[TOR] The Brothers Qhor – A tale of the Jedi

[Sigil]

The Brothers Qhor – A tale of the Jedi
Part I
     He found himself walking down a long, wide trapezoidal hallway. The walls were sheathed in dull, grey metal and buttressed by support beams every five meters that hugged the walls and ceiling, lending the structure an air of ominous solidity. Under his feet he could feel a thrumming vibration. Engines? He was on a ship...but one of such usual design. Like nothing he had seen before. Judging from just this one hallway it must be enormous; certainly dwarfing any capitol ship design he had seen from the Correlian shipyards. He continued walking until he emerged through a large granite-lenteled opening. The megalithic support columns were covered in a strange, spidery script and hieroglyphics that depicted scenes of torture and subjugation. 
     He emerged into a large, domed chamber, similar to the meditation chambers common to a Jedi praxeum, but this was different. Rather than a smooth domed ceiling this was geodesic in design and each pentagonal tile carried a graphic depiction of agony. The center floor of the chamber was covered in a red, spongy mat dominated by the emanating black sun emblem of the Sith. Standing in the center of the mat was a still robed figure.
     As he approached the figure pulled the hood from his head, revealing the scowling face of an older Arkanian. A platinum queue of braided hair looped over one shoulder and down the left breast of his dark raiment. Stern grey eyes and a puckered scar pulling his right-eye downward dominated his pale features, giving him an intimidating aspect. "Have you spent your time constructively?" he said in a gravelly voice.
     "Yes, Master. I have done as you wished" he found himself saying as his head tipped down in a small bow.
     Flat eyes met his briefly for emphasis. "Your role is critical, Apprentice. No mistakes can be allowed."
     His head bowed once more.
     "We shall be arriving in...," the harsh voice started to say when he felt a thump to his side and for a brief moment he lost consciousness.

     "Lazy padawan. Sleeping again," said a slight, croaking voice in Sullustese from over his head. He could hear the sounds of someone nearby shifting weight before the same voiced piped out in sing-song Basic, "...always sleeping,"; a precursor to another kick to the side. Master Naab, he thought and bolted upright. As he rose he hopped in order to be missed by the small foot now aimed at his shin and his back met the bark of the Baob tree he had been sleeping under.
     "Ah, the lazy learner awakens," said the wizened Sullustan Jedi Master. In his hand Master Naab held his ubiquitous walking stick, which he thumped against his short right leg. The Jedi Master blinked at him with large, blind and milky eyes. "Well rested are we now?" said the ancient Jedi.
     "Yes, Master," said Caeradan, his face flushed red, embarrassed.
     "Excellent," he said turning to walk to a paved training area, stocked with well-used, but maintained armor and weapons. The small figure bent over briefly, scooping up a duraplast-reinforced flight helmet that would completely cover a humanoid head. The helmet visor was painted to completely mask vision while worn. 'We shall practice together," said Master Naab, tossing the helmet toward his apprentice. Caeradan snatched the helmet out of the air just as Master Naab tossed a practice-saber toward him using the force and a small flick of his walking stick. "Well," said Master Naab, his face assuming a slightly wicked look, "you shall practice. I shall laugh." The small figure took out a small hold-out blaster from a hidden pocket of his robe. "Your Soresu  is lacking, so we shall spend some time working on that, yes?"
     "As you instruct, Master," said Caeradan as he slipped the helmet over his head. The helm had hardly settled before he felt the first warning through the force. Move. Caeradan shifted his weight left just as he heard the zhuuup report of the small weapon. Through the force he felt the energy streak to the right of his head just as the force gave another warning. Then another. And another.  Immediately followed by three quick warnings. Caeradan had not fallen into Soresu yet. He heeded the warnings of the force so that none of the blasts reached him, though only two of the six did he intercept with the blade of the training weapon.
     "Relax," said Master Naab. "Trust in the force," he said cackling as he fired blaster shots toward his apprentice.
     As the minutes passed Caeradan slowly gave himself over to the protective embrace of the force. Soresu became less about executing the proper technique and simply about trusting that his body, in tune with the force, would perform the right action.
     Sweat soaked his clothing and his breath was coming in gasps before he finally heard the distant, trigger click of his master's weapon. The power pack was empty. His master would have to reload and Caeradan would get a needed breather.
     "You are doing adequately," said his master, turning away to get what he needed from a satchel sitting on a nearby bench.
     He thought his master was replacing the power pack of his small weapon. This was not the case. Over the rasps of his breathing Caeradan could make out a sound. No. Four distinct sounds; actuator systems working to raise payloads out of ground-concealment. 
     Master Naab laughed maniacally as he said, "Now you will learn the dance as can only a Jedi."
     Wait. Are those the anti-personnel turrets? At the first discharge the force pushed aside thought and Caeradan simply was.

[Sigil]

The Brothers Qhor – A tale of the Jedi
Part II
   
     He was in battle; his opponent, a diminutive and ancient Sullustan Jedi with great, jug ears and jowly dewflaps. Held in his hands was a worn training saber, the synthleather grips wet with sweat. His opponent wore the heavy, brown robes of the order and exhibited a degree of skill and agility far beyond the capability any being that age should, making incredible acrobatic leaps and spins; his form perfect, flowing and fiendishly adaptive.
      Every time he would go on the offensive his small opponent would anticipate and counter. The Sullustan Jedi leapt in Ataru over a riposte` only to land in the classic Makrashi stance and lunge with a hardwood cane a strike that hit him solidly, and painfully, in the sternum. "Shiak!" crowed the ancient in cackling glee, only to leap back to Ataru and into a spinning summersault up and over his head. As the Jedi master disappeared from his field of vision he felt a twitch of warning in the force a microsecond prior to a lash of pain to his left collar-bone. This was immediately followed by a shout of "Shiim!" from a still cackling voice from behind.
     An insistent tug in the force prompted him to whip the training saber up and behind his own head; the humming blade hanging parallel to his spine to perform a timely shii-cho block of an attack that would have resulted in a painful slash to his back. "Excellent Padawan," he heard  the Jedi master say just before he felt the painful impact of that wooden cane to his, now undefended, left kidney. As he doubled-over, clutching his side the master said "Sai tok!"   
     "There," said the oddly melodic voice of the Jedi Master. "I have bisected you. Do you yield?" He found himself grunting out something that might have been an affirmative toward that evil laughing voice. His head lifted to turn toward the Jedi Master and realized for the first time – the Sullustan was blind. He had been beaten by a blind dwarf...the thrum of his shock merging with a sound.

     Beep-beep-beep-beep - the drone of a chrono calling him to wakefulness. Rising, he wiped the residue of sleep from his eyes and padded over to the refresher. Washed, he put on a cream under robe followed by a heavier dark brown, almost black, outer robe; garments much darker than those typical of a Jedi, and exited his quarters.
     As he walked down the hallway to the training hall, he marveled once again at the scale of the vessel he now called home. The ship was a former Sith battlecruiser captured in the early years of the Great War. Though, it had been retrofitted to make it a viable for its current mission, still much of its former look was present, especially when viewed from vacuum. The fact that the ship existed at all was on account of his master and a cohort of Jedi given the almost impossible task of infiltrating the Sith Empire.
     He walked down the grey central hallway, passing under the strange carved stone entryway and into the training area. His master awaited him in the center of the red and black training mat swathed in slick ebon robes that obscured most of his face. Sometimes he felt that his master was getting into the role a little too much.
     "Approach, my apprentice," said Dran Solmak, his voice gravelly, caustic and comical in its Sithiness.  Sithiness? Is that a word?
     He carefully approached, aware that at any moment his master might launch an attack to take him off-guard. He rubbed at the synthetic skin covering the burn on his left arm.
     "You betray your nervousness," said the Arkanian Jedi Master, smiling. "Trust in the force. Be one with the force and you will never be defeated."
     "That's easy for you to say, Master," said Kaetian. "When was the last time you were attacked in the refresher while you were about your business?"
     The Arkanian smiled, but even in mirth the scar that bisected his right eye gave his face a decidedly sinister look. "Be mindful. Always ready." He turned away to walk toward the back wall where the holo-projector was mounted.
     "Master," Kaetian said, carefully weighing the outcome of his words. "I dreamt again of my brother."
     "Again?" said the Jedi Master, turning back around, his brow furrowed contemplatively. "Interesting," he said scratching at his chin. "It's been...what? Eight years?" he asked, looking toward Kaetian, who nodded confirmation. "Usually by this time a force bond would have weakened and dissolved." The pale Jedi Master pulled a small data chip from a pocket of his robe. Tossing it to Kaetian he said, "Well, there is nothing for it. Document everything, but put it aside. We must focus on our objective."
     "As you wish, Master," said Kaetian snatching the chip from the air, looking at it thoughtfully before depositing it in his own pocket   "Master?" he began tentatively.
     "Yes, Kaetian?"
     "I am sorry to go back to this," he said apologetically. "His master, he's blind and maybe crazy," And in a rush, "He's quite brutal."
     "Yes, Kaetian," Master Solmak said nodding, all while continuing to set up the holo-projector. "Master Naab is a stern taskmaster."
     "You know of him?" Kaetian asked, hoping to draw out more information.
     "Know of him? Why, of course." he said, neutral grey eyes glancing up from his work. "He was my Master."
     Kaetian knew he should have been surprised, but somehow he wasn't. He stood watching as his master finished preparing the holo so they could review the information one more time, his mind far away.