Mandalorian Uprising

Chapter 1

Aggressive Relaxation

110 ABY

1000 hours

Jedi Temple

Ossus

Roan Zukassa sat alone in a dark meditation room, deep in the bowels of the Jedi Temple. He floated in mid-air a good metre above the meditation pad under him. His eyes were closed, the lids twitching. His blond hair fell down over his eyes, tickling his forehead. He wore dark robes, almost black, and his long cloak was sitting on the floor. His lightsaber, a long silver and gold design with a black handle, was hanging from his belt, nestling in the folds of his right leg where it bent at the knee.

He was deeply rooted in the Force. He was unaware of everything in the physical world. He, like so many other Jedi, was searching in the deepest, most unexplored areas in the infinite vista of the Force. His perceptions, like a hand fumbling, searched and searched through the metaphorical clouds that blocked his Force perception like a veil over eyes…

He'd been searching for the last couple of hours, searching to make contact with one man.

Luke Skywalker.

Luke Skywalker, former Grand Master of the Jedi Order, had died six years ago. His body had disappeared, meaning that he could still contact the living if he needed to.

There'd been no such contact, despite the dire state the Jedi Order and Galactic Alliance were in.

The Galactic Alliance had fallen prey to the same disease that spread and crippled the Old Republic. The disease of greed, the gangrene that spread through a government, corrupting it.

And the Jedi Order… The Order was experiencing severe problems. Many Jedi were dying, at the fastest rate since the Yuuzhan Vong War. Over the last five years, the number of Jedi had fallen from four thousand to two and a half thousand. Jedi had fallen prey to everything from mercenaries to dark Jedi. And the Force itself was darkening; Jedi were finding it ever more difficult to tap into the Force and use its advantages. It was like a shadow had fallen on the Force, similar to the one described by Jedi who survived the Clone Wars and escaped Emperor Palpatine's clone troopers when Palpatine had steadily taken control of the Republic.

Five hours later, Roan floated to the floor, sighing. He'd made no contact with Master Skywalker, not even a fleeting word. He stood up, stretching and cracking his knuckles. He reached into the Force, feeling through the corridors of the pyramid shaped Jedi Temple, feeling the Jedi that walked its great halls.

Roan pulled on his cloak and left the room. His lightsaber clunked against his thigh as he walked out into the cream coloured corridor that headed in the direction of the sparring arenas. He walked quietly down the corridor, passing doors that lead into other meditation rooms. Roan drew his Force presence in around himself; he didn't want to disturb the other meditating Jedi.

Roan hurried on towards the sparring arena, passing a few Jedi on the way. The young Jedi Knight was tired and irritated about not making contact with Skywalker, even though he didn't expect to find success anyway, so he decided to go and spar to let the frustration out.

Roan walked through the curving doorway that lead into one of the main sparring arenas. The room was vast and round, flat-floored and light. Surprisingly for the time of the day, it was empty except for one Jedi Master whirling around with his emerald sabre, practicing the acrobatic Ataru lightsaber form, sometimes known as Form Four. Ataru was fast, energetic, and aggressive. It was favoured by Jedi of the Old Republic, and it gave the user superhuman agility and speed. Roan himself had practiced Ataru, but preferred his even more offensive Djem So/Shien, which centred on using a powerful defence and strong but fast attacks. Roan stepped into the arena, noting the tall observer's box, maybe fifty feet above the ring, used by masters who were observing their students train.

The Jedi Master backflipped for a final time, and switched off his emerald lightsaber. The green blade hissed and then slid back into the metal handle. The Master turned around to face Roan.

"Are you looking for a sparring partner?" The Master asked politely, inclining his head in a short bow. The man was quite short, which was perhaps why he used Ataru, to further his reach. His face was lined and etched with care, but he held himself proud and upright. His hair was grey, flecked with brown and black.

"Uh," Roan took another good look at the Master. He judged him to be about eighty, which meant he was probably quite experienced, a perfect match for Roan's youthful energy. "Yes."

The Master gestured grandly, smiling and igniting his lightsaber with a snap-hiss. "Then join me. Most of you young Jedi dismiss me as a has-been," The Master barked a harsh laugh. "And I give them a little fright when I knock their sabre from their hands!"

Roan smiled politely, and stepped forward, pulling his lightsaber from his belt and shrugging off his cloak.

Snap-hiss!

Roan's sapphire sabre spat to life, extending a full metre from its handle. It thrummed gently as he pulled it back over his head in Djem So attack stance. The blade reeked ozone, and Roan breathed the odour in happily. The sabre, held high above his head and angling back, seemed to shake with excitement. Roan reached into the Force, letting it guide his movements and…

The Master moved first, springing forward and covering the five metre gap between Roan and himself in less than half a second. He held his blade one-handed, and brought it sweeping up towards Roan's exposed right leg. Roan grunted and twisted to the side, extending his left leg. The Master took Roan's kick hard to the chin, and was knocked backwards. His sabre sputtered, but its green fire remained. Roan stabbed forward, bringing his blade down towards the Master's face. But the older Jedi wasn't beaten so quickly; he twisted to the right, bringing his leg up to knock Roan backwards.

The Master panted and smiled as he leapt to his feet, and it occurred to Roan that he didn't know the Master's name.

"I don't even know your name," gasped Roan, his chest heaving; the Master's kick had winded him.

"Wedge. Wedge Mundi," The master swirled his blade and brought it up into a high guard as he spoke. "And you're the young Roan Zukassa. Your reputation rivals that of Ben Skywalker. Unfortunately," the master frowned a little, creasing his already wrinkled brow. "Some of your fame is for the wrong reasons."

Roan grinned lopsidedly, although the words frustrated him. "I get things done. I'll certainly never become a Jedi Master the way I am, but I've come to terms with that," Roan let his blade shut down.

Wedge raised an eyebrow. "In these dark times, your emotions are dangerous. Particularly with that Sith Lord running around."

"He's not a Sith Lord. He's just some Dark Jedi," Roan tapped his chest. "I should know. I'm the only one who's ever duelled him. He's good, a lot better than me, but he's no Sith Lord."

"You think you couldn't defeat a Dark Lord?" Wedge asked politely, circling until he was behind Roan, and the stopped. The only sound for a few seconds was the excited hum of Wedge's lightsaber.

"Yes. At least, not one of the calibre of Jacen Solo," Roan didn't turn around.

"Do you ever consider the possibility that it was Jacen Solo you encountered?"

"No. It's impossible. He died on Sluis Van, fighting with his mother," Roan frowned. The Dark Jedi had been incredibly powerful, but still, the possibility of him being a Sith Lord was doubtful.

"Yet Leia Organa Solo died from a lightsaber thrust to the chest; how could she still manage to kill her son if she was so gravely wounded. Jacen Solo's body was never recovered, just an arm and a hand."

"Leia Organa Solo took her son into death. His body, with exception of his severed limbs, would've exploded because the dark side powers built up inside him. It happens to all powerful Sith Lords; Emperor Palpatine being the prime example."

"Can you be so sure? With the death of Lumiya, and the death of Jacen Solo, who would've passed on the Ancient Sith teachings to other Sith?"

Roan grinded his teeth angrily. "There are no other Sith Lords. Just Dark Jedi!"

"You're entitled to your opinion. Now, let us continue this sparring match," Roan said nothing; Wedge had steered away from the subject for a reason, and Roan wanted to know why.

Wedge charged, lightsaber ignited. Roan stood, immobile, until the last second. He then flipped backwards, Force-pushing Wedge. The Jedi Master stumbled, arms wind-milling, but he managed to resist the push.

Landing fifteen metres away from Wedge, Roan landed with a decisive thump. He then thumbed his lightsaber's activation plate, but let the now-humming lightsaber hang loosely in his right hand as Wedge advanced slowly.

Roan briefly considered the match. The initial exchange between the two Jedi had only been seconds long, and their blades hadn't even met. The confrontation had been carried out with dodges and kicks. The second exchange had consisted of a mere Force-push, so Roan couldn't make an accurate guess on who was the better sword-master, and therefore he couldn't adapt his strategy.

So he chose aggression.

He walked slowly forward, blade still hanging at his side. Then, with decisive ferocity, he sprinted towards Wedge, slashing down with his lightsaber.

Wedge caught the blow with his own lightsaber, and was pushed back by the violent blow. Roan advanced, swinging his blade in wide, fast, and powerful arcs, trying to batter down Wedge's defence. The older master gave ground, retreating hastily and gracefully, blocking blows and dodging those that came in too fast and too powerful to be blocked.

Wedge had already found his only advantage negated. He had a natural aggression, and when coupled with his Ataru acrobatics it made his a deadly fighter. But, Roan's aggression surpassed anything that Wedge could summon, so he gave ground, retreating, as standing his ground and trying to get an attack in on Roan would result in Wedge's defeat.

Wedge was no great defensive warrior, but he was forced to use every ounce of his energy on maintaining the blazing shield of lightsaber blocks that he formed in front of himself. He had no energy, no power, and no time to spend attacking. He soon tired, his blocks coming slower and less accurately. Roan pressed the advantage, forcing Wedge back further and further, until the Jedi Master made a mistake, allowing Roan to effortlessly lock blades.

Roan leaned forward. The two blades, locked together, sent emerald and sapphire sparks sputtering into the air. The energy blades were stuck together in a cross, inches away from each Jedi's throats as they pushed forward into each other, trying to gain the advantage through brute strength.

Roan was taller, far more muscular, built thicker, and was less fatigued than Wedge. The Jedi Master soon found his own blade creeping gently towards his throat, sizzling the hair on his neck. The smell of ozone was choking. He knew that if Roan advanced his blade another centimetre, Wedge would have to accept his loss in the duel.

Summoning his last piece of energy, Wedge pushed with the Force. Roan grunted and ground his teeth, face twitching and jaw working as he tried to stand his ground. He was forced back perhaps two feet, but no further.

Roan realised that the sabre lock, with the added pressure of Wedge's Force-push, would simply result in an endless stalemate. So, working his arm muscles, Roan brought his sabre around in a twisting circle, dragging Wedge's lightsaber with it.

Wedge's wrist bent as he tried to hold on, and his fingers sprang free. His blade sputtered off and the deactivated handgrip flipped away, tumbling on the ground with a metallic clatter. He retreated, extending a hand, but before he could summon his lightsaber back to his hand a Force-push hit him in the chest and jerked him off his feet, throwing him backwards to crash into the Sparring Arena's durasteel wall, and he slumped to the ground.

Roan summoned Wedge's lightsaber to himself, grabbing the sword with his left hand and igniting the blade. Green light once again mingled with blue as Roan brought his weapons up in a guard.

"Defeated?" asked Roan, smiling.

"Not quite," Wedge groaned, rubbing his pained back. He closed his eyes and gestured with his hand, as if pulling a drawer out.

There was a horribly metallic screeching sound, and Roan whirled around a second too late. The durasteel panel that Wedge had ripped off the wall hit Roan in the back, knocking the Jedi to the ground with an audible crack. Roan's nose burst and broke, sending crimson blood spraying from his nostrils. He released both lightsabers, and they rolled away.

The injury sent waves of agony rippling through Roan's back as he leapt to his feet. His eyes water, but he charged towards Wedge anyway, as the older Jedi got to his feet.

The Jedi Master extended his hands, and both lightsabers shot like bullets towards his outstretched palms. Roan realised that if Wedge got those blades, his Ataru attacks would prevent Roan from ever recovering the advantage.

Roan grunted and pushed with the Force. The lightsabers accelerated further, whistling through the air. Roan subtly changed their course at the last second, ensuring that the deactivated hilts smashed painfully into Wedge's gut instead of smacking into his hands.

The Jedi Master coughed and hacked, doubling over and seizing his belly as the lightsabers dropped to the ground. Roan continued to run, leaping in mid-air and extending a foot.

Wedge took the flying kick straight to the face, and he was knocked backwards, landing on his back. Roan extended a hand and summoned both lightsabers, catching them easily and pointing them both at Wedge's throat.

"Beaten?" Roan asked again, feeling the metallic taste of blood as it trickled slowly into his mouth.

Wedge smiled weakly. "Definitely."

Roan nodded and smiled, switching off his own sabre and hooking it back onto his belt. He extended his free hand to Wedge, who took it firmly as Roan helped him to his feet. He then offered Wedge's lightsaber, deactivated and hilt-first, back to its owner. Wedge took it with a muttered thanks.

"No problem," Roan became aware of the fact that he was perspiring heavily. The salty sweat trickled into his mouth, mingling horribly with the blood. He wiped his forehead on the sleeve of his robe, and rubbed his sweaty palms on his utility belt.

"That was…" Wedge paused to suck more air into his winded lungs. "Entertaining."

"Not for me!" Roan laughed a little. "You're alright; I just hurt your back. You broke my nose!"

"I'm an old man. I forget these things; the Force doesn't hold off senility."

Chuckling slightly, the two Jedi shook hands and separated. Wedge left for the showers, but Roan waited for a new sparring partner, hoping his broken and bloodied nose didn't put anyone off.