotiating for information about the Inquisitor, each side bartering for leverage. Tor savored the change from the blaster fight that the group usually found themselves in, relishing in the simple and calm negotiation as each side talked, Carson producing several thousand credits to swing things their way.

Kochak moved them into his office to finalize the business. Tor sat with Carson on one side of the desk as Kochak typed away at a datapad. His eyes flashed surprise and suddenly, the ceiling dropped away, springing a net over Carson and Tor.

Tor untangled himself and knocked out the twi’lek as he shouted at Carson, who mysteriously began nodding in agreement with the spaceport master. Once he was unconscious, the spell seemed broken and Carson shook his head to clear his mind.

Tor opened the door back into the conference room and was met by a raging battle as blasters and large droids flew about the room, his allies in between and pouring out of the refresher.

Why am I not surprised? He thought as he began to help clear the room.

The droids were soon taken care of and the group escaped from the building after a small delay as they had to force their way through poison gas.

Once in space they set their course for a resort planet, where the Inquisitor had taken off to.

The ships exited hyperspace and were immediately met by a large warship ahead of them. A message crackled to life on the comm and a pirate demanded their surrender. The road to the Inquisitor had found another snag.

N3M0's contemplations

Fulluah is gone. Mezerel is destroyed. Happines is no more. These can be replaced. Even I could be replaced, should the need arise as it likely may. Organics were not replaced so easily. I detested that at one point as I entered the fold of the Resurgence’s rebellion. I was rebuilt to ensure my creator did not need replacing, out of fear of his own mortality. I have seen what I assumed among the most fearless organics turn tail and run from the enemy, even though the fight would be won in time. The flagship was no more, and still the hulking lifeform steered his ship away, a direct confliction with all the data I had stored on Rama. I have been shamed in my companions before, resenting their crippling weakness, their short and fragile lifespans and their natural aversion to conflict even when there was clearly no option in the matter. I watched him fly away, recording the moment in my memory as he does. The organics all may forget his act of cowardice, but I will not. Every moment is recorded and analyzed for guidance on future decisions. Still, one of the organics does not share this weakness, this irrational fear of the inevitable. I have not ignored him. I do not ignore anything without reason. That particular organic is floating in the vaccuum of space currently. I will retrieve him as soon as a suitable vessel is comandeered. The Duros was different. The floating heap of debris and corpses in the middle of the battlezone was once a Mandalorian capital warship, crewing over 300 formerly murderous pirates. All undone by his hand. In such a bold maneuver, any other organic would have surely perished or not gone through with it at all. His fighter did not survive, but the pilot did. His art of destruction is an asset that we cannot afford to lose so long as the Galactic Empire remains a threat. Barriss Gigrig, you cannot be replaced.

N3M0 felt his magnetic leg attachments clamp down onto the hull of the slender copper-colored fighter. A heavy whirring vibro-chainsaw slammed into the cockpit, shattering the glass and digging into the torso of of the horrified pilot as he choked out a pitiful scream. The steadfast droid tossed the useless chunk of flesh out into the void and took the controls. It was not the time or the place for Barriss to die.


I'm sorry, but we no longer support this web browser. Please upgrade your browser or install Chrome or Firefox to enjoy the full functionality of this site.