A Sith Lord, hidden in the shadows for as long as the Empire itself, has emerged, under the guise of an ally, in order to unleash his twisted plan upon both the Republic and the Empire. He amasses his forces, and begins preparations. But it is going to be anything but easy...
Morpheus Rising
The Nikto's lips trembled as it wept silently in fear. Its eyes were filled with terror as it beheld the sight of the demon covered in the skin of a man, the thing with the crimson blade. He tried to move, but his arms would not respond, pinned as they were to the floor with the long knives the Sith had sunk into him. The Sith leaned over, bringing his chalk-white face into focus, framed by long, greasy black locks, and graced by a strange smile, almost as if it were looking at something that was mildly cute. With that demonic, yet striking smile, the man forced open the Nikto's mouth and inserted something large and spherical, which emitted a strange mechanical whirring and beeping.
"Say hello to the Force for me when you get there." The Sith got up and held before the Nikto's face a small mechanical device with a metal button in the centre, surrounded by various dials and switches.
A detonator! He's put a grenade in my mouth!
"Ta-tah." The man's smile turned to a grin of such horrific malice that the Nikto screwed his eyes shut. That face would be the last he ever saw.
Darth Morden turned and stalked away, and when he reached the door, he slammed it with a force that did not match the calm he emanated. Once on the other side of the massive stone door, he counted to ten, his thumb on the detonator. Even as he compressed the button, a deafening explosion came from the other room, and a grim smile played across Morden's face as he revelled in the knowledge that one more enemy lived no longer.
Morden tossed the detonator to the ground, retaining a fierce glare on his followers.
"Let's get on with this." His voice was smooth and silky, like a freshly sharpened knife ready to slip into a man's mind and then, with a single twist, pry out its secrets. "Dav, Borik, get to work. Be back here with your loot in ten, and kill anyone you see; no witnesses. And if you see him, comm me. Preferably do it before he guts you." The two Bounty Hunters scurried off down the corridor and down the corner to the left, while the other six took their stations around the complex.
In the near reaches of the Outer Rim, in the Onderon System, there lies a planet vital to the security of the Republic, under the co-ordinates 0-281-329, whose moon plays host to the last Mandalorian Stronghold in Known Space, called Dxun. Morden's interest had been piqued when tales of an old Sith Tomb had been constructed, whose occupant had been rumoured to be one of the ancient Masters. No doubt it had been looted many times, but he was not interested in material possession, rather the wellsprings of the dark side that could be found here. One of the other Sith Lords in his entourage had gone in first, but had not emerged again, so Morden had taken the matter into his own hands, bringing with him a group of the finest Bounty Hunters this side of the Corellian Trade Route. He was beginning to wish he had just gone on his own. Ever since that Jedi had showed up on the Planet, nothing had gone right; Morden, in his fits of rage, had killed two of his best hired hands by the time the sun had set on the first day. So now, at the heart of this fountain of the Dark Side, he would call the Jedi and end this. The Jedi could not endure any longer; he had to die. Now.
And Morden was going to kill him. Now.
At the moment, Morden was stripped to the waist, due to the extreme heat of the Jungle Moon, and his long-handled lightsaber was clutched lightly, but firmly in his right hand, while his left held what the 'mortals' referred to as a blaster. He did not bother with the affairs of mortal men, but the human had always taken a fond liking to what had been called the blaster, even though he had been brought up to be above such petty objects.
In the dim light of the now-empty Tomb, he appeared as no more than a phantom, a faceless demon with a lust for blood, and more. The black stone walls were washed with red light, and the high vaulted ceiling magnified his footsteps a hundredfold until it sounded as if the eerie halls were playing host to an army, rather than a single man, though the lights cast shadows like those of marching legions. He could feel the birds outside fleeing in terror as they heard the approach of what seemed to be a battalion of armoured soldiers, coming to their doorstep from within the halls in which they had once flown, and built their pathetic nests, and peopled further their race to abuse the ears of those unfortunate enough to walk the face of the planet with their calls. The instant Morden walked out of the temple, he was assailed by the heat of the jungle. It was disgusting, and smelled of the rotting meat of the prey of the hunters that he could see scattered around the encircled field outside. He wanted nothing more than to burn the planet to ashes, and he made a mental note to do so at the soonest opportunity.
But first, he had to call his adversary; a large enough show should arouse his attention.
At the top of the long flight of stairs he knelt, then, with his knuckles supporting him, resting on the cold stone floor, he turned his mind inward. Instantly, he was met with a swirling ocean of darkness, as if someone had filled his soul with water, and then dumped a full bottle of ink into it. It was this blackness he loved most about himself, the very reason for his continuous survival, the reason he needed to live longer. The reason he had come to Dxun in the first place. A psychiatrist would have a field day searching through his brain. He opened that twisted mind to the dark side of the Force, and in a single fraction of a second, a magnificent barrage of Sith Lightning flowed out of him, crackling and burning anything it touched. Trees burned, plants exploded from the heat building up inside them, and animals were barbecued, their pain and suffering fuelling the Sith's power.
This was bliss. Destruction was his power, and power was his pleasure. He was full of joy as he destroyed. He let the dark side flow through him like a current in an ocean, and he let it destroy anything it touched. He let it do anything it pleased; he let it consume him.
And then he felt the presence of the Jedi. It was like a disgusting, jarring glare of light in the Power that was the Darkness. Whenever the darkness had taken hold, the coming of light was always a thing of unpleasant, painful experience, and Morden instantly felt an irresistible urge to tear it apart, seal its source, and stomp on it for good measure. In less than a second, his lightsaber was ignited and its red blade hummed with energy just waiting to pry apart its targets. There was a loud blast-hiss! of a blade from the edge of the tree-line a little ways off, and when Morden looked up, his fists smoking where the lightning had burned off his leather gloves, he laid eyes on his foe for the first time.
Hael Quendin was a massive, hulking Iridonian Zabrak, a long grey Jedi robe covering his muscular form and a sapphire-blue blade illuminating his rugged face. His expression was one of tempered disdain, the corners of his mouth curled in a mild sneer. Morden did not need to speak to him to know his intent, and it worked the other way, too. The Sith's calculating gaze glanced over the Jedi, searching for any apparent weaknesses, but none could be found; this was a Jedi fresh from the training ring, at the top of his game, and with bloodlust written in his eyes. The only option was to test him for any gaps in his defenses through actual combat.
Such a base mode of communication. A pity.
Holstering his blaster, Morden saluted with his lightsaber and glided down the stairs to the ground, closing the distance between him and the Jedi, while his opponent did the same. Morden's breath was measured, one cycle every thirty seconds, and his heart rate was as it would have been had he been lounging in his quarters the entire day. He had been through too many battles that could have gone ill to subscribe to the concept of anxiety. The Sith Assassin had trained extensively at all kinds of trickery to turn the emotion against his opponent rather than himself. They were small details; a certain change in the way he walked, a slight stooping posture from a precise vertebra in his back; they were simple, yet imposing details that he had witnessed frighten people into surrendering. Of course, it might have been the fact that most people in the Galaxy know to yield to a Sith Lord that had so strongly bashed some sense into their thick skulls.
Never breaking out of the casual stroll toward his adversary, Morden shifted his grip to the Shien style, holding his blade backhanded, parallel to his arm. They halted barely a meter from each other, eased breathing the only sound in the place; the birds had suddenly all stopped their music.
"Hello," the Jedi said, his gruff, yet amiable tone an alien concept to the Sith. "Nice day, don't you think?"
"Indeed. Though rain will inevitably come; this planet has yet to understand the concept of a dry season." Morden decided to play the Jedi's game and see how it would end.
"I hear you. Had a pleasant trip here?"
"Well enough. It was a long ride, though. This planet isn't exactly what you'd call close to civilization."
"I suppose it all depends on what you choose to do with all the dull hours. I rather like reading books during hyperspace rides. Calms the nerves, you know."
So he's got a problem with nerves. Overly sensitive, perhaps?
"Meditation tends to claim my free time." This was getting boring. "Can we just fight now?"
"Sounds good."
This is pointless.
They each backed up a few paces, and leaned into their preferred opening stances. Morden's casual Shien stance allowed him freedom to move in any direction instantaneously if he so needed, which was why he had chosen to master that form in the first place. The Jedi's Niman grip, however, was anything but casual; every one of his muscles were tensed, and his face was set in a grimace of anxiety that bespoke of a great inner unconfidence that Morden knew he could exploit if necessary. In the few moments before their blades crossed, they examined each other, searching for anything they could use to their advantage, but from the growing expression of frustration on the Jedi's face, Morden could tell that he could not find anything. That gave the Sith a sort of fuzzy feeling of pride. Finally, the Jedi attacked first.
Morden let loose a short, piercing laugh of excitement, and charged to meet him head-on. He swung his lightsaber upwards, in an upper-cut, but at that precise moment, the Jedi changed forms into something that resembled Soresu, and in a graceful sweep, knocked Morden's blade aside and, spinning in closer, made an admirable attempt to cleave a section of his head off with a diagonal swipe downwards. The Sith silently berated himself for falling into such a trap, and ducked out of the strike's range, before pushing off the ground in a soaring leap that carried him high above the treetops until, at the apex of his flight, he curled into a somersault and let himself fall for a few moments before unleashing his next move. Extending his arms out to either side, he called upon the dark side again, and felt the satisfying feeling of the tendrils of his consciousness extending out in black waves that formed a sphere centred around him that kept him suspended in the air before, clenching his hands and drawing them toward himself, he swung them outward again, causing the sphere to expand at such a speed as to catch the Jedi completely unawares and send him careening into the side of the Tomb, using the Force at the last minute to cushion his impact. Morden then let loose another wave of Sith Lightning, which kept him in the air longer, forming a massive storm which he directed toward his prey, and it carried him with it, gliding a hundred feet above the ground over to exactly above the Jedi's head. The crackling energy seared the stones of the temple and illuminated the ground with lancing blue streaks. The Jedi was caught in the exact centre, and as he convulsed in the agonizing waves of lightning, Morden saw the stereotypical outline of his skeleton, which was illuminated as if it had been coated in superconductive metal and then had skin pulled over it.
But to kill him now, so soon, would be so terribly anti-climactic, he would not have been able to live with himself afterwards. He ceased the barrage and plummeted down to the ground before landing unnaturally lightly on his feet. Hael recovered remarkably quickly, and he jumped straight into the air, sailing over Morden's head. Blue lightsaber swinging violently- Morden was surprised it had survived the electrical overload- he made an intricate downward-spiralling cut followed by a counter-clockwise swerve and finally a swift jab straight down.
Morden dodged to the left, narrowly missing the swinging blade, and returned the admirable attempt on his life with several jabs at the Jedi's swinging body, anticipating where it would most likely be. However, the Jedi was a lot faster than Morden gave him credit for, and the crimson blade made contact only with its target's hand as he twisted away. It removed Hael's left hand's index finger and thumb, and a small quantity of the appendage itself. Screaming, the Jedi completed his arcing leap and swivelled around to face the Sith, an enraged scowl on his face.
"Having fun?" Morden sneered and with the index finger of his left hand made a 'come here' motion, while flourishing with his blade.
Hael charged again, his blade held high over his head, screaming a war-cry that sounded native to the Wookiees. Morden pushed off from the ground and, flipping backwards just above ground level, he placed his kick perfectly at the Jedi's weapon hand, knocking the blade out of his grip and sending it flying into the wall of the Tomb. Then, halfway through his backflip, he placed his hand on the ground and used it to redirect his momentum back the way he had come, and as he arced forwards again, he planted his feet on either one of the Jedi's shoulders and brought them down to the ground, slamming his head onto the hard stone. Morden stepped back as the Jedi dragged himself into a standing position.
"Come on- is that all you've got? You're getting old! Show me something new!" Morden sank back into his ready stance.
Quentin reached for his lightsaber hilt, which flew to his hand of its own accord and activated. The Jedi then flipped a switch on its handle and threw it with all the force he could muster at Morden, who swivelled backwards, bending at his ankles until his body was parallel with the ground. He felt the heat of the blade as it spun barely a foot above his head and as it curled around back to its owner's hand, Hael made a twisting motion with his hand, and the lightsaber turned mid-flight and came spinning down at the Sith. Morden pushed himself towards it and, reaching out his hand at the perfect instant, caught the handle and hurled it back at the Jedi before rising back to his feet. Hael stumbled backwards as he avoided his own weapon.
"That's not exactly what I'd call new. My turn now." The Sith lord gripped his hilt in both of his thin but powerful hands and plunged the pommel into the stone floor of the terrace. It sank two feet deep, and he pulled back with it, forcing the base through the stone toward the Jedi, his legs out to either side of him and shaking with the effort. Rather than snapping, the hilt traveled through the stone, pulling up a huge crack in the surface of the ground, which he then laid his hand over and filled with lightning. From there it shot out, elongating the crack until it shot toward Hael, who was just now staggering to his feet. He dived out of the way at the last moment, and was followed by three shafts of the electricity, which narrowly missed him.
He could have killed the Jedi then and there, as he was easily within the range of his weapon, but he stayed his hand and, instead, rose to his feet, wrenching his lightsaber free of the rock. He then walked a few paces over to the wall of the tomb and leaned against it casually.
"Get up, already. That Nikto friend of yours put up a better fight."
That got him going. The Jedi howled and charged, without a lightsaber in his hand, and ploughed into Morden, who deliberately stayed in his place, not moving, merely smirking as the Jedi landed a permacrete-hard fist in his gut. He coughed, but other than that, made no sound. That would only make the Jedi back off, thinking himself the victor. Instead, he took the pounding as it came, knowing that nothing could harm an immortal like himself. In fact, he decided to tell him that.
"I'm immortal, you nibral. You can't hurt me!"
"No one is immortal, flak it! You can die just like anyone else!" The Jedi accentuated his words with further blows which were only now beginning to register as somewhat painful.
"Maybe so, but you are not a god of the Force, then, are you?"
"No one is a god of the Force! You deceive yourself!" Hael's blows became fuelled by more than just rage. He was driven by revenge.
"Did I kill someone close to you? A parent or sibling, perhaps?" In spite of the growing pain in his body, Morden chuckled.
"YOU!" A rock collided with the side of the Sith's head. "DESTROYED!" A knee became embedded in his gut, and Morden felt the skin tear. "MY HOME! MY PLANET! EVERYTHING!"
"Ah. That would explain this. And the Jedi did nothing to calm your anger? By the way, I would appreciate it if you would please get off. You're starting to become irritating."
Hael screamed and drove both fists into Morden's face, shattering his nose and knocking loose several teeth. He then got to his feet and took two steps back.
Morden spat out his right front tooth and canine, while adjusting his nose back into what felt like its original shape, and then stood up. "Your fists are strong. That's good. Your technique, however, is lacking. You kept hitting the same places over and over again. If you're trying to cause someone pain, you always go for different places. If you focus all your attention on one place, sooner or later it's going to go numb, and they can't feel your next hits."
Hael staggered back. "Just kill me, too." Hael groaned, his rugged face smeared with dirt and blood while tears gouged tracks through the grime. "Kill me and give my life meaning! Kill me like you killed my family. Kill me so I can see my little sister again. Do it." He closed his eyes and held his arms out to either side of him, but Morden made no move against him. "DO IT!"
Morden sighed and leaned back on the wall again, coughing shallowly. "You want to know the real reason your family died? Because they were too weak to live." He felt his nose again, which was still pouring out blood like a waterfall. "Had they been stronger, they might have lived, but they were weak. The strong are the only ones who can survive in this Galaxy; surely you must know this. If you are weak, then how can you defend yourself from those who are stronger, and who have both the will and means of taking your life? You could have saved them, if you had been there now, and if you were not driven by unchecked rage. This anger you feel can give you great power, but- if you let it- it can tear you apart."
"I thought you Sith loved your anger." The comment was meant to be an insult, but Morden merely answered it casually.
"Anger is a great tool, but anger unchecked, unfocused, is useless. It may be good for motivation, but it useless if you want to get a job done. It clouds your mind, and blinds you to common sense. This is why you lost today. Had you been trained to focus your rage, you perhaps could have won." He then brought out the line that would finally bring the axe down. "Had you been a Sith, then you would have won."
The Zabrak's eyes became liquid fire, and his fists clenched at his sides. "You think you can turn me after what you did? You'd might as well kill me now, for all the difference it'll make. Kill me!"
Morden shook his head. "It would be such a waste of potential. I see things in you that could be extremely useful to the Sith's cause. You'd be a valuable asset to us, so your wish cannot be granted, I'm afraid. Your only chance of leaving this place is to pledge your allegiance to the Sith. Try to do anything else, and I will stop you. Train under me, and you will learn to harness this rage that courses through your veins. I can teach you how to free yourself of the burdens of anger and its mindless obsession. Join me, and you will become truly invincible."
"If I do nothing, then we'll both just wait here, and starve to death! Why should I not?"
"Because if you remain apathetic, then I will force you to come, and when we get into space, I'll have one of my men drop you out. Then you would die, but not by my hand, and not with any purpose. How is that for an ultimatum?"
"You know you will just make me serve you unwillingly, and that is no way to train an apprentice." The Jedi was grasping at straws now, so Morden burned them all.
"Once you taste the power of the dark side, the sensation of it flowing through your entire body, the pleasure of it, the indescribable elation, you will never be able to let it go- then where would you be without me? What you did just now, to my poor teeth, that was a spark of the dark side fanned into something more. You let your hatred get the better of you, and you experienced the thrill of your moral boundaries collapsing. What more is there than to be free? I can teach you freedom, even if it be through cell bars. Now, I ask again- will you pledge your allegiance to the Sith? Will you face your anger, temper your rage, and see once more?"
Hael knelt. "I pledge myself to your teachings." His voice was choked. "Please, free me from this torment."
"Then let us begin."
"My Lord, we're back, but there wasn't much to find." The Bounty Hunters had returned, and were waiting at the top of the stairs.
Oh, frak! Worst timing in history; this could sabotage the entire conversion!
"Your first test." Morden himself grasped at straws, and found a way out. He turned to his apprentice and whispered, "Kill them." He took a step back to watch as the sapphire blade sprung forth again, and as his new apprentice tore the Bounty Hunters apart. It was still the same rage that fuelled him, but Morden saw something else in the Sith, then. Something uncommon. A strange hopeful glint in his eyes, as if the man knew that there was a light at the end of the tunnel, and that he had found the surest way to get there. As his blade fell on the last man, who had barely registered the weapon's approach, Hael Quendin knew that he had found his proverbial destiny at last.