Thread: Second Chances
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02.21.2012 , 05:36 PM | #1
Act I: To Be Sith

Part 1: Jester's Code

“Peace is a lie.”

Na’sira smirked broadly, resting a hand on the broad pillar she knelt behind and sweeping her lekku back over her shoulders. The words of the pensive acolyte pacing with his cronies in the middle of the chamber echoed lessons and lectures she had heard too many times. She could almost hear Nirsod’s condescending tone in the fevered words. She, among a few others, never took the Sith Code particularly seriously. On an intellectual level it seemed pointless to take it literally. She carefully shifted in the shadows, eyes closed and guided by the force as she moved to another pillar that encroached on the centre of the chamber. The words were clearer as the shifting human murmured.

“There is only passion.”

Certainly that made more sense. You couldn’t quell passion. And certainly not Na’sira’s passion for giggling, grinning and jesting. There was little that unnerved her overseers more than fits of laughter erupting for no apparent reason – or worse, at the expense of their frequently predictable threats. She tilted her head, examining the centre of the enormous chamber with half an eye.

“Through passion, I gain strength!”

Enthusiasm was a bothersome thing. Unfortunately it helped with the amplification of passion that would give him the strength he needed to sense, see or swat Na’sira. She would have to move a little faster, but this technique was still imperfect. And whenever the tiniest twinge of technology was involved, it takes a crossed wire for part of the tactic to become a titanic problem.

“Through strength, I gain power!”

She asserted that she only needed to drift by two more inner circles of the rickety red-stoned pillars before she was well within stabbing distance of the acolyte. That would be more than enough to prove her technique worked, especially since beyond those pillars there was only the central obelisk that he squealed his Sith Code at in an effort to wake it up. At least, from the way his voice was going Na’sira assumed he was trying to wake it up. She almost wanted to pop out and say ‘That’s not really how it works...’ but this wasn’t the time. Still – she smiled at the thought.

“Through power, I gain victory!”

Victory. Heh. Heh heh. She giggled softly, and much to her surprise it went unperceived. An inadvertent aptitude test of her stealthy methodology; apparently sufficient none the less.

“Through victory, my chains are bro-ASDFrrrggghghg”

The acolyte shuddered as a high-amplitude current rattled his nervous system and a blade carved a clean path through his back and out the front. He got the faintest glimpse of the lightning stream on the back of the weapon that was electrocuting him before it was withdrawn and he collapsed. Involuntary twitching and spurting blood was all that followed. Now the final test, and a dangerous one it was. Na’sira swept back behind the inner pillar and closed her eyes, re-engaging the tech haphazardly set about her waist. Blaster bolts peppered the stonework as she carefully and slowly stepped out. She crossed in plain view, although a shadow was cast over her. The pair of blaster-wielding goons knew something was up... But they couldn’t put their finger on it.

It was too late by that point. Content that her method was sound and her objective achieved, she ploughed the blade into the side of the closest man, and left it there. She reached out with a hand, and lashed out with the force to bring the blaster of the other hired gun - a scrawny, roughly dressed woman - to her. The startled woman raised her hands and shook her head rapidly.

“No! I was just paid to... To...”

Na’sira sighed and shot her down in a single merciful shot, tossing the sizzling blaster onto her toppled corpse. She withdrew the sword from the first victim – who turned out to be still alive, and dragged his bleeding body over to the obelisk. His blood filled a shallow vessel at the base of the obelisk and the victorious Twi’lek finished – perhaps respectfully, or perhaps because it was relevant – the words the acolyte intended to say. She did, however, smile broadly and sing her heart out.

“... Throooo-ooough vict-or-eeeee, my chains are buh-roooooken.”

For all but the echoes of her voice there was a creepy quiet. A soft dripping sound came from the blood hitting the floor and spattering haphazardly in the brief interim of quiet between her ‘verses’. She edged the corpse off the blood-well and sang the final line.

“The Foo-oooooorce shaaaall set, meeeeee, fuh-reeeeeeeeee!”

She closed her eyes and bowed her head. The obelisk trembled and the well of blood sloshed about with the shifting of the Force in the chamber. That was the line she took seriously, in truth. The Force was the only thing that could set her free. It was also the only bulwark, in her eyes, against the ways thrust upon her. Garbled words bellowed out of the walls as if they contained disembodied spirits and she felt anguish. The weight of the feeling, equivalent to a crowd's hatred, loathing and sorrow as if they were all suffering through death, collapsed upon her mind. She smiled broadly and giggled. She called out at her bodiless assailants as they assaulted her with the negative storms of emotion.

“You’re all so... Silly!”

The rumbling shuddered to a halt. For a moment she grinned toothily as another emotion bled out of the walls; were they... Confused, perhaps? Or perhaps it was the bastion of indomitable happiness and unmitigated glee that dwelled ever-present within her soul. Perhaps she was to a certain extent utterly mad, but the happiness felt as real as anything. It, truly, was what drove her. Optimism, opportunism and of course – satire. Astounding amounts of her amusement came at the expense of what she believed the Sith status quo to be. A status quo so widely accepted and time-permeating she may have confused some incredibly ancient Sith. Their bemusement, however, did not last.

Tendrils of forked electricity crept over the inscribed obelisk. Once more the seething cauldron of emotion bubbled, stirring the blood in the well and delivering a spike of rage-induced lightning to the giggling Twi’lek. She gritted her teeth – in a grin you understand – through the entire thing. It seemed so funny and she didn’t understand why nobody found it funny. She didn’t so much as keel over and the obelisk trembled; as if acknowledging that she was strong enough, it toppled over.


The fragile, ancient stonework shattered against the ground and revealed a tiny pyramidal holocron upended in a snug hollow. She retrieved it swiftly and peered at the shattered pillar. A thought crossed her mind and she smiled. Oh, what a prank she could pull!

She took her datapad – a disposable little thing that held the area’s co-ordinates and little else – and input a message into it.





She grinned and removed the data-core which fit almost creepily well into the dinky hollow of the obelisk. Ah, perhaps it was a match made in the Force’s eyes. Maybe the Force had a fantastic sense of humour. Or, at least, her sense of humour. This second part of her prank would require just a little more effort. But she let the giggles push her. Just the thought of the look on the overseer’s face in the future...

The shattered fragments of the broad, stumpy obelisk lifted off the floor. She smiled and closed her eyes, the force guiding her to piece it back together. To her surprise, each fused with the like-for-like fragments as soon as they fit together. Meant to be? Must have been. In short order, the ominous, stout obelisk concealing one of the silliest jokes she’d ever pulled stood proud in the centre of the chamber. There would even be three corpses and a stone bowl stained with blood to complete the image.

All it would take was for her to say ‘It reassembled itself... Truly a great thing to see such a bastion of the Dark Side able to restore itself to glory with impunity...’ to sound believably enamoured with the longevity of Sith architecture and the Dark Side and to convince them to pay it heed again later. Perhaps another acolyte would be sent to it as a trial.

Oh, she could only pray that she’d be around to see the embarrassment on the seeker’s face.

End of Part 1
The Hale Legacy - The Progenitor